Heartsong (Green Creek Book 3)

Near the Canadian border and at the edge of the Aroostook National Wildlife Refuge—a mixture of an old- and new-growth forest that never seemed to dry out—was a town forgotten by the human world.

And it was better that way.

From the outside, Caswell, Maine, was nothing. There was no major highway for miles. The only way one would know Caswell had a name at all was an old sign along a two-lane road. The sign was faded red, held up by two posts with chipped black paint. Gold letters said WELCOME TO, and white against black said CASWELL. Below these words was EST. 1879. At the bottom was a small painting of a tree with a farmhouse and silo set in the distance behind it.

Anyone who found their way to Caswell (usually by accident) would see old farmhouses and streets without a single traffic signal. There was a small grocery store, a diner with a blinking neon sign that said WELCOME, a gas station, and an ancient movie theater that showed films from days gone by, mainly grainy black-and-white monster movies.

That was it.

Except it was a lie.

No one lived in the old farmhouses.

People worked in the store and the diner and the gas station. Even the movie theater.

But none of them stayed in Caswell.

Because just outside of the nothing town was Butterfield Lake.

Large walls surrounded it on all sides, the stone at least four feet thick and reinforced with rebar.

Inside those walls was a compound.

And it was here that the most powerful pack in North America—and possibly the world—resided.

I didn’t live in the compound. It made my skin feel electrified. I didn’t like it.

Off Butterfield Lake was Woodman Road, made of dirt and gravel. If you followed Woodman Road all the way to the end, you’d come to a metal gate. And through the gate, deeper into the woods, was a small house.

It wasn’t much. It’d once been for loggers who had harvested the trees through the middle of the twentieth century. There were two bedrooms. A small bathroom. It had a porch with two chairs on it. The kitchen was efficient enough for two men, and that was it. That’s all it was.

It was enough.

Most of the time.

There were days when I needed the quiet. To be away from everyone else.

Days when I’d shift and run through the wildlife refuge, feeling the wet earth beneath my paws and the leaves slapping against my face. I’d keep going until I could go no farther, my lungs burning in my chest, tongue lolling from my mouth.

I’d be deep in the refuge, away from the sights and sounds of the compound. From the other wolves. From the witches. Even Ezra. He understood.

I’d collapse under an ancient tree, lying on my side, chest heaving. It was instinct that led me here, and I’d roll in the grass, turning over on my back and letting the sun warm my belly. Birds sang. Squirrels ran, and though I could chase them and eat them, I usually let them be.

I had a strange relationship with trees.

My mother placed me in one moments before my father murdered her.

I was six years old.

Memories are funny things.

If asked what I was doing exactly one year before on any given day, chances are I wouldn’t remember unless someone reminded me.

But I remember being six with a startling clarity.

Some of those days, at least.

They were bright flashes, moments that prickled against my skin.

I remember a pack. There were six of us. One was an Alpha, strong and kind. She pressed her nose against my hair and breathed me in.

One was her mate, an older woman who, when she laughed, would tilt her head back and grab her sides.

One was a woman named Denise. She was quiet and beautiful. When she moved, it was like she barely touched the ground. I asked her once if she was an angel. She picked me up and tickled my sides.

Her mate was a black woman with bright white teeth and a wicked smile. She had a garden. She gave me tomatoes and we ate them like they were apples, juice and seeds dripping on our chins.

The other was my mother. Her name was Beatrice. And she was the most wonderful person in my entire world. We slept in the same room. She would whisper to me at night and tell me that we were safe here, that we didn’t need to run anymore. That we could have a home. That she would never let anything happen to me. I believed her. She was my mother.

I didn’t understand why we were running or for how long we’d done so. There were nights when we’d slept in an old car that she prayed over before she tried to start, saying, “Come on, please, god, just give me this.” She’d turn the key and the engine would sputter and sputter, and then it would catch, and she’d crow, slapping her hands against the steering wheel, grinning brightly at me as she said, “See? We’re okay. We’re okay!”

Denise found us sleeping in the car off a dirt road, hidden behind a copse of trees.

My mother woke me up, clutching me against her chest. I looked outside the windshield to see a strange woman sitting on the ground in front of the car.

She waved at us.

“Wolf,” my mother whispered.

The car wouldn’t start.

It didn’t even click.

The strange woman cocked her head at us. She spoke in a quiet voice, but my ears were sharp, and I could hear her. She said, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

We’d found ourselves in another wolf’s territory.

She took us to the Alpha at an old cabin that had two chimneys.

My mother held me close.

The Alpha’s eyes flared red.

My mother trembled.

I said, “Do you have any food? We’re hungry.”

The Alpha smiled. “Yes. I believe we do. Do you like meatloaf?”

I didn’t know what meatloaf was. I told her as much.

The smile faded. “Why don’t we see if you like it? If you don’t, we can make something else.”

I loved meatloaf very much. I didn’t think I’d ever eaten anything so good before. I ate until my belly ached.

The Alpha was pleased.

We stayed.

The first night, my mother curled around me. She kissed the top of my head and whispered, “What do you think, cub?”

I yawned. I was tired, and sleeping in a bed for the first time in a long time felt good.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think so too.”

Days passed. Weeks.

The Alpha said, “His father?”

I was drawing at the kitchen table. They had given me all the crayons I could ever want. There were markers too, but they were mostly dry because their caps were missing.

“Hunter,” my mother whispered in a choked voice. “I thought he was… I thought that he was my—”

I looked up to see she was crying. I could taste it at the back of my tongue. There was a sour scent in the air, like something had spoiled.

I didn’t recognize it then for what it was.

Later, I would know.

It was shame.

Before I could go to her, the Alpha rose and wrapped her arms around my mother. She held on tightly and told her that she understood.

The sour smell faded after a little while.

We had months. Months where we were stationary and it seemed like we had found a place to belong. We were like a tree, and our roots were growing into the dirt, getting stronger as the days went by. Our bed began to smell like us. It was nice.

It didn’t last.

Everything burned.

I woke to the smell, and it wasn’t like shame.

It was fire.

Wolves were howling.

My mother lifted me from the bed.

Her eyes were wide and panicked.

There was a loud crash from somewhere in the cabin, and I heard the shouts of men. It was the first time I’d heard a male voice in a long while, because the Alpha didn’t allow men in her pack. She said she had no use for them and winked at me, telling me that I was going to be the exception. It made me the happiest I’d been in a long time, because I’d be a good man. The best there ever was. My mother told me as much.

We went out the window. It was dark when she dropped me to the ground. One of my bare feet landed on a rock, and it cut me.

I cried even as it slowly began to heal.

My mother covered my mouth with her hand as she lifted me up.

She ran. No one could run as fast as my mother. I’d always believed that.

But on this night, she couldn’t run fast enough.

The tree she took me to was old. Ancient. Denise had told me that it was special, that it was the queen of the forest and protected all that it towered over.

In the spring, foxes came and had their kits in the hollow at its base. It was empty when my mother shoved me inside it. There were dead leaves and grass inside, and it was soft.

My mother crouched low, her black hair hanging around her face. She had soot on her face, her hands. She wore glasses even though she didn’t need them. She said they made her feel better about herself. Smarter, somehow. She thought it was silly, but I’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

She said, “Stay here. Whatever you do, whatever you hear, you don’t leave until I come back for you. Even if you hear someone calling your name, you don’t move. It’s a game, little wolf. You’re hiding, and you can’t let anyone find you.”

I nodded because I’d played this game before. “Quiet as a mouse.”

“Yes. Quiet as a mouse. Here, hold these for me.” She took the glasses off her face and set them on my own. They were too big and sagged onto my nose. She reached out and touched my cheek. “I love you. Forever.”

And then she shifted.

Her wolf was gray like storm clouds. She had black lines on her snout and between her big ears.

She looked back at me once, and her eyes flared orange.

And then she was gone.

I stayed in the tree. It was a game, and I didn’t want to lose.

Even when I heard wolves crying out in pain, I stayed.

Even when I heard men yelling, I stayed.

Even when I heard the crack of gunfire, I stayed, though I covered my ears.

I stayed even when I heard a voice calling my name as the sky began to lighten.

A male voice.

And it was familiar, like I’d heard it before.

It said, “Robbie, where are you, son? Come out, come out, come out.”

It said, “Don’t you recognize me?”

It said, “Robbie, please. I’m your daddy.”

Quiet as a mouse, I stayed.

Eventually the voices faded.

But still I stayed.

Later I would be told I was in that hollow for three days. I didn’t remember most of it, only brief moments when I found an acorn and ate it because I was hungry. Or when I had to pee, so I went in the corner, the scent making me gag even hours later.

Wolves found me eventually.

They covered my eyes as they pulled me out. They asked me who I was. What had happened. Who had done all of this.

“I’m quiet as a mouse,” I told them as they took me away. “I’m thirsty. Do you have water? My mom will be thirsty too. She runs really fast. I’ll find her. I’m good at tracking. She won’t run from me.”

I saw the remains of the cabin, charred and still smoking.

I never saw Denise or her mate again.

I never saw the Alpha or her mate again.

But I did see my mother once more.

There was blood in her fur, and I screamed at the flies around her head, but the wolves carried me away.

Memories are funny things.

I carried them like scars.

From the outside, the compound inside the walls around Butterfield Lake looked like a postcard. The houses were big and well-kept. Docks led from most of the houses down to the lake. Children ran on the dirt paths, laughing and yelling at the giant wolf that chased them. They were on their way to the house at the east end of the lake, which had been converted into a school. I’d gone to one like it far away from here, and I’d learned how to write and how to divide and how to track and parse through all the delicious smells and howl at the moon.

Some of the little ones crashed into me, grabbing my legs, demanding I protect them from the big bad wolf chasing them.

One little cub—a boy named Tony—crawled up my legs and chest, wrapping himself around me. He knocked my glasses askew as he shrieked that he didn’t want to be eaten, save me, Robbie, save me!

I laughed as I spun him around, the other children surrounding me and demanding that they have a turn. I growled playfully at them, baring my teeth. They did the same.

“I don’t know if I can save you,” I told Tony. “You might need to save me.”

Tony gasped. “I can do it! I’ve been learning! Watch!” He squinted at me, clenching his jaw until his face started to turn an alarming shade of red. And then, brief though it was, his eyes flashed orange.

“Wow,” I said. “Look at you. You’re doing so good. You’re going to make an amazing wolf one day.”

He squealed in delight, wriggling in my arms so much that I almost dropped him. The other children wanted to show me their eyes too, and most of them were able to flash the bright orange. The ones who couldn’t looked disappointed, but I told them it would happen when they were ready, and they grinned.

The wolf who had been chasing them—their teacher—growled lowly, and I set Tony down. The children took off toward the school.

“Handful, huh?” I asked the wolf.

She snorted, pressing up against me, and the bonds between us lit up. It was like a tight string plucked in the dark, reverberating in my head. I closed my eyes at the weight of it, and I—

(i see you)

I took a step back at the strange voice in my head.

I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t recognize it. It hadn’t come from anyone I knew. No one in the compound, at least. It echoed in the dark, and then it was gone.

The wolf cocked her head at me, and I felt the question she was asking without speaking.

I forced a smile. “I’m fine. Didn’t sleep very well last night. Big day. You know how I get.”

The wolf chuffed, scratching at the ground. She pressed against me once more, and her scent on my skin was sweet and warm. She lifted her head and pushed my glasses back up my face with her nose. The lenses fogged briefly, and she chuffed again as I scowled.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve got a class to teach, Sonari. Get a move on.”

That thread between us was plucked again, and she trotted off, following the children.

I stared after her. I felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. I rubbed at my neck, fighting the urge to shift and run into the trees. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch. At least not yet. I had a job to do.

People—wolves and witches alike—waved at me as I walked through the compound. I called out greetings in response but didn’t stop to talk. I had places to be, people to see. They didn’t like it when I was late.

A few wolves didn’t acknowledge me, but I was used to it. I was in a position they thought I hadn’t earned, given how short of a time I’d been here. I didn’t give two shits what they thought. I had the trust of the Alpha of all and her witch, and that was all that mattered.

But most were friendly. They said my name like they were happy to see me, like I mattered. I breathed in the air of the compound and the forest, listening to the wolves moving around me, the day just beginning. It was like it always was since I’d arrived in Caswell. It was busy, so many moving parts working together.

There was a house set away from all the others, back in the trees. The children didn’t go near it. Most of the adults didn’t either. It was a normal house with dark green shutters and white paint on the siding. But standing next to it felt like moving through water, and it made me sneeze.

A wolf stood in front of the house, arms crossed over his considerable chest as he leaned against the door. He nodded at me as I approached. “Robbie.”

“Hey, Santos. Guard duty again?”

He squinted at me. “Luck of the draw.”

“Seems like you’re always lucky, then.”

He shrugged. “Someone’s gotta do it.” He jerked his head toward the door behind him. “It’s not like it’s tough. Guy can barely move. Just as long as I don’t have to clean him after he shits himself, I’m fine with it. There are worse jobs.”

The wards around the house made my skin crawl and my nose itch. I didn’t know how Santos could stand being so close to the barrier magic. A code, like a metaphysical keypad that only certain people had the combination to, would part the wards. Most didn’t go in unless Ezra was with them, and even then, it was quick in and quick out. You didn’t dwell with the prisoner. Monsters needed to be locked away for the good of all of us. Even so, I was curious about him, about what he’d done. Only a few people knew. I wasn’t one of them. “He talk at all?”

Santos slowly shook his head. “You know he doesn’t. Completely blank. Doesn’t even know who he is, much less where he’s at.” He got a strange look on his face. It wasn’t mean, but it was unpleasant. “Why do you care?”

I frowned. “I… don’t know. I don’t.”

“Of course not,” he repeated, and there was a nasty curl to his lips. Santos didn’t like me. “Don’t you have someplace to be? Ezra went by a while ago, which means you’re already late.”

I cursed. “I don’t know why he didn’t wait for me.”

“He knows how you get in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it up, Santos. See how far it gets you.”

He laughed, mocking. “Sure, Robbie.”

I waved and left him to it. I glanced back over my shoulder at the house once more. I thought I saw movement in one of the windows, but I told myself it was just a trick of light and shadow.

The biggest house in the compound was a two-story cabin with a large covered porch that looked out onto the lake. The windows were open, letting in the cool air. I climbed the porch stairs, the wood creaking underneath my boots. I hesitated for a moment before opening the door.

The interior of the cabin was spacious. A fire roared in the fireplace, and wolves were hurrying around the ground floor. A few spared me a glance, but most of them ignored me. They were busy, and the Alpha of all liked to keep it that way.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor, stepping close to the banister as a woman I vaguely knew flew down the stairs. She grinned at me as she passed, but otherwise didn’t stop. The house was loud and always moving, people coming and going.

I reached the top of the stairs. To my left, five doors led to bedrooms and bathrooms. To my right were a closet and a pair of doors that led to the office. I felt something strong pulse within me. It tugged me toward the double doors.

She knew I was here, even though the room was soundproof.

It was part of being the Alpha of all. I belonged to her, and she could find me always.

I knocked before opening the door.

Ezra sat in a chair in front of a heavy desk. There was an empty chair next to him. He didn’t turn to look at me, but I felt his magic curl over me. I relished the feel of it more than I ever did with her. I thought she knew that, but we never spoke of it.

And there, sitting behind the desk, was the Alpha of all.

Michelle Hughes folded her hands in front of her and said, “You’re late, Robbie.”