Wild Spirit: Huntress

by Victoria Wren

  Copyright © 2021 by Victoria Wren

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Designer: Thea Nicolescu

  Critique Partner: Bethany Votaw

  Interior Book formatting: Enchanted Ink Publishing

  Interior Illustrations: Dazzling Designs

  Readers please note this book was written and edited using American English Grammar.

  This book was written for a teenage audience to enjoy and is suitable for young adult readers, but I would like to warn in advance of mild sexual content, some graphic descriptions and language that may make a younger reader uncomfortable.

  www.victoriawrenauthor.com

  For my Grandad. I miss you every day.

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty One

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Prologue

  HIS KNEES ACHED from squatting, the muscles in his calves burned. With his backpack tossed over his shoulder, he listened for any signs his brother was nearby. His ears strained in the deafening silence of the woods. He listened for the sound of Henry’s familiar, heavy footfalls. After a few moments, he eased out of his hiding spot, a damp, fallen log laying on its side with its insides hollowed out.

  The boy crawled out of the log, shoulders stiff. He unfolded, stretching out long, skinny legs.

  “Grayson!” His name echoed back to him on the wind, and the boy flinched, ducking to the leafy ground. His name echoing on the breeze, again and again. His brother was angry. And he was looking for him.

  Hunting me, the boy thought, scrambling back to his feet, satisfied his older brother was heading in the opposite direction. He sprinted through the undergrowth, darting like a shadow between the tall cedar pines. Branches reached out to touch his jacket like long fingers.

  He found his way to the brook, settling down on a large slate rock overhanging the rushing water, the wetness seeping into his jeans. Dangling his feet over the edge, he rooted around in his backpack, pulling out a half-eaten can of dog meat, the decaying smell making his nose wrinkle. He tossed the can across the two-meter gap. It landed on its side in some short grass, some of its contents spilling out. Now all he had to do was wait.

  While he sat, his legs over the rock and his bare toes skimming the water, he pulled out his sketchbook, flicking the pages until he found the one he wanted.

  He wondered if the animal would be as compliant today.

  The boy had been visiting the brook for the past two days. The animal had appeared to him on the first day, nearly scaring the life out of him. He hadn’t been expecting a wolf to appear through the thicket of trees, but Grayson had sensed the eyes on him before it revealed itself. He’d spotted the gentle movement in the tree line, the massive outline partially hidden in shadow, the bright flash of keen yellow eyes.

  But it hadn’t been hunting him. Only observing. Although it didn’t stop him from being terrified, the boy had never seen anything like this in his woods. And Grayson knew these woods. He knew the animals and critters that scurried in the undergrowth. He’d even seen the odd fox before. But nothing this large. Its head had pushed through the bushes, sniffing the air, eyes narrowed on the scrawny, blonde-haired child in front of it. Lifting its nose, inches from Grayson’s exposed feet, its breath chugged in its enormous chest. Sniffing him out. Grayson hadn’t been able to breathe. He froze. It was so close it could have closed the gap in a second, its jaws strong enough to crush him.

  But it hadn’t done any of those things. Instead, it eyed him, and after a long pause, it settled on the grass, crossing its paws like an old man.

  Grayson was entranced. He had never been so close to a real animal of this size, of this magnificence. The ones in his mother’s locked room didn’t count. They were dead. The wolf watched him, and Grayson had done the only thing he could think of to do. He took out his sketchbook and ran the pencil across the clean page.

  The wolf eyed him, the black irises narrowing. Was it Grayson’s imagination, or did he actually look interested? Swallowing, Grayson outlined as fast as he could, his worn-out pencil down to a stub. The wolf settled his large muzzle onto its folded paws, letting out slow, relaxed breaths. But never once did the yellow, elongated eyes leave his own.

  He could kill you, Grayson told himself. If you make any sudden movements, if you startle him…

  Grayson’s fingers flew across the page, tracing and shading, his pale blue eyes lifting every few seconds to check on his model. His heart never slowed. This wolf was letting him draw. After a few moments, the beast rose, stretched his long, powerful hind legs, and fluidly made the jump across the gap. Grayson froze, squeezing his eyes tight. He knew it had to have been a fluke. The animal bumped him with the tip of his snout, his breath tickling Grayson’s light blonde hair. The boy’s breath caught, and he opened one eye. The wolf stood over him, but he wasn’t looking at Grayson; he was looking at the drawing.

  “You like it?” Grayson whispered, his voice small in the clearing, the brook rushing below their feet. The wolf huffed and opened its vast jaws in a yawn, its lips peeling back to reveal long, curved incisors with a razor-sharp edge. Grayson flinched and edged back on the rock, but the wolf sloped away, its tail the last thing to vanish in the trees.

  The next day Grayson came back to the same spot. But when he got there, he found something hidden in some long grass by the rock. A couple of new drawing pencils, sharp and long with the nib thick with lead. Cautiously darting his eyes around him, he wondered who on earth had put it there. Could it have been Henry playing tricks? Grayson’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten this morning. Mother had been too busy, and Henry didn’t care enough to help. The last time Grayson had attempted to make his oatmeal, he’d burnt the milk at the bottom of the pan, which had earned him a few hours in the locked room. With the eyes.

  Grayson shivered as he settled down on the rock. If there was one thing he dreaded more than his family, it was the eyes in the locked room. He’d tried to take his mind off it by drawing the animals in an attempt to make himself less afraid. It never worked, and worse now, he had captured the look of fear in their eyes on paper.

  Would the wolf appear today? Grayson waited, doodling in his sketchbook to while away the time. When his bottom ached and his feet were getting cold from the splashing water, he shifted, giving up on the wolf making an appearance. But as he moved, the trees rustled. Grayson held his breath as the wolf’s giant muzzle pushed through the bushes, followed by the rest of his enormous shaggy body. Once again, it lifted his nose, sniffed Grayson, and settled onto the grass, folding his paws neatly.

  Grayson grinned and grabbed his book. The beast’s eyes never left him as he shaded and darkened the wolf’s mane, filling in the tiny flecks of his fur, the defined markings around his snout.
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br />   “I didn’t think wolves ever sat still this long,” Grayson said, his tongue poked out in concentration. “You sure are good at posing.”

  The wolf’s brow furrowed, he tilted his head, reading the younger boy. Grayson could swear he’d understood him.

  Grayson chatted to the wolf. He talked about the wooden soldiers his grandfather had whittled for him. And how Henry had burned them. He spoke of the books he read, borrowed from his mother’s bookshelf. But his brother had ripped out the pages.

  The wolf bobbed his head, narrowing his eyes. It was listening. Someone was listening to him. Grayson could feel the tightness in his throat as he spoke and sketched, could feel the heat in his cheeks. The inevitable tears welled up in his eyes.

  “I guess you must have a family of your own,” Grayson said. “Perhaps you have brothers and sisters?”

  The wolf settled his muzzle on his paws as if he were planning on taking a nap, but he kept watching, ears pinned back.

  “My brother, Henry, is fourteen,” Grayson said. “I’m eight. I don’t go to school or nothing. Mother says it won’t do me any good. I won’t learn nothing useful there. But…” he swallowed. “I don’t have any friends…only Henry.”

  A tear escaped under his thick lashes, and, feeling foolish, he wiped it away. The wolf rose languidly and jumped the gap, settling down beside Grayson on the rock, its breath heavy on his neck as it peered down at the drawing. Its fur was warm, scratchy against Grayson’s skin. He did something impulsive; he lifted his hand and laid it down between the animal’s ears.

  Grayson’s eyes leaked tears of relief. The wolf nuzzled his hand, making a guttural noise of appreciation deep in its throat. Grayson couldn’t pull his eyes away.

  “You’re perfect,” Grayson marveled. “I wish I could take you home.”

  Was it his imagination, or did the wolf chuckle? He made a noise, a chugging sound that could have been mistaken for laughter. It gave Grayson’s hair a sniff and sidled away once again, vanishing into the thicket of trees.

  Today was the third day Grayson managed to escape the cabin, sketch book under his arm, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed by his older brother. Grayson had lost him in the woods, doubling back on himself, disguising his tracks until he was no longer being followed. Today he’d brought a can of dog food as a reward for his sitting so well; it was left over from the days when they’d had Tess, their Border Collie. Grayson couldn’t bear to think of her. She’d been his dog, and she was trained to be a farm dog, there to herd the sheep and chickens, back when they had them. She’d loved him, sitting by his feet at dinner, curling into him at night. But Henry had hurt her, wounding her enough to render her useless, unfit for any purpose. Grandfather no longer had use for her.

  Banishing painful memories, Grayson took out his book and waited. He flexed his wrists, warming up his drawing hand, noticing the pale bruising there, an imprint of fingers circling his fragile bones. Grayson exhaled and rolled his sleeves back down to hide it. Mother would only blame him anyway. He antagonized his older brother. Henry had a temper, and Grayson should “learn to mind him.”

  Right on time, the trees rustled, and Grayson jumped as his friend pushed through the bushes, watching him intently as it lifted his chin to sniff and survey the air. It looked down at the emptied dog meat spilled from the can, sniffing it with interest.

  “It’s for you, boy,” Grayson explained. “If you get hungry.”

  The wolf rolled the can away with its nose. It caught Grayson’s eyes and met him with a look that read ‘thanks but no thanks’. Grayson shrugged and continued drawing.

  The wolf settled on its haunches, resting its muzzle down onto his paws. Grayson talked while he sketched, his wrist moving skilfully and deftly across the paper. His voice carried into the breeze, and every now and again, the wolf would lift his muzzle and eye the boy, cocking its head in amusement.

  The wolf jerked, its whole body rose from the ground in a sharp jolt, so fast Grayson’s head snapped up from the paper. The wolf bent low, its lips pulling back to reveal the daggers within, a low, terrifying growl emitting from its chest. Grayson scrambled to his feet.

  “What’s the matter, boy? What is it?” Grayson tensed, his head whipping to the tree line, footfalls crunching through the bush toward them. Grayson whirled back to the wolf, panic exploding in his gut.

  “You have to go!” he hissed through his teeth. “It’s my brother….”

  It was too late. The trees parted, and Henry found him. Henry trudged through the undergrowth. Grayson spied his boots, massive feet flattening grass underfoot, long legs clad in torn jeans, and his lithe upper body, with arms more defined than a fourteen-year-old, should have. Not seeing the wolf until he was standing directly in front of it, Henry narrowed his sharp, dark eyes.

  “What the hell, Grayson?” he cried. Henry’s cheeks were ruddy, with a shock of white-blonde hair falling past his ears. He was like Grayson, except his eyes were dark like black coals.

  Grayson stood between Henry and the wolf. Henry had his crossbow slung across his shoulders. He shrugged it off and took it under his arm. Grayson’s face paled.

  “Henry no…he’s tame!”

  Henry threw his brother a half-smile, revealing sharp stubs where his teeth had been. He’d lost them because of what he’d done to Tess. Grandpa had smacked him in the mouth so hard his front teeth had broken. But Grandpa wasn’t around anymore.

  “Are you kidding me, Grayson? This is a beast! Look at it!”

  Grayson reached up and grabbed his brother’s arm, but he slapped him away. “Please, Henry,” he begged. “Don’t hurt him.”

  “What the hell are you doing out here anyway?” Henry eyed the sketchbook, fallen into the dirt. He kicked the book with his toe. Grayson wailed as it fell into the brook, water soaking through the pages. “Drawing? Your stupid doodles?”

  “They aren’t stupid,” Grayson pleaded as he dived for the ruined, wet book, but his brother kicked him to the ground. The air split with the sound coming from the wolf’s throat. Grayson looked up at it in horror. Its teeth bared, it rose to its full height.

  For a second, fear flashed across Henry’s features, his jaw tightening. But he laughed and raised the bow. “This will be a prize catch…well done, Gray.”

  Grayson’s head snapped back to the wolf. “What are you doing?” he screamed, his breath coming in choked, desperate sobs. “Go, you dumb animal! Run!”

  Grayson dangled off his brother’s arm. “Please, Henry, please. He’s an innocent creature. He could have hurt me anytime he wanted, and he hasn’t. We could take him home…tame him—”

  “Grayson, have you lost your mind?” Henry yelled in his brother’s face. “This is a monster. It doesn’t belong in anyone’s home…it might even be...one of them!”

  “No, don’t!”

  “Go away, Grayson!” Henry lashed out, his boot landing in the younger boy’s rib cage. Grayson crumpled inwards, air whooshing through his teeth and dropping to his knees. He raised his chin in time to see Henry lift the bow and cock the arrow. His finger danced dangerously close to the trigger. The wolf let out a growl, chilling him to the bone. Teeth snapped, and its eyes narrowed on its target with ferocity. Henry wouldn’t stand a chance; the wolf could close the gap faster than his finger could reach the trigger. Henry took aim.

  He couldn’t let him do it again, not like he’d hurt his sweet Tess. Grayson’s teeth clashed as he leaped from the ground, the wolf sprang from the grass. Henry yelled in confusion. Grayson hit his midsection, knocking him sideways. Henry’s long legs going in the opposite direction as he fell, the arrow flew upward and into the trees.

  The wolf landed, its paw splayed; five claws, muddy and sharp, slashed at the two flailing bodies crumpled to the ground. Grayson shrieked, feeling a hot, sharp sting and warm blood trickling down his neck as his flesh opened. He gasped, putting his hand to his face, feeling his skin peeling away from his jaw in folds. He
screamed, clutching the wound. The wolf withdrew, ducking its head submissively between its shoulder blades.

  He didn’t mean to…he didn’t mean to. Grayson staggered to his knees, but above him, his brother rose, a carving knife from his belt grasped tightly in one hand. Henry’s eyes were livid, black. It was more than anger, more venomous than hate. Grayson stood up to him. And that wasn’t allowed.

  Grayson had his back turned, still grasping at his bleeding face, whimpering. But the wolf saw. The wolf knew what Henry was going to do. So it lunged.

  His back paws soared over Grayson’s head. Henry screamed and gurgled. A sickening crunch and a thud. There was only the trickling of the brook below them.

  Grayson stood, ice in his blood, as he watched crimson blood leak from the gash on his brother’s neck down onto the rocks, swirling across the ruined sketches and into the brook. The wolf bowed its head, submissive as it backed away, disappearing into the trees. Grayson let out a raspy breath, wondering if he should scream for help, staring hollowly at the lifeless body, still grasping the knife.

  It was so silent here, so peaceful, despite the horrendous act. He sobbed, dropping to his brother’s side, crying into his torn shirt as the blood flowed down and down, dispersing into the water, washing everything away. Like they had never been there at all.

  One

  “BRAKE…ANYTIME NOW.” Ben’s voice rose in pitch as they rounded a sharp bend. “Now Win….brake now….not so hard!”

  Win huffed and pulled the car to a stop on the roadside, both of them jolting. She’d broken out into a panicked sweat. “Dad, you have to calm down.” She threw him a sideways glare. “You are making me anxious.”

  Ben rubbed the scruff on his jaw, the hint of a dark beard beginning to form. “How the hell do you think I feel?” He grinned despite the situation, jerking as cars sped past them on the busy road.