The Grant Wolves Box Set

by Lori Drake

  Brandon shrugged. “Yeah. He wasn’t happy about it, either. Threats were made, but fuck him. I’m so over his shit.”

  Ben slipped an arm around Brandon and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “That’s my boy.”

  Chris could swear he saw Brandon blush by the light of the fire. He curled an arm around Ben’s waist, but looked over at Chris again. “Just watch your back, eh? He wants you gone, and he’s used to getting what he wants.”

  Chris nodded. “Noted, thanks.”

  When Joey and Jessica returned with the shovels, they all headed into the woods, with Jessica in the lead. Colt followed her, with Chris and Joey behind him. Ben and Brandon brought up the rear. Chris itched to check his phone, wondering what time it was, but between the salt, lighter fluid, and holding Joey’s hand, his hands were full. He wasn’t about to set any of those aside, not now. The sky remained pitch black, twinkling stars aside. The moon hung low on the horizon, all but invisible to the naked eye. He didn’t have to look; he could sense it as usual. Its waning power coursed through him. He wished it were fuller, so he’d heal faster. At least he could breathe a little easier now. He’d consider that a win at this point.

  Insisting on going along may not have been his wisest move, but he needed to see this through. Beyond his concern for Joey and Ben, he felt uncomfortably responsible for this pack of misfits. Even though most of them had never met Henry Martin, it was still his father’s pack. What remained of it.

  He sighed, and Joey squeezed his hand and flashed him a supportive, if grim, smile. She couldn’t have known what was on his mind, but he appreciated the support nonetheless. He squeezed back.

  The path Jessica took was much less circuitous than the one Eric had.

  “Do you suppose Eric walked us in circles to stall for time, or because he couldn’t remember where Roger was buried?” Brandon asked, echoing Chris’s own thoughts.

  “Maybe a little of both,” Chris said, scanning the trees as he walked. After what’d happened last time in the woods with Roger, he was on high alert.

  “He’s a real piece of work,” Ben muttered, almost too quietly for Chris to make out.

  “Shut up,” Jessica said. “I’m concentrating.”

  They walked for a few more minutes in silence before Jessica stopped and pointed with her shovel. “There.”

  The ground was almost level. The only reason Chris could tell there was a slight mound was because he was looking for it. The other grave had been the same: no more than the barest hint of a mound. It was the smart way to do it, for sure. After all, you didn’t want anyone stumbling across an unmarked grave in the woods. Again, Chris wondered just how many were out here.

  Colt took Jessica’s shovel and started to work. Joey joined him, while everyone else stood back. Jessica and Ben watched the digging, but Chris noticed Brandon keeping as wary an eye on their surroundings as he was. He felt a sort of kinship with the mild-mannered Canadian. They’d been through something together, after all. He was glad Brandon had found Ben, and vice versa. In time, hopefully Brandon’s concerns would fade.

  Brandon and Jessica relieved Colt and Joey after they’d made a foot or so of progress. When Joey returned to stand with him, she smelled like sweat and dirt. He pulled her into a one-armed hug anyway. He couldn’t smell much better, after the unexpectedly adventurous night he’d had.

  “Shouldn’t have too much farther to go,” he said.

  Joey nodded and leaned against him. She was probably as tired as he was. He’d barely slept the night before, and now, well, that catnap he’d managed before Jessica woke him earlier couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. He yawned, but kept his eyes and ears peeled for any sign of danger.

  When that sign came, he nearly missed it because it was right under his nose. The temperature dropped sharply enough that his breath misted in the night air. A chill ran down his spine and he tightened his hold on Joey. She tipped her head back. He could feel her eyes on him even though he didn’t look down.

  “He’s here,” Chris said.

  Jessica and Brandon continued flinging shovels full of dirt onto the growing pile. More quickly, if anything. Joey gave Chris a squeeze and slipped away, putting a little distance between them. It was probably a good idea, in case Roger decided to take one of them over.

  When all this is over, I’m going to have a chat with Dean about however he protects himself against possession.

  Seconds passed, but no one made any sudden moves or violent overtures. There was nothing but the sound of shoveling until the whispers started.

  “Turn back.”

  Chris spun at the words spoken behind him, but there was no one there. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as another whisper followed the first, off to his left. Then to the right. Soon, the words were whispered from all around, and he covered his ears with his hands in a futile attempt to block them out.

  Someone shrieked. Jessica. She flung the shovel aside like it was on fire, scrambled out of the half-dug grave, and backed away from it swiftly.

  “What is it?” Joey asked, stepping forward. Jessica grabbed her and pulled her back, but whatever reply she might have made was lost on Chris. He couldn’t hear over all the voices.

  “Knock it off!” he called, which drew the others’ attention his way, but there was only confusion on their faces. “You can’t hear it?”

  “Hear what?” Ben asked.

  Chris shook his head in an effort to clear it, but the voices kept chanting in his ears. More and more voices joined the fray, some saying different things like some sort of twisted round-robin chant. “Turn back. Go away. Run away, little wolf. Die. Die. Die.”

  He was dimly aware of Jessica trying to get Brandon to come out of the grave. Brandon kept digging, a stubborn cast to his jaw.

  Fog began to gather around Chris’s feet. It flowed out of the trees and spilled over the edge of the hole in the ground to pool there. Then a hand emerged from the fog and grabbed Chris’s ankle.

  “Shit!” He tried to yank his foot away, but it held fast. A frantic glance told him that he wasn’t the only one. Everyone outside the hole was either evading or caught by a phantom hand.

  Chris balanced on his captured foot and tried to stomp on whatever that hand was attached to. An inhuman shriek filled his ears. He wasn’t sure if that was an improvement over the whispering. However, something did come of it: the hand released him, and he skittered a few feet away.

  Now freed, he was able to take in what was going on with the others. Jessica had been caught, but Joey had jumped forward and grabbed Jessica’s discarded shovel. Her lips set in a thin line, she walked back over and brought the business end of the shovel down hard beside Jessica’s foot. The fog parted as the shovel passed through it, then crowded in once more.

  Brandon kept digging. The fog filled the hole by now. He was up to his thighs in it. How could he even see what he was doing? Still, he dug, features set in determination.

  Jessica screamed and pulled against the fingers coiled around her ankle to no avail, eyes wide in terror and locked on Joey as she swung the shovel again and again. Chris hurried over and slid his arms under Jessica’s, then gave her a solid yank and managed to tug her free. She fell back against him, then scrambled away, taking in short, panicked breaths.

  Joey made for the hole and jumped in. Ignoring the unnatural fog that now swirled around her waist, she plunged the shovel into the mist and resumed digging alongside Brandon. Once Joey had moved off, Jessica’s screams subsided. Eyes wide, she gulped in air like it was in short supply. Her eyes darted this way and that, while her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.

  “This isn’t real,” Jessica whispered, repeating the words over and over like a mantra.

  Chris took a step closer to her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, and while he wasn’t convinced, he was willing to accept it. He backtracked to retrieve the salt and lighter fluid from where he’d dropped them. As he bent down, something
flew over his head, close enough that it stirred his hair in its passing. Instinct took over, and Chris flattened himself against the ground. His battered ribcage protested mightily, and it took him a few moments to catch his breath again.

  As he lay there, an angry caw pierced the night and another dark shape swooped down, this time diving at Joey. It was a bird, this much he could tell, as it flapped its wings, talons curling in an effort to scratch her face. She swatted it away impatiently and it flew off, but circled around and dove again. This time she was ready, and swung the shovel at it. The shovel connected with a thud and crunch, and the bird went sailing off to land in the fog. It didn’t emerge again.

  Chris got to his feet with the ritual components. More hands reached out of the fog for him, but he was light on his feet and dodged them.

  “Chris!” Joey waved a hand to him. “We’re breaking through!”

  Chris hurried over with the household items in hand. He peeked over the edge of the grave but saw nothing but fog inside. “How can you tell?”

  Joey scraped the shovel along the bottom of the hole, demonstrating the telltale crinkle of a cheap plastic tarp. “A better question might be how are we going to make sure it’s the right guy?”

  “It has to be the right guy,” Brandon said. “He’s trying to make us stop.”

  “Good point,” Chris said, and popped open the salt.

  “Hang on, not quite ready yet,” Joey said, going back to scraping at the bottom of the hole and occasionally shoveling out some more dirt to add to the pile.

  Or, at least, she did until the shovel flew out of her hands.

  “Hey!” she exclaimed.

  The shovel landed some ten feet off, disappearing into the fog. Colt sprinted for it, but Chris’s attention was drawn to Brandon, who had managed to hold on to his shovel and was now engaged in some sort of phantom tug o’ war. He must not have been on very steady ground, because he slid forward some, losing ground. Joey made a grab for him, but their invisible foe twisted the shovel suddenly and gave it a push. The end of the handle took Brandon in the chest, and the momentum drove him back into Joey. They both tumbled down into the mist-filled grave.

  “Joey!”

  “Brandon!”

  Chris and Ben cried out in unison and rushed the grave. When neither Joey nor Brandon popped back up again, Chris tossed the salt and lighter fluid down again and climbed into the grave. The ground beneath his feet was unstable. His ankle turned and pain flared, but he pushed through it, fanning at the fog with his hands. “Joey! Brandon! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Joey’s voice penetrated the fog before her head popped above it. She hauled Brandon out of the grave with her arms curled under his. Chris squatted, felt around for Brandon’s feet, and helped Joey lift him out and set him on the ground.

  The shovel protruded from Brandon’s chest, with several inches of the handle sticking out the other side. Brandon was still conscious, though his eyes were glazed with pain as he looked up at them from where he lay on his side, unable to lie flat on account of the shovel. Ben skidded to a halt beside him and dropped to his knees.

  “What do we do?” Chris asked. “Leave it in or take it out?”

  Ben’s mouth opened and closed a few times, as if words weren’t getting out despite his best efforts. Joey put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Ben. He needs you now.”

  Brandon coughed, spitting up blood. He caught Ben’s sleeve in one hand, clenching it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Do it.” Each word was a struggle.

  Ben reached for the shovel with shaking hands.

  “I’ve got it,” Chris said.

  Ben sank back on his heels with a sigh and took Brandon’s hand in his. His other hand went to his lover’s head, stroking his hair. He gave Chris a nod, and Chris yanked on the shovel, removing it in a single, fluid motion. Brandon’s back arched and he cried out in agony, then sagged on the ground once more. Ben just sat there, stroking Brandon’s hair with gentle fingers.

  “Shouldn’t we put some pressure on it or something?” Joey asked.

  Ben shook his head, but didn’t lift his eyes from Brandon. Tears leaked from the corners of Brandon’s eyes and he coughed again, then reached up and touched Ben’s cheek. Ben reached for his hand, but it fell away before he could complete the motion. Brandon went still, his eyes now empty and staring up at nothing.

  Chris looked at Joey, who covered her mouth with her hand, a look of dawning horror on her face. Brandon was gone. Chris thrust the shovel away from him, tossing it aside as if it had become a snake. What had been the instrument of their deliverance had become a weapon, and as he lifted his eyes in search of Jessica and Colt, he found that the other shovel had been turned on them as well. Colt lay motionless on the ground, half shrouded in fog, and now Jessica was ducking and dodging the shovel’s wild swings.

  “We have to finish this,” Chris said, but when he looked for Joey again, she’d moved to kneel behind Ben, arms around him. Ben sat there, head bowed and shoulders shaking for a long moment before he threw back his head and howled.

  It was a terrible sound, neither human nor quite wolf. Grief and rage made manifest, it echoed through the trees around them.

  “Ben, Ben, I know it hurts, but you have to pull yourself together,” Chris said.

  Ben leveled his head, eyes flashing. “You have no idea. No idea!” He threw off Joey’s arms and pushed to his feet, then leaned down to grab the discarded murder weapon. “You want a fight, Roger? You want someone to hurt, someone to kill? Come at me, bro!”

  The shovel attacking Jessica stopped mid-swing and hovered there, then flew off toward Ben. Ben curled his fingers around the haft of the shovel, holding it like a quarterstaff. He blocked the shovel’s blow and counterattacked, swinging again and again. Wood clacked against wood, rapid-fire thunks that echoed in the night.

  Chris realized he was staring when Joey snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Grab the shit and let’s do this,” she said.

  Grabbing the salt and lighter fluid, Chris swung his legs over the edge of the grave and dropped down. It wasn’t near six feet deep. About four, he’d estimate, since Joey’s head still poked out at the surface. Then again, the hole itself probably went down another foot or so beneath the body buried there. Whatever else Chris might think of Eric, he hadn’t planted Roger in a shallow grave.

  Joey crouched in the mist, disappearing from sight. His heart stutter-stepped. The sound of her hands running along the tarp told him what she was doing, since he couldn’t see it through the thick fog.

  “This is impossible,” he said. “We can’t see what we’re doing.”

  “All we need to do is peel the tarp back,” she said. “Then just dump the stuff in and light it.”

  “Shit, that reminds me…” He looked over at Ben, who was still engaged in a surreal shovel duel with the dead man. “Ben! Matches!”

  Ben glanced at him. Roger took that moment of distraction to redouble his efforts, and the rogue shovel cracked Ben upside the head with enough force to stagger him. Ben tripped over something in the fog and went down with the fog swirling around him.

  “Ben! Shit, Joey… Ben’s down. I’ve got to go help him.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Joey’s voice was iron; her head popped out of the fog a second later as she stood.

  Chris tried to shove the ritual components into her hands, but she pushed back.

  “No! You’re hurt. I’ll go.” She hauled herself out of the hole before he could voice a thorough protest. Or any protest at all, really.

  All he could do was stand there and watch her go.

  20

  Joey surveyed the field quickly, then sprinted for Ben. He was down but not out, struggling against the haft of Roger’s shovel as it pressed beneath his chin, pinning him to the ground.

  This was such bullshit. She wanted to throttle Eric, but dealing with him would have to wait until this more pressing matter was tended to.

 
When she reached Ben, she grabbed the shovel’s handle with both hands and pulled. Between her pulling and Ben pushing, Ben managed to gasp a breath.

  “Matches are in my jacket pocket,” he said.

  Joey strained to hold on to the shovel. The wooden handle was slippery with blood. Brandon’s blood, she remembered. A pang of guilt lanced her heart. She’d led them out into this, and now one of them was dead. Her fault.

  “We’ve got a problem, bro. I can’t hold this and get them at the same time.”

  “Get them.” His eyes met hers. There was more than a hint of command in his tone, but Joey just smirked.

  “Like bossing me around has ever worked. Cut the suicidal self-sacrificing and focus.”

  Ben growled and pushed harder. Between the two of them, they managed to lift the handle enough that Ben could draw his legs up and get his feet under it. Adding the power of his legs did the trick. The resistance they both fought against suddenly vanished. Joey went flying, shovel still in hand. She hit the cold, hard ground some ten feet away and slid several feet before fetching up against a tree. Somehow, she managed to bite her tongue when she hit. Blood welled in her mouth, its coppery tang tweaking her wolf’s instinct.

  Hunt.

  But how did you hunt an intangible enemy? As she sat up and took quick stock of her extremities, she pondered their current dilemma. They had to stop Roger long enough to complete Dean’s instructions, and she still didn’t know what the last instruction was. Bury one-third in earth, one in water, and the other… what?

  Joey picked herself up off the ground and spun the shovel in her hands. She’d begun training with a variety of weapons, but a shovel wasn’t one of them. Still, as Ben had demonstrated, it wasn’t dissimilar to a staff, aside from the weighted end.

  “Hey, Roger, quit screwing around and show yourself!” she called.

  She didn’t expect it to work, but the spirit manifested in front of her. He looked rather more plain and ordinary than she’d expected. Just a guy, but with a hard edge to his eyes as they bored into hers. He was translucent, glowing faintly in the darkness, putting off an eerie, unearthly light. She glanced past him as movement caught her attention. Ben was heading for the grave.