The Kitty Cat's Mates (ManxMen)

4 | Cat Chase

The werewolf slowly stood on its feet, a deep low growl vibrating out of its chest as it towered and locked its eyes on the crown of the brown-haired boy's head. 

King refused to look. His adam apple bobbed when he swallowed the knot that got stuck on his throat. He wanted to run. But he stared at the grey clawed feet in front of him.

He had no chance.

With another hard swallow, King slowly looked up, and his eyes connected with the sapphire-blue eyes that were on him. He gulped again.

Then the werewolf inched towards him. A gasp escaped out of King's throat, and his body began to shuffle backwards in response, dragging his log of a leg in front of him. The man-wolf saw his wound, and it gnarred so loud that it made King's skin crawl. 

At that moment, King was stupidly thinking if the werewolf might happen to be a herbivore, just to reassure his ass that he wasn't going to end up as dog food. "G-good boy?" he said, lips trembling. The werewolf snarled at the words. Then it reached for King and King thought he was done for.

It halted. The werewolf's snout scrunched, as if in disgust. A moment later, King sensed the cause. It was the shift in the air's scent. King was familiar with it. It was the redolence of their pride, after all.

Realizing that the werewolf was troubled by the territorial frontier, King took the chance. He bolted towards their border, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg. The grey monster twitched, growled, and tried to catch him, but the lad arrived inside the perimeter before it did.

King met another roar. 

Snarling, the other werewolves rounded the edge of the invisible boundary. The cheetah — Pandora — rushed in all four beside King. She then stood and challenged them with a snarl and a harsh glare. Bryce, on the other hand, pushed himself up from the ground, huskily mumbling rubbish and unaware of his surroundings. Lucky for him, he landed inside the boundary, unlike King.

The silvery Lycan begrudgingly moved back, ears erect, and lips pulled back. King was tired, aching, yet blessed. But he didn't dare withdraw his eyes and alerted mind away from the werewolf. Who knows if he did. They might end up playing red light, green light.

The werewolves just stared at them. And the werecats too stared back. Despite the apparent hostility, it was... awkward. I mean, the pack's leader was just looking at King. Its gaze feels like it could pierce through him. And King wondered: why was it only looking at him? 

Before he could rake deeper through it, the silver werewolf puffed out its chest and snorted. Then it turned around. Ere it left, it eyed King sharply over its shoulder, throwing daggers at him, and then began to walk away. Its companions trailed behind it, quietly gnarring and some snapping their teeth at the felines.

Bryce marched towards his cousins, grimacing and massaging the back of his aching neck as he watched the retreating werewolves.

Pandora kept her defences up, waiting. But when a safe distance was achieved between them and the werewolves, she sighed and loosened up. "Let's go," she linked, and turned, "before any other dilemma greets us unannounced."

"Up we go." Bryce pulled King up.

King silently winced while he staggered to get his balance. He chewed his lower lip, eyes turning into lasers as he continued to stare at the grey werewolf. 

Pissed is what he was. Yeah, they saved their asses earlier, but he was confused as to why they were targetted next. He figured they were rouges. But they wouldn't have been bothered by the territorial boundary then if they were. King didn't understand. And he was also pissed — pissed about being beaten up (indirectly) by them.

Bryce heaved and settled the living chunk of meat on his shoulder again.

"Freaking mutts," King spat.

The wolf-men suddenly paused on their tracks. Their ears were perked up. King felt like he was splashed with a cold bucket of ice.

The werewolves turned, each by each. Their lips curled, and blade-like incisors showed. The silver werewolf's face scrunched in resolution. And King knew — Wrong move, King. Wrong move.

The three werecats stiffened up, and all the brown-haired boy could reply was, "Uh-oh."

Then the wolves thundered back to their direction.

"Go!" Pandora and Bryce dropped on all four, and they lumbered away.

"Argh! Not again!" Bryce looked over his shoulder. 

"King," Pandora gnarred at King.

King flashed a forced smile.

Cutting through the werewolves' growls and barks, King realized a dreadful sound up ahead.

They all knew what it was.

"You guys ready for a swim?!" Bryce whooped.

"No," King exhaled, his body stiffening. 

The two werecats sped. King gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into Bryce's fur so hard that the latter winced. But still, Bryce didn't stop. If ever, his speed even got higher.

And then they jumped.

In an instant, panic overwhelmed King. Water, he thought. He didn't know how to swim. His mind blanked up, and before he knew it, raging waves barreled over him, separating him away from Bryce and Pandora. It crashed all around and every inch of his body, pushing him underneath the waters.

Struggling and body mounting with pulsating terror, King flailed to keep his head above the grave that wrapped him. His left leg stung, and his vision and hearing blurred. He desperately pushed with his arm and legs, but he couldn't find any leverage. He tried to gasp for air, but there was nothing, just water.

It was scary like he was thrashing inside an invisible cage, with no air to breathe in. Parts of his body started cramping and hurting. Then the world turned black.