Chapter 37 #2
Nik left a mark on the rock for me to find.
For me to follow by not only tracking his scent, but his blood, and I had accidentally done just that.
While a part of the trail he left behind is rich with cedar, the smell of his blood is something else entirely.
It’s … seductive. I’ve never come across anything so alluring before, and I have to brace my palms against the rock to stay upright.
My body stiffens from the adrenaline filling my veins.
And every time I smell him, I truly take in what lies beneath the tattooed skin of Nikolai Vostik, I seem to lose all sense of who I am.
The moon hangs lower than it has the past week, a bright, near-complete circle shining to even the darkest parts of this forest. There’s something off about it, though.
It doesn’t have the same yellow shade when fighting against sunset.
No, the moon glaring down at me now has the incomings of red highlighting the rim the same way I’ve seen Nik’s eyes flash before the gold returns.
Only the moon’s color doesn’t change, and every time I glance upward, I take in the last time I’ll get this close to seeing a full moon without transforming.
Tomorrow.
Realization dawns on me. I’m going to transform tomorrow.
I’ve been so caught up with Nik, with Jade, with training to even consider what is less than twenty-four hours away.
The blood moon. The first full moon since Viktor bit me.
It doesn’t matter what happens between now and then.
Win or lose, there’s only one thing I’m sure of.
I will shift tomorrow night. Hand pressed to the rock, I feel my heart race through my outstretched fingers, giving the stone its own heartbeat.
I’m a day away from turning into a monster.
A thousand different variations of I’m not ready pass through my mind.
I had a hard enough time changing information on my tax forms, I’m not ready to change into a completely different species.
There goes Natalie, they’d say. Remember when she used to be human?
Remember when she didn’t have fleas? Okay, that last part might be a fur bias, but until Nik can confidently confirm fleas don’t come with the werewolf package, I’m not convinced I won’t find myself itching in the middle of the night.
A harsh wind passes through the woods, shaking hands with every branch it touches.
Most of them clack together. The ones looming over me, however, scratch at the sharpest point of the rock.
I silently thank the evening draft for saving me from another ten minutes of being trapped inside my own head, but that isn’t the only thing to draw my attention.
My senses return as abruptly. The blood is on the rock, but that’s not where Nik’s trail ends.
There’s more. Small droplets of him sprinkled on fallen leaves and dirt veering deeper.
I immerse myself back into the darkness of the woods, pushing forward with every drop of blood I can sniff out.
Some is on the verge of drying while the rest are small pools with the noticeable fragrance of him.
I know it’s only a matter of time before his hand will heal and this trail will go cold, so I waste no time.
I start running. Slow at first. Then, at breakneck speed, locking onto any piece of Nik I can find.
Low branches slice my cheeks and arms, but I pay them no mind.
Not when I’ve reached a stride that is both terrifying and exhilarating.
Despite the pitch black of this part of the forest, I’m not nearly as blind as I thought.
The blood he left behind seems to create a lighted path along the rugged terrain, illuminating everything in my eyes from the stones to avoid and the trees to sidestep.
I run for what feels like the first time in my life, letting the wind push my hair behind me in a tangled mess.
And as I near what I think my legs can handle, I pick up the pace again, racing through the harsh terrain, a predator on the hunt to make their first kill.
I keep running. Faster. Farther. Building a gait I don’t recognize but can’t get enough of.
My feet don’t slam into the ground anymore, but graze it, making it impossible to count off the steps in my head.
Each heartbeat falls in sync with my sprint through the Duval grounds, and somehow I’m gaining speed.
I’m not running anymore. No. I am gliding over every inch of this landscape.
Racing through the woods in a way that doesn’t feel human.
Because it isn’t. I’m not the same Natalie struggling to outrun the wolf on my heels anymore.
I am the wolf, and there’s only one drop of blood left in the distance before I close in on my prey.
Stop. Stop. Stop! Digging my heels in doesn’t help me slow.
It’s only when I slam my clawed hands in the ground that I’m able to stop fully.
And by stop, I mean flip over myself first, then spin and twist into a spectacular crash landing.
Debris kicks up. Rocks and dirt fling in all directions.
Note to self. Don’t run again until you learn how to brake properly.
I spit out what I can, mostly the mud coating my teeth, and cough out the rest. Dusting off my clothes, I stand and inspect myself, using what little moonlight I can to take note of the bloody lines on my arms and the layers of skin missing from my elbows.
It’s not the small scrape you might see on a child’s knee.
No, it’s the road rash you’d expect after a motorcycle crash where different limbs are shaved down to the bone.
I pull out the small sticks imbedded in my skin, wincing as each one is plucked from its new fleshy home.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, gritting my teeth as the pain reaches an excruciating level.
That’s it. No more running. No more fighting.
No more fucking werewolfing! It’s bad enough I’m covered head to toe in little wilderness trophies, but now my arm is mangled and dangling to my side.
I’m sick of being put into some predicament where I need to heal every single day.
Can’t I just end one freaking night without bandages and a new part of my body throbbing as the curse works its magic?
Branches crack in the distance. I stop dabbing at the wound with my shirt and peer from one end of the woods to the next.
It wasn’t from the wind and surely not some critter doing its best to avoid being seen.
No, the crack was too loud. Too heavy. Even with pained breaths blocking out the noise, my senses are still sharp enough to catch it.
“I know you’re out there!” I scream and turn from tree to tree.
Silence follows, but I know he’s close. I don’t need to search for his trail to be sure.
He’s here. Close enough to taste despite the heavy wooded scent passing through the grounds.
He mastered controlling his heart rate, so unless I can miraculously develop night vision, I’m going to have to use my ears in a different way to find him. I need a plan to draw him out.
“Nik?” I say, intentionally adding fear to my voice. “I’m—I’m hurt.”
Something shifts in the distance, crunchy enough to be leaves or piles of brush falling victim to his heavy foot. And when another branch cracks under his weight, I pinpoint exactly where the sound is coming from.
Mangled arm be damned, I run again, using what limbs are still maneuverable to thrust myself back into the fray.
There isn’t enough time for him to retreat.
Not now. Not when I veer through the trees at an impossible speed.
My heart rate picks up but reduces to static when a more prominent sound finally makes itself known.
What started off as a gentle patter is now a hard knocking, and his heartbeat becomes unmistakably clear.
I leap through the air, catching a flash of his golden eyes in my descent.
He doesn’t wait for me to find firm footing and continue the chase.
Nik bolts through the only path not boxed in by rocks and trees, but what he doesn’t know is I saw the same path, too.
From the second our eyes met, I scanned the next part of the woods where I thought he might go for an easy escape. And I won’t make this easy for him.
I jump again, this time using the forest to my advantage. From one tree to the next, I dig my claws in and propel my body forward, pinballing closer to him and shortening the distance. He’s fast. Unimaginably quick on his feet as he winds his way further, even vaulting over anything in his path.
Using another tree as a springboard, I catapult myself with every ounce of strength my legs can muster.
I launch into the air, flying high at first until my body begins to dive for the earth, pointed directly at Nikolai Vostik.
Ten feet. Five. Three. And it’s only when a violent snarl leaves my lips that he realizes I’m not behind him. No, I’m right on top of him.
Thumpf. We crash into the dirt, tumbling enough times to lose count on the unkempt terrain.
When our bodies finally stop, I seize the opportunity to pin him, my thighs collapsing perfectly around the hardness of his hips.
Claws drawn, I hold one to his throat and use the other to pin his hands above his head.
“You found me,” he says as my grip on him tightens.
“I did. Now, you’re going to yield,” I demand, letting the sharp points of my nails pierce the first layer of his skin.
A small chuckle slips through his collapsing windpipe. He grins, proudly displaying his teeth and long canines. “Not until you kiss me.”