by Ranae Rose
“We’re deep in the forest now,” Gus said to the camera. “It’s dark – so dark you can almost feel it, like a physical presence. It’s no wonder the shadow wolves have gone undetected for so long in this wilderness. You get the feeling that anything could happen out here, and no one would ever know. Serena, break out the audio equipment.”
Serena fumbled with some sort of speaker, and Gus helped her set it up.
“Wolves howl for many reasons,” Gus said. “Sometimes, when a wolf is lonely or becomes separated from its pack, it will howl to get in contact with others. It can be a gamble, though – sometimes the sound of a lone wolf howling attracts other, hostile wolves who consider the stranger a competitor for prey and territory. So we’re going to broadcast a recording of a lonesome howl throughout these woods and see what the shadow wolves think of a strange animal encroaching on their turf. With any luck, it’ll draw them right to us.”
The group fell into a dead silence – for once – and Serena hit a button.
The little speaker they’d brought along was surprisingly powerful. The sound of a single, long howl echoed among the trees, radiating through the darkness. The woods fell silent, the ever-present sounds of scurrying rodents and other nocturnal creatures stopping as the animals froze in their tracks.
They let it play for a good minute, filling the mountains with the noise of one lonely animal. And then they stopped the recording, surrendering the night to the silence they’d brought on.
Gus whispered something about waiting to the camera, and Michael listened too, despite himself. Unidentified canines had definitely been in the area the night before – had they heard the howl?
Daniel breathed another long wolf’s sigh, and his breath formed a cloud that puffed out into the night air and drifted away. Maybe he was eager to get back to his mate, just like Michael was.
Well, maybe not just like Michael was. Michael had a hell of a lot of catching up to do with Kimberly, and his mouth watered at the thought. He was picturing her naked and in his arms when a howl shattered the silence, making the hair on the ruff of his neck stand straight up.
The sound hadn’t come from the film crew’s speaker – no, it had come from the southeast, from somewhere maybe a mile away. The howl stretched then faded into a loaded silence that not even the smallest forest creature dared to break.
Michael drew in deep drafts of night air, screening it for any olfactory clue as to what was going on. Had he been wrong about the animal tracks left by Braden Spencer’s body – were there real wolves in the Smokies after all? God knew he’d spent enough time in the mountains to know what coyotes sounded like, and that had been more robust than a coyote’s howl. Doubtlessly, there were coyotes somewhere nearby, but they didn’t dare respond.
Maybe red wolves had wandered up from the Carolina Smokies after all. Enormous ones.
“Listen.” In his human form, Jack spoke in a low tone that went unnoticed by the monster hunters, who were too excited and too loud to notice much of anything, anyway. “Obviously, we’ve got some big canines out here. I don’t know where they came from, but we’ll worry about that later. We can’t let these fools get them on camera. Or at least, if they do, we’ve gotta make sure the footage never makes it out of these mountains.
“If people start thinkin’ there are wolves out here hunting down tourists, they might get hysterical, and it could get dangerous for us. After all we’ve been through, the last thing we need is more trouble.”
Still in his wolf form, Michael nodded. Jack was right – maybe he’d been wrong to think the young alpha was overreacting. Like he’d told Kimberly earlier that day, humans were the real threat. Cruel ones or scared ones – the results could be deadly. With a renewed sense of wariness, Michael drew a deep breath, trying again to catch any unusual scents.
The breeze was blowing the wrong way. Whatever animal had howled remained a mystery – one that made Michael a little uneasy, but not as uneasy as Gus and his crew made him.
They played the recording again, filling the woods with the melancholy sound.
This time, no answer came. Not even after minutes of waiting.
Gus swore, but the excitement hadn’t left his voice. “We’re going to move in the direction of the answering howl.” He stumbled forward, thrashing through underbrush. “We’ve got clear audio, which is fantastic. We won’t stop until we have visual confirmation – we’re going to put a face to Braden’s killer, not just a voice.”
With Gus leading the way, the group headed north, not southeast, putting more distance between themselves and the animal that had howled. A snort that came from Daniel might have been laughter, if he’d been in his human form.
Jack and the other three wolves moved soundlessly in their wake, trailing along as they headed nowhere in particular. At least Gus was making their job easy.
After about half an hour of the crew trudging through the woods, stopping every few minutes to play the recording, Gus reached his limit. “All right!” he huffed, coming to a halt beside a large hemlock. “We don’t want to lose the wolves, so we’re going to try something new. Serena, break out the bacon.”
“Bacon?” Alex spoke, and Gus shot him a glare.
“I’ve got it right here.” Serena pulled a package out of the backpack she’d been carrying.
“And the stove?”
One of the men produced a tiny propane camping stove.
“The shadow wolves may have been attracted to Braden by the scent of bacon on his body and clothing. The Peppard family also reported having cooked bacon at their campsite prior to their encounter with one of the wolves. So we’re going to make ourselves irresistible – we’re going to fry up some fatback.”
“Whoa.” Alex lowered his camera. “What the hell do you mean, we’re going to cook bacon? There are wild animals out here – bears. Maybe even big cats or something. Put that damn bacon away.”
Gus rounded on Alex, eyes wide. “If I’d wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked. Last time I checked, you were the cameraman, not the lead investigator. We’re catching these wolves on film. We’re cooking bacon, and you’re filming it.”
From where he stood steeped in shadow and surrounded by the three other wolves, Michael could hear Gus’ teeth grinding together.
“I don’t care who does what job – I’m not standing out here as bear bait while you act like we’re running an IHOP.”
“The hell you aren’t!” Gus brandished a slotted plastic turner that Serena had produced from her bag. “Stop being an asshole. You were there for that meeting last month – you know damn well that it’s either us or the Ghost Hunting Grannies next season. Only one show is being continued, and if you don’t do your part, you’re going to end up frying bacon or burgers somewhere, if you’re lucky enough to find a job at all.”
“The Ghost Hunting Grannies are talking about going international next season,” Serena said. “At least, that’s the rumor going around. Why would the network be talking about sending them overseas for a series of special episodes if they were really considering discontinuing the show?”
Gus whipped around, kicking up a spray of dead leaves and pine needles. “That’s just a rumor those old crones started themselves! They’re not going international – they’re going off the air, as long as we make this season something to be remembered. Damn it, Serena, do you believe everything you hear?”
Serena dropped her head. “So-rry! Geez. It’s not like there’s anyone else here who hasn’t heard the rumor. Their fans have been making a big deal out of it online – they even voted on famous haunted places in Europe they want them to visit. I was just saying what everyone was thinking.”
Gus looked ready to have an aneurysm. Even in the pale moonlight, his face was visibly red. “Am I the only member of this crew who wants to keep my damn job?”
“No,” Serena said after a few moments of silence, and the others – all but Alex – echoed her.
“Then we’ll all just have to
do what it takes tonight. We only have three more episodes left to film, and if they’re not absofreakinglutely amazing, they’re going to be our last episodes. Ever. So yeah, we’re gonna fry up some bacon. We have crystal clear audio and it’ll go to waste without a visual. I’m not gonna let that happen. We’re not gonna let that happen. Everyone got that straight now?”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, and Alex glared around silently, as if debating whether to stay or go.
He must not have liked the idea of navigating through the forest on his own in the dark. Either that or he really did want to keep Monsters 24/7 on the air. Whatever his reasoning, he did his job begrudgingly as Gus and Serena began to cook.
The scent of frying bacon soon coaxed a low growl from Michael’s stomach, and similar noises came from the wolves beside him. Hungry as the smell made him, another desire was more potent – the desire for Kimberly. The aroma drifting from the foolhardy monster hunters’ little camp stove reminded him of breakfast with her that morning, and he wanted to travel back in time. Either that or fast-forward through this mission and find himself alone in the little vacation cabin with her again.
He longed for the brilliant color she brought to his world, for the sound of her voice and touch of her hand, missed for so long. Not this stalking and creeping, always watching, constantly on guard.
No pack of wolves descended on the film crew, not even when the bacon was nice and crispy.
“Wild animals – even apex predators like wolves – can be shy at times,” Gus said. “So we’re going to take a leaf out of Hansel and Gretel’s book and lay a trail they won’t be able to resist…” Gus grabbed a strip of bacon and began to tear it into pieces.
“Yeah, because that worked out so well for those two,” Alex said, staring down his nose at the bacon trail Gus was creating. “They didn’t end up almost being eaten at all.”
Gus scowled. “Whatever. I’m laying down some prime-quality wolf bait. Come on.” Trudging ahead, he and the group moved even more slowly than before, tossing crumbs of bacon and dribbling grease from the pan along the way.
With bacon-scented pine needles crunching softly underfoot, Michael and the others followed, moving closer toward the side of the mountain where the string of cabins – including Jack’s and the other Half Moon wolves’ – were located.
Trailing the film crew was uneventful – the most exciting thing that happened was when Alex slipped on grease-coated leaves and went down on his ass, nearly dropping an expensive camera. He and Gus got in another argument, and for once, Michael wished his sense of hearing wasn’t so acute. On and on, they bitched back and forth at each other, with Alex threatening to leave.
Reluctantly, Michael followed, breathing easily as Gus and the rest of the crew huffed and puffed from anger and exertion. Then the wind shifted, and a scent that chilled him to the very marrow in his bones filled his lungs.
CHAPTER 7
Kimberly plunked four grocery bags down onto the kitchenette table and sighed, opening and closing her hands, willing the ache that had spread through her palms to go away. The bags were heavy – especially the one with the orange juice. She could’ve made two trips, but she’d smelled a skunk outside and hadn’t wanted to risk being sprayed if the animal was still around. As it was, she still had to go back out for the guitar.
Smiling despite her fear of lurking skunks, she headed back through the door. It was a beautiful night, brisk and shining with full moonlight that painted the world in shades of silver and shadow. The stars were so bright it felt like she could reach out and touch them, let her fingertips be chilled by their cold beauty.
It was no wonder the local wildlife was out and about – had Michael been around, she would’ve wanted to spend time outdoors admiring the sky too, especially since this was her last night in the mountains. By tomorrow night, she’d be back in the city, where heavenly views were obscured by light pollution.
Of course, in Kimberly’s fantasy, after a little time outside she and Michael would head indoors and banish the night’s chill from each other’s skin, spend hours in bed, warm and together, impervious to the dropping temperatures the last days of October had brought. That would be the best part.
Sighing, she crossed the driveway, and the guitar twanged softly when she pulled it from the back seat, accidentally brushing her fingertips across the strings. As a wave of nostalgia hit her, she smelled whiskey instead of a skunk’s odor, and the stars shining overhead might as well have been city lights. After all these years, all it took to transport her back in time to the days when she’d met Michael was a single out of tune chord played on a guitar.
Carrying the instrument by its neck, she hummed softly, part of a song Michael had always played when he’d performed at King’s. She’d only gotten out a few notes when a sudden noise shattered the night’s silence.
Gravel scraped the soles of her shoes as she came to an awkward halt, freezing in place as she glanced around, searching for the source of the noise. Was there still a skunk nearby after all?
Not daring to move, she winced. Her morning with Michael definitely wouldn’t go as planned if she stank to high heaven, especially considering his advanced sense of smell.
When motion caught her eye – a dark form moving in the shadows by the cabin’s right side – she jumped, then breathed a sigh of relief. The shape was animal, but way too large to be a skunk. In fact, it looked canine – it was the right height, and if she squinted, she could make out two pointed ears, trained in her direction.
“Michael,” she breathed, letting out a shaky laugh. “You scared me.”
Soft sounds came from the shadows, the padding of feet against grass, then gravel as the form became more defined, drawing closer and catching the barest hint of moonlight.
“How did the mission go? If you’re back already, I guess that means Gus and his crew didn’t have any luck.”
As her eyes adjusted further to the moonlight, she waited for him to shift into his human form so he could speak.
But he didn’t.
In fact, he growled – a low, rumbling noise that she almost didn’t hear, at first.
Suddenly, she felt the coldness of the stars that glittered overhead – felt it all the way in her bones. It froze her even more thoroughly in place, and she had to swallow twice to clear a thick knot from her throat.
“Michael?” she asked again, but she knew it wasn’t him – she could see the animal’s eyes, and they were dark. Michael’s blue ones always looked brilliant in moonlight. The animal standing just a few yards from her had to be just that – an animal.
Fear blossomed in her chest, snaking its way around her heart and squeezing. Images from the previous night flashed before her mind’s eye – she couldn’t help but picture Braden Spencer as she and Michael had found him: dead. Dead, bitten and dragged. Logically, she knew that wild animals couldn’t be blamed for investigating a dead body – a potential food source – but now that she was a potential food source, it was hard to feel matter-of-fact about it.
“Stay back,” she called, trying to infuse her voice with firmness. Sometimes dogs responded to that. Maybe this animal would too.
The creature edged forward, exposing the scene behind it – both of the garbage bins had been overturned. The lids were still on, latched firmly in place, but apparently that hadn’t deterred the animal from trying to access the contents. Knowing that the hulking canine shape advancing on her was hungry didn’t exactly boost her confidence.
“Stay back,” she repeated, gripping the guitar with a second hand and holding it mid-way up the neck, like a baseball bat. If she hadn’t been afraid, she might’ve felt ridiculous, but she was and the instrument was her only weapon.
She felt colder than ever as she thought of Michael – the heat and strength of his body, all solid muscle, no matter what form he was in. If only he were here now.
One more step and moonlight illuminated the hulking canine, casting silver light a
cross its head and the ruff of its neck. It was a big animal – maybe 90 pounds, if she had to guess – and the hair between its shoulder blades stood on end, making it seem even larger. Its features were exactly what she’d expected – a wolf’s features.
It was definitely too big to be a coyote. Her thoughts whirled, half-panicked, and she was semi-sure that the wolf wasn’t a shifter. It didn’t look like any of the others, anyway – it was a greyish color, with dark eyes, and its fur was matted, even a little mangy looking around its ears. As her heart raced, she noticed those small details, and something else, too – the wolf wasn’t alone.
Gasping, she watched as another, similar shape moved in the shadows, hanging back but adding its deep growl to the mix.
Guitar strings bit into her fingertips as she gripped the only thing between herself and the wolves more tightly. Meanwhile, reality dawned on her: she was cornered by a pack of wolves, and the only thing she had to defend herself with was a grocery store bargain instrument that’d been made in Taiwan. The flimsy wood probably would barely have survived a few years of strumming, let alone hand-to-paw combat with hungry forest creatures.
But it was better than nothing. Raising it a little higher, she dared to look above the grey wolf, at the tree line. “Michael!” she called, just in case he or any of the others were within hearing range. “Jack!”
No one answered, and Michael’s name lingered on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t let him find her like they’d found Braden Spencer. She had to make it out of this, even if that meant using a guitar as a melee weapon. Nothing – not even wild wolves – would stand between her and the happily ever after she’d thought she’d lost forever.
The wolves growled more loudly, and her heart sank – maybe calling out for help hadn’t been the smartest move. Tense moments ticked by, and her arms trembled as she continued to hold the guitar between herself and the wolves.
How much longer would she have to keep this up? Her muscles were already protesting, and the bitter taste of adrenaline was all that fueled her as she took a couple slow steps backward, toward her car, eager to have something solid at her back.