Project Hellhound

Chapter 6

Bucky goes still beside me, his breathing changing slightly. I press against his leg, offering silent support.

"You have an alarming habit of collecting Hydra's discarded weapons, Rogers," Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's becoming something of a pattern. Should I be worried about a tank with daddy issues joining the team next week?"

"And you have an alarming habit of talking too much when you should be listening," Steve fires back, that undercurrent of steel in his voice that I've learned means he won't back down.

The red-haired woman moves forward with a predator's grace that immediately draws my attention. She steps around Tony as if he's an obstacle rather than a teammate, eyes never leaving mine. Her scent is controlled, giving away nothing—a trick I've never mastered.

"Hydra's animal enhancement programs were discontinued years ago," she says, voice cool and precise. "Or so we thought. This is... unexpected."

"Well, Natasha, nothing says 'we're still evil' quite like creating monster wolves," Tony interjects, crossing his arms. "Really on-brand for them, actually."

"Is she safe?" Natasha continues as if Tony hadn't spoken, addressing Steve and Bucky directly. "Hydra doesn't build weapons without fail-safes. How do we know she's not programmed to turn on us the moment we let our guard down?"

"Like I was?" Bucky challenges, voice dropping dangerously.

She doesn't flinch. "Exactly. And we both know what happened before we broke your programming."

A memory flashes through Bucky's scent—fear, rage, confusion. I can't interpret the context, but I recognize the emotional signature of remembered violence.

"That was different," Steve argues. "Buck was—"

"Human?" she interrupts, one eyebrow raised. "Because from where I'm standing, that only made him less dangerous, not more. An enhanced predator with built-in weapons doesn't need a metal arm to do serious damage."

I track her movements carefully, muscles tensed despite the pain. She's calculating, evaluating—threat assessment ongoing. I recognize this type of human. She thinks like me.

"She had every chance to kill us in there," Steve argues, gesturing back toward the facility. "Hell, she saved our lives. Twice."

"Against Hydra agents," Natasha points out, circling slightly to view me from another angle. I rotate to keep her in sight, ignoring the pull of torn muscle in my side. "Mutual enemies. That doesn't mean she won't turn on you once those enemies are gone."

Natasha's eyes narrow slightly. "Can she understand us?"

"I don't know," Bucky admits after a moment, his hand still steady on my shoulder. "But she responds to commands. To gestures. She's well-trained."

Well-trained, not intelligent. Not understanding. Just trained. I let them believe it—safer that way. I learned long ago that revealing too much understanding only led to more tests, more pain.

The man with the bow hasn't taken his eyes off me. "Uh, not to state the obvious, but she's covered in blood. And I'm guessing most of it's not hers."

I know how I must look to them—massive, blood-soaked, deadly. The scent of death clings to my fur, mixing with my own blood. I've been trained to inspire fear, to use it. But now that fear works against me, against what I need—safety, healing, somewhere to go that isn't back to Hydra.

I lower my stance slightly, forcing my hackles down despite every instinct screaming to appear larger, more threatening.

"She took down two Hydra agents, Clint," Bucky says, a hint of pride in his voice that startles me. No one has ever been proud of me before—pleased with my performance, satisfied with my efficiency, but never proud. "Would you rather she let them shoot us?"