by Kody Boye
Stop! I cry. Just STOP IT!
You called. I answered, it says.
I feel something akin to a vice being put around my head, then, as I struggle to regain control. My sheer willpower is nothing compared to this monster’s madness, this predator’s insanity. It laughs as it bounds through the shrubbery, along the ground, around the roots from trees and holes in the ground where smaller animals make home, and howls triumphantly as it flees to lands beyond the Meadows family’s control.
I don’t know where it’s taking me. It rushes through the forest, compelled by the desires I understand come in part from it and from me, and toward somewhere I could only begin to imagine.
Where are you taking me? I ask.
You’ll see, the Wolf says.
I try, with little success, to stop it—first by imagining that I am shifting back, then by envisioning it in chains—but find that nothing I do can stop it.
In a matter of minutes, we are bounding through the thicket—
And heading toward a house within a clearing—
Tall, inspiring, with a wide open front yard and several cars parked out front—
It takes only a moment to realize where I am—and less than that to smell a familiar cologne that used to spark my senses with dread.
Easton’s, I think.
The wolf bounds around the house and toward the rear of the home—
Just in time to come face-to-face with a basketball court, upon which a young man plays.
Easton Wells drops the ball.
The Wolf snarls, then laughs within my head.
No, I say as the Wolf centers its gaze on Easton Wells—as the basket ball goes rolling past us. You can’t do this.
This is what you wanted! the Wolf replies. This is what you wished for!
No! Stop! Please! You can’t—
There is nothing I can do to stop it.
In a matter of minutes, it is on the young man.
Easton screams.
I cry out.
The Wolf sinks its teeth into the young man’s arm and begins to whip him back and forth.
I hear, distantly, the sound of someone yelling—of someone shrieking, of someone screaming for someone to stop it.
And I—I can only sit as the helpless passenger, and watch and feel and taste and experience the bloodshed and carnage that is taking place in front of me.
A door opens.
Something clicks.
A harrowing sound enters my ears.
Then I hear a gun as a bullet is chambered.
The Wolf is too consumed in its mayhem to acknowledge the sound.
The world explodes in sound a moment later.
One second we are fine—
The next, an astronomical pain burns through my side.
All I can think is: run.
The wolf releases its hold on Easton and takes off faster than I could’ve ever possibly imagined. Through the thicket we run, and across the lands we’ve just traversed we retrace our steps.
By the time the wolf collapses at the edge of my old property, I feel I can take no more.
I hear footsteps. Voices. Someone barking orders.
Within moments, they are upon me—
And though I wish nothing more than to respond, I can do little but black out.
Chapter Nine
I awaken in a bed with soft linens and covers, and to voices speaking beyond the room.
“What are we supposed to do?” a voice that is undoubtedly Zachariah Meadows’ asks.
“I don’t know,” his mother-in-law, Alecia, replies. “I just don’t know.”
I try to move—to respond to the world as I know it—but feel a sharp pain rip through my side.
I cry out.
Someone’s footsteps cross the space.
Jackson says, “Don’t move.”
And I open my eyes to find the young man standing beside the bed.
I ask, “What happened?”
He replies, “You don’t remember?”
I open my mouth to speak, then stop as I am bombarded by images—
The broken window—
The race through the woods—
The scent of a young man—
Easton—
Easton.
I open my mouth to speak, then find myself closing it soon after.
“Easton,” I whisper. “He—he—“
“It’s all over the news,” Jackson says.
“Is he—“
“Dead?” Jackson shakes his head. “No.”
“Thank God,” Zachariah Meadows says.
I lift my eyes to the threshold leading into the hall; and though a part of me knew that I could not have possibly been in my own bed, it is only just sinking in that I am lying in Jackson’s bunk, in his room, in his space.
The older man steps through the door and says, “You’re lucky Paxton Wells only got one shot off at you.
“Is that—“ I grimace “—why I’m in pain?”
“You don’t want to see the welt on your side.”
“Wait. Welt?”
Zachariah nods. “Yes. Welt.”
“I don’t understand,” I say after a moment’s hesitation. “Why do I only have a welt if I got shot?”
“The wolf is able to heal itself, and its host body, at astounding speeds. The fact that the wolf inside you got so far away is the only reason it was able to regenerate before it collapsed.”
I frown as I consider this notion, and reach up to press a hand against my chest. Something cold greets me. “What is—“ I start.
“That is the only thing keeping the Wolf at bay,” Zachariah says.
Though it is almost impossible for me to move my head without being in excruciating pain, I tilt my chin down to find a simple gold amulet with a wolf’s paw decal upon it is resting on my chest.
“It’s… the amulet,” I say. “The one she tried to stop me with.”
“Yes. It is.”
“Where’s Belle?” I ask as I am struck by the image of the little cat running from the bedroom. “Tell me she’s okay.”
“She’s in her carrier,” Jackson says, “over there.”
I turn my head just slightly to find the pink pet taxi sitting in the corner of Jackson’s room. Belle sleeps soundly inside.
“Don’t worry,” Jackson says. “I made sure to take care of her.”
“Thank you,” I say, and close my eyes as I attempt to fight back the tears threatening to break free. “If I had known… if I’d even had an idea—“
“It’s our fault, in part,” Zachariah says. “Had we thought to explain the repercussions, this probably wouldn’t have happened.”
Probably, I think.
There it is—that sound in his voice that makes me think that he probably believes it would’ve happened regardless.
Because you’re weak, I think. Because you’re hopeless. Because you—
A knock comes at the threshold.
“That you, Bernard?” Zachariah asks.
“No,” Alexia replies, stepping into the room. “It’s me.”
The old woman steps forward, then, and examines me with her calm amber eyes, which are so set and determined that I imagine she could withstand anything, even the Wolf itself.
“You’re lucky,” Alecia Meadows says. “You could’ve been killed out there.”
“I tried to fight it,” I reply. “I really did.”
“But the spirit of Terence Matthews was too strong for you.” She sighs and closes her eyes. “I can understand that. Very few can contend with the mind of a sociopath.”
“But… she managed to turn back,” Jackson offers. “That must mean she has something.”
“I didn’t say she was weak, Jackson. I merely said that she wasn’t as powerful as the psychopath who shares her body.”
I close my eyes, then, and take a deep breath in the silence that follows. So many thoughts are rushing through my head, so many possibilities. The fact that I managed to ge
t away from the Wells family home, and survived in the process, is nothing short of a miracle.
But what happens now? I wonder. Now that they know the wolves are back?
I open my eyes to look at Alecia Meadows, and find her troubling gaze haunting.
“What?” I ask, taking a slow, deep breath. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking,” the woman says, “that we have to watch you very carefully from here on out.”
“I—“
“You’ve played out your revenge scenario,” Zachariah says. “Now is the time for you to rest and recuperate, and stop giving in to psychotic urges.”
“Dad—“ Jackson starts.
“It’s true,” the man replies, cutting his son off before he can continue. “She got what she wanted—at least, in part. With the perpetrators dead, and their ringleader in critical condition in the hospital, she should feel more than liberated. By god—“ the man laughs “—she should feel thankful.”
“That’s not fair,” I offer.
“It’s only the truth,” Zachariah says. He turns on his heel and begins to make his way out of the room. “I assume you’ll handle this from here on out, Alecia?”
“I will,” Alecia says.
Zachariah Meadows shuts the door, a little too harshly for its own good. The frame vibrates for several seconds after his departure.
“Jackson,” Alecia then says, lifting her eyes to her grandson. “Do you want to stay here for this, or—“
“You’re not gonna perform the ritual here, are you?”
“No. I can’t.” The woman sighs. “She’s too weak. And besides—we need to be somewhere the sound won’t travel. Somewhere we can bind and gag her.”
“Wait. Bind and gag?”
The old woman ignores me. Instead, she leans forward, taps an intricately-manicured nail on the talisman, and says, “There are a few things hidden inside this talisman that is keeping you from transforming. The first is wolfsbane—a plant known for inhibiting lycanthropy. The second is grave dirt from a holy site, which was taken from France. And finally, there is the blood of a family matron.”
“You,” I offer.
Alecia nods. “Yes. Me.”
I wait a moment for her to speak further. When she doesn’t, however, she sighs, then says, “I was supposed to come here to help revitalize our people, not… damn them into an early death.”
“What’re you talking about?” I ask, then turn my eyes toward Jackson, who has since turned his head away and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“I… was going to try to explain it to you today,” Jackson says, “but then shit hit the fan and everything went to hell in a hand basket.”
“Explain what?”
“That Bernard and I discovered an enclave of wolves not far from here,” Alecia Meadows says.
I turn my head, then blink, stunned. “Did you just say—“
“I did,” the woman replies.
“Actual, living wolves?”
“They aren’t shifters, if that’s what you’re asking.” She shakes her head. “No. These are pure, honest-to-god red wolves—descendants of our line that succumbed to their primal desires that their Wolf spirits demanded of them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sometimes,” Jackson says, “the Wolf wants something a person can’t give it—a pack, a family, the wild. So… if the person is of sound mind, and feels as though they can offer nothing to the world around them, they… give in to the spirit.”
“And… what? Become a wolf forever?”
“Yes. Forever.”
“Their descendants do not have shapeshifting powers, or human spirits,” Alecia says. “They are merely animals, albeit animals whose ancestors were once like us.”
“And you’re saying they’re out there? In the wild? Right now?”
“Yes, Oaklynn. I am.”
“Oh God,” I say, and close my eyes. “I can’t believe it. I just… can’t.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Jackson offers. “And besides—even if a part of you was suspicious, or did know, it’s highly possible that the Dark Wolf knew, too.”
“And wanted to cause their slaughter,” Alecia Meadows says. “Why else go to the Wells family mansion?”
“You mean for reasons other than my own?” I ask. I wait for either of them to respond before saying, “I don’t know.”
“One thing’s for certain,” Alecia Meadows says, leaning back and straightening her posture. “You need to rest, because there’s important work to be done.”
“You’re gonna try and save them,” I start. “Aren’t you?”
“We are going to try and save the Red Wolf of East Texas,” Alecia replies, “before Paxton wells and his bloodthirsty hunters decide to open a slaughterhouse in this small town.”
Alecia Meadows turns and makes her way out the door, but not before stopping and saying, “Rest easy, girl. We have no idea what we’ll face in the coming days.”
“I know,” I reply, then tilt my eyes back to Jackson.
The young man frowns as he looks down and extends a hand toward me. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispers after his grandmother has left. “I mean… you are okay. Right?”
“Other than being sore?” I reply. “Yes. I’m okay, Jackson.”
“Good.” He takes hold of, and squeezes, my hand. “I’ll just be down the hall if you need anything.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And Jackson?” I offer as he starts out the door.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry about stealing your room.”
“Don’t be,” he replies. “Just make sure to keep it warm for me in the meantime.”
The laugher that follows burns my side, and brings back the horrific memory of what I’ve done.
To think I almost killed another person… and Easton, no less.
With one final sigh, I close my eyes.
Dreams soon follow.
Chapter Ten
It takes several hours, and many painkillers, for me to gain the inspiration to leave Jackson’s room. However—by the time I hobble down the hall and step into the living room, I wish I hadn’t left in the first place.
Emblazoned, on the TV, are the words: Renegade Wolf Hunt Now in Effect.
“It’s starting,” I say, stating this rather than asking it.
“Yes,” Zachariah replies. “It is.”
A sigh escapes me lips, and fresh pain flares along my side, causing me to grimace.
Zachariah stands almost instantly.
“You don’t have to get up,” I say. “I can manage on my own.”
“There’s food in the refrigerator,” he says, angling himself so he can reach his cane before turning and starting toward me. “Alecia was kind enough to make us lunch.”
“Where is she?” I ask, then frown as a realization strikes me. “And where is Jackson?”
“They and Bernard went to see if they could locate the pack,” he replies, “and see if they could lure them out of the area.”
“Can they do that? I mean… considering they’re not—“
“Full-blooded wolves?” Zachariah asks. “I’m honestly not sure. On one hand, they’ll be recognized as wolves regardless of the fact that they’re shifters. On the other… it’s highly likely that their alpha will try to drive the three of them away, especially Jackson and Bernard.”
“I see,” I say, and frown.
Zachariah opens, leans into, then withdraws a container of food from the refrigerator before spinning to face me. “It’s just a sandwich with deli spreads,” he says, “but everything is fresh. Would you like chips?”
“I guess,” I say.
He goes to work pulling the goods out of the cabinets; while I, in all my guilt, can merely sit here and look out the nearby window. It’s almost impossible not to judge myself for what I’ve done, especially considering that the remnan
ts of my family home is now one more weekday away from being completely demolished.
“I’m sorry” is the only thing I can say.
Zachariah lifts a brow.
I sigh.
He says, “I can’t entirely blame you for what happened.”
And I reply, “You can’t?”
He shakes head. “No. I can’t. Honestly… if someone had done that to my son… I don’t what might have happened.”
“How did you fight back your grief,” I say, “when your wife…” I trail off to allow him the time necessary to process my statement.
When Zachariah speaks again, it’s with pain in his voice, and uncertainty in his tone. He says, “Truthfully? I don’t know. You already know that her death was the catalyst for my departure, and, well…” He closes his eyes. “I think that kept me from doing anything outrageous.”
“The distance? Or?”
“The fear?” he offers, and laughs shortly thereafter. “I think it was a combination of things, Oaklynn. The difference between what you did and what I decided not to do is that I had already accepted my Wolf spirit into me. You, though…” He sighs. “You didn’t have that chance. You had it ripped away from you.”
“So… you’re saying that my willingness to let my rage consume me wasn’t—“
“Entirely your choice? Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I just…. I’ve felt so guilty since it happened. I wanted to get to the bottom of what happened—to make sure that they would be punished and not get away with anything. I didn’t anticipate that it would take over.”
“Terence Matthews was an incredibly-violent man,” Zachariah replies. “Prone to anger, to rage. The fact that you managed to control him for so long before something happened is still a shock to me.”
“I grabbed a girl when I was in school,” I offer. “That’s why I was late that one day. I… I got detention.”
“What?”
I explain how she had provoked me—how, after I’d acknowledged her aggression, the Wolf inside had taken over, grabbed her hair, pushed her against the wall, threatened her. I then explain how, thorough a twist of events, I’d ended up in the same detention block as the kids who’d set fire to my parents’ house.
“And that’s how you knew,” Zachariah says. “Because they were talking about it.”
