When the Red Wolf Sings (The Red Wolf Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  When the Red Wolf Sings

  The Red Wolf Trilogy - Book 3

  Kody Boye

  When the Red Wolf Sings

  The Red Wolf Trilogy, #3

  by Kody Boye

  Copyright © 2020. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by KDS Cover Concepts

  Edited by Constance Frater

  Formatted by Kody Boye

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical articles and reviews or works within the public domain.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Recovery.

  It is a word often associated with injury, or illness, or even devastation. When one falls down and scrapes their knee, they must get back up. When one is diagnosed with something like cancer, they must take medicine to combat it. And after a devastating event, in which many people are hurt or even killed, the wreckage must be gathered and recycled into something new. But what they don’t tell you is that recovery, when it comes to a personal loss, is a process—one which can take days, weeks, months, maybe even years to occur.

  As we make our around the Sabine Lake that borders Louisiana, and as we begin to make our way back to the small town of Red Wolf, Texas, I find myself ruminating over this fact wholeheartedly, and with doubt I know comes from the unknown.

  The main question that keeps repeating in my head is: what happens next?

  Will I succeed? a part of me asks.

  Or will I fail? another questions.

  That in itself is a question that cannot be answered—at least, not physically.

  So as we make our way back to Red Wolf—crossing that narrow strait, that broad road, and those treacherous woods—I can’t help but wonder if my future, so seemingly up in the air, is only meant to crash down.

  By the time we arrive at Wolf Creek a day later, I feel ready to break.

  Oaklynn? Jackson asks as he draws up alongside me. Are you all right?

  I’m not sure how to answer, or if I even can. Knowing that I’m not all right is one thing, but experiencing it, understanding it? That’s another thing entirely.

  I stare into the slow-moving water that runs through Wolf Creek and try to formulate an answer, though try as I may, I can come up with nothing. The water seems too swift, even though it is moving at a snail’s pace; and like that water, my thoughts are also struggling to keep up.

  In the grand scheme of things, I am lost and without hope.

  You did what you set out to do, the Light Wolf says inside me. You should be proud.

  Proud.

  A word, and an emotion, that I can’t even begin to fathom.

  As Justin and Bernard move ahead to scout the area, Jackson nudges his head against mine, and says, Oaklynn.

  What? I ask.

  Let’s go home.

  I’m not sure I’m ready to.

  You’re not sure? he asks. It takes several moments for him to respond further, and when he does, he asks: Why?

  Because I feel like everything I’ve worked toward is over.

  What do you mean?

  I sigh—allowing the puff of air to disturb the water before me. I watch as ripples spread, extend, then disappear. Like those ripples, my impact in this world has done just that—come and gone.

  You mean… the wolves? Jackson asks a few moments later.

  To which I reply by saying, Yeah. I mean the wolves.

  You did something that most people would’ve been scared to do, Oaklynn. You helped an entire pack flee the men who would’ve killed them without a second thought.

  But now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

  Jackson doesn’t say anything. Obviously contemplative, and deep in thought, he turns his head to look beyond the riverbed—toward something I don’t care to see. He stares at it for several long moments before he finally says, You do what you have to do.

  I guess, I say. If I could’ve frowned, I would’ve. Instead, I manage to puff a breath out my nose, then say, Come on, Jackson. Let’s go.

  There is little more than can be offered, and little less than can be said, as we walk through the passes of what used to be the red wolves’ territory. We scale the swells and dips in the earth. Weave between and around trees. Watch for snarling roots.

  The air already smells so different with them gone.

  How, I wonder, will our world respond?

  One thing’s for certain, I think after a moment’s hesitation. There won’t be anymore wolf sightings.

  I consider this sadly as I step into the thicket that lies just beyond where my old home used to stand, and look out at the Meadows house beyond that.

  The RV sits silently in the drive. The rental car is nowhere to be seen.

  I guess your dad made it back safely, Bernard says.

  Looks like it, Jackson says.

  Jackson is the first to shift, shortly followed by Bernard and Justin.

  “Oaklynn?” Jackson asks, turning his head to look at me when he realizes that I haven’t shifted. “Are you coming?”

  In a second, I reply. I just… I need a moment.

  Jackson frowns, but doesn’t make a move to argue. Rather, he takes his uncle’s hand on his arm as a cue to leave me be, then turns and, without hesitation, begins to make his way toward his family home—

  Leaving me to stand in the thicket alone.

  As I watch the three men cross the road and make their way back to the Meadows family home—Jackson with his hands in his pockets, Bernard and Justin walking close by—I consider everything that I’ve done over the past few days and can’t help but sigh.

  Well, I think. You’ve done it, Oaklynn. You’ve saved the last red wolves of East Texas.

  While the pride I feel is exceptional, especially in light of everything that has happened, I can’t help but feel devastated as a result.

  Rather than consider it further, I take one last breath of fresh air through my lupine nostrils, and shift back into my human form.

  I’m just about to step out of the woods when I hear a snap of a twig somewhere behind me.

  I spin. Look. Stare. Eyes darting from one place to another.

  Though I had feared that someone had followed—and, as a result, had seen me shift from wolf to human—there is no one, or no thing, to be seen.

  “Thank God,” I breathe.

  It doesn’t take much more than that to spur me out of the woods.

  Chapter Two

  Zachariah Meadows has already stepped out of his home by the time I cross the road. He is conversing with his son, as well as Bernard and Justin, who stand beside the RV, looking
exhausted.

  “I’m sorry it took us so long to get back,” Jackson says, only turning his head briefly to regard me as I walk up behind him. “We didn’t think hitching a ride back would be the best idea.”

  “It probably wouldn’t have been,” Zachariah replies. He turns his gaze on me as I approach. “Oaklynn.”

  “Sir,” I say.

  “I take it everything is okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I reply. “Why?”

  “You stayed behind.”

  “Only to get some air,” I say, and force myself to smile as he offers a slight frown. “Really,” I add. “Everything’s fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he then says, though his smile shifts into a frown, his features suddenly hardening. It takes him a moment to speak further, but when he finally does, it’s to say, “Oaklynn.”

  “Yes, sir?” I ask.

  “I… just want you to know that what you did for them… for us… is something we can never repay you for.”

  “Mom would’ve been proud,” Bernard offers.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” I reply. “I would’ve done it even if the three of you couldn’t have come with me for whatever reason.”

  “You’re a brave young woman, Oaklynn Smith,” Zachariah says.

  “I don’t feel like it,” I reply.

  “Just know that, in their hearts and ours, you are.”

  I nod; and though a part of me wants to stay here and bask in the emotional relief that has come as a result of our actions, my anxiety is taking hold, and threatening to overwhelm me. For that reason, I simply say, “Excuse me,” then make my way into the home.

  At my bedroom door, I pause, then carefully nudge it open, only to find that the room is in a practically-pristine condition.

  The window frame has been repaired. The bed is freshly-made. Belle’s pink pet taxi has been relocated to the corner of the room. My little black cat is even in here, and trilling upon awakening from an afternoon nap.

  “Hey,” I say, closing the door behind me before settling down upon the bed. “How you feelin’, Belle?”

  She meows, crawls into my lap, then begins to purr.

  The action is enough to trigger tears.

  Without the wolf’s predatory instincts, and its freedom from human emotions, I feel everything come crashing down.

  My parents—

  The fire—

  Their deaths—

  My transformation—

  My rage I felt as I was possessed, the actions I committed when I was not myself—

  Alecia Meadows, shot in the side—

  And finally, the wolves, now free of immediate danger.

  All assault me with the uninhibited aggression that a guilty conscience can offer, and cause me to sob relentlessly.

  How much can one person take before they break?

  “Apparently a lot,” I murmur.

  A knock comes at the door.

  I lift my head.

  “Oaklynn?” Jackson asks. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I say, reaching up to wipe tears from my eyes. “You can come in.”

  The door opens, then closes behind Jackson.

  He asks, “Were you crying?”

  To which I reply by saying, “I thought it was obvious?”

  He frowns, but doesn’t respond. Rather, he waits until I scoot over until he can seat himself on the bed next to me, then reaches out to brush a hand atop Belle’s head. “You want to talk?” he asks.

  “I don’t know what all there is to say,” I offer. “It’s just… everything’s coming down all at once.”

  “Now that we’re back? Or…”

  “Now that the wolves are gone,” I finish.

  Jackson nods. “Yeah. I... I can understand that.”

  We remain silent for several long moments, he with his hands in his lap, me with my thoughts in the stars. I want so desperately to feel a sense of relief—to finally understand that things, as complicated as they have been, are no longer going to be as such—but no matter how hard I try to think that, I cannot help but feel guilt over everything that’s happened.

  It’s all your fault, one part says.

  But it isn’t, another offers. It isn’t all your fault.

  Dalton West, and those other boys, are dead. But Easton Wells…

  I sigh.

  Though as hard as I want to blame him for everything, I can only point my finger at one person.

  Paxton.

  Paxton Wells—who, with his wild heart and angry disposition, had slaughtered the last red wolf in Texas, and set into motion the history that has now occurred.

  In the brief moments of silence that follow, Jackson sighs, and reaches down to set a hand over mine. “Oaklynn.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want you to feel guilty over what happened to anyone, my grandma included.”

  “I—“

  “We all know that, if it hadn’t been for Paxton Wells, and Easton’s blind devotion to his father, none of this would have happened.”

  “Funny,” I say. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  Jackson nods.

  I turn my head to look out the window—and though as much as I want to avert my eyes from the sight of my family’s old property, I can’t help but look at the scarred ground.

  They say that time heals all wounds.

  Just how much time will I need to recover from this?

  Though I don’t know—and though I understand that I’m likely not supposed to—at least I know that I’m not alone.

  Loneliness is a feeling I have become accustomed to. Like a shadow passing overhead, only to come to a screaming halt directly above, it is an emotion that persists even through what should be the brightest of times—like this evening, for example.

  We should be celebrating. I should be celebrating.

  Instead, I can’t help but feel morose.

  I try my hardest to fight back the depression that threatens to take hold, but try as I may, I find that it wants nothing more than to dig deep into my subconscious and take root there.

  This is typical, a part of me would have said, for a girl like you.

  But for a girl like me, who’s lost and overcome so much? What is that supposed to mean?

  The truth is: I don’t know, and that’s what bothers me so much.

  A sigh escapes me in the moments following this thought—and as it pools from my throat, tempting tears to come like floodwaters after a monumental rain, I find myself thinking on everything that has happened the past two weeks.

  The class project—

  Easton’s callout—

  His punishment—

  Their plan—

  Their plot to ruin my mother’s life, their desperation to do whatever it took—

  The fire—

  The fire.

  I turn my head to look out at the old swing set that lies on the edge of the Meadows family property and find myself wondering what life would be like if they were still alive.

  “It wouldn’t be like this,” I whisper.

  A chime sounds at my side.

  I turn. Frown. Lift my phone to my eyes.

  A text from J’vonte greets me.

  Want to hang? it says.

  I stare at it through unsure eyes, trying my hardest to determine how to respond, if I even will. A part of me knows that I have to respond—because if I don’t, J’vonte is likely to ask questions. Another part of me, however, questions whether or not I should even do so.

  She’ll know, I think.

  J’vonte always knew. How, I can’t be sure, because as a normal, everyday girl, she possessed no clairvoyance, no powers of foresight, or even visions of the future. For J’vonte to just know—it had to be down to our friendship, magical as it happens to be.

  An unsure emotion tugs my lips into an uncertain frown, causing me to lift my eyes to the doorway that separates me from the rest of the home.
<
br />   Jackson is busy processing his life and everything it entails. Mister Meadows, on the other hand, will likely be in the living room, watching television or wandering about the kitchen.

  Surely the two of them wouldn’t mind if J’vonte came over. Right?

  Right, I think, then stand and make my way out of my room and into the hallway.

  The sound of Jackson’s television in his room echoes out from behind his door, causing me to pause momentarily.

  What must he think about all of this? I wonder. Especially now that his grandmother is gone? Does he blame me? Circumstance? Or does he simply think that the ties of fortune have simply resulted in the fate that followed?

  Though try as I might to ignore these feelings, I find them plaguing me all the same.

  As I resume my trek down the hall, however, Mister Meadows peeks his head out from around the corner, and asks, “Oaklynn?”

  I come to a halt. “Yes, sir?” I ask.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Nuh… Nothing’s wrong. Why?”

  “You have a look.”

  “A look?”

  He lifts an eyebrow.

  I sigh, and say, “I… was just coming to ask if J’vonte could come over.”

  “Your friends are welcome to come over almost anytime,” he replies, then frowns as he considers me once more. “You know this is your home too, Oaklynn.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you, though?”

  I do—at least, in part. There is, however, a devilish notion that makes me feel as though this place could not ever be my home.

  You’d spent so many years looking out at it, I think, and musing on who would one day live here.

  Though I try my hardest not to frown again, I find myself doing it regardless.

  “Oaklynn?” Mister Meadows asks.

  “Yes, sir?” I ask, forcing myself to lift my eyes to face him.