Left for the Wolves

On a trip to Chicily, my wife, Rosa Stone, and her first love, Jack Cud, insisted on feeding wild, starving wolves.

I simply reminded them, "You might attract more hungry wolves."

They turned on me, calling me a heartless monster.

In the end, I was right. A pack of wolves really did show up. They circled the car, watching us hungrily. Jack was bitten by one.

To my surprise, Rosa kicked me out of the car, yelling, "Jack is hurt! He needs to be taken to the hospital! Distract the wolves, I'll come back for you!"

I watched them drive away, leaving me behind, surrounded by hungry wolves closing in from all sides.

My heart sank.

But, Rosa forgot one thing—I was a great Wolvesmith.

The wolves surrounding me were no threat to me.

As they lunged at me all at once, I opened one hand wide while reaching for my taming knife with the other.

My glare was fiercer than any of the wolves. They froze, intimidated by my presence. I mimicked a howl. The hostility in my glare made them back off.

I did not manage to escape the ordeal unscathed—I was covered in wounds. I called my assistant, "Philip, come pick me up in the wilderness of Chicily. Also, inform Mr. Lawson that I'll take the job. I'll work here."

Even though I was a professional Wolvesmith, it would still be difficult for me to train wild and foreign wolf packs.

My limbs were covered in blood from the wolves' bites.

When Philip brought me back to the hotel, I was pale as a sheet and drenched in cold sweat. I was covered in blood. It was such a terrifying sight to behold that the other tourists screamed when they saw me.

Rosa Stone, my wife, was anxiously attending to Jack Cud's arm injury in front of me. When she noticed me arriving, she looked up. She was first stunned, then a glare of detestation crossed her face. "What role are you playing now? A demon or a monster?"

I took a few steps forward, which tore my injuries open. I was in so much pain that I almost fell.

"Didn't you say you'd pick me up?" I said rather curtly.

Rosa sensed it too. She furrowed her brows. "Watch your tone with me. Philip picked you, right? You're still standing here in one piece, aren't you? What difference does it make if I pick you up or not?"

I felt a stab right in my heart. Rosa was still thinking that I was putting on an act.

Philip, next to me, could no longer take it. "Mrs. Presley, when I arrived, Mr. Presley was lying in his pool of blood! The wolves were all surrounding him!"

Rosa frowned. Jack, who was silent all this while, said, "Rosa, don't worry about me. Go and check on Fred."

Rosa turned to look at Jack, eyes softened with sorrow. "Don't worry about him. He just likes to pretend."

The pain was getting more and more intense. Finally, I could no longer take it. I puked a mouthful of blood onto Jack's white shirt.

Rosa was stunned for a moment, then she glared at me. "Fred Presley, what is wrong with you! It isn't April Fool's or Halloween! Why are you fooling around?"

I clutched my waist, looking at Rosa getting mad. Disappointment washed over me like a cold bath.

Rosa left me to fend for myself. She did not come back to pick me up. If I was not a Wolvesmith, I would have died.

I saw black and fell to the ground. Before I lost my consciousness, I saw Rosa looking anxious. I feebly thought to myself that she surely wasn't worried about me.

I was going to leave in two weeks, anyway. It did not matter anymore.