Wolves of Black Pine (The Wolfkin Saga Book 1)

by SJ Himes

  The border checkpoint was a row of booths in a long line across the road with many smaller buildings on either side. Ghost understood borders, as they were a concept akin to a wolf’s territory. Though where wolves would know the place their territory ended and another pack’s began by scent and landmarks, humans had invisible lines drawn on paper and buildings sitting in the woods, guarded by men and women in uniforms and metal weapons.

  There was a line of vehicles queued up at the border, only a few lanes open at this time of night. Glen slowed the truck as they approached the end of the line. He took a quick look over his shoulder behind them, then back to the line of cars ahead. Ghost smelled the rising tension in his human alpha, and whined.

  “Ghost, I’m going to open that rear window all the way, and I want you to jump out. We can’t call you a dog, not here, not this far north. Every border agent here knows what a wolf looks like, and we can’t explain why we have you,” Glen slowed the truck even more as the window next to Ghost opened all the way. Cold air whipped freely about the cab, and Ghost looked out. “The area here is fenced for a few miles in each direction, so you can’t take to the woods. Head there to the left, where the other lanes are closed. You can get through. Do it fast, they shouldn’t care about an animal crossing the border, not if they think you’re wild instead of someone’s escaped pet. Thank God you don’t look like a dog.”

  Ghost huffed in agreement, and licked Glen’s ear. Cat reached out, and ran her small fingers through the fur behind his ears, scratching him. She was worried—he could smell it in her scent, see it on her face. Ghost thought for a moment that maybe he should look like a dog, since humans hated shooting pets, but loved to shoot wolves. He dismissed the thought, and looked out the window.

  “Okay buddy, meet us on the other side of the border, there’s a curve in the road about a mile south of here. It shouldn’t take us long to get across, Cat and I have done this a few times, we know the agents here. We’ll pull over and wait for you once we get through. Don’t get shot.” Glen sent him a look in the mirror, and Ghost saw worry in his eyes as well. He licked Glen’s ear again, and growled gently, trying to reassure his humans. He would be fine. Human bullets couldn’t hurt him badly while he was a wolf, not unless they got a lucky head shot or were at close range, and his bones were dense enough he may survive even that. Ghost wondered where his surety came from, since he’d never been shot before, but he was remembering things now, things he hadn’t thought of in a long time, and he would worry about it later.

  Glen slowed the truck almost to a crawl, about a dozen meters from the rear of the nearest vehicle, and Ghost didn’t hesitate, squeezing his large body through the window. Paws hit ice-cold pavement, and he shifted his weight when the momentum of the truck, and his abrupt landing on the ground, made his pace falter. He ran ahead and to the left. He heard the truck behind him as Glen put it in line, and he headed south, straight for the border. It felt strange running on the smooth, well-maintained road, clear of ice and snow. He felt the sting of the road salt on his paw pads, but ignored the discomfort, aiming his nose for the closed lane farthest to the left.

  The booths were all well-lit, the arms across their single lanes down and jagged steel teeth rising from the pavement under the long, steel bar. He would be able to duck and leap through it no problem. Claws grabbing at the pavement under him, he ran hard, nearing the border. As the lights of the crossing began to grow brighter, he knew he was visible. He heard a startled shout off to his right, a human catching sight of him as he finally entered the bright fall of lights that shone down from high overhead. He stretched out to a pace that devoured the ground, going faster than he ever had before, the flat road and rough surface letting him call up his full measure of speed.

  Humans were crying out, alarmed by his presence. Men in matching clothing came out of the buildings to the left, above the booths, stopping in their tracks just as he made the lane he wanted. He ducked under the steel bar, then leapt in a high, graceful arc over the jagged steel teeth that rose from the ground. Voices cried out in shock and a few sounded pleased.

  He smelled the burning scent of guns, undrawn, the powder within them little blinks of red on his mental horizon. Ghost saw the warm pulsing stars of the humans, his weird double sight settling over his mind as he ran even harder, buzzing past the startled men lining the road on the other side of the border. He wasn’t through yet; he’d only managed to clear the northern side, and the southern side, the part that belonged to the States, was less than a hundred meters away. People were shouting, and he heard the crackle of radios, the words indistinguishable in the excited chattering of the people behind him, and now, ahead. He stayed in a straight line, and breathed deeply, swiftly, filling lungs with fresh air, his muscles burning in a pleasant fashion.

  He was feeling confident of his ability to get through unmolested when the first pop of a gun rang out, followed by another. Shards of road exploded inches from his nose, and he dodged a step to the side, feeling the bite of multiple stings as his muzzle was littered with miniscule fragments. Someone was firing at him. Ghost dropped his head, and ran on, lowering his body, stretching out more as he ran, trying to make himself smaller. But ahead of him, in front of the lane where he needed to go, stood a man, gun drawn.

  BURKE YAWNED, and Kane did his best to relax. His friend was driving now, rested after taking a short nap, and the others were sleeping still. He always drove, but he was tired, and didn’t feel like causing an accident as they traveled north. They’d stopped earlier for gas and restrooms and were still a couple hours away from the park. Kane wished they could have stopped at the clan home in Augusta before coming north, but River had shaken his head, eyes lingering on the cubs piled together on the rear seat as they fueled up. The team’s other SUVs were occupying the other pumps, and Kane was thankful it was so late at night, since they must have looked like some kind of crazy military convoy from an action movie.

  While they’d taken the time to get the cubs cleaned up and immediate needs like clothes and shoes seen to in Worcester, the cubs still smelled like pain and violence, and Kane agreed with the unspoken thought that bringing the young ones near many strange wolves would provoke violence. It was their instinct to protect their young, no matter who they were or what clan they called home, and the wolves at the mansion would get overstressed by the condition of the cubs. Overstressed wolves always got violent. Kane didn’t feel like putting the cubs, or his clan, through that, so on they went to Baxter. Red Fern Clan was small and used to Shaman River bringing home wolves needing long-term care. The condition of the younglings would be stressful, but tolerable, on the clan’s collective nerves. River had called his family, and the one known as the White Wolf was expecting them a couple of hours after dawn.

  Kane sat in the passenger seat in the front, and peered over his shoulder, meeting River’s eyes. The shaman was wide awake, a cub on either side of him, their tiny heads burrowed in his shoulders, hiding. They were sleeping still, and Kane had a suspicion that River was keeping them under somehow. He looked at the cubs again, and then back to River, and he got a small dip of the shaman’s head. So, River was keeping the cubs under until they got to Baxter and Red Fern. That was a good idea, considering what they’d been through. A shaman meant safety and comfort, yet not even River would be enough to manage two severely abused cubs surrounded by strange wolves, two of them alphas. While neither Burke nor Kane would harm a cub, they were accustomed to other wolves being wary of them, and only a few wolfkin found the natural draw and appeal of an alpha easy to enjoy once they got past their nerves.

  He found himself experiencing a quick flash of déjà vu, remembering the long ago night of the gathering, a shaman telling stories and a sweet cub showing off for him, trying his best to get Kane’s approval and attention. He shrugged off the memory of the lost cub, and sent a brief prayer to the Great Mother that Luca was at peace, wherever he was.

 
Kane looked back to the front, and put a hand on Burke’s shoulder, squeezing hard once. He needed the contact, the touch. Seeing the cubs like that, knowing what had happened to them, made his heart sick, and a bitter anger boiled under his self-control. He felt impotent, and he cursed the time it had taken for Caius and Heromindes to agree to send Kane and his team after the Suarez wolves. They may not have been able to prevent the abuse, but they sure as hell could’ve ended it sooner.

  Burke smiled at him, one hand coming off the wheel and up to his, squeezing back. Kane let his hand sit for a moment, then gently pulled away. He didn’t want Burke to get the wrong idea, especially after the question he’d raised earlier in the evening. Kane didn’t really know why he stopped turning to Burke for sex. It had been great, and uncomplicated.

  He let Burke think it was the tragedy that long ago morning nearly fifteen years ago that made him pull away, made him change their relationship. He hadn’t lied to Burke about how he felt; there was something different, something inside of his heart that felt off center. He felt like he was waiting, that light and eager, yet oddly tense sensation of impatience that usually heralded good news or a favored event. It came and went, vague and indistinct at first, then as the years went by it deepened, coming on suddenly when he was relaxed, or tired, and leaving him feeling expectant, eyes raised, searching, senses alert. Yet even after all these years, nothing happened, and he learned to adapt, to live around that odd sensation when it came over him. If it had been unpleasant or trying, he would have asked a shaman about it, but it never left him feeling badly, so he kept it to himself. It felt almost intimate, personal, and he feared losing it all together if he shared it with anyone. Part of him was convinced he was picking up the mental thoughts and emotions of his clan members, but he wasn’t Clan Alpha yet, and so he shouldn’t be picking up on the wolves of Black Pine like that, not unless he deliberately opened a direct line to another wolf’s mind. It may well be him sensing Burke or Sophia, the two wolves he personally called his own, but they were rarely around when it happened, so he had to discount that theory fairly early.

  What truly left him confused was that the sensation started the night before the tragedy at the gathering, when he sat and listened to Gray Shadow tell stories of the past, crafting illusions from smoke and light. He bit back a sad smile as he recalled that night, how peaceful he felt, even with the soon to be lost Luca sitting not too far away, answering every one of the shaman’s questions. He sighed, remembering how silly the little cub had been, sneaking looks at him under his lashes, a flirt at five years of age. He felt ill, thinking about how less than twelve hours later, Luca would be lost forever, along with the Alpha’s daughter, Gray Shadow, and three more of his grandchildren dead.

  He thought of it now, and he wished for something to ease the hurt in his heart, the nasty, sick ache compounded in his chest after rescuing the Suarez wolves and finding the cubs. He’d gladly take phantom emotions with no discernible cause than feel as wretched as he did now. It was late, he was tired, and he needed to be at his best when they got to Baxter. Red Fern was led by River’s sister Andromeda, the White Wolf, a beta centuries old, one of the oldest wolves Black Pine and the surrounding clans could claim in their territory. Andromeda was a wise and wicked creature, the mother of many cubs, and she had the distinct honor of birthing some of the most promising betas and shamans seen in generations. She was a contemporary of Gray Shadow and Caius, the three of them friends from the Old World, and they’d come over to the New World around the same time. He enjoyed her wit and dry humor, and he needed his mind sharp to deal with her. She wouldn’t be too much trouble, but he always ended up walking away from their conversations feeling like a freshly scolded whelp.

  Kane leaned the seat back, and stretched out as far as he could, lacing his fingers together in his lap, and shut his eyes. He yawned again, and let himself slip away, muscles relaxing. He felt it then, the eager and breathless joy, and wondered if wishing for it summoned the sensation. It was as if he was getting close to something, that he was about to experience joy, on the limit of sleep and wonder. He fell, just the littlest bit, and slipped into the waiting dream.

  It happened fast, and was jarring, even in sleep. He knew he was dreaming, yet he had no control over what he was seeing and feeling. The joy turned to nervousness, stress. His heart was racing, and he saw in his mind a row of buildings, lights blazing, and smelled bitter anxiety and cloying fear.

  He was running, on paws instead of feet, claws digging hard into what felt like pavement, lungs burning, limbs snapping forward in a blur of speed, tail outstretched behind him. Cold air seared his lungs and he smelled car exhaust and metal. Humans were around him, too close, and he wanted to keep running, to escape. The way ahead was blocked, and fear lanced through his heart as he faced the man in front of him, gun raised, aimed right at his head. To stop was to die for certain, and he had nowhere else to go but forward. The shot was loud and shocking, and he felt the burn of the bullet.

  Kane shot upright, a shout on his lips, breathing hard, both hands slapping onto the dashboard of the SUV. He panted fast, air rapidly filling his lungs, and he would swear for a second that he could still feel the bullet shot by the man in his dream, tracing a path from his shoulder, down his side, to his hip. He looked down, expecting to see blood, but there was nothing.

  “Goddess! Kane, are you alright?” Burke swore as he jerked the wheel in surprise, looking over at him in concern. Sophia cursed loudly as she almost toppled off the seat to the floor. He sat still, eyes scanning the road ahead of them, part of him expecting to see the border crossing from his dream. He didn’t know how long he was asleep, but whatever that was, it had come on fast and strong, and he still felt the cold burn of the night air and the sensation of pavement under his paws as he ran.

  “I’m… I’m fine. Just a bad dream.” Kane sat back, and tried to relax. His heart was racing, and he felt sweat cooling on his forehead. By the Great Mother, that was the oddest dream he’d ever had.

  “Some dream. You’ve never done that before, you sure you’re okay?” Burke got the SUV back under control, and slowed down, as if he was about to pull over. Kane heard the shaman in the back, whispering to the cubs, and he smelled their fear. They must have woken up when he startled Burke into swerving.

  “I’m okay, I swear. Bad dreams, nothing more. Everyone okay back there?” Kane didn’t turn around, not wanting to stress the cubs.

  “All is well, Alpha. Just startled. We’re fine.” River said that to him as much as to the cubs he comforted, and Kane kept his attention to the front. They settled down, and Kane heard Sophia grumbling as she sat up, pulling her boots back on, and clicking the seatbelt back into place. She was up for now, it seemed, and he felt bad. It was close to dawn by the moon’s position low on the horizon, and he didn’t think he’d be able to fall back asleep either.

  “Once we get to Baxter, I vote for sleeping the rest of the day,” Burke said softly, and Kane exhaled roughly, nodding in agreement. It had been a hard twenty-four hours.

  He watched the moon, still bright and amazingly clear, and felt his heart settle. He thought of the dream and wondered how he came to be dreaming about crossing the border in wolf-form. He recognized it as one of the border crossings between Canada and Maine, having crossed it several times before, and he was at a loss as to why he’d dream about it now and in that context.

  He played it over in his head again, and drew in a soft, startled gasp, freezing on a sharp mental image. He caught a glimpse of one of his legs, outstretched in front of him as he galloped towards the human male holding the gun, and the fur covering the limb wasn’t midnight black. It was stormy gray, with a band of dark pewter in a line across his toes.

  Kane stared up at the moon, and wondered if it was possible for a wolfkin to go mad at just forty-four summers. Madness for their kind usually only afflicted the extremely old, and he wasn’t even fifty yet, st
ill very young by their measure of time.

  The pain lingered, and he ran a hand down his left side under his jacket, wondering.

  GHOST LIMPED into the woods, whimpering as each step of his left legs brought on a piercing wave of pain. The bullet had missed his head, instead running along his side, from his upper left shoulder, along his ribs, and digging a deep furrow in his skin all the way to his hip. He could run just as fast, and managed to bowl over the human standing in his way as he breached the last hurdle of the border crossing.

  Once he gained the other side, he’d ducked and weaved through northbound traffic, and made it to the woods. He didn’t know why the human fired at him, since he wasn’t attacking anyone, but humans did stupid things. He was very clearly trying to avoid people, yet the human shot him anyway. He snorted in derision, and loped along the road, just inside the tree line. He was at the first bend in the wide road south of the crossing, and found a small incline to sit on, so he could keep an eye out for his humans. Glen said he would meet him here; so he would wait. Glen always did as he said he would, and Ghost licked his side with one eye on the road.

  The pain was lessening swiftly, the skin closing around the injury so fast he barely got a taste of blood through his thick coat before it was gone. He huffed, satisfied, and resumed watching the road. He had a feeling it would be a while before Glen and Cat joined him, watching as vehicles that didn’t belong to his humans drove past.

  The moon was bright, and as its light broke through the bare branches above him, he saw the flow of light rising from the sleeping trees nearby blend with the liquid silver light of the moon. He watched the ebb and flow of light for a while, sniffing at it, walking through it, and he managed to make it move around him, as if he stepped into a stream of water instead of light. He blinked, and it faded just a little; so it wasn’t so distracting.