Silver-White (The Great North Woods Pack #1)

by Shawn Underhill

  “Settle,” said the gray wolf standing over. “Peace, child.” Only when she felt her granddaughter’s quaking body begin to calm did she relax her stance and step slightly back.

  But despair was all that had stilled Evie. As the gray’s weight left her, the silver-white stood freely again, and peace was far from her. The nearest victim for her wrath was the ATV Erica had left parked close by. At it the young wolf snarled and snapped, gnashing her teeth against its fenders, tearing off and flinging pieces of dirtied plastic by the mouthful. When punishing the quad no longer pleased her she lunged across the drive, slamming her heavy shoulder against the nearest garage bay door; the door rumbled and shook it in its track. From there she spied a burning bush near the corner of the house; it was just beginning to turn autumn red. She sprang upon it as if it had threatened her, tearing and snarling and hurling the thin branches in all directions, yet crying all the while with a whistling whine in her nose.

  When the flame of her anger finally burned low, turning toward the house again she saw the beautifully-coated gray wolf watching her with keen eyes, pacing as she watched, ready to meet any challenge or block any attempted escape. Her mother and cousin were clearly frightened, standing back against the house under the overhang of the front porch.

  Instantly shame entered Evie’s conscience, weighing heavily upon her swollen heart. Once again despair took hold of her, and she dropped her white belly to the dirt. She could not bear the feeling of their displeased looks on her; she averted her eyes from them all. With oversized muscles, she suddenly understood, came also hypersensitive emotions.

  For a time the silver-white wolf suffered in the prison of isolation, a fate second only to death in the heart of the wolf. Once during her sentence she sat up on her haunches, raised her head and cried to the sky that was flame orange from the setting sun. She had wanted to scream in frustration, to cry in sorrow, to plead for the comfort of company, and to apologize profusely for her insolence; the howl said it all. Without the clumsiness of words, her lone cry gave vent to her every emotion, and after that release she sunk down again. Her ears were pricked, listening to the faint sounds of the pack a mile or more to the west that would be lost on mortal ears. No response came to her cry. But she had known better than to expect one.

  When the fear of Evie’s violent mood swings had passed, Evelyn Ludlow transformed and entered the house. Wrapping herself in a robe in one smooth motion as she shifted and stepped in, “Calm her down,” she ordered her daughter and granddaughter in passing.

  Evie’s mother and cousin stepped slowly from the porch and moved cautiously toward her. Evie lay still, watching them. Her forelegs were out straight; her head was raised alertly, her eyes fixed. Speaking softly, they sat down on either side of her, admiring the color of her coat and the sleek beauty of her outstretched frame.

  “Can I touch you?” Erica asked with her hand close to Evie’s scruff.

  “Yes,” Evie whined.

  Erica could not perceive the actual language, of course. But she understood the glossy-sad look in her cousin’s eyes and the weak tone of her whines. Gently she sunk her hand into the fluffy scruff of Evie’s large neck; her aunt did the same from the other side. The breaking of Evie’s isolated prison stay came as a two-sided massage.

  “You’re absolutely gorgeous,” Janie said. “Almost puppy soft.”

  “You’re beautiful and bad ass,” Erica said with a grin.

  Evie’s mouth dropped open into a proud wolf smile, her tongue lolling about her teeth. She raised a paw in jest, waving it and slapping it to the ground. Behind her, her white tail brushed over the dirt like a heavy rake, sending small pebbles skipping and scattering in its wake.

  “It’s crazy how she understands everything,” Erica said to her aunt.

  “Everything and more,” she said with a smile. “On top of hearing, she can see and smell our intent and our mood. The calmer we stay, the calmer she’ll be. If we can help her to concentrate, she’ll shift back again.”

  “Do you want a flea bath?” Erica teased.

  Evie laid her ears back and clicked her teeth; her eyes became momentarily intense. “Do not speak to me that way.”

  “No,” her mother said to Erica, then to Evie, “How about a hot soak in the big tub? As a human.”

  Evie whined and bobbed her head. Her eyes became very bright, and what eyebrows she had as a wolf were raised. “Yes!”

  “And some food,” Erica added. “Like a whole chicken of your very own.”

  Evie licked her chops at the word “food.” Her sides quivered, and a very faint rumble sounded from her belly.

  “No, don’t say it like that,” Janie warned. “Calm, human ideas are what she needs to focus on. No jokes. If she tried to joke with us, even if she’s just playing, we could get hurt.”

  “Umm … soft beds,” Erica said. “Comfy clothes after a hot bath. Watching TV and drinking hot chocolate with your favorite cousin.”

  Evie inhaled with a series of quick breaths that heaved her sides, then sighed heavily, which is the nearest to laughter a wolf can express to a watching human. The fire had gone out of her green eyes. Now they were clear and merry, half-closed in relaxation.

  “I’ll get you a robe,” Janie said to her daughter. “Maybe that will serve as a motivator.”

  “I’m so frikken jealous,” Erica said when her aunt had gone. She was scratching Evie’s scruff just below her ears. “Do you know that?”

  Evie lowered her head and nuzzled her cousin. The force of her affectionate rub almost knocked Erica over.

  “Easy,” she said. “Lie down and keep calm while I’ll pat you.”

  Evie let herself roll heavily onto her side. Her cousin’s hands were a warm comfort on her back and shoulder.

  “When you changed,” Erica said, running her hand from Evie’s white head down along her sides, “it was freaking amazing. And a little bit scary. For a second there, it almost felt like you were coming after me.”

  “Noooo,” Evie whined nasally. “Danger, my love. Papa said guard.”

  “Are you trying to talk?” her cousin asked.

  “Yes!” Evie yipped.

  “I can’t understand you.”

  “People …” Evie groaned.

  “And Grandpa,” Erica rambled on. “Man, he was a beast.”

  “The greatest,” Evie said with a small sigh.

  Erica looked down at Evie’s white face. “I’d go wolf if I could,” she said. “But it’s just not happening. If you wanna actually talk to me, it’s up to you to change back.”

  The wolf sighed heavily. In her own mind she was speaking with perfect clarity. This silly person with weak little ears—though nice hands—just wasn’t listening.

  “Stay calm,” Erica said, patting her cousin in long strokes. “Human. Human. I’m tired of sitting in the driveway.”

  When Evie saw her mother approaching with a robe, she kept perfectly still, trying with all her might to focus on being human, to imagine pulling on that plush, comfy robe. But what she still wanted most was to run and join the pack.

  The change came easily when her mind was made up. Evie could see the lights from the house as all else darkened around it. The evening was cool, inside she knew there was food—much food and comfy furniture, and finally she desired it badly enough to will the change that would allow her to enter. It was truly all a matter of the mind.

  Wrapped in her warm robe, Evie paused on the porch before the main entrance. Very faintly she could hear the activity of the pack. Or maybe she was just remembering what her wolf ears had heard. For a moment she glanced in that direction.

  “Come on,” her mother said, pulling her from the distraction. “It’s chilly out here. Let’s get in and sit by the fire.”

  -11-

  “Will someone please explain the cats to me,” Evie said between long gulps of water. She was standing in the kitchen by the sink. “As usual I’m in the dark here.”

  “That depends,
” her grandmother said. “Can you control yourself?”

  Evie tugged at her robe. “It looks that way.”

  “Don’t sass me, girl,” she said, waving a wooden salad spoon. “You forget who you’re dealing with.”

  “I’m sorry, Gram. I—”

  “Not nearly as sorry as you’ll be when your grandfather sees your brand of landscaping. You will make that right tomorrow.”

  “Fine,” Evie said. “I’ll clean it up and plant a new one. Can we just get to the point here? The cats!”

  “It’s an old feud,” Janie said. “No one’s sure exactly when or why it began. Believe me, it’s nothing for you to solve tonight. The important thing is for you to stay clear of them.”

  “Old feud? Cats and dogs? Mom …”

  “They’re cougars,” Erica said. “Big ones. Like the size of an African lioness.”

  “And they’ve always been here?”

  “Yes, they have,” her mother said. “Sometimes they’re a threat and sometimes they’re not. Their numbers aren’t as great as ours, but they’ve been a constant factor for as long as anyone can remember.”

  Evie set down her water glass and walked to the fire place. “How were we allowed to play in the woods as kids, if these cats were roaming around?”

  “For starters,” Janie said, joining her daughter near the fire, “the town borders are patrolled day and night. Nothing gets near this house without being met by the pack. And, for most of my life there’s been relative peace with them. Your grandfather prefers it that way; he’s worked hard for it.” She turned to her own mother. “How many years has it been, Mom?”

  “Eight,” Evelyn answered, stepping into the great room. “With the exception of strays, no cat has purposefully trespassed here for nearly eight years.”

  “Why now?” Evie asked. “It seems like everything is happening at once.”

  “Ask your Papa’s little helper,” her grandmother said bitterly. Even mature wolves sometimes struggled to hide their feelings.

  “The computer guy?”

  “The same. I haven’t liked that boy since the day I first set eyes on him.”

  “The cats are obsessed with the Snows,” Erica said, sitting on the near edge of a couch. “They’re jealous of Grandpa.”

  “Wait,” Evie said. “That guy is a cat?”

  Evelyn Ludlow stepped closer. “No, he’s a rat with cat claws in him. They’re using him to keep tabs on your grandfather.” She laughed suddenly. “The fools actually believed they could plant a mole that would deceive a Snow.”

  “It’s about money,” Erica said with a big smile.

  “Thank you,” Evie said. “So they want Papa’s money.”

  “Of course they do,” Evelyn said. “But that’s not their only reason for spying, or for their attempt to cross our borders today.”

  “Let’s just relax until your grandfather returns,” Janie said. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one day. Don’t you, Mom?”

  “No,” Evie said, staring at her grandmother. “Stop hiding things from me. I wanna know. Tell me the reason. What do they want?”

  “You,” her grandmother said simply.

  “Me, what?”

  “You, young Miss Snow. They want you.”

  For a moment Evie stood stunned and motionless. The weight of her grandmother’s implication felt like someone had just handed her an armload of bricks. Within seconds her mind was racing. Her spine tingled coolly with a thrilling fear; her face felt flushed. Suddenly the fire felt too warm. Slowly she backed away.

  “Stay calm,” her mother said, placing her hand on Evie’s shoulder. “There’s no safer place than here in this house. You have nothing to fear.”

  “Why?” she asked with a scratchy throat. “Why me? What have I done to them?”

  “It’s nothing personal,” her mother assured her. “Don’t look at it that way.”

  “How am I supposed to look at it?”

  “It’s survival,” her grandmother said sternly, “nothing more and nothing less. Life in these woods is no sporting event. Tooth and claw decides who lives and who dies.”

  “They’re right,” Erica put in, which surprised Evie greatly. Rising slowly from the couch she said, “It’s not personal, it’s just instinct. Stay calm. We’re safe here.”

  But to Evie, calm no longer felt possible. A threatened wolf is a dangerous wolf; a cornered wolf, quite possibly a deadly wolf. Without conscious effort her consuming thought quickly became the freedom of escape. The house no longer felt safe or comfortable. It was a corral into which the night eyes of predators could see with ease; its ceilings masked scents; its walls hindered sudden movement. She was nearer to the sliding glass door than the main entry. In human form, she knew she was faster than her grandmother. Most likely, she reasoned, she was a faster wolf as well.

  “Your grandfather will take care of things,” Janie said pleadingly. “He’s never failed us yet. Please—”

  Evie heard nothing more.

  In one beat of her heart she made her fast break to the slider. With a quick whirr the door was open. The next second she was out, running for the back steps as fast as her two legs would carry her. I am a wolf, she told herself, running full speed across the back porch. No one threatens me. I am a wolf!

  A few strides across the lawn she glanced back. Her grandmother shifted as she leapt from the porch. The sight was all the help Evie needed, the final motivator required for her own change. All that remained to do humanly-minded was lose the robe restricting her movements.

  Facing forward, she rolled her shoulders, shaking one arm free, then the other. The forty degree air was not cold on her skin as it normally would be, it was energizing. In the early blackness with the moon behind the trees, the white robe fluttered away behind her. She was the wolf before it hit the grass.

  Behind her, the gray wolf overleapt the falling robe just as Evie made the change, landing mere feet behind as the young silver-white planted her wide paws, flexed her legs, and lowered her weight with the grace of a dancer. The gray’s mouth opened, set to close on the white’s tail, just when the surge of the white’s vaulting drive shot her off toward the trail at a pace the gray could briefly match, but could not best. The gray’s jaws snapped a mouthful of air. Her granddaughter was gone.

  Within seconds of entering the trail Evie heard the call of the gray—her grandmother’s warning to the pack. Turning sharp left, due west, she made for the direction of their assembly, chasing the scent her grandfather had left. The others would know by the warning all she had done. The white wolf would be waiting for her, would probably greet her with snarls of disapproval—or worse.

  But in her fury Evie did not care. Her life had been threatened, and that threat had stirred old memories in her blood. Those memories triggered her reaction, her most primal defensive instincts. Evie had never been faint of heart in the face of a challenge. But now she was so much more than a competitor. She was a Snow, a force to be reckoned with, a wielder of strength and ferocity well beyond self-defense. She was a hunter—a menace to all blood enemies; she would be no one’s and no thing’s prey. She would face boldly the creature that had threatened her, the thought of which made her spine prickle, her blood hot, and her crest stand straight.

  Suddenly a strange scent entered her head. Slowing to a trot amid the dense woods, she raised her head and took in deeply of the strange odor. Whatever it was, it was much stronger than the scents of her pack, stronger than her grandfather’s trail, and very unpleasant.

  A rustling of leaves stopped her abruptly, drawing her full attention. In the dark her sharp eyes caught small movements. The odor grew stronger, and she soon saw that the creature belonging to the odor was small and dark, stealthy but for the small strip of white that gave it up to watchful eyes. “Skunk,” Evie growled in disgust.

  The growl seemed to bring on an immediate increase of that terrible odor. So with the longest leap she was capable of from a standstill, she
sped away before the odor could set in on her, coughing and sneezing the stench from her head as she ran. Such a small creature to challenge one so great as she had become, and now the keen-nosed pack would have yet another offense to growl about upon her uninvited arrival.

  Now the woods became smoother running, the ground soft under a grove of sweet-smelling evergreens. She made good use of the smooth stretch, closing quickly upon the gathering place. In her head the skunk stench faded, replaced with the sweetness of pine and balsam and spruce. Apart from evergreens she scented also patches of sweet ferns growing in clumps. Instinct slowed her; she dropped her belly to a clump, throwing her sleek body into a fast roll that crushed the ferns and released their scent into her fur. Standing again, bathed in sweetness, she made one last dash to the gathering.

  Her ears were pricked alertly now. Slowing as she neared the pack, her feet fell softly, quietly. Her eyes surveyed, collecting as much information as a few seconds could provide. And deep inside of the wolf, her human mind braced for whatever scolding awaited her.

  Ahead there were many sounds and many scents—so many that they began to confuse her newly acquired senses. Slowing to a creep, she sniffed deeply of the air, trying to distinguish the strange scent of cat from that of the wolves she recognized. The sounds were of many voices, angry and argumentative, lashing back and forth in fast, choppy bursts. For the first time since her prison break, Evie began to doubt her decision. This was not a good place to be. But the wolf refused to turn away.

  “See now,” said the clear voice of the Alpha, “what you came for. Your color is not given to stealth but boldness. Stand among us, she-wolf.”

  Most of the other voices had quieted, and Evie stepped cautiously forward into the area cleared by the crushing of many strong bodies. Over a dozen wolves stood in a loose circle, stamping and swaying with growls rumbling from their bellies. Others hung back, their eyes shining from the shadows. Though it was her first sighting of such an event, Evie knew instinctually that this circle was the primitive boxing ring of the wild, where grudges were settled, and fates were met. For certain she understood now, it was not a good place in the least. Nerves set her to shaking.