Wolf Bonded (Wolfish 1)

It’s like I’ve stepped out of real life and into a fantasy novel.

The entryway is massive, with wide multi-story windows overshadowed by a giant tree seemingly growing from the ground in the center. On one side, a staircase winds upward formed from some of the tree’s enormous branches, with a staircase winding downward on the other side formed from its herculean roots.

The trunk of the tree itself is bigger than our entire cabin. It looks to be still alive, as though the house is now just an extension of its appendages.

“How much have we had to drink?” Aimee asks. “Because this shit is bonkers!”

I agree, it is bonkers. Bonkers enough that I can’t bring myself to laugh at Aimee for her dated choice of words.

“Okay so which staircase should we try first?” Jess asks, wasting no time. “Flip a coin?”

“Nah, let’s go down,” Tom says as he starts walking toward the stairs. He stops at the top, his glazed-over eyes scanning the tree-root steps with a hungriness I’m not sure I like.

Jess steps up beside him. “Why down?”

“Because down is always where the wine cellars are,” he smirks.

The girls giggle and follow him as he starts his descent.

I stay where I’m standing by the door for a moment, but it takes them a few steps down to notice. When I see Jess’ expectant face turn back my way, I shake my head.

“You guys go on ahead,” I say. “I’m going to stay up here. Take a look around.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs as they descend the stairs until I can no longer see the tops of their heads. I know I should follow them down, keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t end up drinking themselves to death on a ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Bordeaux.

In fact, I should just stand here by the door and keep watch. Any self-respecting person would do that.

But I’m too enchanted by the house to do that. Too curious to see what other secrets may hide inside.

This is where Rory, Marlowe, and Kaleb live.

No wonder they seem so out of touch with reality. Anyone who lives in a house like this would be.

Myself? If I lived here, I don’t think I would ever leave.

The interior of the house is truly spectacular. Everything from the floors to the bookshelves to the massive, gnarled kitchen island is made of a similar, almost living-looking, wood.

I peek my head into some of the vast open spaces, each room leading to yet another in a seemingly endless parade of luxury. It would be completely feasible for me to get lost in here.

I bet the same thing holds true for the cellars. My friends have probably found themselves lost in an underground labyrinth of tunnels. The sort of place someone might wander into, only to never find their way back out.

There’s a moment where I find myself back at the top of the stairs in the main foyer, and I consider following them down. Every so often I catch a snippet of laughter from down below—but from the sound of it, they found what they were looking for.

But I haven’t yet.

I don’t know what I’m looking for here, but there must be something. Otherwise, I never would’ve agreed to come.

Right?

Instead of heading down to join them, I walk up the staircase leading to the second floor.

Upstairs, the bedrooms are incredible and numerous. The ceilings are painted to look like the night sky, which gives the rooms an illusion of being outside. Room after room is painted the same way as I walk down the twisting hallway, peeking into doorways left ajar.

There’s a feeling as if the whole house is holding i

ts breath. I often find myself following suit, not realizing I haven’t breathed in a moment until all my breath comes out in a rush and I have to take in a lungful of air just to keep from silently suffocating.

I continue along this way, moving slowly and following the pattern of stars painted on the ceiling overhead until I come to one room that’s different from the others. Here, among the stars, is a painted full moon that seems to glow even as the light outside is fading.