by SJ Himes
Wolf of the Northern Star
Book Two of The Wolfkin Saga
By
SJ Himes
Wolf of the Northern Star
The Wolfkin Saga Book Two
Copyright © 2017 by SJ Himes
All rights reserved.
Edited by: Miranda Vescio
Cover design by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover By Design
http://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk
The Wolfkin Saga emblem designed
by Kellie Dennis, property of SJ Himes.
Layout & Design by: KMD Web Designs
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
If you are reading a pirated version or a copy of this book (physical form and ebook formats) that you did not purchase yourself, or was not gifted/loaned to you through allowable and legal means, then please keep in mind that you have effectively stolen this book. That means you have taken money directly from the author, making it harder for the author to continue to write.
Please purchase your own copy, and remember to review.
SJ Himes
www.sjhimes.com
DEDICATION
To my friends, near and far. I miss you.
For Mom. She waited the longest.
This book is also dedicated to everyone looking for a place to belong.
May you find the home of which you dream.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Same warning for this book as I gave for the first:
Contains violence, gore, abuse, flashbacks of rape and dubious consent, and a lot of testosterone and angst.
Men having sex with men, and graphic descriptions of sexual situations.
Common sense.
The most basic of ideas: If this book is too much for you, DO NOT read it.
With that in mind, how about I wish everyone happy reading? Shifters, magic, star-crossed lovers, revelations and secrets abound.
Enjoy Ghost and Kane, and the second part of their tale.
*Any dialogue that appears between two asterisks is telepathic speech.*
Prologue
A Memory
“There is a legend, my cubs, that is older than the wolfkin. At the dawn of mankind, before men learned to build walls with mud and straw, before the first metals were scorched into shape, there was a Power amongst us all. This Power existed within all creation, from the lowliest blade of grass to the mightiest mammoth.
This Power was an entity, what the world would come to call a deity. Before the word goddess was even conceived, She roamed the forests and steppes of the far north, Life and Death walking at her heels, the most devoted of companions. Fierce and deadly as the high winter blizzards and immovable as the glaciers that choked the mountain ranges, She encompassed all that mankind sought to survive.
She watched as humans learned to stand tall, to cover their frail selves with the pelts of their prey, as they conquered fire and chipped away at the ice and snow that covered the world. Always hidden, always observing, she was charmed by the tenacity of this intrepid species. They grew in numbers, and spread across the land.
She followed a collection of tribes over time, a group of three clans combined under the leadership of Red Fang Clan. They ignored the warnings of their kin, trekking north, the brightest star in the fiery heavens their guide and new, fertile hunting grounds their hope. The tribe journeyed further than they had intended, to a place unfit for mankind, for even with their fire and stone-shard tipped spears, it was too much for their thin furless skin, blunt nails and teeth. Yet temptation was too great for these hunters, for in the far north, roamed the mighty mammoths, capable of feeding dozens of people from one kill.
And in the north, were the beasts who hunted the mammoths.
Dire wolves, pack hunters that flowed over the steppes in waves of single-minded, predatory determination, relished the incursion into their hunting lands. For these wolves did not see mankind as predators, but as prey. Humans were small and weak, their senses dull, their fires and stone spears easy to avoid. The clans, besieged by these great hunters, fell in ever increasing numbers, until grief affected every family and the clans were left on the edge of ruin.
A wise man, heavy with the weight of scars and long years, walked one night out into the steppes with hunters from each of the clans. He was the canniest and most experienced hunter of Red Fang, and he walked with the men who would one day lead Red Claw and Bright Moon clans. Three men in total, convinced they had no other option but sacrifice. They went with weary steps, their blood and flesh chilled by the deep winter; they were to die. They were a sacrifice to the Wandering One, the One Who Walked the Trails, the Woman. Only glimpses of this Power had been caught by humans over time, yet they knew, as surely as the sun melted ice and that winter meant Death, that She was out there, and watching.
They went to the steppes alone, expecting to die in a last helpless plea to the Power.
She Who Was watched, curious. Never had humans appealed to Her directly, and that this young species would even be aware of Her in such a manner drew Her near, her curiosity roused.
‘Great Mother,’ the Red Fang hunter cried into the cold winds, ‘spare our kin. The last of our people. Take our flesh, drink our blood, and give our children the strength to survive.’
She came to them, cloaked in starlight and a coat of mist-gray fur. She took the form of those who hunted the humans, and they fell back, certain they were to die. As vast as the sky, tall as the glaciers that swallowed the mountains, Her breath the icy winds that scoured the earth, She eclipsed the night.
‘You would die for your people?’ She asked them, Her words shaking the ground beneath their feet as the men shook with terror. The oldest hunter met the eyes of the celestial wolf, eyes that blazed brighter than the steadfast star overhead in the night sky.
‘Yes,’ the Red Fang hunter replied, baring his neck, falling to his knees, his companions following. ‘For our children, our mates, we would die. Take our flesh, and spare them. Give them the strength to survive.’
Such bravery was a new concept to Her. She could see fear in the old hunter’s heart, but it did not stifle his desire to see his people safe. Selfless and brave, devoted to one another and willing to die for each other, the humans were far more than even She had seen.
It was then, in that moment, my little wolves, that the wolfkin were born. Stirred by the novel idea of sacrifice, She gave to the men instead of taking their lives. In their hearts She saw their greatest fear, and gave it form and flesh.
Pelts and spears became fur coats and fangs; limbs trembling from the arctic chill grew sturdy and sure; claws gripped the frozen tundra and muzzles lifted to the sky, songs spilling from thickly muscled throats. She poured Her will into the men and they became more—they became our forebears, the First Wolves.
The First Wolf, the greatest hunter of Red Fang, grew strong again in body, his spirit matched in flesh. He walked at Her side, listening to Her words on the wind, the songs She sang among the stars and forests. Her words, Her will, his duty and honor to obey. He sought Her guidanc
e, and our people flourished.
The early years of our people are shrouded in mystery and ancient legend—but one thing is certain. Our Great Mother, our Goddess—she walked with us, as one of us, guiding our path and teaching us the ways of our new forms. Her First Wolf lay the foundation for our society. And in those ancient days, the First Wolf became known as the Wolf of the Northern Star. She was a constant, as faithful and static as the unmoving star in the infinite sky. He followed Her as he had once led his people north looking for life and hope.
Wolf of the Northern Star was an honor given to the wolf who walked at Her side, to denote his place, that his words were Hers. As eons passed, and the First Wolf left this mortal coil and his spirit ran free among the stars, his true name long forgotten, the title was eventually returned to the Great Mother, our Goddess. As surely as the northern star burns in the sky above us even now, our Goddess is with us.
She is both the Star that led us to our birth as a people, and the Wolf who guides the clans.”
—From the teachings of Shaman Gray Shadow
PART ONE
The Young Wolf
He woke quickly, heart thumping, a shout dying in his throat. The room was dark, curtains deepening the already murky shadows that crawled across the bed. He rolled to his feet, the sheets falling away. He shivered, sweat chilling his skin.
The house was quiet. He didn’t know why he was awake, or what woke him. A nightmare, perhaps. He recalled a darkness, a deep moonless night, and a whisper in the shadows. Eyes glowing from the dark, and a harsh whisper woke him, the words indistinct but the urgency enough to make him wake, terrified.
The house had been empty since his father disappeared one day, not coming back from work. A few days missing, and nothing. His repeated calls to the labs where his father worked went unanswered, and eventually, the phone calls stopped going through at all. The police came up empty handed. Since he was eighteen, there was nothing they could do for him. He didn’t have access to his dad’s accounts, the car was gone, and his after-school job was in downtown Augusta. While taking the bus was an option, there was no route nearby where he lived in the suburbs. He couldn’t handle the cold very well; he wouldn’t survive getting sick if he walked to the nearest bus stop. If the police didn’t find his father soon, he didn’t know what he was going to do.
He walked out of his room, flicking on the hall light on his way to the bathroom. He paused at a framed paper on the wall.
Dr. Mitchell Harmon graduated with honors with several degrees in genetics and biology, and had a medical degree from some big-name school in Boston. The diplomas lined the wall. There were no family portraits, no smiling faces and cheesy birthday photos. From the sparsity of personal touches, even he had trouble believing anyone lived in this house at all.
He continued down the hall, doing his best to ignore the quiet and solitude. Even if he called Mitchell Harmon his father, he was not all that close to the man who adopted him when he was a toddler, but the emptiness was enough to make him miss the remote and sometimes callous man. He was ill, had been all his life, and having a doctor for an adoptive father was probably why he was still alive. Dr. Harmon was infinitely better than the cold and insidious man he worked for. Just thinking about Simon Remus was enough to make him walk faster.
He reached the bathroom and took care of his needs, washing his hands and then flicking off the light. He paused, thinking he heard something. A thin sound, a whisper of wind? He stepped out into the hall, and took a few steps towards the front door. There it was again, something, a rustle. The wind, it had to be, otherwise there was someone whispering to him through the door.
The door slammed inwards, bright light flared in his eyes, and he screamed, covering his face. Shouts and thuds from many feet assaulted the quiet as he was knocked off his feet. Rough, gloved hands twisted his arms behind his back, and plastic ties went around his wrists. He tried screaming, but a fist knocked into the side of his head, stunning him.
The warehouse echoed with a ragged scream that escaped from the steel crate when it was jostled, the large metal box raking along the inside of the moving van. The cry was shrill and piercing, and made Simon’s head hurt. This was the last van, several others carrying out the rest of the specimens earlier in the night.
Simon winced, wishing the sedative could be stronger to silence the occupant, but a higher concentration would leave the specimen comatose, not to mention the silver poisoning degrading blood samples. Simon moved away, watching as the warehouse was systematically emptied, his soldiers removing all traces of the experiments and test subjects. The scientists and doctors were already moved to the new secret location, and he would start over. With Dr. Harmon now an unwilling guest of the werewolves, he had no doubt Harmon would spill the truth about the locations of his labs. And Roman McLennan was by no means a loyal beast.
His heart raced thinking about the monster that, for the last twenty years, had conspired with the Remus family to exploit the werewolves’ abilities. The last time he saw Roman was when the beast was fresh from forcing himself on Simon, leaving him naked, bloody, and fueled by rage and shame.
And lust.
His body thrummed, the bite mark on his neck sore and throbbing, and Simon remembered the weight of the werewolf on top of him, spreading his legs wide, fucking him like his bitch, making Simon whine and whimper for mercy…and for more. His body wanted Roman, ached for him, despite the humiliation and damage to his physical self. His mind was left in shambles.
Every night he dreamed of that beast. Heard him whispering in his ear, his malicious laugh and savage growls, felt his hard body holding him down. He woke hard and leaking, and it took only a few strokes before he blew, shuddering in a climax unlike anything he’d ever felt.
“Mr. Remus?” Simon turned to the head of security, the man was in tactical gear and carrying a weapon across his chest. Simon banished the visions of Roman’s body and the blood smeared sheets, focusing on the guard. “Sir, the specimens have been evacuated. The remaining werewolves loyal to McLennan have been sent forward to the new site. The compound is scrubbed.”
“How many of Roman’s wolves returned?” Simon asked, eyeing the shadows warily. He had never been on the best of terms with the rough and vile creatures that Roman combed from the clans over the years, and without Roman around to keep the survivors in check, he had no trust in them at all.
“Three came back from the aborted mission in Baxter, sir,” the security chief replied, hands tightening around his weapon. Simon wasn’t the only one who distrusted the werewolves. “I don’t think they’re going to be much use, scraggly, whipped runts that they are.”
“If they give you any trouble, shoot them,” Simon ordered.
“Understood, sir.”
Simon forgot what he wanted to say next, an image of Roman pushing into his thoughts, distracting him, making his heart race.
“Bring my car around, after I’ve left, do one last sweep,” Simon said, voice hoarse and words short of breath. He coughed, then spoke louder. “Once the premises are clear, detonate the charges.”
“Yes, sir.” The other man nodded, and Simon snorted, practically seeing the man’s desire to salute him. Military men had habits of a lifetime drilled into them, adjusting to civilian trappings was difficult, even for men with dishonorable discharges…which is why so many of them took the chance to work for him.
The soldier left, Simon walked out of the building, heading for his limo as it pulled up in front of him. Another soldier got out and held the door for him, and he slid in the back.
Simon sent a glance at the huddled figure on the far rear-facing seat, covered in thick wool blankets and silver chains. Not even a rattle to distinguish if the creature was even alive, but Simon wasn’t worried. Dr. Harmon’s one pathetic success was still unconscious. Simon smirked. The silver chains were unnecessary, but his guards insisted.
&n
bsp; “Take me to the new site,” Simon ordered as the limo pulled away.
His experiments would continue. He would fulfill his government contracts, harness the power of alpha and shaman, and mankind would finally have the weapons needed to eradicate the werewolf abomination from their world. Part of the puzzle lay quietly a few feet away, and one day he would learn how to unlock the secrets of the wolfkin.
The company his brother started, and Simon took over, would eventually be able to name its price in all endeavors. And no one would tell him no.
Snow fell, the quiet streets of Augusta empty at this hour. Tomorrow the news would report a gas leak and the explosion of an empty warehouse in the industrial district with zero casualties.
Pain woke him. That and the cold, damp floor under his cheek. He tried moving his arms, they stung as if he’d lost circulation. He groaned when he pushed them under his chest, sitting upright slowly. He blinked, and sat back against cold metal bars that glimmered in the low light.
Metal shackles clinked from each wrist. A metal chain connected his wrists, the links a smooth, heavy metal that shined like the bars.
He was in a cage. A cage, and he was naked and wearing chains. His heart pounded, cold sweat clammy across his body, terror filling every shallow breath.
“Don’t get worked up, human.” A whisper from his left. He turned his head, and there was another cage. A shadow hunkered down in the dark, he thought he saw the glow from a pair of eyes that flickered. “You cannot withstand the cold as we can. Save your energy for staying warm.”
“What…what’s going on? Why…” He gasped, a whole-body shudder rolling through him. He grabbed the bars next to him, holding on.
“I can’t tell you why,” the shadow growled. “Far as I can tell, you’re human. You don’t smell like wolfkin. The bars and chains are silver, and they aren’t burning your skin. What Remus wants with a human, and measly, scrawny, sick one at that, is anyone’s guess. Did you piss the monster off?”
