Red: Into the Dark Page 3

  Is this why people always say death causes you to reevaluate your life?

  The loss feels like someone carved out my soul.

  My need to survive collides with my sadness and I cry as I walk, stumbling forward. The woods are basically empty. At the very edges, there are signs of camping or picnics. I see some trash and stumble around a few abandoned water bottles, but once I’m 100 yards in, it’s just me and the wildlife.

  No people.

  No one to hear me cry.

  My feet hurt as I walk, reminding me that I left my good hiking boots in my duffel bag. My Converse might be stylish, but they suck for walking. They were the only shoes I had in my car, so they’ll have to suffice.

  I try to coax myself into going deeper into the woods despite the darkness. I don’t know how long it will take Jeffrey to realize he just has to search the woods for me. Surely he doesn’t have any memories of Grandma’s cabin, but I can’t be certain. If he finds me once I’ve reached it, there’s always the chance I’ll have managed to get the old hunting rifle to work.

  Otherwise, I’m dead.

  He can’t find me before I reach the cabin. He just can’t. If there’s one thing I know about my brother, it’s that he’s a vicious man who only cares about one thing: money. He likes to have it and he’ll do anything to get it. He’s always been this way. How did we turn out so differently?

  We may have had different fathers, but from what I saw, my birth father loved Jeffrey as his own. He would have done anything for him and he often did.

  I feel a bit sick as I think of the way he shifted in Grandma’s kitchen. He changed just enough to let his claws out, just enough to slice through her delicate skin. I think of the way her eyes locked on mine and she shook her head, just slightly, just enough to let me know I needed to stay hidden.

  She was trying to save me.

  My brother is nothing if not completely paranoid.

  I can’t help but wonder how our lives would be different if our parents hadn’t died, but there’s a time and a place for reminiscing, and it’s not while walking through animal-infested forests.

  Each time I hear a sound, I jump. What’s lurking for me in the darkness today? Does door number one have ghosts or ghouls? What about door number two? Goblins or witches? I force myself to keep moving even though each noise has me cringing. Tears threaten to pour over and I finally realize that it’s time to stop for the night.

  I’ve come as far as I possibly can.

  I find an oversized oak tree with big ol’ branches and I climb up a little ways. Sleeping in a tree overnight seems stupid. Sleeping on the ground seems stupider.

  I use rope from my bag to tie myself loosely to the tree. I plan to sleep sitting up with my legs on the big branch, but if I accidentally slip, this will ensure I wake up before I’m able to fall. I put my knife in my front pocket. If I need to get out of here quickly, I’ll cut through the ropes. I don’t have time to deal with untying them in a pinch. My knife will work just fine.

  Goodness knows it’s sharp enough.

  I lean against the trunk of the tree and close my eyes. I try to relax. Deep breaths: in and out, in and out. Only, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my brother’s face from popping into my head. I can’t stop the images of my grandmother’s body. I can’t stop imagining that somehow, somewhere, Jeffrey is going to find me.

  I can’t stop thinking of my brother killing me for my inheritance.

  I sit in the tree, bark scratching into my back, for what feels like hours. I hear howls. There are wolves in the woods, I know, but there can’t be many. How many could really be in a place like this? My grandmother used to say they were more afraid of me than I was of them, but I know that’s a crock.

  Even grandma was scared of the wolves, though she never really told me why. We both knew Jeffrey was a shifter. I figured it out as a teenager even though my mom kept it a dark secret. I don’t think my dad ever knew.

  I don’t think he wanted to.

  It’s not a full moon, but the howls continue into the early hours of the morning. Somehow, before the sun comes up, I manage to fall asleep sitting up in the tree.

  In my dreams, I’m running from my brother. I’m running from him and the other wolves and no one can save me. I open my mouth to scream, but there is only silence. Nothing comes out of my mouth. I can’t make a sound. Moving as quickly as possible, I run until my legs collapse, and then they take me.

  I wake covered in sweat and cut myself loose.

  There will be no more sleeping in trees for me.

  2.

  Red

  The path to grandmother’s house is long and narrow, and winds through the woods like a mystery to be solved. It doesn’t begin at the edge of the woods, the way a normal path would. No, this path doesn’t begin until you’re almost halfway to the cabin.

  And even then, you have to know where you’re looking.

  It’s not a normal path. It’s not dirt. It’s not a foot trail. No, this path is marked with small, yellow stones.

  Grandmother’s stones.

  I don’t know why she chose yellow. Each heart-shaped little stone was carved and painted by hand. I always know when I’m getting close to her place because I can see them. I see the stones and they guide me. Even if it’s dark, even if I’m tired, even if I’m weary, I know I can follow the stones.

  When I pass the waterfall, I know I’m close to the beginning of the path. I look longingly at the water for a few minutes. It’s been ages since I swam in the waters beneath the fall. It’s been years. As a girl, my grandmother would bring me to the cabin and we’d spend a whole day just playing in the waterfall before setting up camp for the night.

  We always camped.

  Always.

  Now, as I think about how I slept in a tree last night, I’m questioning my sanity. Was this what Grandmother would have wanted for me?

  Would she have wanted me to seek refuge at her cabin?

  Would she have wanted me to do something else?

  Maybe she expected that I would stand up to Jeffrey. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t find out until long after her death that I was the sole heir. Surely, though, she had to know. Part of me thinks she had to know. He is the true heir of her fortune. He’s the firstborn. And me?

  I’m just the nerdy graduate who spent my afternoons in college at Grandma’s house, drinking tea and studying. We were always close, the two of us. Ever since Mom and Dad died, I’ve poured all of my love and energy into Grandma. Jeffrey oversaw all the details of Mom and Dad’s estate. After all, he’s older than me. It just made sense at the time.

  By the time I was old enough to claim my inheritance at the ripe old age of 25, there was nothing left for me in the trust fund. It had all been absorbed in legal fees and taxes, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want the money.

  I just wanted my family.

  I stare at the water for a few more minutes, then I take a deep breath. I’ve lingered too long. I need to go. The day is half over and I still need to walk for a few more hours, at least. Heaving my backpack up a little bit, I set out on the path. It’s going to be a long day and an even longer lifetime trying to outrun my brother.

  I take my next step, each one more sure than the last.

  I can do this.

  I have to.

  ***

  I didn’t bring my cell phone, but even if I did, there’s no cell reception in the woods. I don’t even know what I’d do if I got injured right now. I’d probably just cry and pray someone found me. Silly, I know, but that’s what I’m thinking about as I approach the cabin.

  Then again, maybe I should be grateful I’m alone.

  There’s no one left in the world to miss me.

  There is no one to cry over me if anything goes wrong.

  Not that things could go any more wrong. It’s already a holiday weekend, so my boss isn’t going to miss me for a few days. I don’t really have any friends to speak of. Facebook friends don’t count,
as far as I’m concerned. The “Contacts” list in my phone is decidedly empty. No one is really going to care when I don’t post updates about my life or my dinner for a few days.

  I try not to think about what that says about my life choices as I step forward towards the cabin.

  It’s tiny and brown and blends in with the dark forest. Grandmother’s house is exactly as I remembered it: a one-room shack in the middle of nowhere. Somehow, though, seeing it in real life makes me feel alive and excited and ready for anything.

  I walk up to the cabin, hoping beyond all hope that it’s empty. Wouldn’t it be just my luck if wolves had broken in? Or worse, I shudder: squatters.

  I eye the cabin from a distance before slowly moving in. The truth is that I don’t really have much of a way to defend myself if someone was in there. I’m feisty and fierce, but I’m also unpracticed and undisciplined. Years of studying and pouring hours into my education have given me spaghetti arms.

  I silently vow to fix that while I’m staying at the cabin.

  The wood log exterior looks like it’s in good condition. The tiny porch seems fine, too. Though Grandmother loved to decorate, she kept the outside of the cabin simple. She wanted it to blend in, I think. She wanted it to mean something.

  Did she want this place to feel like a safe haven?

  Part of me wants to think so.

  Part of me wants to believe she always knew I would seek refuge here when I needed it the most.

  I take the step up to the porch and try the door. Locked. Good. No one’s been inside, after all. Only, as I find the stone hide-a-key next to the porch, I discover that it’s empty.

  “Fuck,” I say aloud, kicking at the tiny porch. The wood reverberates under my shoe and shakes, just slightly.

  No key to Grandmother’s.

  And then, just my luck, it starts to rain. I scurry up onto the porch and stand there like an idiot as the water pours down. It’s amazing how little protection the trees really do offer from the rain. Almost none. Within seconds, I’m soaked, even standing on the porch. The wind howls and I hear a crack of thunder.

  I need to get inside.

  I have three choices: break a window, try to pick the lock, or sit on the porch and live there instead. I decide to break the window, for simplicity’s sake.

  First, though, I give in to one last moment of lucidity and see if either of the front windows are open. There are others on the other sides of the cabin, but they’re too high up for me to reach on my own. The porch at the front of the cabin gives me a bit of a boost, and I’m thrilled that when I try to push up the windows, they actually move quickly.

  I toss my bag inside and tumble in after it, landing on the wooden floorboards with a “thud.” I stand and close the window, locking it this time, and look around the room.

  “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” I whisper. I grab an electric lantern from next to the door and flick it on, then hang it from a hook in the center ceiling. This gives the whole room a warm, soft glow.

  It also reveals that yes, someone has been living at the cabin. The person who took the hide-a-key, perhaps? Only maybe they’ve been gone for awhile. Maybe they aren’t coming back. Maybe, just maybe, this person sought refuge in the cabin and then forgot to leave the key when they continued on.

  Yes, that must be it.

  I kick off my shoes and sigh. I’m exhausted. I’m much too tired to worry about them coming back. I have no doubt that the food pantry has been rifled through or that most of the bottled water is gone, but I don’t think anyone would have checked Grandma’s secret hiding place for Grandma’s secret weapon.

  The third floorboard from the side of the wall, just next to a tiny table with a fake potted flower, holds a .38 special and enough bullets to keep me safe – a little safe, anyway – until I can figure out my next move.

  Suddenly, coming to the cabin doesn’t seem like such a great idea.

  Suddenly, all I want is Grammy.

  3.

  Nash

  Sleep has evaded me for months. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get the image of Elise’s body out of my head. She would have done anything for the Alpha. Anything.

  And he killed her in cold blood.

  And now I’m alone in the woods and I need a plan.

  Only I’m too distraught to actually come up with anything decent.

  The only thing I do these days is hunt and sit around the cabin, trying to sleep. What else is there? The Silent Canines had been my life for years. Now? Now I’m a lone wolf who can’t even sleep without the help of alcohol.

  Lots and lots of alcohol.

  When I return home after hunting for the day, I’m ready to collapse. I’m ready to sleep. I’m ready to hit the bottle hard. It’s just another day without Elise.

  It’s just another day without my cousin.

  She was more than a cousin. Elise was my best friend. She was like a sister to me and I don’t know what I’m going to do now that she’s gone. I warned her that the Alpha was bad news, but she didn’t listen. She didn’t want to.

  She saw a hot guy who offered her a lot of attention and she took it. She took all of it. Everything he had to offer, she took.

  And then he took everything she had, offering or not.

  Fuck.

  I shift back, quickly and lazily, and I step onto the porch. And then I stop.

  Human.

  There’s a human in the cabin. A female one, judging by the scent. There’s an aroused female in my cabin and I was so distracted that I didn’t notice until I was about to walk in the door.

  I’m losing my edge.

  I take a deep whiff of her scent and pause, confused. This cabin had been abandoned for years, judging by the dust buildup, without so much as a hunter or camper stopping by. Why now?

  Who is she and why is she here? There has never been another person at this cabin, not in the three months I’ve lived here. It was why I chose this cabin to make my residence. It was abandoned, empty, and full of booze. Seriously, why would one person need so much alcohol in a cabin they never visit?

  I have no idea.

  But now my home is not-so-empty and I’m not sure what to do. My first instinct is to run inside and rip the human to shreds, but I can’t. Not after losing Elise. I don’t know if I can be that wolf anymore.

  Even in my human form, my hearing is impeccable. It’s certainly enough to hear the soft moans coming from inside the cabin. Fuck. Is she masturbating? She’s masturbating. There’s a human masturbating in my cabin – probably in my bed – and I’m on the porch.

  Suddenly, my cock is completely alert and ready to play. I glance down at it, like what is happening? Am I serious right now? This isn’t like me. At all.

  Usually, nothing can break my concentration. One beautiful woman? Why not 20? Doesn’t matter because I won’t break mission for anything. When I set my mind to something, I go for it. Sex won’t distract me. Women won’t distract me. Money won’t distract me. The only thing that can distract me is death.

  And that’s certainly the furthest thing from my mind at the moment.

  I move quietly to the window. There are curtains, but I can see through the sheer fabric to see a figure on my bed.

  My bed.

  There’s a female in my bed, on all fours, and she’s rubbing herself.

  What the hell kind of alternate universe have I walked into?

  I woke up this morning expecting nothing but trouble and boredom. I figured I’d run, hunt, and maybe jerk off alone to some fantasy I created.

  This is so much better.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m stroking my cock. Slowly, eagerly, I begin to rub myself as I watch the woman in the cabin. I can’t tell what color her skin is, what her hair looks like, or whether she paints her nails. I can’t tell if she’s young or old or somewhere in between.

  I can’t tell anything except that she’s very, very turned on.

  I can’t tell anything except that I want
to burst into the cabin and plunge myself into her from behind.

  Her pussy is obviously wet and I close my eyes briefly as she dips her fingers inside of herself. I wish I could see her better. Did she use one? Two? Did she go all-out and use three? She moans and stroke harder, faster, needing the release my body is craving.

  I haven’t fucked anyone in months, haven’t enjoyed the sweet release my body needs since I left the pack. Oh, I’ve jerked off, but nothing like now. Nothing like this. Quick wanks in the dark don’t count. Not like this one is going to.

  The woman flips over onto her back and spreads her legs. For a brief second, I wonder if she knows I’m watching. Can she sense me, over by the window? I hold my breath for just a moment, but I realize I’m being silly.

  She can’t see me out here in the darkness.

  She’s no wolf.

  I can tell that simply from her scent. No, this woman is all human. Pure, sexy, lusty human and I want nothing more than to own her, dominate her, claim her. The urge to touch her overwhelms me and I have to fight back the need to burst into the cabin and take her.

  Her hands race over her breasts and I imagine it’s my hands on her. I have no idea who this wanton creature is in my bed, but I would do this so much better than she is right now. There would be no timid tweaks on her nipples, no gentle strokes of my fingers on her breasts.

  No, my goal would be to make her scream.

  My goal would be to make sure the whole forest knows she’s mine.

  I would like her from her neck to her pussy and back again. I would roll so I was on my back and she was hovering over my face, my breath hot on her pussy. I would eat her out until she came so hard she collapsed on top of me, then I’d make her come again.

  And once more.

  Then I’d sprawl her out on the bed, a not-so-virgin offering for myself, and nibble her skin until every nerve in her body was on fire.

  The woman arches her back as I watch. I’m completely entranced with her body, her appearance, her touching. My mind blurs as I imagine plunging myself inside of her, and as she comes from her own soft touch, I follow suit outside.