Aching Silver (House of Wolves Book 1)

by Amber Naralim

But the realities of the limits they posed were highlighted plain as day in his surroundings.

  No control means you get one shot. Centuries of bloodshed and warfare from the days of the Vikings honed the Kin and by default, the Folk into a nation bred for war. Not only could they take a hit and withstand a siege, they recovered fast.

  Isaak crept up behind a massive bush and parted a few willowy branches. On the other side, a group of Kin and Folk opened fire, obliterating a Metri in a hail of silver bullets. Beyond it a little ways he caught sight of Jerimiah. Naked and on his knees someone asked him a question. Isaak couldn’t hear his muttering but he imagined it was something sassy and terse. He jumped at the crack of gunfire that nearly took Jerimiah’s head off.

  He was so damned close. The King was dead. He had a legitimate claim to the throne. He could ply that with the other clans. At least, he had a better chance than anything he had left here. Isaak disappeared into the trees eager to be away from here. At least he went knowing he dealt a significant blow to the clan and Abel Merrick was dead.

  It could have gone worse.

  85

  Chapter

  Blond hair fluttered on the stiff breeze. The corpse was so much red meat and glistening bone. Zoe sat on her knees next to it. Drenched in blood, it painted her mouth and throat, dripping and staining her chest and stomach. Her arms were colored with red splotches and studded with thicker, wetter things.

  She just sat there. Human, and small, and so very lost. It was like a snapshot of that night. The image triggered a memory so strong it transported him to the past. He could even hear the rain tapping on the rooftop. Feel the soft carpet between his toes.

  Her scream rang out into the night but it didn’t matter. No one could help her. She was dead. She just didn’t know it yet.

  Still, the woman crawled one hand over the other glutting an ocean of blood onto the carpet. Broken glass danced in her veins with every movement she made big and small. Pain howled at her from every inch. Catching sight of the front door adrenaline drowned it out. It hung ajar creaking in the wind. She was so close. Only a few more feet. It might as well have been half a continent.

  A grotesque shadow fell on her. Instead of crawling away, she rolled over. Foolish really. Nothing more than fingernails and teeth and what was left of her strength wouldn’t do much against a moon drunk monster. Panic isn’t exactly known for its deep thought processes though. It took everything Maxine had to shield her face. A clawed hand pinned her thigh down. Razored edges, long and thick, sliced the jeans and buried into her flesh. The beast lowered its head and tore at her insides. She kicked and bucked and screeched until finally sweet release extinguished the fiery ache of her wounds. The sound of bones crunching and meat ripping chased her cries away.

  The memory faded, dropping away like fractal kaleidoscope colors. Sounds from the here and now that fed the ripping and chewing transformed back into Zoe’s sobs. That night a month ago, he found her on her knees next to a torn apart corpse with nothing but her fear and confusion. Tonight he knew the pretty lies he once told her wouldn’t work this time.

  He moved up behind her slowly producing the amulet from his pocket. He lowered it over her head and she turned into him suddenly. All grasping fingers he was afraid she would climb inside him. Johnny held her, wrapped his arms as tight as they would go. He rocked them back and forth cooing and promising it was going to be all right.

  Johnny kissed her forehead, the side of her hair. She raised her bloodstained face and locked eyes with him. Her lips trembled.

  “What did I do?” she begged.

  “It’s not your fault, Zoe. This isn’t you. This was the beast. It just used your body to do it is all.”

  He brushed the hair out of her face and touched her cheek. Johnny kissed her. The blood was cold and sweet and he couldn’t get enough. He couldn’t battle the tears a moment longer. They broke through.

  “I’ll make this right. I promise you. Just let me take you home.”

  Zoe nodded. “This wasn’t me,” she repeated, clinging to that thought with everything she had left. It was the cornerstone she built her new life upon.

  Not everyone gets a second chance. Johnny slipped his arms under her knees and behind her back. He cradled her, lifting her he stood and turned toward the trees bound and determined not to make the same mistakes this time.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Amber Naralim was pushed into the wild and wooly world of storytelling by a good friend who wanted to see just what she could do. She has been holding audiences captive on weekends ever since then. From those small scenes and sessions, she developed a taste for writing that has led her here. Ceaselessly trying to turn the thoughts in her head into a beautiful ribbon of words.

  A mother of amazingly beautiful munchkins three, with an inability to sleep that both drives her craft and allows it to be. Every now and again, she likes to sling paint at the canvas. She now lives in Ohio with her husband, three children, and two feisty cats.

  www.ambernaralim.com

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  And speaking of sneak peeks…

  A Crown of

  Gossamer and Bone

  Book 2

  Fate has always had a thing for subtlety.

  Water dripped from a dying leaf onto Sam’s closed eye. The drop washed a path clean through the blood caked on his cheek and dried in his mass of sandy curls. He shuddered and mewled lost to terrors chasing him through his mind. A cry burst from his throat and he bolted upright.

  Cold.

  That’s the first real thing that registered. Then he realized he was naked. No one around and still he huddled inward and covered his bits.

  The second thing to register was the smell. It was awful. Fetid and sickeningly sweet, it had an undercurrent of copper that held his attention at gunpoint. He gagged. Couldn’t help it. Nausea was a wave that would have drowned him utterly if it weren’t for the CRACK.

  Someone stepped on a tree branch and the sound echoed. Sam was on his feet and frantically looking for a place to hide spurred by instinct alone. His heartbeat slammed so hard he was afraid it would burst free of his chest. Utter panic took over, not waiting for the rest of his senses to catch up.

  He pushed into the channel between two trees but quickly realized it only hid him from one side. A worried glance at his surroundings revealed a downed trunk that appeared to be hollowed out pressed against the high side of a hill. He made a break for it.

  The voices were getting closer. Sam scrabbled at the leaves and dirt trying to fit inside. Even with his overly long and thin frame, the space was confining. Damp wood crumbled away as his shoulders and thighs scraped by. Brittle leaves, sticks, and rocks tore at his bare skin as he dragged his legs inside. His toes disappeared from view as two men crested the top of the hill.

  Rocks and dirt crashed onto his shelter and Sam held his breath. A spider with long spindly legs and a brightly colored body eased down a stand of webbing millimeters from his face. It touched his arm oozing onto his skin. Its feathery brush had his spine dancing. It took everything he had not to scream and thrash.

  He’d never been comfortable around bugs, scared to death of them since Brian Macy put a spider nest in his gym locker. He opened the door and an army of creepy crawlies came boiling out in waves. He couldn’t get the memory of them creeping over his face and the back of his neck out of his head. He glared at this monster of myth and legend scuttling along his arm.

  “This is the edge, I
think we ought to head back,” a nasally voice droned.

  His partner snorted derisively. “Don’t be such a pussy, Myers. The Lunatic’s moon is done. They might as well be human now.”

  Myers made a mocking face to Briggs’ back as he hopped down from the ledge. Sam’s world rocked and shuddered. By some miracle, he managed to keep quiet. It took slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle a cry but footsteps moving away gave him hope that he hadn’t been discovered… yet.

  The light dusting of snow punctuated dead leaves and bare branches of gnarled oaks. Set against a pale sky the few leaves clinging with all they had left shimmered red and gold on the breeze every bit as brittle as their fallen brethren.

  The blood was a stark contrast. It had dried almost black. Chunks of thicker meat jeweled grey and purple in the early morning sun, weak, as it may have been. He spotted most of an arm a few feet away. Three fingers missing, the flesh had been chewed.

  Briggs crouched down next to what was left of a body. His insides had been gnawed upon too. A mass of purple and red meat of his large intestine frothed from the massive wound that nearly ripped the lower half of the body away. Briggs flipped the corpse’s chin over to peer into its face.

  “He’s House Blackthorn. I’d know that prick anywhere,” Myers said walking up behind him. He took the long way around. “That’s one noble prick the world will be happier without.”

  Brigg’s looked around to be sure no one was within earshot. He wouldn’t dare speak words like that about a Kin, even if he were dead. “Just folk?” Briggs asked for clarification.

  “Kin,” Myers answered with big eyes.

  “We better report it then.”

  Myers nodded and backed off turning to head back to the square. Briggs came to his feet slowly still staring down at the dead man. Last night was one glorious clusterfuck. The dead totaled somewhere in the hundreds. And that didn’t count those who were bitten. Something would have to be done about that before the next full moon.

  He said a silent thank you to the stars above that his little girl wasn’t at the Culling. His wife had only minor injuries. No bites. They were lucky. He was thankful for that too.

  Rumors the king was murdered sparked before the fighting was over and had not flickered out so far. It was pure luck the prince returned earlier this month or the chaos would still be rampant. His presence was a lid on a boiling pot. But at least it was contained for now. Tomorrow would be tricky.

  He glanced over at his shoulder. The ground was clawed up over there. Curious, he stepped toward it. Branches cut grey and black lines against a grey sky churning with clouds. Blood and death, he’d never seen so much of it.

  A pair of legs came into the frame of the ragged edge of the tree. Sam couldn’t stop his shakes, and he was afraid they were so powerful the trunk would rock and give him away. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. He screamed a prayer inside his head. A shrill and incessant begging interspersed with promises of the flaws he would give up and the shameful behavior he would change for a chance of making it out of here alive.

  The legs turned toward the opening. Sam shrank back molding himself against the spongy wall. The butt of the semi-automatic rifle Briggs carried swung around his shoulder and Sam caught sight of it. There was no mistaking hardware like that. Sam held his breath.

  Briggs lifted the gun to his shoulder and sighted through the trees. He had the distinct feeling he wasn’t alone, but he couldn’t pinpoint the source. Carefully honed instincts garnered over a lifetime of guard duty and he doubted them. Briggs doubted himself. The attack on his home, on his family, and his very world shook him to his core.

  Sam’s lung’s burned and begged. He closed his hand into a fist so tight his knuckles went white. Sam swore he could taste his heartbeat. Muscles tense they threatened to seize up. Their warning shots spiked pain into his knee and hip. Frozen in a moment that by his count had already lasted three lifetimes he was afraid he couldn’t hold on anymore.

  “Hey, man,” Myers called, impatient. “Are you coming or not?”

  Briggs scanned his surroundings once more with a deep frown. Finally, he lowered the barrel with a sigh and walked toward his partner. Briggs slipped his rifle back over his shoulder and stepped up his pace. He wanted to get back to the square to check on his wife.

  Look for it November 2020

  Acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t exist without Connie Ortiz. Your enthusiasm for my Monsters and the colors I see in the world kept me writing through the hardest parts. I simply cannot say thank you enough for believing in me.

  Thanks for reading! Please add a short review on Amazon and let me know what you thought!