Blood for Wolves - By Nicole Taft Page 0,30

six again, in the woods, in the dark, all alone. I curled my fingers around my skull. Then somewhere, far off in the distance, a wolf howled, and I wanted to cry.

In the desperate hope that maybe I hadn’t screwed up too much, that maybe the wolf was my Wolf, I howled back.

“She is stagnating.”

The rough snarl woke me from what little sleep I’d managed to catch. The harpies were back, staring at me with black, beady eyes.

“She was too blissful when we caught her,” said the one who’d caught my arm. My blood had dried on her talons. “We will have to wait longer.”

“But I am hungry,” shrieked the third.

“Too bad,” the second snapped. “We have gone for twenty years without any, what are a few more days? She will give in eventually. They all do. Hunger and thirst are the best and simplest instruments of despair. Once she lays here wailing and begging, then it will be time for a feast.”

The other two harrumphed. My throat was dry, though I dared not reach for the bottled water in my pack lest they take it away from me so I’d cave faster. They hung around for a while, watching me. I watched them right back. I hated feeling sad and alone. Pathetic and waiting for rescue that would never come. I didn’t have my pocketknife, but I did have the scissors. I slid my hand into my pocket. The harpies hopped from branch to branch, wrinkling their ugly faces at me. If I was going down, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

The second one of them jumped near, I lunged forward and jabbed the scissor point into her neck. She shrieked and leaped back, flapping her wings as she tried to get away. I held on, letting her jerking motion do even more damage. Dark blood spurted from the growing wound. The other harpies screamed and darted at me. I ducked away, hoping they wouldn’t use their claws, but knowing they wouldn’t risk knocking me off the branch to feed the dark creature below. The harpy in front of me jumped and tried to scratch at me with her talons, but the angle wasn’t right and she missed. I grabbed at one of her legs and dragged her closer, taking out the scissors and jabbing down again into her chest. The instrument was small but sharp and dug a few inches into her flesh.

She kicked out with her other leg, the other two harpies yelling and flapping around my head. One of them kicked at my wounded arm. I cried out, and the distraction almost allowed the injured harpy to slash into my face. I released her and she flapped awkwardly back. Watery black blood covered my hand, smelling like rotted meat. I gagged and backed up to the trunk of the tree. The other two hovered nearby, watching as their comrade flopped and stumbled on the branch. Blood dripped over the bark and fell to the ground. I’d punctured something vital in her neck. She coughed and sputtered, finally collapsing on the limb with one last gurgling breath.

My stomach lurched from the smell of her blood, but I managed to steel myself against the desire to retch. Instead I watched the other two for their retribution. It didn’t come. They landed, looking deeply thoughtful about what they’d witnessed. I guessed they’d never experienced such an event before.

“Hmm,” one of them said. “I suppose…I suppose that just means that there’s more for the two of us.”

They cackled as though they’d just heard the funniest thing in the world. Then they left their perches. One snatched up the carcass and they flew off, probably to eat their so-called friend and then find some other poor creature to torment. I pulled out my water and drank down half the bottle.

Around mid-day, the evil panther below me got up and trotted into the forest. I laughed to myself. I’d beaten the evil panther. Then I froze. With it gone, I could try to climb down the tree.

I shifted around to hug the wide expanse of trunk. The bark split apart into thick pieces I could grab and was surprisingly stable for a dead tree. Slowly, methodically, I wrapped my legs around it and inched my way down, sliding a few heart-stopping inches from time to time. I’d been rock climbing before, but hiking boots were far from ideal, and my wounds throbbed painfully. I’d only made it six-inches below the main tree

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