4 | The Cat Chase

King had never quivered so hard in his life. His face revealed fear as the beast in front of him slowly stood on its feet, a low growl grinding out of its hard chest. Bit by bit, it towered over King, its eyes locked towards the crown of the shuddering lad's head.

King refused to look. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed the knot that welled in his throat. He wanted to run, run madly to elsewhere than here. But he just stared at the animalistic clawed feet in front of him. And he knew—he had no escape.

With another hard swallow, King slowly levered his eyes up, finally connecting his gaze with the werewolf's sapphire eyes. His breathing hitched higher.

Not giving him any minute, the behemoth inched towards him, a crisp sneer lodging terrifyingly on its face. A gasp escaped out of King, and he immediately backed off in response.

King nearly stumbled more than thrice, the pain in his legs whimpering at the back of his mind. The werewolf's snout twitched, and its gaze raked down, seeing the lad's bloodied and torn slacks. Then it gnarled so loud, enough to revive all the withering terror in King's system.

King was raking desperate thoughts and impotent self-reassurance. One of them was determining whether the werewolf might happen to be a herbivore.

"G-good boy?" King said instead, his lips trembling while its corner curled up a bit. The werewolf growled, obviously unimpressed, or probably insulted, and King mentally slapped himself.

Just then, the behemoth reached for him. And King thought this was it. He lived a good life. Goodbye, world—

The silver werewolf sharply halted. Its eyes widened, and it backed off a bit. If terror could be seen in an animal's face, it was clearly showing on this werewolf.

King felt it was bizarre at first, but his thoughts dissipated to another when he felt something tickle the crook of his neck and jaw, like tiny pieces of tentacles brushing against his skin. Just like the beast in front of him, his face grimly contorted into priceless terror.

King let out a sharp shriek, and unintentionally, he hurled the centipede in front of him. The aimless aim was a bullseye, and the centicreep landed at the werewolf's face. The gray werewolf went into hysterics.

Noticing the opening, King took the chance and bolted towards Pandora, ignoring the burning sensation on his leg. The werewolf was quick to notice, and it roared, barreling after King after regaining its composure immediately.

Then, there was a sudden shift in the air's scent and the werewolf halted yet again. King felt a wave of alleviation as the essence washed over him and he dropped to the ground in relief, panting.

It was the redolence of their pride. They reached a territorial frontier. And according to the werefolk's peace agreement: none shall trespass another clan's territory without authorization, or else war shall be inevitable.

The werewolf begrudgingly moved back, ears erect, and lips pulled back. It released another roar, this one strapped with deep frustration.

The other werewolves arrived at the scene a second later. They regrouped with the gray one, their predatory eyes pinned at the werecats.

Pandora challenged their animosity with a harsh glare. Douglas, huskily mumbling rubbish and quite a bit unaware of what was happening, pushed himself up from the ground. Fortunately for him, he landed inside the invisible boundary, unlike King.

King was aching all over. All he wanted to do was lay on the ground and sleep the day off. But he didn't dare withdraw his eyes away from the wolves. Who knows if he did.

The werewolves stared at them; the werecats stared back. They exchanged growls and snarls, dominating against one another. The apparent malice was... awkward for King when he felt the gray werewolf just gaze at him.

King felt even more muddled. Considering, since earlier, why was it only focused on him? It felt as if the werewolf was after something that he couldn't comprehend about.

Before King could dig deeper through his intuitions, the silvery-pelted werewolf puffed out its chest and snorted. Then it turned around, indicating the end of the predicament, much to their surprise.

Before it left, it eyed King over its shoulder, shot daggers at him. Then it continued to walk away.

The other werewolves trailed behind it, quietly gnarring and some exhibiting their sharp teeth by snapping it in the air as if to taunt them.

Douglas massaged the back of his head as he moved towards Pandora and King, his eyes pinned at the retreating werewolves. Pandora kept to her defenses, waiting until the werewolves vanished from their sights. She kept her sight especially on the gray werewolf, who she noticed was so intent on King for some reason. She didn't like it one bit.

When a safe distance was perceived, Pandora withdrew now as well. "Let's go," she linked, "before any more dilemma greets us unannounced."

Douglas helped King back up. "Up we go."

King soundlessly winced while staggering to get back on his feet. He chewed his lower lip.

He should have been relieved, should have been contented that the werewolves have retreated. But no—King was pissed. The bastards dared turn their heads away after attempting to kill them! (or did they?)

Did the werewolves just found it entertaining?! Were messing with someone for no reason made their bones and tails rattle with joy?! If they're going to do something, then they shouldn't do it half-assed!

Douglas heaved and settled the King on his nape again. Still burning with fury, King spat, "Freaking mutts."

The werewolves suddenly paused in their tracks. Pandora and Douglas stiffened, and in a few seconds, King felt the two words that sizzled in his mouth wash over him like cold water.

One by one, the wolf-men's heads turned, lips curling, and blade-like incisors showing up, and the look of resolution that wrapped over the silver werewolf's face shall haunt King till then.

"... Uh-oh." uttered King.

The werewolves then thundered back in their direction.

"Go!" Pandora and Douglas dropped on all four and ran.

"Argh! Not again!" Douglas looked over his shoulder.

"King!" Pandora gnarled, and King flashed a forced smile at her.

King stiffened at what he heard next. The sound cut through the werewolves' roars like a knife through butter, and he paled.

"You guys ready for a swim?!" Douglas whooped.

"No," King exhaled.

The two werecats sped. King clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into Douglas's fur so hard that the latter winced. Even so, Douglas didn't stop. If ever, his speed even crackled higher.

Then they jumped.

In an instant, panic engulfed King. Water, he thought. He didn't know how to swim. His mind blanked up, and before he knew it, raging waves barreled over him, separating him away from Douglas and Pandora. It crashed over every inch of his body, pushing him underneath the waters.

Struggling and body mounting with pulsating terror, King flailed to keep his head above the grave that wrapped him. His leg stung, and his senses blurred. He desperately pushed with his arm and legs, but he couldn't find any leverage. He didn't know what he was doing. He tried to gasp for air, but there was nothing, just water. Parts of his body started cramping and hurting.

Then the world turned black.