Page 57 of Mongrel
I chuckle. “That’s where you’re wrong. Sweets should be the meal more often. Why eat potatoes when one could eat cake?” A memory stirs. “Better yet, potato cake.”
Bowie unbuttons his coat and sits on a patch of wild grasses. “Is there such a thing?”
I join him, nodding and chewing. Moons, candied figs are delicious. “Of course. Potatoes, sugar, and butter are all you need.”
His nose scrunches. “That doesn’t sound very good.”
“Well, it’s not bloody.”
“I do remember food, you know. From before. And it still doesn’t sound very good.”
Grinning, I polish off another handful of figs. “Suit yourself.”
He rests a hand on my thigh as I eat, and we stare out over the horizon. It’s quiet up here, with no breeze to speak of. Most of the animals are farther downhill where the tree cover is better, so there’s no sound of scurrying feet.
Bowie has got to be hungry too.
I must confess the thought of him feeding from me is arousing. I want him to bite me, but it’s such a sore subject. I’m not sure how to bring it up without upsetting him. And he’s so peaceful in this moment. I don’t want to disturb him. He knows the offer stands, so perhaps I shouldn’t push.
When the last of the figs is gone and my belly is quite full, I get a second wind. Who says sugar isn’t a proper meal?
Bowie takes our bag and slings it around his neck. “Are you sure you’re all right to keep going? I don’t want to wear you out. I’ll need you strong when it’s time to stage a rescue.”
I nod. I’m feeling good. Cecily’s scent is easy to follow, thanks to her own sweet tooth and those mint candies she favors. Even if she’s eaten them, her dresses will smell of them until laundered. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going. We’re making good time.”
“All right. I’ll keep an eye out for a place to sleep as dawn approaches. Until then, I follow your lead.”
He tucks his leg beneath him to stand, but before he can finish the movement, I grab him for a quick kiss. Just one before I shift. Or two.
Bowie makes it four before I pull away—reluctantly because he tastes even better than the figs—and call on my animal form once again. Shifting back and forth so often is making my bones ache, but I don’t mind. It’ll all be worth it when we succeed.
He leans down and gives my neck a scratch, whispering quietly, “Thank you, my dear. I love you.”
The words come as such a surprise I find myself stunned. Warmth blooms in my chest. I rub my cheek on his thigh, glad that I’m not expected to answer as a wolf. I’m so overwhelmed and happy, I know I couldn’t form words anyway.
* * *
Walk.Sniff. Walk. Sniff. Walk. Sniff.
The faster I go, the sooner we reach Cecily.
Walk. Sniff. Walk. Sniff. Walk. Sniff.
I’ve lost track of time, but nothing matters except this trail.
Walk. Sniff. Walk. Sniff. Walk. Sniff.
That is until Bowie calls a halt to my progress and insists I stop.
Stopping isn’t pleasant. As long as I have momentum, I can keep going. But as soon as I stop, the pain creeps in. My joints, my pads, my spine, they’re all achy and sore. I have no idea how far we traveled tonight, but it was a lot.A lot, a lot, and I want to keep going. We’re getting closer to the end of my scent trail; I can sense it like the first frost or a spring rain.
“It’s near to sunrise,” says Bowie. “Look.” He points to the right. Off our path is an old windmill, probably once used to grind grain and now quite derelict, its sails broken and useless. “The masonry appears to be intact. Let’s go see.”
He leads the way, and I follow on shaky legs across an overgrown field where the forest has already begun to creep onto old pastureland. Wondering how long ago this mill was built, I scan the area but see no other houses or huts.
We approach the base—broad, tall, and definitely still solid. The wooden cap has deteriorated, but this part, built from stone, was made to last.
Bowie shoulders open a rotten door, and we creep inside. It smells damp, like wet stone, but not moldy, which is a relief. It’s dark, which bodes well for the structure being light-tight enough to ensure Bowie’s safety. The circular-shaped building houses old gears, wooden tools, and pieces of machinery my mind can’t quite put together in a way that would grind anything, but perhaps it’s not all here anymore. There’s plenty of space on the ground for us to sleep.
