by M. R. Polish
“WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME?”
I took his hand, and he helped me up. We both stood there close together, and I got lost in his eyes again. The moonlight made them look like silver pools that were easy to drown in.
“Why don’t you like me?” I asked before I could think about what came out of my mouth.
“You’re serious? Princess, you have no idea how I feel about you. But since you’re with my brother, I can see where I stand.”
“But I’m not with Jarak. So where do I stand?”
Ian stared into my eyes, the moonlight danced across his face, sucking me into the moment.
“Esmerelda…”
Luna’s voice shook me from the moment, and I backed up. She stared up at me as if she was mad at me. I looked back at Ian. A small smile played on his lips. Whatever flame flickered seconds before was gone.
“Luna, you’re a kill joy,” Ian said before turning around.
Wolf Spell Series
by M.R. Polish
Book one: Wolf Spell
At eighteen the world is at your fingertips. Well, it is if you’re not in charge of saving it. Esmerelda learns her true heritage and all the magic she holds inside her is key to defending her friends and family from the one person who wants to dominate them.
Book two: Wolf Dream
Esmerelda’s dreams are no longer a safe place to carry out her heart’s wishes. Every time her eyes close, Nicholas is there, waiting for her, ready to finish what he started years ago. Not even those she loves are safe anymore. The Death Keeper is all too willing to make a deal with anyone, even those Es loves.
Book three: Wolf Fate
The Underworld isn’t what Es thought it would be. She didn’t have time to fight off another bad guy, she was getting married. But fate has other plans…
Prequel: Wolf Love
Before the curse, before Es and Ian, there was Julie and Jarak. Love doesn’t always come easily, sometimes it takes a spell.
The Seers Series
( A Wolf Spell Series spin-off)
Book one: The Seers
The fate of the world has been restored. The balance between good and evil, mankind and magical, is even. Or was it?
Ailaina’s new visions are showing more than just Esmerelda’s life. There was a reason there were few Seers left, and those alive were sought after at all costs.
Book two: The Watchers
*details coming soon*
Book six: The Fates
*details coming soon*
Book Four: The Guardians
*details coming soon*
The Wolf Trilogy
Box Set Edition
M.R. Polish
Revised Edition 2015
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© Copyright 2015 by M.R. Polish All rights reserved, including the reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Published 2015. United States
Table of Contents
Wolf Spell
Wolf Dream
Wolf Fate
About the Author
Wolf Spell
Never has any writer had the support and love as I had while
writing this series. I could never thank you all enough.
Wolf Spell is dedicated to every girl or boy who has ever used their storybooks as spell books and play kitchen to create “potions”. I hope the magic inside you stays alive and your imagination lives on.
One
Eighteen years ago…
S now began to fall in heavy flakes, leaving a powdery trail down the mountain. Teeth chatter from his wife made Torres cringe, hating himself for not being able to protect her better. She should be in a house, with a warm fire.
A branch broke and the sound echoed around him. It was too late for all that. They’d been found.
“Run Adonia!” Torres cried out to his wife as she hurried from the grove. He stood with his muscles tense, ready to defend his beloved and their unborn child. Her heavy footsteps became distant on the forest floor, giving him hope that she had escaped.
For years, magical people have fought against each other. Nicholas, the leader of the dark witches, demanded power and authority, but when he found out Adonia carried a child after hundreds of years it became worse. For she was the most powerful witch and her unborn child would be the first magical guardian.
A distinctive low moan sounded from down the mountain. Torres twisted, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the falling snow to scan the trees. He was not sure how many there were, but he was certain with Hela, his spirit wolf’s help they could hold them off long enough to let Adonia flee safely.
A man emerged from behind the trees to his right. Torres’ heart clenched around the grief he carried for his wife’s people as he recognized the man in front of him. Only now, the once proud warlock had fangs and craved blood. Torres quickly spun around, looking for more. Surely, Nicholas would send more than one dying man to capture Adonia.
“Laven, you don’t have to do this,” Torres said, holding his hand up. Every muscle in his body tensed when his opponent shifted to the right.
“You’re wrong,” Laven hissed. “I do have to do this. You’re not changed, you don’t understand.”
But, Torres did understand, and his heart told him it was too late to save a longtime friend.
“Then we depart as friends, no matter how we part.” Torres knew what he needed to do.
Laven raised his shaky hand, a ball of fire hovering over his palm. Pain withered his face making him appear older than his two-hundred years. “We parted months ago.” He drew back his arm and released the fireball directed at Torres.
Ducking, Torres missed taking a shot to the gut with Laven’s fire. Taking a deep breath before charging at the old man, he lunged. Hela was quickly on his heels, helping to take the Crossbreed down. But he wriggled free from Torres’ grasp. Hela’s teeth dug into his calf, keeping him from running away.
Torres only had one magical ability, but it would be of no help here. The use of his powers was limited and would be needed to burn the body of the Crossbreed.
He needed to rely on his physical training and use his connection with his inner wolf. He dodged the next blast of magic then rammed his shoulder into the middle of the man’s chest, knocking them both over. Without hesitating, he reached for the belt he’d worn over the last two-hundred years and pulled out a wooden stake, stabbing Laven.
With the stake firmly embedded in the heart, streaks of black spread out under the skin, covering the entire body until it resembled charcoal. Torres jumped off the decayed Crossbreed and scanned the tree line for more intruders. He would have to come back later to take the head and burn the body. A full vampire decomposed and turned to ash when killed, but a Crossbreed needed additional actions to assure their death. The small amount of magic inside of them could keep them in a deathlike state, waiting to be awakened, unless the beheading and burning protocols happened.
A scream echoed up the mountain. Torres strained to hear where it came from and heard another one, knowing instantly that it was his wife. Never before did his legs carry him so fast. He jumped over fallen trees, and then trudged through a small icy creek that fed the river lower down. The water was like a thousand knives stabbing his legs, but he couldn’t stop.
For a short moment, he slowed to make certain he was on the right path. Hela snarled beside him. “Follow me.” His words yelle
d in Torres’ head.
Torres didn’t hesitate. His wolf had never let him down before. He followed close behind his great silver spirit animal. Hela slowed and disappeared into the spirit world, becoming invisible to anyone around, even Torres. But Torres knew he was still there, he could feel him, inside his chest. The familiar bond tugged at his soul confirming it.
Muffled moans and cries broke the silence. Stepping lightly, Torres followed the sounds, finding Adonia tied with rope. A group of Crossbreeds were dragging her along a path barely visible on the forest floor.
He could feel his anger boil in the depths of his soul as he watched them with his wife. Jumping out from behind the bushes, he grabbed whatever stakes he had left in his belt, and began swinging.
He had gotten at least ten down before one rushed at him swinging a large branch. He ducked, but the limb caught him on the back of the head. The blunt force knocked him down, making the whole world dark.
Adonia screamed. Never before had she experienced such severe pain. She took another deep breath and tried to concentrate. Locked in an underground cell was not her ideal place to give birth, but she had no choice.
Under the earth, inside the warded cells of dirt, except for minute bursts of energy, her magic was void. Every time she tried to use her powers, it drained her even more.
Another contraction squeezed around her abdomen. She clenched her teeth and groaned. It was hard to focus on her breathing. Finally, it let up, and she gasped in short pants.
She hoped her husband was okay. Praying the Crossbreeds didn’t kill him back in the woods. Tears stung her eyes. It shouldn’t be this way.
Another contraction tightened around her stomach. She could feel it was time to push. Adonia thought the pain wouldn’t end, but then she heard the most beautiful sound. Her daughter cried, her precious—Esmerelda.
With what little magic she had left, she held her daughter close, and summoned a protection spell to keep her baby safe. She knew it was only a matter of time before Nicholas would send someone in after her.
Adonia kissed and kissed her, holding her tight. Her tears washed her newborn infant. Light filled the darkness and a woman descended down into the void. Adonia knew the time had come. She struggled with all her strength, holding on as long as she could, but with her energy gone she had nothing left to fight with. The woman snatched the only thing she had left in the world.
Two
Present Day…
Arabeth
I ran my hand along the familiar wooden railing. Each step downstairs brought a painful stab to my heart. The flowing black dress I wore danced around my ankles with each movement. I pulled my sweater around my chest tighter, wrapping it around me to create a cocoon of comfort.
My cheeks burned as a new set of fresh tears cascaded down my face. I brushed them off knowing more would come. They haven’t seemed to stop since my mom’s death.
On the last step, I hesitated. It was as if contact with the cold tile would cause the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I gulped back another sob and touched the toe of my shoe down. The tap from the sole hitting against the floor echoed in the deserted room.
Keeping my arms folded around my chest, I stood there with my eyes closed. Taking in a long breath, I anticipated the familiar scent of lilacs that my mom smelled like. A whiff of a strong scent took away the faint memory as quickly as it came. I exhaled and opened my eyes—a stale and bitter stench came from a row of empty beer bottles lined up on the marble countertop.
I clenched my fists as I stormed across the kitchen floor to the row of alcohol containers. Gritting my teeth together, it took all the restraint I had not to yell out loud.
I had come home for her funeral, but maybe it was a mistake to stay in this house. All of the bittersweet memories filled me. Every fight they ever had, every curse, and every slammed door that ended with days of tension.
Grabbing each bottle, I threw them on the floor and watched as shimmers of glass exploded around me. Tiny brown slivers danced across the tile, and my world crashed down along with them. I was so angry that my hands shook. It felt good to throw something.
“What are you doing?” I jumped as my dad’s unexpected voice filled the room.
Turning on my heel, I glared at him as he entered the kitchen, the sight of his six-foot frame, tailored in a black jacket made me freeze. His sun-tanned skin the perfect complexion against the white collared shirt. Every strand of his thick chestnut hair was perfectly in place, and his face was clean-shaven—something he rarely did. I was in awe as I looked up at him. I never saw him wear a suit before, and it caused my gut to twist as I became more conscious to the reality of the day.
“Today… you couldn’t have respect for her today? Drinking? Come on, Dad. I know you guys had problems, but there had to be something you both agreed on. You must have loved her at least once. You married her.”
He fidgeted with his hands, tightening and un-tightening them into fists. “We agreed on you.” His nostrils flared as he stared at the mess. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you right now.”
I shifted my weight to one leg and lowered my gaze to the brown liquid splatters from remaining beer that had spread across the tile. I wasn’t sure what to say anymore. I wanted him to speak. I needed him to speak. It didn’t matter what he said, as long as I could hear his deep timbre calming my grieving nerves. He was my one constant rock and even though it ripped my soul to pieces to say it, if I had to choose a parent to lose, I’m glad it wasn’t him.
His shoulders slumped. “Just clean it up, please.” I nodded and blinked my tears back as the glass crunched under my high-heels. He left the kitchen, making me feel more alone than before he found me.
My heart shattered into a million pieces. Raw pain filled my soul. I could feel the intense burn all the way down in my fingertips.
I hated this… all of it. I snatched the broom and dustpan from the closet. My thoughts wandered away as I cleaned up the glass. I was numb and void of any emotion that overwhelmed me in the previous moments. It was as if I could see the mess, but couldn’t comprehend why it was there or what I’d done.
I dropped down to my knees and choked back sobs, not letting them escape my throat. Shards and slivers from the bottles still covered the floor, except for the few pieces that I managed to sweep into the dustpan. Flakes of glass lay scattered on the tile and glistened through my blurred, tear streaked vision. What was I doing? What was the point in cleaning it up?
“Arabeth.” I could hear my dad’s low voice. It was almost a whisper, but my own mental anguish consumed me, and it took several moments before I could react to him. Almost like crawling out of an underground cave to see him.
I looked up, but turned my gaze away from him. Knowing I should answer him, but feeling too empty to say anything. Avoiding his eyes was hard because I knew what I’d find—my own distress mimicked in his aqua pupils.
When I moved out into my own apartment, I thought about my mom and dad almost every day. They’d never gotten along. I worried about them, but now my mom was dead. All I had left was my dad and my best friend Ailaina, but that was it. I tossed the dustpan to the floor with a sigh.
“I want to tell you something, but... What if I said… Damn it. I still can’t say it.” He clenched his fists and hit the counter.
A week’s worth of frustration all bottled up, exploded. “Just say it! Whatever it is, I’m a big girl, you can tell me.”
His jaw tightened and he rubbed his hands over his face. “Just remember, I did it for you.”
I threw my arms up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your mom and I...” He shook his head. His eyes locked on me, and a sad weary feeling spread over me. “Every time I argued with her there was a reason. A reason I can’t explain yet, and it’s killing me. It’s killed me for years.” He ran his hands through his hair. A small tendril fell from its perfect place. “I don’t know why I can’t say anything yet. It doesn’t
make sense,” he mumbled the last part under his breath.
“So I’m supposed to believe growing up, watching you and her yell at each other was all for me?”
“Arabeth, you don’t understand any of it, but I refuse to go any longer with you thinking I didn’t care, because I do care—about you.” He looked away before leaving the kitchen, and I sat there on the floor, distracted by his words.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by any of it. I couldn’t handle any more stress right now. Why would he try to put more on me?
The house was too quiet and I became lost in my thoughts again, staring at the empty entryway. A sharp pain in my left hand made me cry out. Without thinking, I’d pressed my hand down in the pile of shards. Ugh! Blood dripped down on the broken chunks of glass.
Without knowing the extent of my wounds, I grasped the counter as leverage to get up with my wounded hand. “Ouch!” More blood trickled from my wounds. There must have been a thousand slivers sticking out from my skin. Shifting my weight, I used my other arm on the counter to help me up.
Leaning against the kitchen sink, I ran my hands under the cold water. I bit my lip to keep from crying out as the liquid stung in every cut. Grabbing the kitchen towel that hung on the fridge, I touched it to my hand carefully, and tried to inspect my palm better. It did no good. All I accomplished was to stain the white rag with the crimson color. Little slits where the glass split my skin shimmered all over as blood pooled in each spot. Groaning, I threw the cloth in the sink.
I needed more than just a towel, but everything was upstairs in the medicine cabinet. Holding a big breath—as if it would stifle the pain—I decided to run up to the bathroom, not caring if I dripped blood on the carpet.
