IN MY HEART, I KNEW I HAD NEVER FELT SUCH HAPPINESS BEFORE. I felt imprinting exactly as my parents had described it to me as a child: powerful, all-consuming, engulfing. In that moment, everything I knew and understood had changed, yet my brain was painfully conscious of just how dangerous and messed up things were. The fear swept over me.
Did I really just imprint on the killer?
My ears filled with the bang of the rifle. The deafening boom echoed off the mountains nearby, repeating several times before silence descended.
Once again, the hunter pointed his rifle at me. As I stared at the barrel of his weapon in confusion and shock, I couldn't move. There was a mangled corpse of a white-tailed deer Peter and I had been following lying nearby, its chest shattered by the bullet. My body unfroze as the hunter stepped over the corpse, panic coursing through me.
Where are you, Pete?
I did not receive an immediate response like I used to, only silence. Seeing a flicker of movement behind the hunter, I looked at the bloodied mass behind him. It was Peter! Face-down in a pool of blood, he lay draped over a bush. Peter was hit in the neck by the bullet that ripped apart the deer, leaving a large bloodstain where his throat once was.
PETER!
Despite the obvious danger between us, my body jerked forward, driven by a desire to save my mate. As my front paw touched the ground, my ears perked at the sound of the hunter cocking his rifle.
I yearned to reach Peter and save him, but my animal instincts told me to recognize the danger between us.
As I reluctantly pulled my gaze away from Peter, I focused all my attention on the hunter's face. As we gazed into each other's eyes, I couldn't help but wonder what a hunter was doing on our federally protected nature reserve. In my entire life, I have never heard of a hunter trespassing on our land. Since the early 1980s, we have lived in peace. When did that change? How come this is happening now?
As I looked down at the rifle in his hand, my pulse raced. His trembling hands clutched the receiver and barrel of his rifle as if they were his lifelines. Even though he had just mutilated two innocent beings, he seemed more afraid than I was. His face was pale, and he appeared anxious. His faded blue jeans were stained with blood.
The tacky camo suit and fearful expression on his face made him look freakishly creepy.
A snarl escaped me.
Upon hearing my snarl, he yanked up his rifle and pointed it between my eyes. The smell of urine and renewed fear emanated from him. As his anxiety and trepidation washed over me in waves, I resisted the urge to run past him. One of the most dangerous things about mankind, in my opinion, is when they are cornered and terrified.
As I knelt, my muscles screamed in pain. The hunter cocked his gun in sync with my movements, despite his trembling hands.
I felt my heart sink. This guy wants to kill me, too.
"Dianthe!"
Phoebe's cry rang in my ears as I looked up. An enormous black wolf with glowing green eyes charged at the hunter from the forest. The hunter's rifle flew out of his hands when she collided with him. It landed on the ground with a dull thud. As he stumbled on all fours to the gun, the hunter was filled with panic; a gash in his lip was profusely bleeding as he did so.
Despite her weight, Phoebe was able to reach the rifle before the hunter and kick it further away from him. When Phoebe had knocked the hunter over, a switchblade fell out of his pocket, and in a clear moment of desperation, he grabbed it and began swinging it haphazardly. Luckily, Phoebe dodged every time he swung, always moving a split second faster than him. Then, when she found an opening between swings, she dashed in, snapping at his wrist. As he yelled, he dropped the knife, and I jumped in to immobilize him. As he turned to face me, his blue eyes filled with pain.
Through my fangs, I pinned the hunter to the ground by his arm. With his free hand, he tried to pry open my mouth, but he was unsuccessful. We both knew my strength was superior to his.
As I clamped down on his arm, sinking my teeth as deep as possible, he jammed his knees into my stomach. His free hand elbowed me in the side of my jaw. Though it didn't hurt, I involuntarily winced and let go of him for a moment to lick my lips.
I felt my stomach churn as I swallowed his blood. Before I realized what was happening, I started to gag, as if his blood was acid corroding my throat and stomach. As his blood ravaged my guts, I struggled not to vomit. Why did his blood taste so foul? My gaze swept over Phoebe, wondering if his blood affected her similarly. However, instead of being repulsed, she seemed ravenous, as if his blood was especially tasty to her.
My mind couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong with me. Was he able to poison me somehow? Without me even knowing? What were the chances?
I contemplated this while the hunter attempted to lift me away from him. Under the weight of my body, his arm gave out under the strain, and I fell on top of him, crushing his body beneath my own. His eyes were filled with terror as he huffed and gasped, struggling to breathe under me.
It wasn't until a few seconds passed without him squirming beneath me that I realized he was unconscious.
I let out a short bark that sounded like a laugh as my lips touched his skin and let go. He lay motionless on the forest floor, flat on his back. As opposed to looking like he was attacked by wolves, he looked like he had just fallen asleep.
As I spat the remainder of blood out of my mouth, I thought, "I'll fix that." Despite his blood being the filthiest thing I had ever tasted, I would happily finish this pitiful human off as my ancestors did: by devouring him whole. The thought of eating his flesh made me shudder, but I was determined to end him the old-fashioned way.
I stepped forward; my jaws open wide as I heard a sniffle. Mid-step, I glanced sideways at Phoebe. Her face was tight with anguish. What was wrong with her? Was she hurt? She didn't appear to be injured. Then why--?
It hit me like a ton of bricks.
Peter.
My head spun so fast that I almost broke my neck. Phoebe rushed over to Peter's side and pulled him from the bush, carefully pinching the scruff of his neck with her fangs. Phoebe laid him on his side, his limbs dragging lifelessly across the ground. Peter was in a critical condition, as Phoebe's eyes glowed with sorrow and horror.
"I must get Brynner," Phoebe panted, her breathing heavy from exertion. "He's the one we need. We cannot carry Pete back to the clinic by ourselves."
In this case, she was right. Peter could only be rushed back to the pack's medical clinic by Brynner, her older brother. Brynner was by far the strongest male in the Shorrock Pack, and probably the strongest humanoid living in this part of Colorado. If anyone had the ability to save Peter's life, it would be him.
"Then go!" I barked. "Bring him here!"
She didn't need to hear it twice. Just as Peter's body began shaking, blood spurting from the gaping hole in his throat, Phoebe leapt from his side. I nearly shrieked at the sight of him bleeding. I forced myself to keep still while Phoebe dashed into the forest, running as fast as her short, bulky legs would allow.
I felt a wave of guilt wash over me when she disappeared from my sight. None of this would have occurred if I hadn't asked Peter to lead the hunt with me earlier that evening. I knew it wasn't a wise idea since Peter wasn't born an Alpha. It didn't make him a leader just because he had the title of Alpha. He lacked the spine or the high prey drive I possessed.
I had hoped that if he led a hunt and it turned out well, he would at least gain self-confidence and esteem, and have a chance to show our pack's Elders that he had what it took to become our new Alpha male.
He was almost killed by my selfishness instead.
How was I supposed to know that a hunter would wander around our hunting grounds tonight? I never thought a trespasser would shoot my boyfriend during a casual hunting date. I would not have asked Peter to spend the evening with me if I had known that.
As I turned my attention away from Peter, I stalked toward the unconscious man. In contemplation of what to do with him, I flicked my ears back and forth. It was obvious that I must eat him. It was a classic case of eye for an eye. A life for a life, right?
The hunter suddenly jerked awake and clutched his wounded shoulder, as if he could sense my thoughts or as if someone had dumped ice water on him. A sense of disorientation and pain filled his face. The blood oozing from his shoulder stained his tacky jacket, covering his arm and chest with red paint.
There was no stopping the bleeding - I had made sure of it.
I think he was about my age, maybe eighteen. Natural red hair with a hint of zircon fell in a mess around his face. He was drenched in sweat on his forehead and cheeks. Lean and athletic, he looked like he'd spent his whole life swimming in creeks and rivers or working on a farm. This made sense -- only someone with competent swimming skills could find their way around this mountain. A steep and perilous waterway was the only way to get to this part of the reservation.
Fear covered him, taunting my predator instincts, but beneath it and the strong scent of urine was another scent - the scent of lavender and rosewood. It was a scent of peace. Structure. Comforting. Attractive. The reason I did not notice it before or why it took me so long to notice it is beyond me. It was a scent that, despite never having smelled it before, felt like I'd been around it my whole life.
My steps toward him were menacing. I knew what needed to be done, but something inside me tightened. It felt as if someone had thrown a chain over my torso and pulled it tight. Like his blood, I knew something wasn't right, but I couldn't determine what it was.
In agony, the hunter collapsed onto his elbows as he tried to move away from me. For some reason, I was mesmerized by him, his appearance becoming etched into my memory. His high cheekbones, twisted into pain, became engraved in my mind. Even though he was an adult, his face was soft and heart-shaped, like a baby. Though wounded, his muscles clenched and unclenched, revealing his strength, his desperation, his thirst for life, and his fears. There was no way to explain it, but in that moment, my heart truly believed he was the most beautiful man in the world.
Moreover, I felt compelled to assist him.
Hold on. Wait a minute. What the Hell?
As the ground beneath my paws shifted and crumbled, I came to a new realization: I had imprinted on him.
I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of love and admiration for this pitiful human creature in front of me. There was a sense that it had always been there, just buried in some deep recess of my mind. As a child, my mother described imprinting as amazing, mind-boggling, and life-altering... and she was right.
I had been transformed at that moment. No matter who I was before I met the hunter, none of it mattered. I had no idea what his name was, yet the essence of who I was centered around him.
The horror of what had just happened and the realization of how much I wanted him left me speechless.
A sudden nausea hit me, and I puked. The hunter's eyes widened as I dropped to the ground, shaking my head from side to side. It made me physically sick to realize that I had just imprinted on him, and my heart felt like it would burst. Not from happiness, but from terror.
Why did I do that to myself? I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, and he flinched. Is this a cruel joke? Why would I imprint on someone who just shot my mate?
As I stood up, I told myself that this could not be true. It was impossible for me to have imprinted on a human being, much less this one. Were my feelings merely sympathetic? Because he is a pathetic individual, who could not feel sympathy for him? YouTube is full of people who sympathize with murderers all the time. There are even fanatics out there who write about these bad guys in prison as if they were their lovers. Crazy just like them, right? No way did I imprint on him, huh? My mind must be playing tricks on me.
Let's just eat him before Brynner gets here, I thought.
Standing stiffly, as if shackled by thousand-pound shackles, I strode over to his side and sat down on my haunches. The hunter trembled, his eyes bulging with terror, whether from pain or our proximity. Trying to find the strength suddenly hidden within me to finish what he started, I swallowed hard.
As I leaned forward, mouth wide open, I found myself hesitating. Normally, I wouldn't hesitate, but this was the first time I felt so reluctant. Is it because of the imprint? What should I do now? I have never heard of someone imprinting on a human before.
Traditionally, the pack's Elders have arranged our mating pairs. No one has ever stepped outside the boundaries of their prearranged partnership, and no one has ever gotten tangled up with a human. So how does that change things for me? It doesn't. My mate is Peter.
A rasping breath sucked me out of my thoughts.
"Don't kill me," pleaded the hunter. An enchanting blue with hints of green, his eyes were delicate and captivating. His gaze captivated me. He seemed lost in the desperation that was pushing through his pain.
"I beg you," he whispered.
If I didn't have canine hearing, I would not have heard his strained voice. He spoke to me in an awkward way, as if he thought I couldn't understand him. As if I were a brick wall or a dog. That annoyed me.
I stood up.
"Oh, God," he cried as he raised his arms in the air. He was openly sobbing now, fresh urine soaking into the already wet fabric between his thighs.
My mind was so deeply twisted thanks to the imprint that I knew I could not attack him again. This imprint made sure he was safe with me at least. However, it didn't mean he would be safe when Brynner was found by Phoebe and brought back for Peter.
I had to get him out of here, but how? How can I let him know he needs to leave without revealing my identity? Transforming in front of humans was taboo. Though he imprinted heavily on my behavior and actions, he did not totally cloud my judgment or rob me of my common sense.
That's what I thought, anyway.
Growling low and menacing, I raised my hackles. As he felt his limbs begin to tremble, he recoiled inward on himself, bracing for impact. Snarling, my canines still crimson red from opening his shoulder, I flew at him. My hope was that the memory of that attack would trigger his fight-or-flight response.
To my surprise, he did not react in a scared manner. He was looking at me with sorrowful eyes, a look of despair that told me he had given up. Or at least on me.
As I struggled to stay aggressive, I blinked twice. I knew he had to leave at once or else he would really be murdered.
I snatched his bloody wrist with my fangs. As he jerked back from my grip, he cried out in pain. He snapped his eyes shut as he grimaced, bringing his legs under his belly. While I understood what he was trying to do, I didn't want him to curl up into a fetal position.
I snapped at the pearly white skin on his hip to stop him. Both his features and movements were showing the effects of so much blood loss. To regain his footing, he flinched hard and floundered forward. I let him stand on his own. A part of me wanted him to stay and follow me home. However, I knew it was crazy. Not only was he human, but he was a murderer.
A strange sensation rolled through my limbs and clouded my mind, causing me to whimper. I felt like I needed to grab him, hold him against me, and squish our bodies together. I wished to taste his lips, hold his hand. He had a gorgeous back that I wanted to dig my nails into. I wanted him to be mine. Totally. Indefinitely.
And I wanted him to want me as well.
When I looked over, the hunter was climbing up the gorge. Perhaps his desire to escape was sparked by the distance between us. His pace had increased, plowing through the brambles, hell-bent on getting out of the forest -- hell-bent on getting away from me.
It's okay, I told myself. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know that I'm sentient or that I'm a werewolf. He has no idea that I imprinted on him or that he just shot and injured the Alpha of our generation. That's all a mystery to him.
He turned around just as he reached the top of the hill. He looked frantic (and rightfully so - he just survived an attack by wolves), but his gaze was perturbed, as though he, too, did not want to leave.
The idea that he, too, might have experienced affects from our imprinting was dismissed as soon as I thought of it. Imprinting is exclusive to werewolves, so he could not have felt the same way about me. I couldn't help but feel my heart skip a beat when the corners of his bloody mouth twitched upwards in a rueful smile, and he whispered, "Thank you."
Having watched him disappear deep into the thicket, I guessed he was heading back home, or at least to an emergency room at the local hospital. In addition to wondering if he knew that I had spared his life, I was curious if he had felt any gratitude toward me...
"Diane!"
As my nickname was screamed in the air, the skin under my fur pricked. I had only ever been called that by one person.
Brynner Shorrock emerged from the woods, changing shapes in midair. The brambles behind him heaved as Phoebe emerged, exhausted from her efforts to find him and lead him back here. Brynner dropped to his knees beside Peter and lifted up the injured wolf with his powerful arms.
Phoebe scurried over to me and stared at me quizzically. "Where's he?" she inquired.
"Dead," I lied. "I ate him."
"Diane, where's he really at?"
I didn't even have time to notice that Brynner had closed the distance between us. I changed forms as his hand reached out to grab my scruff. A slender girl with hazel eyes and light-brown hair had replaced the tan she-wolf he was about to manhandle. He narrowed his amber eyes at me, and I glared back at him.
I snapped, "Don't touch me, omega."
The corner of Brynner's mouth twitched as if he was struggling not to retort back with a snappy comment. Thankfully, he didn't say anything else as he was clearly offended. I was relieved because I didn't want to get into a screaming match tonight, especially given how things were right now.
"Get Peter to the hospital," I told him. "Call Carmela immediately."
He understood that getting Peter medical attention was more critical than settling a score with me, so he agreed to comply. His huge arms engulfed Peter as he sprinted into the forest without saying another word.
"Alpha?"
I turned my eyes sideways to look at Phoebe since I didn't want to face her. Plump and chunky, the girl, no longer in wolf form, wrung her hands nervously. Even though her eyes were identical to Brynner's, they weren't as intense or fierce.
"What?" I snapped.
Phoebe hesitated for a second before responding, her pretty sun-kissed features scrawled with confusion. "Why did you save him?" she quietly asked, making a point to smell the air. Based on the lingering scent of the hunter, I knew she knew which direction he had turned. "The lives of humans don't matter to us, Dianthe... he shot Pete."
Phoebe hesitated for a second before responding, her pretty sun-kissed features scrawled with confusion. "Why did you save him?" she quietly asked, making a point to smell the air. Based on the lingering scent of the hunter, I knew she knew which direction he had turned. "The lives of humans don't matter to us, Dianthe... he shot Pete."
When I heard her chastising voice, my eyes burned, and I blinked quickly in an attempt to keep tears from falling. But to no avail. With tears of shame and guilt streaming down my cheeks, I whirled around to face her and cried, "I am sorry, Phoebe! Oh, God! I know!" I clutched my face in my hands and wept, "I don't know what's wrong with me."
I knew, though, and that didn't make it any better. Because I stupidly decided to imprint on him, I spared that worthless human who shot Peter.
Coughing up tears that threatened to drown me, I cried violently. I had done the wrong thing. I had let down Peter. I had disobeyed the pack. I had failed as Alpha. I had failed as a partner. There was no doubt about that. I had fallen short as a friend, too. It hurt so much.
In part, I also felt I couldn't inform Phoebe about the imprinting. This is because I knew she would be devastated, and she would probably tell Brynner, who would tell our pack's Elders. They could not see me fail in their eyes. "I am so sorry, Phoebe, but I didn't know what to do," I cried.
Phoebe was frightened by my sudden outburst, so she sprang forward and grabbed me. Vanilla and sandalwood infused the air around me, masking the smell of drying blood, but they couldn't hide the scent of rosewood the Hunter left behind. I breathed in deeply, feeling comforted. A strange ache ran through my body, a reminder of my brush with treason.
More tears flowed from my eyes. But they weren't tears of guilt this time, but tears of longing.
"Alpha, are you all right?"
Phoebe's tentative question only tightened my trembling muscles. Am I okay? Trying to figure out what she was thinking, I stared into her eyes. She seemed as nervous as I was. I was glad I couldn't see my reflection in her eyes, because I'm sure she thought I was crazy, too.
"Yes," I breathed, trying to believe it as well. "I'm alright."
A doubtful look crossed her face. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," I said, stepping away from her embrace. Phoebe nodded, but her eyes remained skeptical. I didn't want to argue. I was just glad she wasn't like her brother. There was no confrontation, and she didn't step over lines like Brynner did. She knew her place in the pack, just like a true omega would.
I couldn't help but think it was a lucky thing I got the hunter out in time. Brynner would have eaten the boy without a doubt. Brynner was the biggest, heaviest, and probably the strongest wolf in our pack. I did not understand why he was put in an omega position when he was clearly more appropriate for--
"Alpha?"
My thoughts slipped away as I looked up at Phoebe. She gazed at me expectantly, awaiting her next command. Shaking my head, I cleared my mind of all unnecessary thoughts.
I said, "Let's go to the clinic."
Phoebe bowed, her expression somber.
Looking over at the rifle the hunter had left behind, I walked over to it and picked it up. The hunter's scent was wrapped around it like a present and it felt heavy in my hands. It felt strange to hold a weapon that had just shot my boyfriend, so I tossed it back down and turned to Phoebe. "Let's go," I said, raising my chin.
When Phoebe nodded, we morphed into wolves, simulating their appearances. In the direction in which the hunter had left, I glanced back over at my shoulder. I wondered if he had made it out of the forest and back to civilization. His shoulder injury was severe, but I was confident that the doctors at the hospital would be able to salvage the appendage and stitch him up.
"Dianthe, he'll be fine," Phoebe barked. "Brynner's fast. He'll get him to Carmela. He's tougher than we think."
I glanced sideways at Phoebe, confused. She was referring to Peter, not the hunter, I realized. It filled me with shame as I nodded to her. I was ashamed that I had pretended to be comforted by her words when they only caused me more anxiety. I grasped at the notion she was comforting me about my imprint, even though I knew she was talking about Peter.
I lurched forward, leaping into the forest's shadows and running in the direction Brynner had taken Peter. Phoebe followed me, trying to keep up with me, but I didn't mind it. If I were to be fully present for Peter during this critical time, I had to dump all thoughts about the hunter out of my mind.
As the future Alpha female of the Shorrock Pack, it was my duty to do so.