4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

F ury

"It's a bitch out there," Captain Marks says as the rotors come to a stop. "The sun's coming up. We might catch a break. Perhaps the high winds we hit when we were in the air will calm down."

Now that the blades aren't making such a racket, we all take off our headphones as he finishes his speech. He breaks the eight of us into pairs, putting me with the red-haired guy. If I was a rule-following type of male, pairing me with him would ensure I wouldn't find the woman, Natalie Marsh. Lucky for her, I only follow commands from a wolven pack alpha… and there are none of those here.

"One of Natalie's colleagues brought us some of her belongings," Marks says as he puts them under the dogs' noses.

The dogs are whining now, desperate to follow the scent, but I'll beat them to the woman. Unlike them, I won't be burdened with dragging a human along with me.

I file out of the helicopter last, after picking up Natalie's pale pink sleep shirt that was left on the floor. With it still at my nose, I make certain every single human sees me inhaling a huge gust of her scent. If they hadn't thought I was more animal than human before they caught sight of my little demo, they sure do now .

"Uh, hey man, Jim Scott." It's the red-haired man. It's not his fault he's human. What he said about me to the others wasn't disrespectful. He's probably a nice guy. "Give me a moment to pull on my pack and we'll head out."

"Sorry you drew the short straw and got paired with me, but don't worry. You can go with one of the other groups." With that, I toss the sleep shirt to the dogs and, without a backward glance, I lope off in the direction of the scent.

Marks barks an order for me to come back, his anxiety clear as his tone rises, but I don't pause. I have the two-way radio they equipped me with, my cell, and extra gear in my pack. I'll be fine. If I find the woman, I'll call for extraction. In terms of safety, other than a black bear, I'm the apex predator on this mountain.

The sun just cleared the horizon. I thought I was too jaded to give a shit about much of anything, but being in the forest, amid trees whose scent reminds me of An'Wa, awakens something inside me I long thought was dead.

My feet haven't touched snow in decades. Now I remember the sound of the crunch and the feel of cool air in my nostrils back on my homeworld. I'm bombarded with images I thought I'd packed away long ago. My parents, who are probably still mourning my loss all these years later. My pack, my friends. My female friend, M'trisse. We weren't soulbound mates, weren't fated to be together for the long haul. Still, she was my first. I think of her fondly.

If my mission wasn't so urgent, I'd scoop up a handful of snow and lick it, diving even deeper into my memories of home. Earth has never been home to me, even now that I've been here longer than I was ever on An'Wa.

I yank my thoughts back to the present. The trees near where Natalie's signal was last picked up were too dense to land the helicopter. We're miles from where she might be. After this much time, she could be injured… or dead.

I follow her scent. It's as clear to me as if I'm following a neon trail .

There are over five thousand souls in the Zone, and I know almost everyone incarcerated in that prison. It's not a prison, really. It was the worst ghetto in L.A. The government claimed eminent domain over it, fenced the ten-square blocks with barbed wire, and threw us into it.

I run the perimeter twice every morning and every night. That's how I met all the wolven, minotaurs, orcs, and others over the last few decades. I calculated that one lap is a little over a mile, so that's five miles a day, every day. Often, when I'm more pissed than usual, I do an extra lap or two. I may be the oldest wolven on the Wolven Warriors security team, but I could still run all day and never tire.

One of the files they sent me contained a picture of Natalie Marsh. I imagine her hurt and bleeding. Even though she's a human, I run faster, filled with a renewed need to save her from harm.

I focus on that feeling of urgency and feel the shift. The ability to shift our physical nature is a gift the Goddess gave wolvens. Strong emotions will trigger the shift. My muscles get bigger and stronger, my fangs and claws get longer, and all my senses become enhanced. The stretchy clothing I'm wearing barely accommodates my increased muscle mass. I run faster, her scent even stronger.

I slow my pace as I near the ravine where Natalie's scent grows stronger. The closer I get, the more her scent is tinged with the coppery tang of blood. Fuck. I hope she's not dead.

I reach the edge and peer over, scanning the steep, rocky slope below. There, about thirty feet down, I spot a crumpled form in a blue jacket. Natalie. And she's not moving.

My heart clenches unexpectedly. I'm not used to feeling concern for humans, but something about seeing her broken body makes me feel almost… protective. I shake my head. Focus, Fury.

Carefully, I pick my way down the treacherous incline, loose rocks skittering beneath my boots. When I reach her, I crouch, examining her still form. Though I can hear her heart beating, it's weak. Her breaths are shallow and rapid. She's hypothermic and likely going into shock.

She's got a nasty gash on her forehead that's oozing blood, and her left foot is bent at an unnatural angle. Possibly broken, though perhaps it's just sprained.

Relief washes over me. At least she's alive.

"Natalie? Can you hear me?" I keep my voice low, not wanting to startle her awake. Opening her eyes to a wolven will be enough of a shock.

No response. I need to get her out of here and to medical attention, ASAP.

Tearing off my pack, I grab the two-way radio and try to contact the team. I thought I'd feel elated getting to Natalie first. That it would feel like a "win," perhaps the first win against humans in my life. Instead, I'm filled with compassion and just want to get her to a medical team that can attend to her.

I hail the team but get nothing but static. Shit! Immediately, I pull her pack off and rifle through it to find her radio. It was her means of communicating with her team. It's how they knew she'd gone radio silent.

After trying to hail them half a dozen times, I toss both radios into my pack and shrug it on. I can't stand here in the softly falling snow waiting for humans to find us. Natalie needs to get to shelter immediately.

Her scent is powerful because she's so close. Besides, the coppery tang of her blood overpowers almost every other smell in the forest. It takes me only a moment of concentration with my enhanced sense of smell to find a faint echo of her scent. That must be her home base, her cabin. It's on the other side of the ravine.

Carefully, I slide my arms under her limp body, cradling her against my chest as I stand. She feels so small and fragile in my grasp. For a moment, I'm struck by how different she is from the wolven females I'm used to—they're all lean muscle and coiled strength. Natalie is soft and delicate, like a bird with a broken wing.

Clutching her securely in my arms, I descend to the floor of the chasm. Between the snow and the slippery leaves beneath, even with my excellent balance, it's dangerous. After skidding a few times, I go with it and slide the rest of the way, almost as though I was riding a surfboard down the incline.

Shifting Natalie's weight in my arms, I scramble up the other side of the ravine, my boots finding purchase on exposed roots and rocky outcroppings. The ascent is treacherous, especially with the added burden, but I'm not about to let her fall. Not when I've come this far to save her.

As I climb, I chance a glance at Natalie's face. Even with the gash on her forehead and the sickly pallor to her skin, I can't help but notice she's beautiful in a delicate, human way. Her features are fine and feminine, so different from the rugged wolven females I'm accustomed to.

I shake my head, dispelling the thought. I have no interest in humankind, male or female. My only concern is getting her to safety.

After what feels like an eternity, I crest the top of the ravine. Natalie's scent trail leads off through the trees, stronger now. I follow it like a lifeline, running faster than ever, weaving between the pines as the wind picks up, driving icy flakes against my face.

Finally, I spot a small log cabin nestled in a clearing. It's rustic but well-maintained, with a sturdy metal roof and a little porch that spans the width of the entrance. This must be Natalie's base camp.

I shoulder open the door and step inside, immediately assessing the interior. It's a single room with a door in the back that must lead to a bathroom. The main area is sparsely furnished but cozy.

A stone fireplace dominates one wall, embers still glowing faintly in the grate. A neatly made bed occupies the far corner, piled high with colorful quilts. The front wall is taken up by a small kitchen—just a propane camp stove, a few cabinets, and an old-fashioned icebox. No electricity, from the looks of it.

As I lay Natalie gently on the bed, I note how her filthy, wet clothes are soaked through. She's likely to get sick if I don't get her warm and dry. I take a moment to close my eyes, breathe deeply, and focus on shifting back to normal. The shift is completed in seconds. Efficiently, I strip off her sodden outer layers until she's down to her undergarments.

I haven't considered myself a good male since those human scientists fucked with me shortly after I arrived on Earth. I've carried my bitterness like a shield. Well, more like a sword. A good male would avert his gaze and settle her on the clean white sheets. Instead, like the asshole I am, I allow my gaze to take her in, all while telling myself I'm impartially examining her to make sure she doesn't have any other injuries.

One glance tells me she's not bleeding anywhere. A second glance tells me she's curvier than wolven females and fills out her pink bra and panties quite nicely. A third glance reminds me I'm a fucker of the highest order, so I whip the covers over her and stoke the fire.

As I work, I can't help but take in more details of her space. Books line the mantel—field guides on the local flora and fauna. There's a small bookcase crammed with novels. Not only is it full, but there's a stack of books leaning against it almost as high as the bookcase itself.

A sturdy pair of binoculars hangs from a hook near the door beside a faded topographic map of the area that's tacked to the wall. Tidy stacks of research notes cover the small table, accompanied by a chipped mug half-filled with cold tea.

Her space paints a picture of a solitary, studious woman deeply dedicated to her work. Someone who finds more kinship with the creatures of the forest than with other humans. In a strange way, I can relate .

Within minutes, I have a crackling blaze going, chasing the chill from the room. I fill a kettle with fresh snow from outside and set it on a hook in the hearth to warm for tea.

As I'm rummaging through the cabinets for a tea tin, I hear a soft moan from the bed. Turning, I see Natalie stirring faintly, her brow furrowed. Moving to her side, I watch as her eyelids flutter open, unfocused at first, then widening in confusion and fear as they settle on my face.

"Sorry." Her voice is soft as her lids ease shut.

What an odd thing to say.

I imagine she opened her eyes and, with her head injury, thought she was dreaming. I'll try to rouse her again.

"Natalie." My voice is low, designed to soothe and calm. It reminds me of a part of myself I haven't encountered in a long time. "You're safe."

"Who—" Her voice cracks. She tries to sit up, then falls back with a gasp, her hand flying to her temple. "What happened?"

I raise my hands in what I hope is a calming gesture, internally cursing this turn of events. The last thing I need is a panicked human on my hands, especially when we're miles from help.

"You're safe," I say, keeping my voice level. "I'm here to help. You had an accident, but you're going to be alright."

She stares at me for a long moment, her green eyes clouded with pain and mistrust. I can practically see the gears turning in her head as she takes in my appearance—my long hair shot with gray, the wolven ears, the elongated canines just visible between my lips.

"You're… you're an Other," she whispers, a tremor in her voice. "A wolven."

I nod slowly, bracing for her reaction. Will she scream? Try to flee on her injured leg ?

I wasn't ready for her next response, which is to act calmly, as though there's nothing unusual about having a wolven at her bedside.