With a sigh, she kicked the snow off her boots at the front door and tramped through the cabin to the back door. Out back was where her dwindling wood supply was stacked—she needed to grab some kindling and bring it in before she could even think of getting settled for the night.
Pulling up the snow-covered tarp that covered the woodpile and kept it mostly dry, Christine was about to grab a likely looking chunk of oak when she heard the strangest thing. First there was a sharp, distinct SNAP!
And then she heard a low, agonized growling-howl—as though an animal somewhere nearby was in terrible pain.
THREE
Roarn roared in agony, clawing at the biter that had caught him in the snow. Snow spotted red with blood—his blood. The silver teeth were biting, biting into his leg and everything was pain and pain and pain!
First there had been the flying and then the crash in the trees. At first the quiet woods had calmed his wounded soul—wandering among the snowy trees had soothed the constant Fury and almost made him feel calm.
But then he had put a foot wrong and the biter had grabbed him with its sharp, silver teeth. It had clutched onto him and refused to let go, drawing his blood, spreading crimson over the innocent blanket of white…
The sight made him crazy—made him remember his brother, Toarn, shouting as the Darklings took him. Crying out for help but Roarn couldn’t reach him, couldn’t get to him in time…
The pain brought the Fury back with a vengeance—it buzzed in his head like a swarm of firebiters, stinging him relentlessly, never letting him forget, never letting him rest. And now the silver teeth of the biter were making it worse, clawing and gnawing, not letting him go no matter how hard he tugged.
Pain! Pain—hurts, oh, it hurts! Have to get away! Get away—run away!
They were less conscious thoughts than the desperate instincts of an animal. Roarn had lost his mind long ago to the Fury—he had only his instincts to guide him now.
But the silver jaws clamped around his leg wouldn’t let him go. He was stuck—trapped—with no one to help him, just like Toarn had been! And just like Toarn, he was going to die.
The Fury took over once more, cycling with the pain until Roarn’s head was filled with buzzing and agony and everything was painted blood-red with terror and horror and anguish…
It was in the midst of this awful cycle that he suddenly heard a voice. A soft voice—a feminine voice. He almost didn’t recognize it as such—he hadn’t heard a female’s voice in years. There were no females of his own kind left to mate with, to bond with. And yet the voice was soft, coaxing—definitely female.
“Hey there, big fella,” the voice was saying. “What happened to you?”
FOUR
“Holy crap, what are you?” Christine murmured as she stared at the big animal that was caught in what looked like a bear trap right on the edge of her property. It was rapidly getting darker so the details were difficult to see, but the fading light was glinting off the silver of the trap, making it obvious what had happened.
Christine could guess who had put the trap there in the first place. The Fensters had probably been hoping to catch her in it the next time she came to see if they were mistreating their dogs. Or maybe they just wanted to kill some of her feral cats to send her a message. Bastards.
But the thing in the trap was a hell of a lot bigger than any dog Christine had ever seen. In fact, it was somewhere between the size of professional wrestler and a grizzly bear. It had orange and black striped fur like a tiger and it was hunched in on itself, clawing at the silver trap and tearing at it with its teeth. The deep growls it was making were a mixture of fear, anger, and pure agony—it was a sound Christine was drawn to like a magnet.
She had never been able to stand seeing an animal in pain. From an early age, she’d wanted to help any living creature that seemed to be in trouble. It was the same impulse that had led her to bring in strays, feed feral cats, and rescue orphaned squirrels and raccoons and other wildlife that somehow always seemed to find her. But she had to admit, the animal caught by the Fenster’s trap and hunched in the bloody snow in front of her didn’t look like anything she’d ever seen before.
No matter what it was, though, it was clearly in pain. And Christine couldn’t just leave it here to gnaw off its own paw, as so many trapped animals would. She was fairly certain she could spring the nasty trap if only the striped creature would let her get close enough.