Page 40 of Mongrel
“See you soon.” He vanishes. There one moment, gone the next, so fast I don’t even get to enjoy the view as he leaves. Stunned, I watch the road as if he’ll magically reappear. How fast is he? My pace must be killing him.
Letting Bowie out of my sight makes me nervous, but his plan is infinitely better than mine, which is to curl up somewhere on the side of the road and be miserable for hours. Wherever we end up sleeping, it will be a hundred times better with a full belly. I shift back to my wolf form, flicking my ears for sounds of prey.
Along this road, I’ve scented a number of prey animals I’d be happy to call dinner, including beaver, a personal favorite, and an animal simpler to hunt alone than with a pack. I set my nose to the ground and get to tracking, heading through the scraggly bush and into the tall marshland grasses.
My paws sink into the ground, an unpleasant sensation and also a noisy one as I pull them from the muck. I seek higher ground to gain the element of surprise. Ambush is the best way to catch a beaver, but I don’t know these lands, so I must rely on my nose, patience, and then a burst of speed.
I follow the scent trail, approaching from downwind. Beavers have terribly poor vision, so there’s no need to stay out of sight, but I can’t afford to warn them by giving away my scent.
A mound rises from the soft dirt just ahead, sticks and branches protecting the top. A beaver den, and my nose tells me they’re at home, perhaps hiding from the same storm I also hope to hide from sooner rather than later.
If this were a normal hunt, I’d simply lie in wait until one of them ventured out. They’re most active at night. But I’m in a hurry, so I grit my teeth and prepare to get dirty. Tonight I must dig for my supper and fast before they escape to the water.
Coiling my muscles, preparing to pounce, I focus on my target: the edge of the mound closest to the water. I leap and tear through the sticks and loose earth, pawing furiously into the den, eager to sink my teeth into my meal.
Beavers are all muscle and don’t go down without a fight. I grab the first one that tries to flee, clamping its neck tight between my jaws. Its hind legs flail, claws trying to find purchase, ready to dig in. The heavy tail swings violently, nailing my left foreleg over and over—thwack, thwack—but I refuse to let go, even as pain radiates to my shoulder.
Rearing back, I fling my head to and fro with enough force to break the creature’s neck. The others, for there were several in this den, have all made a swift watery exit. My prize dangles limply from my jowls, its struggle short but mighty if my throbbing foreleg is anything to go by. I drag it to higher ground to eat.
The delectable aroma of blood, flesh, muscle, and fat has me salivating. My stomach growls loud enough to compete with the echoing thunder. I tear into my meal with abandon, the satisfying crunch of bone music to my ears.
When my belly is stuffed full to bursting, I must fight the urge to sleep it off. My thoughts drift to Bowie, as they inevitably do. Would he cringe at the sight of me? My fur covered in mud, claws caked with dirt, mouth and snout dripping with blood. I huff, snorting, as I force myself up and pad over to the water for a wash. The wolf in me isn’t in the mood, but my will overcomes its reluctance. I rinse as best I can, then make my way back to the road.
Would Bowie mind if I nap here while I wait? No, I shouldn’t. Though my left front leg is aching, I force myself onward. If Bowie does find us a place to take cover, and it’s still a ways ahead, I’ll have to trek there eventually, so I may as well begin now. I hope he’s found something, for him more than for me, because I can’t imagine spending hours within the earth, covered in dirt. How uncomfortable it would be, especially since Bowie is fastidiously clean. I’ve never noticed a speck of dirt beneath his immaculate nails, so being covered in the stuff would be torturous for him.
I think about Ivaz and the things he said to me. The things he’d assumed. What would Bowie be like as a lover? It’s not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. In fact, it’s arisen repeatedly lately, but I haven’t allowed myself to dwell.
All my previous experiences were brief, secretive, and hurried, with strangers who didn’t care that I wouldn’t undress or even take off my hat. Desperate hurried groping, momentarily satisfying but ultimately unfulfilling.
Bowie wouldn’t be like that. He isn’t one to rush when something should be savored. Though Ivaz makes my skin crawl, I wonder if he’s right. Does Bowie want me the way I want him? I think of his lips, pink and rosy, and the twin daggers they conceal, of his hands as they dance about when he speaks. I want them on me.
I give myself a violent shake, settling my fur and clearing my mind. I shouldn’t be thinking of this. Even if Bowie might be interested, now isn’t the time. Not with girls’ lives on the line and Cecily in danger. What kind of terrible person am I to be thinking of myself in a time like this?
Lightning flashes, the landscape glowing brightly, then plunging back into darkness in an instant. The air sizzles with energy, and the sharp peppery scent of the storm magnifies tenfold. Soon we’ll have no time to get to shelter. I hope Bowie returns before I’m forced to hunker down alone. I pick up my pace.
My wish is granted almost immediately as a new prickly sensation alerts me to his presence seconds before he appears in my path. I blink. That really is stunning. He walks toward me as if appearing from thin air is completely normal.
“My dear, I’ve found us a temporary refuge. It’s not ideal, but beggars mustn’t fuss or something like that.” He stops in front of me and kneels. His nose scrunches. It’s awfully cute. “You ate?”
I suppose he can smell it on me. I look up.
“Good.” His hands land on my neck.
I lean into the touch.
“There’s one issue.” He pauses. Such a dramatic creature, my Bowie. “It’s quite a ways away. At your pace, we’ll be drenched in the storm long before we get there. Unless…”
He looks sheepish, an odd expression for Bowie. I nudge him with my snout, urging him to continue.
“You let me carry you.”
What?I look down. That’s ridiculous. I must be nearly as heavy as he is. He can’t possibly carry me any real distance. Can he?
“Don’t say no.” He gently takes my chin and lifts my snout. “I know it’s odd for one grown man to carry another. But I may as well put this infernal strength I’ve been granted to good use. Please?”
I resist, whining. I don’t want to be picked up. I can’t explain why; it’s just a feeling of deep reluctance. The wolf and I agree on this.
“Please?” Bowie repeats, this time glancing at me through lowered lashes, his lower lip thrust forward enough that I take notice. “I don’t want to go to ground, and you look as if you’ve already been soaked. Don’t you want to dry off?”
