To an extent, and twistedly, there was a fraction of Yssa that respected the way their enemies moved, almost in awe. There were targets. Targets were locked-on, targets were taken down with brutal, clean efficiency. Those nasty bullets, burrowing into flesh and exploding with liquid silver, turning the insides into painful goo. In situations like those, with so much movement, imperfect aim was expected, though it remained that they had done well, killed well. In her mind’s eye, a wolf fell in front of her, caught in the neck, gushing blood and runny metal from shaking jaws. It was the way to destroy, the way to ensure no healing, no coming back. While she thought, it also sent a kind of message. What type, exactly? The one that said danger and fearsomeness. The one illustrating skill and soldier’s desire. Yes, the fight had been on two very different grounds. Yssa didn’t look at him, but her disposition physically became more submissive, and thus, agreeing. All four of them could have very well been in place of the other dead. They were lucky to be able to get word back to their pack, lest their family meet the same agony and fate. Her shoulders lowered, she mumbled. “You’re right.”<br/><br/>As Christian continued, Klein lowered her eyes and head. She hung on every word, examining what had been done wrong, and making mental notes not to commit similar in the future. No, her judgment was no better, and it wasn’t her place to jump into a conversation to be dealt with by the alpha’s son. She would not put herself into another, so long as the pack’s safety was not at risk. As he mentioned kicking Yssa back to her home, to the wolves she was first raised with, the Native woman’s step hitched. She knew she had sorely fucked up then when he went that far. She looked at him over her shoulder, his face, but with no eye contact, like natural wolves did. There’d be little speaking thereafter. The night’s half silence pervaded. Snapping twigs and crackling underbrush, deer and pheasants stirring, foxes running. Coyotes’ howls came, hollowly punctuating the hours. As those in that state didn’t deal with wolves, it was occasionally fun to meet their noise with deeper, more monstrous cries. For the most part, they avoided the werewolves, so there wasn’t much joy in giving them an up-close and personal scare. Maybe one day, they’d be brave enough to actually follow the rumbles.<br/><br/>They met a road, spidering into darkness, but there were lights, flashing. The women hunched in a side ditch, stirring fireflies. It was a state trooper, breathalyzing two men haphazardly leaned on a Porsche. Yssa knew better than to go any nearer, however, she did taste the air. Rubber had been burnt, there were skidmarks, cigar smoke pungent and lingering. Oh, they were intoxicated alright, and stupid as shit for getting caught. They probably thought the lonely stretch of road would be unmonitored, not knowing cops waited behind trees for speeders exactly like them. As she watched, that ushered a second question. “I wonder if those hunters will clean up everything.” Like drawn by her musing, blacked SUVs cruised passed. Completely matte with clothed license plates, hurrying without headlights. The trooper was suddenly much more interested in them. He radioed, divvied on who to chase, and ended up bending the first man over to be cuffed.<br/><br/>“I think they just might,” Klein said. She led their careful skulk to the other side some yards away. The cop was in too much of a frenzy to notice quick and darting shapes. Down, into deeper woods, jumping another centuries-old property line made of mossy rocks. The smell of home and safety began to thicken. Oak and grassy familiarity, the distant aromas of other members. There was a wide creek to cross, trickling and misty in the dark. It made goosebumps prickle on the women’s naked flesh; put a sheen on swaying hips and bobbing breasts. There was little comparable to werewolf women. They seeped wilderness wrapped in strong, feminine form. In autumn, when the beast side began to need, there’d be an arch in their backs, a welcome to what slicked between their legs. That time was some months off, so for now, the tension was nonexistent. Whatever other tension had been, was suddenly eased too, because home came into view. The trees thinned, Klein peacefully exhaled, their steps became quick. For Yssa, it meant eating and a shower, for Klein, it meant reflection and whatever Christian needed.<br/><br/>For all, though, it also meant telling their alpha about bloodshed and a new threat.