Seasons of Wither (The Great North Woods Pack Book 3) Read online

  Suddenly there was movement that caught Joseph’s eye. An ear-piercing scream issued from the open doorway; pistol shots rang out. A young woman stood against the storm in a whirlwind of blowing hair and fluttering bed clothes. The flash of the shots she fired showed her face, pale and distorted by horror.

  Abel was the wolf in an instant. The Grand Master fell from his grip into the snow. The black wolf lunged up the stairs at the young woman in the doorway. One round struck him on the way—then another; the rest ripped off into the night. When the revolver clicked empty, Abel gathered his strength against the pain and drove hard for her throat.

  As he bore down upon her—as she fell back feeling his hot breath on her bare neck—the white wolf struck his flank, deflecting his attack, sparing her life. Behind them, the pack surrounded the snowy stairway and the bishop, now cowering in the snow.

  “Kill him!” the white wolf roared, and right away the pack’s long-awaited dismantling of the Grand Master began. He could barely scream from the first bites before his body was in ribbons, his life brutally extinguished.

  “Use your senses,” Abel said to his brother. “There is a child beyond these walls. His child. The love of it gives her courage!”

  “No,” the white wolf said, glancing at the terrified woman now huddled against a wall. “I will stoop no lower this night. We have severed the serpent’s head. We—”

  “The serpent may grow a new head!”

  “Let it be. We will deal with him only when necessary.”

  In the distance a horse whinnied in fright—a sound perceptible only to the keen ears of the wolves. Sensing the pack as its oblivious rider drove it toward the place the gunfire had sounded from, the horse wisely resisted stubbornly.

  “Our time is up,” Joseph said.

  “So it is,” Abel said, his flaming eyes full of hate passing over the cringing woman still clutching her gun. “At least for this night.”

  ***

  Adeline could almost feel the rumbling conversation of the beasts so close to her. Then suddenly it stopped. Looking up through her blowing hair, she saw the face of the green-eyed man move close to her. A terribly strong hand clamped down on her arm; the other covered her mouth, muffling her scream.

  “Take your child far from this place,” he warned deeply. “Never return. Your lives depend on it.”

  A moment later she felt her arm released. She gasped for air, pushing her hair back from her face, and saw again a white wolf in place of the man. The others were now gone from sight, the swirling storm quickly obscuring their tracks. The white wolf had leapt from the porch and now stood brooding over the scattered remains of her husband. Then he lifted his head and stared back at her with sharp green eyes, the power of which seemed to cut straight through to her heart.

  She averted her eyes from his while the memory of his warning replayed over in her head. If he intended to kill her, she realized, she would already be dead.

  As her courage slowly returned to her, she raised her eyes once more. All that could be seen was the wavy movement of his great white form becoming one with the blowing snow.

  ~1~

  Leaning against the counter of The Kitchen, Evie tapped her finger nails against the glass coffee pot. The small sound was a welcome distraction from the noise around her. There was barely a free seat in the restaurant. Dozens of voices were chattering at once. Spoons swirled within coffee mugs, and forks scraped across plates. All of it together combined to form a terrible noise in her overactive ears.

  In one booth a middle-aged man was arguing with his wife regarding the amount of the tip. In another an older couple spoke quietly of their excitement upon reaching retirement age. In another a small girl was being scolded for playing with her food. In yet another, two men appearing to be hunters—probably bear hunters, given the time of year—were having a lengthy discussion about Evie’s “skunk-striped” red hair. And that was the nicest of their observations and comments.

  Keep it up, perverts, Evie thought. She tapped firmer on the coffee pot to try and drown out their whispered commentary. Enjoy it while you can. Your camp site just might get a little visit tonight.

  She’d been fairly warned about working at the diner: it wasn’t as easy as it appeared. But after spending a few days in the house with her grandparents and nothing but home school assignments to keep her occupied, she was willing to try anything.

  On the surface life had returned to normal in Ludlow. Every member of the pack had a role to play, a daily job or set of chores to keep things running smoothly. These daily routines were both crucial and beneficial for one and all—but most crucial for the young wolves. Evie understood this well within the first few days of her strange new life. Without routines, the restlessness of the animal living within her would quickly become difficult to suppress. Control would then be compromised, and from there on, complications would compound. Perfect control—not just around home and family but around strangers, noise, and unpredictable circumstances—was the main goal for all of the young to achieve.

  But then there were the nights. Under the cover of darkness the animal was set free from its clumsy daily cage to run and roam. In those magical hours beneath the stars, when most of the world slept, the concerns of the days seemed to fade to almost nothing. Amid the clarity of the cool night air and the rushing, unrestrained energy, life felt as it should be. Though it had been only weeks, mere weeks, in that sparse time Evie had grown to love those midnight hours more deeply than anything before. Running was no longer a sport, something she did for herself, or even a management tool for stress. It felt as necessary to daily existence as oxygen.

  In many ways, it was.

  Although the elders had also returned to their own daily routines, there was an unspoken but obvious burden they all carried. Yet even they were less tense during the nights.

  Secrets were always kept within the tight circle of the elders, but words were not always necessary for those outside of that circle to understand. In mood, in tone—even with the most subtle of nuances—nothing of any significance could be kept entirely secret from each and every member of the great family—the pack. The connections were too deep, their senses too intricate to be misled.

  Of all the pack, none was so heavy of mood than her grandfather, and nothing troubled Evie more. At times he appeared angry or sad—like it was difficult to smile. Most often he seemed distracted, weighed down by some nagging thought that he did his best to brush off when questioned.

  That was another thing. To ask openly was something that Evie quickly learned not to do. If anything, it only created more tension. So she had stopped asking and simply given him more space. To pain the man she adored more than any other in the world was ultimately to pain herself.

  And her grandmother wasn’t far behind her husband. By all accounts, Evelyn had never needed as much time as the wolf. But as days passed Evie noticed her demeanor shifting. She went out more often at night—with the elders, not the young. By day her anxiety level was undeniable, her patience thin. Being around her for any length of time was becoming increasingly difficult.

  Perhaps, Evie hoped, things would get easier once her mother and aunt returned from down south. She didn’t completely believe that, but she used it as a milestone. In the meantime, to get out of the house she began filling in at the diner. With Emmy’s tragic death followed by Erica’s abrupt departure, the businesses were short of help. What else could she do but step up?

  “Easy now,” a voice said from just in front of her at the counter. It was a kind voice—one Evie had grown to adore and look forward to hearing each day. “Those eyes will give you away,” he warned with a hint of humor in is tone.

  Evie stopped tapping on the coffee pot. Letting her thoughts go, she focused her attention on old Ed. “Watching out for me as always,” she said.

  “You bet,” he nodded. He leaned closer, as if preparing to share a great secret. “Did you know that a dog’s eye can perceive much more detail p
er second than a human’s eye?”

  “I know you didn’t just compare me to a dog, Ed.” Evie teased.

  “Of course not,” he said. “My point is, if a dog’s eye is that sharp, how sharp are yours?”

  “You have way too much time on your hands,” she said. She lifted the coffee pot.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ed stammered. “Lucy says I ought to lay off it a bit. If I keep coming home all jittery and wound up, she’ll be on my case all afternoon.”

  “Lucy will be just fine,” Evie replied. She reached for the decaf pot and filled Ed’s cup. “You know there’s plenty more blueberry pie.”

  “No, no, I can’t,” he said. Unlike his comment about the coffee, his expression regarding the pie was serious—almost green. “I’ll turn into a dang blueberry if I have one more bite.”

  Setting down the decaf pot, Evie reached and lifted the oldest, now burnt pot from the back burner. Her eyes moved from Ed to his new buddy sitting by his side at the counter—Lars Olsen. She didn’t approve of his presence in the first place; she certainly didn’t approve of him making friends with her Ed.

  “Thank you,” Lars said with a wave of his hand while admiring the pot’s murky contents. “I’m all set.”

  Without acknowledging him further Evie stepped away and out from behind the counter. Coffee pot in hand, she made straight for the two hunters that were still discussing various aspects of her appearance and anatomy.

  “Skunky Brewster is looking at us,” one said.

  “You don’t think she can hear us?”

  “No way. We’re barely whispering.”

  “Shut up, here she comes. Talk about your new Timberlands.”

  “You know I really do love these boots. That’s no lie. Best I’ve ever owned.”

  Through a big fake smile Evie said, “Can I offer you boys a warm up?”

  The two men—probably in their late twenties or early thirties—nodded and mumbled as Evie topped off the cups with the sludgy old brew, complete with a few grounds from the bottom of the pot. She noticed them noticing the sad state of the coffee, and slowly her fake smile became absolutely genuine.

  “How’re those burgers coming along?” one of them asked.

  “They should be out any minute.”

  “Great. We’re starved.”

  “We didn’t have much of a breakfast,” the other said.

  “Why not?” Evie asked, as if she really cared.

  “Let’s just say we’re not the greatest camp cooks,” the first one said.

  “We hear that a lot here,” Evie said. “Are you camped out in the area or just passing through?”

  “We’re just a little north of town. We found us a nice little spot over by the river. We’re hoping to get a bear coming in for all those blackberries along the riverbank.”

  “Let me tell you one thing about bears,” Evie said, standing back from the table with a hand on her hip. “For their size, you’ll be surprised how quiet they can be. One minute you’ll think everything is normal and nothing is around. The next minute you’ll be face-to-face with one of those hungry guys. But, I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s very rare for a black bear to actually attack someone.”

  “You don’t hunt, do you?” one of them asked. He was the larger and older of the two.

  “Not bears,” Evie said as she turned away. “They’re too easy, too slow. But I have been known to go after a bull moose … when the mood strikes me right.”

  Before they could ask about her accent or if she was serious, she zipped off to the kitchen.

  ***

  Amy Ottway blinked and squinted. Something had jolted her from her nap—something like a squeal or a laugh with an awfully high pitch. With consciousness came the realization that her face was mashed against the cool passenger side window; her seatbelt was nearly strangling her. As she blinked against the glare of midday sun, pushing her hair back from her face, she could just make out the blurry shape of a roadside sign against a backdrop of passing trees.

  Or so she hoped that was what she was seeing.

  Under normal circumstances Amy’s vision was far from stellar, but as exhausted as she was now, after the myriad of problems within the past few days—not least of which was her debacle with her contacts and the resulting swelling of her eyes—it was becoming difficult to trust any of her senses. In short, she was beginning to lose all hope. Never mind finding the tiny town of Ludlow and her missing friend. At that point she was simply hoping to escape rural New England in one piece.

  “Did you see it?” Jessie Trent asked from the driver’s seat. “Did you?”

  “Was it a sign?” Amy mumbled.

  “It sure was. And do you know what that sign said?”

  “Please don’t play with me,” Amy groaned, rubbing her eyes and then struggling to focus as she glanced over at her blurry friend. “I can’t take anymore disappointment.”

  “Well, I guess someone woke up on the wrong side of the car,” Jessie declared. “You’ve slept twice as much as me. How is it that you’re so crabby?”

  “I can’t see a thing,” Amy snapped. “My whole body aches from sleeping in this car. My eyes are on fire. I’m starving and I want nothing more than for this nightmare to be over. Just tell me what the stupid sign said.”

  “It said, to put it simply, that you’re damn lucky to have me looking out for you.”

  “Ludlow, Jessie! Did it say Ludlow?”

  “Uh-huh,” Amy squeaked. “We’re there. We’re finally there!”

  Amy sat up straight in her seat, suddenly energized, and began looking all around at the bright colors on either side of the road. Without her contacts, all she could see was a blur of those colors. “You mean it?”

  “I promise.”

  “How many miles?”

  “Four,” Jessie said, but as she spoke her smile quickly faded and her tone dropped significantly. “But while we’re on the subject, I might as well tell you the bad news.”

  “Bad news,” Amy repeated under her breath. No.

  “It’s not that bad. It’s just a teeny, tiny problem. That’s all.”

  “What is it?” Amy said, rubbing her eyes and trying in vain to get them to focus. “All I can see is a bunch of trees. How can there be a town anywhere near here? And what is that smell?”

  “Don’t get all huffy,” Jessie replied. “It has to be here somewhere; they don’t put up signs just for the fun of it. And the smell … Well, that would be your wonderful car.”

  “My car? What about it? What’s wrong?”

  “Beats me,” Jessie said with a casual shrug. “It could be anything with this junk heap. All I know is there’s been steam or smoke or something coming from the front for a few hours now.” Under her breath she muttered, “It’s annoying the life out of me, to be perfectly honest.”

  “What?” Amy shouted.

  “Don’t yell at me,” Jessie said. “It’s your crappy car.”

  Amy sat rigidly, trying to counteract the dizzying sensation of her insides freefalling within her. Her heart began to flutter, and the early signs of an asthma attack began to set in. “The gauges, Jessie,” she said carefully. “What do the gauges say?”

  “Nothing! They say nothing.”

  “It’s not The Starship Enterprise!”

  “The who? All I see is some funny light flashing now and then, but that doesn’t help me much.”

  “That’s the engine light, you space case! You can’t just keep driving it if it’s smoking!”

  “Excuse me,” Jessie said. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a mechanical genius. Perfect student, maybe, but—”

  “Perfect attendance, too, until this nightmare of a trip.”

  “Well,” Jessie exclaimed. “Maybe I’ll just pull right over here and let you show me how it’s done.”

  Amy said nothing to that. Her mouth hung open as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Oh, wait,” Jessie continued. “That’s right … you can’
t even see, can you, Velma?”

  “Okay,” Amy muttered. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

  “And why is it that you can’t see? Hmm? Whose fault is that?”

  “That’s enough,” Amy said. “I know I shouldn’t have forgotten my contacts. And please don’t call me Velma.”

  “All that after you blamed me for sleeping too long, rushing me like you did.”

  “You told me you’d handle the alarm clock.”

  “I meant my phone alarm. Do you think I’m touching some nasty motel alarm clock? Not on your life. It’s a wonder I slept at all on that awful motel bed.” She shivered. “I just hope I didn’t catch bed bugs or fleas or something awful.”

  “All right,” Amy said. “Just stop. There’s no point in fighting.”

  “Well I’ve been saying that for days, girl. You ain’t been hearin’ me.”

  “Relax,” Amy said aloud, but the thought was directed only to herself. “We need to think. Just think. How far back was the sign?”

  Jessie shrugged. “Half a mile. Maybe a whole mile by now. Who knows?”

  “All right,” Amy said slowly. “Everything is all right. Whatever’s wrong with the car, I guess the damage is already done. If we’re this close to Ludlow—if you’re absolutely positive the sign said Ludlow—I say we keep going and pray the engine doesn’t explode. Maybe one of Evie’s relatives can help us fix it.”

  “If she’s there at all,” Jessie said.

  “Don’t say that,” Amy warned.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think while you were snoozing. How do we know her mama didn’t flip out and do something awful with her? You saw the state of that house. You saw her room. Something bad went down there. And Miss Janie was sure trying her best to throw us off the trail.”

  “Stop,” Amy said. “No more negative thoughts; we can’t afford any more bad luck. Just drive and hope for the best.”

  Jessie laughed. “That’s what I was doing before you woke up and bit my head off. Geeze, I swear, you might as well just go back to sleep. I’m the one that got us here in one piece. You’re dragging me down like there’s no tomorrow.”