Chapter Text
Gil raced through the tangle of trees in his wolf skin. Four paws gripped the gnarled roots and loose pine needles piled on the forest floor. Mist blew from his muzzle as he panted, climbing to the top of the ridge. The barking and growling was still loud behind him. Snaps of teeth were out of range only because he was running as fast as he could, and through the toughest terrain he could find. This was the only advantage a submissive wolf had over a dominant one: agility and speed.
The group behind him didn’t slow, so he kept going. Full tilt up the steep slope, kicking up wet leaves, and scratching his claws through frozen dirt. He hadn’t thought this through when he’d bolted out the back door, but now that he’d made it this far, the adrenaline wouldn’t let him stop. This time, he couldn’t afford for them to catch him.
When he crested the ridge, his brain didn’t have time to process everything he saw. It all looked like infinite trees, frozen and black on the moonlit winter night. But then a burst of wind hit him, pressing his thick white fur into his side and making him slip on the ice. He kicked, managing not to fall back the way he’d come, only to slide forward instead.
In a flail of limbs, he tumbled down the other side and into the foreign land. The world rolled in a swirl of dirt, interrupted by the sudden jabbing of sticks and whacking of large rocks. He yelped and frantically clawed at the ground to stop, but he’d been running with too much force and barreled down until he suddenly collided with something bigger and more solid than him.
It knocked the air out of his lungs.
Then “it” put a heavy hand down on his chest to prevent him from scrambling to his feet.
“That’s the border, mutts,” a gruff voice called up to the wolves skidding to a stop at the top of the ridge. “Shouldn’t hafta remind you Lakeridge is ‘shoot on sight’.” The man’s other hand held a rifle, still pointed down, but it reeked of silver. Fear seized him and he froze, holding his breath. No one waited around in the dark with silver bullets and didn’t intend to use them.
The dominant wolves at the top of the ridge pawed the dirt, several of them looking toward their leader and Alpha’s son, Maximiliano. He stood out among the others in terms of brawn, although all dominants were easily twice Gil’s size. But so was the man, and someone holding a gun at the pack border wasn’t there by accident. Gil had never heard of there being a sentry at this ridge, but he’d thought he’d never see it so he hadn't paid attention. He wasn’t allowed to leave the camp unless instructed, which was only during the full moon hunts.
Maximiliano looked from the man down to Gil, then wrinkled his snout and blew out a huff. It said something along the lines of “you’ll get it later”, but with more irritation that belied he’d rather have caught Gil now instead. “Now” was a more satisfying time to extract his entertainment, although he almost always preferred the “now” option when dealing with Gil, regardless of what for.
Running across a pack border toward a silver bullet, however, was thankfully not his idea of fun. A wolf of his rank had other ways to spend his night, and chasing Gil down had only been to punish him for running in the first place. That plan now put on hold, he made a show that the man didn’t intimidate him, and spun around to give his back. As a snooty touch, he also flicked his tail up to wag it around. This was all a game, it said, and they were just there to amuse him.
Then with a single bark, he led all his followers back down the ridge and out of sight.
The man over Gil waited and listened to the fading crunch of frozen ground and thumps of paws over logs. When the sounds finally disappeared, the hand holding Gil down moved to scruff his neck, then lifted him up enough to look at. It felt like being a child’s ragdoll and Gil immediately did his best submissive wolf “I’m harmless” expression and deflated as small as he could. He was desperately praying to look pitiful enough to not be worth the bullet. Anyone who knew what a “wild pack” werewolf looked like would be able to tell he was a submissive. He was smaller and leaner, capable of running not fighting. Lakeridge pack was a wild pack too, so they would know.
The man dragged his gaze over the shrunken form in his hand, letting Gil see the way his gray eyes reflected menacingly in the dark. Every werewolf’s eyes reflected that way from the right angle. It let them see when only the faintest stars were out, even in their human skin.
But in their wolf skin it was better, which meant Gil had a full view of how angry this man looked, with scowling eyebrows and an old scar through the right one. Werewolves weren’t supposed to scar, so that meant he’d been cut by silver. It stood out pale against his naturally tan skin. Compared to Gil, he was a bit older. Most of his face was black stubble like he’d been on watch one night too many, which also explained the messy sweep of his black hair to the side. The sweep went away from the scar, to show it off rather than obscure it, suggesting it was a badge of honor. It was his most notable feature and rather unnerving, especially considering he was carrying a weapon. Also because he was wearing winter camouflage, and therefore looked a bit like a game hunter who might shoot wolves for sport. Although rather than prey or gunpowder, he smelled like motor oil and faint gasoline. Also werewolf, of course. It was clear he was a dominant one from his size alone. Something in his mouth clicked on his teeth as he slid it from one side to the other.
It was a hard mint from the scent, given that he spoke directly into Gil’s face, “Want me to shoot you?” The words came out as an aggressive growl.
With a pitiful whimper, Gil struggled against the dirt. It wasn’t nearly enough to break the hold on him, but enough to say he’d try if he thought the gun was moving his way. Dominant wolves didn’t like when others made choices for them, so Gil tried to make it clear exactly what he was going to do before he did something, then let them pick the outcome they wanted. In this case, that probably wasn't more than screaming and thrashing against the massive hand pinning him to the ground, but he didn't have a better option. This man was far stronger than him and he was already caught. Agility and speed meant nothing now.
Once he'd given his answer regarding the gun, he went limp and tried to breathe as quietly as possible.
With a sigh, the man slid the mint back to the first side of his mouth and turned to a thicket nearby, “Take point, Wu.”
Those words didn’t seem to mean anything, but then Gil startled as another wolf stood up from the bushes, also huge and wearing camouflage. And also with a rifle in his hands. But his face didn’t have the naturally angry look. He was younger and clean shaven, with very short black hair and dark eyes.
Not that he looked at all friendly, and he merely studied Gil from where he was standing, “What is it?”
“Submissive male,” the first man got to his feet and Gil was dragged up by his nape so high that he was standing on only his back legs. “Doesn’t look stray.”
“Is it one of theirs?”
“Don’t know, don’t recognize it. Gonna take it in. Keep your radio on. Shoot anything that moves until I get back.” Then, instead of tossing Gil back over the ridge with the rest of his pack, the man lifted him up with one arm.
Gil flailed for a moment, terrified at what was happening as he was tossed into the air and onto the man’s shoulder. People didn’t normally carry a wolf like a sack of potatoes, but he didn’t have long to contemplate that strength before he was dropped back down into the bed of a truck. A vehicle meant they were going somewhere deeper in, which was the exact the opposite direction of his pack. But when he scrambled to his feet, the tailgate got shut in his face, followed by the canopy.
Lakeridge pack wasn’t supposed to be violent, but they also weren’t known for posting riflemen at night to enforce their borders. At least not to Gil. Clearly he'd been left in the dark about some things and it made him more afraid to find out what else he didn't know.
Hurrying to the dirty canopy window, he anxiously pressed his nose to it. From the back angle, several sentry positions could be seen nestled into bushes on built up mounds. There was also a cabin bunkered into a nearby hill, out of view from the top of the ridge, and another vehicle next to it hidden under a tarp.
The whole place looked more martial than his pack’s border, and if he hadn’t just heard an order to “shoot anything that moves”, he’d have shifted back to his human skin, opened the truck, and bolted. Over a border wasn’t where he’d intended to go, he just needed to escape the dominants trying to use him as entertainment. Now he’d gotten himself into a darker form of trouble and it made all his fur stand up, as if looking bigger would help.
Nosing the window harder, he whined in distress. No one had ever told him about the neighboring packs. Staying in camp and doing as he was told was his only job. If he'd obeyed, he wouldn't have needed to know anything about who carried silver bullets.
The rough dominant climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the engine. It roared to life quickly despite the cold. Normally nothing started out here unless it was warmed first, especially after dark. But the truck pulled out easily like the driver had done this a thousand times and Gil had to hunker down before he was knocked over. Dried pine needles slipped under his paws and he had to dodge a pipe wrench which slid at him out of a shadowy corner. The truck smelled even more strongly of motor oil, gasoline, and now steel shavings.
Scrambling around, Gil hurried to find a safe place to lay where he wouldn’t get any slivers in his paws and the pipe wrench didn’t have an angle on him. He was being “taken in”, deeper into enemy territory. For a helpless submissive like him, that meant being entirely at the mercy of his enemies. Gil wasn’t brave enough not to whine to himself the whole way, anxiously licking his muzzle in fear. A feeling in the pit of his stomach said maybe he should’ve let all the teeth and claws catch up with him instead.