Hunter's Moon (The Witch Who Sang with Wolves Book 1)

by Kat Bostick

  Wolf disregarded her fear and approached because nothing, not even the risk of being discovered, could keep him from taking another sample of that peculiar scent. Blood pumped wildly through the thick vein on her neck as her heart rate quickened to a rabbit’s pace. And to think he wanted to drink from that vein. She went rigid when he pressed his moist nose against the column of her throat and inhaled a final whiff of her.

  Honeysuckle witch. He named the smell that he knew would linger in his memory forever.

  Frightened but determined, the girl raised one shaky hand and lightly touched the edge of his jaw. As she moved he caught sight of her tattoo. A simple depiction of a wolf etched in black ink stood at her radial pulse, his head raised high to release a never-ending but silent howl. Wolf who was also man stared at the art on her skin, at what he knew was a sign meant for a child of the moon like himself.

  He wanted to stay and learn what it was about this witch that made her smell like home but he couldn’t do that if he was dead. Wolf tilted his head against the tentative hand on his face and touched noses with his inky black brother on the girl’s wrist. Then he vanished into the trees, melding with shadows as the teasing moon slipped behind her veil of storm clouds once more.

  ✽✽✽

  They came for him; hunters with guns and hounds and heavy boots that squelched through the softened earth. Wolf who was also man wondered if this was how his animal brethren felt when they were hunted not as prey but as prizes. Did they share the same giddiness as they led hunters on a wild chase? Perhaps not. Wolves didn’t understand the rules of the game. They were no match for helicopters and long range guns.

  He understood the rules, making his moves before the hunters even knew the game was afoot. He left the honeysuckle witch in her field of poppies and immediately began carving out his trail. First he trotted through the woods on a well-trodden path. Then he looped in three separate directions, being sure to rub against trees and mark them with urine. Finally he returned to his original trail and ran it until he reached the stream, pausing to drink and wash the blood from his face before leaping over it.

  On the other side he ran the opposite direction than where he wanted to go, towards the wide road that stank of diesel. He got to the edge of the woods there and brushed along more trees. Then he raced along the stream once more, returning to the base of a fallen maple that had served as his home for many moons.

  Uprooted by a storm long ago, it was caught by the branches of neighboring trees. It hung there halfway between life and death, not unlike him. The roots that were ripped from the ground by forceful wind created a sheltered hollow in the soil, the perfect den for a lost wolf. He ducked inside for the very last time, whispering a silent prayer in gratitude to Earth Mother for sheltering him from winter’s piercing teeth.

  In a few hours the sun would announce the day with a colorful dawn. The dwindling darkness was a blessing from the night. Wolf didn’t squander that gift of shadows. He continued down the stream, cutting into the water so that it might cover his scent. He pushed on until the trees thinned and he scented the gasoline heavy smell of another road.

  Wolf splashed down the gentle slope and along the thin creek as it curved to run parallel to the road. He hunched in that ditch for what felt like miles, only lifting his head to examine his surroundings when the water channeled beneath the road in a narrow culvert.

  To his right was row after row of wooden fences, guarding the identical buildings behind them. A vacant lot was to his left, overgrown enough that it might make an excellent hiding spot if it didn’t meet the chain link fence that bordered his woods. Wolf was dismayed to realize he’d barely put any distance between himself and the park. Roads were tricky like that.

  Feeling far too exposed, he made his decision with a disgruntled huff. The culvert stank of rotting foodstuff and rat but at least those smells helped to disguise his own. His shoulders scraped the sides of the tunnel as he shimmied on his belly. If squeezing inside was this difficult, getting out was going to be a nightmare.

  An outraged squeak echoed around him, followed by the scurrying of rodent feet. If he had more room he would chase the critter. His hunger was barely sated and it wouldn’t take much for him to slip into another frenzy.

  A clap of thunder shook the early morning sky just as the baying of a hound reached his ears. Wolf would have smiled if his lips were capable. Father Above was on his side, his own judgement of justice in agreement with the wolf’s. The rain would wash away his scent and his footprints, making it virtually impossible for hound and human to trace him.

  His smugness washed away too as rivulets of brown, oily water filled the culvert up to his knees and wet his belly. Chunks of garbage floated between his paws. The smell of rehydrated rat droppings made him gag.

  Today would not be his last day but it would certainly be one of his longest.

  Chapter 2

  Mari

  “It’s not him.” Mari told the detective.

  Today was the nine day anniversary of her vow to never leave her house again and she’d already broken it. Mari planned to pace her living room until she wore a trail in the hardwood, maybe until her feet became bloody stumps. Then she took a call from detective Baldy this morning and released herself from self-imposed imprisonment to satisfy her curiosity.

  They found the dog, the detective announced eagerly over the line. He was caught in a neighborhood near Klein Park. The old woman that called animal services claimed he ate her cat. A beautiful tortoise shell, Baldy explained as if that was as much a tragedy as the two boys the vicious dog had slain.

  Mari didn’t want it to be the dog. That was why she leapt from her bed, tugged on the first shirt she found in a heap on the floor, and raced out the door without even locking it. A part of her was relieved at the news if only because it meant she was no longer the girl who cried wolf. Not that she told the cops just how much the dog resembled a wolf. That detail would have made her seem crazier than she already felt. What she described loosely fit the description of a husky. There was no lack of those breeds in Klein, Minnesota.

  At least they weren’t concerned that she killed Jacob Nordbury and his greasy friend Kevin. It would have been impossible for a woman her size to rend flesh the way the dog had and walk away with only a faint spatter of blood on her. And in the intoxicated state they found her in, no less.

  There were a few anxious moments where Mari deeply regretted turning down a blood test. At the time she’d desperately wanted to escape the scrutiny and go home. It’s not as if Jacob was about to contest her statement. Given his ill-fated condition upon their arrival, the police were perforce required to accept her account of events.

  Men without throats generally didn’t do much talking, so it didn’t make a difference if the police knew there was something in that drink. It made a difference to her though. Mari would feel less weak and useless if she knew for certain it wasn’t her fault she couldn’t get him off of her. Then again, she’d feel even stupider.

  She never drank alcohol, rarely touched the stuff even after turning twenty one, so why had she accepted a drink from his flask? Every PSA about women’s safety warned against exactly that behavior. She knew better. But Jacob was supposed to be her walk on the normal side and that was what normal young adults did.

  Yup, the cute boy from philosophy class that she agreed to date simply to distract herself from the disappointment of being rejected by her own kin and her own kind ended up thrusting her back into the world of magic by dying at her feet. Mari could almost laugh at the irony. Jacob probably didn’t find it as amusing. Men without throats generally didn’t laugh either.

  Mari had already concocted a lie about the dog by the time she arrived at the shelter. She couldn’t let them kill him. He was special. She saw it in his eyes that night. They connected, the witch and the beast, under the watchful eye of Mother Moon. Her dog only harmed those who deserved it. That probably included the cat, nasty creatures that they usually wer
e.

  If she told them they were wrong, they would have to let him go, right? Of course not. They didn’t simply set stray dogs free. Maybe he could be adopted?

  Who would adopt a beast like that? She snorted at the thought. Three hundred pound feral mutt seeking home. Not house trained, won’t walk on a leash, and skilled at slaying young criminals. Rapists need not apply.

  If it meant saving his life, Mari would take him home. What did she have to lose?

  “Are you sure? It was dark.” The detective asked with a note of desperation.

  He was rather squirrelly for a professional criminal catcher. Mari found it hard to imagine the rotund man handcuffing anyone. His well-trimmed grey mustache, forming a perfect rectangle below his nose, was the most detective-y thing about him. It was also the only hair he had. The round of his scalp shimmered in the fluorescent light of the animal shelter like winter ice catching the sun. Mari imagined that it might squeak if she ran her fingers across it.

  She wouldn’t though. She might never touch anyone again.

  “I beg your pardon?” He cleared his throat and Mari realized too late that she’d said the part about his squeaky head out loud. Oh well, it wasn’t like this was going to get less awkward. “Miss Sowka? Are you sure this isn’t the dog?”

  He wanted it to be the dog. Everyone did. They were horrified by the rabid beast that ravaged people at their quaint little park. It was Klein’s very own Hound of the Baskervilles. Mari’s dog was no hound though. He was not a foul thing nor was he black like the defeated animal in front of her.

  Supposedly this dog bit the old woman seeking her missing cat. Mari might bite a cat lady too if she was bothersome enough. Could anyone really blame the mutt? Unfortunately, yes, they could and they would. This poor creature would die whether or not it was Mari’s beast. She should have known better. They didn’t let man eaters go and they weren’t afraid to kill a hundred dogs if it meant one of them was the culprit.

  Such an unjust world, isn’t it, my canine friend?

  “You’re right. It was dark and I didn’t get a great look at his face.” She sent a silent apology to the caged animal as she crafted the lie. If he was going to die either way, his death might as well serve a purpose. With this dog euthanized, the city would stop looking and maybe her beast would have a chance to run far from Klein and start a new life.

  Truthfully, she had gotten a good look. A very long look. And her savior looked at her too.

  “Actually, I think this is him. His head is the same shape and he’s definitely big enough.”

  “You think so?” The detective trilled with relieved excitement.

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “We’ll put it down. We have to, you understand. It’s dangerous. You’re a very lucky girl to be standing here now.”

  Mari swallowed the rage that welled in her chest in response to his sympathetic smile. Lucky? Oh yes, she was so fortunate. How grateful she should be that the beast didn’t rip out her throat too. One predator didn’t destroy her. Others did their damnedest. She was tainted and he thought her lucky. A bitter laugh took the place of her angry retort and the man’s amiable expression vanished. He fidgeted with the clipboard in his hand and his grey mustache twitched.

  “I’m sorry about this, Miss Sowka. Thank you for your time.”

  Everyone was sorry. It was all they could say. Dad was sorry, Aubrey was sorry, Samuel was sorry. She didn’t want sorry. Mari wanted to extract this feeling of revulsion from her gut. She wanted to burn away into ash. But she couldn’t.

  And she couldn’t pace for one more second or she might go mad and suffocate herself with a throw pillow. So much for bloody foot stumps.

  She only returned to the house to grab a sweatshirt from the laundry graveyard and tug on a pair of worn sneakers. A dress hanging on the back of her closet door halted her as she searched for a matching sock. It was a flowy cotton dress that she might have worn on a beautiful day like this one. The hem fanned out appealingly, mocking her.

  Mari ripped it from the hanger and threw it to the ground. She would never wear a dress again. Not after being asked why she wore one that night. Didn’t she know a dress gave a man easy access? Easy access. Because she was not a living, breathing woman, only a structure for a man to enter. Mari gathered saliva in her mouth and spit on the dress. Maybe tomorrow she would burn it in her backyard.

  For the nine days she was home, Mari worked off her anger with exercise. She lifted weights and shadow boxed until her body quaked and she could barely make it up the stairs. She might have retreated to the basement to repeat that rigorous training if her muscles weren’t too sore for her limbs to bend properly. It was time to take a new route and channel her impotent fury elsewhere.

  Once her body was safely hidden beneath cotton that was too hot for seventy degrees and sunny, Mari snatched her keys off the kitchen counter and left the house for the second time that day. Her plan was absolutely foolish. Not just foolish but dangerous. And pointless. They hadn’t found her dog because he was gone. Or maybe he was never there at all. Maybe he was a demon that she summoned with her tainted witch blood.

  That would certainly explain why Gran’s coven didn’t want her.

  After four years of being promised that she would finally be accepted by them, finally be allowed to become a witch in her own right, they rejected her and what happened that night proved why. Mari was reckless, she was powerless, and she was probably evil because the thought of Jacob and Kevin lying dead in the grass made her glad. Dad saw it from the start. That was why he never allowed her to practice.

  Maybe that was why he never really loved her, too. Then again, she did kill her own mother coming out of the womb and she imagined that was a hard thing to forgive. Either way, something was wrong with her. No, it wasn’t even as exceptional as that. Mari simply wasn’t good enough. It didn’t matter if she was a white witch or as black as they came; she had no substantial magic. The worst she could do was make poppies grow.

  The dog was a creature of grace and ferocity, which meant she played no part in his creation. Everything Mari touched was soiled and worthless. Even a demon would want nothing to do with her.

  She was going to look for him regardless. She had to know. Know what? Mari couldn’t say. There was a yearning for some answer to a question her mind hadn’t formulated yet, a question that it felt like her heart had been asking for most of her life. Perhaps if she found an answer it would fill the gaping hollow inside of her that was gradually swallowing her soul.

  ✽✽✽

  The pet store was overwhelming. There were bright lights and chirping birds and at least three people who asked if she needed help. As soon as Mari walked through the automatic doors she had to steel herself so she didn’t race back to the car and go home. Her long hair was plastered to the back of her neck and the sweatshirt clung to her sweat dampened skin.

  If she’d thought about it, Mari might have realized she would be more comfortable in a t-shirt simply because it wouldn’t draw so much attention. The thick sweater offered her shelter but it bogged her down and made people stare at her because she was clearly dressed inappropriately for the weather and suffering because of it. Doing her best to ignore the stares, she snaked through the store until she stood beneath a big yellow sign marked “dogs.”

  Apparently there was as much variety in dog food as there was in human food. She circled the aisles ten times before deciding on canned food. It seemed more desirable than dry kibble. A stray dog would probably go wild for a meal that wasn’t from the trash, right?

  Unless he has a taste for people food. Mari snickered at her own dark humor. An old woman plucking cans off the shelf glowered at her. Teeth bared in what was more of a snarl than a smile, Mari faced the woman until she averted her gaze.

  Fifty bucks for twelve different types of canned dog food. She chose a few of the cheap mush ones because from what she knew, dogs weren’t picky. They ate out of garbage cans, after all
. Just in case her dog was picky, she got some luxury brands too. There was organic free range buffalo, chicken and rice, wild caught salmon, and some other painfully expensive stuff that could easily be slapped on a sandwich and sold at Whole Foods.

  When the cashier asked her what kind of dog she had her only answer was “a big one.”

  Any ounce of bravery she mustered this morning was zapped from her body the moment she pulled into the parking lot of Klein Park. Blood pumped in her ears and her gorge rose. She shoved the taste of bile back into her stomach and squeezed her eyes shut.

  No one would touch her again. Even if they wanted to, they couldn’t do it here. The park was closed. The gate was shut and a heavy metal chain was fastened around the bars to keep it that way.

  A lone poster fluttered on the corkboard by the park entrance. It warned of a feral dog attack, detailing the animal in bold letters. Mari forced herself out of the car and up to the poster for a better look. It was like something out of a horror movie, advising people to stay inside after dark.

  The chain kept the gate closed but not tight enough that a sinewy girl like herself couldn’t squeeze by. Mari managed to get both her lumpy bag full of cans and herself past unscathed but made enough noise to alert any person or creature lurking around. The sun set late during this time of year but near the shallow woods that lined the west side of the park, the trees absorbed much of the fading gold light.

  Somehow Mari found the impending darkness comforting. It would be easier in the dark. If she couldn’t make out the beast then maybe she would be less afraid. And if she couldn’t identify the spot where she huddled, half-dressed and helpless, as the middle aged couple who discovered Kevin’s body approached her nine days ago, she would be okay.