Page 66 of Finding His Fox

I snatched the bangle off the ground. Max leaped and landed on his feet. Not far from the protection charm, I discovered Nate’s camera strap, then eventually his camera.

Only then did I notice the spatters of dried blood near a tree root.

“No,” I whispered hoarsely. “This can’t be happening. Nate and I just found each other. You can’t take him away from me.”

Picking up the camera with trembling hands, I couldn’t help but imagine the worst possible scenarios Nate was in, each other one more harrowing than the last.

Max twirled around my legs, and I could tell the little cat was as anxious as I was. Right. Standing around and feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t help Nate in the least bit.

I needed the help of my fox. He was a smarter hunter than I was.

Heck, I didn’t know why I hadn’t shifted forms in the first place. In a fit of determination and desperation, I quickly took off my clothes. The change came erratically and painfully.

My fox sensed my distressed, and he too wanted to find Nate as soon as possible. I tucked my clothes and other personal belongings into a ball and decided I would retrieve them later, after I found Nate.

“If you’re not too late already”, a voice inside my head whispered. I pushed that voice to one side. Pessimism wouldn’t get me anywhere.

I had to believe Nate was still alive. My mate wouldn’t die easily. I used my nose and followed the trail of blood Nate left behind. Heart pounding against my ribcage, I picked up my pace.

Max ran ahead of me, vigilant as a bloodhound, while I uncovered more of Nate's items—a watch and a crumpled piece of paper. It dawned on me that he had left breadcrumbs for me to follow.

That was Nate for you. Despite being injured, Nate instinctively knew I was coming for him, so he wanted to make things easier for me.

Max and I finally arrived at the clearing with the massive dead tree. Droplets soon drenched our fur. Not rainwater, but blood. I didn’t want to look up, but I did so anyway. I had to make sure.

A corpse once more decorated the tree. Not Nate, I thought in relief. Judging by the poor victim’s clothes—khaki pants, hiking boots, and a jacket—the wendigo had gotten its claws on a stray hiker.

The corpse was a warning, I realized. The monster was taunting me, daring me to enter its lair. Undeterred, I started sniffing around the tree. Once this hunt was over, I intended to take that body down. Owen would help me find the hiker’s family and friends. He deserved a proper burial.

I found myself staring at the hole at the base of the tree. It was the same opening I had uncovered before, but now it appeared larger.

The smell coming from the hole was appalling. A mixture of freshly spilled blood and rot. Every instinct told me to head back, to call for backup, but Nate didn’t have the luxury of time.

I growled at Max, hoping the feline understood that I wanted him to stay back.

Max stared at me, then licked his paw. He was going to wait. Relieved I wasn’t going to put Max in jeopardy, I pushed forward and entered the wendigo’s lair.

Darkness closed in around me, but from deep within the depths of the tunnel, I heard a muffled cry. Nate, I thought.

My heart leaped with hope and fear. I propelled myself forward. With each step, that hope turned to blinding rage.

The wendigo didn’t kill Nate right away because it knew I would come for my mate. The creature didn’t just want Nate.

It wanted us both. My paws crushed small skeletal bodies. Prey the monster had been snacking on. Appetisers before the big meal, I realized.

Reaching the end of the lair, the smell of spilled blood and Nate’s fear nearly overwhelmed me. The wendigo’s large deformed back was facing me.

The creature was hunched over Nate, who had curled himself into a ball. Nate’s eyes widened when he spotted me.

Abnormal muscles rippled under the wendigo’s taunt skin. I knew this wasn’t a fight I’d win easily. As if sensing my presence, it suddenly turned to face me, its eerie gaze locking onto mine.

The wendigo lunged forward, snarling at me. Anticipating the attack, I bounded across the tight space. I barely evaded the wendigo’s initial assault.

I knew I had to strike fast. The space was too small, too constricted. I countered the wendigo’s blows with a series of strikes, swiping at him with my claws.

Our movements blurred into a whirlwind of fur and teeth. The wendigo snapped its long fangs inches from my face. I twisted my body, narrowly avoiding its attack.

Pissed off, I retaliated, launching myself into the wendigo’s back. I sunk my claws into its fur, my fangs into the back of its neck.