Part 11 (2/2)

She didn't ask why he had come with her. She knew what pursuit looked like.

”I can't explain,” she said, as if it answered him.) For two weeks she scooped mud out of her taped-off square and carved bone after bone in bas relief, and all the while she knew she wasn't alone. The mossy tundra had eyes for her, and whenever she was near Mark, under his wolfish eyes, she felt a beast in the forest hating her.

(A wolf knows a wolf.) They were done for the night, back at the rickety two-bedroom house near the dig site, when the wolf came.

There was the single howl as it called her to battle (they both stood up so fast the work table skidded), and then nothing but the wind; the dire wolf is silent when it hunts.

”Stay behind me,” Mark said.

Then came the thunder of the charging beast.

It was too fast for her to get away, too fast to hide Mark, too fast to explain.

There was only time to throw open the door and leap (Mark shouting at her to stop), force the change between one breath and the next, so that she furled inside-out and the air crackled with the sound of snapping tendons and the grind of bone.

(She won. She doesn't remember how. All the way home she coughed up bits of the other wolf; spat up bone and teeth and fur.) The fight carried her a quarter-mile from the cabin, and she padded back as the wolf.

There was a chance he hadn't seen her. There was a chance he didn't know.

(No chance.) When she saw him standing in the doorway, the blanket in his hands, she made a high, keening noise that started as a howl, and became-between one breath and another-a human cry.

(Grief.) Her bones seemed painfully soft and frail in her human form; she could hardly feel her blood pumping through such long, twisted veins. She set her weakling jaw against the shaking, but her skeleton rattled inside the meat.

It was worse than the new moon, ten times worse. It was the tree roots erupting through the pavement, shattering the stone.

Mark got both arms under her and carried her inside, out of the ice and the dark. He smelled like snow and detergent and fear, and she didn't know why a smell like that would be comforting to a wolf.

(She didn't know much about love, back then.) He carried her up the stairs and ran a hot shower until the blood and dirt were gone, and his hands were shaking.

(Fear, she thought then. She knows now-desire.) When she came downstairs again, he was standing outside. There was a wolf's footprint in the snow outside the cabin. It was the same length as Mark's foot, and as wide; her claws had pierced right through the snow and dug up four thin sprays of black dirt across the white as she ran.

He pa.s.sed his foot over it, smoothing the snow free of the evidence. She waited, wondering what she would do if he threatened to expose her.

(It was a lie. She knew what she would do. On four legs, she could hunt without thinking.) After a long time, he took a step backwards, closer to her, without turning.

”Does it frighten you?” he asked.

She said, ”Always.”

When he came at her, the kiss drove her against the door with a thud, and he tore away the blanket as if he wanted some part, any part, of her fight.

She dragged her nails over his back, five thin trails of red against his skin.

The dire wolf that lives in human form spends the day of the new moon curled in a corner, trembling, aching, grinding her teeth as the bones scream for change. The moment of transformation is unbearable (there is always the wrenching cry), but it pa.s.ses, and the bones and the fur and the teeth of the wolf are her relief.

A dire wolf can turn at will, but it's the last line of defense; between pain and death, some choose death.

Changing at every new moon from human to wolf and back can drive you mad. Most dire wolves eventually give in to their true form, and make their homes in forests, or tundra if arctic wolves are nearby, or desert caves. They can go anywhere once the moon has lost its power over them. What animal would stand up to a beast twice as large as a wolf, twice as fast, twice as cunning?

Legend, which looks for monsters within its own neighbors, claim that werewolves are people who achieve the body of the wolf.

This is untrue.

The dire wolf took on a human form; down at the bone, between every breath, each of them is really the animal. The human shape is a useful trick, that's all.

(Adapt or die.) Christopher's waiting at the lab when she comes back.

”Mark says it looks like an Arctic wolf that got on the wrong side of a bear attack,” he says. ”What are you thinking it is?”

”I think that wolf had a pretty sad end,” she said. ”Did you find anything else of the skeleton?”

Christopher shakes his head. ”We don't have the manpower we used to, but as far as we looked, there was nothing to find. Maybe the head got carried over to where our guy found it.”

”Was there any skull? Any other bones?” She thinks about the deep, low temporal fossa-a jaw is easy to disguise, but the skull would be hard to explain.

He shakes his head.

”Where's Mark?”

”Went out looking for you,” Christopher says. ”I'll call him back in on the radio.”

When she's alone, she looks at the jaw under the magnifying gla.s.s, marks on her report the hundred tiny dents where the birds pecked the flesh away, the smooth expanses where the insects got there at last, carrying away whatever was hanging on.

The bone is cool, and smooth as human skin.

Mark opens the door too fast, gets too close.

”I saw the tracks,” he says, quietly, so Christopher won't hear. ”It's big.”

He means, it's bigger than you. His breath is warm on her scalp.

”I'll win,” she says.

After a little silence, he says, ”I'd forgotten what it feels like to be close to you.”

She doesn't know what he means; doesn't dare ask.

The dire wolf was too slow to evolve, everyone knew.

”Poor guys,” Alice said (she pitied all the bones). She waggled the saber-toothed tiger skull she was working on, like it was nodding. ”The saber-tooth says nature cuts us all down sooner or later. He should know. Poor kitty.”

Alice always got punchy near the end of an excavation.

”Nature might surprise you,” Velia said, ran her tongue over her teeth.

”Promise me you won't fight,” he says.

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