Page 1 of Blacktail

Prologue

Hate

i

Guile snapped to her feet at the sound of the gunshots. Her first thought was for her kittens, but they were safe and warm, sleeping in a pile of gray fuzz. Pounce, the youngest, was snoring. She relaxed a little. She poked her head out of the snow-covered deadfall where they made their den to call for her husband. “Hate?” she whispered.

Hate didn’t answer, but that might not mean anything. These days the charming young lynx of her courtship was only a memory. Hate mostly ignored her. Mostly she was glad of it. But right now the fear was still high in her—gunshots—and she wanted to take comfort in the scent of his shoulders.

She composed herself, stepped outside to look for him. A cold pulse thrummed deep in her claws, her fangs. The moonlight outside was bright compared to their den. It took her eyes a moment to adjust. When she saw him, she jumped a little. He was closer than she would have believed possible, but still, so still. The falling snow lay thick over his back, the ruff of his neck. He hadn’t moved in a long time. Is he hurt? She scented the air but found no blood. He’s fine. She sighed. He could at least have answered me. Miserable prick. “Hello, dear.”

Hate didn’t answer, only stared up the mountain. She followed his gaze but saw nothing. After a moment, hesitant, she tried again. “Hate? What is it?”

Hate made a thin rumble that might have been a purr. The sound did little to calm her. In Guile’s experience, anything that made her husband purr was bad news for someone. He did not answer her question. She did not ask again.

Hate padded around her, peeked into the den at their kittens. When they did not stir, he poked his head in and sneaked a rough kiss on Pounce. She had always been his favorite. It occurred to Guile that this might have been the first time he kissed one of his children—certainly the first time she had ever seen.

She pretended not to notice.

Hate padded back over to her, close enough to make her uncomfortable. It crossed her mind to dart into the underbrush, the shadows. She would feel safe there. But that would leave the kittens alone with him.

Then Hate kissed her, too, his tongue rough even through her winter undercoat.

Guile blinked. “Have you lost—” She cut herself off, paused. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Not feeling well? Not feeling well?” Fat snowflakes fluttered down in the moonlight. “Do I look ill to you? Hmm?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Guile said. “I didn’t mean—”

Hate swished his tail, the way you do when brushing away utter nonsense. “Think nothing of it! I’m well. I’m jolly!” His eyes flashed. “I’m positively grand. Thank you for asking.”

Guile swallowed hard. “A noise,” she said. “I heard a—”

“Yes. I imagine you did.”

“What was it?” Then, softly, “Was it a two-legs? A gun?”

“Yes. It was.”

She glanced at the den where their kittens slept. “How far?”

“Far enough.” Hate shook the snow from his shoulders. “We’re safe.”

“Have the men come to kill deer? Again? So soon?”

“No,” Hate said. “Not deer this time, I think.”

“What then?

“Wait for it.”

She waited, her nostrils flaring slightly as she sipped the night air. A few breaths later, the scent of blood rolled down the mountain in a warm cloud. She sniffed it once. Her brow furrowed. She sniffed again, deeper this time. “Can that—Is that wolf blood?”

Hate swished his tail. Yes.

“Do you think…?” she trailed off, the question unfinished.

Hate purred again and ran his tongue over his teeth. He was older than Guile, his teeth stained and yellow. In this light they looked black. His joy was a ghastly thing, always had been. But Guile had a thing for the naughty ones. Seeing those teeth, she felt a faint stir, deep inside.