Blood for Wolves - By Nicole Taft Page 0,29

two before she submits, and then we can pick her apart, piece by piece.”

Why did everything around here want to eat me? First Wolf, then the giants, and now harpies. Except Wolf hadn’t really wanted to eat me at all. Why had I left Wolf? Why did I think I could survive in this place on my own? I wanted to fly again. I touched the wings on the necklace, but nothing happened. Would I die here, eaten by harpies?

No. I lifted my head to glare at the one with my blood on her talons. I was not going to be eaten alive by harpies. At least, not without a fight. I’d go down breaking wings, tearing out feathers, and gouging eyes. I abruptly pushed myself up and spit into her face.

I went down again immediately as she screeched in surprise and anger, flapping her wings and flinging her head back and forth. I cried out almost as loudly, digging my fingernails into the tree branch out of pain. My arm was slick with blood. I prayed she hadn’t punctured anything vital, or I wouldn’t have to worry about being eaten alive. I’d die of blood loss first. The idea made me even angrier, and I kicked out at the harpy behind me. Bad idea. I missed, and she shrieked and scratched at my legs. Her talons sank into my calf, pushing me over the branch. I screamed again and hung on for dear life, dangling over the dark ground far below. Then I heard a low growl and glanced down. Something on all fours, black, with a long tail paced beneath me. A pair of vibrant green eyes looked up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, fear spiking through me. I strained to pull myself back up, but my injured arm hurt too much, the wounds too deep. I started to slip.

“No, no,” said the harpy behind me. She fluttered over and hauled me back up by my backpack. I secretly thanked the powers that be that she hadn’t done it by some other body part. She plunked me down on the branch again.

“You are staying right here until you are ready,” she said.

The three of them cackled again and flew off to parts unknown. The clouds overhead seemed tainted by an inky blackness, making them look smoky and evil. The creature pacing below stopped to lap up something from the ground. My blood. It dripped from my fingertips and slowly soaked into my hiking sock from my leg. I closed my eyes. I never wanted to be here. I just wanted to help a little girl get back home. Not even Wolf could find me now. I didn’t know how far I’d gone, but I’d traveled by air. But what did that matter? He knew Marianne’s scent. He’d go after her instead. He was bound to.

With the harpies gone, I’d dragged myself over to sit against the tree’s trunk. I rummaged through my daypack to find the first-aid kit. Luckily the harpy’s talons hadn’t ripped the pack too deeply, only tearing out the outer pocket where I kept small things like sunglasses, my compass, and pocketknife. The first-aid kit was hardly what I needed for my wounds, but I did what I could with the antibacterial ointment and small role of gauze. Duct tape held everything in place. Fortunately my leg wound wasn’t too bad and after a while it finally stopped bleeding. On an afterthought, I kept the scissors from the kit and slipped them into my pocket. Then I closed my eyes and tried to rest.

I didn’t know how long I sat in the tree. Occasionally the harpies returned, snuffled around me, and then flew off again, dissatisfied. I guessed I wasn’t ripe yet. The thing below had lain down against the trunk, its tail occasionally twitching back and forth. It reminded me of a panther, but it was bigger, much more sinister, and way too eager to get whatever leftovers the harpies dropped. I kept touching the wings on the necklace, wishing I could fly again, but nothing happened.

Somehow I managed to doze. What little light broke through the polluted clouds eventually faded and the entire forest went black. Normal forests had ribbiting frogs and singing insects at night. This place had things that screamed. A creature squealed, something snapped, and then whatever it was ate its prey, little bones crunching in its teeth. Big snakes—or other horrors—slithered through the underbrush. Suddenly, I was

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