Ghost Wolf

by Michele Hauf

They were wasting time. Likely they’d parked before the hunter’s land. Beck needed to track the hunter into the woods.

  “Call them,” Beck said. “But if they’re not here in ten minutes, I’m going to track him down on my own.”

  “We’ve got time,” Stryke said as he pulled out his phone. “Look.”

  Beck saw a single headlight zigzagging at the back part of the land.

  “He’s on a snowmobile,” Stryke said. “I’m sure he’s got traps to check and other shit. We’ll find him. Hey, Trouble! Gather the troops. I found the hunter who sliced me.”

  Chapter 21

  Daisy slowed on her walk toward home. A brown Mercedes seemed to be following her. She dared a look over her shoulder. The woman behind the wheel waved and pulled over to the curb. A smiling chestnut-haired woman got out, tucking a scarf about her neck. “Are you Daisy?”

  “Uh, yeah?” She thought she recognized the woman, but with the scarf over her hair and the winter coat tugged up around her neck, she couldn’t be sure.

  “I couldn’t let him leave like that. So quick. And without an explanation. I need to talk to you,” she said, and held out a gloved hand to shake. “I think we can help one another.”

  Daisy tugged off her mitten and shook the woman’s hand. “And you are?”

  “I’m Belladonna. Beck’s mom.”

  * * *

  Beck drove around the posted private-property signs, heading south along the forest edge. He didn’t want to have to deal with trespassing issues.

  Thing was, he knew this land. Or knew about it. It was a mysterious piece of property that had oftentimes sat vacant over the years. Rumors in Burnham told that it had been owned for centuries by the same family. Family members came and went, some taking up residence, others living off-site, yet keeping the property tidy until the next willing family member decided to occupy the spot.

  Beck hadn’t heard that a new resident had moved in. In fact, his wolf had, on occasion, gone sniffing around the boarded-up house. But the smoke wafting from the chimney proved someone was living there now.

  “There’s Trouble,” Stryke said, pointing out a black Ford pickup truck. “Blade and Kelyn are with him, too.”

  Beck pulled off the gravel road onto an old trail that hadn’t been used for years, to judge from the tangled and rusted barbed-wire fencing. There were no private-property signs, so both guessed this would be a good spot.

  “Still got him in your nose?” Beck asked as they got out to meet the brothers.

  “Barely. We’ll have Kelyn track him from the air. Kelyn!”

  “The air?”

  Beck shook his head, but followed Stryke over to the brothers, who got out of the truck. When he saw Trouble marching toward him with a focused look in his dark eyes, Beck flinched. And then he took the punch to his gut like a trooper.

  “Good to see you again, lone wolf,” Trouble said, retracting his fist. “Stryke says you’ve spotted the hunter who tried to take him out?”

  Straightening from the less-than-friendly punch, Beck nodded. “Could be the same hunter who killed my father.”

  “Well then, we’re on it.” Trouble gathered the brothers around. No skirt today, just leather pants, a turtleneck and a vest that looked like real fur—but really? “What’s the plan, Stryke?”

  “Kelyn needs to fly high and track him from the air. I’m losing his scent,” Stryke explained, “so we need to hurry. Let’s walk in a ways in were form and shift far from the road. Beck, follow us. You cool with that?”

  “So long as we’re not standing around. Let’s go.” Beck strode forth.

  Trouble wandered out to lead, along with Stryke.

  The quiet dark one, Blade, took up the rear, and Kelyn was nowhere to be seen. Until Beck noticed the fall of faery dust on the trail ahead of him. He tilted his head back and saw the bird-size figure soaring through the treetops.

  “Kelyn will find him,” Stryke called back.

  They tracked deep into the forest, where the thick pine trees brushed Beck’s face with fragrant yet scratchy needles. The ground was packed with snow and layers of brown pine needles. He noted the lingering scent of rabbits, squirrels and deer.

  The faery flew back and near Trouble’s head where, Beck assumed, the brothers were somehow communicating. When Trouble pulled off his shirt and kicked off his boots, the others followed suit, save for Blade.

  Time for the shift. Beck stripped down, tossing his clothes near the base of the same tree as the brothers had. That they’d not beaten him bloody yet was a good sign. But they had no stake in finding the hunter because of Severo’s death. They were here because of Stryke.

  The brothers shifted while Beck struggled to control his inner wolf’s need to shift to werewolf. They weren’t going werewolf right now. Wolves on four legs would serve this mission much better by providing stealth and a smaller target.

  But the ghost wolf wanted out.

  Trouble’s wolf was black dusted with white around his maw. The cocky fighter howled as he dropped to all fours. Stryke, a brown wolf, wandered up beside the punch-happy brother. Blade—he didn’t see him anywhere.

  Snow began to sift down in thick white flakes. Beck felt the coolness on his face and used that to concentrate on shifting to four legs.

  The brothers had loped on ahead.

  The faery buzzed about Beck’s head. He swatted at it, then slammed a shifting palm against the birch trunk. “Fuck” was his last human utterance as the ghost wolf took control.

  * * *

  Daisy warmed up hot chocolate for Bella and was thrilled to find a few unbroken almond biscotti in the cupboard. The vampiress sat silently watching as Daisy went about the motions of preparing hospitality. Daisy had spent a lot of time with her grandfather Creed, so she wasn’t leery around vampires, nor did she fear them. They were just another breed that occupied the vast and wonderful world.

  Yet Bella had been a mortal until she was bitten in her twenties. Daisy couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have known one life, then to be thrust into another life that was so different. Drinking and eating food one day, and then to survive on blood the next? It sounded almost as complicated as trying to balance one’s wolf with one’s faery.

  As she set the steaming chocolate and a plate of cookies before Bella, Daisy realized her faux pas.

  “I’m sorry. You probably don’t eat.”

  Bella turned the mug around and gripped the handle. “I like to taste things.” She sipped the hot chocolate. “Ohmygoodness.” Her eyes brightened, and her cheeks grew noticeably rosier. “This is mead.”

  “Beck likes it, too.” Daisy sipped from a mug that declared her a bookworm.

  “My son does love his sweets. This must be how you won his heart.”

  Daisy didn’t know what to say to that. Because really?

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Bella suddenly said. “I’m sure it was more than a sip of chocolate that turned Beckett’s eyes onto you.” She sighed and drew her gaze gently over Daisy’s face. “You seem like a nice girl. Your hair is pink, though.” Bella sipped again, quickly.

  “It’s natural. I’m half faery on my mom’s side.”

  “Oh, that’s right. She’s so pretty, your mother. Married Casanova, eh?”

  “I hadn’t thought anyone called my father that anymore.”

  “Sorry. It’s what I remember the women used to whisper about Malakai Saint-Pierre.”

  Indeed, her father had been the area’s resident Casanova before her birth. But no more. Her mom and dad were solid.

  “Are all your siblings like you?” Bella asked. “Half werewolf and half faery?”

  Daisy laid out the details on the family genetics, and Bella consumed the whole mug of hot chocolate and a few nibbles of biscotti. “I like your son a lot, Mrs. Severo,” Daisy offered. “He’s kind and funny and, well, he is so honorable.”

  “He takes after his father,” Bella said. She looked aside, catching her chin in hand. Her thoughts were probabl
y on her late husband, Daisy decided, and she didn’t know what to say. But after a few seconds, Bella returned with a smile. “I hope the next is a girl.” She smoothed a hand over her belly.

  “Beck told me he’s going to be a big brother. If you ever need anything, you must let me know.”

  “Thank you, Daisy. What I need is to know if Beck has spoken to you about his father.”

  “Like how?”

  Bella shook her head, bewildered. “I don’t think he’s talked to anyone about Severo’s death. He certainly hasn’t with me. And I think he’s holding it all inside. And now I’ve learned about... Uh, have you heard the news on TV about the ghost wolf?”

  “He told you?”

  “I figured it out. So you know that’s what Beck is? Whew. I was pretty sure he had told you, but just now I had a moment where I wasn’t sure if I should say anything.”

  “I saw him shift,” Daisy offered. “I was in the woods one night he was out. So you’ve only seen the news reports?”

  “Actually, I saw him last night. And he didn’t look as his werewolf normally does. Has he talked to you about that? Daisy, I’m at a loss.” The woman’s eyes glossed, and her hands shook as she pushed the mug away. “I need to know my son is okay.”

  “He believes he has it under control, but I’m not so sure about that.” She clasped Bella’s hand. “I want him to stop being the ghost wolf.”

  “Me, too. But how does he do that?”

  “Has he told you everything about what he’s become?”

  Bella shook her head. “I wanted him to talk to me this morning, but then he got a phone call from you and rushed off. Is he going after the hunter?”

  “As far as I know, he’s just tracking him. The same hunter nearly killed one of my brothers.”

  “Oh, no. Is he all right?”

  “Stryke is great thanks to a little witch magic from Desideriel Merovech.”

  “Ah, she and her husband, Ivan Drake, are good friends of mine. Your brother is one lucky wolf to be under Dez’s care. But tell me, Daisy, what do you know about this beast that my son has become?”

  Beck wasn’t a beast, but Daisy knew that the ghost wolf looked like it to most. And if the ghost wolf had a mind of its own that could control Beck, then surely it was a beast that needed to be stopped before it went too far.

  “He went to a faery for the gift of the ghost wolf. I think he needs to return to that same faery to get rid of it.”

  “Then why doesn’t he do it? Oh.” Bella dropped Daisy’s hand and pressed her palms to her face. “I don’t know why I didn’t see the obvious until now. He wants to avenge his father’s death.”

  Daisy nodded. “I think so.”

  “I don’t want to lose another family member.” Bella’s voice trembled. “I can’t. I don’t know how I’d survive—”

  Daisy clasped her hand. “We won’t let that happen. It’s going to be all right. I’ll do anything I can to make it so.”

  “Can you get him to talk to the faery?” Bella asked.

  Daisy nodded, though she wasn’t sure she had such persuasive powers over Beck. She didn’t want to trick him or force him to do something that she felt was best for him. He had to do whatever he felt was right for him. But revenge wouldn’t be right for anyone.

  “Do you love my son?” Bella asked.

  “Love?” It was more on the lines of serious like. But Daisy thought to keep the explanation of her scale of emotional commitment to herself. So she simply nodded.

  “Then for the sake of your futures,” Bella said, “we need to stop the ghost wolf.”

  Chapter 22

  Denton Marx stood in a snowy clearing, a leather-bound pair of binoculars dangling about his neck. At the sight of the wolf pack charging toward him, he turned to race back toward the snowmobile he’d parked near a ravine. Hasty bootsteps kicked up snow in his wake.

  One wolf, the darkest in color, split off and headed toward the snowmobile, while the other herded him away from the escape vehicle.

  Yet from out of the forest emerged a creature that surprised even the wolves. The black-and-white wolf, getting ready to lunge for Denton, suddenly startled. Tail curling down and between its legs, it lowered its head and looked around behind it. Its brother backed away, growling, showing its teeth to the ghost wolf.

  Denton, scared but fiercely determined not to lose the opportunity he’d waited weeks for, hissed as the two wolves suddenly began to shift to larger forms.

  “About time,” he said. “I knew I’d see this sooner or later. Just one silver bullet should do the job nicely. And then, finally, I can free Sencha.”

  Overhead, a darting birdlike creature gave the hunter little worry. He didn’t remark on the creature’s wings or the sprinkling of dust that sifted down to blend into the snow’s glinting surface. Yet higher flew a dark shadow with a vast wingspread.

  What the hell?

  Marx needed a weapon. He raced for the snowmobile, a fascinating contraption that he favored over a horse as conveyance in this deep snow. Behind him the shifted werewolves growled at the approaching white beast. It was two heads higher than them and did not slow its approach.

  The black-and-white werewolf lunged for the white, ghostly wolf. Not slowing, the ghost wolf slapped the nuisance out of its path.

  Shaking and determined, Denton eyed his bow and arrows strapped to the back of the snowmobile. The shotgun was tucked in a knapsack. Just twenty more strides...

  Leaping, the ghost wolf passed him and landed on the snowpack before the snowmobile. The force of the creature’s landing pushed the snowmobile over the ravine’s edge, and it tumbled down forty feet to an iced-over stream edged with boulders frosted in thick snowfall.

  Denton swore and turned to face the monstrous creature that loomed over him. He’d stood up to a vampire, a demon, a snake shifter and more. He would not back down now. He’d invested too much. Claws slashed the air before him and—

  Suddenly the werewolves snarled into a tangle, attacking the ghost wolf. Crawling toward the ravine, Denton wanted to slip away from the danger. He wasn’t armed. But he wouldn’t miss this for the world. Real werewolves going at one another. If he could just kill one of them...

  But it was over too quickly. One of the werewolves yelped, having taken a brutal slap of claws to its back. The ghost wolf stepped away, and then raced off toward the forest.

  In but a blink the two remaining werewolves shifted to their wolf state and wandered over to the ravine’s edge.

  “No!” Denton cried. He clung to the edge, thankful he’d worn the rusted cleats he’d found in the shed on his boots, which kept him from falling.

  The pack growled, showing him their teeth. One lunged for him, snapping warningly. Denton felt as if they were merely trying to scare him.

  Stupid wolves.

  They turned and raced off, leaving him dangling over the ravine even as the great winged creature circled overhead.

  * * *

  Beck arrived at the site where they’d shed their clothing and shifted, coming out of the ghost wolf with the agonizing twist at his spine and muscles that had accompanied the shift this past week. As if it wanted to cling to its werewolf shape and never release him.

  He landed on the ground on all fours and grabbed his jeans. Behind him, he sensed the faery change shape, coming to full size. A glance over his shoulder revealed Kelyn, fully clothed—how did he manage that?—standing with hands to his hips.

  “Don’t say anything,” Beck barked as he pulled up his jeans. A wave of dizziness wobbled him over the snowy surface.

  “What’s to say?” Kelyn offered with a chuff. “You...all right?”

  “Of course!”

  The brothers arrived as a pack and shifted up to were shape. Something dropped down from the treetops with a flap of wings. Without bothering to grab clothing, Trouble stalked up to Beck and slammed his hand beneath his jaw, shoving him against a birch tree. “What the hell?”

  Beck eyed the bl
eeding cuts slashed into his shoulder. From the ghost wolf.

  “Give him some room, Trouble,” the faery insisted. He kicked the snow and turned to retrieve his brother’s pants. He tossed them to Trouble. “Get dressed.”

  Trouble shoved Beck hard against the throat, but backed off, taking his brother’s offering and pacing away. His back was marred with three long slashes. He slapped his shoulder. “Damn, that hurt!”

  “You’re the ghost wolf?” Stryke said as he pulled a sweater over his head. “Why didn’t you say something, man? It would have been good to have some advance warning.”

  “I hadn’t meant to shift like that,” Beck defended. He stumbled on nothing more than the snow, but caught himself by balancing his arms out to his sides. He shook out his left foot until he felt the bones snap into place. Damn, that was just wrong. “It’s getting out of control. But it doesn’t matter right now. The hunter is on foot. We have to go after him.”

  “The hunter will keep,” Stryke said. “But you are another issue. Who did this to you?”

  “It’s faery magic,” Kelyn offered. The blond one drew his violet gaze across Beck’s face. “I can sense it.”

  When Beck made to argue, he was stopped with a challenging lift of Kelyn’s chin. If the faery could sense the origins of his ghost wolf, perhaps he could help him? No. He didn’t know where he stood with the brothers. And wherever that had been, his stance had just gotten worse.

  “Did Daisy do this for you?” Trouble asked, stomping back over as he pulled his fur vest on. “I didn’t think she could do stuff like that.”

  “Daisy did not—”

  “It takes great faery magic to accomplish something like the ghost wolf,” Kelyn said. “And you can’t control it?” The brother shook his head and wandered off to where Blade, the dark, silent one—how had he gotten dressed so quickly?—ventured toward the parked vehicles.

  “This is not good,” Stryke said. “The hunter has seen us shift.”

  “He already knew,” Kelyn called back.

  “What?” both Stryke and Trouble asked. They rushed to catch up to Kelyn and Blade.