Hunter's Moon (The Witch Who Sang with Wolves Book 1)

by Kat Bostick

  Hunter’s Moon

  By Kat Bostick

  Hunter’s Moon

  Copyright © 2019 Kat Bostick

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  For permissions visit:

  www.katbostick.com

  Cover Art by Tara Spruit

  This book is dedicated to my incredible husband, who listened to me ramble about character flaws in the middle of the night when we should have been sleeping, encouraged me when I feared writing wasn’t a “real job,” and offered to read my work even though fiction bores him. I couldn’t do any of it without him.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  A Message for My Lovely Reader

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  The Wolf

  Tonight the wolf’s appetite would finally be sated. A trickle of saliva ran down his tongue to slip between deadly teeth as he tilted his head to scent the air. He was wolfishly hungry and it was time for a feast. Four days had passed since he’d eaten more than a mouthful of mouse. That was far too many days for his kind to go without sustenance. It wouldn’t be long before he lost the battle with his hunger and went for bigger prey.

  The only bigger prey around here walked on two legs.

  His meal was close, it’s wounded cries riding the breeze. Wolf hadn’t identified what it was yet but he knew it was injured. That throaty wailing indicated as much. It was that sound that drew him to his quarry. For many moons he roamed these trees—more moons than he was capable of counting, which only meant his mind was deteriorating further—and never saw prey that was as large as what he stalked now.

  There was space for game in his woods but too much human activity discouraged it. Bustling roads surrounded him on all sides and wandering deer rarely made it across. Once he discovered a freshly killed fawn at the edge of the road but even with the draw of hunger he didn’t dare leave the shelter of his trees to fetch it. It was agony smelling that rich scent of flesh, still warm no doubt, and being too overcome with fear to approach.

  That defeat only made tonight’s victory even sweeter. He found prey and he was given the opportunity to kill it too. As he moved swift and silent through the understory, his forepaws digging into the leafy ground, he whispered thanks to Earth Mother for providing for him in his time of need.

  That mental utterance both soothed and distressed him. The ability to pray was the last scrap of man left within him. All other thoughts were ruled by the wolf. They came in rapid one and two word intervals.

  Hunger. Hunt. Chase. Kill.

  When they came in words at all, that was. Sometimes they were a strange mingling of physical sensation and emotion, swirling images that made sense to the wolf but bewildered the man. On rare occasions where the man within became lucid, those wolf thoughts unsettled him. They were too easy to get lost in. He couldn’t think straight when his brain spoke in instinct and experience.

  One day soon the beast would finally consume him and all that would be left was wolf.

  The innumerable smells left by people still masked the scent of his dinner but he couldn’t be far now. His growling stomach hoped it was deer, hit by a car and strong enough to run but too weak to survive. It didn’t sound like a deer though. It didn’t sound like any prey he had hunted before.

  And it’s musical lamentation enchanted him unlike any other prey. The cries became a caress that drew him in like the pulsating threads of magic that tied his soul to the moon above. She was high in the sky now, curtained by thin clouds. Even the call of her silvery voice was not as strong as whatever creature was keening into the night.

  The wolf hesitated as he neared the open field where he would find the wounded animal. In between whimpers, the prey was growling.

  “… Jacob...stop. Get off me!” It snarled. She snarled. Wolf could see her now. It was the sound of people that drew him. Multiple people, not just the girl.

  The other two were male. They reeked of chemical odors that mingled with spices and alcohol. It blended together into one headache inducing trail of fragrance. He quickly backpedaled into the shadow of the forest and crouched to take in the scene. The distant yellow glow of streetlights near the entrance to the park flashed in his peripherals, temporarily blinding him. Wolf blinked impatiently as his eyes readjusted to darkness.

  The three of them were on the ground. One male was seated and stooping awkwardly, the other hovering over the girl. The stooping man shaded her face but her flailing legs were clear beneath the one atop her. Her fear and distress was palpable. It danced teasingly across his lolling tongue and made the hunger for a chase, not a meal, grow stronger. Fear had become a tantalizing smell as of late.

  Before he could catch himself he took two quicksteps forward. Then a voice rang out in his head—not his own, that one was never articulate as this one was—and he halted his advance. “We do not kill man.” The familiar voice commanded.

  Wolf no longer had a name or a face to put to that voice. It might as well have been a ghost hissing the words in his ear. Yet, somewhere deep in his gut both man and wolf knew it was a command that must be followed. It was the voice of law and even wolf hesitated to break it.

  His proximity finally granted him a taste of the girl’s scent, barely detectable beneath the sharp odor of the males and her overpowering fear. He inhaled deeply, letting the perplexing fragrance blossom in his lungs. It truly did bloom like an ethereal flower into a marvelous scent that touched all of his senses, not just his keen nose.

  She was made of honeysuckle, sweet and mouthwatering and filled with the vibrant delight of spring. She smelled of the earth too, rich soil teeming with life. And forest. The girl smelled of his forest. Not the one he stood in now but the one he ran through in his dreams. She was the forest from his dreams, only tangible. It didn’t make a lick of sense to man and yet it was so clear to wolf that he wanted to howl with joy.

  The whimpering honeysuckle girl smelled like home.

  He slunk closer to take in more of that familiar scent. Then he detected another odor that had him backpedaling and shaking his head madly. The urge to sneeze was nearly impossible to stifle and he had
to hold his breath lest he give himself away. Neither man nor wolf could identify the astringent odor yet both were simultaneously terrified. It burned his lungs and sent blazing pain through his brain. He staggered up against a tree, panting frantically.

  Witch. The voice of instinct said.

  Even the word made him shudder and he was not entirely sure why. The pain in his head seared, blurring his vision. A sickening lurch that usually signaled the beginning of a change snapped his spine rigid. He froze, horrified and confused. There had been no change for many moons. He was only the beast now.

  Somewhere deep inside of him, the man still lived, confined and half mad. It was not wolf’s fault, though man had often resented him for it. He was broken. What was once whole had been permanently splintered in two. Wolf and man, separated.

  Witch. The wolf repeated, the word curling his lip in silent snarl.

  There was pure hatred in that word. It wasn’t for the girl though. She carried that caustic magic taste on her skin but she was honeysuckle too. And she was his forest. There was a sudden rush of clarity and the agony from that awful aroma faded. The wolf quieted and the man rang out loud in his head.

  She isn’t prey. He realized, enraged that he hadn’t seen what was happening before. Not my prey, but theirs.

  The girl was thrashing against the stooped man’s hold as the second man ran rough hands over her midriff. He muttered something to the stooped man with a chuckle. The law that forbade killing humans was forgotten. All was forgotten except the unbridled fury of wolf who is also man. He devoured that rage like flesh to fuel his strength. Then he launched himself at the one touching the honeysuckle girl.

  Wolf had killed many creatures that he should not have killed. A human was no different. The first man barely managed to grunt before a gaping maw caught his neck. A satisfying crunch filled the stunned quiet as wolf jaws closed around his throat.

  The man within him was pleased with his act of justice but immediately disturbed by how much he enjoyed the kill. Wolf had no room for such judgements. He shivered with joy as the carotid artery pumped hot blood into his mouth. It was the richest, sweetest blood he’d ever tasted. Far better than that of any animal. Wolf took charge again, digging into his kill and tearing hungrily at the soft flesh on the side of the dying man’s neck. This was what he needed. This was what he hungered for.

  The shrill, terror-stricken scream of the girl startled him from his feasting. She wore a yellow dress with thin straps that had slipped down her shoulders to reveal naked breasts. The hem of her dress was ruffled and shoved up her thighs. She was close enough that her bare feet grazed the fur on his tail as she scrambled upright. The stooping man gave her a swift shove before bounding for the bright yellow lights that marked the entrance to the park.

  The girl crumpled to the ground but she was obviously not mortally wounded. Even if she was, wolf couldn’t resist pursuing the stooping man. The wild hunger in his belly and the thirst for more blood had him in a frenzy. He loved this one for giving him a chase.

  The stooping man was fast for a human. That hardly made him a challenge for a wolf but it gave the chase more delight. If only he darted into the woods instead. Now that would have been fun.

  He made it a quarter of the way to the lights before the wolf clamped down on his leg and tugged. Even this far from the glowing streetlamp it was bright enough that a jogger might spot them. Wolf knew better than to be seen but he disregarded his instinct to hide in favor of much stronger instincts; chase, kill, devour.

  The moment his quarry landed face down in the grass, wolf leapt atop the man and embedded teeth into his nape. With one quick twist the stooping man’s neck cracked. His lungs gurgled with the last breath of life. The pristinely manicured field, where hours earlier picnickers soaked up rays of spring sun, was perverted into a macabre display as the wolf tore greedily at warm flesh.

  Moments later the adrenaline surge from the chase ebbed and his instincts urged him to seek cover. He scurried several paces toward the trees then froze. The hunger held too much sway, warring with self-preservation until he darted back to his kill. The wolf ripped into muscle and organ, desperate to fill his aching belly.

  Fresh panic clutched at the last threads of sanity in his mind. He recognized the wildness overcoming him and knew it was much more than hunger. Bloodlust. His kind was highly susceptible to such madness when they walked as the wolf for too long. They could no longer resist the allure of human flesh.

  Ignorant of the internal battle, his jaw moved on it’s own accord, tearing muscle and fat and organ. Bones clicked against canines. Slippery meat rode down his throat with ease.

  Then there was a siren call, ephemeral but enthralling. From somewhere behind him, the sound came again, weary and faint. It snared him like vines encircling his body, his soul—both man and wolf. The girl was singing quietly, foreign magic riding the cadence of her voice. The red haze of bloodlust evaporated and there was only the music that echoed in the chambers of his heart, calling the wolf back to the mysterious honeysuckle witch.

  Suddenly he was standing where the first body sprawled awkwardly on the ground, legs crumpled and bent at angles that would have been excruciating had the man still lived. There was something odd about that spot. It was in the air, tingling electricity that set all of his hair on end. And that floral smell, honeysuckle and other more subtle notes that he detected on the girl, was growing stronger. Much stronger.

  He lowered his nose to the ground. The earth was wet with blood and the metallic scent was heavy in his lungs but he also smelled…poppies? At first he thought he was looking at more blood. As a wolf his eyesight was better at night than any humans but his general ability to see color was lesser. Yet the world was not black and white. He could tell the difference between the grass and the congealing pool of crimson.

  That meant he could also tell the difference between blood and the bright red poppies that rapidly sprung up around him. He spun to see more of them erupting from the ground in a slow cerise wave. His gaze landed on the girl, huddled with her knees to her chest just a few feet from the dead man. She continued singing softly to herself, eyes squeezed shut. The fresh carpeting of poppies was thicker around her than anywhere else. So thick, in fact, that the grass was barely visible beneath the blossoms.

  Wolf breathed her in again. The scent of blood that had him half mad seconds ago was barely notable under the overpowering taste of her witchcraft. It was her that made the flowers bloom. She was singing the magic to her with the tuneless song that rose shakily from her chest.

  What are you? The voice of instinct answered again. Witch.

  It wasn’t that simple. He knew the scent of witch. He didn’t know why he knew it but he did. This magic was different. It made his heart ache like a homesick child. He wanted to bathe in it. The girl abruptly stopped her humming and let out a startled gasp. He was so transfixed by her strange invocation that she took him by surprise too. The throaty wolf noise he made was nothing like her girlish squeal.

  The poor creature still reeked of fear. Wolf wanted to lick that terror from the moisture on her skin. Maybe after she got rid of that other unpleasant odor that was heavy on her breath. The rapid puffs that left her mouth smelled wrong. Perhaps she was ill? She had a glossy tint to her eyes and her swaying didn’t seem to be strictly from adrenaline.

  In an attempt to assuage her panic, the wolf lowered himself onto his belly and crawled the rest of the distance between them. She yelped and scampered backward. When her legs crushed a collection of red poppies they crumbled and blew away like ashes in the wind. This magic of hers was curious.

  “Stay back!” She warned shakily.

  He ignored her command and crept closer. The nearer he was to her, the more dreamlike the situation became. With eyes closed he put all of his trust in his nose and it was like he was there, running through his forest again. The pounding of his heart as he sprinted through brush and bramble filled his ears and the earth beneath him v
ibrated with the thundering feet of the wolves that ran beside him.

  Brothers. Yes, he had brothers. Their faces were a haze but he could feel them in his heart. They were connected like many roots of the same tree. Pack.

  Their victorious howls burst to life around him. No, not his brothers. There was only one mournful cry that shattered the peace and stillness of night. It was his own and it went unanswered.

  Wait, there was a response. More of a shriek than a howl. It was accompanied by a slew of frantic words as the man who spoke them chattered into his fist. “Yes, by the soccer field at Klein Park. Please tell them to hurry! There’s blood and—oh God—he’s not moving...”

  There was no time for a careful introduction anymore. Wolf had to leave the girl behind or they would find him. Humans would identify this as an animal attack. Dog, of course. What reason did they have to believe a wolf prowled their pretty park? Whatever they thought he was, they would hunt him. No animal could be allowed to live after committing such a violent crime against humanity. That was why he had been commanded not to kill people. Their kind was not forgiving, even if the deaths were just and necessary.

  Wolf rushed for the trees, pausing when he was side by side with the girl. Dense grey clouds parted overhead so that the lustrous light of Mother Moon could dance across their bodies. He shuddered under the silvery waves as his own magic came alive. The girl met his eyes with the moon reflecting in hers. There was horror on her face but as she stared at him, it faded to an expression of startled curiosity.

  Wolf cocked his head and studied her for the seconds he had to spare. Feathery black hair flowed down to her ribs. Her broad tipped nose was pinkish and her high cheeks flushed. The exact color of her eyes was difficult to determine in the night but hints of rich amber shimmered under the caress of moonlight. They were rather wolfish eyes for a witch.

  The girl’s features were sharp—a little too sharp to be conventionally beautiful but striking in a way that, if he had been a man, would have stolen his breath. That was not the kind of thing that wolf recognized about people—if he recognized anything besides the enticing smell that was closer to prey than he liked—so it puzzled him that his reaction to the wounded witch was so…human.