Page 40 of The Last Sanctuary
Finally, she forced herself to sit up and brushed needles, dirt, and leaves from her hair and clothes. The wolves had retreated to the safety of their den. Cautiously, she stood and followed them.
Raven stepped into the clearing.
The white wolf stood sentry at the entrance to the den. Luna whirled on her, lips curling back from her fangs.
Her heart racing, Raven dropped to a submissive sitting position, her head down, staring at the ground.
It wasn’t enough for Luna. She growled and lunged at Raven. The wolf reared up and struck both great paws against Raven’s shoulders.
Raven was knocked backward onto the ground. The back of her head smacked the ground hard. Pain jarred her spine. She sucked in air that wouldn’t come. The force of the blow knocked the breath out of her. She stared up at the wolf in dumb shock.
The wolf’s huge paws dug into her shoulders, pressing her down. Luna lowered her head inches from Raven’s face, opened her jaws, and snarled. Hot breath spewed against Raven’s cheeks. Dank saliva splattered her chin, cheeks, and lips.
Teeth bared, Luna snapped her jaws inches from Raven’s nose. Her vision filled with gaping jaws, a raw red throat, and needle-sharp fangs. Her heart shuddered inside her chest. The she-wolf was about to tear her face from her skull. She was certain of it.
Luna had been pummeled with rocks. Of course, she’d be enraged. Of course, she’d take revenge on the nearest human. It made sense. If Raven were a wolf, she’d feel the same way.
She had her whittling knife in her pocket. Not like it would do much good. Luna’s jaws could crush bone, shred ligaments and tendons, and pulverize flesh. Fighting back would only enrage the wolf further. She could do nothing. She was utterly helpless.
Raven forced herself to remain limp and pliant. Hopefully, Luna was only posturing. Otherwise, Raven would die in a few seconds.
From inside the den, Shadow growled.
Luna snapped her head up.
Raven took the moment of diversion to shield her exposed face with her hands. She tried to curl herself into a ball to protect her vulnerable internal organs, but Luna remained standing on Raven’s shoulders, pinning her to the ground.
Shadow growled another warning. He loped toward them, shouldered into Luna, and shoved her off Raven. He nipped at Luna’s flank as if to order her away from Raven.
Luna came back snarling and snapping, this time at Shadow. The black wolf stood his ground between Raven and Luna. Raven scrambled backward on her elbows, gasping for breath, her pulse a roar in her ears.
The wolves stared at each other. They stood stiff, ears back, their stances combative, aggressive even. Raven lay absolutely still, afraid to move, to breathe, to draw a shred of attention her way. Her heart caught in her throat. Her pulse was a dull roar in her ears. She watched the wolves, only feet apart, teeth bared.
Luna growled. Shadow growled back. He didn’t move from his position directly in front of Raven’s prone, shaking body.
For whatever reason, Shadow had picked Raven for something.
It was clear that Luna had not. Luna didn’t trust humans. She considered Raven an outsider, an interloper, which was true.
Humans had trapped Luna, beat her with whips, and forced her to battle to the death in a fighting ring. Humans had jeered at her, thrown rocks, caged her. Humans had hunted and murdered her kind for sport and entertainment.
It was a miracle that Luna hadn’t already crushed Raven’s windpipe with a single bite.
Luna gave a belligerent growl, her head lowered. Shadow growled right back in irritation. Neither gave way. Neither submitted. It was a standoff.
Raven recalled something her father had taught her about pack behavior when one wolf challenged another. For a lesser-ranked wolf, a battle of domination and submission would ensue, sometimes to the exclusion of the losing wolf from the pack. Sometimes even to death.
Not with these two. They were alphas, partners, and equals.
Shadow gave a low whine in the back of his throat. He loped to Luna, pressed in and nuzzled his mate’s side, as if in apology, an attempt to make amends. She nipped at him angrily, but she didn’t bite or shy away.
He licked her muzzle. She snorted, still truculent.
He licked her again with affection, his tail lifting hopefully.
This time, she didn’t nip at him. Conceding, she lowered her head and tucked it beneath his head, tenderly rubbing her muzzle against his shoulders and neck.
Perhaps this meant Raven would be spared. Perhaps she was reading too much into their behaviors, attaching human emotions to animals whose instincts had driven their nature for thousands of years.
