So as long as Dreadlocks is willing to cooperate, I will take the chance. Raven was once the same way as she is right now, all growls and tightly clenched teeth. I saw the murder in her eyes every day when I visited her down in the dungeons of the fortress.
But then I learned a great deal about her. Raven had been raised by a wolf shifter, a kindly old lady by the name of Maggie, and it turned out she never truly hated us. She was just bitter.
Raven may be the human prophesied to end the shifter race, but she only took up the mantle of savior to avenge her friend.
Maggie had been killed by shifters, just because she had been sheltering a young human girl at her cottage. It wasn’t right. The old woman didn’t deserve to be killed in such a horrific way. But I bet Maggie had no regrets the day she died.
She saved a little girl from the winter cold, gave her food and shelter, and her kindness has paid off in spades.
If Raven had died that day in the forest, then she wouldn’t have been able to grow up and fulfil her end of the prophecy.
She wouldn’t have met me. Together, we can save our races. No one has to die needlessly anymore. We can share this world together...
“It’s okay, Chelsea. You can take your paw off her.”
The brown wolf cocks her head sideways, and she almost looks adorable. I stifle a snort. I never thought I would call Chelsea adorable.
She doesn’t protest. She removes herself from the human, giving her space and freedom at last, and the woman sags onto the ground.
She buries her face in the dirt, panting heavily, and I give her a moment to adjust. I think I heard the other human woman call her Bree before, but for now, I will call her Dreadlocks.
Dreadlocks takes her sweet time, and why do I get the feeling she’s stalling? Patrick and Hunter did a quick sweep of the perimeter. There are no more humans around, but we need to keep our wits about us.
Their backup may just be on its way.
I kneel beside her, and she lifts her head. Only hatred stares back at me when I gaze into her dark brown eyes, and I blow a sigh.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
“Fuck off, Mutt.”
Chelsea growls and I hold up my palm to her. “It’s okay, Chelsea. I can deal with her.”
The woman giggles, and I hike up an eyebrow. Did I say something funny?
“Why are you laughing?”
The woman slaps the ground. “Chelsea? Really? You actually give each other names? Human names too. How insulting. You not only stole our lands, but our names and identities, too. You’re far from human... You’re nothing but monsters!”
My jaw hangs loose. Too far, Dreadlocks, too far, but it’s true. We do have human names, and last names too. Irish and English sir names seem to be pretty popular in our pack.
If I recall, Chelsea was the name of a town in London of England and in New York too. My own name is Icelandic.
I guess we wolves were all just too lazy to come up with new names. Our own ancestors had to adopt human personas in order to blend in with the humans. The last thing they wanted to do was stand out.
Names like Fluffy, Fido, and Lucky would have clued the humans in from the get-go.
Chelsea can’t help herself after the woman insults her name. She shifts, and now she graces us all with her naked, tanned body.
Her brown hair is tied back in her signature skull braids, not a strand out of place, and she’s far more civilized than Dreadlocks right now.
As she yanks the human up by the hair, placing one of those steel-tipped claws to her throat, I panic.
“Chels—”
“So, you think my name is funny, hey? You won’t be laughing when I slit your throat with my latest manicure...”
The woman squeezes her eyes, tears dripping down her muddy cheeks as Chelsea rips at her scalp. Despite her obvious discomfort, she still gets a word in. “G-go to hell, wolf bitch...”