Masquerade

She had always considered herself a lucky wolf. She knew her father sought her blood long before he told her, and she ran long before he had the chance to spill it. She was massive and broad, an adept hunter even barely out of her adolescence, with the strength to down full bull elks on her own. She had found Redback, whose soul fit hers like a second skin, before her first heat had ever been upon her. 

And yet she was not lucky. Sweet, beautiful Redback had sired her two pups on her first heat, hunted for her when her belly swelled, let her rest for the better part of the day without complaint. And despite all her luck, she had given no pups. They had been born small and cold, having never taken their first breaths. A male and a female, too young yet to decide who they might have looked more like, and the broken-hearted couple buried them under the light of the full moon. 

Unlucky once more, hunting through her second heat, determined to let herself grow more before trying for more pups. She had come across a wolf even larger than herself, who held her down with sharp claws and sharper teeth, and bred her with the violence of any desperate creature. Sweet Redback, who always paused for a moment of silence when he downed prey, ripped his throat out without a second thought. He had helped her to stand, licked the blood from her coat, and pulled her back to the forest they called home. 

An outsider would not know her pregnancy was not by her mate. He treated her just the same, hunting for her, bringing her nesting material with the fervency of a male on the verge of his first pups. If it bothered her that the wolves growing inside her were not his, he said nothing on the matter. 

Her second litter came at night. She had been awake, charged with the feeling of it coming, though she had not alerted her mate, sleeping soundly next to her. Towards the back of the cave slept the closest thing Masquerade had to a pup thus far; a near-yearling named Libra who had stumbled upon their home and subsequently declared herself part of the pack, to no objections. The tip of the adolescent's nose twitched. Unbidden, visions of the first pups rose to the space behind her eyelids. Unnamed, dead pups. Her failure, both to herself and to Redback. The stirring in her stomach, unlucky Masquerade, her failure once more. 

But no, the scent of her labor was strong, and bless Redback if he was not awake before the pushing started in earnest. He looked nearly as panicked as she felt, pressing first his nose to her forehead, and then practically laying his full head atop her. Neither wolf spoke, the only noise was the quiet, almost meaty sound of her whelping. Masquerade decided then, with a bit of a hysteric laugh, that if these pups were born dead, she would be there to greet them on the other side herself. 

They were not born dead. In fact, the firstborn, the only female in the litter, came into the world screaming. Her yelps were high and hearty, and Masquerade nearly wept when she heard them. Redback did weep, licking both his mate and his daughter in turn. Three more pups came, their cries matching their sister's. All male. 

Even so young, newborn and sightless, Masquerade was sure of one thing. 

They looked like her.