Tales of the Winter Wolf, Vol. 1

by R. J. Blain

  A shower of silver rained down on my head, along with the world’s largest spider. I screamed, fell off the chair, and backpedaled before realizing it was a stuffed toy. My breath came in rapid bursts, my heart racing, as I sat in a stunned daze.

  Glitter covered me, the carpet, the chair, and the spider, which was black and pink and about the size of my head, was made of some fluffy material.

  My father wasn’t the only one to come running. My mother took in the mess, put her hand over her mouth, and giggled. Lisa stared at me with wide eyes, while my father cleared his throat.

  “Interesting,” he said, and ignoring the glitter and the spider, he stepped onto the chair and looked into the attack.

  Another cascade of silver rained down, covering my father from head to toe. His eyes narrowed, blazing in yellow. “He’s not up here.”

  It was probably a good thing, because my father looked ready to kill someone: Richard.

  “He’s been busy,” my mother said, and her eyes took on the same gold as my father’s.

  “He’s toying with us,” my father agreed, drumming his fingers against the access door’s frame. He sneezed, hopping down from the chair with glitter falling off him in sparkling cascades. “Glitter. He had to use glitter. It’ll be all over the house!”

  “At least it’s not real silver,” my mother murmured, reaching up to dust my father’s shoulders. Her hand shimmered.

  With narrowed eyes, my father replied, “He’s not stupid. Lisa, bring me Richard’s phone, please.”

  My sister looked puzzled, but hurried to obey. When she returned, he scrolled through Richard’s contacts and made a call. “Frank, it’s Desmond. Could you please tell me if your Alpha is a human or a wolf right now?”

  My father’s eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

  Whatever Frank was telling my father didn’t settle well with my father because he growled. “That dingy coyote mutt. Fine, Frank. I won’t press. No, I won’t kill him, I promise.” He hung up and held the phone out to me.

  I hesitated before taking it. “Dad?”

  “Until its owner shows up to claim it, consider it yours; no deleting his photographs or going through his personal files, but feel free to install whatever apps you want and run up his phone bill. If you break it, you buy it—just download his files to a memory card first. I’ll add the balance to your tab,” he replied, heading downstairs.

  I stared at my mother, my mouth hanging open.

  She sighed. “They can be such children sometimes! Puppies! All of them!”

  “What did Mr. Frank tell Dad?” Lisa whispered.

  “No,” my mother replied before laughing. “Richard told Frank he wasn’t allowed to, and Frank was ready to have an aneurism. Your father could have forced him, but if he did, Richard would know.”

  Another point to Richard. No one refused my father, not so lightly.

  I recognized the gleam in my sister’s eyes as hero worship, and I swore I’d get revenge on Richard once more, and not just for the glitter. I considered what I could do to his phone when my mother took it from me.

  “I’ll just keep this, dear. His work is on that phone. You might be a Stanford student, but that does not make you qualified to access his professional or personal life.”

  “His phone isn’t locked,” I protested, though I didn’t make a grab for the device.

  “Only because it’s with us and he’s sick. He’ll lock it when he leaves,” my mother explained.

  “I can hold it without doing anything to it,” I replied.

  She made a thoughtful noise and offered it back. “Fine. But if you do even a single bit of damage to the phone, your father won’t even have to lift a finger to tan your hide, because I’ll do it myself. And no, I don’t care if he said you could add it to your tab. No breaking his phone.”

  “I’ll take good care of it,” I promised.

  He’d have a bunny-themed phone with new icons in the most feminine colors I could find, but I’d otherwise leave the phone alone. I wondered if making a few calls would make a difference.

  I wanted to ask his Second, Frank, a few questions. Stowing the phone in my pocket, I pointed at the pile of glitter on the floor. “What about the glitter?”

  “Leave it. We’ll clean it up later, once we find Richard.”

  “You’re sure he’s not in the attic?”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it,” she replied.

  Lisa put her hands on her hips. “Mom, do you know where Richard is?”

  “No, dear. I just know he isn’t in the attic.”

  “How?”

  “He has nowhere to hide in the attic, dear. It’s empty space. Where would a three hundred and fifty pound silver wolf hide up there?”

  “You think he’s a wolf?” I asked, puzzled.

  “I know he is. Without your father around, it’s safest for him to wait as a wolf. He wouldn’t want to be surprised.”

  Lisa wrinkled her nose. “So he’s outside?”

  “Probably. He was likely hungry and took advantage of us going out to get some fresh air and hunt. Let’s go see what your father found out from the security system.”

  We found him in his office, muttering curses as he stood behind his desk, typing away at his laptop.

  “Charles?”

  “The alarm was engaged the entire time we were gone. No one deactivated, entered, or left the house—and none of the motion detectors outside activated. He’s got to be in the house somewhere.” My father drummed his fingers on his desk. “The question is where. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of that a wolf his size can hide.”

  My mother was grinning. “Charles.”

  “What?”

  “You’re making assumptions.”

  “If you think you know it all, dear, educate me,” my father challenged.

  “You’re assuming he was in the house when we left,” she replied, leaning over the desk to kiss the tip of my father’s nose. “You’re also assuming he set that trap while we were gone.”

  Running his hand through my mother’s hair, my father rumbled a pleased growl. I grumbled, shook my head, and turned my back to my flirting parents. “That’s so gross. Stop that.”

  Lisa snickered, jabbing me with her elbow. “You’re just jealous. Admit it, Richard’s a looker.”

  Fuming, I shoved her. “He’d make a fine rug.”

  “Neither one of you may skin Richard for a rug,” my father chided. “I don’t care how soft he is.”

  “You’re just mad he’s outclassed you,” my mother replied.

  “Let’s just find him before someone else does,” he grumbled in reply.

  Our house was situated on a hundred acres of prime land on the fringe of Seattle’s suburbia on the border where the city ended and the wilds began. It was all woodland, giving my mother and father space to hunt without leaving the property.

  Three acres was neatly trimmed yard at the back with everything situated around my father’s prized koi pond.

  When Lisa shrieked, my father’s eyes blazed, but instead of his usual run, he stalked forward.

  The body of a wolf lay mangled on the fringe of the mowed lawn. The Fenerec was almost as pale as Richard. It was very, very dead, it’s throat ripped out. I shuddered.

  “Well,” he said, frowning, digging in his pockets to pull out his keys. “Nicolina?”

  “Yes?” I asked, my hands shaking as I stared at the wolf.

  “Go get the gun, load it with silver, and bring extra ammunition.” He tossed me his keys, which included the ones for his safe. “Wendy, go with her and change. Lisa, stay with me.”

  I didn’t see my mother as a wolf often. Heading into the house, I went to my father’s office. I trembled as opened the gun safe. Instead of the revolver, which was always loaded with silver rounds in case of trouble, I chose my father’s Beretta in its holster. It was the gun I had learned to shoot first, and the one I practiced with when he insisted I keep up with my basic skills.

&n
bsp; I loaded in silvered hollow point rounds, the most lethal of the Fenerec-killing ammunition we owned.

  I hadn’t understood why when I was younger, when I was thrilled with the idea my father trusted me enough to teach me how to shoot a gun. He wouldn’t let Lisa get anywhere near it. As the older sister, the gun was my responsibility.

  I still wasn’t sure what I thought about having killed the strange wolf in my living room. It left a bitter taste in my mouth just thinking about it.

  If my father wanted me to bring a gun, he meant for me to shoot it.

  I took three extra magazines with me. I stowed them in the holster’s pouches just in case I needed them.

  Waiting for me at the door was my mother in her wolf form. She was mottled gray and brown, closer to that of a natural wolf, except the tips of her ears were red, as was her nose. She put her ears back, staring at gun I held in my hand even though I wore its holster around my hips.

  When we came back outside, my father was kneeing beside the dead wolf, taking photographs of it on his phone. “I don’t recognize him,” he said.

  “It’s not Richard, right?” Lisa asked, her voice meek.

  “It’s not Richard, but Richard’s probably the one who did it,” he replied, pointing at the wolf’s throat. “Richard doesn’t waste his time with a kill. He went for the throat first. The rest was done by raking with his hind claws. A lot of wolves don’t rake like he does.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “You have to be on your back or side to do it like he does. Wendy? Want to help me show them?”

  My mother huffed, sighed, and rolled onto her back. My father got on top of her, resting his hand on her neck. “Normally, if I were going for a kill, I’d come in from the side or back. Makes it harder to fight me off. Richard sometimes likes luring in his prey while on his back and side. So, if I came at him like this, going for his throat, he’d rake me with his claws to get me off.”

  My mother kicked her hind paws, though she was far gentler than she would be in a real fight.

  Getting up, he stepped away, getting on his hands and knees. “If Richard didn’t lay a trap like that, he went for the side and forced a roll.”

  Wagging her tail and mock growling, my mother pounced on my father, snapping her teeth at his throat. She rammed into him, rolling him onto his side. Joining him on the ground, they tussled, and my mother paddled at my father’s shirt. My father laughed when she rubbed her nose against his neck.

  “And that’s your lesson on why Richard is reckless—and lethal. He likes fighting dirty. He won’t do what most wolves expect. It makes him good in a fight, usually. But…”

  “But he’s hurt,” Lisa whispered.

  “Exactly. He’s usually a lot more thorough when ensuring a kill.”

  My mother let my father up and shook herself off. She lowered her nose to the dead wolf, sniffing before lowering her head and venturing into the woods. My sister stuck walked beside me as we trailed after my father.

  “What’s going on?” she hissed at me. “Why are there wolves coming after Richard?”

  I could think of a lot of reasons why wolves would want Richard dead, including the fact he was insufferable, but I shrugged. If Lisa liked him, I wasn’t going to stir her ire.

  It wasn’t my business who she wanted to sleep with, even if I hated him. My father liked Richard, and that was that. If Richard wanted my sister, he’d have her, and that pissed me off even more.

  We found four more dead wolves, at which point my father pulled out his phone and made a call. “Sanders, it’s Desmond. Anything on the wire about missing wolves?”

  There was a long pause and my father’s brows rose. “Yeah, you can do me a favor. Start calling the local Alphas for me and give me a ring back.” He hung up, shaking his head. “He doesn’t know anything.”

  “Rogues?” my sister whispered.

  “No, they’re a pack,” my father replied, cracking his knuckles. “A young, weak pack probably looking for a free meal ticket.”

  My mother bobbed her head in agreement, lowering her nose to the ground and snuffling. She trotted deeper into the woods, waiting for us to follow her. She led us on a merry chase, finding three more dead wolves scattered among the trees.

  “Richard killed them all?” I demanded, wondering how Richard, who had been too tired to be hungry could kill one Fenerec, let alone eight.

  “Nicolina, do you have Richard’s phone with you?” my father asked, turning to me with a puzzled look on his face.

  I did. I stowed the Beretta and pulled it out. “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Call Frank and put it on speaker.”

  I did.

  “Hello?” Frank answered.

  “It’s Desmond. Has Richard drawn on the pack today at all?”

  “No, sir,” Frank replied. “He’s still got the pack mostly shut down.”

  “Any problems?”

  “No, sir. What’s wrong?”

  “You’re in Yellowknife, right?” My father didn’t sound happy.

  “Yes, sir. We’re all accounted for. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got a pack of dead wolves here, and I’m not sure if Richard killed them or not—and Wendy’s not sure either.” My father nudged the dead wolf with his foot. Like the others, it had its throat ripped out.

  “Fenerec wolves?” Frank asked, alarmed.

  “They were Fenerec, young ones. Too young to survive their throats being ripped out.”

  Richard’s Second made a thoughtful noise. “No more than five or six years, then.”

  “Old enough to think they had a chance at him,” my father confirmed. “So, I’ll ask you again, Frank. Wolf or human?”

  “He’s a wolf,” Frank replied without hesitation.

  “A wolf weak enough you could defy his orders.”

  Frank snorted. “Mr. Desmond, I make a point of defying him at least four or five times a week. Keeps him on his toes. I can’t sense anything wrong, but he does have the pack bonds mostly shut down. All I know is that he’s a wolf and if he’s in trouble, he’s doing a really good job of hiding it. If he fought any wolves, I didn’t feel a thing while he did it. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Yeah, there is. Start calling the other Seconds and see what you can learn. Sanders is on the horn with the Alphas to see if a pack has gone missing.”

  “How many dead wolves?”

  “Eight so far.”

  “Why do you think it was Richard?”

  “Clean throat kills and hind claw raking.”

  “He could be doing hit and runs,” Frank said, humming. “That’s definitely his style.”

  “He rakes during hit and runs?” my father asked, incredulous.

  “Mr. Desmond, this is Richard we’re talking about. He drives a pink Porsche because he likes people looking at him. If he can show off, he will. I’ll start making calls,” Frank replied before hanging up.

  I put Richard’s phone back in my pocket and unholstered the Beretta. “So what do we do?”

  “We sweep the property and hope we run into the Richard on the way—and that he doesn’t view Wendy as a threat. If he does, Nicolina, I want you to shoot him. Just make sure you’re certain of your aim. Let’s not drag this out any more than necessary.”

  The blood drained out of my face.

  Maybe I didn’t like Richard Murphy, but I didn’t want to kill him.

  It was well after dark by the time we searched the entirety of our property, requiring us to go back to the house for flashlights. We found a total of fifteen wolves. The last one we found floating in the stream near the property line, ripped to shreds.

  My father sucked in a breath. “Now that’s a wolf I know,” he replied, cursing. He pulled out his phone and made a call. “Sanders, I got a hit. They’re from Coulee City. I got fifteen dead wolves, and one of them is Smith. The idiot; he should’ve known better.”

  They talked for a few minutes before my father hung up and sighed. “He’ll le
t me know when he finds out how many were in the pack, but I doubt there will be many left alive—if any.”

  “What do you think happened?” Lisa whispered.

  “Smith probably thought he could make a run at Richard and got a nasty surprise. Knowing Richard, he probably took Smith out first and then picked off the rest of the pack.” My father shook his head. “The exact opposite of how I would do it. But, who knows? He’s Richard. He’s unpredictable. That’s what makes him so bloody dangerous sometimes. The only good news? Richard isn’t running wild. Frank would know and tell me. Let’s go back to the house. We’re not going to find him until he’s ready to be found. His scent is all over these woods, which isn’t helping matters any.”

  While I holstered the Beretta, I kept my hand on its grip. We didn’t say a word as we headed back to the house.

  What sort of man was Richard Murphy, that he could kill off an entire Fenerec pack on his own?

  He didn’t seem very scary, not like my father did at times.

  So lost in thought, I didn’t notice the animal until I tripped over it. I squeaked, sprawling on the trail. The small, furry body wiggled beneath me. With visions of rabid raccoons flashing through my head, I scrambled up and jumped for my father, who stood still while I used him as a climbing pole. I clung to him, gasping.

  “Don’t move,” my father snapped.

  I froze, as did Lisa.

  My mother, however, ignored my father’s command, padding up to the small, dark animal I had tripped over. With a long-suffering sigh, she grabbed the animal by the nape of its neck.

  Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t a raccoon, rabid or otherwise. Lisa pointed her flashlight at it, careful not to shine it in our mother’s eyes.

  “It’s a dog,” Lisa said, laughing at me. “You tripped over a stray.”

  It was black, darker than the night. It looked more like a puppy to me, especially in the way it tucked it’s paws and tail while my mother held it in her jaws.