Badass Omega [MxM] - A Reimagining of Carmen

Chapter 2 - The Rivers

Tu crois le tenir, il t'évite

Tu crois l'éviter, il te tient -

L'amour!

You try to catch it, it evades you

You try to evade it, it holds you fast -

That's love!

- Carmen, by Bizet

After

Kit stopped for a moment, breathing in crisp, cold air and the scent of dust and fir trees. The nights in the Rocky Mountains were already frosty. 

Between the tall, twisting branches above him he could spot a crescent moon. It was almost three weeks until the full moon, so he should be able to pass here safely. 

On enemy territory. 

As soon as he moved pain shot through his body, radiating out from his back and shoulder. It took increasing effort to continue padding along silently, his whole body acing. Digging his paws into the hard, packed sandstone dust, he forced himself to keep going, panting around the bundle clamped between his jaws. 

For over a week now he had been travelling like this - weaker, sicker, and more exhausted with every hour that passed. He had tried licking the wound but it smelled bad, oozing pus and pounding rather than searing now. Every time he changed shape it opened, spilling precious blood and sticking to his clothes. 

He could not go on like this much longer. 

Being in wolf shape made it easier to endure and think only of what was in front of his paws, but his human heart knew that within a few days he would be dead. 

Unless he could make it to a road and a hospital. To humans.

Kit growled, disgusted. Then he quieted, flicking his ears around. Shit. Had he given away his position?

Yesterday he had crossed over from the wilds of the Rockies into the territory of an unknown pack of werewolves. He had hesitated at their scent marking, trying to discern their numbers and strength. At least four young males...but that might just be one patrol. 

The last time he did something like this he had been sixteen and it had been a full moon. He'd been alone and new to his wolf form... That time, the pack had swiftly chased him down, beat him within an inch of his life, and tossed him out again. It had been his first, and last, encounter with other werewolves. 

But Kit wasn't a pup anymore and if the pack he was trespassing on now found him he would be only so much dead meat. 

He was in no condition to fight or even run. But Hell, if he waited around at their border for another patrol he would be dead anyway, from starvation and infection. 

I know which way I would rather go out, he thought, treading on. 

A breeze picked up, rustling the leaves around him. Kit turned to the west slightly, skirting around a small meadow. Suddenly the wind turned, a gust blowing into his nose from across the open space. Kit's bundle dropped from his jaws, falling to the ground with a thud. 

He inhaled, catching the scent again just as two large, dark shapes detached themselves from the shadows on the other side of the meadow. 

Shit.

Kit drew back, turning to flee, and a searing pain shot through him. It pulled him up short, drawing a pathetic whimper from his throat. Double shit.