He stayed up all night sending out emails, answering messages he’d let idle, making lists. When his eyes grew tired enough to burn, he began looking into American legends. Werewolves, ghosts, vampires. Tales from Charleston, New Orleans, and less populated areas. Small towns seemed like good places to hide.
What the fuck? Werewolves? Vampires? Ha! No such thing. Some ghost hunters claimed electricity disrupted the electromagnetic energy of ghosts, which either explained the low number of sightings reported or disproved their existence altogether. There Slade went, down the rabbit hole again.
Did folks believe in these legends? Some accounts came from people with PhDs behind their names. Professors risked mockery, believing in something nonexistent. Why? Then again, he’d met many whack jobs in his life. Education didn’t necessarily mean the hamster didn’t occasionally fall off the wheel.
When he returned from getting a cup of coffee, he realized he’d planned his route near areas where the so-called whack jobs claimed they’d seen werewolves.
By the time Judith awoke for breakfast, Slade had the outlines of a plan. Although he’d never met them in person, he’d made acquaintances located all over the country. Now to choose his first destination and go from there.
If some asshole forced him to travel, he’d make the most of the situation. But, if traveling brought success and money, it served the mutherfucking sorcerer right.
Slade stayed with Judith until the familiar twisting started in his stomach. He made a few phone calls, loaded his trailer, and said his goodbyes. He didn’t know when he’d beat this curse, didn’t know how, but damned if he’d let someone else dictate his life.
On the five stages of grief, he added a new step: revenge by success.
Chapter Eleven - Ten Years Later
Stickingtolesspopulatedareas, Noah adapted to his surroundings. Someone always jumped at the chance of a paying tenant for a hard-to-rent small house or cabin in a remote area. So far, Mace Corley had managed to fly under the radar.
Taking on farm jobs kept him near the woods he loved. He never remained anywhere long, a year at most, always, always alone.
The full moon. Noah changed into wolf form on other occasions—the full moon gave him no choice. How he missed running with Paul under the full moon, never commenting about the longer time needed each passing year for the old wolf to shift.
On full moon nights, Noah missed pack the most. Only in his imagination did he run with family and friends around him, celebrating the night, filling the longing in his soul. He stripped out of his clothes in an old barn, placing them on a piece of rusted equipment. Next, he carefully hid his pendant, his sole link to a past life.
He stepped out of the barn, fully naked, staring up at the darkening sky. Kentucky in early September: neither too warm nor too hot. Already the moon called, creating an ache in his bones and itching on his skin. His ears buzzed with a persistent, angry-bee sound.
Still in human form, he rode the edge between his two forms, heightened senses of a wolf, logical thinking of a human.
At this moment, loneliness hit hard. Not entirely human, and with no other werewolves around. Isolated. Alone. Before surrendering to despair, Noah lowered himself to his side on the ground. The change happened quickly for him, a relatively young wolf.
Noah stood on four legs, threw back his head, and released a mournful howl. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf answered. Then another. Then another.
Wolves. Not werewolves. He’d often watched the resident pack from a distance.
Envied them.
Setting off along the stream brought the faint scent of rabbits and other small game. No bringing down a larger animal alone. A-ha! There! Head down, Noah followed his prey.Not too fast, don’t spook him.Keeping downwind hid his presence.
Tonight’s dinner: fat possum. Noah licked his lips. Not his first choice, but he’d never pass on an easy meal.Steady, steady.Wait for the right moment.
Noah crept closer, gradually shortening the distance. Muscles bunched, he pounced, sinking a carnivore’s teeth into flesh. Wolf one, possum zero. The stream bank made an excellent place to eat a meal, with water to wash down the morsels.
He picked off an unfortunate trout caught under a rock. Enough food for the time being. Moonlight shone down on the broom sage of a small clearing, lighting the night. Hmmm… Rabbits. A full belly kept them safe, at least until dawn.
Noah jumped, tucking his legs close to his belly, staring down at the ground.I see you,he told the rabbits. Mock hunting grew boring. He raced through the dry grass, letting out his wolf’s pent-up energy.
Oh, to have another wolf to run and romp with. Or even Paul, who’d lie with his head on his paws and watch.
If he still lived, Paul might be too old to shift by now, from what he’d said.
Head on paws sounded good. Noah creaked his jaw on a long yawn. Curled up under a bush, he closed his eyes and slept.
A gunshot sent Noah instantly awake.
“Over here!” a man’s voice called.
Over here, what? A bullet whizzed by.Thunk!Bark splattered from the tree above Noah’s head. Oh, shit! Hunters!