A Wolf Steps in Blood

by Tamara Jerée

“Your wolf is beautiful. She was excited. That’s all.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” I say. “What if—”

“You’re my fated. I’ll never be afraid of you. I’m do...

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers against my neck.

"Your wolf is beautiful" and "you're beautiful" is good, I think...Kalta does care for ALL of Yasmine.

“We’ve only ever bonded with other wolves. This is different.”

Sometimes, it’s so successful that the wolf is suppressed and we’re fully human.” Kalta frowns. “She must feel so lost.” I stare at her. “It must hurt so much to never know yourself,” she continues. “To never be able to know. All for the sake of survival.”

I clutch the towel, suddenly unable to meet Kalta’s gaze. My entire life, I longed to be normal while Mom wished for the wolf. I feel small and mean. It had been easy to settle on jealousy and look no further.

Mom shakes her head. “That’s how the bond is. Irresistible. Passionate.” She shrugs. “Magic.”

The witches’ blessing to the last wolves, the first of us, won’t last forever. We’ve had their shelter for a century. Like everything, the blessing will run its course, and something new will take its place. Ma told us all this, and she’d come up with a different ending every time, sometimes heroic, sometimes tragic. In all the versions of the story, it started with fate uniting witch and wolf for a new purpose.

I glance at Kalta. “The witches’ story says the fated pair are transformed, that they’re—” I can’t say gods.

“Guardians, goddesses, patron saints,” Kalta lists with growing fervor. “We’ll make a new home for the wolves. A new way.” She says it as if she’s asking Mom for my hand in marriage and pledging her undying loyalty to a royal family all at once.

Tear out the throat of the world.

Wolf teeth in a woman’s face. My gums ache. I stand.

Mom says, prophecy or not, as long as we continue to live in the real world, we need real money, that until I usher in the coming of the Wolf Christ, I need to go to work. And apologize to Ruthie.

We’re squeezed onto my bed, whiling away daylight with fucking and cuddling and idle conversation—anything but the capital letter topics of Prophecy and Blood Magic and Dead Brother.

“Wolves just do things differently. We manage our secrets so we don’t end up needing to”—I gesture with my free hand, too worked up to phrase carefully—“fix things.” Heat flushes my body just before Kalta’s eyes fill with angry tears. “You don’t trust me,” she says, sitting up.

Her fear spills out, a punishing torrent that rakes the inside of my chest, that pounds a sharp ache behind my eyes. I gasp for breath, and Kalta goes instantly quiet. “Oh my god,” she says, gathering me against her. The pain recedes, and we’re left trembling in each other’s arms. “I’m so sorry,” she says into my hair. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” She sounds horrified that the bond could do this, that her emotions could carry so much power.

I nuzzle against her, the wolf hungry for peace and comfort and rightness.

We’re told when we’re young that the bond will change us, that it’s the closest thing to magic that wolves have. Our elders describe it as perfect intuition and insight, an effortless connection with another and the reassurance it brings. Over the years, it will grow into a communion of unspoken thoughts. The eldest of us seem never to speak with our mates. But the bond begins in the body, igniting a wildfire year of lust.

The wolf itches to run. She paces inside me like a dog straining the leash.

A sharp jab at the base of my spine doubles me over, the wolf attempting to kick me to all fours. I shake her off, agitated.

“Why are you denying yourself?” Kalta asks. “The magic wants to be free.”

“I only want to be happy. I never wanted a destiny. I’ve been working a register or stocking shelves or frying chicken for three years! That’s not—”

The wolf tears through but not before I catch her by the scruff. We land in a heap, half-transformed and awash in pain. I scream through vocal cords neither mine nor hers, an inhuman yowl.

The wolf—all animal, all instinct—attempts to outrun our pain, but we don’t k...

The wolf is terrified, doesn’t recognize me. My tears soak fur. Abruptly, the torture ends.

That’s my thought, not the wolf’s.

I push forward as if groggily stumbling from bed to ask Kalta a question, but the wolf flattens her ears at my approach and growls a low warning. Startled, I recede. I’ve never threatened the wolf.

“You want to run, and Yasmine doesn’t let you,” she says. I would if— “But Yasmine wants to run too. She just doesn’t know it yet.” I don’t? “You and Yasmine want the same thing,” Kalta continues. “You’re one. Not wolf or Yasmine. Wolf and Yasmine. And you’re incredibly strong. Together, you could”—tear out the throat of the world—“save yourself and others. Wolves survived for a reason.”

The wolf doesn’t care where we’re going, and I don’t feel the need to ask.

She grins, shrugs off her jacket, and settles it around my shoulders. I’ve never shifted so smoothly. Painlessly. “How’d you do that?” I ask. Her smile is coy as she resumes our walk. “All you.” “But it was easy,” I say, matching her stride. “You just need to relax. Be in your body, listen to it, don’t fight it. Your body has all the knowledge it needs.”

“We.” She smiles. “You keep saying I like you have to do this all alone. You’ve never been alone.”

“The magic is running down. The wolves sense it. They’re restless. Sometimes, when the world is pressing down on you, it’s easier to turn on the ones closest to you rather than fight the world.”

Well if that is not the most timely thing ever.

“But even if it weren’t for all that, I’ve never felt right.” I draw the jacket closed around me, shivering. “I don’t feel like a wolf. There’s no wolf and Yasmine.

I nuzzle into her warmth, and the wolf at least finds solace.

“The prophecy’s magic will make you strong,” she continues. “You won’t have to hide because we’re going to change the world.”

She doesn’t wince, doesn’t blink—so practiced that I doubt her earlier claim. This isn’t the work of a dabbler.

Red light burns in Kalta’s eyes, an easy smile playing across her lips. Tension melts from her arms as she relaxes into the earth, seeking rootedness. The ache for it fills our bond.

“When you’re relaxed, I can see your wolf,” she says. “See you.”

I hurry to her side, the wolf’s primal senses flooding my body. Even if it’s trouble Kalta’s made for herself, the wolf will throw herself between Kalta and her problems.

“I did.” She holds herself. Drops her gaze. “I lied. I’m sorry. We’d just met. I was afraid of scaring you away.” Softer, she adds, “I scared everyone else.”

Kalta stares after her, inhaling awe. “This is the magic, Yasmine!” She grips me. She’s giddy. Her face and teeth are smeared with blood. “The woods recognize you.”

“Yasmine’s always been a picky eater,” Mom says from the table. “If you love to cook, this girl will break your heart.” I try to laugh it off, but through the bond, Kalta’s attention sharpens. My wolf paces, whines. She wants Shiara’s bacon.

I can’t eat. Three bites, and I give up. At some point, Shiara’s chewing and the scent of meat drown out everything else. The wolf snaps her teeth. She nudges forward. Fearing another shifting mishap, I excuse myself from the table.

The wolf is always ravenous. She’s the reason we binge, and I’m left to correct her. She wants too much. She is too much. This world is for humans, not wolf girls with no control.

According to the guidance counselor, the principal, her teachers, she had a short temper, but really, everything she did was the result of a years-long campaign against her. If you kick a wolf enough times, she has no choice but to bite back.

The world didn’t want to understand her. It wanted her gone. It wants us gone.

“The bond was so new and overwhelming, and I was holding her, and my claws just—happened.” “Hmm.” “And if I can’t figure this out, if I can’t control the wolf, what if I do worse than scratch her?” Shiara scrunches her face and waves her hand to dismiss the idea. “What is with you and this the wolf talk? You are a wolf. That’s your problem. You’re so uptight. The last thing you need is more control.”

“Maybe if you let yourself loose once in a while, you wouldn’t be shifting when you didn’t want to.” Shiara shrugs, wipes her hands on her stained overalls. “Or—I don’t know—maybe your girl’s just that good.” “I said shut up.”

“You never try to take down the deer.” She sounds sad. I can’t meet her eyes. We all have the same amber stare, but now, hers feels piercing. “The others are faster. They’re bigger, stronger.” I’m making excuses. Shiara grasps my shoulder. The gentle contact makes us both uneasy. “One day, you’re gonna have to show your teeth.”