Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 7

 I follow Dane's trail of discarded clothes to the woods at the edge of the meadow, gathering them up as I go. Then I shed my own garments, fold them neatly and set them on the clean surface of a fallen log, piling Dane's beside mine. Finally, I take a few deep breaths, center myself, and let the wolf take me.

I haven't done a full shift in ages, it seems, and it feels good. I'm more relaxed and playful as a wolf than I ever quite manage to be as a man, and I leap and snap at a yellow butterfly passing overhead just for fun.

Landing on the soft forest floor, carpeted with many seasons' worth of fallen leaves, I spin in a quick circle, chasing my tail, and then stop—alert, listening, searching for a sign. A breeze lifts the air, and I catch it—my brother's scent—and then I'm off sprinting between tall, thick-trunked pines and thin, leafy saplings. The scent leads me up the ridge away from the meadow, and I run with my nose to the ground, my excitement growing with every step.

Even though I'm only tracking Dane, the thrill of the hunt is still there, surging through my blood with the beat of my heart. I haven't felt so free—so untroubled—in months, and I bark with delight as I leap a small stream and race my way up a steep embankment on the other side.

I gain the top and stop a moment to catch my breath, panting hard, and sweep my gaze across the densely forested land before me. On my right, it rises sharply towards the crest of the ridge, and on my left it drops away with a more gentle slope, the woods growing thicker and more shadowed towards the bottom, where the stream runs through the thickets below. Directly in front of me, running parallel along the slope, is a narrow path—a sort of deer trail, I'd guess.

Lifting my nose in the air, I sniff, but the breeze has shifted, and Dane's scent is gone.

I've just decided to follow the trail a ways and see if I catch it again, when something huge and heavy collides with me from the side, knocking me off my feet and sending me tumbling a short distance down the slope with a yelp of surprise. By the time he's on me, teeth pressed to my throat and a low growl rumbling in his chest, I've realized it's Dane and surrender with a whine. He always did play a bit rough.

He lets me go and steps back, watching me with his head tilted to one side and his ears pricked forward, his black fur and gold tips making him blend with the forest shadows like some kind of gigantic wolf-wraith. When I don't move, he comes close again, nudging me with his nose and offering me a whine of his own. He overdoes it sometimes, but he never means to hurt.

Carefully, I get to my feet, keeping my tail tucked and my ears flat to signal submission. He whines again, wags his tail, and licks my face—all reassurances of his brotherly love—letting me know that there was no real aggression in his surprise attack; just a bit of fun.

Cautiously, I raise my ears and wag my own tail, and then nip playfully at the side of his neck. He nips back, and then I'm off, racing away back down the ridge as fast as I can go.

We used to play like this when we were younger. Our clothes were always the goal, and whoever got there first would try to hide the other's things. On the way, though, the idea was to take the competition down.

I'm a natural sprinter, and over short distances, I'm the fastest in our pack; but when it comes to endurance, Dane has the advantage. He gets me when I'm crossing the last little creek before the meadow, taking me down with a splash of only half-playful snarls, and I twist a back leg between two rocks. Dane's a lot bigger than he was when we were kids, and he hasn't had another wolf to play with in a while. He has me by the back of the neck, and I can feel his teeth and his hot breath through my fur, and I go still and whine so he knows the game is over. He releases me and I pick myself up and limp carefully to shore. He follows, and shifts to his human form as soon as he reaches dry ground.