Ice -- Wolv book II

32 - Tails it is

I scrabbled away on the cement floor as Daanis stalked forward, her canines gleaming wickedly in the dim light. My legs dragged along behind me, broken and numb and useless.

"Hush now, my stubborn child," she crooned softly. I felt her claw at my back, and she flipped me over, standing on my chest. Her weight crushed the air from my lungs, and she dug her nails into my skin. "Just calm down. Breathe."

I tried to scream, but my lips wouldn't work. I tried to struggle, but she had me pinned firmly in place against the ancient concrete.

"You're one of us now, little wolf."

Teeth crunched down on my arm, and Mingan stood to my right, guiltily holding my limb in his jaws. Acid burned inside my bones, searing the inside of my flesh until I thought my soul itself was on fire.

         *          *          *          *

"Ack!"

I coughed up a lungful of blood onto the floor, and sat up with a start. Whoa. I grasped at my temples as the world begin to spin. I dry-heaved onto the concrete, and shook my head slowly, trying to clear my nausea. I blinked, my eyes feeling dry and raw beneath my eyelids.

I threw off the pile of furs that had been nestled over me, and gasped. Both my legs, along with my right arm, were covered in dry, crusty bloodstains, as were the fur blankets beneath me. My caribou-skin outfit had finally bit the dust: blood-soaked and tattered, my clothes barely held themselves around my body.

"Hello?" I rasped, looking around. I was still in the silo, sitting on the stained floor. My eyes snapped to my side, and I sighed in relief--aside from a long, brown drag-stain leading out the still open door, there was no sign of the corpse that had fallen down with me. It had been dragged out and away.

There was, however, a nice little pile of animal bones just a few feet away, all of them having been nicely cleaned. Bits of bloodied fur were strewn about the bones.

Somebody had a nice meal in here.

I leaned forward to stand up, but stopped when my legs began to ache. Slowly, I peeled back the tanned caribou skin from my legs, until I'd rolled it up past my knees.

My calves were covered in dry, sticky blood as well, all having run down from identical wounds on either kneecap. I brushed my thumb pads over the wounds, and smiled dryly.

Both of my kneecaps had mended themselves. Pink, tender scars still marked the spot where my bones had pierced through my skin, and my bones themselves still throbbed numbly...but they were, for the most part, healed. They were solid once again.

I felt my heart skip a beat at the realization, and I let my head collapse down into my hands. I don't want to do this again. I looked over at my arm, and rolled up the sleeve. A perfect impression of Mingan's teeth had been tattooed into my forearm; angry red lines emanated from each individual tooth mark, and each puncture wound lined up almost exactly with the old scars that had Mingan had left nearly a year ago. I knew what those marks meant; I knew what they would bring. I bit back a shudder as I looked up and down the fresh teeth wounds, and huddled my arm in close to my chest.

I don't want to go through that again. It would hurt--that much I could count on--and it would hurt a lot.

But I am still alive. I guess.

I crawled forward, dragging myself across the floor and to the door of the silo. It was warm outside; grey clouds hung low in the sky, blotting out the sun, yet it was still well above zero. I blinked a few times at the new landscape that greeted my eyes--I'd walked into the silo from a winter snowscape, and I was exiting the building to a muddy, brown, nearly snowless spring afternoon.