Howl (Howl Book 1) Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Krissy Reynolds.

  All rights reserved under Krissy Reynolds. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter One

  I glanced over my shoulder, and up the stairs, before completely flattening myself on the floor. I froze for a few seconds and closed my eyes. Wooden floors were the best creation, in my opinion. You could feel everything on them if you paid attention.

  When I didn't feel any vibrations coming my way I opened my eyes.

  I forced my breath to become so shallow that I couldn't hear it myself. I took slow intakes and barely any exhales that my heart rate became so slow it was almost disturbing.

  Only when I was sure no one was aware I was down there, I descended across the floor. I used my knees to push and I pulled myself forward with the palms of my hands. Walking wasn't an option because of the sound sneakers made against the floor. I couldn't afford to be caught over something that stupid.

  My eyes were glued to my destination: the back door. The light above the kitchen island reflected off the glass and I saw myself in the sliding door. My shoulder length chocolate brown hair was woven in a braid. It succeeded in keeping most of it out of my face. Although, not all of it. There were a few stray strands that framed my face.

  I continued to slither across the floor until I finally made it to the other side. I slowly pushed myself up and sat on my knees as my hands began to undo the lock that kept me hostage in my own house.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  My entire body went tense as my father's voice entered the kitchen.

  I glanced down at the reflection in the glass door. My father was standing in the hallway. His broad shoulders were tense and his arms were crossed over his abs. He was a tall man with muscular features. His hair was as dark as sunset and his eyes glowed like the sun at noon.

  Everything about him said werewolf.

  His tone had been amused, but I knew that he wasn't pleased. Just by his stance in the archway I could tell that he was trying to keep from lashing out at me. The majority of his weight was on his right leg and every muscle along his back was tense. He was ready for a fight – violent or verbal.

  "I was just going out for some air." I lied gracefully. It wasn't that I lied a lot, but since I grew up with male werewolves I understood the need to be able to lie without being caught.

  My dad straightened himself out until he stood at his total 6"7. I slowly turned on the balls of my feet and sunk my knees down on the floor.

  "Elaine." It wasn't a threat, it was a warning.

  I narrowed my eyes right back at him in the form of a challenge, "I just wanted to see you guys off. I don't see how that is wrong."

  "You don't need to see it." His response was instant. It was practically a rehearsed conversation. Dad and I had been having this argument for days.

  Neither of us was backing down. We were both too stubborn to admit defeat.

  "Josh gets to go." I had the feeling that I was backing myself up into a corner even as I spoke.

  "Josh is older than you."

  Wasn't that the truth? My brother may look 24, if that, but in reality he was passing 24 for the third time. He looked like that when I was born and that was 16, nearly 17, years ago!

  "It's not like I'm going to fight! Or even go past the clearing!" I started to stand, but stopped when my father took a dangerous step towards me. I sunk back down to the floor, "Besides, Martin and Odolf get to go. They're around the same age as me."

  I inwardly reveled in the fact that my father's ears were turning red. It may sound twisted, but I always loved pushing a werewolf's buttons. It was one of the few dangerous things that I didn't get punished for doing.

  "They're closer to the change than you."

  That wasn't the reason they got to go and I didn't, and we both knew it. It was because I was a girl. I had been treated differently by the pack my entire life. Not only was I still in my human years, but I was the only female in the entire pack that had been born and not changed. I didn't really know what that meant, but by the way a lot of the pack members talked about it, it must be something important.

  I groaned out my frustration. I didn't feel like fighting with my dad anymore. He would be leaving in about an hour. I didn't want him to leave with him mad at me.

  My groan turned into a sign quickly as a thought entered my mind. Dad was only going to get more defensive with every verbal attack I sent.

  So, I changed tactics.

  "Dad," I lowered my jaw and took on a loosely submissive stance before continuing; "I just want to say goodbye to everyone. I'll come home before it gets dark."

  Dad continued to shake his head, "You're not going. You can say goodbye to everyone before we leave Bewdley."

  Anger welled in my chest and I opened my mouth to argue.

  He gritted his teeth and took another step towards me, "That is the end of this discussion."

  I stood when he got within an arm's length of me and met his gaze bravely. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do, considering my father's rank and the state of his temper, but I couldn't help it.

  He towered over me. My dad was a very intimidating person. He stood over two heads taller than me and his arms were thicker than my neck, but I couldn't back away from him. I wouldn't.

  Werewolves were all about rank. Knowing your place in the pack ensured survival. – Not only your own but the pack's.

  The pack was run by a hierarchy. First there was the Alpha pair. They were the leaders of the pack. They earned their place through both physical and mental tests. Only the best reigned. Next was the Beta pair. They were the muscle of the pack. They backed up what the Alpha's said and ensured that everyone followed their orders.

  The mid-ranking pair came next. My mom and dad were the mid-ranking pair. Their jobs were to discipline the more subordinate wolves of the pack and to create the illusion that there are more wolves in the pack then there really are, like during runs. They receive their orders from the Alpha pair and alerted the pack when there was danger.

  The elite team of hunters was next in line. They called themselves They Luperco: "They Who Frighten off Wolves". Their one and only job was to protect the pack, mainly the Alpha.

  Last, but definitely not least, were the specialists: the hunters, the nannies, and the much misunderstood omega pair. The hunters got the food. The nannies cared for the pups. The Omega pair was responsible for keeping the pack cool and calm. They were to stop fights from breaking out any way that they could: running in between the sparing wolves, saying a joke, or even
tackling the wolf that was in the wrong. Their duty was boundless and they tended to act more like clowns than aggressive werewolves.

  I decided that my new tactic wasn't working. So I threw caution to the wind and squared my shoulders, "I don't see why I can't just see you off!" On some level I knew that I sounded like a whiney kid, but I didn't feel like that. I was just trying to be heard.

  "He doesn't want to have to worry about you." My brother, Joshua, answered for dad as he jogged down the stairs. When he finally came into my view my throat closed up.

  My brother was part of the Luperco. There was a black etching of a howling wolf tattooed on his left wrist. He was literally ready for battle. An iron breastplate covered his torso while a sword hung at his side.

  "You'd be fine in the clearing with us all there, but what would happen once we left? You'd be left alone in the dark." He chided me like I was still a kid and my anxiety was replaced with more frustration.

  "I'm not three years old, Josh. I know how to find my way home." I seethed at him. A low growl vibrated in my chest on instinct.

  Werewolves, especially born werewolves, age incredibly differently than humans. Their metabolism was so fast that they heal daily, meaning they could very well live for hundreds of years without the appearance of an old man.

  "That doesn't matter, baby girl." I growled at the nickname, which only made Josh laugh. "We'd still worry."

  "And we can't be worrying while were on the field." Dad concluded.

  I growled openly at the victory I heard in my father's tone. It wasn't hard to see that he'd won.

  I hated them both at the moment and wanted nothing more than to get away from them. I knew they were right, but I was so sick and tired of being treated so differently than everyone else.

  With difficulty I lowered my jaw in submission.

  "Call for me before you leave." I turned my torso as I walked past my dad so I didn't dump into his shoulder, and then once I was out of the kitchen, I bolted upstairs.

  I knew, at least a little that I hadn't really had a chance of making it to the clearing, but that didn't make me feel any less upset. I wanted to be there. I wanted to wish my pack well as they left our territory and ran towards the outskirts of Europe.

  It was a war that was taking my family away from me. It was a long battle that soaked the earth in blood and cracked the hope for it ever ending.

  I had grown up being taught that there were three different types of werewolves. One: they lived in the city believing that with so many people around, they could blend in easier. Two: they lived in Hicksville where not many humans were, so they wouldn't be noticed at all. And Three: they denounced their human sides completely and lived as a wolf in the outskirts.

  But there was a fourth category.

  Four: they lived filled with rage and hatred and blamed humans for their own unhappiness.

  The fourth category of the werewolf kind was the ones my people fought against. They were mostly werewolves who had been turned and not born. They hated themselves for what they became or had been taught that humans were their enemy. They spent their lives killing any human that came their way without thinking twice.

  My pack's alpha, Alexander Durand, and two other likeminded and equally aged werewolves created an alliance between their packs to stop the fourth category. They had been working together for at least two hundred years.

  At the beginning the fourth category was few and far between. Not a lot of werewolves turned humans so there weren't a lot of angry werewolves out there. However, as the humans attacked the werewolf kind more frequently the more werewolves began to hate the human kind. They fought back and didn't care how many they killed for they believed that all humans were the same.

  The more werewolves attacked humans the more changed werewolves there were. They followed their makers and adopted their way of life.

  There rested the problem.

  Their numbers were rapidly growing and their attacks grew more savage.

  It was starting to seem like the war would never come to an end.

  "Hey,"

  I blinked hard and brought myself back to reality. My mom was standing in her doorway. Her soft hazel eyes were locked on mine; filled with concern as well as her own anxiety.

  At that moment she didn't look like the warrior I had grown up with and had been trained by. She was wrapped in a soft terrycloth robe and her dark brown hair was curled around her face instead of twisted into a braid like it usually was.

  "It's going to be alright, you know?" She was determined and completely sure of herself. "We know what we're doing."

  My mom always knew what to say. She was so sure of herself all the time. She always had the answers.

  I bit down on the insides of my cheeks and stepped into her warm and gentle embrace. I clung to her, "I love you." I whispered into mom's locks. Her hair smelled of honey and ginger. It was the scent of her body lotion, which told me that she must have just finished with her shower.

  "I love you too." Her hold around me tightened.

  "Run fast." Hot tears itched my eyes, but I blinked them away. I had to be strong. I couldn't break down, especially not in front of the pack.

  "Run free." She replied immediately, as she always did. She spoke firmly. I had never known my mom to get this emotional, especially over a battle. Fighting was what she did. It was who she was.

  Mom pulled back first and went back into her room. I stayed in the doorway and watched her move around the room with grace. She was agile at home and on the battlefield.

  "Don't you ever worry about what could happen?" I finally asked.

  I almost hadn't. It wasn't that I had grown up in a house that believed that kids should be seen and not heard, but I often hesitated when asking serious questions. The war was a touchy subject with everyone and I hated to bring it up.

  My mom momentarily paused as she pulled out her armor. She kept it in the truck at the foot of the bed. I had snuck a peak inside it once. Weapons of all kinds were laid out carefully on the bottom and my parent's uniforms were folded over top.

  Mom called it their treasure chest.

  "I try not to." She briefly glanced at me as she walked over and placed her clothes on the top of the dresser. "Because, if I'm too busy worrying than I could miss something important."

  "Like on the battlefield?" I wanted more information. She had gotten my interest.

  Mom shrugged, "And at home." She laid out her clothes and stared at them for a long minute. "When I'm here I like to be here."

  Growing up mom and dad had been gone a lot. I remember one time they didn't come home for six months. I was only nine and I had been so scared that they weren't coming back.

  "I miss enough when I'm gone. I don't want to miss stuff when I'm here too."

  For a second I saw regret flash through her eyes, but as soon as she blinked it was gone.

  "I need to finish getting ready." She straightened her robe subconsciously.

  I nodded and closed the door. When the door clicked into place I leaned my forehead against the doorframe.

  My desire to protect my pack was so strong that it hurt, because I knew that I wasn't allowed to help. At home no one listened to me. I was someone to be protected, but never given the chance to protect anyone else. I thought that, maybe on the battlefield, it would be different.

  I closed my eyes and the picture of me earning the mark of the Luperco entered my mind.

  I sighed and pushed the thought out of my head. Until my first change no one was going to let me near a battlefield.

  I dragged my feet as I walked down the hall to my bedroom. Downstairs, I could hear dad and Josh talking, but their voices were too low for me to hear what they were saying.

  I left my door open and plopped down at my desk. The light from my lamp, which I had forgotten to turn off earlier, burned against my skin as it glared down at me. I didn't move to turn it off though. I just stared at my hands.

  I was helpless during this
war, and I hated it.

  CL

  My eyes snapped open when I heard the front door open. No one had knocked, but that was normal. Members of the pack were always coming in and out of our house.

  I was currently lying on the floor beside my bed. I had positioned myself so that I could see the stairs when I lifted my head. That way I would know when mom was leaving in case the men of the house didn't call for me.

  The first thing that popped into my mind was to jump up and run to the stairs railing to see who was here.

  That's what I normally did. But, I thought better of it. Whoever it was wouldn't talk of official stuff if I was in the room.

  I would learn more if I made myself look scarce.

  "Quentin, Alexander is ready." It was Michael.

  While growing up I thought it was so weird that Michael never addressed Alexander as dad, or father. It was strange. But when I thought about it, I guessed that after saying it so many times over the years the title just got tiring.

  Like Josh, Michael didn't look his age. He looked older than my brother, like he was pressing 30, but that didn't mean anything.

  I had tried several times to find out how old Michael was. Each and every time I got a little further, but I always stopped. When it came to older werewolves it was just best not to ask about their age. It only gave me a headache, and sometimes it was just plain creepy when I found out.

  I sat up so I was sitting crossed legged, and waited. I wanted to know what else Michael had to say before I went down there.

  Michael was the pack's only Beta. He hadn't taken a mate since years before I was born. I had no idea what happened to her. I only knew that she died. However, Michael never seemed broken up about it. He was the most level headed out of his three brothers, and he and his only son, Gregory, managed fine alone… or at least I thought they did. They didn't fight a lot or anything.

  Most people thought that Michael was Alex's oldest son, because he was being trained to take over the pack whenever/if ever Alex stepped down or passed. But in all actuality Michael was the second son.

  Nathaniel was the oldest of the Durant brothers. He had no interest in being Alpha and lived in London with another pack.