Wolf Pack Chronicles Box Set

by Amelia Wilson

  They had taken Henna, one of his strategists. Who knows where she could be now, assuming she was even still alive. That was a dark thought for Ryland, but he had seen so much during his time as an alpha that he was sure nothing could surprise him.

  Except for, of course, for this lingering pain that sometimes pulsed through his limbs and fingers. Ever since the encounter with that shifter, the one with the crystal knife, Ryland hadn't felt quite the same. There was some seriously evil dwelling in that place and the shadow that had engulfed him had only confirmed Ryland's hunch. He clutched at his wrist, clenching his fingers into a tight fist. As he looked at his veins, he swore he could still see the shadow inside of him, traveling through his bloodstream in dark syrupy waves.

  "HARDER! Keep up that right hook, Trevor!" Ryland's voice boomed over the expansive training room of the Rogue's warehouse. His pack was currently one of the strongest in Center City and they were working their hardest to stay that way. The pack was split into pairs, men and women, and the wolves were taking turns sparring with one another. Some of them threw him cautious glances, and then carefully adjusted their fighting stances, to their alpha's amusement.

  Ryland stood at his usual post, on a walkway that hovered above the matted floor. He leaned over the railings, studying the way each member delivered powerful kicks, punches, and bites. The sight of their diligence made him proud, although something about it felt slightly tainted. He still couldn’t figure out how to shake that feeling, not even after being alpha for five years. No matter how hard he pushed the Rogues, they could have always been better.

  Any other alpha from any other corner of Center City would have said their pack was the strongest. But, if the Rogues came up in conversation, they quickly changed the subject. Ryland had run a tight ship for as long as anyone could remember. Hardly anyone would have the guts to bring up the time the pack had almost split up.

  Ryland massaged his temples in his calloused hands. He had a pounding headache—one that he thought would go away if he joined the rest of the pack on the training floor. They usually wrapped up though, whenever he had the time to get to the mat.

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” A voice startled Ryland from the nearby stairs. He caught his breath, relieved it was just his beta approaching. Why was he feeling so jumpy lately? Tristan, a lanky figure with neatly combed black hair and stylish black-framed glasses, was always dressed nicely for any occasion except a mission. He was also notorious for getting in the way, according to Ryland.

  “I can’t sleep,” Ryland grumbled. “Not until we can figure out whom those shifters belonged to.” He pointed down to the pack below, which had now moved on to sprints across the lengthy floor. “Why weren’t they out here, earlier?” He asked Tristan. “I practically had to drag them out of bed this morning.”

  “That’s because I had told them to take the weekend off,” Tristan said, casually adjusting his glasses.

  “Excuse me? Who gave you permission to do that?”

  “ Ryland—”

  The alpha raised a warning eyebrow at Tristan, who quickly corrected himself. “Sorry…Sir, but you were in bed for a few days. Besides, the pack was feeling a bit…battered from our altercation in that warehouse. I figured everyone could use some rest before we get our bearings on this…new situation.”

  Ryland could feel the hairs on his neck standing up. A strange rumbling took over his nerves, and for a second he wanted to lash his wolf jaws out at Tristan, sinking them right into his throat and tasting his blood.

  "Sir?" Tristan's voice interrupted the disturbing image. Ryland snapped out of it. He realized his hands were shaking as they clutched the railing. "I've noticed that since the attack that you've been increasingly irritable. More so than usual I would say."

  “I’m fine,” Ryland said, trying to get his thoughts in order.

  “You know, we sent the scouts back shortly afterwards,” Tristan said. “They examined that room, the symbol on the wall, and the blood on the floor.”

  “Was it Henna’s?”

  "Another shifter’s, sir. They found the body somewhere else in the warehouse. Looks like a Stalker to me. I've messaged their alpha to let them know."

  "Did they see anything else?" Ryland asked. "The other things I mentioned."

  "Ah. I've talked with both scouts and neither of them said anything about seeing any shadows, or a crystal dagger."

  Ryland sighed. He didn’t want to bring it up out of the fear of looking crazy, but the shadow had been haunting him ever since that night. He had tried looking into it himself, poring over some of the texts he’d picked up from other shifters in his family. He didn’t think of himself as superstitious, but whatever he swallowed in the warehouse wasn’t normal, and it was making him feel strange—violent even.

  He watched his pack growing tired from their sprints, and wondered if any of them would be attacked next. They still needed to find Henna. He had a feeling that one of the other packs might know about her disappearance.

  “Dinner’s on for everyone as usual,” he told Tristan. “After that, you and I need to meet. We need to start making some moves.”

  “Moves?”

  "We need to stay at the top of our game. Call for a faction meeting. We don't know who this pack is. They could be trying to interfere with our peace treaty and the last thing I need is a war on my hands."

  Tristan reached into the pocket of his blazer, and pulled out a pen and paper. “Should I call all four factions?” He asked.

  “Wait, what is that?” Ryland pointed at Tristan’s hands.

  “A pen and paper. More reliable than my phone.”

  “Geez…you really are like him sometimes,” Ryland shook his head.

  “I thought that’s why you chose me as your beta, sir.”

  Suddenly a slight groan caught Ryland’s attention and he realized he was clutching the railing so hard now that it was taking a new shape. He pulled his hands away, and both he and Tristan noticed the small indents that his fingers had left behind, forever embedded in the metal.

  Ryland stepped away, too embarrassed to meet Tristan's concerned gaze. He smoothed himself out, stopping at Tristan's shoulder on his way out. "I brought you into this place, Tristan, but I can also throw you back out," he threatened. "Don't forget that."

  “Somehow you always manage to remind me,” Tristan said calmly. But Ryland didn’t quite hear him. His head was heavy with a dull pain, followed by strange hushed tones, almost like whispers. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he was filled with the desire to hunt. To consume. To take life… was the one phrase that rung above the rest.

  3. THE SIGN

  Wednesdays were always the slowest, so Krista took it upon herself to close up for the day. She swept the rugged wooden floors of her shop, looking out at the rain dripping down her windows. Her place was in a quaint neighborhood just slightly out of the craziness of the city. She could see Central Towers in the distance though, which made for a lovely view at night.

  Krista pulled down the pictures of her mother and her from a shelf and dusted them off. It was odd to see herself smiling in the photographs. She loved her mother, but still held some resentment towards her.

  After all, her mother had pulled her out of high school and had made her finish out her teen years locked up in the shop poring over tarot cards and star maps. Krista had wanted to go to college, but her mother prioritized her training over everything else. Whenever Krista asked why, she'd only be met with the same answer: "You're meant for something else, just you wait."

  Krista had waited…and waited… until she turned twenty-seven, with no ‘something else’ in sight. It was shortly after then, that her mother had decided to hand over the shop and disappear from Krista’s life, without officially pronouncing her ready for the world. Krista thought she’d be more upset, but it was actually a relief to run the place her way, without someone breathing down her neck all of the time.

  She shrieked as something c
rawled across her hand. A cellar spider, long and spindly. She cupped it in her hand and placed it in the nearest corner. "You might have better luck finding lunch up there," she told it quietly.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure outside, buried in a black hoodie as they tried to get out of the rain. She followed it until she heard the door jiggle, followed by a muffled groan of annoyance. Who the hell? Krista thought as she made her way to the peephole. The figure shifted their weight back and forth. Contemplating whether they should knock.

  In any other circumstances, Krista would have pinned the guy as a burglar or something. But, as soon as he lifted his head, she could just see the hint of olive green under the figure's hood. She froze in her tracks. Certainly this was a coincidence. Anyone could have eyes like that. Still, she was curious and opened the door as far as the chain lock allowed her.

  “Hello,” she said, struggling to make eye contact. “We’re actually closed—”

  “I know, I saw the sign,” the man said. “But I’ve been trying every psychic around Central City. Everyone’s saying I should come to you.”

  His voice was smooth and deep. Krista hardly heard what he was saying to her and when he removed his hood, she could hardly stand. It was the exact same face, the one staring back at her from her dream.

  She closed the door, unlocked the chain at once, and let the man inside. Her mother had warned her about handsome men and the trouble they brought, but her mother was very far away and this was Krista’s shop after all. She couldn’t pass up on such an opportunity.

  "Uh, have a seat," she told him, and the man sat calmly at her round table, in her usual spot.

  Krista shifted her weight and made a face before clearing her throat.

  "What?" The man asked. "That's my seat," Krista said with polite firmness. "You said to take one."

  “And now I’m asking you not to take that one.”

  Visibly confused and slightly annoyed, the man got up and took the other seat. It seemed as though he’d never been told ‘no’ before. Krista got comfortable.

  “So, you are…?”

  "Ryland. Ryland Iker," The man stretched out a heavy hand. Krista could feel his callouses when she shook it and immediately pictured him doing some sort of hard labor. She nearly blushed at the thought. Her mind was already getting carried away at the sight of the handsome face, but then she remembered her visions and the awful futures they often foretold. Just before she let go, she felt a slight tingle spreading across her fingertips. A vision was creeping up on her, but she tried to distract herself to keep it at bay.

  “I’m Krista,” she said. “What brings you here today?”

  "I need to know…if you know anything about ancient curses?" Ryland said with all seriousness.

  “Curses? This is a joke right?” Krista asked, her cherry lips curling into a smile. She watched the man close his eyes, frustrated and strung out.

  “Forget it,” he said, about to get up from his chair. “I knew this was a stupid idea…”

  Krista wondered if he was just crazy, but if this was the same man from her dream, she didn’t want to lose him so quickly. Not before finding out if he was somehow connected to the mysterious shadow and the terrifying future the cards had told her about. “Wait,” she said. “Stay. The least I can do is to give you a palm reading before you head out.”

  “Will that help at all?” Ryland asked, skeptical.

  “It might, if it’s done by the best psychic in the city,” Krista said matter-of-factly. Ryland inched back into the creaky chair, looking around and waiting for something to happen. “Uh, first I need your palm,” Krista said trying not to laugh.

  Ryland seemed so uptight, and his muscular figure almost made his chair look too small for him. It was comical in a way. “What? Like I need to hold it out for you?” Ryland asked, clearly not wanting to look like a fool.

  “Obviously,” Krista said. “It’s a palm reading. Which hand is your dominant hand?”

  “My right.”

  “Can you spread it out for me please?” She watched Ryland with a careful eye. He seemed to stiffen slightly. “Can I use my other one?” He asked. “I’ve uh, injured my right hand.”

  “ I guess we can make it work,” Krista tried to smile, but when she looked at Ryland she had the feeling that he wasn’t the joking type. Still, he reached his left hand across the table, his palm open.

  As she stared into the crevices and valleys of his hand, the first image that popped into Krista’s head was the tower card, fire wavering from its windows. Two people falling to their doom. She took Ryland’s hand in hers with caution, feeling a faint jump in her chest when she touched him.

  "Now, let me just take a look—" Krista leaned forward to study him. Ryland leant back casually in his seat and looked out the window as if he were waiting for a doctor to remove a splinter and not for someone to determine his fate. Krista pressed her thumb against an empty space where Ryland's heart-line should have been. As soon as she did, she felt a sharp stinging in her forehead. With incredible force, she clasped Ryland's fingers in her own, holding tightly to him while her mind soared off into another place, past all time and space until she was staring into a black void. She couldn't hear Ryland trying to bring her back to reality, only a cacophony of roars and howls. Her entire body felt heavy as if she were a weight being hurled through the nothingness.

  Then, in rapid flashes, she saw dozens of images pass through her mind, like cards being shuffled. There was Ryland, crouched on the floor in agony. He seemed to rip out of his skin as he transformed into a howling wolf. The wolf then stretched out as if made of liquid, twisting and curling into a horrific shape, until it resembled the same shadow Krista had seen in her dream. The shadow grew larger and larger, and a row of white teeth emerged from it. With a single breath, a massive wave of fire billowed from the shadow's mouth. Then, it began to laugh, a gravely disturbing sound that chilled Krista to the bone. It seemed to have noticed her, and in an instant, it spread open its grotesque jaws and swallowed her right up.

  Krista didn’t even know she was on the floor. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Ryland, hovering above her. “Are you alright?” He asked, his eyebrows tightly knitted.

  Krista sat up, clutching her head. It was the strongest vision she had ever experienced. She noticed Ryland’s hand was clutching her arm. In a panic, she tore away from him. Who was this man? Judging by her vision, Krista wanted to assume he was a monster. So many thoughts buzzed in her mind. “Did you see something?” Ryland asked.

  "I think you should go," Krista said firmly. Ryland had some kind of secret—one that she thought it was best never to know. Who cares if he was the same man from her dream? There was obviously some strange darkness connected to him that she absolutely did not want to be mixed up in. "Can you please just give me another chance?" Ryland tried to protest. Krista was already rushing him out the door. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience," she said. "But I'm suddenly feeling...uh, very sick."

  "Did you see something bad?" Ryland could barely finish his question before Krista shut and locked the door immediately behind her. She realized she was sweating, and her heart was still pounding like a hammer in her chest. She could hear him mumbling under his breath as he walked back up the street.

  She couldn’t sleep at all that night for fear that she would see something else. Her encounter with Ryland had only made her worry that she’d have another horrific vision. By the time she’d finished her third beer, she was starting to feel her psyche settle down. It was one of the more effective ways of keeping the visions at bay. As she drank, she perused her mother’s library, hoping to find something on ancient curses.

  She felt bad—regretful for kicking Ryland out of her shop. She was always so eager to use her abilities for others, but for some reason she just couldn't bring herself to help him. Maybe she was afraid, not just because of the vision, but because perhaps this vision had something to do with her own reading. Wo
uld this strange evil have something to do with her future? Perhaps it was that damned tower card she had seen?

  Krista gave up on the books and looked out of the window of her studio. Whatever evil was out there, she didn’t want any part of it.

  4. NEGOTIATIONS

  Ryland sat on the edge of his bed, unraveling a strand of gauze from around his wrist. His right hand had been killing him over the past few days, aching and burning. As he removed the bandage, he was horrified to see a dark ominous splotch under the skin of his wrist. There was a black lump that hurt to touch. It was spreading, whatever it was. Dark tendrils wove around his veins, pulsing in strange patterns up his arm. He had been wearing long sleeves to hide it from the rest of his pack, but couldn't do anything to mask the searing pain he felt each day.

  What the hell was wrong with that fortune teller, kicking him out when he didn't have anyone else to turn to? Angry thoughts swirled in his head—something he noticed was becoming quite common. However, he also remembered how she had looked when she touched his hand. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and she had convulsed violently in front of him. Ryland had thought she was embarrassed or something, which is why she had kicked him out. She seemed different after she awoke. She looked at him so strangely, as if she was terrified of him.

  Ryland wrapped a fresh bandage around the shadowy wound. Who wouldn’t be scared of something like this? That Krista girl must have seen something unexplainable, which led Ryland to believe that maybe she could be what he was searching for, though her kind hadn’t been sought out in centuries.

  His door creaked open and Tristan stepped inside. "They're waiting for you," he said calmly and he opened the door wider for Ryland. Ryland finished wrapping his wrist just in time, pulling his sleeve down before Tristan could see. He still hadn't told anyone, even though he knew he should. He was worried about what they'd think. He had been having increasingly violent thoughts lately and didn't want anyone to think less of him, if they found out.