The Wolves of Midwinter (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 2)

He tore after her, losing sight of her as others moved more swiftly than he could.

Never in all his life had he run this fast, had he leapt so far, had he felt himself positively taking flight as he sped along—not even on that long-ago night when he’d pounded over the miles to find Stuart. Too many obstacles had lain in his path; too much fear of injury had inhibited him. But this was ecstasy, as though he were smeared with the secret salve of the witches, and like Goodman Brown he was truly traveling the night air, released from the pull of the Mother Earth, yet buoyed by her winds, touching down not even long enough to feel the ground beneath him.

A new riff of guttural howls and raw cries rose against the insistent goading throb of the music.

“Modranicht!” came the cries, and “Yule!,” the words perhaps unintelligible to human ears as they came from the deep throats of the Morphenkinder. Ahead of Reuben two racing figures collided with one another and began to roll on the earth, snarling, growling, playfully nipping at each other, and then one raced off leaving the other to chase after it.

A figure pounced full weight on top of Reuben and he rolled away from the fire towards the encircling stones, throwing off the other, and then lunging for its throat with a mock thrust as the figure struck out at him like a monstrous feline. He turned and ran on, not caring who this had been, not caring suddenly about anything, but stretching every sinew of his powerful frame, and springing as wildly from the pads of his hands and feet as he could, dashing over the slower figure ahead of him, rounding the great bonfire for perhaps the fifth or sixth time now, he didn’t know, and greedy for the wind on his face as if he were devouring the wind, the menacing shadows thrown by the gargantuan blaze, and driven by the deep rolling drums and the wild grinding song of the pipes.

The thick musky scent of the wild boar came at him full force. He cried out. There was no human left in him. Suddenly ahead he saw the huge bulk of a monstrous male running as fast and furiously as he was running. Before he could mount it another Morphenkind had overtaken it and had sunk his teeth into the boar’s huge neck and was riding it doggedly, legs flying over the boar’s back.

Yet another boar and another Morphenkind ripped past him. After them at top speed he went, the hunger exploding in his belly.

And again, he saw the boar brought down.

Horrid squeals from the wounded and furious animals filled the night, and roars from the Morphenkinder.

He pounded on until he saw the figure ahead of him that he knew to be Laura. Quickly he overtook her and they fell into the same stride.

Suddenly he heard the hooves right by his ears, and he felt the sharp screaming pain of a tusk in his side. He pivoted, enraged, and opening his mouth wide in a delicious roar brought his teeth down on the side of the animal’s neck. He felt the thick musky hide tear, the muscles shred, his claws rending the rough bristling coat, and the delicious taste of the meat overwhelmed him.

Laura on top of the beast ripped into its lower flank.

He turned over and over with the shrieking grunting beast suddenly as it struggled for its life, ripping one chunk of live meat from it after another. At last his face found its underbelly, his claws slicing it open for his hungry tongue. Laura sank her teeth into the feast right beside him.

He gorged himself on the hot bleeding meat, chomping into the flank, as the last life went out of the creature, its hoofed feet still twitching. Laura lapped at the blood, ripped at the strips of bloody muscle. He lay there watching her.

It seemed an eternity passed in which the squeals and grunts had died away, the pounding of the hooves had died away, and only the distinct sharp roars of the Morphenkinder pierced the night within the hushed cloud of the spellbinding music.

Reuben was drunk and satiated with the meat, almost unable to move. The hunt was finished.

A stillness had fallen over the immense clearing in which the monstrous fire burned and the music played on.

Then a cry went up: “Bones into the bone fire!”

A huge crashing sound erupted from the heart of the blaze, and then came another as if the fire were a spitting volcano.

Reuben rose and picking up the torn and bleeding carcass of the boar on which he’d feasted he hurled it into the fire. He could see others doing the same, and soon the stench of burning animal flesh rose all around him, sickening and yet somehow tantalizing. Laura tumbled against him, leaning heavily on him, her breaths coming in hoarse gasps. They were knowing the heat of the wolf coat, the thirst in the wolf coat.

The figure of Sergei appeared beside him, telling him to come back, to join the others by the cauldron. They found the others crowded about, drinking from their horns, and exchanging horns. Reuben made out the seven who were not of his pack, but he could not tell the identity of the female wolves. Hockan he knew. Hockan had a large heavy wolfen body like that of Frank or Stuart, and his fur was almost entirely white, streaked here and there with gray, powerfully setting off his black eyes. Other dark-eyed Morphenkinder had no such advantage.

Nothing clearly distinguished the females except their smaller size and their slightly feline movements. Their br**sts and intimate organs were covered in long hair and fur, their height varying as did the height of the men, their limbs obviously powerful. Everywhere he looked, he saw hairy faces clotted with blood and bits and pieces of shivering boar flesh, torsos smeared with blood, chests heaving with deep breaths. Again and again, the horns were dipped into the seemingly inexhaustible cauldron. How natural it all seemed, how perfect, to slake his thirst like this, with draft after draft, and how divine the drunkenness he felt, the utter safety of the moment.

Sergei backed up near the gathered musicians, and then giving a horrific roar, he cried out: “Through the need fire!”

He took off with a fierce leap, touching down once before he bounded straight into the flames. Reuben was terrified for him, but at once, the others began running, circling and racing to the fire in the same manner, soaring up into the heights of the fire, their powerful cries of triumph rising as they cleared the inferno and landed on their feet.

Reuben heard Laura’s voice calling to him, and in a flash he saw her break from the group, running towards the musicians, then turning and racing forward as Sergei had done, her body sailing upwards and into the hungry flames.

He couldn’t stop himself from following. Terrified as he was of the flames, he felt invulnerable, he felt eager, he felt crazed with the new and seductive challenge.

He ran at top speed and then sprang upwards as he had seen the others do, the fire blinding him, the heat engulfing him, the smell of his own burning fur filling his nostrils until he broke free into the cold wind and came crashing down on the ground to begin the race once more around the circle.