Vivian smiled at their banter, her mouth wide and toothy.
They broke apart, turned, gathered speed; they leaped and met in midair.
Bucky knocked Jean askew and landed straddling him.
Now for the quick nip, Vivian thought, and Jean is out.
But Jean went for Bucky’s throat. Bucky jerked away. He lost his footing and the laughter left his eyes. Jean tried to wriggle out from beneath while Bucky was off guard, but Bucky found Jean’s belly under his chin. He buried his teeth in Jean’s stomach. Jean screamed. It was either that sound or the smell of blood, but Bucky went crazy. He ripped and ripped and ripped, while Jean shrieked.
Vivian staggered with shock as Jean’s entrails splattered the ground.
But they were laughing, she thought. She looked around for someone to make Bucky stop, but these were all strangers about her, with froth on their lips and lolling tongues, lost in the kill, urging Bucky on. Their eyes stole the silver moon and turned it red. A chill shuddered through her, despite the hot, acrid air.
Gabriel and the blond circled the pair on the ground with their tails held high. The blond whined and made little nips with his teeth as if he longed to join in, but Gabriel twitched his nose at the smell of carnage and growled. It was his right to kill, his or the blond’s, not Bucky’s. He dragged Bucky off by the scruff of his neck and tossed him aside.
The blond lunged. He caught Bucky’s throat in his jaws and shook him wildly. Vivian saw surprise in Bucky’s eyes.
He’s going to die, she thought. But Gabriel jumped the blond from behind, and the blond let go with a yelp. Bucky fell over the body of Jean and sprawled on the blood-soaked earth. Jean shuddered into his human form. He twitched once, then lay still-motionless, ruined meat.
The blond turned on Gabriel, teeth bared. He wouldn’t concede. No one had thought he would. There would be another death before the night was through.
They clashed in rolling, snarling fur, parted, then clashed again, the wounds opening wetly in their hides as if they were ripe fruit bursting. Vivian didn’t care who won. She didn’t want to watch but couldn’t stop. Why did they have to make their beauty foul? What kind of people were they that they’d kill their friends? What kind of people invited strangers to a ritual death? Wasn’t the joy of the run and the sweet, sweet night enough?
The end came suddenly, just when she thought the fight would go on forever while she burned to cinders from shame.
Gabriel grabbed a firm hold on the blond’s thick ruff and leaped over his back, and the blond’s head twisted impossibly. Vivian heard a crack. The blond’s eyes bulged. He went limp. Gabriel let go, and the blond crashed to the ground, his head lolling. A dribble of blood ran from his lips. How easy it was, like killing a chicken for Sunday dinner. Revulsion squirmed like an eel in Vivian’s gut and finally she could close her eyes.
She stood silently as the howls rose up around her, but she couldn’t blot them out-Gabriel’s thundering bay; Orlando’s cracked, keening bell; the twining tenors of Rolf and Raul. The song was triumphant, hungry, impassioned. Her mother’s soprano climbed to outrageous heights, and the young ones mimicked her, their reedy pipings swiftly turning hoarse. Even the Five were back, their voices lewd and raucous. The pack drew in close for the feel of fur on fur. The smell of sex was all around. Cubs would be fathered tonight. Vivian tucked her tail between her legs.
Then Esmé screamed and Vivian’s eyes shot open.
Esmé twisted in circles like a puppy chasing her tail. She snapped at her back where Astrid straddled her, muzzle buried in Esmé’s mane.
Vivian found her voice and yowled a complaint, searching face after face for a sign of help, but the others backed off and formed a ring. Rage surged through her. The fur stood on end down her spine and the backs of her legs. This was the female who’d mated their leader, had been a queen, and they let her be ambushed by that cheating red bitch. Astrid rode her like a rodeo bull and they didn’t raise tooth or claw to help her.
Astrid shifted her grip and Esmé yelped.
In midair, Vivian wondered who had control of her body. She hit Astrid hard, but the red bitch kept her grip and brought Esmé down too. Vivian shook with a thunder from within. Were those snarls hers? All she could see was the muzzle gripping her mother’s neck and Astrid’s yellow eyes. Vivian went for the face.
Astrid’s muzzle was streaked with blood. And still she held on. Vivian pushed between Astrid and Esmé to pry them apart. And still Astrid held on. Vivian clamped her jaws over Astrid’s snout and kicked with her legs. And still Astrid held on, her yellow eyes mocking. Beneath them Esmé whimpered, then choked and gasped.
Her windpipe, Vivian thought.
It’s closing up.
Vivian wailed. She attacked the evil soul that threatened her mother-the evil that laughed with spite through yellow eyes. It took seven jabs to get the perfect angle: Six failed snaps glanced off protecting bone, then a canine tooth sank into a yielding surface, which held for a second, then popped like a yellow grape.
Astrid let go.
She rolled away, screaming as if to wake the dead.
Vivian didn’t let up. She couldn’t trust Astrid. What if the bitch was faking? She bulldozed hard into the whining female, and sure enough Astrid came up all teeth and claws. Astrid’s fury did her no good. She wasn’t as strong. She wasn’t as fast. Vivian had never felt this much power before. It sang through her. She could tear the hide from the wolf in the moon, but she’d settle for Astrid’s instead. She could bounce her, she could roll her, she could eat her inch by inch, and the growing terror in Astrid’s remaining eye urged her on. She sliced a wound in Astrid’s flank, herded her left and right, then circled her, making her dance a tight dizzy pirouette.
The red bitch gasped for breath, and the gooey mess on her face oozed black in the moonlight. She was weak, she had lost, Vivian wanted to kill her for that alone.
Around her, one by one, the pack took up a howl. It grew louder, and louder, till it crescendoed to the stars. Vivian shook her head. She wished they’d stop. Why did they have to make that racket now? She crouched to leap.
Then a body was in the way, then another, and another. She was within a circle of running female wolves. She twisted this way, that way, befuddled. They circled her as if they played a children’s game-Aunt Persia, Jenny, Renata, Magda, Minerva, Odessa, Sybil, Flavia, more and more and more. She wanted to leap their heads and get to Astrid, but now she couldn’t remember which way to go.
Then they were still.
Beyond them Vivian could see the males, standing as silently. All eyes were on her.
What do they want from me? she thought, and dread slowly replaced the rage. She longed to flee, but was trapped in the thick, translucent night like a fly in amber.
I have done something terrible, she decided.
I have ruined the Ordeal.
Her heart constricted with fear. How did they punish that? But she raised her head and defied them with her eyes.
I defended my own when you would not, she thought. Yet the blood on her tongue tasted bitter. She was as bad as them. It was in her too-the thirst for blood, the need to kill. And where was Esmé, anyway? Dead on the sodden turf, no doubt.
Perhaps I deserve whatever they mete out as justice.
She stamped her front paws.
Do your worst, she thought.
But bravado didn’t stop her from cringeing when Aunt Persia stepped into the circle. The next thing that happened was baffling. Aunt Persia crouched on the ground, her ears laid flat. She rolled on her back and presented her belly.
What is she doing?
Vivian thought in shock. Then one by one the other females followed Persia’s example, presenting their bellies, exposing their throats, paying tribute.
Oh, no. Oh, no.
Vivian looked around in frantic confusion. Was this some nightmare?
It’s not me, she wanted to scream.
I am no queen.
What had happened to ceremony? She’d thought the bitches’ dance would start with some formal rite, not a sneak attack. She hadn’t planned to be a part of it. But a female past her sixteenth birthday counted as grown. She crouched in horror and buried her nose between her paws.
This couldn’t be right. No others had fought. What about the other females? Quickly she cataloged them-too old, too young, already mated, too fragile. She had never stopped to think before, she had been so determined to avoid the contest, but when no female strangers had arrived there had been only three possible contenders.
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