He’s paying me no attention. I’m not the one he’s here for, not the one he’s curious about. He takes another step as he watches Storm. She makes a noise that starts as a growl, then switches to a whine before ending with a growl. She is curious, too, as she was with the sled dogs. Curious yet wary. She is no longer the pup who tore after a young cougar. She bears the scar from that encounter, and it has carved a path in her neural network, straight to her memories, as my scars do to mine.
I lower my hand to pet her head as I murmur reassurances. The wolf is as tall as Storm, but she’s significantly heavier, all thick muscle to his wiry frame. Between her size and my gun, she is safe. If she becomes distressed, we’ll withdraw into the cabin. But it is safe to satisfy her curiosity.
When I pet her, she is indeed reassured, and she relaxes. Both the whines and the growls subside, and she eyes the wolf, taking his measure. Then she puffs up in a way that makes me smile. She pulls herself straight and tall, displaying her full size. Her tail stays high, indicating welcome but not submission. Her head lifts, and her ears relax. If she is nervous, she doesn’t show it. She has assessed the wolf, declared him to be a lesser beast, and stands before him as a haughty queen, giving him permission to approach.
With Raoul, Storm is the “alpha.” She’s bigger and older, and so she is in charge. This wolf looks like a larger version of her pack mate, and so she will not bow to him.
The wolf continues his slow approach. When he’s within a couple of feet, he stops and the silence is broken by two canines sniffing the air madly. Then he stretches his muzzle, and their noses touch. As adorable as it is, I’m tensed for trouble, the mom assessing another child, still not convinced he doesn’t pose a danger to her baby.
While I have my gun, I’m also ready with my foot. I do not want to shoot a wolf for a show of dominance. I’ve dealt with enough stray dogs to know that a well-placed kick will allow us to retreat into the cabin.
The wolf circles Storm, sniffing her. I instruct her to stay standing. Her head turns, though, following his progress. When he reaches her rear, he sticks his nose under her tail, and she jumps. He backs up only a second before returning, determinedly sniffing her there as he begins to whine and quake with obvious excitement. That’s when I realize why this wolf has conquered his fear of humans to make his way here.
“Oh,” I say, the word coming on a laugh.
They both startle.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
The wolf tries sniffing under Storm’s tail again, but she keeps it firmly down, and I have to chuckle at that. I also give her the release word. I’m not going to make her stand there, suffering the unwanted interest of this wolf.
She turns to sniff him. He keeps trying for her tail, but she shoulders him aside and huffs. I tense. He accepts her annoyance, though, and lets her sniff him. Greetings over, she hunkers down, an invitation to play. He races around her, and she spins, ready to give chase, but he’s only trying to get behind her again.
Storm snaps and growls, and she issues the play invitation again. He seems to accept … and then swings behind and tries to mount her. I don’t need to intercede. Storm yanks away, grabs him by the foreleg and throws him down with a growl that very clearly says there will be none of that.
Two more invitations to play only result in two more aborted mountings. Finally she huffs her disgust at me, and I have to laugh.
“I know,” I say. “You want to be friends, and he’s just looking to get laid. Some guys, huh?”
It’s clear that the wolf really is only interested in one thing, and he’s not getting it—Storm won’t let him, and I wouldn’t either. She retreats behind me, and I shoo him off with a “Hie! Hie!” as I lunge in his direction.
As the wolf flees into the night, the cabin door bangs open and I hear, “Shit! Casey!”
I look around the corner to see Dalton, staring at the retreating wolf.
“Uh…” I say. “Did you forget something?”
He looks down.
“Yep, clothing for one thing. Please get back inside before you lose any body parts I’d really rather you kept. I was, however, referring to…”
I lift my gun. “What were you going to do? Punch the wolf in the nose?”
He blinks, obviously still waking up. Then he says, “Wouldn’t be the first time. The last one was a feral dog, though.”
“Back inside,” I say.
Storm and I follow Dalton. He’s shivering, not surprisingly.
“Was that the same wolf?” he says.
“Yep, remember how we were talking earlier about unwanted advances and guys who don’t take no for an answer? It seems Storm has a suitor.”
He blinks, still bleary-eyed. “What?”
“She must be coming into estrus,” I say. “I haven’t seen signs, but she’s old enough, and that wolf picked up a scent that said, if his advances weren’t accepted right now, they might be soon.”
“Shit.”