Page 39 of The Vampire Curse
Time ticks on. A few members of the hunting party have teamed up, while others brag that they will be the one to catch it. Wagers are placed and written down.
The stablehand raises his arm.
My stomach churns.
The hand drops, and every horse leaps into action, running into the woods and splitting up. My horse follows without my needing to nudge her. I barely manage to keep from being jostled off.
I don’t want to see the senseless murder. It’s one thing to hunt an animal for food, quite another for entertainment.
After a long minute, my mare slows to a walk. I turn her head, guiding her to the north of the hunting party. I ride alone for a few hours, keeping within hearing range of the others, but out of sight.
The gray of morning has finally lifted, and the sun shines through the mottled branches.
I breathe in deeply, letting my eyes slide closed, pretending for a moment that I am somewhere else.
A small yelp catches my attention. My eyes snap open and I barely manage to keep myself from falling out of the saddle. Pulling the mare to a halt, I glance around, looking for the source of the cry.
Then I see it. The small wolf pup is curled up and shaking violently in a tangle of mud and branches of a dying bush.
I lift my leg over the horse and slowly lower myself to the ground, keeping an eye on the little wolf. Lifting the reins over the mare's head, I wrap them around a low branch. The horse nickers, displeased.
I inch my way over to the wolf, barely more than a scrappy ball of fur. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” I croon.
The creature freezes and takes a halting step back. When the contraption on its leg catches, fear grows wild in its eyes. It flails and struggles to get free, yelping.
“Quiet, little one.” I kneel in the loam and reach for him. The pup snaps its tiny mouthful of teeth. I reach over his small head and grab the scruff.
It stills. The poor thing can’t be more than a few months old. It’s roughly the size of a medium-sized dog, but still a baby in all ways—including strength and coordination.
I make soft shushing noises as my free hand roams over its back, sides, and each leg, looking for injuries. I get to the booted hind leg, tangled in some dying vines.
“You never had a chance,” I say in the same soothing tone.
It trembles, cowering but unable to get out of my grasp. I reach up and, still holding onto it by the scruff, continue to stroke my free hand down its back, all the while speaking gently. When the pup’s shaking lessens, I reach to scratch behind an ear.
“You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” I say.
Large brownish amber eyes blink up at me.
A growl comes from several yards ahead. I jerk my gaze up to see a much larger version of the little cub watching me.
“That must be your mama,” I whisper, which earns me a small whimper of a response.
Though the wolf doesn’t come any closer, there’s a spark of intelligence in its eyes. A flash I know better than to dismiss. These wolves are larger than most in the area.
I adjust my left leg, stretching it out in front of me, then pull the night forged dagger from my boot. The adult wolf lets out a low snarl.
“It’s okay, I won’t hurt him,” I say.
The snarling stops, but the large wolf takes several loping steps, cutting the distance in half. The cub’s shaking starts anew.
I keep my movements slow, reaching for the vines. I slide the edge of the blade across them, and with a single swipe, the tangle falls away. Before the pup can manage to wriggle from my grasp, I press its back to my chest and hold him there, continuing to talk and shush his whimpers.
After a minute, I bring the dagger to its foot. The other wolf growls again. Before it can react, I slip the blade between the foot and the boot and jerk my hand up, slicing the leather binds.
The boot drops to the ground and I release the pup. It takes a few tentative steps, glancing back in my direction. I give it one more scratch on the head then pat his butt, scooting it on its way.
It runs to the other wolf, and together they disappear into the forest.