Ana and the Wolf Prince
Jackal or bear? Or maybe a gecko on a serious cycle of steroids?
Honestly, neither my wolf nor I had the slightest clue what was currently trying to turn us into a snack. The jungle throbbed with a serrated rhythm of menace, shadows clawing at my ankles like they knew I’d trip eventually, while every rustle in the undergrowth jeered with the same cruel refrain: run faster, little hybrid, it won’t matter.
All I knew was that we had to run, fast.
We were fleeing the shifting freak behind us and, more importantly, the "oh-so-loving" pack we’d left in the dust. My birth pack, the Nightshade, had decided that as the Beta’s daughter, I was tonight’s special on the matrimonial menu. Apparently, I was destined to be the submissive trophy wife to the future Alpha, a guy who had the personality of a wet brick and the ego of a small sun.
Lucky me. The runaway entrée of the year.
‘Run, Era, run!’
My internal voice blasted through my wolf’s head like a drill sergeant hopped up on three espressos and a grudge.
‘This cannot be how it ends. We didn’t ditch the pack and ruin my favorite pair of boots for this nonsense. Nightcliff Falls is ahead. Focus on the sound, Era!’
The roar of the water was a distant thunder, vibrating through the pads of Era’s paws. The plan was simple, if a bit suicidal: hit the water, let the spray blind the tracker, and let the current carry us beyond the pack’s border.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Era panted, her mental voice ragged as her lungs burned. ‘Less pep talk, more speed, Ana. You’re hogging the oxygen.’
Even at the brink of exhaustion, Era was a smug little thing.
She was a hybrid wolf, faster and sleeker than a common werewolf, and possessed of a sarcasm that could wither a cactus.
‘Relax, Ana,’ she sent back, dodging a low-hanging branch that nearly took our head off. ‘Less than a mile to the drop. We’ll make it. Unless I trip again, of course. In which case, I’m leaving you for the jackal. Survival of the fittest, babe.’
‘Wow. The loyalty award goes to you,’ I shot back, just as she stumbled over a hidden root. ‘Remind me to buy you a medal when we’re not being hunted by… whatever that is.’
I risked a glance over my shoulder, and my heart did a frantic tap-dance against my ribs. The forest behind us was a blur of shifting geometry. One second, our pursuer looked like a lean, loping jackal with oversized ears, the next, it bulked out into the terrifying mass of a grizzly bear.
‘Era, what is that thing?’ I asked, my panic rising.
‘Shape-shifter? Bad fashion choices? No clue,’ she huffed. ‘Sometimes jackal, sometimes bear. Maybe both. Maybe it’s just indecisive.’
‘Great. We’re being chased by a commitment-phobe with a bloodlust.’
The thud-thud-thud of heavy paws echoed closer, the sound of wood splintering under immense weight. My stomach dropped into my feet.
‘Jackal!’ I hissed as a flash of fur appeared between the teak trees.
‘Bear,’ Era corrected, feeling the vibration of a much heavier footfall.
I squinted through her eyes. ‘Nope, definitely a jackal. Long legs, bushy tail, oversized ears —this is textbook jackal.’
‘Ana, it’s literally a bear. Look at those teeth, the claws, the whole “I-can-crush-your-skull” package.’
‘Okay, so either our shared eyesight is broken, or this thing is auditioning for a lead role in Guess Who? Predator Edition.’
Era snorted mentally, her focus narrowing as the trees began to thin. ‘Focus. Less zoology sarcasm, more sprinting. The ground is getting slick.’
The jungle grew thicker for a moment, branches clawing at Era’s fur like nature itself was trying to keep her from danger. The air was heavy, damp, and smelled of wet earth and something sharper— fear, mostly mine, but also the strange, shifting scent of the thing behind us. It smelled like old copper and ozone.
‘Era, if this thing turns into a dinosaur, I’m quitting the species,’ I muttered.
‘You’d quit anyway. You complain when there’s mud in your feet-pads.’
‘Excuse me, mud ruins the aesthetic. Keep your priorities straight.’
Suddenly, the ground dipped.
It wasn't a gentle slope, it was a rain-slicked mudslide. Era’s front paw scraped against a wet stone, skidded, and for a terrifying heartbeat, the world tilted. We tumbled, a mess of fur and limbs, toward a dark ravine.
But Era was a hybrid for a reason, she twisted mid-air, her claws digging into the loam, and propelled us forward with a grace I could only envy from the passenger seat of her mind.