CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One - Flea market rejects...
Chapter Two - Pecan pie...
Chapter Three - Legends...
Chapter Four - Bitch in heat...
Chapter Five - First kiss..
Chapter Six - Bad reactions...
Chapter Seven - Home, sweet...
Chapter Eight - Hostile Engagement...
End page
Legend
Book One of the
Wolf Lake Trilogy
Orphaned as a child, Samantha grew up into
a strong but lonely woman working on her
doctorate thesis by researching the history
of myths and legends. But when she
uncovers an actual werewolf pack,
the world of myth becomes her new reality.
To the original Wolf Lake fans, this one is for you.
To my husband and his relentless red pen.
CHAPTER ONE
FLEA MARKET REJECTS...
SAMANTHA SCANNED THE bustling flea market. The old drive-in had seen better days, she thought. The tattered movie screen rested at a weary angle, panels missing, while the pavement was cracked and uneven. The refreshment stand had long since been boarded up and even the graffiti was faded.
She strolled down the aisle of vendors, dodging old ladies on scooters, harried mothers pushing strollers and middle aged wives dragging bored husbands behind them. A lifespan could be seen here reflected in the junk that was so easily discarded. From birth with its cribs and carseats to death, leftovers from the estate sales spread out across the ground.
Or maybe she was just being cynical. There were also young lovers looking to furnish their first home, mom and dad buying second hand for junior's college dorm and Susie Single looking at a pretty pink lamp shade for her new apartment. Sam wondered how her life would compare spread out for the masses to pick over. Not well. She remembered the paper plates in her kitchen cabinets and the three bottles of beer in her fridge.
Shaking off her sudden ennui, Sam passed by stalls piled high with worn clothes, broken kitchen gadgets and old vinyl records. Most of what she saw wasn't worth buying, but like the rest of the crowd, Sam hoped to find a treasure buried among the junk.
Moving on to the next vendor, Sam felt a flicker of excitement. Sprawled out across a large oriental rug were the leftovers from an estate sale. Mismatched furniture, chipped china and glittering crystal glasses were offered up for sale. But the thing that interested Sam were the books. Old, worn books littered every available surface, overflowed from boxes and were stacked nearly three feet high in some places. A veritable gold mine, Sam started working her way through the collection.
An hour later, Sam reached for a nondescript leather journal, wondering what kind of personal memories were worth selling. Most people's lives were boring, and if they weren't, they were usually too busy to write the shit down. The notion that she would want to read someone's journal was absurd. She was just about to set it aside when an old, faded map slipped out from between the pages. Picking it up, Sam felt her breath catch. Unable to believe her luck, she quickly flipped back to the front of the book to read the first entry.
Five minutes later, and she was ready to revise her opinion regarding the journal. Tucking the map back between the book's pages, she dug around in her purse and pulled out her wallet. "How much for the journal?"
The vendor, a young woman with pink hair, didn't bother looking up from her book. "All books are $5."
"I'll give you $2," Sam said, knowing that everything here was negotiable.
"$3. Cash only." Ms. Pink snapped her gum.
"Sold." Sam handed over the cash, tucked the journal into her bag and hurried to her car.
Shooting down I-90, Sam kept glancing over at her bag laying on the passenger seat, her palms itching against the steering wheel. Calm down. It might be nothing.
Back home, Sam dropped everything except the book on the floor. Grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge, she took a seat at the kitchen table that doubled as a desk. Pushing aside computer printouts, spiral notebooks and textbooks, Sam set down the journal, pulled out the map.
She could feel her heart beating, saw that her hands shook slightly with excitement as she opened the old book. Slowly, she flipped through the pages, forcing herself to take her time in examining each one. It was little more than a list of household accounts kept by the wife of an early gold settler. Food stuffs, fabric and animal feed were listed against income. The latter was small and infrequent. Like she said, someone's boring life, made marginally more interesting because it offered a window into the distant past. Setting the book aside, Sam turned her attention to the map.
Carefully spreading it out on her desk, Sam took a closer look. The paper was yellow and soft with age, the ink faded. But there, among the notes that marked the gold prospector's finds, were the two words Sam had been searching for. Wolf Lake. Bingo.
* * *
Sam was up early the next morning. Showering quickly, she gulped down a cup of coffee, grabbed the map and the journal and headed for the door. Stopping to pick her keys up off the floor, she came face to face with her fern. Or was it a ficus? She couldn't remember and either way it was dead. Its previously green leaves curled and brown, most of them littering the floor beneath the tacky painted cabinet left behind by the previous tenant. "Well, damn," she muttered, lifting the plant and carrying it to the kitchen sink.
Looking around, she knew what people would see - a spartan living room with a worn couch, a broken TV and a "distressed" coffee table. The bedroom, not that she ever had guests in there, wasn't much better. Dirty clothes, old books and empty beer bottles were scattered around the room, even the old mattress left to sit on the floor. Flea market rejects, she thought, closing the door behind her.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled into a parking spot near the college campus. Hurrying down University Avenue, Sam moved against the flow of college freshmen, sorority sisters and football players. She didn't seem to notice the curious glances, or didn't care.
At twenty-eight, it had taken her longer than most to get to college. Having aged out of the foster system, there hadn't been money for college. There hadn't been money for anything. It had taken years to learn about federal grants and student loans. By then, most of her high school classmates had graduated from college, were beginning their careers and starting families, leaving Sam behind.
Surrounded by college kids, Sam found herself closer in age to most of her professors, recognized that she had a kind of life experience most students were missing. College was a challenge, classes were hard, but this shit was easy compared to the rest of life.
Condescending much? Sam muttered to herself. Who was she to disabuse her classmates of their innocence? That would happen soon enough. Sam turned off the Ave, and went to find Andrew before his next class. An untenured professor, his office was relegated to the basement of Henderson Hall where her steps echoed off stark white walls and 1970's linoleum.
"Hey," she said, knocking on the door frame to his office. "Gotta minute?"
Andrew looked up from a pile of papers he'd been grading. "Sure, what's up?"
Tall with brown hair artfully arranged to look windblown, Andrew epitomized the college professor, complete with tweed jacket and glasses. He was also vain, and it was no secret that he enjoyed his regularly scheduled affair with a new graduate student at the start of each new term. But as far as advisors go, she could do worse.
"I found it," she said with a note of triumph.
"Found what?"
Sam slid the map across his desk. "Wolf Lake. I found it."
"In a journal belonging to a gold prospector's wife. It's a map of his finds," she beamed.
"This isn't a map, it's barely even a drawing," Andrew said, dismissing the map. "There are no landmarks, no point of reference. Jesus, Sam, there's nothing to even indicate what state this is in."
"I've already started cross referencing it with some of my other research," Sam said. "I've narrowed it down - "
"Sam." Andrew sighed, tossing his glasses on the desk as he rubbed his eyes. "Wolf Lake should barely be a footnote in your thesis. You're going to have a hard enough time defending yourself before the panel as it is."
"The panel believes anything written in the last 200 years is suspect," Sam sneered.
"The panel is conservative..." Andrew said, trying for patience.
"They're old," Sam snapped.
"Look, you and I have had this discussion before." Andrew liked Sam. He really did. She was an easy student to work with, was self motivated and required little in the way of time and attention. He'd even tossed around the idea of an affair. She was certainly beautiful enough, with black hair and curves that gave a man ideas. But those curves had sharp edges and offered little warmth. "The panel isn't going to want to hear about vampires, witches or...whatever latest myth you've decided to chase down."
Sam's eyes narrowed, "It's research and you know it."
"This isn't a movie, Sam and you're not Indiana Jones. Research is done in a lab, the library," he said. "I warned you when we started you were walking a very fine line between literature and trash - "
"Just because something hits the New York Times bestselling list doesn't make it trash," Sam interrupted.
"True, but there is a time and a place for such material, and your thesis isn't it. As your advisor, I suggest that you rethink your approach." Reaching into his desk, Andrew withdrew the latest version of her thesis, notes in red scattered across the pages.
"There's nothing for me to rethink," Sam insisted. "There is more to literature than Shakespeare."
"Maybe, but that isn't the way the panel sees things and they're the ones you have to convince. This," he said, holding up her thesis, "will ruin your career before you even get started."
"And here I thought this was a liberal school."
"Not in this department," Andrew corrected her. "Perhaps you should consider another area of study, another department."
"I don't think so," Sam said coolly. "My thesis is well within the accepted guidelines for both this school and this department. I have no issue with defending that to you, the panel, or anyone else for that matter."
"Sam..."
Sam ignored him. Scooping up the map and her thesis, she turned and left.
* * *
Still fuming, Sam pushed open the door and stepped into REI. Tents, camp chairs and jogging strollers stood ready and waiting for Mr. & Mrs. Smith's next trip to the San Juan Islands or the Peninsula. Canoes hung overhead, complete with paddles and life vests casting shadows on this year's collection of cold weather gear.
REI has everything, Sam thought, some of it completely ridiculous. Who the hell goes camping with a hand-cranked blender? Well, actually, the benefits of that one were obvious. But a food dehydrator? She could hear the TV voiceover now. For the hunter that wants to package his kill before carrying it out. Shaking her head, Sam went in search of the MREs.
"Where ya' headed?"
Sam looked up from the package of pot roast to find a store clerk smiling at her. "Excuse me?"
"Hiking or camping?" he asked, indicating the food and gel packs in her basket.
"Both." Sam said. Tossing the pot roast in with the others, she stepped around the clerk and headed for the check-out stand.
"Staying local?" The chick was smokin' hot, Tommy thought. Falling into step with her, he decided she needed his personal attention.
Sam ignored the clerk, hoping he would take the hint and get lost.
"We have some great guides on local hiking and camping..."
"Thanks, but I know where I'm going." Sam got in line, pulled out her phone and used it to check her email. No new messages.
"I see," he said with a conspiratorial smile. "Got a secret spot? That's cool."
Sam smiled, handed her basket to the clerk behind the counter, swiped her credit card.
"You should come to one of our classes sometime," he said. "We have several that cover all of the local hot spots."
"Thanks," Sam took her bags, "but I'm not one for team sports."
"Sure, sure but it's always nice to hear about new places. Just think about it." The clerk rested his hip against the counter, watching as Sam gathered her purchases and headed toward the exit.
"Sure," Sam said, ignoring the clerk's friendly goodbye.
"What a bitch," he said, as the door closed behind her.
The clerk behind the counter snorted. "Nah, she's just totally out of your league."
"Whatever," Tommy grumbled. Why were the hot ones always so cold?
Sam tossed the REI bag in the back of her car. Once behind the wheel, she turned up Within Temptation's The Howling, smiling a little at the irony, and pointed her car east. Twenty minutes later, she left the city behind for the suburbs, the trees once again outgrowing the buildings. An hour later, the last of the suburbs slipped into her rear view mirror, leaving her with a four lane freeway and the Cascade Mountains.
CHAPTER TWO
PECAN PIE...
WHAT IN THE hell am I doing out here? Sam thought, pulling herself up yet another steep ridge. Loose dirt and years of fallen pine needles littered the ground making the climb treacherous. It had taken her three days to get this far and there was still no sign of the lake. For most of the last day, she had studiously ignored the nagging voice inside her head - the one that sounded a lot like Andrew - that was telling her that Wolf Lake really was just a myth and that she was never going to find it.
I have time, she reminded herself. She had enough supplies for another few days before she would need to turn back. Besides, this was only her first trip to the area since discovering the map. She had to consider the possibility that she might not find the lake. That didn't mean a wasted trip. After three days of searching, she could say with certainty where Wolf Lake wasn't.
Ever the optimist, Sam? The Andrew sound-a-like asked. Since when?
Oh, shut up! Sam shook her head clear. Lifting her head, she spotted the crest a few feet above her, the sight going a long way towards renewing her flagging energy. Determined, she reached for a nearby exposed root, using it to pull herself up the side of the mountain. Her feet slipped, and she landed hard on one knee. Wincing, she pushed herself up, dug her toes into the dirt and pushed.
The legend of Wolf Lake was one of the least known myths she'd researched so far. There were no romantic tales associated with it, no brilliantly directed movies, no books. But there were stories. Stories of the wolves that roamed these mountains, only to step out from the trees as men. Sam didn't believe in werewolves. She didn't believe in ghosts or vampires either. She did believe that at the heart of every legend was a story, a kernel of truth that got embellished with each telling until a myth was born.
Legs burning, arms shaking, Sam pulled herself to the top of the ridge, and there it was. Wolf Lake.
Standing at the top of the ridge, a panoramic voice of Wolf Lake before her, Sam felt an unexpected rush of emotion, instant awe catching in her throat. She'd travelled to some pretty amazing places in her life but this... This place was magical.
A small lake surrounded by mountains, their peaks perpetually topped with snow, Wolf Lake lay hidden away in one of a hundred shallow basins and valleys. Sunlight broke against the water's smooth surface, gold light shattering like glass while around her, trees whispered secrets in the wind. In that m
oment she could almost believe the tales of this place were true.
Sam had spent the last four years dissecting many of the popular myths and legends, not to mention less well known ones such as the stories surrounding Wolf Lake. Last year, she'd spent part of her summer vacation in Romania researching Vlad Tepes, the inspiration behind Bram Stroker's Dracula. For Christmas, she had travelled to New Orleans and started researching voodoo, witch doctors and witches. This year found her camping in supposedly werewolf infested woods.
Sam felt a smile break across her face. It was a good thing she was alone, no one around to see the smug expression that accompanied a feeling of intense satisfaction. So what do you have to say for yourself now? she asked the voice in her head, not surprised when it didn't answer.
Surveying the landscape below her, Sam marked a spot near the water's edge and went to make camp. It took her another hour to work her way down to the lake. Douglas-firs, the giants of the forest, grew close together, forcing her to squeeze between their trunks. Finally, the trees began to thin, the underbrush giving way to shorter shrubs and eventually rocky beach.
Stepping out from the cool shade of the trees, Sam turned her face up to the late afternoon sun, taking a moment to enjoy its warmth after so many days in the shade. She was tired, covered in dirt and dried sweat and her knee was starting to swell. She was also happier than she had been since her first salted caramel mocha.
It didn't take her long to set up camp. She'd had to carry everything in, which meant packing light, her minimalist skills coming in handy. Of course, might have been worth lugging in the hand-cranked blender, Sam thought. She could definitely celebrate with a margarita or two.
Wolfing down an MRE (no pun intended), Sam enjoyed Yankee pot roast, finding it better than most of the meals she cooked for herself at home, and watched the sun set behind the lake. Too tired to build a fire, she used a pen light to check her GPS coordinates, making final notes on her map of the area. She had the prospector's map in her bag, but had been recording her search for the lake on a current map of the area. She wasn't surprised to see Wolf Lake missing from it. This area of the mountain range was sparsely populated, not much detail known. There were no logging roads or hiking trails nearby. In fact, this area appeared completely untouched by man.
Legend (A Wolf Lake Novella) Page 1
