Kelley Armstrong - Frostbitten

At least I was dressed for the season, having boots, a down-filled jacket, hat and mitts in my luggage. Clay-returning from Atlanta -wasn't so lucky. I'd grabbed him a toque in the airport, but he was only wearing it to humor me. Cold weather never bothered Clay. I always joked that he was like one of those werewolves from medieval legends, with his fur hidden under his skin.

We left our valuables-watches, wallets, wedding bands-in the locked glove compartment, then set out, tramping through the deep snow. If I'd bad to walk through this I'd have been cursing with every step. But because I chose to, in pursuit of an activity I was giddily anticipating, I didn't mind at all-laughing and lurching, grabbing onto Clay and dragging him down as I fell, getting tossed face-first into a drift, returning the favor…

We didn't go far from the road to Change, but it took us awhile to get there.

The area was wooded enough for us to find separate thickets. I was finally past the stage of insisting on that, though I do make Clay turn his back if we share. I don't consider myself particularly vain, but I'm not keen to have anyone see me mid-Change, even Clay.

I undressed and put my clothes in a plastic bag I'd grabbed at the airport. And then it got cold-"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!" cold. When I got down on all four, and sunk in snow up to my breasts, I was gasping for breath.

It took a few moments for me to relax enough to begin the Change, but once it started, the cold was the last thing on my mind. My body is shifting from human to wolf; it's not going to tickle. As I learned when I had the twins, a Change is a lot like giving birth, except you skip the labor pains and jump straight to the "what the hell was I thinking?" screams of agony. Once you accept that it's a natural process and nature will see you though, you grit your teeth and bear it because you know it'll be over soon, and when it is, the reward will be worthwhile.

So I suffered the body-ripping, bone-cracking agony of the Change with only a few grunts and whimpers, as I'd done at least once a week for the last twenty years. And when it was over, I collapsed onto my side, panting, muzzle buried in the snow to cool off.

Once I'd caught my breath, I rose slowly. The pain was only a memory now, but I still took my time, finding my footing on four legs, paws crunching through the snow crust, icy shards prickling between my footpads. I blinked hard, adjusting to a gray world, giving my brain time to convert the shades to colors.

My ears and nose were already in action, ears swiveling to pick up every distant crackle of falling ice, nose wiggling to catch every molecule of prey scent, both senses urging me to hurry up, get on with it, get out there and start exploring. I ignored them and stretched. My eyes slitted in bliss as my muscles ached, endorphins shooting to my brain, sweet as champagne.

I swished my tail against the snow, then stepped forward and back, reestablishing my center of gravity. After twenty years, all this was completely unnecessary, but it was like foreplay-delicious on its own, even better as a way to whet the appetite, anticipation and frustration growing.

Speaking of frustration…

As I stretched, footfalls padded around my thicket. Gold fur flashed, glistening under the moonlight. Then Clay's smell wafted in-that glorious rich scent, starting a whimper deep in my throat. I swallowed it and braced my legs against the urge to bound out and greet him.

Clay circled again, faster now, impatience growing. I lowered my self to my belly and slunk forward, slow and silent, until my nose was at the thicket's edge. Then I bunched my muscles, hindquarters rising, wiggling, waiting, waiting…

Clay loped past and I shot out behind him. By the time I heard the crunch of his sharp turn, I was running full out, tearing across the open stretch, eyes half closed, wind sluicing through my fur, moving so fast my paws didn't break the crust.

Clay's heavier mass meant he did break that crust, and he fell farther behind with each stride, the huff of his labored breaths interspersed with growls as I pulled away. I crossed the clearing and dove into the forest, but as soon as I did, I realized my mistake-protected by the thick canopy, the ground had only a thin layer of snow, and I lost my advantage.

Soon Clay's huffing was right on my heels. Then a grunt and a whoosh, and I knew he'd leapt. I tried diving to the side, but as my hind paws flew up, he caught one and wrenched. My front feet skidded out and I belly flopped.

With a snort, I bounded up and spun around. He was twenty feet away, prancing away, tail waving. Every instinct said to chase, but I toppled back down into the snow and whined in pain. Now Clay knows better than to fall for that. He really does. But he can never bring himself to run off, in case this is the one time I really am injured.

He circled me, wide and wary. I licked my foreleg. He came a little closer, staying out of lunging range. I struggled to my feet, paw raised, then gingerly touched it to the ground. He came closer, head lowered, nose working hard to catch the scent of blood. I lifted my paw and whimpered.

Closer, closer…

I sprang. He danced out of the way and took off. I hesitated, then started snuffling the ground. He stopped, head tilting. I kept sniffing, checking out all the prey trails. Vole, hare… is that lynx?

He dashed past so close I felt the draft.

I kept sniffing. Marten, porcupine, more hares…

Another dash, this time snagging my tail hairs in his teeth and tugging. I snapped and snarled, then went back to sniffing. More voles, more marten… Hey, what's that? I scratched off the top layer of snow, trying to uncover the scent.

Clay whipped past again, this time veering and sending a tidal wave of snow over me. I shook it off, nose still working, trying to pick up the mystery scent. When I glanced up, I caught a whiff of it in the air. I tracked it to an old tree with missing chunks of rough bark. There, caught on one loose piece six feet from the ground, was a tuft of brown fur.

Bear? Oooh. We'd crossed paths with black bears in northern Ontario, but never one of their big brown cousins. I scrambled up the trunk, nails digging in as I stretched to sniff-

Clay plowed into my side. I went flying. Then I bounced up, snarling, and tore after him.

He was smart enough to know that his advantage lay in the forest, so that's where he stayed, keeping only a few strides ahead, dropping back, then sprinting ahead, taunting and teasing.

When the forest opened into a clearing, I hit full speed, head down, paws sailing over the snow, closing the gap, the delicious smell of him filling my brain-

He swerved… right at the edge of a small embankment. I tried skidding to a stop, but tumbled over it, down the five-foot cliff onto the ice-covered creek below, each leg going its own way as I spun snout-first into the snowy embankment on the other side.

From behind me came the rough growl of Clay's wolf laugh. My answering growl was not nearly as amused. I got to my feet slowly, digging my claws into the ice for traction. Then, without turning to look at him, I gingerly picked my way along to a spot where a branch poked through the ice. I scratched at the thinner ice around it until I had a hole. Then I lowered my muzzle and drank.

I lapped the cold water, so clean and sweet that I closed my eyes to savor it. I could hear Clay pacing along the embankment, his panting getting louder, thirst growing. I bit off a chunk of ice, making the hole bigger, then shifted aside to give him room. He tore down the creek side, slowing as he reached the ice, testing each step under his weight.

When he got up beside me, the ice groaned, but held. He brushed against me, tail beating the back of my legs as he drank, droplets of icy water spraying my face. I shifted closer, rubbing against him. He made a deep-throated noise closer to a purr than to a growl. I quietly scraped at the ice with my far front paw. Then I reared up and slammed down, all my weight on my front legs. As I twisted and tore off the crack of the ice rang through the quiet forest.