Coldsnap: The Billionaire Alpha's Fated Pregnant Princess (GL)-Chapter 7 - Bad Scents And No Good Sense

Chapter 7: Chapter 7 - Bad Scents And No Good Sense
Shifting to my hybrid form, I knelt beside the carcass again to yank the bone I wanted free. I am
not
leaving it. The werewolf side has more easily manipulable
strength
. And...
I must say that it is... growing on me.
It trades
attractiveness
for power. Combining some wonderful qualities of both forms into a more effective hunter. I can admit that as a
fox
, I would never have taken this sort of prey.
As a human I may have been able to use a bow and similar stealth... but I don't have one now, do I? Haven't used one ever since...
Anyway! The point is
moot
. I will make use of what I can to survive - to do more than survive. If that means turning into the sort of creature most rational people would
scream
and shiver when seeing just so I can
free a treat
, so be it.
I am nothing if not adaptable.
I clutch the femur in my jaws as I check the map again. Then run towards
civilization
. It irks me to be told how quickly I should arrive anywhere, but I can't help but be intrigued by the reason I have been requested to do so.
It also
vexes
me that I can't waste time burying my hard earned kill!
⧖
☾ ❄ ☽
⧖
Hours of travel since my deer feast had led to the woods around me gradually thinning. Especially after leaving what my
internal map
suggested was the edge of Duskpaw territory. It makes sense that they wouldn't bother to extend out into the open areas of land.
Hiding in forests like wildmen. I guess in a way you could say their brand of werewolves are just so. Not that Helene knows more than rumors about the
other
packs, never having been invited to attend the lunar conclave.
Really, she did nothing but live and
try
to love. It somehow makes me compare... and find my own performance in life lacking. Even if I was more learned in comparison to the average of
my culture
than her, I was really not much better.
> At least I didn't get pregnant while having my fun... I can no longer say that, huh? Not that this has been a lot of fun so far. Are you having any? <
My wolf yawns and
scratches
at its side while seated in my mindscape. I ignored it for a while after that.
As if there are
fleas
in there to make you itch, you ungrateful beast!
The sun was close to setting when I caught a faint scent. An
unmistakable
kind. Death and rot. Not fresh kill, but something that had been left for days. My snout
wrinkled
as I paused to lift my nose. To better catch the direction it was coming from.
Which is when I found the map pulsing.
When I focused on it, a small red marker appeared out on the blue landscape. Not far from my position. In the direction I felt the
corpse
was likely to be. Is this system... suggesting a destination again?
It did task me with going somewhere already. Or is it only noting something I found potentially
important
on my own? Like how it has been reacting to my needs and thoughts, to an extent.
This is likely a critical distinction. But one I'm not going to learn by standing around staring off into space. As usual, my curiosity won over
caution
. I altered our course. Keeping carefully to the thickest underbrush, my ears were on alert for any sounds of danger.
The wolf inside didn't seem concerned but...
> Are you still sulking? I told you I was joking. Your kind definitely smells better than something like this. <
The spirit's tail wagged twice and stopped. Clever beast, recognizing my near non-apology. Better than terrible is not good.
The stench grew stronger as I made my way from upwind. When I stalked upon a small clearing with a structure nestled against a rocky hillside... I placed my
prized bone
somewhere safe.
The place I found wasn't quite a cabin; more like a hunting blind. One that had been expanded over time into something resembling a permanent
shelter
. The rough wood siding was weathered gray and looked similar to the surrounding rock.
The metal roof had rusted at the edges, probably due to moisture being trapped from the brush cover on top. That choice seemed
sloppy
to me, but what do I know of human fieldcraft?
Enough to tell this was put together with
scrap
for some reason. There was a single high window covered in what looked like heavy-duty 'plastic' rather than glass. Altogether it is rather
ugly looking
.
I began to slowly move toward it. No signs of activity. No
fresh
scents other than local wildlife and that persistent odor of decay. Considering the location I'm pretty sure I know what died here, even if I was never...
blessed
with the experience before now.
To make it easier to search, I shift back to this body's human form. The lesser senses continue to strain for any danger.
> If there is any clothing that would be nice. Though I might wait to put it on so I don't... lose it again. <
The panel that served as a door didn't appear locked. Just a simple outer latch that had been left open. I pushed it with one finger, wincing at the creak of
rusty
hinges. The smell wafted out like a physical force.
I staggered back despite thinking I was ready. Covering my nose and mouth with my hand didn't help. Dead
humans
smell so vile.
"Goddesses..."
I muttered a call to them in vain. Old habits. I'll have to start being more careful with my words soon. Especially the kind I might say
on instinct
. Then again... who cares?
I'm already going to be considered a 'pagan'. Why should I not just claim a
unique set of beliefs
if questioned? At least then I don't have to forsake my home.
Using these thoughts as a moment to adjust to the
foulness
, I finally steeled myself and stepped inside. The interior was a single large room. Maybe ten paces square. A small wood stove with a pipe that led outside. Shelves crammed with various supplies.
A cot lay against the far wall, hidden behind a solid barricade. And on the floor nearby it, sprawled beside an overturned folding chair, was the
source
of the smell that brought me on this errand.
The man had been dead for some time. Maybe a week. His body was bloated and discolored, the process of decomposition well underway. From the look of it there are no visible wounds. No signs of struggle other than the chair tipped over.
Perhaps a heart attack? Natural causes of some sort. Not that I can discount poison, but he seemed rather old judging by the color of his hair. His
white beard
is matted and wild, though he was either bald or shaved the top of his head.
The clothes that I
absolutely
will not
be taking off his corpse, thank you, are practical for the local weather. Basic and the sort of thing Helene would expect someone of his age to wear in this area. Much like the Omegas that lived with the pack and hunted off the land to earn respect.
> This man wasn't just any hunter, though. Was he? <
The walls my wolf
growled
at told us the real story.