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

by Kat Bostick

  The strange poppies from that night faded as quickly as they’d come, leaving no trace of the red floral carpet. Or so she thought until she reached the hill where Jacob died. A lone poppy remained. Crimson like the blood spilled at its roots, the flower stood tall and proud.

  Mari barely caught herself before she was on her hands and knees, retching. Sour bile and the last remnants of her store-bought egg salad sandwich forced its way out of her mouth and onto the lush grass.

  Despite puking her guts up, she was barely shaking anymore. For the first time in nine days the trembling eased and her hands were steadier. She used those steady hands to wipe vomit from the corners of her mouth and retrieve the water bottle from the side of her pack. Mari hastily chugged a mouthful, swished it around, and spit. Then she took another long drink to put something in her now very empty stomach.

  ”If you’re going to kill me, dog,” She said loudly, ducking into the trees. “please make it quick. Don’t eat me alive. Okay?”

  Mari repeated the request in case the dog hadn’t understood on the first go. Once she was a suitable distance beyond the tree line, she chose a random can from her bag, peeled it open, and set it on the ground fifty feet in front of her. Then she heaved her heavy pack off her shoulders, leaned her back against a tree, and slid to the leaf littered ground. Now all she could do was wait. And pray.

  Whether she was praying that the dog would make an appearance or that he had vanished for good, she couldn’t say.

  Chapter 3

  The Wolf

  It was time to leave. This was no place for a wolf and he’d worn out his welcome in a spectacular show of violence many nights ago. After the storm chased the human hunters away, he waited for one whole excruciating day before wriggling out of the culvert. When he cautiously returned to his woods, he found the surroundings unusually quiet. Only the song of crickets and the occasional twitter of nocturnal animals filled the air.

  All human activity within the borders of the park had ceased. It was only normal for them to be frightened when there was a ravenous wolf on the loose. This respite would likely be brief, only providing him a chance to hunt small prey to fill his belly for the journey ahead. His plan was to catch as many squirrels as he could find, wait until the darkest point in the night, and flee. How he was supposed to travel anywhere better when he could scarcely make it two hundred feet from the park without being exposed to harsh lights and busy roads, he had no idea.

  Wolves weren’t particularly good at planning ahead.

  Wolves also weren’t particularly good at staying focused on anything that wasn’t hunting. The man battled for dominance over the wolf in his own mind, desperate to get his wilder half to comply. The wolf, however, was not interested in leaving these woods unless he had a precise destination in mind. That stipulation made it impossible for him to leave seeing as he couldn’t remember any of the previous places he’d been, aside from the picturesque forest he dreamt of nightly.

  Tonight, like many nights past, the internal struggle between wolf and man continued, distracting him enough that he didn’t immediately notice the strange noises coming from the tree line. A breeze whispered along his snout, threaded with a familiar scent. Many scents, actually. First, there was meat. Not a fresh kill, but the meat that humans ate. Lamb maybe. It was salty and old but it made his mouth water regardless.

  Next, the wolf smelled her; the honeysuckle witch who had dream forests inside of her. Or maybe on her skin. He didn’t know if a person could have a forest inside of them and he wasn’t interested in gutting her to find out.

  The fragile flicker of hope that he would see her again was doused by loneliness days ago and now her unexpected presence had him bursting with delight. The wolf couldn’t blame her for being too afraid to return sooner. He only wished he could explain there was nothing to fear from him. The honeysuckle girl weakened the wall that separated his two halves, drawing the man outward, and he was desperate to feel that close to being whole again.

  With wolfish enthusiasm and manlike curiosity, he ran to her, stopping short when he caught sight of the witch with her back against a tree. The sun hadn’t quite finished it’s descent beyond the horizon but the woods were dark enough to cast shadows over most of her face. Her body language feigned calm but the thundering of her heart and that familiar fragrance of her fear betrayed her. Her adrenaline seemed to strengthen that faint magic odor that hid beneath her natural floral perfume. He hoped she couldn’t do more than summon poppies. Witches were dangerous, or so his instincts claimed.

  The witch was bundled up in a sweater, even though the breeze felt like hot bear breath. She trembled lightly too, as if a brisk northern wind penetrated her skin and chilled her to the bone. And mingled with sweet flowers and magic was another acidic scent; vomit. Was the girl still sickly? That might explain the ruddy tinge of her cheeks.

  On the ground a distance from her was the source of the meat smell. It wafted from a metal tin filled with gooey looking meat scraps—and plenty of other undistinguishable things. It wasn’t the best gift he’d ever received but it was well intentioned. His tail flicked eagerly and he took two confident steps forward. Then he stopped and cocked his head to listen.

  It might be a gift or it might be a lure. No men with guns and dogs had been out here for many sunrises. In fact, there were no people, hunter or otherwise. Why was the witch suddenly here? Man and wolf were at odds with each other. The wolf couldn’t smell or hear anything out of the ordinary and wanted to quickly accept the gift lest he offend the witch. The last echoes of man’s instincts understood traps and how easily wolves fell into them.

  More cautious than before, he moved until he was just free of the shadows. The girl gasped then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself. He was more than fifty feet away yet he could hear her heartbeat like it was right beside his ear.

  “It’s you.” She said with a tone his ego wanted to call reverence

  Despite her obvious fear, the witch leaned in to gape at him. The last of the fading light caught her eyes, making them more hazel than amber. That was where her magic lived. Not inside of her and not on her skin but in those shimmering wells of honey gold. He could feel the weight of her gaze like rainwater sinking into his skin. The sensation made him shake the imaginary burden from his coat.

  The rapid sound startled her and she pressed back into the tree, knocking her head on the trunk. She let out a grunt and rubbed the back of her skull. He dipped his head in apology but the motion scared her and she scrambled up as close to the tree as she could get. He decided it might discourage her fear if he ate, showing that he was hungry for the food, not for her.

  He must have been reading her mind because she met his gaze and said “Don’t eat me alive. Okay, dog? If you’re going to do it, kill me first. Do it like Jacob.”

  Jacob? It was a name. He knew names were different from regular words. Was he Jacob? No, she called him “dog” because that’s what she thought he was. He could forgive her that, for now. Even a witch might not know a werewolf when she saw one. Shapeshifters that went from man to wolf at their leisure was a hard concept to wrap one’s head around.

  Leisure? That word amused the man. It wasn’t one that applied to the change. He hadn’t shifted in many moons but he knew there was nothing effortless about it.

  “Are you hungry?” The witch pointed to the can.

  He was hungry, so hungry that drool pooled on his tongue and dripped lazily between his teeth. He approached the can and sniffed it curiously. Then he backed up in disgust, sneezing wildly. This was meant for a raccoon or maybe a vulture. The fetid and chemical laden contents of the can were fouler than carrion.

  Was she trying to poison him? Humans did that to his wolf brethren when they were considered pests. His nose told him there was nothing lethal in it. He showed the witch his displeasure with the unappetizing gift by nudging the can until it tipped over.

  Unfazed, the witch tinkled a hesitant laugh and
said “I guess you are a picky eater.”

  If he could talk he would have dared her to try the pungent meat before calling him picky. Even a starving wolf had standards. He wasn’t the dog she thought he was and so he wouldn’t eat food for a dog. Or so he insisted until she carefully removed a much bigger can from her backpack and opened it.

  “Maybe you’ll like bison instead.”

  He waited impatiently, shifting his weight from one forepaw to the other as she dumped the can onto a paper plate. It took her a moment to muster up enough courage to scoot the plate towards him. The wolf delayed long enough for her to retreat back to her tree before gulping down the bison in three quick bites. It wasn’t fresh meat but it was much better than the first offering. He gave her the most pitiful whimper he could without sacrificing all of his dignity to indicate that he wanted more. She understood.

  The wolf gave her space, feigning skittishness to appear unthreatening. That made him feel silly. He was threatening. He was a colossal beast, an apex predator, the greatest hunter this witch would ever encounter. But her fear unsettled him and she was being kind so he saw no reason he couldn’t pretend to be smaller.

  The second and third helping she gave him were devoured as quickly and greedily as the first. He was thin and needed to gain back quite a few pounds. He was also much bigger than any dog such a meal was intended for. Yet, it was enough to quell his dangerous appetite, at least for now, and for that he was grateful to the witch.

  ✽✽✽

  Mari

  Mari’s dog was a finicky eater, as it turned out. He shouldn’t be, the starved thing. He had a thick double coat and still his ribs were visible beneath it.

  One of the police officers who spoke to Mari suggested the dog was rabid. Otherwise why kill two humans and leave them relatively untouched? She hadn’t answered his question because she hadn’t wanted to consider it. Now she was just a cars length away from the beast and she considered it thoroughly. He hadn’t killed her yet, so that was a good sign.

  During their first meeting she wrongly identified his fur as a tawny. The vanishing sunlight didn’t give her a perfect view but it was enough to catch glimpses of a rich blend of vermillion and cinnamon. The color only added to the regal beauty of him, making him appear otherworldly. Just as the gloaming darkened their surroundings, he glanced up at her to reveal magnificent emerald eyes.

  Suddenly Mari was very doubtful that she was dealing with a dog. No ordinary animal had eyes like that. She wasn’t trained to read auras—a talent that came to many witches naturally—so she didn’t see anything magical about him. Yet, it was there, in the glow of his eyes and the strange heat surrounding him, like the power in his body was so strong it disturbed the air.

  That didn’t mean she had any clue what he could be. Being a witch meant she was the first to believe in the supernatural. In fact, the wolfish creature before her had one of her grandmother’s many stories surfacing in her mind. Mari wondered if maybe Gran had actually given her the full truth when she told the tale of The Witch Who Sang with Wolves. That would mean the animal before her wasn’t a dog or an ordinary wolf but a familiar.

  Certainly not Mari’s familiar. She had no power to summon one and nothing to offer one. Based on what little knowledge she possessed, familiars didn’t just go jaunting through public parks and mauling would-be rapists.

  No matter what he was, he couldn’t stay here. The dog from this morning would be put to sleep and everyone would feel safe again. The park would reopen and it would only be a matter of time before her finicky beast killed someone else.

  And exactly what am I supposed to do about that? It wasn’t her responsibility to save a wayward familiar.

  Who was she kidding? That was exactly what Mari would do if she was a true and practicing witch. Maybe she could even keep him for herself. The least she could do was take care of him. He saved her and Mari felt as if she owed him a great debt.

  Tonight the beast had food and trusted her enough to eat it. That was a good start. She could go home and do more research, maybe flip through some occult books and look for information on familiars.

  The wolf—wolf-beast-whatever creature—perked his ears up but didn’t rise when she did. Despite his docile behavior she remained wary of him, watching his unnaturally glowing eyes closely when she stooped for her bag. It was probably silly to start her journey out of the woods backwards but from what she knew, turning your back on a predator was never wise. No matter how beautiful and unique this beast was, he was still a killer. Mari urged herself not to forget that.

  “I’m Mari, by the way.” She had to laugh at herself. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Well, since I’m already crazy I might as well ask what your name is.”

  The beast cocked his head like he actually understood but his only response was a huff. She considered for a moment. “I think I’ll call you Jasper. You look like a Jasper.” Mari readjusted the straps of her backpack and took a few careful steps backward. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jasper. I’ll bring more bison if you promise not to eat me alive.”

  Since she was already going to win the world’s biggest idiot award for everything she’d done today, she looked over her shoulder and waved. It seemed like the right thing to do. He didn’t wave back—obviously—but he stood and wagged his tail.

  I think that means we’re friends. She thought, pleased with herself as she hurried across the dark field and squeezed through the park gate.

  Chapter 4

  Jasper

  Jasper—that was the name the witch gave him and he liked it—was lazily following the stale scent of a brazen house cat when he heard a familiar noise on the other side of the stream. A combination of boredom and desperate hope that Mari was back to visit him again—she’d come every evening after that first time—sent him flying through the trees to investigate.

  Mari liked to be cloaked in darkness so he didn’t anticipate seeing her during the day. She preferred hiding and hiding was very hard when the sun was up. He hadn’t actually scented her yet and though he was fairly certain no one else was opening cans in the park, he decided he should check.

  Jasper was about to circle around their usual meeting area when he heard “Jasper? Are you here, pup?”

  Pup? That rankled. If they were going to be companions she really ought to stop treating him like a dog.

  “There you are.” She cooed, paper plate of canned bison in hand.

  Wolf, not dog. He snarled. She dropped the plate, splattering food all over her shoes and the crunchy layer of dead leaves as she jumped back.

  “It’s okay, Jas. It’s Mari, remember? I know you haven’t seen me in the daylight but you know my scent, right?” Mari did a surprisingly good job of keeping her voice steady.

  Despite her outstretched hand, she backed off as he approached. Jasper’s body responded with instinct before his brain could process when her heel snagged a root and she tumbled backward. One second he was twenty feet away and the next he was on her, forepaws pinning her chest to the ground. He didn’t intend to harm her. He simply couldn’t resist the urge to pounce on fallen prey.

  Not prey. He snarled a reminder to himself. These days he was more wolf than man and sometimes wolf got confused about what he was and wasn’t supposed to eat and play with.

  Jasper thought the snarl only took place in his head but when he studied Mari’s face he realized he’d been snarling at her too. The warm color of her skin went sallow and her hazel eyes brimmed with terror. Her breath came so rapidly that it jostled him atop her chest. He needed her to calm down. The scent of her fear floated from every pore and it was terribly delicious.

  Not prey. He stated more firmly. Not prey. Play. The part that was wolf agreed.

  Mari was not equipped to play with him. Not while he was riled up and she was frightened. He wouldn’t hurt her on purpose but his reaction to her falling was a great indicator that he was not as self-possessed as he should be. Even if she was a willing participant in w
olf play she could get injured or at the very least, upset. She was already upset and he wanted to fix it before she tried to run. That wouldn’t be good for either of them.

  “Jasper,” A whimper escaped her chest.

  Jasper dipped his head in a slow, measured move until his mouth was inches from her face. Her breath tasted both bitter and sweet. Coffee. Suddenly he remembered pressing a cup of the warm drink to his lips. He snuffled her mouth, licking at the edges to get a taste of the bittersweet stuff. That made her squirm but he didn’t relent. He moved from her mouth to the side of her cheek and continued studying the taste of her.

  Wolf was satisfied with this. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, he was only bored and hungry. Maybe someday Mari would be brave enough to play with him and he could teach her not to squeak like a wounded rabbit. Exactly like she was doing now. It was not in fear this time though. She was giggling. His tongue found her ear and apparently her ears were ticklish.

  Just like that, all of her fear escaped her body in one breathy laugh.

  “Jasper, you’re going to crush me.” Mari wheezed and pushed his head from her face. Once she was sitting up and breathing regularly again—he really had been crushing her—she said “what a good pooch you are, not eating me alive.”

  Jasper growled his unhappiness at the title “pooch.”

  She cleared her throat. “I mean, what a ferocious and deadly predator you are, lying in wait to eat me as you were.”

  Jasper wagged his tail happily and trotted over to the paper plate to start his meal. Mari gaped at him with that same stunned expression she got every time he appeared to understand her. “What in the world are you, Jasper? Somehow I doubt you’re a demon or else you probably would be lying in wait to eat me.”

  Wolf. Man. Both. He was growing tired of not being able to say it.