Howl for the Holidays

by Keira Blackwood

  Pounding the grassy earth beneath my paws, I took off for the tree line in wolf form. Grass and pine, sweat, and life—the summery scents of my childhood filled my nostrils. How long had it been since I had run free in the woods? Too long to be sure.

  The unnatural concrete and metal of the city was replaced by the dirt, moss, and evergreens of the forest. Darkness shrouded the world as the sun sank and took the light with it. Nighttime suited me just fine, relieving the summer heat and offering me cover from the guards that would soon follow. Bounding forward between piney branches and tall, thick trunks, the earth was moist and pleasant between the pads of my paws. Green mosses covered stones and broken branches, all untouched by human hands. Surrounded by nature, I was reminded of my brother, and the days that Hunter and I had used the forest as our playground. As children we had stayed close to the cabin. After we had grown old enough to travel as wolves, we had ventured further into the enchanting woods. Deeper and deeper into the forest I raced, gloriously free.

  A gentle tapping came from up ahead. I slowed and listened, looking for the source of the sound. Grasping the side of an old and rotting pine, a black-backed woodpecker tapped its beak against the dry timber. The patch of white feathers on her underside was visible only when she moved. I admired the small, black bird from a distance, afraid to startle it. In the city there were no woodpeckers, no decaying trees for them to build their homes. Would she make a nest to lay her eggs in that tree? It was a beautiful sight that I was privileged to witness.

  Just as I had expected, the scent of wolves carried across the breeze. I had hoped I would have had more time. The woodpecker fell silent, detecting the approach of predators, and I realized that the musky scent came from the wrong direction. It wasn't my father's guards. I turned, and ran away from the wind, away from the unfamiliar wolves that closed in on me from the concealing expanse ahead. Ragged breaths and the sound of heavy footsteps gained on me as I ran, and I knew they had caught me. Maybe my father had been right, that it was too dangerous to be out alone. If it was really the Silent Butchers, escaping my guards had been a mistake. My best option was to continue running back toward the cabin, and buy as much time as I could. It didn’t take long before I caught my first glimpse of the wolves that pursued me.

  “Where do you think you're going?” a large grey wolf snarled from my side as I raced back over debris of fallen trees, and weaved between trunks. Long scars marred the length of the wolf’s shoulder and face, leaving one eye a hazy blue color. I recognized an enforcer when I saw one.

  “Out for a run. It's a beautiful night, don't you think?” I asked, keeping my distance as he chased after me.

  “It is,” growled another, catching me from the other side. I stopped between the two, listening to the footsteps of their companions as they surrounded me. There was nowhere to run. “There’s no mark,” the second wolf growled. His fur was whiter than the one with the scars, and he looked younger. “You smell good, pretty. Maybe I’ll just claim you here and now, take what I want. Leave your body alone in the dirt when I’m done.”

  I snarled at him in response. “You don’t look so tough. I bet a she-wolf half my size could take you down.”

  “We take her alive,” the scarred wolf growled, addressing his companions, “and preferably unharmed.” Then he turned back to me. “I’d hate to see such an enticing prize damaged. But we’ll take you as you are, or we’ll take you bloody.”

  Still no sign of a rescue, I grew anxious. “I won’t go with any of you,” I growled, with a ferocity I was unsure I could back up with my actions.

  My heart raced, waiting for the pack to strike. Watching the wolves out of the corners of my sight as they stalked forward, I knew I couldn't see the three behind me at the same time. Relying on sound to tell me if I needed to turn, I kept the center of my vision on the largest wolf in the group, the one in charge. The huge, grey wolf stalked forward, head low. The others followed his lead. If they planned to take me captive, they'd have to leave me alive. I lowered my head and snarled at the scarred enforcer. No way I would submit without a fight.

  The grey wolf dove forward, and I pulled back away from his snapping jaw, diving toward the side I hoped was blind. Sharp pain tore into my back leg, as a wolf behind me bit my thigh. Snapping my head to my attacker, I bit the flesh around his eye, and he released me. The taste of copper filled my mouth, and the side of his face was covered in blood. He snarled at me but backed away. Maybe I could blind them all.

  “You're outnumbered,” the grey wolf laughed. “Just agree to come peacefully and you won't be harmed. I’d prefer to keep my prize undamaged.”

  I steadied my legs beneath me, then dove at the scarred enforcer. “Fuck off,” I growled.

  He pulled away, and the wolf by his side sunk his teeth into my neck.

  “Submit,” the big wolf commanded.

  I growled in response, unable to move with my throat in the grasp of a white wolf. Then I caught the scent carried on the breeze, and hope welled within me. The teeth on my neck gave way as the wolf holding me was tackled to the ground. Snarling fangs and sharp claws flew in every direction. Everyone from the cabin had come: my father, my brother, and a handful of enforcers. A thick grey wolf, older than the rest, tore his teeth into the leader of my attackers. Seeing my father filled me with a mix of emotions: gratitude for the help, guilt that I had been ambushed, and regret that he would take this as evidence that his over-protection of me was just.

  “Alex,” my father called.

  I turned my attention to one of the two wolves that attacked my brother, tearing into the thigh of the wolf that had done the same to me. The white wolf snapped toward me, and dove forward, leaving Hunter with a more fair fight. Hunter nodded at me in thanks, then focused back on the attacking beast. I dodged every strike the white wolf threw, and snapped back at him. The white wolf changed his tactic to defense, as I backed him away from the rest of the fight.

  “Alex,” my father growled, and tackled the white wolf to the ground. Dad's attention lingered on me, and the white wolf rose and scampered away.

  “Wait,” I called.

  All of the attackers scattered, running off into the woods one by one, following a guttural sound from the scarred wolf.

  “Alex,” my father said, “what were you thinking running off by yourself?” I met his measuring gaze with fire.

  “I was thinking about enjoying the woods,” I answered. “And I had that one.”

  “You could have been killed or taken.”

  “I did as well as Hunter would have against that number. I held my own.”

  “It's true,” Hunter said.

  “You know it's not safe while this Silent Butchers pack stalks our territory,” my father continued, ignoring my brother's words. His stern tone left no room for argument, and we had been over this before. I was smaller than my brother and my father, and a she-wolf. There was nothing I could say that would make him trust me, so I followed him back to the safe house without another word of debate, and with the guards he had assigned to me close at my heels.

  When we returned to the forest’s edge, the men shifted back to human form and dressed in the scattered suits they had left in the yard. My clothes were still inside of the cabin on the bed that wasn't really mine. Shifting back to human form, I felt the eyes of my father's enforcers watching me, the only woman among them, walking naked by their sides. My father stiffened as he noticed them watching me, over-protective of his little girl who had long since grown. When we returned to my temporary room, my door had been left open and the window nailed shut. Any shred of privacy I had been allowed was now gone. My father and brother spoke with backs turned to me as I dressed.

  “In the morning we need to deal with the Silent Butchers head on,” Hunter said. “This was more than just threats.”

  “Agreed,” my father said. “We'll start at the bars. Someone’ll remember the blind one's scarred face.”

  “He was in charge,” I said, zip
ping up my fly. I walked between my brother and our father. The two men looked so much alike in their business suits: broad-shouldered, hard-faced, and the same shade of dark-brown hair. The biggest difference in appearance was the eyes. Hunter had my mother’s kind, hazel eyes, where my father’s were cold and brown—a difference that reflected their opposing personalities. “The others followed his lead and watched for his cues.”

  My father studied my face, weighing my words.

  “Good catch,” Hunter said. “Anything we can learn should help.”

  My father moved in closer between us, pulling my brother and me in by the shoulders. He spoke softly enough that the guards by the door couldn't make out his words. “What concerns me most isn't who they are or what they want,” he whispered. “Out here no one should have known where to look. How did they know where to find us? And who among our pack betrayed us?”

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  Grizzly Bait: Chapter One

  Emma

  Peanuts, liquor, and sweat—Finnley’s Bar always smelled the same. Like all of the buildings on the riverfront, Finnley’s maintained its classic stone wall construction that dated back to when the town was first built. The lighting was poor, and the floors were sticky, but it was the only place in town to sit down after work for a cold beer. With all of the changes happening, I doubted a newer, cleaner establishment would draw any customers away. There was something about the old dive that was charming. Maybe it was the regulars that almost made it feel like a second home.

  The room was full of men looking for a chance to unwind with friends after work: loggers, clerks, and miners alike. Sometimes even the occasional deputy or sheriff. Patrons segregated themselves at the small bar, just as they did everywhere else in town. There were long-time Riverwood residents: from Big Ralph and Eddie Sparks that ran the deli chatting in one booth, to Fred Young and Jack, my mother’s second husband, carrying on in the next. And on the other side of the room, the Eventide miners clustered together: big, hairy, biker types, half as loud as the rest. Eventide Resources kept a flow of unfamiliar faces coming in and out of town, so I only got a chance to get to know the ones that caused trouble. Charlene, the bony waitress with bleached blonde hair and a skirt that barely covered her ass, moved from table to table with her tray of drinks. She and Paul were the only two in the bar that didn’t seem to care which side of the divide the patrons were on. My boots stuck to the dirty hardwood as I crossed the room toward the bar, the sticky floor boards squeaking with the lift of each footstep. A few people looked my way, but most laughed, drank, and ignored me.

  With a thick horseshoe of salt and pepper hair and only a few long, thin strands crossing his shiny dome, I would recognize Ernie Sherman anywhere. Even if the buzzing fluorescent lights weren’t reflected off of his head, the bold, yellow print on his brown jacket would have made him stand out in the sea of denim, plaid, and black leather.

  “Hey, Ernie,” I said, taking the stool next to him at the bar.

  The deputy kept his eyes on a bearded miner sitting on a stool on the other side of the room. “Boss,” he said, lifting his glass.

  “How was your day?” I asked. With that sour look on his face, I knew I should have gone home instead.

  “How was my day?” Ernie sat up straight and met my eyes. “Got a nail in my tire. You know where it came from.” Ernie scowled at the same bearded giant, who met Ernie’s stare with a cold, blank expression.

  “Did you get it fixed?” I asked.

  “First thing was a pothole,” Ernie said. “The corner of Pine Street and Chestnut. Car bounced right down and back up. They’re supposed to be making the town money, not making us pay to clean up after them.”

  “Did you call down and put in a service order?” I asked.

  “Well maybe I would have if as soon as I bounced out I hadn’t popped a tire.”

  “But you got the tire fixed, right?” I asked again.

  “Yeah, sure,” Ernie said, waving his hand at me, but holding his gaze across the room. “I called Pete. He came right over.”

  “Good.”

  “You know no one else is leaving nails in the street,” Ernie said.

  “Call in the work order,” I said, and waved to the bartender. “They’ll send someone out.” I would have explained that sometimes nails popped tires, and that it wasn’t necessarily Eventide. Sometimes tires popped before Aleister Sharpe had come to town with his promises and problems. But with Ernie, I knew it was no use. Indulging the line of conversation would only give him an excuse to get more riled up.

  “Sheriff Hiller,” Paul Finnley said with a smile, “can I get your usual?”

  “Please,” I replied.

  Paul filled a frosted glass from the tap, and I appreciated the way his thin, black t-shirt fit over his toned abs. He glanced up at me with that practiced grin that must have melted all of the girls’ hearts when he had been away at college, before he had returned home to work at his father’s bar.

  Paul set down the glass and leaned forward. “Thanks,” I said and turned back toward Ernie, dismissing the bartender.

  “Any plans for dinner?” Paul asked. “I get off of work soon.”

  Too young. Too complicated. I took the icy mug in my hand. “I’m good, thanks.”

  Paul walked back to tend to the city maintenance workers who were downing shots like it was a race.

  “He’s into you,” Ernie said.

  “I noticed,” I replied, and took a swig of beer.

  “Not the first you shut down,” Ernie said.

  “Nope.”

  “For someone who works for the people, you don’t seem to like people all that much,” Ernie said. “I mean, no offense or nothin’ but would it really hurt to say yes to one of those poor boys that look at you with their googly eyes?”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I don’t see you off on any hot dates either.”

  “Well, Emma,” Ernie said, “look at you and then look at me. You should be having the time of your life, meeting men and finding one to make pretty babies with. I take what I can get.”

  “I tried the whole marriage thing,” I said. “I prefer having my space and alone time. It’s hard to balance a family and a career.”

  “Okay,” Ernie said, “but if I were you, I’d catch one now, while you’re still young and pretty.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”

  I sipped my beer and listened to the noises that made Finnley’s great. Bellowing laughter came from two stools down, where Mack Clark had clearly won the drinking contest with his buddies. Finn laid on the floor and Joe looked queasy. Charlene giggled, and deep voices discussed fishing and sports. Though the miners looked more formidable than the Riverwood residents, they were the quieter of the two groups. Some talked about women and laughed, others whispered beneath the louder voices.

  “I don’t much care for the way they multiply,” Ernie said, scowling as he scanned the big men in leather jackets. I didn’t want to spend my evening off talking about my lack of social life or about Eventide Resources, but at least I knew Ernie wouldn’t hit on me.

  “You want them to make the town some money, right?” I asked. “If they deliver on Sharpe’s promises, we’ll have plenty to fix the roads.”

  “It wouldn’t need to be fixed if they weren’t driving those big trucks back and forth,” Big Ralph yelled over the chatter, with a nod to Ernie. There was some truth to the accusation, but the problem was more complex than Riverwood versus Eventide Resources. Conversations cut short, leaving the room quiet, and the two sides stared daggers at each other. Well it should have been more complicated, since it was the Mayor that brought them in. But the people didn’t see it that way. With tension running high, it was only a matter of time before things got worse, and fast.

  “Don’t you go getting any ideas,” Ernie said, standing. He held his hand over his gun and strolled over to the miner he had been eyeing. “I’m the law in this here town. And you gotta respect the l
aw.”

  The bearded man stood, and with him, followed the entire bearded, biker half of the bar. Charlene gasped, and dropped her tray to the floor, then darted across the room. That stick-thin woman could really move in those tall, wedge heels. She cowered behind Paul, whose eyes focused down to the place beneath the counter where his father kept the shotgun. Eddie Sparks walked slowly toward the biker half of the room, and I knew that look on his face.

  “Let it be,” I said, following behind Eddie.

  The tall butcher kept walking, ignoring my words. With a flick of the wrist, his beer soaked the white t-shirt of a thick-armed miner. Faster than I could follow, the wet man was three feet from where he had been, and Eddie was on his ass.

  “What the fuck?” Eddie said, holding his red jaw. The man with pork chop sideburns and short, brown hair stood over Eddie, baring his teeth in a face-contorting snarl. A deep, guttural growl escaped his clenched teeth with every ragged breath. His knuckles whitened with the tension in his balled fists. This miner I had met before—Roscoe Hicks.

  I moved between the two men.

  “This ends now,” I said in an even tone, looking back and forth between the two.

  The situation was under control until Ernie whipped out his gun. A few drinks too many, the deputy swung his weapon in front of him over the crowd of tense miners.

  “Time to go,” Ernie squeaked. “Allayall need to respect the law. I am the law in this town. You can’t just show up and leave nails and holes in the street for someone to get his tire popped or his axle misaligned. That is not respecting the town. That is not respecting me.”