Wolf Bonded

  Wolf Bonded

  Wolfish Book One

  Eden Beck

  Wolf Bonded by Eden Beck

  © 2020 Eden Beck

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of including brief passages for use in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For permissions contact:

  authoredenbeck@gmail.com

  Ebook ASIN: B08FKXMZ88

  Contents

  Preface

  1. Sabrina

  2. Rory

  3. Sabrina

  4. Sabrina

  5. Kaleb

  6. Sabrina

  7. Sabrina

  8. Sabrina

  9. Sabrina

  10. Sabrina

  11. Sabrina

  12. Sabrina

  13. Sabrina

  14. Sabrina

  15. Rory

  16. Sabrina

  17. Sabrina

  18. Sabrina

  19. Sabrina

  20. Sabrina

  21. Sabrina

  22. Sabrina

  23. Sabrina

  24. Sabrina

  25. Sabrina

  26. Sabrina

  27. Marlowe

  28. Sabrina

  29. Sabrina

  30. Sabrina

  31. Sabrina

  32. Sabrina

  A Note From The Author

  Also by Eden Beck

  Preface

  I thought I knew danger before, but this … this is different.

  She must be able to see the realization as it dawns on my face, because her grimace turns into a wicked smile.

  “That’s right. This is it.” She grins wider, her expression growing wild. She holds out her arms to either side, gesturing around her to the forest. Above us, moonlight finally breaks through the trees in streams of silvery white between the branches—triggering her shift from woman to wolf.

  It happens instantaneously.

  The moment the moonlight hits her skin, she transforms from the beautiful woodland girl into a powerful killing machine with claws and fangs ready to tear me to shreds.

  She growls and dips her head down, her wolf-eyes burning with that same fiery rage as her human ones did just moments earlier.

  I don’t step back or try to run from her. Even if I could get back to the car before she buries her long teeth into my throat, I’d just be running to another trap. Another death. Slower, sure, but in the end—just as bloody.

  In a way, I knew from the moment I arrived in North Port, Washington that this is how it would end.

  1

  Sabrina

  I wasn’t born jumping at the shift of a shadow.

  No, that came later.

  It came with raised voices, harsh words, and the flurry of fists that once promised to protect me. The change didn’t happen overnight, not at first.

  Sometimes I think it would be better if it had all started as it ended, in soured words and rough hands that leave bruises. At least then, maybe I wouldn’t feel my stomach twist and my throat grow tight at the thought of the man my father had once—at the now distant memory of the person who didn’t always strike terror into my heart.

  If he’d always been as horrible as he was there at the end, maybe it would’ve made it that much easier to finally escape. Because even now, thousands of miles and what feels like an entire lifetime away, it’s like I can never truly get rid of him. Not really.

  “Sabrina?”

  My mother’s voice jars me fully awake almost as much as the jerking movement of the car, which is trying desperately to stay centered on the old, unpaved road. The sound of crunching gravel is nearly deafening, filling my ears with a grinding noise I’m surprised didn’t wake me earlier.

  “Sabrina, are you alright?”

  I sit up a bit, feeling the ache in my neck from so many hours spent leaning against the car window. My fingers trace a tender spot above my forehead. I’ll have a bruise there in the morning. It won’t be the first in its place, but at least this one wasn’t made by a fist.

  In the car window ahead, my mother’s eyes flicker up to meet mine for a moment. They’re crinkled up in concern.

  “Was I talking in my sleep again?” I ask.

  She frowns a bit, her eyes returning to the winding, shadow-dappled road. “Sounded like you were having another nightmare.”

  “I think I’d have to be really asleep to have a nightmare,” I say, stretching my neck again to the other side and letting out a muffled moan. “REM, and all that.”

  It’s not entirely the truth. I did drift in and out of what I thought was a dreamless sleep, that sort of half-conscious daze that leaves you more tired than you were to begin with. Too many shadows on this road, too many sudden changes in the light to jerk me awake.

  The shadows must have followed me into my restless slumber, casting darkness there too. But these shadows stood over my bed in the night, they loomed above me, they reached their hands towards me and—

  “I thought you weren’t having the nightmares anymore,” my mother’s voice says, jarring me back into the faded leather backseat of the car we bought with the very last bit of our combined savings. Her gaze keeps flickering up to me in the mirror, the lines around her eyes growing deeper with every second.

  The car lurches towards the side of the road, derailed for a second by a massive pothole.

  “Mom, keep your eyes on the road,” I snap, one hand darting out to grab the passenger seat headrest for support. Once the car no longer feels like it’s going to end up in a ditch or tumbling off one of the surprisingly steep hillsides here in Eastern Washington, I slump further into my seat and let my gaze wander back out to the forest outside. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. I thought we were through with starting over.”

  I let a sigh whistle through my parted lips.

  I’m so through with starting over.

  For just one brief second, I catch another look from my mother in the rearview mirror. This time, all I see is pity.

  No one in their right mind would willingly move to Northport, Washington. Nestled between a million square miles of national forest to the south and the endless Canadian wilds to the north, I’m hoping this little town with a population of less than three hundred is the last place anyone would think to come looking for me.

  Because it’s the last place I’d ever want to be.

  There’s a dreariness that hangs over the endless sea of trees stretching out to every side as the car makes its way up the last of the steep dirt road towards our final destination. More than just my body, my soul aches. This life, running from place to place, it’s exhausting.

  I nearly bite my tongue off trying to stifle a yawn as the car dips violently into another pothole. Honestly, I’m grateful for any sleep that I can get these days, even if it’s only a few restless hours. I squint my eyes to try and make out the tiny structure appearing between the trees ahead of us.

  At first, it looks like some kind of optical illusion, the kind where something looks smaller than it actually is because it’s so far away. But I quickly realize that isn’t the case here.

  Even as we wind up the last few turns, each time getting a little glimpse of the rustic cabin through the trees, it doesn’t seem to grow any larger. In fact, the closer we get, the more I realize just how tiny it really is. The giant hill be
hind the house dwarfs it in comparison.

  It doesn’t matter though, at least we’re away from him.

  As if sensing my own unease, my mother breaks into nervous chatter. She tries to keep her tone light, but I see the way her hands grip the steering wheel with each glance up at the cabin, the tips of her knuckles turning red, then white.

  “You know,” she says, her voice raising to be heard above the gravel grinding under tire, “I’ve heard stories about this place. They say there’s a huge mansion hidden in the trees at the top of that hill. I guess the owner spent his entire life building the whole thing by hand.” Her eyes flit away from the road up to the cabin as we draw closer, and I see her jaw working for a moment. “I bet it’s gorgeous.”

  I hear her unspoken meaning. Compared to this place.

  “Who says that?” I ask, wondering where my mother gets her stories from. I love my mother dearly, but sometimes she has a tendency to fabricate things. I can’t really blame her though. She learned to do it out of necessity. For survival.

  “Oh, you know, everyone.”

  I roll my eyes dramatically enough to make sure she can see me doing it. Her lips purse in the mirror, and I find a small pleasure in that act of defiance. She hates it when I roll my eyes. Typical teenager stuff. Every so often I like to throw her a bone, make her think we’re just another normal family.

  Just her and I now. Hardly a family.

  “Who lives in the mansion now?” I ask, curious despite myself.

  “No one, I don’t think,” she answers, clearly happy for the shift in conversation. “They say the man lived in this little cabin while he was building the big house above. I think he lived up there for a while, but I’m sure he’s dead by now.”

  “Ouch, mom,” I say, sitting forward far enough to make sure she sees my skeptical face, “that’s pretty morbid.”

  “No, it’s not,” she says. “It was a long time ago. Everyone from back then is dead now.”

  She says it so flippantly with a matching wave of her hand, I almost laugh.

  “Well then,” I say, “let’s just hope all these dead people didn’t leave behind any ghosts.”

  The car finally pulls up to a stop in front of the little cabin and we both get out to stretch our legs. As soon as I open the door, cool, clean air washes over us, permeated with the scent of pine and juniper. There’s a dampness here that’s different from the South where I grew up. It’s as if the air carries part of the trees with it, filling my lungs until I become a part of the forest too.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many trees before, even with all of the moving around we’ve done. The cabin is surrounded by a forest that stretches all the way up the hill, getting denser and more rich in color the further up it goes. It’s really beautiful, probably the most beautiful place we’ve lived so far.

  Also, by far the most lonely.

  I don’t realize how long I’ve been standing outside until I hear a slight rustling in the leaves behind me. I turn, fully prepared to say something to my mother … when I realize she isn’t there.

  She must have gone into the cabin ahead of me.

  The drive disappears into the trees, winding down behind me towards the main road a quarter mile below. Even in midday, there’s a gloom that settles here. Parts of the forest floor, carpeted in fallen moss-covered logs and broken branches, look as if they’ve never seen the sun.

  Just as I’m about to turn away, I hear that rustling sound again. I turn in a slow circle, my eyes searching the underbrush around me for signs of life. Seeing nothing, I take a step towards one of the bushes to get a better look—only to be startled back a step as two turtle doves erupt from the leaves with a squawk. They flutter up into the branches above as I take a moment to compose myself, hand pressed to my heart and eyes shut as the quiet returns.

  It’s nothing. Just birds.

  So far, we’ve chosen to hide in the anonymity of large suburbs, bustling cities, and cheap pay-by-the-week roadside motels. It’s going to take some time for me to grow used to the change in scenery, to grow less jumpy at every sound.

  Just as I’m starting to shake this uneasy feeling, the sudden silence is broken again.

  This time by an unmistakable sound.

  It’s a scream … from inside the cabin.

  2

  Rory

  I don’t need heightened senses to hear the cry carry up to us through the trees. The high-pitched sound sends a flurry of sparrows erupting from the tops of the branches further down the hill.

  In the direction of the old cabin.

  That can only mean one thing.

  Kaleb bursts through the door to my room without knocking—as per usual. His face is flushed, his eyes bright, nose practically twitching from excitement. Marlowe sidles in behind him a moment earlier, choosing to lean against the doorway with a smug little grin.

  “Did you hear?” Kaleb’s voice is breathless. “They’re here.”

  Behind him, Marlowe’s smile somehow grows even wider.

  “And you’re here, why?”

  Kaleb shifts uncertainly on his feet. “Shouldn’t we go, I don’t know, introduce ourselves?” He glances between me and Marlowe. “They’re our tenants, after all.”

  It’s my turn to bark out a laugh. Give it another week, and it’ll be an actual bark.

  “Romulus’ tenants,” I remind him. “Don’t ask me why he decided to rent the cabin out at all.” I pause for a second, my tongue sliding across my bottom lip.

  I can almost taste them already, these newcomers.

  Kaleb narrows his eyes at me and takes a step back, his arms crossing in front of his chest. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Marlowe beats me to a reply.

  “Rory here doesn’t like strangers on his land.” He shoves himself up off the doorframe and moves to stand beside Kaleb. Compared to our restless youngest brother, he looks calm and composed. Nothing hints at the wildfire hidden underneath that calm exterior. “Is it just me, brother, or have you gotten territorial?”

  I stifle a growl in my throat. “Could you really blame me if I have?”

  Marlowe puckers his lips, but then shakes his head. “I guess not.”

  His serious face doesn’t last long, however. It never does. As quickly as it comes, it’s replaced by a wicked glint in his eye.

  He claps one hand on Kaleb’s shaking shoulder. “Come now, little brother. Unless you want to piss Rory off, we’ll just have to leave them alone for now.”

  The newest addition to our pack rocks back on his feet. He eyes me down the bridge of his nose, his nostril flaring as he takes in a deep breath. I wonder if he imagines he smells the strangers too, their scent already carried on the wind, or if he’s just trying to read me.

  After a moment, his grin falters a bit.

  “Fine,” he says, resigned. His hands still twitch at his sides, unsure of what he’s supposed to do with them now.

  Marlowe sees this too, and quickly starts steering Kaleb back towards the hallway.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, his hand squeezing Kaleb’s shoulder so tight that the pup starts to wriggle beneath his grasp, “I’m sure we’ll find good enough reason to run into them soon enough. Rory won’t be able to blame us then. Will you?” This last bit Marlowe addresses directly at me, not even hiding the challenge in his voice as he pauses once more to glance over.

  This time, I don’t hold back the hint of a growl in my voice.

  “I guess not.”

  While Marlowe marches Kaleb off somewhere to keep him occupied, I find myself growing increasingly anxious. My muscles have tensed. I feel as if my body is coiling in on itself, preparing to spring into action at any moment. My hands, usually steady, grow as restless as the rest of me until the incessant tapping of my pen on the paperwork in front of me has threatened to drive me mad.

  I never should have agreed to go back to school.

  I know we’re doing it for Kaleb, to give him some sense of normalcy as
he transitions, but it just feels so pointless.

  As if to drive this fact home, I accidentally tap the pen a little too hard the next time—and ink explodes across the top of my desk, my homework, and me.

  “Damn it!”

  I throw down the pen and stride to the other doorway behind me, straight out onto the balcony overlooking the back stretch of garden. I cover the distance in barely three steps, chest heaving. This whole thing is pointless. Strangers on our land. School. This place.

  This house.

  My hands grip onto the thick balcony railing as I force my eyes to focus out on the rolling forests and mountains rising in the far distance.

  “Not like you to have such a short temper.”

  I turn quickly, a pang of annoyance growing in my chest at being snuck up on. I should have heard him coming. Smelled him. Sensed him. Something.

  “Romulus.”

  My father stands just a few steps away, his hands stuck lazily into his pockets. The beige cashmere sweater he wears does nothing to hide the lithe strength of the body beneath, it just makes it a little more acceptable. For the humans.

  He takes my silence as an opportunity to approach, slowly, until he comes to rest his forearms on the railing with a contented sigh. His profile contrasts against the darkening sky behind him. The sound of voices and movement carries through the open door from inside.