“Well,” Cinder finally grumbled. “I guess that was pretty fast thinking.”
A relieved grin filled up Thorne’s face. “We’re having another moment, aren’t we?”
“If by a moment, you mean me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met, then I guess we are.” Cinder slumped back on the floor. “Although maybe I’m just too exhausted to want to strangle anybody.”
“I’ll take it,” said Thorne, stretching out on the floor beside her and enjoying the cold hardness of the dock’s floor, the obnoxiously glaring lights overhead, the stink of sewage on their clothes, and the perfect sensation of freedom.
BOOK
Two
Little Red was a tender young morsel, and the wolf knew she would be even tastier than the old woman.
Eleven
The egg hissed as it slid into the melted butter, its vivid yolk drizzling into the white. Scarlet brushed a tufted feather off the next egg before cracking it open with one hand, simultaneously pushing the spatula across the bottom of the pan. The oozing whites grew opaque, fluffed up, developed a crackling film near the pan’s edges.
Otherwise, the house was silent. She’d checked in on her dad when she’d gotten home from the fight and found him comatose in her grandma’s bed, a bottle of whiskey stolen from the kitchen left open on the dresser.
She’d emptied the rest of the whiskey into the garden, along with every other bottle of liquor she could find, then spent four hours tossing in her own bed. Her head was full with the previous evening: the burn marks on her dad’s arm, the terror in his face, his desperation to find whatever her grand-mère had hidden.
And Wolf, with his tattoo and his intense looks and his almost-convincing tone: It wasn’t me.
Letting the spatula balance on the edge of the pan, Scarlet pulled a plate from the cabinet and sliced a hunk of stale bread from the loaf on the counter. The horizon was glowing and a clear sky promised another sunny day, but a wind had kicked up in the night, tossing the cornstalks and whistling past the chimney. A rooster crowed in the yard.
Sighing, she spooned the eggs onto the plate before sitting down at the dining table. She shoveled the food into her mouth while her hunger was stronger than her nerves. With her free hand, she reached for the portscreen on the table and established a netlink. “Search,” she muttered through a half-full mouth. “Tattoo L-S-O-P.”
UNABLE TO IDENTIFY COMMAND.
Grumbling, she typed in the terms and swallowed the last of the eggs while a stream of links came up: Extreme tattoos. Tattoo designs. Virtual tattoo models. The science behind tattoo removal. The latest in tattoo technology, virtually painless!
She tried: TATTOO LSOP962
No matches found.
She picked up the bread and ripped out a hunk with her teeth.
FOREARM TATTOO NUMBERS
A collection of images filled the screen, arms skinny and bulky, pale and dark, covered with garish drawings or displaying small, tiny symbols on their wrists. Thirteens and Roman numerals, birthdates and geographical coordinates. The first year of peace, “1 T.E.,” was popular.
Jaw beginning to ache, Scarlet dropped the rest of the bread down on the plate and rubbed her palms into her eyes. Street fighter tattoos? Kidnapper tattoos? Mafia tattoos?
Who were these people?
She stood up and started a pot of coffee.
“Wolf,” she whispered to herself as the water began to percolate. She let the word linger, feeling it on her lips. To some, a wild beast, a predator, a nuisance. To others, a shy animal who was too often misunderstood by humanity.
An uneasiness still lingered in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t get the memory of him out of her head, nearly killing his opponent amid all those spectators, before running out into the fields like a man possessed. At the time, she’d believed that the howl she’d heard minutes later had been a true wolf prowling the farms—they certainly weren’t uncommon, not after the species protection act that had been enforced centuries ago—but her certainty was failing.
They call me Wolf at the fights.
She put her plate and the empty fry pan into the sink, running cool water over them while she scanned the fields’ swaying shadows through the window. Soon the farm would be filled with life—androids and workers and genetically enhanced honeybees.
She poured the coffee before it was finished, topping her mug with a splash of fresh milk, and sat back at the table.
WOLVES
An image of a gray wolf filled the screen, fangs bared, ears flattened. Snowflakes clung to its thick coat.
Scarlet dragged her finger across the screen, sending the picture away. The images that followed were more peaceful: wolves tumbling with their mates, cubs sleeping piled on top of one another, regal white-and-gray-pelted wolves creeping through autumn woods. She chose a link from one of the species preservation societies and scanned the text, pausing when she came to the section on howling.
WOLVES HOWL IN ORDER TO GAIN THE ATTENTION OF THEIR PACK OR SEND TERRITORIAL WARNINGS. LONE WOLVES WHO HAVE BECOME SEPARATED FROM THEIR PACK WILL HOWL IN ORDER TO FIND THEIR COMPANIONS. OFTEN, THE ALPHA MALE IS THE MOST AGGRESSIVE HOWLER OF THE PACK. HIS AGGRESSIVENESS CAN BE DETECTED IN HIS LOW-PITCHED, ROUGH HOWLS WHEN HE APPROACHES A STRANGER.
A chill shook Scarlet so hard her coffee splashed up over the rim of her mug. Cursing, she stood to grab a towel and mopped it up, annoyed at being spooked by a stupid article. Did she honestly think the crazy street fighter had been trying to communicate with his pack?
She threw the towel into the sink and grabbed the portscreen, skimming through the rest of the article before following a link about pack hierarchy.
WOLVES TRAVEL IN PACKS, GROUPS THAT RANGE FROM SIX TO FIFTEEN MEMBERS AND HAVE AN ESTABLISHED HIERARCHY. AT THE TOP OF THE SOCIAL STRUCTURE ARE THE ALPHA MALE AND ALPHA FEMALE, A MATED PAIR. THOUGH THEY ARE FREQUENTLY THE ONLY WOLVES IN THE PACK WHO WILL BREED AND PRODUCE A LITTER, ALL OTHER PACK MEMBERS ASSIST IN FEEDING AND RAISING THE PUPS.
MALES WILL ESTABLISH THEIR ALPHA RANK THROUGH RITUAL COMBAT: ONE WOLF MAY CHALLENGE ANOTHER, RESULTING IN A FIGHT THAT DETERMINES WHICH WOLF IS SUPERIOR. REPEATED VICTORIES WILL EARN RESPECT FOR THE MALE WOLF, AND ULTIMATELY DECIDE THE PACK LEADER.
THE NEXT STEP IN THE PACK HIERARCHY ARE THE BETA WOLVES, WHO OFTEN HUNT AND PROVIDE PROTECTION TO THE CUBS.
THE OMEGA WOLF IS THE LOWEST RANKING IN THE PACK. OFTEN TREATED AS A SCAPEGOAT, THE OMEGAS ARE OCCASIONALLY PICKED ON BY THE REST OF THE PACK. THIS CAN LEAD TO THE OMEGA DRIFTING TO THE EDGES OF THE PACK’S TERRITORY AND, ON OCCASION, LEAVING THE PACK ALTOGETHER.
A flurry of clucking startled Scarlet.
Setting the port on the counter, she peered out the window. Her stomach flipped.
The shadow of a man stretched across the yard, the gathered hens skittering away from him toward their coop.
As if sensing her, Wolf glanced up and spotted Scarlet in the window.
She spun away. Swallowing the rising panic, she ran into the foyer and snatched her grandmother’s shotgun from its corner beneath the stairs.
Wolf hadn’t moved by the time she’d thrown open the front door. The chickens were already growing familiar with the stranger, pecking around his feet in search of falling seed.
Scarlet settled the gun in her arms and released the safety.