Hannah Pole - Song Of The Wolf

His body began to bow and stretch, his bones bending and reshaping, and his skin expanded as they did so, giving his muscles space to break down and reform. It was mighty painful. Maker only knew how their race had adapted to survive bones and flesh breaking and reshaping as they did. But hell, healing came naturally fast to them. Finally his face began to cave in on itself, the bone reknitting and forming a muzzle as his spine lengthened, shooting out to form a tail.

After a short while his skin began to itch as fur grew out of it. It felt like hundreds of tiny needles rippling out in waves, from the top of his head to the tip of his tail.

It usually only took seconds for his body to shift into wolf form, but this time it took a little longer. Dax had to concentrate on keeping his body in the same position, careful not to rip the straps of his rucksack in the process.

When the change took place, Dax knew he was supposed to keep his mind clear of anything but his wolf. He wasn’t entirely sure why, though he was sure he didn’t want to find out. He had trained himself to keep his mind’s eye on his wolf, yet be completely aware of his body’s position. Dax needed to be sure he shifted properly and didn’t break the rucksack or his shoulders during the change.

Eventually it was over. Dax stood on his hind legs and stretched, his neck cracking a little as he did so.

He quickly checked himself over as best he could, all four paws, tail and ears, all in working order. His black fur shone under the moonlight, but otherwise he would be more or less invisible in this darkness.

Dax was a rare wolf; he was completely black, nose to tail. Most had several colours lining their fur.

The rucksack was thankfully still in place on his back, the straps still around his front paws and the clip across his chest had held strong.

He had the fleeting thought that it would be a little funny should a human spot him – a giant black wolf wearing a backpack.

He might even make front-page news!

He snorted at the thought and pressed onwards. His paws were padded, and made little sound as he trotted through the wooded area of the Warren. He strained his ears against the night, listening out for any indication of life.

He could hear the waves crashing against the stones about half a mile in front of him; there was something small scurrying across the grass a little further up.

He paused, inhaling deeply, picking past the scents of the woodland, the trees, and the frost until he found the distinct scent of life, in all its smelly glory.

It was a mouse, of course. Bit late in the year for a mouse to be out and not hibernating, he thought absently, padding slowly forward.

Once he was sure he was the only threat in the woodland, Dax broke into an all-out run. He was much faster on four paws than he would have been on two feet and he managed to race the distance to the beach in a matter of seconds. The salty air became much thicker, making it difficult to smell much else.

Not that it mattered. Alison’s scent would be long gone by now.

The crashing of the waves intensified. They were almost deafening to his sensitive hearing, but it didn’t matter to him. He bolted along the stones of the beach, avoiding the spray of the waves as best he could and finally began to slow about a mile along the shore. He glanced up at the cliffs lining the seafront. His keen sight picked though the jagged rock and chalk until he found the discreet opening to a cave. He knew it was there; he’d been there a hundred times over the last three weeks. It was the last place Alison had been before they lost track of her GPS chip. Anger roared its way to the surface at the thought of that female, lost and alone in the hands of those bastards.

He climbed the side of the cliff with ease, the sharp rock doing little to damage the surfaces of his paws. As he reached the mouth of the cave, he jumped into it and listened intently. Nothing. There had been nothing here since Alison had been taken weeks ago.

Dax walked over to the heavy wooden door that stood at the back of the cave. It led to the sewer tunnels that ran the length of Folkestone.

Not many people would know about this secret entrance – although the damn Circle had.

Dax bit back a curse as he checked the security system he’d installed when they’d first found the cave. It was little more than a screen with two buttons, on and off. He nudged the ‘on’ button with his nose and placed a paw against the screen. The little scanner did a sweep of his paw and the word ‘accepted’ flashed up. Dax couldn’t help but be a little proud of his foresight. He’d programmed the security to accept both his human fingerprint and his wolf’s paw.

The loading screen on the tiny monitor finally gave way to the security system footage from the last two days; there hadn’t been a breach anywhere in this section of the tunnels. Crap.

Dax had set infrared lasers across the tunnels that spread throughout Folkestone and the cliffs. Anyone who entered wouldn’t know they were there but Dax would. Mind you, had he really expected the Circle to go back to the scene of the crime? No. Probably not.

He pawed his way back over to the opening to the cave; from up here he could see most of the coastline. On a clear day you could likely see France.

The light of the moon bounced off the surface of the waves, making them sparkle.

His mind was ablaze with questions, none of which he could answer.

Exhaustion swept over him. He hadn’t slept a wink since Alison was taken. Sure, he’d had a five minute nap here and there but he hadn’t actually let sleep take him. He was getting to the point of delusion, unable to concentrate for long and the smallest of things seemed to take it out of him.

He was a wolf, and a strong one at that. Yet the short trip from the car to the cave had his limbs aching to the point of giving up and his heart racing.

He closed his eyes, and heaved a great breath. Maybe Julian was right. Maybe he should look after himself a little more.

But how could he when Alison was out there?

As darkness swept over him, the sound of the crashing waves died. The salty air caressing his nostrils disappeared and nothingness took over. Dax let his mind go, the unanswered questions disappearing for just a moment as he gave in to silence. It was peaceful .

“Dax?” a small voice squeaked. It sounded a hell of a lot like Alison. It was probably his mind playing tricks on him .

Even so, he held onto the sound of her voice, memorising it .

“Dax?” Her voice rang out a little louder. He bolted upright, his head spinning .

He scanned the area, eyes desperately searching for her. Stony beach, waves, jagged rocky path up to the opening of the cave. No beautiful blonde female .

“Alison?” he whispered, looking around the cave itself. He’d obviously shifted back into human form in his sleep; he sat on the rock, naked and baring all to the world. Yet the rock wasn’t cold against his skin. In fact everything seemed to be exactly the perfect temperature. Not hot. Not cold .

The cave looked different; hell, the beach looked different .

It was still night but everything was covered in a faint mist. The world had lost all its colour. The sea, the rock, the stones on the beach, they were all just different shades of grey .

It could be a trick of the brain; it was the middle of the night after all .

But Dax wasn’t so sure. He’d seen this before in his dreams. In fact, this grey world was something he saw frequently when he slept. He would go to sleep and almost instantly wake up again, in the world he knew but everything was different. Grey-tinted and empty. It was almost as if he’d stepped onto another plane of existence .