Heartsong (Green Creek Book 3)

eleven months later

In the middle of nowhere, an old truck pulled into a gravel parking lot in front of a small, squat building. The town around him looked as if it’d died a long time ago, and all that remained was dust and bones.

The door to the truck opened and a tall man stepped out, boots crunching in the gravel. He squinted up against the afternoon sun. Deep lines formed around his eyes and mouth, and the bones in his cheeks were prominent. His hair curled around the collar of his jacket, shaggy and unkempt. He rubbed a hand over a scraggly beard, scratching his jaw. His jeans were torn, his right knee poking through.

He rubbed a hand over his face as he sighed.

It’d been a long day.

A threadbare flag fluttered.

He didn’t see anyone else on the road.

He walked toward the building.

An old flyer in one of the windows, the paper yellowed with age, the edges worn, advertised a potluck from four years before.

He pushed open the door. Cool air washed over him.

A woman looked up from behind the counter. Her eyes widened at the sight of the man, and she glanced over her shoulder as if looking for someone to save her.

He ignored it. He knew how he looked. He couldn’t do anything about it. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He just wanted what was his. What he’d come for.

He knew it was here too.

He could smell it.

Faint, but still there.

He sucked in a greedy breath, tasting the last lingering scent.

The woman said, “Help you?”

The man said, “I think you have something for me.”

“That right? Don’t know what that would be. Never seen you before in my life. You’re not from around here.”

The man chuckled tiredly. “No. Definitely not. I’m not even sure where here is.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Bedford. Kentucky.”

“Huh,” the man said. “Never been to Kentucky before. How about that.” He took a step toward the counter and was surprised when he found he couldn’t move. He should have seen this coming. Stupid mistake.

He looked up.

Above him, etched into a beam on the ceiling, was a glyph he didn’t recognize, pulsing green.

“Wolf,” the woman whispered.

“Witch,” he replied. “I’m not here to hurt you. Or anyone in this town.”

“You really expect me to believe that?”

“You have something for me.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“A week ago, another wolf came in here,” he said. “Give or take a day or two. Left a message. Probably told you I’d be coming.” He sighed. “Probably bitched about it too.”

She stared at him for a moment.

Then she nodded. “I might remember something like that. I didn’t believe him when he told me who it was for. Name like that doesn’t come around these parts.”

“Lived here long?”

“All my life.”

He looked out the window. “There used to be a pack around here, right? Probably before you. Who was their witch? Your mother or your father?”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Humor me.”

“My mother. She’s dead. Long time. Wolves are long gone.” She frowned. “I like it better that way. Don’t care much for wolves. You’d do best to move on.”

“I will. Just as soon as you give me the message.”

She hesitated before she turned around and disappeared through a door.

She was back even before it stopped swinging.

In her hand was an envelope.

She placed it on the counter and stepped back before she held up her hand, fingers twitching as she muttered under her breath. There was another pulse of green, and the glyph above faded.

“Take it,” she said. “Take it and leave.”

“How long?” he asked as he stepped up to the counter. He stared reverently down at the envelope. He was almost scared to touch it for fear this was nothing but a dream. “How long ago did you get this?”

“Six days.”

“And which way did he head after he left?”

A pause. Then, “North.”

“Did you see anyone else? Don’t lie to me.”

She shook her head. “I think he was alone.”

The man picked up the envelope. “Oh, I doubt that.” He closed his eyes as he brought it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

He turned to leave.

He was at the door when the woman said, “Is it true?”

He stopped, but he didn’t look back. “What?”

“What they’re saying. About the Alphas. About the wolves. About a beast that can’t be killed.”

He looked back at her, eyes flashing Beta orange. “Oh, he’ll die. I’m going to make sure of that. Forget you ever saw me. I was never here.”

And then he pushed open the door and stepped out into the parking lot.

For years, after all was said and done, the woman would remember this man.

She would remember how all she felt from him was blue.

But if pressed, she would say that underneath everything, she felt the green of relief.

Of hope.

It was small, but there.

And it was enough.

And though now she didn’t recognize it for what it was, she still followed him out the door.

She said, “Wait.”

She said, “I think….”

She said, “He didn’t recognize me. But I recognized him.”

She said, “And I think I know where he’s going.”

The man climbed back into the truck, the bench seat creaking under his weight. He tapped the envelope against the steering wheel, trying to gather his courage.

A flutter in the back of his mind, an old memory hidden away. A little thing his father had told him. A bit of a poem. He couldn’t remember it exactly, never having been one for poetry, but it’d always stuck with him. Something about promises to keep, and miles to go before he could sleep.

He opened the envelope carefully, almost lovingly.

He set it aside as he unfolded the piece of paper.

Six words in large, blocky letters.

But it was enough. He traced his finger over the words, already committing them to memory, as he had the ones that’d come before.

STOP FOLLOWING ME. GO HOME ASSHOLE.

He stared at it for the longest time.

Eventually he put it with the others in the glove compartment.

He looked down at the dash.

There, resting against the odometer, was a photograph.

Three boys with blond hair and bright blue eyes, all smiling widely.

Brothers.

He reached out and touched the faces of the younger two.

“Soon,” he whispered, and it was a promise he would keep.

A moment later the truck started up.

He pulled out of the parking lot.

Before he headed north, he turned on the radio.

An old rock song was just beginning.

He thought the band was called Rainbow.

The song was “Run With the Wolf.”

Carter Bennett laughed until there were tears in his eyes.

And then he drove on.