Wolfsong (Green Creek 1)

But then he slipped through their grasp.

Thomas had been asked to come back East and help the other packs find him.

To stop him.

They searched for years and years and years. Moving all over the country.

Thomas hadn’t thought there was any hope for his old friend, but he didn’t allow that to stop him.

They were in Maine when he got the call.

Joe was gone. Taken from the front yard in their little house by the sea.

They couldn’t find him. Couldn’t track him. The scent was gone, like it’d never been there before.

They looked for three days.

On the third day, the phone rang.

Richard said, “Thomas. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.”

And Thomas said, “You son of a bitch.”

Richard said, “You weren’t there. You did nothing to stop them. They screamed for you to help them. I screamed for you. For your father. But you weren’t there.”

Thomas begged, “My son. Richard, my son. Please.”

And Richard Collins said, “No.”

He called a couple of times a week and Joe shrieked. He made Joe shriek and Thomas thought he was losing his mind.

It took eight weeks to find him. A mixture of scents and sheer luck led them to a cabin in the middle of the woods so much closer than they thought it’d be. But they did find him, battered and alone. He was not the same. He was a wolf, but wolves did not shift until puberty. He healed, but it was slow.

And he would not speak.

Once I could be sure my voice would work, I asked

, “What did he want?”

“To inflict pain,” Thomas said. “As much of it as possible.”

And I asked the question I’d asked him once before. “Is he dead?”

And Thomas said, “No. He will spend the rest of his days rotting away in a cell formed by magic. The magic won’t allow him to shift. For all intents and purposes, it has taken his wolf away from him.”

My hands curled at my sides. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

He watched me with sad eyes. “Because revenge is the lesson taught by animals. Because it’s more difficult to show mercy. I showed him mercy because he’d never shown my family the same.”

And for a moment, I hated Thomas. I thought he was weak. A coward. And he knew that. He must have known every thought that ran through my head at that moment.

He waited.

It passed because I knew him. But I had to be honest.

I said, “I don’t know if I’d have been able to do the same.”

“No,” he said, not unkindly. “I don’t expect you would have.”