Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Raven woke before dawn. The black wolf stood tall over her. He bent his head and nudged her neck with his cool, wet nose.
Luna stood by the cave entrance, nearly blocking the gray pre-dawn light with her enormous form. Her tail swished with impatience.
The wolves seemed to know it was time to get up and do something. She just had to figure out what that was—and do it.
Her stomach rumbled. She had to go to the bathroom. Her mouth was dry and gritty with thirst, her teeth fuzzy. With a groan, she rolled onto her stomach and crawled out of the cave.
The charcoal sky loomed over the black outline of the trees. Dark shadows cloaked the land, dew clinging to the leaves.
Clambering over several rocks, she found a spot to relieve herself. She returned to the mouth of the cave, removed the pine boughs, dug out her backpack, and tore open a self-heating chicken-flavored meal packet.
The wolves watched her with interest. Adult wolves ate five to fourteen pounds of meat per day on average, though in the wild, sometimes twelve days or more could pass between feedings.
Though they were incredibly intelligent and lethal, a wolf’s typical hunt was successful less than ten percent of the time. They survived on a feast-or-famine diet.
Shadow and Luna could last a few days without a meal. Still, she threw them several strips of dried venison. Shadow gulped down his share with an eager wave of his tail. Luna growled grumpily, but she ate them, if begrudgingly, as if she disliked owing Raven a favor.
Raven had successfully driven the Headhunters from the woods for a while, giving the animals a chance to flee further from the zoo. She’d killed one Headhunter and injured three others. Gomez wasn’t a threat anymore, either.
That was five fewer Headhunters.
Her luck would run out eventually. The Headhunters would be back, and in larger numbers. They wouldn’t leave until they got the blood they sought.
Raven had done what she could for the animals. She had Shadow and Luna at her side. It was time to run.
Time to head north for the cabin. She’d have supplies, water, and food. Solitude and safety.
She could stay there for months, years, even longer. She could fish, hunt deer, and snare small game. She had the map. She could get there.
The cabin would be her salvation.
It had to be.
“This time, you follow me,” Raven instructed the wolves.
She had no idea if they would obey her. They were an alpha pair. They were the leaders, not followers. She hated the thought of the wolves leaving her again. It threatened to crack something deep inside her.
She didn’t want to do this alone.
After eating and checking her compass, she shouldered her pack and retrieved her rifle. The air was brisk, the temperature in the low forties. It would be a chilly, sunny day.
Dawn rose over the trees. Shards of golden light pierced the canopy and gilded the forest floor. The wolves ran ahead and behind her, appearing and disappearing regularly.
When they entered the tree line, the leaf canopy blotted out much of the light. The air around her grew darker, colder. Raven lifted her hood and drew her coat tighter around herself.
Her scalp prickled. She felt rather than saw pairs of eyes peering at her from the shadows. She half-expected five hundred pounds of muscle, claws, and fangs to pounce at any moment.
Vlad was somewhere close. She could feel his menacing presence.
Her heart jolted at every rustle in the brush, every cracking twig. She strained her ears, listening for the rustling of the trees, the scrabble of squirrels, the chirp of a bird or fluff of its wings.
A loud cawing drew her attention. She gazed up at a patch of sky through the trees, shielding her face with her hand. A dozen crows soared in low circles to the northwest, the direction they were headed.
In the wild, crows would follow a tiger the same way ravens followed wolves. It significantly upped the crows' odds of getting fed, shifting from if to when.
Ten minutes later, she found the first tracks.
Pausing, Raven knelt on the ground. Crisp brown leaves crackled beneath her knees. She brushed away crumbling leaves, clumps of pine needles, and a spider’s web.
It was the same deep imprint as before. The thick palmar pad, four smaller digit pads fanned around the larger print.
She studied the ground. More tracks. The closely spaced indentations indicated a slow, sedate pace. The tiger was taking a stroll, or perhaps stalking something—or someone.
How long ago had Vlad made these tracks? Hours? Minutes?
Despite the impressive size and the rich russet and black stripes of its fur, a tiger could make itself quite invisible when it so desired. Tigers moved in absolute silence. They cloaked themselves in shadows.
Vlad would sense her long before she laid eyes on him.
She wouldn’t see him until he wanted to be seen. Until it was too late.
He might have doubled back from these tracks and could be tracking her even now. Tigers were ambush hunters, masters of stealth and surprise.
Her heartbeat quickened. Her palms went damp. Anxiety hummed through her.
If Vlad was stalking her, she needed to know. She needed to follow the tracks for a while to see where they headed, whether they doubled back, whether a tiger was perhaps lying in wait for her even now.
Her father had taught her basic tracking skills. Hopefully, it would be enough. Head bent, alert to every sound, she traced the tiger tracks through clusters of yellowwood, beech, and white ash trees along the base of a steep slope to her right.
The forest was alive with brilliant fall colors. Golden yellow spice bushes and crimson sumac grew everywhere.
After several hundred feet, the tracks changed abruptly. Ahead of her, the dense forest broke into a clearing about forty feet wide and twice as deep. Vivid green ferns swished in the breeze.
Just before the clearing, at the base of two poplar trees, she spotted something odd. Cautiously, she approached. Beneath the tree, the underbrush was matted down like a heavy log had smashed the long grasses. A log, or a massive predator.
Vlad had been here. The tiger had lain in wait for something.
Her gut tightened. She paused, hesitating.
Wild tigers were nocturnal hunters, but Vlad was a captive tiger. Having just escaped said captivity, typical tiger behavior would likely not apply.
Plus, if she accidentally invaded the territory of his kill, he’d be more inclined to attack.
Vlad was capable of anything, at any time, against anyone.
Her pack felt like it weighed a thousand pounds against her spine. Cold tingled in her fingers. She felt exposed, vulnerable. She wanted to call the wolves to her, but making a sound was a dangerous and stupid thing to do.
Raven scanned the clearing again, searching for any sign of imminent danger. Her gaze snagged on something several feet into the clearing. A mountain laurel bush. Red droplets stained a clutch of green leaves.
Fresh blood.