Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
If I were to let her run into the wilderness, it would be proper and right. Some would say that I should let her run. I should let this evening be an expensive, humiliating mistake.
But she’s fucking mine.
I leap from the train, my suit shredding from my body as I take my wolf form. I am fast, but she is also fast, and she has a head start of a good quarter of a mile. She is running at full speed, and has been all this time, while I questioned myself, questioned her, questioned all I know about nature and the pack itself.
My paws find the ground, propelling my powerful self in chase.
It would be easy to lose her if sight was the only sense I had to fall back on, but I have scent, and hers drives me wild. I pursue her at full speed, giving chase like the wild thing I am.
She won’t escape me.
I won’t allow it.
I will claim her. Reclaim her, if I have to.
The train recedes in the distance as we run from it, leaving behind comfort and all pretense of natural humanity. The ground is slightly wet. It must have rained earlier today. Not surprising, given the climate.
Our paws will be leaving deep tracks. They’ll spur hunts if we’re not careful.
What the hell am I thinking. We are not being careful. We are being wild.
Hot breath and pounding paws soon draw up alongside me.
I am not running alone. My retinue has followed me, and we are able to do what wild wolves do, taking turns in the lead, running our prey to the ground, but allowing ourselves to slow and store our strength while another pack member takes the lead and shapes the direction of the prey.
It is an unspoken process. The second I took my wolf form, they took theirs. They follow me without question. Not out of loyalty, but because they always follow me. I am what I am, and they are what they are. This is all instinct.
Beatrix has lost the protection of personhood. We are beasts, and she is our prey.
In spite of all of this, our inherent advantage in numbers, our greater male strength, our determination and practice at hunting, if she was not exhausted, I do not think we would be able to catch her. She is fast and light, not carrying near the muscle most of us are. At first she sets an impossible pace, but over time and distance, she starts to flag.
She is tagged with a quick nip on the back rear leg by Daniel, and then on the right by Marcel. They drop back as she slows, a limp in her gait that will only worsen with time.
Ordinarily, anybody who hurt my mate in any way would die, but those rules, like so many others are suspended right now. They are all extensions of me, doing my bidding. The alpha’s mate does not merely belong to the alpha, she belongs to the pack.
These methods might seem cruel, but she could stop. It will all end once she is no longer running. Until then, she is a fleeing creature attracting the relentless pursuit of a pack.
Stop. I will her silently, as she keeps running on pained legs.
Stop, I snarl, though it does nothing to stop her.
If I want her to stop, I have to make her stop. This needs to end, before my pack takes her apart one nip at a time for the sin of insolence. I surge forward, taking the lead again. This time, I am prepared to use the last reserves of my energy. I have caught up with her. I have run her ragged and now…
I do not grab a limb; I draw even with her and nudge a front leg with my nose. She does not have the energy to right herself, so instead she gives into gravity, stumbling, rolling. I am right there on top of her, teeth fastened on the back of her neck, forcing her down to the ground, biting hard enough to slice through her resolve.
The message is clear.
She will drop the wolf form, or she will suffer.
She chooses to suffer.
I hear her yelp beneath my teeth. I feel them puncture the thickness of her hide.
I should have known better. I know very little of her, but I do know that she is stubborn. I know that she has remained herself even though she has been roundly punished and rejected for it. Force is not the answer. It will never be the answer.
I release my jaws before blood taints my teeth, and I lick the place I bit, her fur gorgeous beneath my tongue. I groom my mate, making what was hurt feel better.
She is panting beneath me, her ribcage rising and falling with the effort of exercise. I wonder if she will faint, if she is so drained by all this chaos and fear that she can no longer retain consciousness. It happens quite often when a young wolf overextends themselves. There is a limit to what they can stand. The body can draw more energy than it should, pull from reserves that should never be tapped, and the result is exhaustion that lasts days.