Wolves of Black Pine (The Wolfkin Saga Book 1)

by SJ Himes

  Ghost fought back the familiar fear of being trapped in a similar situation. He saw an overlap of an image, of cowering under his grandfather’s great wolf-form, another man with cold eyes holding a weapon on them both, threatening to end their lives. It was the agony of that memory that pushed him, made his heart beat harder—he would not let history repeat itself. No one he loved was dying again. He wasn’t a cub anymore. Form-locked he may be, but he was his grandfather’s blood—he was not helpless.

  “Harmon! Get the tranquilizer ready,” the aggressor snapped, and the human doctor jumped, digging at his pockets, pulling out a couple of black boxes. He was fumbling, awkward, and Ghost could taste his anxiety as it flooded the room. He pulled a syringe and a vial from one of the boxes, dropping the other on the floor where it made a soft beeping noise and lit up a small screen.

  “Now, you’re gonna hold still, and Harmon is gonna knock you out. If you turn on him, or make one move I don’t like, you can say goodbye to your pet humans.” The strange alpha waved his free hand at his doctor, the smaller man swallowing nervously, hands shaking as he fought to draw a clear liquid from the glass vial in his hand.

  “What are you doing? What’s going on?” Cat stammered, finally finding her voice, tears running down her cheeks. Glen groaned weakly as he finally collapsed all the way to the floor. The man with the gun shoved the barrel in her face, making her cry out. Ghost growled, muscles readying for his leap.

  “I’ll do it! Harmon, hurry the fuck up and stick him!”

  “Okay, okay!” Harmon paled to bone white, but crept forward with the syringe filled and ready.

  Ghost quivered with the desire to kill, saliva dripping from his fangs, eyes locked on the man hurting Cat. The scent of blood was overpowering, filling the room, clashing with the fear and adrenaline scents that rose from the doctor now standing at his side. He didn’t move, afraid that one twitch on his part would result in a bullet tearing into Cat’s skull.

  A slight pain bloomed in his shoulder, and he turned his head with a snarl, the human doctor backpedaling away, the syringe held in his hand uncapped and empty. Ghost wondered what happened until he felt a dragging sense of fatigue roll over his mind. Cat watched in confused horror as he shook his head, fighting the urge to lay down, to rest. His anger drifted out of reach, and his claws withdrew from the tiles.

  “How long until that kicks in?” the interloper growled at the male doctor, grabbing Cat by her arm and yanking her to her feet. Ghost tried to leap at him, but his brain couldn’t seem to tell his feet what to do. His chest heaved, lungs and heart slowing, as if he were about to fall asleep.

  “He should be out any minute now.” The male doctor nervously threw the syringe in the trash, wiping his sweaty hands on his jacket. Ghost fell, breathing heavily, trying to fight off the drug coursing through his body. “I used a silver nitrate derivative as the base for the sedative, it’ll keep him under for a while. I’d say he’s a beta from the size of him, so he’ll be out any second. It works on the betas and lesser alphas that we have at the labs.”

  “What did you do to him? What the hell is going on?” Cat cried, her toes barely touching the floor as the large male held her by her arm, easily controlling her as he lowered his gun. He sneered at Ghost, who could do nothing but blink slowly, mouth open, paws twitching.

  “Keep an eye on him, Harmon.” The human alpha ordered the smaller male doctor, who nodded, eyes still tracking Ghost while he struggled to stay awake. “I’ll need some time to take care of our hosts.”

  Betas. Lesser alphas.

  Betas… Alphas. How does the human know… what is he doing to Cat and Glen?

  The interloper pulled two pieces of metal from his pocket, and he threw Cat against the table, wrenching her arms behind her back and tying her wrists together. Handcuffs, his mind supplied idly, the words coming to him from the memory of watching cop shows with Glen on TV.

  Darkness was coming. His eyes stopped blinking, the edges of his awareness dulling, his chest rising and falling so slowly he couldn’t even tell if he were breathing. Ghost watched through the blur in his eyes as the strange man stepped over him, after throwing Cat to the floor next to where Glen was still passed out. He smelled blood even as his brain began to shut down, the drug working fast, his shoulder burning as the poison spread through his veins.

  Silver. Beta, alpha… beta and alpha. Silver kills us unless a shaman…

  Shaman. Grandfather. Gray Shadow. Shaman.

  He called me a shaman as he died, disappearing on the wind. Luca, Shaman of Black Pine.

  I REMEMBER.

  I am a shaman.

  It was if the thought, the remembrance, was a catalyst, and a bolt of white-hot energy raced through his mind and muscles. A glow settled over his dimming eyes, and lights grew within the two humans laying on the floor. Cat was crying, sobbing, but all Ghost could see was a tiny star that shivered in the shadow of her body, deep in her chest, a pale blue light that fluttered, as if shy. Beside her, barely conscious, Glen remained where he’d fallen, and his body faded out as Cat’s did, a small dot of light twinkling within his chest, the pure yellow of dandelions that sent out tendrils, racing from the center of his body, to his skin, focusing on where his shoulder was touching Cat’s hip.

  The lights were so entrancing that Ghost almost succumbed to the drug, so distracted by what he was seeing. He jerked, a small spasm, but enough to drag his gaze from his packmates to the human male grumbling to himself as he watched his cohort mess with the dead conservation officers behind Ghost. There was light in his chest too, and Ghost stared, mind and thoughts clearing as he watched the baleful pale green star pulse in time with his nervous heart beat.

  Ghost closed his eyes, finally able to blink, and he found himself looking at a starry expanse, a deep lake of black that shined with dozens of lights, the brightest of which was so near to him that it was him. A silver white star burned with a fury he could not bear to watch, but he could not look away. Dark pewter lines of liquid flowed through the lake of darkness, winding towards his light, coming from where he somehow knew his shoulder was, where the syringe punctured his flesh. He was seeing the drug, as it attacked him from the inside, rendering him helpless. He snarled, soundless to the outside world, yet it echoed here in the calm black lake of his spirit, and the star that was him shined brighter at the sound. His anger rose, frustration and an instinctual desire to be free making the silver-white star grow, burning brighter, hotter, more violently, a writhing mass of light and soundless challenge. The snaking tendrils of poison withdrew from the growing light, and Ghost, Luca, poured more power into his body, his spirit, calling to the other faraway stars across the horizon when he began to falter.

  Light came, in thin rivulets, winding through the heavens that existed behind his eyes, answering his call. As he chased the poison through his body, the light from the other stars poured in, buffering him, fueling him. He heard with his earthly ears a startled gasp, a sharp beeping coming from nearby, and the rumble of a beast enraged. As the poison fled from his internal light, retreating back to the point it entered his body, he heard a startled exclamation from the outside, so loud it made him snap back, and his eyes open.

  Cat was staring at him, eyes wide with concern and fear. The male doctor was staring down at his feet, where the other black box he’d dropped was beeping erratically, going crazy. Ghost blinked, and breathed deep, rolling up from his side, pulling his feet under him.

  “Not a beta. Not a lesser alpha. Shaman. He’s a shaman,” the male doctor breathed in astonishment, unable to tear his eyes away from the box squawking at his feet.

  “What are you rambling on about?” the aggressor demanded as he climbed the stairs, entering the lab, his dark shirt soaked with the blood of one of the slain officers. He stopped in the doorway, startled, and Ghost snarled, moving swiftly, placing his large body between the predator and his packmate
s.

  “Remus! It isn’t a beta! It’s a shaman!” screamed the male doctor, throwing himself backwards, falling to his rear in his haste, fear snatching at the air in his lungs. “Shoot it, shoot it!”

  Ghost roared as the man drew his gun. Lifting to point at his face, finger settling on the trigger. Time slowed, and Ghost let his fury loose, a red-hot wave that came from all around, collecting in front of him, making the air warp and burn, ozone crackling as a wall of burning hot gas rolled across the space between the man who hurt his pack and Ghost. He acted without thought, distant memory of another doing the same anchored deep in his subconscious, barely guiding him when the spirit-fire hit the gun.

  A scream was the interloper’s answer to Ghost’s attack, the gun exploding in his hand, glowing shards of metal fragmenting across the lab. Nothing came at Ghost or his packmates; the wall of air still rolled forward, trapping the man on the floor and the now wounded gunman. Blood ran from an injured hand, and clothes smoked as Ghost’s rage pushed the wall of air. He stepped forward, one paw at a time, charged with anger, his will driving the wall, forcing the two human men to scramble to the door.

  The doctor wasn’t fast enough, his entire right side exposed to the burning air, clothes blackening in seconds, the smell of burning flesh erupting as he screamed, ineffectively batting at his clothing, eventually falling through the open door into the hall. The human alpha grabbed at his shirt collar with his uninjured hand, and dragged the male doctor down the hall to the stairs. Ghost followed, the human alpha staring back at him with hate-filled eyes the whole way as Ghost herded them with the wall of burning air, down the stairs, and back down the hall to the front of the building. The paint peeled and the carpet smoked; the wooden stair rail blackened and smelled horribly; Ghost pushed on, an eerie sense of calm settled over him, the ease at which he bent the air to his will a vague worry in the back of his mind.

  The two men spilled out the front door, past the body of one of the dead officers, into the vehicle. The male doctor was still screaming, and the aggressor’s eyes silently promised retribution to Ghost as he stood in the doorway, gathering his will for one last push. The hot gas slammed into the driver’s side of the SUV, singeing the paint, causing the tires to smoke as it was thrown into gear. The SUV sped away, and Ghost dropped the spirit fire, chasing after the vehicle as it took the gravel drive away from the sanctuary, the accelerator bottoming out.

  Ghost nearly overtook it as the SUV cleared the front gates, and he skidded to an abrupt stop, watching as it disappeared amongst the trees. He listened as the engine eventually faded, miles between the attackers and his territory. Ghost threw back his head and howled, victorious, anger and rage and power shaking the snow from the nearby trees.

  Answering howls from the wolves behind the building pulled Ghost free from his fury. He dropped his head, his claws digging into the gravel as he padded soundlessly back to his packmates.

  He ran through the front door and up the stairs, and back into the lab. He stepped around the tiny puddle of poison that glittered evilly on the tiles where the shot was expelled from his body, and he stopped once he reached Cat’s side. She’d managed to work her cuffed hands to her front, and Glen’s head was in her lap, his eyes fluttering drowsily up at Ghost, the blood flow stopped under the towel Cat had pressed to his forehead.

  He met her eyes. Human to wolfkin, they watched each other, unblinking. He lifted a paw, and batted gently at the cuffs, focusing briefly. Two soft snicks, and the cuffs fell away, clattering to the tile floor.

  “Ghost?” she said, softly, a quaver in her voice. He sighed, and sat, his head above hers even sitting. He watched, nearly able to discern every thought racing across her expressive face as she processed what she had seen. “Ghost?”

  He shook his head, not as a wolf would, but as a human would, once from side to side. Her eyes widened, and she froze. It was Glen who reacted, but not in anger or fear. His human alpha lifted a shaking hand, and ran his fingers through the thick fur that covered his chest, scratching as he had a million times before over the years.

  Their questions would come. If only he could answer them.

  What Was Once Lost

  “FATHER?” Timidity should never be heard in an alpha.

  Caius eased back in his chair, carefully closing the manila folder in front of him before lifting his eyes to his sons. Roman and Gerald stood side-by-side across his desk, both wolves tall, fit, and mean. Both were handsome, in a common sort of way, brown-haired and tanned skin. They both took after him to some degree, yet Caius always saw their mothers when he looked at them. One the result of a failed mating, the other a cub born from a liaison that should have been brief and unremarkable. His sons matched the stereotype of what alphas were supposed to look like and how to act, yet they lacked one important trait between them.

  Power.

  They were both lesser alphas, and Caius was reminded daily of his failure to produce a suitable Heir of his bloodline every time he saw them, or his actual Heir, Kane.

  Roman, the eldest, born over two and a half centuries earlier to one of Caius’ former mates, was staring down at him, face bruised and cut. His dark suit was strained across his shoulders and chest, an ill-guided move to make his burly physique glaringly obvious. His muscles had done him no good last night against Caius’ Heir. He was looking far better than he did hours before, the rapid healing of their kind quickly repairing the bite and claw marks Kane left on Roman during his failed Challenge. Roman was trying not to glare, discomfited, blatantly upset at having been summoned from his bed this early in the morning where he’d no doubt been wallowing in self-pity. The scent of sex and blood wafted off of the lesser alpha, and Caius spent a second wondering how many betas his son had gone through the night before trying to assuage his manhood after his bruising loss.

  Gerald, his other son, was a generation younger than his brother, born of a brief affair and just as lacking in greater alpha qualities as his elder brother. He wore a dark tee and even darker jeans, black boots and leather jacket all trying to make himself seem tougher than he actually was. All the youngest son was good for was chasing betas, most of whom trounced him soundly for attempting to take liberties. Gerald was spoiled, mean, and petulant, an eternal cub who refused to grow up. Caius had been too occupied with Clan duties when Gerald was an actual cub, and he’d spared little time in the rearing of his own child. Here was the result, a bully and a brute who spent too much time following Roman around and harassing betas than either wolf did in trying to better their stations.

  Caius sighed, and let his eyes flick over the framed picture sitting on the corner of his desk. His daughter Marla had been a tiny cub of ten years old when that picture was taken, the black and white photo not showing her dark red hair or rich brown eyes. When she’d found her wolf at the tender age of eleven, a scant year after that picture was taken, he’d never been prouder of any one of his children. He was cursed with a multitude of sons, all of them lesser alphas of varying degree, and it had taken the birth of a beta daughter for him to feel something other than obligation and grudging affection for his offspring. He’d loved his daughter, and the day her soulbond to Josiah was made , his heart broke. His little girl, brave and stubborn and beautiful, had given her love to her soulmate, who thankfully was a wolf of their Clan, the youngest son of his dearest friend, the shaman Gray Shadow. He hadn’t needed to say goodbye to her as she followed her mate, and instead was gifted with seeing each and every one of her own cubs born over the years.

  He pulled his mind away from the memory of the last birthing he’d attended, the one of his littlest grandchild, Luca. That memory was both dear and despised, and recent events, like the ones depicted in the folder on his desk, were sorely testing his ability to control his emotions.

  It took their union, and the plethora of cubs they would have, to thaw the final remaining pieces of Caius’ heart. The litter of grandchil
dren had been another curse though, in the end, for there was no surer way to break a man than to have him see his grandbabies die. He’d lost four of the youngest, and even though he’d killed the man responsible for their deaths and his daughter’s, it had done nothing to heal his heart.

  He was left, in the end, with his dearest friend, his daughter, and four of the youngest grandchildren dead. No others had been born since the tragedy fifteen years prior, and he was glad of that fact. He could not abide learning to love another cub, only to have fate cruelly take them away. His eldest grandchildren were all grown now, and spread throughout the Clans of the North and across the country. Ezekiel, Gray Shadow’s only descendent to become a shaman, had missed the catastrophic events at Baxter by virtue of being on the other side of the planet, deep in the wilds of northern Russia, and his other grandchildren followed their cousin’s example by spreading out to the four corners of the country. They’d all left as soon as they could, their hearts weighed down by grief and tragedy, though none mourned as deeply as Caius…..or Josiah.

  “Father, you summoned us?” Roman asked, doing his best to sound diffident. Gerald just appeared to be bored, picking at a hangnail and letting his brother do the talking.

  “I did, yes,” Caius replied, and went back to observing his sons. Rumors were floating about, and Roman’s recent attempt to usurp Kane was merely cementing some of his own suspicions.

  The sons of kings always succeeded their father through one of two ways: by being named heir and taking the throne after a natural death of the king, or through regicide. He had no intention of dying any time soon, and his sons’ behavior in the last few years was making it hard for him to believe they wouldn’t eventually be tempted to remove him forcibly. Killing one’s own sons was never lauded, no matter the circumstances, so to keep his power and place secure, they must leave. Roman was more of a threat than Gerald, being marginally smarter, and impetuous. Gerald merely followed his nose and his brother’s lead, so once Roman was gone, Gerald would find himself killed off through his own careless actions.