We Walk As Wolves

Chapter 24

Redd

Redd's eyes snapped to the drapes hanging across Wilder's doorway.

Scratches, deep and frenetic, came from the other side. Though she told herself it wasn't possible, it couldn't have ever been, Redd knew the sound.

Wolves.

She drug her head up from the edge of Wilder's bed, stiff and steady to keep the mattress from squealing. She held her breath, listening through the soft whistle of Wilder's breathing on her neck.

Sharp nails raked against bark as the animals fought to squeeze through the stump's opening, as they tried to dig under. In her head, she could see their mouths, drenched in red. Their snapping teeth. Because they were maniacal. Because they were starving. Wilder had dreamt the wolves up. The island didn't have the resources to sustain creatures like them.

Their breaths rattled, whistling in and out of them as if they were gasping through holes from old arrow wounds. Their breathing pattern was something known and learned only by those who had encountered one, and lived long enough to run into another.

A million thoughts flew through her mind, but only one sunk into her head and stayed: they shouldn't be here.

She'd killed them all during the night, two dozen total. It was more than usual, but she hadn't thought anything of it. They went down beneath airborne silver just the same as any other night. But even if she'd missed some, they had never ventured toward the Forest of Make Believe before - toward her.

She titled her head, straining to hear the wolves. But they had quieted their movements, slowed their frantic digging. They must have known she was awake, must have known it meant her bow was too.

Or they had already gotten inside, the stump's sandy floor inhaling their sounds until they could move through the house in silence, like ghosts slipping from the walls. With a sweep of her palm, she brushed her hand over Wilder's shoulder. Her fingers had barely reached him, but he bolted upright in the bed at her touch like she'd set a lit torch to his skin.

He was panting, sweat dripping down his bare arms. His body trembled beneath her hand, veins flaring under his skin. His eyes danced across the room, jumping from one thing to the next, and she could tell he hadn't come back to her completely. His words were slurred. "I know where he is."

It barely registered in Redd's head. She was too busy staring at his face, still illuminated by the moon's red glow. She glanced at the sky; the stars stared back at her. Redd didn't understand. Wilder woke up, and the sun followed. That's how it had always been. "We have to move, Wilder."

She helped to unravel him from the blankets, and instead of handing him his coat, she tossed him his dagger. He grinned at it, the lost pieces of himself slowly crawling back through the lines on his mouth. "A hunt? At this hour? You really do know the best way to rouse -"

She shook her head quickly and put a finger to her lips, digging her other hand into the sack behind her neck. She lowered her voice, though she knew it didn't matter. The wolves would come regardless. "The hunt came to us."

Redd watched the thrill leave his face. He stood tall, shoulders back and dagger ready, but his eyes gave him away. When he spoke, his voice was flat, eyes trained on her only - like he was afraid if he turned, the wolves would be standing behind him. "Where are they?"

"Outside," she said, slipping an arrow into her bow. "But I doubt they'll be there for much longer. They've caught our scents."

"How many?" he asked as she plunged through the leather curtain and into the dreamcatcher hall.