Bull is a character in the Wolf's Bane series. He's a werewolf.
Bull’s Story
Mom swore I was born on the hottest day in the summer of 1863. She said she sweated so much from the heat and labor that she went from plump to skinny. The midwife wasn’t sure she could push me out, I was so big. And I just got bigger over time.
When I was four, in early spring, Mom gave birth to my sister, Charity. She was as light, with blonde hair and blue eyes, as I was dark. Dad shook his head at her in wonder. “Our little ray of sunshine.” For a while, I spent more time indoors, helping Mom than outside, running errands for Dad, but Charity was an easy baby, full of gurgles and smiles, and in a month, I was doing small chores in the barn and fields again. At night, though, after I helped Mom clean up after supper, I loved watching my dad cradle Charity in his big arms. I loved watching Mom sew and darn by the fireplace. My heart would swell with the feeling of family.
Three years later, during a fierce blizzard, our family grew one baby bigger. Mom had my sister Louisa. Fiery red hair matched her tiny, fisted hands and scrunched up face. Where Charity giggled and hugged, Louisa fussed and reached. When I held her to give Mom a break, she’d reach for my hair and tug at it relentlessly. I couldn’t help but smile at her ferocity and determination.
“She’s going to be a firecracker,” Dad said. And he was right. When she could walk, where I went, she went. If I fetched wood, she’d carry a split log into the cabin behind me. If I milked our cow, she sat on a stool beside me.
“A tomboy,” Mom told me. “My sister was like that, spent half of her free time climbing trees.” She grinned and tousled my hair. “You spend half of your time growing. You’re going to be taller than I am soon.”
At fourteen, I could look down at her, and my shoulders were broader than my dad’s.
“Like your uncle Jess,” Dad said. “My brother made me look small.”
I was sixteen when Dad thought I was finally ready to check the trap lines on my own. Before, he worried I’d lose my finger, springing a trap, or that I wouldn’t do the pelts right, but I’d finally passed his strict standards last winter. The traps ran alongside the forest stream. Not that many. Mom didn’t like trapping, just enough for Dad to barter for extra supplies. When I set off in the morning, Louisa wanted to come with me, but Dad shook his head. “Not this time. It’s a long walk. You’d slow Levi down. When you’re older.”
She stood in the clearing and watched me leave, and it took every ounce of discipline for me not to turn back and motion for her to join me. Her fierce glare made me feel like I was abandoning her. But I’d never cross Dad. His rules were made for a reason, and I respected them.
When I returned close to sunset, I couldn’t wait to show her the pelts I brought back. I walked with a cocky swagger, sure she’d be impressed. And then I reached our clearing. No lights spilled from the cabin’s windows. No kerosene lamps burned. No smoke plumed from our chimney. Shadows shrouded the front porch and most of the yard.
I frowned, confused. The horses weren’t in their fenced area. Had Mom and Dad taken the girls to town in a hurry? Had something happened?
I rushed toward the cabin, sure I’d find a note on the kitchen table. Instead, I found Ma and Pa’s bodies sprawled in the dirt near the cellar. The heavy, wooden doors lay open, and I heard flies buzzing inside. Cured meat hung from its ceiling, and Ma’s fruits and vegetables hid in crates filled with sand. I glanced inside, but darkness swallowed any light. I went to the house and lit a lantern.
“Charity? Louisa?” No answer. Maybe they’d taken the horses and run.
I carried the lantern and started down the cellar stairs. Bile rose in my throat when I saw my two sisters lying in puddles of blood on its earth floor. I could picture what happened. They wouldn’t shut the door until Ma and Pa reached safety, but that hadn’t happened, so they’d all died. Not Indians. The Indians near us were friendly. Bullet holes bore holes in their heads and chests.
I dug four graves by moon light and buried them in Ma’s vegetable patch. Tears blurred my vision as I let all of the hurt pour out of me, but I held the hate and anger close. All of the meat in the cellar was gone, along with the horses. I made wooden crosses and painted names on them, then planted the bases deep in the ground—our own private cemetery. Finally, exhausted, I made myself sleep until sunrise.
I woke with the first rays of day. I gathered eggs and milked the cow, ate my fill, then looked for Dad’s hunting rifle. I meant to take his as well as mine, but it was gone. His killers had taken it, too, and then I looked for their trail. I followed it west and stopped at our closest neighbor’s. I explained what had happened. “I’m going after my family’s killers.” I handed them a piece of paper that I’d scribbled my instructions on. “I willed our property to you. I milked the cow this morning, but you should go fetch her and any chickens you can catch. Anything you want from our place, take. I don’t plan on coming back.”
The wife’s eyes widened. “You think they’ll kill you?”
“No, ma’am, but they’re on horses, and I’m on foot. It’s gonna take me a while to find them. When I do, I don’t plan on coming back here.”
Her husband nodded. “Too many sad memories. We’ll take care of your family burial plot, and good luck to you, boy. Stay safe.”
I set off, determined to find the men and avenge my family. They traveled at a slow pace. Not surprising. Our horses pulled plows and wagons. They weren’t made for speed. I hunted as I went and killed enough rabbits to keep my stomach satisfied.
After half a week, I stumbled on an Indian village. Like our homestead, bodies littered the ground—all women, children, and old men. I shook my head. What cowards. A small child lay on the edge, shot in the back as he ran. Flies swarmed his open eyes, and my stomach roiled. I bent to shoo the flies away and shut his lids. When I looked up, the young braves of a hunting party stared at me from the opposite tree line. Their faces were blank of expression. Then they started toward me.
I carried my hunting rifle and a knife, but if I reached for either, I’d be dead. I stood my ground. They stopped a few feet from me, and one of the warriors raised a hand in my direction. He pointed to the ground, with the imprints of horse hooves. “You—following their trail?”
My shoulders relaxed. He spoke English. I nodded. “They killed my family, too, and stole our horses.”
His expression grew grave. He knelt and studied the tracks. “Ten horses, carrying men. Two, carrying supplies.”
My heart sank. “They took our horses as pack animals. There are more of them than I thought.”
He glanced toward the edge of another tree line, and more Indians stepped into the open. I stayed where I was as his hunting party joined the others. The Indian who spoke English pointed at me, and the oldest looking man among them narrowed his eyes and slowly looked me up and down. He motioned for me to join them. Fear raced through my veins, but I swallowed hard and walked toward them.
I was tall for my age with broad shoulders and a solid build. All muscle, no neck. My sisters teased me about that. He grunted something to the warrior, and all eyes turned on me.
The warrior gave me a curious look. “My tribe must return to our village. These teepees held our wives and fathers. They skinned and dried the game we killed. They cured the hides.” He nodded toward deer skins hanging in the sun to dry. “The white men took the meat. We need more for winter.”
I understood. “Without food, people die. Game can be hard to find. You can’t bring the dead back to life, but you can keep people alive with supplies. I’m sorry for your losses, but I’m going to hunt these men down.”
He shook his head, his long, black hair brushing his shoulders. “The wise one says you can’t fight them as a man. They have bigger numbers and bigger guns.”
I shrugged. I’d already decided the odds weren’t good I’d make it through this. “I’ll try to pick them off, one at a time.” I’d never get them all, but I’d get as many as I could.
The warrior pointed to a woman with two children in front of a teepee, beautiful, even in death. She’d died, reaching for the hand of her son, probably five or six. The other, a toddler, sprawled on her legs. He pointed to his heart. “Mine.”
I could feel his pain. I thought of my sisters. “I’m sorry.”
He heard the sincerity in my voice and gave a curt nod. “We’ll hunt them together.”
“Your wise one will let you?”
“After his magic and we undergo the change.”
“What change?” My father scoffed at magic. He believed in hard work and high standards. He told me often that if a man lived an upstanding life and wasn’t afraid to sweat, life could be good.
The warrior’s gaze held mine. “Before a terrible battle, my people called upon the Great Spirit to make us into mighty warriors. The enemy was strong and many. That night, when we did our war dance, the warriors’ bodies shifted. Bones moved, fur sprouted, and teeth grew. We joined with the wolf to become killing machines.”
I stared. I have to admit, I thought my friendly Indian had smoked one too many peace pipes, filled with something stronger than tobacco.
He saw my look, and a half grin lifted his lips. “The wise one has agreed to make us shifters. It’s the only way we can survive and kill our enemies.”
Shifters? I didn’t believe a word of it, but I’d be going on alone if I didn’t make the wise one happy enough to let him join me. So I nodded. “Whatever it takes. I want revenge.”
The warrior’s grin showed his teeth. “The Great Spirit will aid us. Do as I do. We won’t suffer from the blood lust of a savage change.”
A savage change? What was that? I was glad I wouldn’t find out. The warrior nodded, and I followed him to the wise one. The hunters formed a wide circle around us, and the older Indian built a fire in its center. He was careful about which woods he used and pulled one of many pouches from his belt line, sprinkled powders over the flames when they grew high, and began to chant.
The warrior began to dance to the rhythm, so I followed his lead. Whatever he did, I did, until a horrible pain bent me over. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and felt as though my body was being pulled in too many directions. And then, in horror, I watched fur sprout from my pores. It covered my arms, my chest, my abdomen. My body swelled, and my clothes ripped and fell. Claws grew in place of my nails. I rubbed my tongue over sharp teeth. What was happening to me? I looked at the warrior, and he’d become a monstrous, odd-looking wolf that walked on its hind legs. At the same time, we both threw back our heads and howled.
The wise one nodded in satisfaction. This time, when he spoke, I understood him. The language of the wolf?
“The only bullets that will harm you are made of silver. You’ll heal quickly and grow stronger over time, but each shift will cost you energy and weaken you for a while. The full moon will force you to change. You can’t fight it, but with my magic, you can control your wolf spirit. On all fours, you can travel faster than these men’s horses. Find them and kill them, then return to me.”
The warrior had changed into a wolf with reddish-brown fur, like his burnished copper skin. My fur was as black as my hair and eyes. We went to the hoof prints in the dirt, sniffed them, and loped off after our prey. On all fours, we could run for hours. When we grew hungry, we’d stop to catch a rabbit or squirrel and then return to the hunt. The Wise One was right. We gained on our enemy quickly. By the third day, the wind carried the men’s scent to us. They were close.
We passed a town, and soon, another scent drifted on the air. I inhaled—cows, horses, a pig, and people. Our enemies were nearing another homestead. The warrior and I exchanged worried glances. The men we followed were cowards. They only attacked the weak. We sniffed again. Three mortals.
The term surprised me. Why had it popped into my mind? I glanced at my ally, and he looked surprised, too. Had our beasts overwhelmed our humanity? I frowned at Copper—the name I’d given my new friend. He raised a reddish eyebrow. No time to shift. If we did, the change would weaken us, and neither of us wanted that. A low growl sounded in his throat, and he gestured with his head to the right. He’d go in that direction, and I’d take the left. We separated and ran, flat-out, to put ourselves between the men and the farm family. Then we turned to face our enemies.
When the three riders in the lead saw us, they put up their hands to signal they were coming to a stop. They stared at Copper and me, both on all fours, both huge in size, with our lips pulled back in snarls. When they reached for their rifles, we sprang. One swipe, and I ripped out the first man’s throat. A swing of my claws, and I killed the second. Copper’s victim lay on the ground, bleeding out, when he sprang at the man behind him. The six other men grabbed for their rifles, but we raced at their horses, and the animals bucked and whinnied, trying to run. Their riders pulled on the reins to hold them in place, but in the tumult, I bit into a man’s leg and pulled him to the ground. My jaws crunched on his throat, and I went for another.
The men tried to aim, but the horses bolted and turned, moving them in circles. I claimed another victim, and so did Copper before a bullet ripped into my shoulder. Pain exploded inside me. Instinct told me I was in trouble, and thoughts of death filled my mind, but then my muscles heaved and spit out the bullet. The wound began to close, and I realized regular bullets might hurt, but they didn’t harm. And I pulled my wolf’s lips back in a grim smile.
The man who shot me stared. His eyes went wide, and I lunged. His horse reared, throwing him to the ground, and I was on him. I stared into his eyes before I finished him. I stepped back to watch Copper chase and catch the last man, who’d tried to run and retreat. The saddle horses had raced away as soon as they were free of their riders, and my two horses tried to follow them, but I cut them off. The poor beasts pranced and snorted with fear until I shifted and they recognized me in my mortal form. I stretched out a hand to calm them, and they eyed me warily, but let me approach. After a great deal of petting and soothing words, I led them to Copper, who’d shifted to human, too.
He stroked Browny’s nose and told her what a good horse she was in his own language. Browny didn’t understand, but was calmed by his gentle voice and soft touch. Most of the supplies the horses had carried were gone. I recognized one of our family’s hams, now down to a few slices. The men would be eager to attack the homestead we’d seen to replenish their supplies.
Copper gathered all of the rifles to take back with him. We each found a body, similar in shape to our own, and we removed their shirts and britches and donned them for the trip home, when a man’s voice stopped us.
“Hold it right there.” A thin, wiry man in his late twenties stepped toward us, his rifle at the ready. “We heard a gunshot, then three horses raced to our pasture.” He glanced at the ten bodies on the ground, their throats ripped open.
I spoke first. “I’ve tracked these men from our homestead in Wisconsin. They killed my family, then they killed every woman and child in Copper’s settlement, so he joined me.” At the name Copper, my friend raised his eyebrow, but I went on. “They meant to take your place next.”
The man frowned. “How did they die?”
“Wolves attacked them.”
The man laughed. “Wolves avoid people. They might stalk livestock, but they’re wary of humans.”
“These wolves weren’t.”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he studied us. “No wolf pack can kill ten armed men.”
“These wolves did.”
He shook his head and aimed his rifle. “I think I should tie you two up and ride into town to get our sheriff.”
Energy prickled under my skin. My gums itched, ready for fangs to grow. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. But my eyes felt funny, and the man stared at them.
“Your eyes are glowing. They’re rimmed in yellow.”
I sighed. “Look, we don’t want to hurt you. We tracked these men because they’re dangerous. They killed whoever they wanted and took whatever they pleased. We tried to protect you. We’re asking you to turn around and let us leave in peace.”
He took a minute to consider that, then gave a curt nod. “I probably owe you a thanks, but you scare me. I’m going to look away, and when I look back again, I hope you’ll be gone.”
We didn’t hesitate. The minute he turned his head, we mounted the horses and rode away. It took us almost a week to return to Copper’s village. When the wise man saw the rifles Copper had collected, he nodded. He nodded at the dead men’s four horses we’d found by a stream. Then his gaze bore into mine. “What will you do now, Wolf? You’re welcome to stay with us.”
But I didn’t know Indian ways or customs. “I thank you, but I need to find my own people, some place to settle.”
He didn’t argue. He probably agreed. Instead, he saluted me and said, “Go in peace. We consider you a friend.”
I didn’t know where to go, what to do next. My entire life had been changed in a few, brief moments. I’d lost my family, and I’d been changed into something I didn’t know existed. I wandered from town to town, living off the land, until I stumbled into a small settlement and smelled wolf. When I looked, though, I only saw humans.
A tall, strong man strode toward me with the grace of a cat. He reminded me of a cougar, tawny and mysterious. He crossed his arms. “You can join my pack or leave here. We don’t allow lone wolves. They don’t last long and go crazy before they die. We don’t need the trouble.”
I blinked. “You have a pack?”
He studied me. “You look like a wolf who needs a home. We can give you one, but I’m the alpha, and you’ll do what I tell you.”
I shrugged. He reminded of my dad, like someone who believed that if you worked hard and had high standards, life might be good to you. “Works for me,” I said.
He offered his hand for me to shake. “I’m Wedge. Welcome to my pack.”
Years and years have passed. Hell, centuries. And I’ve never regretted that decision.
Bull’s Story
Mom swore I was born on the hottest day in the summer of 1863. She said she sweated so much from the heat and labor that she went from plump to skinny. The midwife wasn’t sure she could push me out, I was so big. And I just got bigger over time.
When I was four, in early spring, Mom gave birth to my sister, Charity. She was as light, with blonde hair and blue eyes, as I was dark. Dad shook his head at her in wonder. “Our little ray of sunshine.” For a while, I spent more time indoors, helping Mom than outside, running errands for Dad, but Charity was an easy baby, full of gurgles and smiles, and in a month, I was doing small chores in the barn and fields again. At night, though, after I helped Mom clean up after supper, I loved watching my dad cradle Charity in his big arms. I loved watching Mom sew and darn by the fireplace. My heart would swell with the feeling of family.
Three years later, during a fierce blizzard, our family grew one baby bigger. Mom had my sister Louisa. Fiery red hair matched her tiny, fisted hands and scrunched up face. Where Charity giggled and hugged, Louisa fussed and reached. When I held her to give Mom a break, she’d reach for my hair and tug at it relentlessly. I couldn’t help but smile at her ferocity and determination.
“She’s going to be a firecracker,” Dad said. And he was right. When she could walk, where I went, she went. If I fetched wood, she’d carry a split log into the cabin behind me. If I milked our cow, she sat on a stool beside me.
“A tomboy,” Mom told me. “My sister was like that, spent half of her free time climbing trees.” She grinned and tousled my hair. “You spend half of your time growing. You’re going to be taller than I am soon.”
At fourteen, I could look down at her, and my shoulders were broader than my dad’s.
“Like your uncle Jess,” Dad said. “My brother made me look small.”
I was sixteen when Dad thought I was finally ready to check the trap lines on my own. Before, he worried I’d lose my finger, springing a trap, or that I wouldn’t do the pelts right, but I’d finally passed his strict standards last winter. The traps ran alongside the forest stream. Not that many. Mom didn’t like trapping, just enough for Dad to barter for extra supplies. When I set off in the morning, Louisa wanted to come with me, but Dad shook his head. “Not this time. It’s a long walk. You’d slow Levi down. When you’re older.”
She stood in the clearing and watched me leave, and it took every ounce of discipline for me not to turn back and motion for her to join me. Her fierce glare made me feel like I was abandoning her. But I’d never cross Dad. His rules were made for a reason, and I respected them.
When I returned close to sunset, I couldn’t wait to show her the pelts I brought back. I walked with a cocky swagger, sure she’d be impressed. And then I reached our clearing. No lights spilled from the cabin’s windows. No kerosene lamps burned. No smoke plumed from our chimney. Shadows shrouded the front porch and most of the yard.
I frowned, confused. The horses weren’t in their fenced area. Had Mom and Dad taken the girls to town in a hurry? Had something happened?
I rushed toward the cabin, sure I’d find a note on the kitchen table. Instead, I found Ma and Pa’s bodies sprawled in the dirt near the cellar. The heavy, wooden doors lay open, and I heard flies buzzing inside. Cured meat hung from its ceiling, and Ma’s fruits and vegetables hid in crates filled with sand. I glanced inside, but darkness swallowed any light. I went to the house and lit a lantern.
“Charity? Louisa?” No answer. Maybe they’d taken the horses and run.
I carried the lantern and started down the cellar stairs. Bile rose in my throat when I saw my two sisters lying in puddles of blood on its earth floor. I could picture what happened. They wouldn’t shut the door until Ma and Pa reached safety, but that hadn’t happened, so they’d all died. Not Indians. The Indians near us were friendly. Bullet holes bore holes in their heads and chests.
I dug four graves by moon light and buried them in Ma’s vegetable patch. Tears blurred my vision as I let all of the hurt pour out of me, but I held the hate and anger close. All of the meat in the cellar was gone, along with the horses. I made wooden crosses and painted names on them, then planted the bases deep in the ground—our own private cemetery. Finally, exhausted, I made myself sleep until sunrise.
I woke with the first rays of day. I gathered eggs and milked the cow, ate my fill, then looked for Dad’s hunting rifle. I meant to take his as well as mine, but it was gone. His killers had taken it, too, and then I looked for their trail. I followed it west and stopped at our closest neighbor’s. I explained what had happened. “I’m going after my family’s killers.” I handed them a piece of paper that I’d scribbled my instructions on. “I willed our property to you. I milked the cow this morning, but you should go fetch her and any chickens you can catch. Anything you want from our place, take. I don’t plan on coming back.”
The wife’s eyes widened. “You think they’ll kill you?”
“No, ma’am, but they’re on horses, and I’m on foot. It’s gonna take me a while to find them. When I do, I don’t plan on coming back here.”
Her husband nodded. “Too many sad memories. We’ll take care of your family burial plot, and good luck to you, boy. Stay safe.”
I set off, determined to find the men and avenge my family. They traveled at a slow pace. Not surprising. Our horses pulled plows and wagons. They weren’t made for speed. I hunted as I went and killed enough rabbits to keep my stomach satisfied.
After half a week, I stumbled on an Indian village. Like our homestead, bodies littered the ground—all women, children, and old men. I shook my head. What cowards. A small child lay on the edge, shot in the back as he ran. Flies swarmed his open eyes, and my stomach roiled. I bent to shoo the flies away and shut his lids. When I looked up, the young braves of a hunting party stared at me from the opposite tree line. Their faces were blank of expression. Then they started toward me.
I carried my hunting rifle and a knife, but if I reached for either, I’d be dead. I stood my ground. They stopped a few feet from me, and one of the warriors raised a hand in my direction. He pointed to the ground, with the imprints of horse hooves. “You—following their trail?”
My shoulders relaxed. He spoke English. I nodded. “They killed my family, too, and stole our horses.”
His expression grew grave. He knelt and studied the tracks. “Ten horses, carrying men. Two, carrying supplies.”
My heart sank. “They took our horses as pack animals. There are more of them than I thought.”
He glanced toward the edge of another tree line, and more Indians stepped into the open. I stayed where I was as his hunting party joined the others. The Indian who spoke English pointed at me, and the oldest looking man among them narrowed his eyes and slowly looked me up and down. He motioned for me to join them. Fear raced through my veins, but I swallowed hard and walked toward them.
I was tall for my age with broad shoulders and a solid build. All muscle, no neck. My sisters teased me about that. He grunted something to the warrior, and all eyes turned on me.
The warrior gave me a curious look. “My tribe must return to our village. These teepees held our wives and fathers. They skinned and dried the game we killed. They cured the hides.” He nodded toward deer skins hanging in the sun to dry. “The white men took the meat. We need more for winter.”
I understood. “Without food, people die. Game can be hard to find. You can’t bring the dead back to life, but you can keep people alive with supplies. I’m sorry for your losses, but I’m going to hunt these men down.”
He shook his head, his long, black hair brushing his shoulders. “The wise one says you can’t fight them as a man. They have bigger numbers and bigger guns.”
I shrugged. I’d already decided the odds weren’t good I’d make it through this. “I’ll try to pick them off, one at a time.” I’d never get them all, but I’d get as many as I could.
The warrior pointed to a woman with two children in front of a teepee, beautiful, even in death. She’d died, reaching for the hand of her son, probably five or six. The other, a toddler, sprawled on her legs. He pointed to his heart. “Mine.”
I could feel his pain. I thought of my sisters. “I’m sorry.”
He heard the sincerity in my voice and gave a curt nod. “We’ll hunt them together.”
“Your wise one will let you?”
“After his magic and we undergo the change.”
“What change?” My father scoffed at magic. He believed in hard work and high standards. He told me often that if a man lived an upstanding life and wasn’t afraid to sweat, life could be good.
The warrior’s gaze held mine. “Before a terrible battle, my people called upon the Great Spirit to make us into mighty warriors. The enemy was strong and many. That night, when we did our war dance, the warriors’ bodies shifted. Bones moved, fur sprouted, and teeth grew. We joined with the wolf to become killing machines.”
I stared. I have to admit, I thought my friendly Indian had smoked one too many peace pipes, filled with something stronger than tobacco.
He saw my look, and a half grin lifted his lips. “The wise one has agreed to make us shifters. It’s the only way we can survive and kill our enemies.”
Shifters? I didn’t believe a word of it, but I’d be going on alone if I didn’t make the wise one happy enough to let him join me. So I nodded. “Whatever it takes. I want revenge.”
The warrior’s grin showed his teeth. “The Great Spirit will aid us. Do as I do. We won’t suffer from the blood lust of a savage change.”
A savage change? What was that? I was glad I wouldn’t find out. The warrior nodded, and I followed him to the wise one. The hunters formed a wide circle around us, and the older Indian built a fire in its center. He was careful about which woods he used and pulled one of many pouches from his belt line, sprinkled powders over the flames when they grew high, and began to chant.
The warrior began to dance to the rhythm, so I followed his lead. Whatever he did, I did, until a horrible pain bent me over. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and felt as though my body was being pulled in too many directions. And then, in horror, I watched fur sprout from my pores. It covered my arms, my chest, my abdomen. My body swelled, and my clothes ripped and fell. Claws grew in place of my nails. I rubbed my tongue over sharp teeth. What was happening to me? I looked at the warrior, and he’d become a monstrous, odd-looking wolf that walked on its hind legs. At the same time, we both threw back our heads and howled.
The wise one nodded in satisfaction. This time, when he spoke, I understood him. The language of the wolf?
“The only bullets that will harm you are made of silver. You’ll heal quickly and grow stronger over time, but each shift will cost you energy and weaken you for a while. The full moon will force you to change. You can’t fight it, but with my magic, you can control your wolf spirit. On all fours, you can travel faster than these men’s horses. Find them and kill them, then return to me.”
The warrior had changed into a wolf with reddish-brown fur, like his burnished copper skin. My fur was as black as my hair and eyes. We went to the hoof prints in the dirt, sniffed them, and loped off after our prey. On all fours, we could run for hours. When we grew hungry, we’d stop to catch a rabbit or squirrel and then return to the hunt. The Wise One was right. We gained on our enemy quickly. By the third day, the wind carried the men’s scent to us. They were close.
We passed a town, and soon, another scent drifted on the air. I inhaled—cows, horses, a pig, and people. Our enemies were nearing another homestead. The warrior and I exchanged worried glances. The men we followed were cowards. They only attacked the weak. We sniffed again. Three mortals.
The term surprised me. Why had it popped into my mind? I glanced at my ally, and he looked surprised, too. Had our beasts overwhelmed our humanity? I frowned at Copper—the name I’d given my new friend. He raised a reddish eyebrow. No time to shift. If we did, the change would weaken us, and neither of us wanted that. A low growl sounded in his throat, and he gestured with his head to the right. He’d go in that direction, and I’d take the left. We separated and ran, flat-out, to put ourselves between the men and the farm family. Then we turned to face our enemies.
When the three riders in the lead saw us, they put up their hands to signal they were coming to a stop. They stared at Copper and me, both on all fours, both huge in size, with our lips pulled back in snarls. When they reached for their rifles, we sprang. One swipe, and I ripped out the first man’s throat. A swing of my claws, and I killed the second. Copper’s victim lay on the ground, bleeding out, when he sprang at the man behind him. The six other men grabbed for their rifles, but we raced at their horses, and the animals bucked and whinnied, trying to run. Their riders pulled on the reins to hold them in place, but in the tumult, I bit into a man’s leg and pulled him to the ground. My jaws crunched on his throat, and I went for another.
The men tried to aim, but the horses bolted and turned, moving them in circles. I claimed another victim, and so did Copper before a bullet ripped into my shoulder. Pain exploded inside me. Instinct told me I was in trouble, and thoughts of death filled my mind, but then my muscles heaved and spit out the bullet. The wound began to close, and I realized regular bullets might hurt, but they didn’t harm. And I pulled my wolf’s lips back in a grim smile.
The man who shot me stared. His eyes went wide, and I lunged. His horse reared, throwing him to the ground, and I was on him. I stared into his eyes before I finished him. I stepped back to watch Copper chase and catch the last man, who’d tried to run and retreat. The saddle horses had raced away as soon as they were free of their riders, and my two horses tried to follow them, but I cut them off. The poor beasts pranced and snorted with fear until I shifted and they recognized me in my mortal form. I stretched out a hand to calm them, and they eyed me warily, but let me approach. After a great deal of petting and soothing words, I led them to Copper, who’d shifted to human, too.
He stroked Browny’s nose and told her what a good horse she was in his own language. Browny didn’t understand, but was calmed by his gentle voice and soft touch. Most of the supplies the horses had carried were gone. I recognized one of our family’s hams, now down to a few slices. The men would be eager to attack the homestead we’d seen to replenish their supplies.
Copper gathered all of the rifles to take back with him. We each found a body, similar in shape to our own, and we removed their shirts and britches and donned them for the trip home, when a man’s voice stopped us.
“Hold it right there.” A thin, wiry man in his late twenties stepped toward us, his rifle at the ready. “We heard a gunshot, then three horses raced to our pasture.” He glanced at the ten bodies on the ground, their throats ripped open.
I spoke first. “I’ve tracked these men from our homestead in Wisconsin. They killed my family, then they killed every woman and child in Copper’s settlement, so he joined me.” At the name Copper, my friend raised his eyebrow, but I went on. “They meant to take your place next.”
The man frowned. “How did they die?”
“Wolves attacked them.”
The man laughed. “Wolves avoid people. They might stalk livestock, but they’re wary of humans.”
“These wolves weren’t.”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he studied us. “No wolf pack can kill ten armed men.”
“These wolves did.”
He shook his head and aimed his rifle. “I think I should tie you two up and ride into town to get our sheriff.”
Energy prickled under my skin. My gums itched, ready for fangs to grow. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. But my eyes felt funny, and the man stared at them.
“Your eyes are glowing. They’re rimmed in yellow.”
I sighed. “Look, we don’t want to hurt you. We tracked these men because they’re dangerous. They killed whoever they wanted and took whatever they pleased. We tried to protect you. We’re asking you to turn around and let us leave in peace.”
He took a minute to consider that, then gave a curt nod. “I probably owe you a thanks, but you scare me. I’m going to look away, and when I look back again, I hope you’ll be gone.”
We didn’t hesitate. The minute he turned his head, we mounted the horses and rode away. It took us almost a week to return to Copper’s village. When the wise man saw the rifles Copper had collected, he nodded. He nodded at the dead men’s four horses we’d found by a stream. Then his gaze bore into mine. “What will you do now, Wolf? You’re welcome to stay with us.”
But I didn’t know Indian ways or customs. “I thank you, but I need to find my own people, some place to settle.”
He didn’t argue. He probably agreed. Instead, he saluted me and said, “Go in peace. We consider you a friend.”
I didn’t know where to go, what to do next. My entire life had been changed in a few, brief moments. I’d lost my family, and I’d been changed into something I didn’t know existed. I wandered from town to town, living off the land, until I stumbled into a small settlement and smelled wolf. When I looked, though, I only saw humans.
A tall, strong man strode toward me with the grace of a cat. He reminded me of a cougar, tawny and mysterious. He crossed his arms. “You can join my pack or leave here. We don’t allow lone wolves. They don’t last long and go crazy before they die. We don’t need the trouble.”
I blinked. “You have a pack?”
He studied me. “You look like a wolf who needs a home. We can give you one, but I’m the alpha, and you’ll do what I tell you.”
I shrugged. He reminded of my dad, like someone who believed that if you worked hard and had high standards, life might be good to you. “Works for me,” I said.
He offered his hand for me to shake. “I’m Wedge. Welcome to my pack.”
Years and years have passed. Hell, centuries. And I’ve never regretted that decision.
