Wolfsong (Green Creek 1)

For some reason, he didn’t look like he believed me. It was the strangest thing.

Thomas said, “Richard Collins has escaped,” and the air was sucked out of the room.

I almost said, “Who?” but then I remembered and the anger that bloomed through me felt like I’d been set on fire. It was a terrible rage, and for the first time in my life, I thought about the effect murder would have on a soul. Surely it would chip away at it piece by piece until there was nothing left but charred ruins, smoke curling in the air and the taste of ash on a tongue.

But it was murder I thought of. Consequences be damned.

If Richard had shown his face right then, I would have murdered him without remorse.

If he’d put his hands up in surrender, I would have still taken his life without a second thought.

If he’d begged for forgiveness, I would have spilled his blood without hesitation.

I was almost consumed by it because it was Joe and it was unfair and wasn’t he mine now? Wasn’t he mine to protect and cherish?

He was, but the bond between us wasn’t complete. He had claimed me, but he hadn’t marked me.

And it was unfair. Because we were supposed to have time. To do it the way he wanted to. The way we wanted to.

There was a hand on my shoulder. My mother. There was a hand on the back of my neck and it was Gordo. He wasn’t pack. He wasn’t. By his own choice. But it was close. I was his tether, and I was learning how it might just be possible that the reverse was true.

I said, “How?” because Thomas had said he was in a cage. Of magic. Of something I didn’t understand because I didn’t know how magic worked, but his wolf was supposed to be contained. I wondered just how stupid I was for believing everything I was told without question.

And then Gordo said, “No, no, no,” and I knew. Because Gordo knew, and it pushed along the tether, all violet and blue and there was black in it. Because black was fear. Black was terror.

A cage for a man to contain his wolf made of magic.

It seemed only fair that such a cage could only be broken by magic.

Osmond said, “We think it was your father, Gordo. We think Robert Livingstone found a path back to magic and broke the wards that held Richard Collins.”

I MADE a choice. Though all my instincts were screaming JoeJoeJoe, he was surrounded by the pack and Gordo had nothing.

He walked out the door. I followed.

The wolves in the yard moved out of our way and I said, “Gordo.”

His tattoos flashed angrily and started to shift. He kept walking.

I said, “Stop.”

He ignored me and reached for his car door.

With all that I had, I growled, “Gordo. I said stop.” It rolled out of me like a storm through a valley, dark and electric.

Gordo stopped.

The wolves around me whimpered and lowered their eyes.

I heard Osmond come out on the porch behind us muttering. “What the hell?”

“You don’t understand, Ox,” Gordo said. His voice was harsh.

“I know.”

“You don’t know what he did.”

“And you don’t know if this was even him.”