I scooped up Acorn and ran for the mop, grabbing the handle with one hand, Acorn clutched against my chest with the other. Straddling it, I kicked off the ground.
The mop rose a foot or so and stalled.
Behind me, the bear’s footsteps vibrated through the air.
A black shape rocketed from the tree line ahead of me.
Feral hit the ground between me in wolf form. He planted himself with his head lowered, his claws digging into the ground, and every muscle locked into place. A growl ripped up his throat.
The bear skidded to a halt.
They stared at each other.
Silence stretched through the clearing, broken only by Acorn’s panicked breathing against my collarbone.
The bear huffed. It dropped to all fours, turned, and lumbered back into the forest.
I hovered on my mop, clutching my squirrel friend to my chest, my heart thundering against my ribcage.
Acorn peeled himself off me one claw at a time.The wolf arrives like thunder rolling, saves the witch from her own controlling.
“Not helpful.”
Feral shifted back.
He turned to me in human form, bare-chested, fury blazing on his face. This wasn’t the explosive kind of anger that came with shouting, but the quiet, precise kind that made my skin quiver.
“What,” he said in a dangerously level voice, “are you doing here?”
I slid off the mop and set Acorn on the ground, straightening my dress. “Collecting samples.”
“Alone.”
“You had left for the southern territories and weren’t supposed to be back until tonight.”
“I came back early.” His jaw worked. “My wolf sensed something was wrong. He wouldn’t settle. I tracked you from the compound.”
“That seems excessive.”
“Your mop path wasn’t subtle.”
I glanced at the disturbed canopy behind us, where broken branches marked our flight. “Ah.”
“You could’ve been hurt.”
“I wasn’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It sort of is.”
The wolf who ran to save his mate, now argues about her fate. While she stands calm and does not see, his fear was for her, not for he.
We both looked at him.
“What did he say?” Feral asked.
“Nothing helpful.”
