Wolves of Black Pine (The Wolfkin Saga Book 1)

by SJ Himes

  “He’s an odd one, that’s for sure. What other wolf knows how to open windows, and jumps two stories into a snow bank? And I know Ghost can open doors too, I’ve seen him. I stopped trying to keep him out of the kitchen years ago. I’m hoping the reps from the other research center the conservation officers are bringing will have some answers. I gave up thinking he was a gray wolf about twelve years ago, once he outgrew even our largest resident wolf.” Ghost shook out his fur, and sighed, hearing Cat’s suspicions aloud for the millionth time in the last few years. “He doesn’t act like a wolf, either. Doesn’t age like one, either. If he wasn’t so obviously a wolf of some kind I’d say he wasn’t an animal at all.”

  Ghost lifted his head, and sniffed loudly, sucking in the swirling scents on the cold breeze that whipped over the sanctuary. He shook once more, not smelling anything of concern on the wind, and trotted to the wall of the building, snuggling under the window high overhead. It was free of snow under the second floor overhang, and the dried leaves blown there made for a comfortable bed. He could hear them above him moving around, probably cleaning.

  The sanctuary slumbered under a thick blanket of white, the trees heavy with the wet snow, the wind a steady source of sensory input as it weaved through the buildings and the forest. He smelled the puppies in the small pen to his left, snuggled together in a pile inside their wooden den, sleeping until it was time for supper. He looked north, and caught the smallest hint of dark orange eyes that blinked once before retreating back into the thick foliage of a giant pine. The wolves were hungry, winter urging them to eat more to replace the energy spent to stay warm. Cat would be out soon, feeding the pups first, then the adults. Ghost had no taste for butchered meat, preferring to catch his own supper. He’d already eaten, and he was more interested in what Glen and Cat were discussing than tracking winter rabbits.

  In the weeks and months after Glen and Cat found him by the river, the two humans treated him as any other wolf pup. Fed him, gave him a warm place to sleep, and tried to comfort him as he howled his loneliness every night, missing his family, his home. As time passed, and they continued to ignore his mental attempts to communicate, he stopped trying. He couldn’t recall when it was he gave up trying to get them to understand him, and turned his attention to the wolves at the sanctuary. That turned out to be slightly more successful than talking to the humans. The wolves knew him by scent and instinct as a stronger predator, and if he tried really hard, he could sense the half-formed thoughts of the wolves murmuring inside their minds. They were smart, just not as smart as Ghost, and they knew it. While he couldn’t talk to them as he had to his grandfather, they heard him, and obeyed.

  When he failed to change back into a boy, Ghost’s wolf grew swiftly. He learned to run, leap, hunt, and communicate as a wolf. The memories of his grandfather faded as he grew further away from his past, the wild northern woods seducing him, comforting him. Pack life as a wolf was easy. Straightforward. His loneliness came on him at odd times, like when he snuck into the labs and snuggled with Glen as he watched football on the television, or when he went on car rides with Cat as she traveled to the nearest town. Those trips stopped, though, once he got too large, and people started to notice how different he was. Humans got nervous easily, and around here most humans had guns.

  The first time the peaceful ease of his life at the sanctuary changed happened when his wolf-form grew to adulthood. It happened quickly, and he wasn’t normal, if the confused and impressed exclamations from Cat and Glen were anything to go by—he was too large. Too big, too muscular. His body was shaped differently, nothing like the smaller gray wolves here.

  Too smart.

  No pen could remained locked, no door shut, no snack was safe from him. If he didn’t want to stay in the enclosure with the other wolves, then he didn’t. If he wanted to go for a run, he went. And minding the manners he learned by watching Cat tutor her summer interns, Ghost remembered every time to shut doors and latches behind him, so the real wolves never got out, too.

  He knew he was worrying them when they started to install something he called ‘thumb-locks’, devices that wouldn’t open unless a hand with an opposable thumb attempted it. Combinations, buttons, and more. He remembered the first time he opened a combination lock, not with teeth and tongue, or claw and awkward digit—he used his mind.

  It was so easy he startled himself. He’d run up to the gates of the wolf pen, smelling some deer a few hundred yards away, and he wanted to eat something other than butchered beef. Expecting to meet a latch that just needed a nose to open, he’d been stymied by the combination lock. There were numbers inked on it, the scent of the marker fresh, and it made his nose itch. The three digits brought to mind fuzzy recollections of lessons at a large table, a sweet smelling older woman with reddish brown hair reading to him from a book, counting. He couldn’t recall what they were exactly, but he recognized them anyway.

  Sitting on his haunches, Ghost tilted his head, and glared at the offending chunk of metal. He wanted out. He wasn’t a sheltered wolf battered by tragedy, incapable of fending for himself. Not like the others there. He could take care of himself. Seconds after sitting down, the tumblers spun, untouched, the wind warm as it moved around his head and to the lock. With a satisfied snick, each one fell into place, matching the numbers inked on the lock. With a grunt, he’d nosed at the lock once it fell open, and tipped the latch. The gate swung open, and he bounced through, ecstatic to be out, eager to hunt. He turned, pushed the gate shut with his head, and nuzzled the latch until it fell into place, ensuring the wolves couldn’t follow him out.

  Ghost turned towards the woods, his nose twitching with the scent of deer, and then he tumbled to a stop once the reality of what he’d done hit him. He opened that lock. Without touching it.

  His cry of delight morphed into one of despair, as he fought back the encroaching memories of a large gray wolf, a starry sky and miniature suns, and a dark room filled with kin and magic. He didn’t hunt after opening the lock. He ran instead, fleeing from the certainty that he was living a life that wasn’t his. He wasn’t meant for this. Ghost spent hours shaking in a damp cave, his whole body shivering from a cold that seeped through his bones. He was missing something, incomplete….. He was in a dream, long overdue to wake up. Hours in the darkness, eyes shut, afraid to remember, but wanting it all the same. The morning after, Ghost limped back to the sanctuary, since he had nowhere else to go, no one other than Cat and Glen to wonder where he was and miss him. It was all he knew for certain.

  Shaman… It was a whisper from the depths of his soul. A memory.

  Voices above him called him back from the past, and Ghost heard the rumble of an engine coming up the drive. He’d lost track of time, and realized that Cat and Glen were talking about their visitors. He stood, and shook himself out, before padding silently around the building, stopping at the corner where the drive came right up to the front of the laboratory. It was a large vehicle, one that Glen called an SUV, and he smelled of want when he spoke of them. It was a weird thing to want, when wanting food and snuggles was something far more important. At least to Ghost.

  He kept out of sight, only peeking around the corner enough so he could see, as four humans exited the black SUV. The wind blew their scents to him, and he breathed deep, eyes narrowing as his mind processed the separate smells. Two were dressed as officers of some kind, matching clothing and the scent of trees and snow marking them as the conservation men. The other two men were different, and he couldn’t discern some of what he was smelling. Stale sweat, nerves. Fear. And pain.

  He watched, but saw no signs of injury on either stranger. One was tall and thick, and moved like a predator, eyes watchful, each stride efficient and calculated. Yet there was something off about him, as if he was pretending to be prey instead of predator. False smiles, handshake too quick and hard. The other was shorter, and older, and was nervous, though he was doing his best to act c
alm. Maybe the predator man was the alpha, and he was displeased, making the small beta human nervous, though Ghost only saw calm confidence and a subtle edge of danger as he moved. That one was dangerous.

  Glen greeted the four men at the front door, inviting them in, voicing the silly pleasantries that Ghost tried to understand. Humans were weird. Who wants to talk about the weather, when all you have to do is look outside? Or asking about their drive, when one sniff will tell you that they stopped twice on the way here, and ate nasty snacks that stank of something Cat called preservatives?

  They were in the building, and Ghost hesitated. They were here to discuss him, and part of him wanted to know what they were going to say. Something was bothering him, the two foreign men with the conservation officers making his skin shiver with suspicion. They didn’t smell right. Yet if they were going to talk about him, and poke and prod at him like Cat used to, then he didn’t want any part of that. Humans liked using needles and machines when they should just use their noses.

  It was the thought of the fragile Cat with those strange males that made up Ghost’s mind. Glen was a strong alpha, but he was human. He was also outnumbered, and if they got rude, then Ghost didn’t want his pack undefended.

  He bolted around the corner, and raced to the front door, taking the handle in his teeth and tugging down. The door popped open, and he slipped inside, the door shutting automatically behind him as he ran down the hall and up the stairs, heading back to the lab. He stopped outside the shut door, and stretched out on the tiled floor, able to hear every word and movement. If something went wrong, he could be through that door and on the interlopers before Glen and Cat got hurt.

  “Dr. Medeiros, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Our correspondence remains the highlight of my week. Hopefully I can help you with your problem.” That must be the older man, as he sounded shaky, yet pretending to be sure and certain. Ghost smelled the two officers closer to the door, off to the side, the beeps and chirps telling him at least one of them was playing with one of those human toys, a ‘smartphone’. They were crunchy, and boring, and Cat yelled at him something fierce when he tried to play with hers.

  “I’m so glad you could come, Dr. Harmon. I’m hoping you can help us out as well. Ghost is a mystery, and I’d dearly love to figure him out.” So they were there about him. Not good. His sense of unease grew, and he resisted the urge to growl, not wanting to let on that he was there.

  “I’ve got the pictures you sent, along with the blood tests. I ran the DNA several times, but it came back inconclusive.” Ghost had no idea what that meant, and he waited, hoping the strange human would say something understandable. “The pictures look to be very similar to the gray wolf, yet I took into consideration the scale once I saw his measurements. I’ve never seen a gray wolf that large before, not outside of a specimen from two hundred years ago stuffed in a museum, at least. Does he really weigh in at over ninety kilos?”

  The male doctor sounded excited, and the sour scent of his sweat wafted out of the room, under the door. The other men in the room stopped fidgeting by the lack of sound from them, and he could practically sense their riveted attention.

  “That he does. I’ve never seen a wolf so large before. Portions of his anatomy are slightly different, too. His shoulders, neck, and head are proportionally larger, along with his legs being far more muscular than the average gray wolf. I’ve timed him from one end of the wolf run to the other, and his speed is faster than any other gray wolf recorded over a similar distance. He shouldn’t be that fast for an animal his size, but Ghost is.” Cat sounded so proud of him, and she was happy. Confused, but happy. “I have a theory, but it’s so off the charts I really need another opinion on this.”

  Please don’t say werewolf. I like it here. I may not know where my real home is, but this place is the only home I’ve known since I fell in the river and you found me. Don’t say werewolf. I don’t know where to go if I leave here.

  “Do share, I’m excited to hear it.”

  “Glen agrees with me. The similarities are common enough that I can reasonably assert that Ghost isn’t a gray wolf at all, but a dire wolf.”

  Silence greeted her statement. Ghost shuddered, the true name of his wolf-form whispering to him, taking him back to his past, the night before the river tore him away from his family, his pack. Dire wolves. Great predators that roamed the ancient world, and hunted man.

  “Canis dirus? My dear Dr. Medeiros, they went extinct thousands of years ago.” Dr. Harmon was lying. He was saying one thing, but the rapid thump of his heart and the rank sweat Ghost could smell through the door belied his words. He knew something.

  “I would agree sir, if not for the fact that everything about Ghost says otherwise. Size, speed, body shape, even his coat and coloration. If I were equipped to perform DNA tests I’d be able to confirm it, which is part of the reason why I reached out to you. I’m certain, beyond all doubt, that Ghost is a dire wolf.”

  “Well…. I admit the evidence is compelling.” The male doctor tried to sound doubtful, but Ghost could hear the agreement in him. He wanted Cat to think he didn’t believe her, but he did. It was more than that; his excitement told Ghost that he knew.

  “I think that at some point, someone found a remote wolf population in either Russia or Siberia, and took the cubs. We found Ghost as a puppy in Baxter State Park, and he was used to human interaction. I theorize that since the wolf populations here in southern Canada and the northern States are so closely monitored that someone wanted a wolf as a pet, but couldn’t get one from here. So I think some lucky smuggler happened to find a surviving pocket of dire wolves, took the cubs, not knowing what they’d really found, and sold them to unsuspecting buyers in the States. Then, once it became difficult for his owners to keep him, they dumped him in the state park, in an area where wolves were rumored to be.” Cat was so certain she was right. Ghost shivered, thinking about how close she actually was to the truth, yet at the same time how very far away from it she really was. If only she knew the truth.

  “A very enjoyable theory, Doctor. Full of intrigue and thrills.” Ghost quietly growled at the subtle snark in the foreign doctor’s words, aimed at his packmate. Cat was a smart woman, for a human. She was wonderful, if annoying. No one talked to her like she was a foolish cub. “May we see the animal in question? Perhaps an examination in person would help me come to a conclusion about his origins.”

  “Oh. Um… he’s outside. He usually runs free.” Cat sounded embarrassed, a den mother unable to restrain her wayward cubs. Ghost panted in amusement. “He’ll come back to the lab soon, it’s getting on to suppertime.”

  “He doesn’t run away? Surely such a degree of freedom is dangerous, for him and humans?” That must be the strange alpha human. He was moving, feet making a bare whisper of noise as he went towards the part of the lab where Cat was standing. Ghost twitched. The thought of that dangerous male near his alpha’s mate made him nervous.

  “Ghost has never caused any trouble. Well, aside from getting through locked doors and the refrigerator. And he hates my taste in furniture.” Cat laughed, and the men in the room chuckled.

  “So, this wondrous wolf isn’t in here? He’s outside?” the strange alpha asked, and there was something in his words that made Ghost tense.

  “Like Cat said, he’ll be back soon. He never misses a meal.” Glen was speaking now, and Ghost reacted to the tension in his voice. Something was bothering his alpha.

  “He’d better. At least I don’t have to worry about his interference when I kill you.” Ghost shot up from the floor as Cat screamed, two rapid popping noises coming from the room. Glen shouted, and the scent of sulfur and blood came to Ghost as he slammed into the door. He hit it so hard the door flung off its hinges, sailing over two men collapsed on the floor, crashing into a table covered in equipment.

  The strange alpha had Cat cornered on her stool, a gun pointed
at her head, the barrel oddly long, not looking like the smaller weapon that Glen sometimes carried when he left the sanctuary. Ghost crouched low to the floor, ears back, lips pulled back from his fangs, a roar of white-hot anger building in his chest as he took one slow, slinking step after another over the threshold, towards the aggressor who threatened his packmate.

  “Fuck! Remus, that’s him!” the foreign doctor stammered, rapidly stumbling back as Ghost crept closer to the man threatening Cat. He cleared the edge of the table, able to see Glen kneeling on the floor, blood running from a deep gash over his left eye, wavering as he attempted to stand. Glen fell back to his knees, and the strange alpha tightened his grip on his human weapon, shoving the end of it closer to Cat’s head.

  “Stop right there, abomination.” The interloper spoke to him directly, his eyes locking with Ghost’s. He stopped, the growl of rage spilling over his bared teeth, rumbling up from his chest. “I will kill her if you take one more step. And don’t act like you don’t understand me. I know full fucking well you’re not a dumb house pet.”

  Ghost paused, his growl dying off, yet he didn’t relax, ready to pounce at his first chance. This human knew. He knew that Ghost wasn’t just an over-large, too intelligent animal. He knew. Werewolf. Wolfkin.

  “Change, now. I prefer you without fangs and claws,” the interloper ordered, and Ghost crouched lower, claws digging tracks in the tiles under his paws. He shook his head once, an abrupt negative that made the man with the gun narrow his cold, dead eyes at him.

  Ghost bit back the urge to snarl a challenge, and feared that this human would see that he was broken—he was wolfkin, a werewolf, who was stuck in one form, untrained and lacking the knowledge to return to his human body. He’d spent the last fourteen years as a wolf, and he couldn’t recall what it was like to walk on two legs instead of four. The boy Luca was gone, as surely as if he had drowned in the river that warm summer morning.