HOWL OF THE SEQUOIA
Secrets of the Sequoia (Book 1)
by Deidre Huesmann
© 2013 to Deidre Huesmann
Dedicated to my loving parents, Mark and Kathy, and my supportive sister, Kimberly.
You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You never know, dear, how much I love you
So please don’t take my sunshine away
— originally written by Oliver Wood
Chapter One
He had a head start, but that may as well have been his death sentence.
The trees, brush, and bramble were clustered uncomfortably close together. Broad daylight filtered through the canopy of leaves in filaments of gold, and he knew that wasn’t going to do him any favors. Swiftly he fled, leaping over underbrush and protruding roots. The earth was covered with a thick blanket of brittle sticks and leaves, yet his every step was sure and silent. The keenest of human hunters couldn’t have heard him.
Humans were not his problem.
It was too hard to keep running in this form. He would have better luck if he transformed. Pride and fear held him back—and the overwhelming hatred he felt for himself afterward.
That was, until a too-familiar howl sounded behind him. The cry reverberated to his core. When he finally made the decision to change it was because his fear melted into something else: the need to live.
He threw himself forward as though to run on all fours. The change began in that instant. His bones ground and splintered; his muscles contracted and twisted. Every single time it hurt. Even now, as essential as it was to survive, he fought the transformation, loathing the beast he was to become.
But that was why the change hurt. He hated what he was too much to accept it as second nature.
He couldn’t complete the shift in time. When he landed it was on something that didn’t resemble either human hands or animal paws just yet. They were strange sinewy knobs of fur and blackened nails. The awkward impact caused him to tumble and roll, skidding across the springy forest floor. Sticks cracked beneath the weight of his body.
He writhed, sweating desperately as he tried to force the change to complete. Over the snapping of bone and muscle he heard a chorus of howls. Four of them, he realized. Perhaps he should be proud he warranted so much effort.
The only reason he knew his transformation was finished was because he could hear the howling more clearly. Literally every bone in his body still hurt. Shaking, he rose on all fours and started off at a weak trot.
As a wolf, he could smell them. They were further than he’d expected, but that meant nothing. This alpha was notorious for playing with his food.
In their wolf forms they may as well not have names. He certainly didn’t identify himself as his human title now. Instead he identified everyone and everything as smells. The pack leader smelled musky with a faint hint of cloves. The two following had their own scents as well: one in constant heat with a taste of lilacs and one who always smelled like wet dog.
He wondered what he smelled like to them. He wondered if his scent had been different before they had forced this curse upon him.
Now he could hear them. His ears were sharper, able to pick up more, and it dismayed him to realize they really were toying with him. None of them were exerting themselves. The alpha didn’t bring the others because he needed them. They were tags-along in the chase.
Lilac was rapidly closing in. He tried to speed up but his still-aching body protested.
Then the worst happened. His muscles seized, forcing him to sprawl to the earth. Twisting, he could do nothing but pant and whimper.
Lilac reached him first, but it was Clove who pounced on his bared chest and dragged thick claws in hot lines down his belly. His own agonizing howls deafened him.
On his back, pinned by the alpha, the runaway wolf realized he was going to pay hell. And the cold black eyes glinting down at him promised nothing less.
Chapter Two
The best days to hike were days after a heavy rain.
Rachael paused beside a deodar cedar, her palm coming to rest on the rough bark. The cedar towered above her, its branches stretching in a desperate attempt to graze the clouds. Through patches of clear sky sunlight filtered down through the branches, dappling Rachael with glowing smudges. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the wet, musty scent of fallen leaves and pine needles.
Fall was ideal for spending time in the forest. Now the trees were at their most beautiful and tragic stage, beginning to shed multiple colors and baring themselves to the naked coldness of the coming winter months. Some, like the cedar, dropped their scale-like needles without undressing, leaving a springy blanket strewn across the forest floor.
Trees were so brave.
Rachael leaned against the trunk, paying little mind to the dampness seeping into the back of her hoodie. Her clothes would be dirty and the bark made her scalp itch. She didn’t care. Out here she was in her element.
Part of her hoped something drastic would occur to keep her in the woods for a few days. Maybe the car would get a flat tire, or perhaps a sudden heavy rainfall could soak the earth so thoroughly that the vehicle would stick in the mud. There were several ways nature could triumph over the absurdity of man-made machinery.
It wasn’t just that she loved the woods. Rachael had another reason for being here today. About ten minutes from where she stood there was a giant sequoia with a hollow near the roots. As a child she had been able to crawl inside and pretend to be a bear cub, with the hollow as her cave for hibernating. She was too big to fit in the hollow now (not to mention too old for make-believe), but that tree was Rachael’s favorite place to be. It had been even better back in the days her brother would play with her.
Those days were a distant memory now.
Normally she would have come to visit in the summer, but the past year had been rough on her family. Hardship fell upon difficulty added upon a tragedy. Before she’d realized it, Rachael had been back in school, her annual trip to see the sequoia passed over.
Thank heaven for three-day weekends. It had taken a bit of bribery, but Rachael was finally here.
Behind her a person stumbled, breathing raggedly the closer he approached. If she hadn’t known better, Rachael might have thought an injured person was following her.
Rachael knew better. She turned to face her brother.
“If you want me to slow down, say so,” she said.
Her brother’s already square jaw set stubbornly. Doubling over, his hands on his knees, he uttered between breaths, “Can’t let the little sister outdo me.” His brown eyes looked unhappy beneath his equally unhappy brown hair.
She frowned. “Jackson, you never go outside. I always ‘outdo’ you here.”
“Bull.”
Shaking her head, Rachael turned her gaze back to the stretch of trees before her. A blissful sigh escaped her lips. “I wish we could stay.”
“I don’t.”
“Maybe camp out,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Remember we used to go camping every month? How much fun we had?”
“How much fun you had.” Having finally caught his breath, Jackson came to stand beside her. He started to rest his hand against the tree but quickly brought it back. With a grimace, he wiped his palm on his leg. “Besides, it’s a bad time of year. We’d freeze to death.”
“It’s fifty degrees out.”
“Die of hypothermia,” he insisted.
“I told you to wear jeans,” she pointed out.
Jackson shot her an exasperated lo
ok. Rachael pretended not to notice. She knew perfectly well her brother didn’t own denim, which was silly on his part. The Pacific Northwest could get bitterly cold in autumn. If there was a set expectation for seasons, Rachael was unaware as far as her hometown was concerned.
In spite of that, the only pants Jackson possessed were cheap, thin black cargo. He could have easily passed as a poster boy for any hipster or goth scene. Even now his black parachute pants bore numerous useless straps. An oversized band shirt had been thrown over long-sleeved mesh, his hands covered with a pair of dark gloves with paint-on bones.
Thankfully his heavy boots were practical. Nothing else was.
“Let’s go already,” Jackson said.
A brief flutter of panic beat in Rachael’s chest. “But we’re almost there,” she protested feebly.
He scowled. “We’ve been out here for hours.”
Rachael ran a hand through her hair. Unlike her brother, she couldn’t dishevel the strands if she tried. “Forty-five minutes at most.”
“Hours. Or it’s so cold it feels like it. I don’t care. I’m starving and I’m going to miss my raid time for Black Temple. Do you even know how long it took my guild to get there? I can’t just not show up, RayRay. If any one of us isn’t there, we’re screwed. If I’m not there, I’m screwed, never mind if they find out why I missed it. . . .”
She stared helplessly as he rambled on. Once Jackson got started on games there was little to be done to shut him up. Either you had to join in—which would make it worse, whether or not you understood the subject—or humor him.
Biting her lip, Rachael resigned herself to the latter. She didn’t even interrupt him to acknowledge he had won. Instead she gave the forest a look of longing before starting the reluctant trek back toward the car.
It was a pity. She could picture the majestic sequoia with its trunk so broad it would take at least half a dozen people fingertip to fingertip to hug it. Even if she couldn’t play inside anymore it still held such fond memories and was so extraordinary that it was worth the hour and a half it took to drive and the extra hour of hiking.
But she couldn’t bring herself to argue with her brother. In the past, maybe, but not anymore. The family hardship had affected Jackson terribly, making him reclusive and short-tempered.
At least I got him to spend some time with me, she thought. Their mother would be thrilled.
Jackson walked alongside her. This time he was able to keep up, though it was mostly because Rachael was deliberately lingering.
She had meant it when wishing they could stay. Jackson was her older and absolutely overprotective brother, but he was helpless as a kitten out here. Rachael could hold her own in the wild. She knew how to spot a dangerous mushroom from something palatable; which leaves were harmless and which were poison ivy. Probably just as importantly, she was comfortable with animals and how to react to them. As long as you kept food hidden from sight and smell, most bears wouldn’t bother a campsite. Chipmunks were cleverer than humans gave them credit for, being perfectly capable of working together in order to steal a morsel. Deer were deathly wary of people and posed no real threat. They preferred flight to fight.
Really, a lot of animals were terrified of humans and went out of their way to avoid them. Some, like chipmunks, were just a little more domesticated.
It might have been good that Jackson had begun raving earlier otherwise Rachael wouldn’t have realized he had fallen behind. When he fell abruptly silent she stopped. Puzzled, she pivoted to find her brother a few paces back, his eyes darting about nervously beneath his unruly brown hair.
“Did you hear that?” he demanded.
Rachael shrugged. Forests often had various noises ranging from birdsong to the rustling of rodents scampering from one hiding place to the other. For all she knew he could have been referring to both or neither.
Jackson’s dark brown gaze met hers intensely. “I heard wolves. Howling.”
With a slight smile, Rachael began to hum the chorus to Werewolves of London.
Ignoring her, Jackson promptly began walking again. His pace was noticeably quicker. “Let’s get out of here.”
Rolling her eyes, Rachael called after him, “Wolves like you less than you like them.”
Jackson’s head jerked nervously. “More’s the reason to get to the car.”
“I meant they won’t hurt us,” she said. “Not intentionally.”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” he snapped. At least he’d stopped. “Look, if you want to stick around and let them eat your entrails—”
“They don’t usually—”
“Then fine,” Jackson spoke over her. “But if Dad asks, it was your idea and I couldn’t stop you because you were the one dumb enough to pet a wild, disgusting animal.”
“Animals aren’t disgusting.” Especially not wolves, she thought. They were among the more graceful creatures to roam the earth, right up there with deer and leopards. “You don’t like anything that isn’t pixilated.”
“Pixels can’t bite me.”
The intense desire to stay had less to do with the wolves and more with the sequoia. Worrying at her thumbnail, Rachael turned her head.
In a barely audible whisper she said, “I don’t want to leave.”
The look he gave her was weary. “The Black Temple,” he said, as though that explained everything.
The sequoia, she thought irritably. Instead she held her tongue and started for him.
She caught her brother’s expression just as the sound hit her ears. A soft, barely audible swish from somewhere behind her. She paused.
Low, between his teeth, Jackson said, “I told you.”
Just because they’d heard a movement didn’t mean they were being stalked by wolves. Rachael could have told him so, but she knew it would be a wasted effort. This was a good opportunity, though. Jackson oftentimes reminded her of easily frightened, skittish animals. Right now he was frozen but for his eyes, and those only moved as he tried to discern where the rustling had come from.
Rachael wasn’t so afraid. She listened, also wanting to know where this animal was, but she fully intended to find it and see what it was. If she couldn’t get to the sequoia she could at least enjoy the sight of a creature of Mother Nature.
“Ray, come on.” Jackson tried to sound commanding, but there was an audible note of fear in his voice. Inwardly Rachael felt a flutter of pleasure than she was braver than her older, bigger brother—and almost immediately felt bad for thinking so.
Softly, in hopes the mysterious animal wouldn’t run off, she replied, “I just want a look. Then we’ll go.”
Irritably: “RayRay—”
“If I can’t see the tree then let me see an animal,” she cut him off, still quietly. When she turned her head to look at him, Jackson wore an indescribable expression of guilt, fear, and something else she couldn’t place her finger on. Rachael swallowed back her immediate response to apologize. Besides, she knew she was right. Their mother would be extremely unhappy if she heard Jackson didn’t hold his end of the deal, and neither of them wanted to upset her in her current condition.
The rustling had stopped, but Rachael knew where to go. She continued to inch forward, her heart throbbing in excitement. In spite of what she had told Jackson, she was truly hoping for a wolf. There was something about their strong pack mentality she envied and admired; that she wished she could experience for her own. Not to mention their grace and raw, intense beauty when they ran.
“Be careful,” Jackson said anxiously.
“Shh.”
Before she could take another step something white caught her peripheral vision. Rachael twisted to look to her right, and then her left. Her breath caught.
A real white wolf.
It was an unusual wolf, too. So white it could have been made of fresh fluffy snow, with deep blue eyes that seemed to shift to green the longer she stared, and just small enough that she couldn’t tell if it was a pup or full grown.
What really held her attention was that it gazed straight at her. It almost seemed to be challenging her, and yet . . . somehow inviting her. Rachael moved her right foot slowly forward. The wolf held its ground, not seeming the least perturbed by her movements. When she braved a couple more steps and it made no signs of either attacking or fleeing, excitement began to tingle in the tips of her fingers.
So entranced was she that it came as a shock when a strong arm wrapped around her midsection, yanking her back. “Rachael, no!”
The wolf’s ears flattened. It took a step back.
Panicking, Rachael struggled in her brother’s grip. “Stop! You’re scaring it,” she pleaded.
“For God’s sake, it’s covered in blood!”
The reality of his words doused her with an icy shock. Almost dreamily she blinked at the wolf. Jackson was right. Crimson matted the beautiful white fur from the soft fluff of its chest down to its tiny paws.
While she had been trying to get close the wolf had remained tranquil. After Jackson’s shouting it became hostile, its hackles rising. Before Rachael could think to do anything, it turned and loped off into the woods, vanishing in the space of a wink.
Finally her brother’s grip on her loosened. She pulled away from him, and when she turned she intended to protest. Upon noticing his expression her words died before they even reached the back of her throat.
“That was really stupid,” he said angrily. “Didn’t you notice all the blood? I don’t know animals, RayRay, but I know that can’t be a good sign. Besides, what if it’d had rabies? If you got bitten we’d both be in huge trouble!”
Heat flushed her face. It was bad enough Jackson was completely right, but even worse was that she hadn’t even noticed the blood until he’d said something. How could she have missed it? On a normal wolf it might be excusable, but on sheer powder-white it was madness.
She mumbled, “Sorry.”
This time he grasped her wrist, tugging her away from both the sequoia and the wolf. “We’re going home. End of story,” he said. The only time Jackson was ever firm was when he slipped into Protective Big Brother mode. It was alternately endearing and aggravating.
Howl of the Sequoia (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 1) Page 1