Chapter 3 - The Name She Gave Him

Dawn arrived reluctantly beneath the Black Forest canopy.

Gray light seeped between the pines, revealing the remains of Rowan’s fire and the empty place where the enormous creature had kept watch.

She sat up slowly, every bruise from the previous day announcing itself at once.

Her shoulder ached.

Her ankle throbbed.

Cold had settled into her bones despite the shelter of the rock overhang.

But she was alive.

And beside the ashes lay the rabbit the strange animal had left for her.

Rowan stared at it.

“Still not normal,” she murmured.

Nothing answered from the trees.

She hadn’t expected anything to.

Still, disappointment pressed unexpectedly against her chest.

The creature had stayed long enough to bring her food, then vanished before daylight. Perhaps that was for the best. Whatever it was, it remained a wild predator capable of killing her before she could raise her rifle.

Not that the rifle would offer much protection.

It was real.

The ammunition issued for the training exercise was not.

Rowan glanced at the device fitted to the muzzle and shook her head.

“Terrific.”

She had an expensive club, a sprained ankle, half a canteen of water, and no idea where her unit was.

At least she had breakfast.

Granny Harper had taught her how to clean game when she was young, although Rowan had never expected to use the skill on a rabbit delivered by an animal that looked as though it had walked out of the Ice Age.

She cooked what she could over the revived fire, ate quickly, and packed the rest.

The forest remained unnaturally quiet.

No birds.

No squirrels rustling in the undergrowth.

Even the wind seemed cautious.

Rowan tightened the laces around her injured ankle and tested her weight.

Pain flared, but the joint held.

“Good enough.”

She gathered her gear, checked her compass, and chose a direction.

The training route had followed a ridge running roughly northeast. If she could reach higher ground, she might regain radio contact or spot a road.

She took three steps.

A low sound rolled from the trees behind her.

Not a growl.

A warning.

Rowan stopped.

The massive creature emerged from the shadows as silently as morning fog.

In daylight, it looked even less possible.

Its steel-gray coat darkened almost to black along its spine and shoulders. The bandage Rowan had wrapped around its foreleg remained in place, though dirt and moisture had stained the gauze. Its chest was broad enough to make the surrounding trees seem narrow.

And those pale blue eyes remained fixed on her with unsettling intelligence.

“You came back.”

The creature stood perfectly still.

Rowan smiled before she could stop herself.

“I was beginning to think you’d eaten breakfast and forgotten about me.”

One ear shifted toward her voice.

“You did bring it, didn’t you?”

The great head dipped once.

Rowan stared.

“That looked suspiciously like a yes.”

The creature turned and walked several paces into the forest.

Then it stopped and looked back.

Rowan frowned.

“You want me to follow you?”

It waited.

“Of course you do.”

She adjusted her pack.

“Because following the enormous prehistoric predator deeper into the woods is clearly the smartest option available.”

The creature’s gaze seemed almost impatient.

Rowan sighed.

“Fine.”

She limped after it.

“But if this ends badly, I’m blaming you.”

The animal moved slowly enough for her to keep pace.

That, more than anything, convinced Rowan it understood her condition.

Whenever the terrain became steep, it paused.

When she stumbled over an exposed root, it turned immediately.

Once, when her ankle nearly gave beneath her, the creature crossed in front of her and braced its massive body against her side.

Rowan caught herself with one hand buried in the thick fur at its shoulder.

Heat radiated through the coat.

The animal did not flinch.

“Thank you.”

Its blue eyes met hers.

Something passed between them.

Recognition, perhaps.

Or trust.

Rowan released its fur reluctantly.

“You need a name.”

The creature resumed walking.

“I can’t keep calling you ‘the giant thing that probably shouldn’t exist.’”

One dark ear angled backward.

She considered several possibilities as they moved between the pines.

Shadow was too obvious.

Ghost didn’t fit something so solid.

Blue Eyes sounded ridiculous.

“Fen,” she said at last.

The creature stopped.

Rowan almost collided with it.

She smiled.

“Short for Fenrir.”

The enormous head turned slowly toward her.

“My granny used to tell stories about him. A great wolf from Norse legend.”

The animal’s stare sharpened.

Rowan laughed softly.

“You don’t like it?”

Fen released a breath through his nose.

“That’s twice you’ve looked offended. I’m starting to think you understand English.”

He turned away.

But not before Rowan caught what looked disturbingly like disapproval.

“Fen it is.”

They continued through the forest.

For the first time since her fall, Rowan felt as though she was moving toward something instead of simply away from danger.

She didn’t know where Fen was leading her.

She only knew he had chosen to stay.

And for reasons she couldn’t explain, she trusted that choice.

They reached a narrow stream shortly before midmorning.

Clear water moved swiftly over dark stones.

Fen stepped aside and watched as Rowan knelt to refill her canteen.

She purified the water, drank carefully, then poured a small amount into her palm.

“You thirsty?”

Fen stared at her hand.

“Yes, I realize there’s an entire stream beside us.”

He walked past her and drank directly from the current.

Rowan rolled her eyes.

“Show-off.”

A faint sound reached her.

Voices.

Human voices.

Rowan surged to her feet too quickly, pain shooting through her ankle.

“Hello?”

Fen’s head snapped up.

The fur along his shoulders lifted.

The voices came again from somewhere downstream.

At least two men.

Maybe three.

Relief rushed through Rowan before caution caught up with it.

Her unit would be calling her name.

These men weren’t.

Their words were German, spoken too quickly for Rowan to understand more than fragments.

One phrase repeated.

Der Grauwolf.

The gray wolf.

Fen backed away from the stream.

Every line of his body changed.

The calm guardian disappeared.

What remained was ancient and lethal.

“Are they looking for you?”

His gaze shifted toward Rowan.

Then toward the opposite bank.

He wanted her to move.

The voices grew louder.

Rowan tightened her pack and followed Fen across the shallow water, gritting her teeth as the cold current struck her injured ankle.

They climbed the far bank and disappeared into thick brush moments before three men emerged beside the stream.

Rowan crouched behind a fallen tree.

Fen lowered himself beside her, nearly invisible against the shadows.

The men wore dark outdoor clothing and carried rifles.

Real rifles.

No military insignia.

No hunting tags Rowan could see.

The oldest man knelt near the water and studied the bank.

He found Fen’s tracks immediately.

Then Rowan’s.

He said something to the others.

One of them laughed.

The sound held no humor.

Rowan leaned close to Fen’s ear.

“We need to go.”

His body remained completely still.

The youngest man crossed the stream and followed their trail directly toward the fallen tree.

Rowan’s hand tightened around her rifle.

Blanks.

Completely useless unless she wanted to make noise.

She eased her knife from its sheath instead.

Fen glanced at the blade.

Then at her.

“Don’t judge me,” she whispered.

The hunter came closer.

Twenty yards.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Fen rose.

Rowan caught a fistful of his fur.

“No.”

His muscles felt like stone beneath her hand.

The man stepped around a pine.

His eyes met Rowan’s.

Surprise flashed across his face.

Then recognition.

He shouted over his shoulder.

The other two men raised their weapons.

Rowan dragged her rifle up anyway, sighting on the nearest man.

“Drop it!”

He might not understand English.

The command was clear enough.

He smiled.

Then his gaze shifted to Fen.

The smile disappeared.

Fear transformed his face.

Not the fear of a hunter encountering an unusually large animal.

The fear of a man confronting a nightmare he already knew by name.

“Direwolf,” he whispered.

The older hunter reached the bank behind him.

His rifle remained trained on Fen.

But his eyes settled on Rowan.

More specifically, on the silver pendant visible above the collar of her uniform.

The pendant Granny Harper had placed in her hand the morning Rowan left West Virginia.

The one she had worn every day since.

The man’s face went white.

He lowered his rifle slightly.

“That is impossible.”

His English was heavily accented, but unmistakable.

Rowan’s knife remained ready.

“What is?”

He stared at the pendant.

Then at her bright blue eyes.

When he spoke again, his voice was filled with something far worse than anger.

Recognition.

“Harper.”

Rowan’s blood turned cold.

She had never seen this man before.

“How do you know my name?”

Fen stepped between them.

A growl rolled through the forest, so deep Rowan felt it through the ground beneath her boots.

The hunters retreated as one.

The older man raised his rifle again.

Not toward Fen.

Toward Rowan.

“She cannot leave this forest alive.”