Bound to the Billionaire

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Taboo

 Wolves slipped like shadows from the darkness, and a snarl curled from my (kinda floppy) lips. They all looked like creatures of the dark, glowing eyes, but when I squinted my eyes, I could see the colors a little more clearly; an assortment, a real grab-bag of types. Gray, sables, reds, there must've at least been a dozen. Though I assumed they had to be sent from their pack. just a small search party, they outnumbered my whole pack. And they would destroy them, if given the chance. My group of slackers who could hardly hold their head up or scrub a range-top. Let alone take on another wolf? Or a group of wolves?

They snatched their teeth, shoulders lowered and jaws agape. Tails like a flagstaff, straight in the air. All their body language pointed to one outcome: they were going to shred me. Even my wolf knew that. Big as he--I-- was, taller than most of the wolves in the forest, I couldn't do it. It wasn't like the movies; they didn't come for you one at a time. They slowly circled, waiting to assure their prey couldn't escape. Then, all at once, they would pounce. Two or three would pin me and then the rest would rip me a a part. I didn't stand a chance.

This left two options:

1) Surrender. Leave myself to their mercy, flop on my back and beg. But, obviously, this left me completely defenseless. What would they do with me after, if they let me live? And if they let me live was a pretty good question. 

Plus, it wasn't my style. I happened to like choosing who I surrendered too, as I'm sure you're aware of. 

2) Run. 

But something itched in me. There was something, else. That had to be another option. I felt like I was staring down the barrel of a gun as the wolves created a tighter circle. 

Gun.

It wasn't my voice, it was startlingly deep, a voice I wasn't very familiar with yet. A voice that sent chills down my spine even with death looking me in the face. But I knew what he was trying to communicate; I didn't want to fight him, didn't even want to hesitate in taking his advice. I saw the .357 Magnum in Nico's hand, thought of my dad. 

I lowered my back, sized up a hole in the closing circle, and drew in the deepest breath I could take. I knew what to look for; a scent of home. And then, closed my eyes for a second, seized a breath, and---

NOW!

I couldn't tell if it was me or him, the voices blended so harmoniously in my head. His growl, the urgency whirling in my brain. I sprung, just as a chorus of growls and snarls rang out. Teeth sunk into my haunch, and I still felt shitty and cold and achy from earlier. So all and all, not the best time.

We screamed the most cutting howl I've ever given. For the first time I felt connected to him, like I could understand, like I could trust; he wanted us to both be okay. He wanted to preserve us; I was the guy who jumped in strange men's cars, played '5-finger-fillet' with freshly sharpened butcher knives, and refused the protection of my powerful, Moon-Goddess-approved mate. So maybe he had a right to be pissed with me. 

Maybe.

I kicked so hard with my oversized legs that the wolf squealed. The earth beneath me shook with a hard 'thud!' Sent me sliding, roots ripping up my toes. From then, I was flying. My paws hardly touched the ground as I trmpled through the undergrowth. Here, it was nasty; the thickest of brambles grew in every direction, there were no pre-cut paths so my feet sunk into the undergrowth and mud caked his paw pads. Thorns pierced the soft skin, and I ran so desperately, so ungracefully that I crashed into trees. Bark peels caught in my skin, shredding my sides. We hugged them.. Let the trees shred me into ribbons, the sting of it keeping me steady. They wouldn't follow me so closely. They weren't as willing to get hurt. 

Another thing we had in common: We didn't mind a little pain. 

I--he-- took a big whiff of air. It was dizzying, the number of scents all around us. The trees, the bunnies sleeping soundly underneath our paws, the far-away scents of grease and engine exhaust. My heart ached and with each stride, my breath quivered. The mass of wolves closing in would've sent the human me into a panic, but my wolf was focused. Eyes narrowing, the darkness silky and comforting to him. Even running, I could feel his focus. He had a scent, and he followed it like a train on a monorail. A familiar, far away scent. 

The Packhouse.

I never thought I'd be desperate to return to the packhouse, but here I was. The trees thinned out, my paws aching from the shards of ice that had dug into the pads and between my toes. Through the undergrowth, down onto the pavement, past the big neighborhood lamp-posts, and then, through the gate toward the big red house. 

I knew the door would be unlocked because of my pack-mate jack asses, so I barreled through the door. Didn't stop, not even for a moment, at the flash of color and the impact of the hardwood against my shoulders. They were howling, all of the wolves. They thought they had cornered me. That I would make it up the swooping spiral stairs and cower in my old bedroom, waiting to be ripped to ribbons by their raging teeth and angry claws. 

But no. 

It was hard to find purchase on my freshly-polished floors, floors that only a couple of weeks ago I'd cleaned on my hands and knees to keep the sticky spilled vodka from seeping in and ruining them. You can guess if the stain was from my party or not (and I can assure its the obvious answer.)

I peeled past white paneled walls lined with framed pictures. My dad, tall and proud, beaming down at the bundle screaming in his eyes. His old beta, Castor, in the next one, holding a mallard by the neck, his beagle caught mid-howl at his side. I could feel their ghosts. I could feel their eyes burning holes into my scruffy, bloodied pelt. But this would have to be done. 

I was about to kill a werewolf.