Silver-White (The Great North Woods Pack #1) (15 page)

Within seconds of entering the trail
Evie heard the call of the gray—her grandmother’s warning to the pack. Turning
sharp left, due west, she made for the direction of their assembly, chasing the
scent her grandfather had left. The others would know by the warning all she
had done. The white wolf would be waiting for her, would probably greet her
with snarls of disapproval—or worse.

But in her fury Evie did not care. Her
life had been threatened, and that threat had stirred old memories in her blood.
Those memories triggered her reaction, her most primal defensive instincts. Evie
had never been faint of heart in the face of a challenge. But now she was so much
more than a competitor. She was a Snow, a force to be reckoned with, a wielder
of strength and ferocity well beyond self-defense. She was a hunter—a menace to
all blood enemies; she would be no one’s and no thing’s prey. She would face
boldly the creature that had threatened her, the thought of which made her
spine prickle, her blood hot, and her crest stand straight.

Suddenly a strange scent entered her
head. Slowing to a trot amid the dense woods, she raised her head and took in deeply
of the strange odor. Whatever it was, it was much stronger than the scents of
her pack, stronger than her grandfather’s trail, and very unpleasant.

A rustling of leaves stopped her
abruptly, drawing her full attention. In the dark her sharp eyes caught small
movements. The odor grew stronger, and she soon saw that the creature belonging
to the odor was small and dark, stealthy but for the small strip of white that
gave it up to watchful eyes. “Skunk,” Evie growled in disgust.

The growl seemed to bring on an
immediate increase of that terrible odor. So with the longest leap she was
capable of from a standstill, she sped away before the odor could set in on
her, coughing and sneezing the stench from her head as she ran. Such a small
creature to challenge one so great as she had become, and now the keen-nosed pack
would have yet another offense to growl about upon her uninvited arrival.

Now the woods became smoother running,
the ground soft under a grove of sweet-smelling evergreens. She made good use
of the smooth stretch, closing quickly upon the gathering place. In her head
the skunk stench faded, replaced with the sweetness of pine and balsam and
spruce. Apart from evergreens she scented also patches of sweet ferns growing
in clumps. Instinct slowed her; she dropped her belly to a clump, throwing her
sleek body into a fast roll that crushed the ferns and released their scent
into her fur. Standing again, bathed in sweetness, she made one last dash to
the gathering.

Her ears were pricked alertly now.
Slowing as she neared the pack, her feet fell softly, quietly. Her eyes
surveyed, collecting as much information as a few seconds could provide. And deep
inside of the wolf, her human mind braced for whatever scolding awaited her.

Ahead there were many sounds and many
scents—so many that they began to confuse her newly acquired senses. Slowing to
a creep, she sniffed deeply of the air, trying to distinguish the strange scent
of cat from that of the wolves she recognized. The sounds were of many voices,
angry and argumentative, lashing back and forth in fast, choppy bursts. For the
first time since her prison break, Evie began to doubt her decision. This was
not a good place to be. But the wolf refused to turn away.

“See now,” said the clear voice of the
Alpha, “what you came for. Your color is not given to stealth but boldness.
Stand among us, she-wolf.”

Most of the other voices had quieted,
and Evie stepped cautiously forward into the area cleared by the crushing of
many strong bodies. Over a dozen wolves stood in a loose circle, stamping and
swaying with growls rumbling from their bellies. Others hung back, their eyes
shining from the shadows. Though it was her first sighting of such an event, Evie
knew instinctually that this circle was the primitive boxing ring of the wild,
where grudges were settled, and fates were met. For certain she understood now,
it was not a good place in the least. Nerves set her to shaking.

“Skunk,” complained several voices as
Evie entered the circle. “Young. Unwise.”

Evie gave no response. Her focus was on
her leader and his voice.

“Look,” the white wolf said deeply over
all other growls and grumbles, “See what would spy and sneak, claw and kill for
the color of your coat.”

Looking around her as she crept up
beside the white wolf, Evie noticed first that two wolves among the circle were
bleeding. One was gray and exceptionally muscled, and bleeding badly—Matthew.
The other was also gray, but with a touch of buff color fading to a whiter
belly—Uncle Earl, wounded less seriously. She could smell their blood. As her
eyes moved away from them, a whine of concern escaped her throat. The cat scent
came clearly into her nose—their plain scent as well as that of their spilled
blood, just as her eyes fell upon their two bodies at the circle’s center. The
connection was made. From that moment on, their scent she would never confuse,
never forget, as long as her heart still beat.

Crouched defensively, two cats lay with
long tails flicking, hissing and growling in all directions. Their eyes were
larger than wolf eyes, round and yellow. Their bodies were long and sleek, and their
heads had the look and proportion of cougars. Both of their tawny coats were
stained with blood. One was severely injured in several places, and his sides
heaved from pain and difficult breath. No remaining fight could Evie see in
him; only fear compelled his nasty hissing.

“Keep your word, White,” the less
injured cat hissed to the white wolf. “Release us.”

“My word stands,” the white wolf
snarled. “I delayed for the silver-white.”

“To see, not to kill,” hissed the cat.

“You have seen,” answered the white
wolf. “And she has seen also. Leave now. Leave fast. Return only for your
death, the scattering of your hides and the crushing of your bones. Go!” he
finished with a growl that was nearer to a roar.

The two cats stood together, the
severely injured one with great difficulty. Facing south they slunk with low
heads for an opening in the wolf circle, leaving the ground where they had rested
dark with their blood. Following his injured companion, the defiant of the two
turned his head and made one parting hiss, his yellow eyes flashing intently on
the young silver-white at the leader’s side. It was a snide parting shot—one
that proved effective.

From across the circle Evie felt his
hatred pierce her sharply, both hot and cold at once. Curiosity instantly left
her, as did all caution. She had been challenged. The wild pull to answer his
threat with deadly fangs far outweighed any thought of danger, and in a fit of instant
rage she flew across the clearing to meet him. The cat lowered as she flew,
awaiting the chance to slash its razor-edged claws along her soft belly,
digging for the vital organs—the prime defense of the cougar.

As she sprang, the white wolf checked
Evie’s hip with his strong shoulder, redirecting the angle of her flight. As
she came down in a half spin, awaiting the feel of solid ground against her
feet, in the same instant a wolf from the far side of the circle leapt forward,
meeting her with a powerful shoulder that sent her whirling mid-air. In
confusion she fell and landed facing the same spot she’d leapt from. The close
snarl of the white wolf held her to the ground with quivering legs.

Eli had watched Evie’s eyes when the cat
turned to her, and he had seen her intent even before she sprang. From the far
side of the circle he had met her at a slight angle, put her down hard and then
spun to face the crouching cat as other wolves closed at his sides and formed a
wall. “Go!” Eli growled in a tone that said clearly,
I would kill you gladly if not for my leader’s decree of mercy.

The cat made no response. As defiant as
he had been, he seemed to recognize death when it drew near. The line had been
drawn; he had come dangerously close to crossing it. A single scratch on the
young silver-white would have resulted in many jaws shredding him to pieces
even as his heart still beat. The old White would not stop them then. So lowering
his head, the defeated cat slunk off without another sound, joining his bloodied
companion for the long and painful trek home.

Behind this confrontation, in the
clearing at the wolf circle’s center, the young silver-white had her belly to
the ground, cowering under her grandfather’s bared fangs. Instinct told her
that if someone other than herself had openly defied him—had attacked the cat
against his orders—they would be bleeding now just as the cats bled. The white
wolf’s muzzle was dark with fresh blood; the rumbling from within him was no
show, it was harnessed death screaming to break free of his firm control.

“Unwise,” he growled. “Three times
defiant this day. Test me no more.”

An outbreak of whistling whines gushed
from Evie’s nose and throat. All of her aggression had vanished. Her apology
could be no more heartfelt; her shame before the watching pack, no greater.

“Stand,” ordered the white wolf. “Look
on these guards with sorrow and thanks.”

Evie arose slowly on her shaking legs.
Her head felt heavy, her tail was tucked tight; the sharp eyes of the pack
pierced her heart as blades. Some eyes were red-brown and dark gold, others
faintly green or steely blue. All she could manage under their gaze was to
whimper her lament with her own eyes kept low.

“Two have bled for the love of all,”
said the white wolf. “For the honor of name and lands they confronted. At the
mention of your coat, one met alone the slashing of claws.”

“I’m sorry, Matthew,” Evie cried. “I’m
sorry
all
.” And as fast as her
nervous legs could carry her, she bolted from that awful place; no wolf blocked
her. Making east for the worn trail, she set her will to that familiar path that
would lead her north, to the solace of an open sky, with stars reflecting
warmly upon Moon Rock.

At her favorite place in the world Evie
stopped, lifted her head to the sky, and wailed her sorrow to the moon and
stars. No wolf would answer her, she knew. None would join her and sing along
as they had the night before, which she now recalled, as the wolf, with clear,
cruel anguish. Not once during her cry did she stop to listen.

For half of an hour Evie lay curled on
the smooth stone, her fluffy tail folded around her as her only comfort. She was
hungry and lonely, but most of all she was deeply ashamed.
Though she
missed the others and wished to be with them—even the company of one would be a
joy—her shame was too fresh, too raw to allow her to seek them out. Their
disapproval was too awful to face.

Her heart ached far more than it ever
had in her human form. The wolf was a bold and strong addition to her own
personality, but its heart pumped blood laced with memory and tradition far
beyond that of the human’s. On the opposite end of her potential fury there
throbbed a loving gentleness, more sensitive and volatile than that of the most
unstable of humans. Her wolf heart would not let her mind forget her wrongs;
survival under harsh conditions deemed this a critical necessity for the wild
animal.

In bitter time she sensed wolves
approaching. She scented them before she could hear them. Sitting up alertly
when they were near, she watched the dark tree line below, making no movements
as she saw five figures emerge from the trail. All remained below but the Alpha,
who trotted calmly up the hill. As he approached Evie began crying her repeated
apologies, holding herself low to the cool stone with a tucked and flicking
tail.

“Calm, calm,” he said drawing near. “All
is well. None hold hard feelings but you. Matthew heals as we speak.”

“Okay? He’s okay?”

“He will be soon, with a new respect for
claws. Stand tall, sweet one; your sorrows pierce my own heart. Punish yourself
no more.”

In one beat Evie’s heavy heart was
flooded with new life. She sprang up straight and promptly bowed with her
forelegs out, her tail whipping behind her. Then she stood straight again and nuzzled
her head along the white wolf’s scruff and shoulder. In her whines there was still
a hint of remorse, but more so she expressed great love and gladness—the human
equivalent of mixing tears with laughter.

“Too much, too soon,” said the white
wolf through a very low sound. “Many young wolves, even I, have done far worse.
Forget your trouble, my dear. These cousins and friends admire your great
spirit and now desire your company.”

“Really, really, really?” she panted.
She was shaking all over.

“Really,” said the white wolf. “Go now. Show
them your true speed. Set sadness to the wind. Love life; the night is yours.”

In human terms Evie’s response would
have been something like, “
Yay, yay!
”
In the wild, old language she whimpered and grumbled her glee, nuzzling the
white wolf in a fit of excitement. “And you?” she asked. “And you?”

“Other matters call me,” said the white
wolf calmly. “Soon we will run together again, but not tonight. Run along; your
company waits eagerly.”

Evie rubbed the white wolf once more and
then skipped down the hill to the four wolves waiting with whirling tails and
excited, open-mouthed faces. She met them at the tree line in a happy ruckus.