Call of the Wild

8 - The Great Escape

Mason stands, dusts himself off, and holds out a hand to help me up.

After a pause, I take it. He pulls me up, lets me go, and leads me back downstairs and into the kitchen, talking all the way.

"Do wolves have a good sense of smell? Can they smell you, right now? Or— or can they hear us? Because if we need to leave, we've got to do it quietly."

"Yes to the smell, no to the hearing," I tell him, still not quite over the fact that he's so calm about this whole shifter mess. "They probably tracked me here. Followed the blood trail, or the car, or—"

I'm cut off by a distant, muffled howl. It sounds like a morbid little promise — a vow of death — and I recognise the warning laced into the noise. The words die in my throat as I lean heavily against the island, feeling suddenly lightheaded. They want me to know they're out there. They're going to act, and soon.

A desperate urge to run and hide rips through me, tearing clarity to shreds.

Mason throws open cupboards and rifles through them, pulling out an odd mix of supplies. A knife, a first-aid kit, and a packet of crackers which he throws to me.

I catch them and send him a lost look. My nerves tingle, eager to shift and cower, but I hold my ground. Mason doesn't look scared. I'm fine. I'm fine.

"Eat them," he says, nodding to the crackers. "They're just about in-date and they're the only food I have in until Robin gets back." Then, his expression falls as the colour drains from his face. "Holy shit, Robin. Do I need to tell her? Will she be alright?"

Already, he's pulling something small and sleek from his pocket — a phone — and he begins typing furiously.

"I think, as long as I'm not with her, they'll leave her alone," I admit, settling down at the island and opening the packet. I down a handful of crackers in one go and, wordlessly, as he types, Mason fetches me a glass of water. I keep telling myself, over and over, that the wolves cannot get in. They cannot reach me unless they shift and knock the door down. And for now, all is quiet.

"Okay," Mason says with a little sigh, leaning back against the counter opposite me. "She's at the store, now, anyway."

I nod and sip some water, straining to hear any sounds that don't quite belong. "The less people involved, the better."

"If that's a hint, I'm not taking it."

Instead of rising to the bait, I send him a dark look and eat another handful of crackers. I'm not sure how threatening the gesture is, given Mason has to bite his lip to hide a little smile.

He watches me for a moment more, something flickering to life behind his eyes, and then he looks out the window. "I don't understand it."

"Understand what?"

"It just... It doesn't make sense. The— the whole Call thing."

"Not to you. You're human," I concede with a little shrug, my focus already divided enough between the crackers and listening for any threats.

"Why chase the weakest one? What does that prove?"

I explain on auto-pilot, telling him the same words Kain told me, over and over, to prepare me before the Call. "It proves the alpha can get into the mind of its prey to hunt down any threat. Besides, the weakest wolf is the fastest. The most desperate to avoid a conflict. And if two wolves happen upon their prey, they fight to the death and the winner assumes the title."

"Oh, well that's dignified," Mason grumbles, crossing his arms. "No offence to your shifter culture, Aren, but I'm glad you decided to run. And I'm gonna make sure you get out of this."