The Heat #WATTYS2019

Chapter 12

Despite my efforts to remain indifferent to his speech, my heart stilled at his words. The forest froze. The birds went silent. The deer stopped grazing. The mice and other small rodents stopped foraging for nuts. It felt like a world had passed away in those few seconds, because the male who probably had the most morals out there was going to die.

What? was the only coherent word I managed to pass through the link.

I'm going to die.

Once more those five simple words knocked the breath out of my chest. A world of pain swirled within me. What was happening to me? Without having to voice it out loud or on my head, I knew. I had become attached. My wolf was scratching at me, howling in agony. The pain she felt at the thought of losing him was surpassing that of my heat.

You can't.

That was a very simple thought, but I just simply could not imagine him not with me. Not after everything. Not after him saving me from that huge Northern wolf. Not after the playful banter. I would miss it. Not after the company I hadn't known I'd been craving.

He chuckled in my head.

Can you tell me your name before I die?

Yes, before you die. You're not dying anytime soon.

I like your determination, Little Wolf, but I will die.

Well I hate your negative attitude.

Says Alpha Grumpy Pants.

Yes.

I cut off the connection and turned around him. He was in a bad position, with red petals of blood staining his almost-white coat. The droplets were concentrated on his neck and throat, with a few streaks of wine-colored liquid dotting his back and flanks, like some kind of abstract horror painting. He was cut up all over.

I growled lowly in the back of my throat.

Who the hell did this to you?

Some Feral I think.

My golden gaze snapped to his silver one, A Feral? You think? Fenris, you can't think it's a Feral. They are quite easily spotted. They stink like a dead crocodile that's been out rotting in the sun for far too long.

Well that's the thing, Little Wolf. He smelled like nothing. Only the basic scents remained— his gender, age, and the fact that he was a wolf. Nothing else. Not the distinctive smell of him, no Pack, no rank, no Rogue, no Feral, no nothing.

My brows furrowed as I cocked my head to the side.

How is that possible?

Fenris seemed to hesitate, then, I don't know.

I could have smelled the putrid stench of a lie fifteen miles away, but I didn't push it. Yet. Right now, I had to get Fenris on his feet so we could get out of this dangerous zone faster.

I lowered my nose to his wounds and starting observing them. They were quite deep, all of them bite wounds, with a few superficial claw marks. No canine claws could properly wound a wolf— our fur was too thick and said claws too short.

What would I do if I were wounded and on my own?

The answer that instantly came to me would be hard to accomplish here— get hot mud on the gashes and then clean them with salt water before licking them. Most animals had special bacteria in their saliva that helped tissues mend together again.