When the Red Wolf Hunts (The Red Wolf Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  I pause as I am suddenly and inexplicably alerted to a presence of something nearby.

  I say, Hello?

  Jackson asks, Who are you talking to?

  And I, left to stare, can only watch as a massive red wolf appears.

  He is strong. Regal. Obviously the pack alpha. Alongside him strides another wolf, obviously his mate. Both approach with an air of grace that I know can only come from animals who are conscious of their actions—who, without a shadow of doubt, know that they are treading pale and dark waters.

  I swallow down my fear and lift my eyes to face them.

  As the two draw near, the wolves pinning Jackson and I in place retreat up the riverbank to my right, and watch from a short distance away as their pack leaders come to face us.

  I swallow. Say, Can you understand me?

  To which the alpha wolf replies, Yes. I can.

  If I could, I would sigh; but instead, I let a puff of air out my nose and consider the two wolves before me.

  The female wolf lifts her eyes as Jackson comes to stand beside me and says, You are a true wolf.

  As true a wolf as you are, Jackson replies.

  You, though, the smaller red wolf says as she turns her gaze back on me. You are a bastard spirit residing in a host body. Are you not?

  Am I— I start to say.

  But Jackson cuts me off before I can finish by answering with, Yes. She is.

  I huff once more and turn my head to look at him, only to find that his brown eyes are set ahead—and ignoring me completely.

  We’ve come, I say, to warn you about—

  The humans, the male wolf says. Yes. We are aware that they now know of our presence.

  But you do not know that they mean to kill you, I say.

  Both wolves blink.

  The female wolf asks, What do you mean?

  To which I reply by saying, Something horrible happened. Something I was unable to control.

  What is she— the female says.

  The male wolf cuts her off. You, he says. You were the one I smelled in the woods that night.

  It was me, I reply, but wasn’t at the same time.

  The alpha sniffs the air. Lowers his eyes to face me. Says, You smell similar, but… are not at the same time.

  It was a male wolf, the female says, that killed the humans.

  But this is a female, the male offers. So… something happened.

  Yes. Something did, I say, taking a step forward. The wolves on the bed of the creek snarl, but don’t move to intercept. I straighten my posture to face the two and say, I will explain everything. But first, we must move.

  Why should we allow you to move from this spot? the female wolf asks. For all we know, you shifters could be in league with the humans who mean us harm.

  But we’re not, Jackson says. Why else would we come to you as wolves if we meant to hurt you?

  He has a point, the male wolf says. We would be wise to retreat, Celestina.

  As we would to avoid them, Alabaster.

  I look from the smaller, female wolf named Celestina, to her mate, Alabaster, and feel a frown tugging at my human consciousness. I then say, If you wish us to leave, we will.

  Oaklynn— Jackson starts.

  But first, I continue, we must tell you to flee these lands.

  Flee? the male wolf asks. Why must we flee? Because you claim the humans are coming to kill us?

  They will kill you, I reply, if you don’t listen to me.

  Celestina turns her head to regard Jackson, then returns her gaze to Alabaster before saying, My love. What do you wish to do?

  They shall come with us, he states, and make their case for our departure.

  The fact that the wolf named Alabaster is even considering this leaves me hopeful. However—his consideration is not final, nor is his proclamation an answer to what Jackson and I truly seek. Instead, it is simply an acknowledgment of the plight at present, and a declaration that he will consider what it is we have to say.

  With a nod, I take a step forward—and watch as out my peripheral the two wolves who’d flanked us begin to make their way forward.

  You sure this is a good idea? Jackson asks, though whether or not the other two can hear him I cannot be sure.

  It has to be, I reply. How else are we going to get them to leave?

  Jackson doesn’t reply. Instead, he lifts his eyes, nods, and continues forward, leaving me to follow in silence as well.

  One thing is for certain:

  If we want the wolves to flee these lands, they must have a reason to trust us first—and right now, they have absolutely no reason to do that.

  With that in mind, I continue to lead us on.

  Our journey takes us to the far reaches of Wolf Creek—which, unaccessible to most by foot, is truly a sight to behold. With flora bursting over the area in vibrant greens and rich browns, and the river running clear as can possibly be, the world smells rich and untamed, which I know can only come from a place that hasn’t been touched by humankind.

  As we walk, slowly but surely advancing upriver, I find myself dreading what could happen come time we reach the pack’s resting grounds.

  Will they listen? I wonder. Will they ignore us?

  Their response to our declaration has yet to be determined. With Celestina remaining silent, and Alabaster the same, it is impossible to tell what they might think, or whether or not they’re taking us seriously. A part of me even wonders if they’re leading us into a trap, which I know wouldn’t be too far out of the question if I were to be completely honest with myself.

  We’re moving further away from humanity, I think, and into the depths of the wild.

  If anything were to happen to either of us here, we would never be found. We’d simply by corpses along the river, waiting to be picked over by birds and bugs.

  This knowledge, and the fact that we seem to have been walking forever, is enough to set my nerves ablaze.

  How far out are we? I ask.

  Soon, Alabaster says.

  Jackson grunts his disapproval, but doesn’t say anything further.

  Celestina lifts her head to survey the area surrounding us before turning and saying, You are not to tell anyone of our location, or where we make our den. Any human who knows of our existence will surely draw more down upon us.

  We understand, Jackson says. We are wolves just like you.

  No. Celestina subtly shakes her head. You are not wolves like us. You are shifters who take on a form. We are creatures who’ve abandoned our mortal chains.

  Though I want to say something in response, I keep my silence and instead turn my head to look at Alabaster.

  He lifts his eyes. Huffs. Offers a low sound that borders on a howl but truly isn’t.

  A series of wolves appear on the edge of the riverbank to our left, then stand sentinel as they look upon Jackson and myself.

  Alabaster spins to face us and says, This is my pack.

  Where are the rest of you? I ask. Your mates. Your pups?

  They are in hiding, the big red wolf says, until we can assure that you will not cause us harm.

  We don’t mean you any harm, Jackson says. Just… let us explained what’s happened.

  You mean you wish to explain? Celestina asks. Or do you mean she wishes to explain? The wolf juts her head toward me.

  I sigh—a short sound that puffs the air from my nose and causes the gums on my lower jaw to be bared—and lift my head to face the two wolves. I will explain, I say, why I have endangered you and your pack.

  The two wolves wait.

  The ones on the riverbank watch in silence.

  I then, slowly and deliberately, detail everything that had happened—from the firebombing of my mother’s store, to the blaze at my family home, to the desperation I felt to seek revenge, and the act of vengeance I’d committed as a result of it. I tell them that I slaughtered those boys—that I made them suffer horribly for what they’d done—and that, in my blind rage against their ringlea
der, the Dark Wolf had consumed my body, and even my mind.

  And this is why we are in danger, Alabaster says by the time I finish.

  Yes, I reply. This is why you are in danger.

  He turns to look at Celestina, who merely lowers her eyes to the ground, then returns his gaze to me. Though often hard to determine, the emotion in the wolf’s eyes is clear. Filled with anger, with hate, with undeniable rage, he glowers at me as if his gaze could turn me to stone—and says, quite clearly, Leave.

  Leave? I ask, lifting my eyes to face him. What’re you—

  We will find our own way out of this land, Alabaster then says. We do not need the help of one who is so violently reckless in her quest of passion.

  I… I don’t—

  Alabaster turns and saunters off down the creek, leaving Celestina to simply stare.

  Should I— I begin.

  Leave? the female wolf asks. She replies by saying, Yes. You should.

  Jackson? I ask, turning my head to face him. What do we do?

  He sighs as he lifts his head to face me. We can do nothing but what they ask us to, he says, then turns to look down the creek. Come on, Oaklynn. We should go.

  But—

  He pins me in place with a glare of his own.

  And though I know I should do something more to help them—to plead my case, suffer through my woes, and beg for their forgiveness—there is nothing I can do but turn and follow my friend away from their pack’s nesting grounds.

  As Jackson and I walk, slowly but surely retracing out steps along the river, I turn my head to regard the world around us, only to find that it feels utterly alien now that I’ve been given their final decision.

  For them, there is no question about what they must do.

  But for me?

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then open them again.

  I must ensure that the red wolf pack survives—no matter what.

  Chapter Sixteen

  We retrace our steps along the creek until we come to the outskirts of the Wolf Creek campgrounds. We then, in slow, methodical detail, make our way from the slow-running water and into the woods, where I allow Jackson to lead with guilt in my heart and desperation in my mind.

  There was nothing more you could have said or done, he offers as we make our way into the thicket.

  I know, I reply. It’s just… all of this is my fault.

  Actions have consequences, Oaklynn.

  Tell me about it.

  I lift my eyes to view the world around us, so lush and green but awfully mean, and wonder: what could I have done differently? The obvious answer is that I could have left my mind and heart open to something better, to something without the desire for carnage or need. But before that? When I was in school? Could I have done anything to stop the spread of hate in Easton Wells’ heart?

  No, I think. You couldn’t have.

  This is a truth I know to be self-evident—that, in the darkest parts of my mind, cannot be shattered, cannot be reshaped, or retooled. For that reason, it would only make sense that I attempt to ignore the feelings assaulting me. But to actually do it?

  I shake my head.

  No. There is nothing I could have done differently—nothing that could have prevented this carnage, this mayhem, this destruction.

  You can’t change the past, a part of me says. You can only alter the future.

  And if I can change the fate of the red wolves of East Texas, I will do so.

  It’s what both my parents would have wanted.

  Ready to shift? Jackson asks.

  Yeah, I reply. I’m ready.

  He does it in moments. I take slightly longer—and find, upon returning to my human form, that I am a bit dizzy, a little apprehensive, and very, very uneasy.

  “Something wrong?” Jackson asks.

  “I think,” I start to say, “that the wolf was keeping my anxiety levels down.”

  “It could have been,” Jackson replies. “I think animals are predisposed to feeling only certain types of anxiety. Hunters are less likely to experience it than, say, prey.”

  “That makes sense,” I say.

  Jackson turns his head toward the RV that stands in the distance. “I guess we should go see them,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I guess we should.”

  We turn our heads to regard the area around us, then step out of the thicket and onto what used to be my property.

  Crossing the distance between us and the RV is simple enough. Facing Alecia Meadows, on the other hand, will be another issue entirely.

  Swallowing, Jackson leans forward and knocks on the RV door.

  A moment passes, then two.

  A minute later, the door opens to reveal Bernard—who, though dressed in a sweatshirt and pants, appears uncomfortable to say the least.

  “What?” Jackson asks. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” his uncle replies. “At least, nothing yet.”

  “Then what are you—“

  “Your grandma had a vision, Jackson.”

  “A vision of what?”

  “Of the entire pack being wiped out by hunters.”

  Jackson swears.

  I pale.

  I turn my head to look into the distance and find myself desperate to change.

  But you can’t, that devilish part of me says. You go back now and they’ll kill you themselves.

  I am the one who screwed everything up. I am the one who was so restless. And I, ultimately, am the one who will be their demise.

  But I have to do something.

  I push past Jackson and begin to climb into the RV.

  “What’re you—“ Bernard starts.

  “Alecia!” I call as I squeeze past the red-headed man to stand fully in the RV. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here, Oaklynn,” the older woman says from somewhere behind me.

  I jump, but spin to face her, only to find a troubled look on her face as she considers a map of the area in her hand.

  I ask, “What’re you doing?”

  To which she replies by saying, “Trying to determine how we can get the wolves out ourselves.”

  “What’re you—“

  “You weren’t successful, were you?”

  “I…”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she says in the moments after I fall silent. “You did what you thought you could, but most of all, you found them.”

  “How do you think we’re going to make them leave?” I ask, slowly but surely easing forward so I can sit in the passenger’s seat opposite her.

  “There’s only one way to make them leave,” Alecia replies. She turns her attention toward the front windshield. “Someone more revered has to go.”

  “Will they even recognize you?” Bernard asks, drawing forward to look his mother in the eyes. “I mean, it’s been so long since you’ve seen Alabaster or Celestina.”

  “They will recognize me, my son. A scent is forever. Once you know it, you never forget it.”

  I frown.

  Alecia stands, then turns to make her way toward the RV’s front door.

  “Grandma?” Jackson asks. “Where are you going?”

  “To get your father,” she replies. “He and I must be the ones to go speak with Alabaster and his mate.”

  “What about me?” Bernard asks. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “You’re our backup. In case something happens.”

  The red-headed man pales. “You’re not… anticipating something happening… are you?”

  “You never know what might happen on a day like this,” she replies.

  And with that, she departs the RV—leaving Jackson, Bernard, and myself to watch her make her way toward Zachariah Meadows’ home.

  A sinking feeling in my gut tells me that something might be wrong.

  “This is a bad idea,” I hear Jackson say while I sit in his room with Belle.

  “It isn’t a bad idea,” his father replies. “Stop worrying yo
urself, Jackson. You’ll have a fit.”

  “I’ll have a fit?” the young man asks. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means: calm your ass down. Your grandmother and I will be fine.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “Yes we do.”

  “No you—“

  “Jackson, stop arguing with me. Now.”

  “Dad, you don’t—“

  I hear an exasperated sigh come from Jackson, then a growl pass from his lungs. Then he’s bursting into his room, and slamming the door behind him.

  “They’re going back,” I say, “aren’t they?”

  Jackson sighs, but nods and says, “Yeah. They are.”

  “And you have a bad feeling about it.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Should we do something to stop them?” I ask.

  “I… I don’t know,” he replies, and shakes his head.

  He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the doorframe. His chest swells. His brows furrow. His lips purse into a frown. The sound of the front door opening, then closing sparks his anger, and causes his right hand to ball into a fist.

  I want so desperately to tell him something—anything—that will assuage his worries, but know that nothing I say or do can keep him from dwelling on what may or may not happen.

  Nothing’s going to happen, a part of me says. You’re being overly dramatic.

  On one hand, I might be. On another, though, I can’t help but wonder if something bad will happen—and as a result, begin to wonder just what I’ll do because of it.

  Would it be right, I question, to follow them? Especially considering the circumstance?

  No, I think. It wouldn’t.

  But whoever said that doing the right thing in a bad circumstance was wrong?

  After a few moments of consideration, I lift my eyes to face Jackson, whose gaze has since wandered to the window.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask.

  “If you’re thinking that we should follow them,” Jackson offers, “then yeah, I am.”

  “How are we going to get past Bernard?”

  Jackson frowns. He seems to consider this for at least a minute before he says, “Leave that to me.”

  “When are we doing this?”

  “Now.”