Page 45 of Rabid
He turns and walks away, morphing back into his wolf and taking off down the mountain, leaving me behind in a trail of verbal devastation and heavy truths.
No softness, no sympathy, just face your shit and earn your place here...or leave.
That line drawn in the sand, everything he said, it all bursts from the pent-up emotions I’ve bottled. Like I’ve lit the end and thrown a Molotov cocktail, it explodes in a roar of anger from my mouth that echoes from the mountains and then floods from the tears finally broken free as I cry.
And cry.
And cry.
It’s not a quiet cry. These tears aren’t soft and slow. This is a rending of my soul to expel all the shit I’ve been harboring. I scream at the mountains, the sky, the rocks, my jagged edges, until my voice is lost and my throat is raw. I gnash and yank and pull as I purge myself of the wrongs, the taint, the loss. I spill my soul on the side of the mountain, desperately needing to get this all out so I can breathe again, so I can rise up and be able to look myself in the eye and be the wolfandthe woman I can be.
My wolf howls alongside me as we rip our foundation of agony apart. The wind steals my cries, and slowly the tears ebb, the salty tracks of pain drying on my cheeks. Pebbles dig into my knees from where I’m kneeling at the edge of the bluff, but I don’t feel the pain. All that’s left is me and my wolf, our souls bared, our foundation destroyed, and two choices laid out in front of us: leave or stay.
The question is, which one will we choose?
Chapter Fifteen
Our heart thunders as we race down the mountain. Rocks break free under our paws, threatening to take us with them, but my wolf and I leap to safety just as they crash down the steep incline. We charge forward, the dangerous terrain under our paws not even a consideration as we run away. Away from the Ruin Falls pack and the wolves that comprise it. Away from the pain and confusion that have consumed us since we were dumped in this place.
The taste of freedom hangs from our lolling tongue as the rabid wolf and I push harder to break away from the last of the chains holding us back. We traverse the dangerous, rocky surface of the mountain, our steps sure and our mind focused on one thing.
Redemption.
Tyran’s words ricochet in my head, pinballing around, hitting their mark over and over again. Fear fills our nose as we run, spurring us on and assuring my wolf and me that we’re making the right choice. We can do this. We can be everything Tyran said. Not bitter, not ashamed, but strong and proud of what we are. Capable of getting our retribution.
The beast of a mountain goat we’re hunting is much bigger than the one Tyran and I caught. It tries to throw us off his trail by moving closer to a wall of loose and hazardous rocks. The path looks like it recently suffered from a rockslide, but my wolf and I can smell the panic that plumes off the frantic animal as it tries to escape, and we will not be deterred.
We’ve got this. This onyx-horned beast is ours.
The huge male goat slips partially down the incline before it catches its footing again, and luckily, it aims to run further down the mountain instead of up. We’re getting closer and closer to the treeline, and the wolf and I can practically taste this kill on our fangs already. We know it’s going to be harder to bring down this healthy male than it was to defeat the wounded older goat that Tyran and I hunted, especially alone. We need to avoid the horns and the powerful hooves, but if we can get that neck, this fucker doesn’t stand a chance.
My wolf and I spot the perfect in and shove all the energy we have into our legs and paws as we pick up our pace. We aim for a small shelf and leap off of it as though any second we’ll sprout wings and fly. Like we knew it would, the lip of the ledge gives us the advantage, and our huge dark gray body aims for the goat’s back. Just as we close in, the massive male goat turns and catches us in the chest.
It headbutts us so hard it feels as though we were just clotheslined by a runaway train. We yelp in pain as we go slamming into the mountain behind us. The rocks and shale are unforgiving, and the goat is aiming his horns right for our face as it charges us. My wolf barely has time to scramble up and twist just enough to take the blow on our shoulder. Thankfully, the goat’s head is too high, and the point of his horns don’t pierce us. He’s only able to slam the shaft of his weapons into us, but it’s the most painfuldead armwe’ve ever experienced.
Our leg goes numb, and we know if we don’t stop another hit, our prey’s about to take us out. It’ll either crush too many bones or knock us off the mountain, and my wolf and I refuse to go out like that. The goat tries to slam into us again, but this time, my wolf and I are ready. We dodge the hit at the last minute and aim a bite at the side of its neck. With all of our might, ignoring the pain now shooting through our battered wolf form, we use our body weight to fling this massive bastard to the side.
We both tumble down the mountain a few times, but my wolf keeps her teeth clenched tightly in the goat’s hide as we skid to a stop. The goat is in shock, but we waste no time getting a better hold of our prey’s neck. We clamp down on the front of its throat just under its jaws and wait patiently as the mountain goat’s struggle starts to wane until it’s lifeless on the ground.
My wolf tips her head back and howls in victory, my own chest leaping with the accomplishment. We did it.We fucking did it!
We may have only just been joined for a few days and never hunted alone before, but we managed to work together and take down this animal high up on the dangerous cliffs and bluffs of this mountain, with no one to help us but ourselves. It might not seem like a lot, but it proved that wecanhone our focus, we can use that edge of rabid need to work toward a controlled purpose.
Once we catch our breath, our exerted body cooled by the chilling mountain air, we look down at the impressive kill at our feet. Then, we clamp our jaw down around its neck, and we start to drag the big fucker.
Down the steep mountainside. Past craggy cliff sides and sliding rocks. It’s not pretty, but we lug the dead animal behind us like it’s all the baggage we’re carrying, refusing to give up beneath its staggering weight.
We can do this.
I have the strength to stop complaining and start moving forward, heavy circumstances and all. I have the ability to turn this around. It’s a different life than I would’ve planned, but one my wolf and I can thrive in if we seize it.
Down the mountain we go, nearly falling more times than we’d like to keep track of, until we finally make it to flat ground again. But that’s almost harder. Now we have to haul our burden without gravity aiding us, guided only by our sheer determination and need to fix what we can. Every strenuous pull and struggled inch is a living, breathing metaphor, and we need to succeed physically so that we can cross that line mentally.
My wolf is panting, legs shaking, teeth feeling like they’re ready to fall out by the time we stop. We drag the mountain goat into the clearing of Ruin Falls pack land, past shifters who stop in their tracks and turn curiously to watch us. We don’t stagger beneath the weight of their stares or the animal in our maw. Despite how much our body aches with exhaustion, we don’t collapse.
Instead, with our head held high, we drag our offering all the way to the alpha house, where Tyran is standing stock still. Shirt off, pants slung low on his hips, muscled arms crossed in front of his chest. He’s wearing a face that’s stony and unmoved, though there’s a gleam in his eye.
We drop the kill right at his feet and look up at him, unable to hold in our panting, not caring that our fur is covered in dirt and pebbles, teeth soaked in goat’s blood from our exertions.
