Legend of the White Wolf (21 page)

   Everything seemed to freeze in time. The dogs and wolves quit growling and barking, their mouths snapped closed, their attention diverted to something behind her. The one ready to leap on her, straightened, his ears perked, his gaze focused to her left.

   She didn't have time to turn to see what was coming, when a huge wolf sailed past her shoulder, nearly hitting her. She jerked away from the great white beast and rolled over the mound of snow.

   The new wolf, bigger than any of them, pounced half on the wolf's shoulder, his hind feet landing firmly on the ground. He knocked the other down. The pinned wolf tried frantically to get to his pads, before the newcomer seized his throat.

   Not wanting to see any of the animals fighting or injuring each other, she feared the outcome should either win.

   The other wolves and the huskies all observed the pair as if the newcomer was attempting to become the pack leader of a mixed bunch of wolves and huskies, and they wanted to see who came out on top.

   Faith scrambled to her feet and shoved her gloved hands into the piles of snow until she located the gun. She shook the snow off her gloves and aimed the weapon at the fighting wolves. Their incisors bared, snarling, lunging, and biting, the ferocious sound chilled her blood.

   Patches of blood covered both wolves' fur and stained the snow in places.

   Desperately, she wanted them to give up fighting and run off. But the two continued to circle each other. Then the biggest wolf attacked the other, tore his ear. When the wolf yelped and jumped back, the biggest one went for his throat like an animal possessed by the devil. The newcomer seized the other's throat and the wolf went down.

   The victor's head swiveled around to look at her. Immediately, she raised the gun and pointed it at him. But she couldn't pull the trigger. If they were all Kintail's wolves—which she believed to be so—why did the biggest one kill one of the others?

   For an instant, the animals were silent. Then the other three wolves began to growl low. So, they didn't accept the newcomer as the pack leader. But at the same time, the dogs began to bark at the wolves, growling and lunging. The big wolf's chest heaved for a few minutes while he stood still, turning his attention toward the rest of the animals.

   Although he had helped her and the dogs, she worried he still might turn on them.

   The dogs pounced on one of the wolves, while the other two wolves shied back, then ran off. They'd tell Kintail. That's what she figured. They'd alert him to where they were, leading them back here like blood hounds on a prey's trail. Then she and Cameron would be in bigger trouble.

   Bleeding at the shoulder, the big wolf crouched low, targeting the last of the aggressors. The beast continued to show his aggression, his ears straight up, his tail stiff behind him, snarling at the dogs. The huskies ran at him, snapping their jaws. He lunged in retaliation. They darted out of his path.

   The victor wolf growled threateningly low. The sound made the hair on the nape of Faith's neck stand at attention, even under her parka hood.

   The final aggressor had been fierce and full of bravado when facing the dogs, but she swore he looked like he was about to die now. His tail suddenly lowered, his ears flattening as he turned to face the real threat—their wolf savior.

   The big wolf crouched. His tail was slightly raised, the tip twitching to one side, his ears and fur erect. As soon as he made his move, he would kill the other. The smaller one had to be a male also, aggressive and single-minded in his urge to fight. Because of his size, the larger wolf had to win.

   Without further warning, the victor lunged. The two slammed into each other. Their front legs lifted off the ground, their teeth clanking as they bit each other's mouths. They landed on their pads, but the victor didn't hesitate to attack again. He grabbed the aggressor's throat and killed him. The animal dropped to the ground with a thud.

   Everything was whisper soft with the breeze blowing against the tent, and the animals now standing silent. The victor quietly watched Faith. He stood still, panting, his white muzzle tinged with blood, his eyes amber, the wildness in them softening. Her heart was beating hard and she felt panicked, unsure what to do, but she didn't want to kill him. Not after he'd saved them from two of the wolves. And not while he didn't act threatening toward the huskies or her.

   For a minute, no one made a move. Then the dogs barked in excitement. Jumping at each other, they licked him in the face in greeting. He continued to watch Faith's reaction, his tail now pointed down. She barely breathed and wanted to get the huskies away from him before their overexuberant attentions irritated him, and he attacked them. The dogs treated him as if he was a war hero and they were cheering the wounded veteran. He didn't seem bothered by them, but eerily kept his attention on her.

   But then a husky nuzzled its face against the wolf's ear. Recognizing the husky, Faith's mouth dropped open. "Nikki?"

   
Nikki.
What had happened to Charles and the rest of the team? And Cameron? Faith's gaze searched for any signs of him and saw Cameron's parka and the rest of his clothes piled up on top of the sled.

   "What the…?"

   The wolf lifted his nose and sniffed the air, then turned his head south. With the dogs still yipping, he tore off. Nikki followed him, along with two of the other dogs.

   Dashing to the others to grab their collars and make them stay with her, Faith hollered at the rest to come back. But the wolf's influence overrode hers and the dogs ran with him until they disappeared from sight. She prayed they'd come back and that Charles and his team were all right. That the wolf wasn't leading the dogs into an ambush like the one did in one of Jack London's wolf tales.

   But what of Cameron? She had to locate his tracks in the snow. Something surely had gone wrong with Charles and his team, too. She glanced at the dead wolves, their blood coloring the snow red. What if the blood attracted predators? She shoved her outer gloves back on and hurried to the sled to search for a shovel.

   In the distance, an eerie howl sounded.

After he killed the first of the wolves, Cameron reluctantly concluded he wasn't living a dream or a nightmare. The taste of blood and fur was too real. The smell of dogs and wolves. The way he recognized their fear, anger, and jubilation in every action—the raised tails and the drooped ones, the ears forward, or back, or flattened, the narrowed eyes, or widened. Every action signaled a defensive, or aggressive, or excited posture. The way he understood their barks, growls, and yips. The feel of the cold breeze whipping across his face and the burning in his shoulder from the new wolf bite. The iron smell of blood—of his and the ones he'd killed. All were very real and too unreal to ponder more closely.

   Still in shock over the whole changing-into-a-beast scenario—had to have been twice now—he couldn't figure out what the hell had happened to him. Except it probably had something to do with Charles's comments about magical wolves coming down from the aurora borealis. But he didn't want to think about his bizarre situation beyond that for now. All he knew was he had to locate Charles pronto, make sure he was safe, and find out more concerning the magical wolves.

   He was a white Arctic wolf, just like the one that had bitten him, and the ones he'd killed.

   But right now, more than anything, Cameron hoped the older man was all right and the dogs were, too.

   Nikki ran with Cameron, then turned west. He followed her along with the other dogs and heard Charles's team barking in the distance again. The sound was in greeting, not warning of danger. Which gave him a small sense of relief.

   Then it occurred to him that the other two wolves had taken off before he could kill them—the one howling their whereabouts. What if they circled back around to the camp and Faith? Hell, if only he could be in two places at once. He had to hurry, not wanting to leave Faith on her own for long.

   When he neared the camp, his original husky team raced to greet him, but there was no sign of Charles, just his sled, tent, and the bed of straw he'd made for his dogs. Cameron loped toward the erected tent, the door flap blowing in the wind. He poked his head inside and saw Charles lying in his sleeping bag, deathly quiet. After walking inside, Cameron nuzzled Charles's face with his nose and pawed at his chest, but Charles didn't wake. Cameron concentrated on the man's breathing, his heartbeat. And he smelled blood. But Charles was alive, thank god. Although he needed help and Cameron couldn't give it to him—not like this.

   Then a blood-curdling scream shrieked across the snowy woods from the direction of Cameron's campsite. The dogs began barking. His heart thundering, Cameron raced out of the tent. Faith. Kintail's other wolves. Or maybe Kintail and his men had arrived.

   Hell, what next? He had to take care of Faith, and then Charles, but how could he take care of anyone while he was in the form of a magical wolf?

   Cursing his situation, he tore off across the snow again, heading straight back to Faith. A couple of the dogs had followed him from the other team, and so did his own, making him truly feel like the alpha leader of the pack.

   When he finally reached the campsite, Faith was gone. Or maybe she was hiding inside the tent. There was no sign of anyone else, and he realized then—there had been no sounds of snowmobiles approaching the area. Then the wolves had to have returned.

   The dogs that had remained behind greeted him and their teammates. It wasn't until he got around them to head for the tent when he saw what probably had shaken Faith.

   Kintail's men lay naked in the snow where Cameron had killed the two wolves. He stared in disbelief. That could have been him, if they'd gotten the best of him instead. Shaking loose of his surprise that they had the same affliction he had, Cameron rushed over to the sled, wishing he could turn back into his human form and dress and see to Faith. They had to get the team together and take care of Charles.

   Cameron closed his eyes and concentrated.
I want to
be human again.

   He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Hating not being in control, he growled low. He nudged at his clothes with his long wolf's snout, pawed at them, wanting to put his things back on, to be himself. But still, he didn't change.

   Without another plan, he loped toward the tent, hoping Faith was all right inside. But when he pushed the flap aside, he found the tent empty.
Hell.
Trying not to panic, he attempted to smell where she'd run off to. Or
had
someone managed to take her?

   He found no signs of any tracks other than wolf prints, and the impression in the snow made by her small boots. He raced after her, hating not being able to holler her name.

   When he found her, if he found her, what then? She'd think he was the same kind of wolf that he'd killed, most likely. Some type of alien aberration.

   The sound of footfalls followed him, and he whipped his head around to see all the dogs chasing after him. His breath frosty in the breeze, he paused and sniffed again. Straight ahead. He bolted in that direction, his tail straight out. The tracks indicated she'd stumbled and fallen several times, running at first, then slowing her pace as if the need for flight had dissipated.

   When he finally saw her not very far from camp, she was sitting in a pile of snow, her white parka and clothes nearly blending in. She looked back, her eyes widening when she saw him with the teams. The dogs raced to greet her, and Cameron moved in close with them, hoping she wouldn't shoot him, or wouldn't attempt to with the other dogs surrounding him.

   Tears sparkled in her eyes and streaks of tears trailed down her cheeks. But the dogs were so enthusiastically licking her and poking her to go with them, their actions stirred her from where she sat. He wanted so badly to take her into his arms and hold her tight. Damn what he'd become.

   Warily, she watched Cameron, then patted some of the dogs and rose to her feet. She didn't pull the gun on him,
yet,
but she kept her eyes on him as she headed toward him in the direction of the camp.
Good.
Maybe he could nudge her into hitching up the team and joining Charles until Cameron could figure a way of changing back.
If
he could. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to die first. Damn, what if Kintail somehow changed people through these attack wolves and then once they changed, there was no turning back?

   No, Cameron had done it before. Damn, then that meant that he really had seen Chris and his friends in the tent that one night. Oh hell, if they hadn't seen Bigfoot, had they seen someone like he was now?

   When Faith neared him, she made a wider circle around him as the dogs escorted her back, some racing ahead, some running by her side. Cameron inched in closer and nudged her gloved hand with his nose in greeting. She looked like she was about to run.

   
Don't run, Faith.
He'd take chase. He could already feel the urge rising in his blood. He didn't want to scare her, but the instinct was too great.

   She was already walking as fast as she could, trying to get away from him. He stayed close.
Don't run, Faith.

   But as soon as she got near enough to camp, she dashed for the tent.

   Had she left the gun in the tent?

   Hell, maybe. His shoulder already hurt like the devil, and he didn't need her shooting him, too. Beyond that, he had to convince her to take care of Charles, who could be dying for all Cameron knew.