by Abby Tyson
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
The Altering
Coywolf Series: Book One
Abby Tyson
Copyright © 2017 by Abby Tyson, Javata Press.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
THANK YOU to my beloved beta readers!
Cover Design by MiblArt Studio
Published by Javata Press. First edition, Version 1.0
Dedication
To my super duper uper shmuper cooper husband and daughter. I literally could not have done this without you.
Contents
Also by Abby Tyson
The Altering
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Abby Tyson
Sneak Preview of “The Hollowing”
Also by Abby Tyson
The Altering
Why didn't Savannah Claudie change after she was bitten by a werewolf? Savi isn't the only one who wants an answer to that question. Dragged into a secret world of werewolves, cults, and legends, Savi must face her fears and her past to rescue her best friend from the fanatical Alters. But can she do it without losing herself - or her life - along the way?
Chapter One
You think you know this story.
Everything you've been told about that day is true, but the full tale starts much earlier, and is known to only a few. The world as you know it is set to alter once again, and facing the future is impossible without first understanding the past...
The day before she began to change the world, Savi was doing what she usually did on Friday afternoons: sitting in her car outside of the Ready4U Gas & Convenience Mart with a book in her hands.
She glanced at her phone and frowned. 2:42. Hettie wanted her at the rally by three.
One more poem, she thought, closing her eyes to enjoy the light breeze that was keeping her comfortable under the late summer sun.
Two cars pulled into the small lot. The first went straight to the gas pump behind her, so she ignored it. The second parked beside her on the left. Keeping her face pointed at her book, Savi shifted her eyes just far enough to see the driver. Her stare lingered for barely a second, long enough to determine that the driver was a woman.
Savi looked back down at her book.
A loud rap on the windshield made her jump.
"Ha! Gotcha!" a man in his mid-forties guffawed. He walked around the front of Savi's car, wearing his standard threadbare Red Sox t-shirt and gym shorts.
"Hi," she said, forcing a smile.
"Startled you good, eh?" he said with a grin, wiping the sheen of sweat from under his nose and leaning his hairy arms against her door. "Who have we got today?" He reached in and lifted the cover of her book. "Emily Dickinson. She as good as everyone says?"
"Honestly, I haven't read enough of her to form an opinion," said Savi, placing her bookmark and studying the portrait of the author on the cover. "Some of it is really powerful, but then some is too thick for me. I prefer my poetry impactful upon first reading."
Seeing the man's open mouth and squinting eyes, Savi put the book on the passenger's seat. "It's okay, I guess."
He nodded, then flicked a hand toward the convenience store. "Want anything?" She started to shake her head no, but then she remembered she'd finished her last bottle a few nights ago when her mom was out with Dave. At the time, she'd told herself she wouldn't get anymore, but next week might prove harder than anticipated.
She grabbed her purse and counted her cash. "I only have ten," she said.
"That's okay. I can spot ya. I'm sure this won't be the last time we see each other." The man waggled his wiry eyebrows as he took the cash, then slapped his hand on her car door. "Be right back."
Even though they'd done this dozens of times, Savi's stomach always tightened at this point. She was only eighteen, after all. When another car pulled in on her right, she couldn't help but imagine it was an undercover cop, about to arrest them both. Despite her fear, Savi peered out the corner of her eye as the driver opened the car door.
It was a man with short curly black hair, but he was facing away from her, talking to someone in the passenger's seat. Giving up all pretense of disinterest, Savi leaned over and blatantly stared at the man, willing him to turn around. When he did, she saw he wasn't much older than herself. Without a glance in her direction he stepped out of his car and walked into the convenience store.
Savi fell back into her seat. She was about to pick up her book when she saw the man she'd spoken to emerge with a skinny paper bag in one hand, and a bag of chips in the other. Obviously not sharing her fear of being caught, he casually handed Savi the bag.
"Thanks," she said, tucking it under her passenger's seat. "And thanks for covering me. I'll bring an extra ten with me to square up next time I see you."
Waving away her civility, he said, "No worries, kid."
Savi grabbed her keys and put them in the ignition, but he continued leaning on her door and asked, "Whatchya up to this weekend?" Unlike their usual superficial conversation, this was a leading question. A question with an invitation behind it.
This caught Savi completely off guard. Her entire relatio
nship with this man was based on him buying her alcohol. He'd seen her camped out here enough times to approach her one night and ask if she wanted him to get her something, and on a whim she'd said yes, although she'd half expected him to take her money and run. Now she knew that his mom lived around here, he had a daughter, and he hated the Yankees, but she didn't know his name. And other than that she read a lot and shared his love of Johnny Cash, he didn't know anything about her. Especially her name.
Her anxiety must have been evident because the man gave a snort of laughter. "Loosen up, kid, I'm not hittin' on ya. Got a pen and paper?"
Although still unsure of where this was going, Savi grabbed a pen and an old car repair receipt from her glovebox. "This okay?" she asked.
"That'll do, donkey." He took the paper from her and held it up against the door and started writing. "I get the feeling you're the lonesome type. Always sittin' here instead of getting into trouble with your friends. You're lookin' for something." He finished and gave her the pen, but kept the paper. She'd never seen him so serious.
It suits him, she thought. He looks more aware, more present.
"I was in the same spot a while back," he said, "and I met some people that helped me out. I was lost. Heck, I was worse than lost -- I'd stopped even lookin' for a way out."
Shocked as she was at being analyzed by a man whom she'd always written off as nice but dimwitted, it took Savi a moment to accept the paper when he offered it back to her. He'd written a name, a phone number, and an address.
"Now, I know you don't know me from the next bum who's willing to stick it to the man in his own way, but these people are the real deal. They're my family. All that stuff people say about being reborn and discovering your true purpose and servin' somethin' bigger than yourself?" He tapped the paper in Savi's hand. "That's what you'll find here."
"What is it?" Savi asked. "AA?"
The man coughed out a laugh, resting his forehead on his arms before looking back up at her. "No, nothing like that. We're just a group of regular people who are doing what we can to make the world a better place. But I'll tell ya, once you go, you'll never question your place in this world again. And that's my number, in case you get lost."
"Thanks," she read the name on the paper, "Baxter, but I actually do have plans this weekend." She put the slip inside the cover of her book.
Baxter shrugged. "We meet a few times a month, so if it's not this time that's fine by me. Meetings start at sunset. Remember if you do go, not to worry when you get there. The barn's in the middle of nowhere and can be pretty intimidating at night, but there's no place on Earth I'd rather be. I'd be there now, but my Ma fell a couple weeks ago and I've been stayin' with her. My sister's coming up late tonight, though, so I'll be there tomorrow and Sunday."
Giving her a solemn stare, he added, "It might be what you're searching for." Unsure how to respond, Savi simply nodded and turned the key in the ignition.
He tapped a quick rhythm on her door before taking a step away from her car. "Give me a ring," he said over the noisy engine, "it might just be your thing." His face lit up, deep lines rippling across his forehead as he laughed. "I'm a poet, and I didn't even know it!"
Savi gave him an indulgent smile and backed out of her parking spot. Baxter went to his car at the gas pump and waved as she passed.
This is why I don't talk to people, she thought. They turn out to be crazy.
The crowd outside the main mall entrance was bigger than Savi expected. At least a hundred people were penned in, protected from traffic by bright orange cones and banners that read "Ban Fracking Now!" in bright red letters. She couldn't get close enough to see where Hettie was, so she looped around and parked at the back of the lot. Focused on the distant rally as she walked the long line of cars, Savi didn't see the two people walking the same path but in her direction until it was too late.
Tara Clarence and Eric Striker, voted Class Couple by Savi's high school classmates, walked side by side, each looking down at their cellphones. Tara, who was small enough to be top of the cheerleading pyramid from sixth grade through senior year, wore a dark red tank top with "Northeastern University" printed in large letters, and a skirt that would hardly fit around one of Savi's thighs, let alone waist. Eric, captain and center forward of the high school soccer team, was in a yellow sleeveless shirt that clung to his washboard abs as much as he assumed the rest of the world wanted to.
Savi was about to slip between the cars and go down the next aisle when Tara glanced up and caught her eye. Pocketing her phone, Tara grabbed at her boyfriend's hand, which Eric jerked away and brought back to his phone. Savi wasn't so proud that she didn't consider trying to avoid them even at this point, but the next two parking spots that she passed were occupied by families either disembarking or loading minivans, so she muttered a curse and met Tara's venomous gaze with her own.
"So you're not going to college," said Tara, oozing judgment as she sipped her iced coffee.
Savi stepped into the lane, trying to go around them, but jumped back when a car she hadn't seen honked.
"Hello, Tara," Savi drawled, bowing to the inevitable.
"At graduation," Tara continued, "after the principal called each person's name to walk, she said where each student is going to college. She didn't say anything after your name. At my grad party, everyone was talking about how sad it is that no college wants you, not even a community college."
Savi stared blankly at the spot between Tara's eyes, trying to tune her out like she'd learned to do senior year, but she was out of practice and heard too much of what she said. Tara's long, smooth brown hair, obediently hanging over her shoulder in a side braid, was tousled just enough to give a first impression of thoughtlessness, but her curled eyelashes, precisely shaped eyebrows, and perfect makeup belied the effort that went into being effortlessly beautiful. Without realizing she was doing it, Savi ran a hand over her own hair, a mess of thick curls that she had long since stopped trying to tame in any way other than a low ponytail.
"I wasn't rejected," said Savi, even though she knew better than to take Tara's bait, "I didn't apply anywhere."
Tara's eyes widened in genuine surprise, but it was quickly replaced by scorn. "I knew you were pathetic, but I didn't think even you were that stupid." She looked to Eric for agreement, but he was still ignoring them, engrossed in his phone. Tara rolled her eyes, popping the lid off of her iced coffee and dropping it on the pavement.
"What's stupid is racking up thousands of dollars in debt when you don't even know what you want to do," said Savi.
"Everyone knows you're clueless, but I'm not," said Tara, drinking from the rim of the cup and holding an ice cube in her mouth. "I was accepted to Northeastern as a communications major."
Savi scoffed.
"What's so funny?" Tara demanded with the perfect combination of impatience and authority that can only be mastered by people who are used to getting their way.
"Communications? You've been in remedial English your whole life."
"And look how far your honors classes got you." Tara reached in her purse and pulled out the ball of keychains she called keys. With her eyes on her car, she lifted it high enough for Savi to have to notice the shiny red Northeastern keychain. Her convertible chirped a few spots away. As if beckoned, Eric passed between them and walked toward the sound, never looking up.
Savi's eyes had left Tara to watch Eric walk past. If she hadn't broken eye contact, or if she'd looked at something other than Eric, Tara may have been satisfied with her mediocre retort and just followed Eric. Instead...
"What the hell!" Savi shrieked, as ice cold coffee splashed on her neck. She jumped back, trying to extract the brown ice cubes that were already puddling inside her bra. "Do you have a bitchy acts quotient you have to meet or something?"
"Enjoy your worthless life," Tara sneered, tossing the plastic cup at Savi's feet and walking away.
The front of Savi's tank top -- white, of course -- was soaked. She wa
nted to go home, but she didn't have any tissues or towels in her car, and her hands were wet and sticky. Casting a glare at Tara and Eric, who were backing out of their parking spot and looking like movie stars, Savi grit her teeth and walked toward the mall.
A few members of the rally recognized her and tried to chat, but they let her slip past when they saw her shirt. She was still in the food court bathroom when a lanky redhead wearing rainbow framed glasses and a t-shirt that read "FRACK IS WHACK" trotted in.
Humming Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire, she pulled up alongside Savi and said, "How many times have I told you? You can't satisfy thirst through epidural osmosis." Tapping Savi's lips, she added, "That's what these are for."
"Gems like that are why I keep you around," said Savi. As she reached for a new paper towel, she tapped her best friend's nose. "And if you used this as something other than a glasses holder, you'd have recognized this attractive brown coloration as iced coffee."
"You don't drink coffee," Hettie said, pulling out her ponytail and fiddling with her hair in the mirror.
"Precisely. This would be Tara Clarence's beverage of choice."
At the mention of Savi's nemesis, Hettie paused her absentminded self-regard to stare perplexedly at Savi's reflection. "Tara?"
"We ran into each other in the parking lot. Then she ran her drink into me."