Wolfsong (Green Creek 1)

“Why me? I’m nothing. I’m nobody.”

He squeezed my arm. “You are greater than any of us, Ox. I know you don’t see it. I know what you think. But you are more.”

I was a man now, so I pushed away the burn in my eyes. “What do I need to do?”

“Are you sure?” Thomas said from behind me.

I only had eyes for Elizabeth. I could feel the wolves around me, but I never looked away from her.

“Yes.” Because it was Joe.

“It’ll be fast,” Gordo said. “The ward will drop. You’ll hear him. He’s been… loud. Don’t let it frighten you. He’ll catch your scent. Talk to him. Let him hear your voice. He doesn’t… look like himself right now. Okay? But he’s still Joe.”

“Okay.” My heart thundered in my chest.

This was not a dream.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Gordo said quietly.

“Okay.”

“Ox. You have a choice.”

Finally, I looked over at him. “And I’ve made it.”

He held my gaze, eyes searching. I don’t know if he found what he wanted, but eventually he nodded tightly. He brought up his left arm, palm toward the sky. All the tattoos on his arms had faded except for one, which was a deep and earthy green. It was two lines waving in sync with each other. He rubbed two fingers over them and muttered under his breath. The air turned static and my ears popped. The wolves around me growled and I looked back at Elizabeth.

The circle flared briefly and then went black. Dull and lifeless.

And then I heard it.

Low growling. Snarls. Small and angry.

I took a step toward Elizabeth. I held out my hand.

She pressed her nose against my palm and breathed in and out.

And then silence.

Hands stretched over Elizabeth from her other side. Black claws.

“Joe,” I said quietly.

And he launched himself at me. Before I could move. Before I could think. There was a shout of warning, harsh growls. I was knocked off my feet, a heavy weight atop me. Claws dug into my shoulders, little pinpricks that burned. I saw flashes of teeth, eyes that flickered orange and red and blue and green. A nose was at my neck. My cheek. Inhaling me. Breathing me in.

He said, “Ox,” and it was low and dark and angry.

He was caught partway between boy and wolf, like Thomas had been. Thomas had been in control of his.

Joe was not.

White hairs grew and receded along his arms and face. Fangs pierced his gums, then grew flat. There was a boy. Then a half wolf. Then a boy again. He groaned and said, “Ox, it hurts it hurts it—” and the rest was lost as his wolf came forward and words dissolved into spitting growls. His eyes flew through the shifting colors and for a moment, the colors combined into something like violet and violence and the claws on my chest pressed down harder. I winced at the pain and heard others around me and it sounded like they were about to tear him away from me and I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let them take him away.

I said, “My dad left when I was twelve.”

Everyone grew quiet.