“I did,” my father said. “I howled as loud as I ever had. It was the call of an Alpha, the first time I’d ever done it. It tore from me, and I thought my throat would rip. It echoed around me. It felt like it went on forever. And you know what happened next?”
I shook my head.
He chuckled. “You howled back. You’d never done it before, no matter how much I practiced with you. Your mother always laughed at me, telling me you’d do it when you were good and ready. It was a tiny thing, high and reedy. And then you did it again and again and again, and the relief I felt then. Oh god, Carter. It was so green. I turned around, and there you were, underneath the porch. You stuck your little hand out, opening and closing. Like you were saying, ‘Here I am, Daddy. Here I am, I heard you call for me, I heard you singing, and here I am.’ I picked you up, and though I thought about scolding you, I didn’t. Because I knew that you’d done what I’d asked. I howled, and you howled back because you were mine.”
His hand was in my hair, and it felt so real.
He said, “Listen well, my son.”
He said, “Listen with all your might.”
He said, “Your pack is howling you home.”
He said, “For you are one of the lucky to hear the songs of wolves, to have them say your name as if you are the moon that pulls at them.”
Lips pressed to my forehead, and I breathed him in.
“Wake up,” my father said against my skin. “Wake up and sing so the world knows your name. You need to wake up—”
I GASPED AS I SAT UP, my heart thundering in my chest. I blinked rapidly, the image of the clearing fading, and with it, a white wolf with red eyes.
I said, “Dad?” and it came out in a broken whisper.
“Dreaming” came the reply.
I turned my head.
I was in a small room. Blankets curled around my waist. My skin was slick with sweat. It was warm. A fire burned in an old fireplace. The walls were wooden slats, and gray light filtered in through one of the windows.
I was on an uncomfortable bed, the springs of the old mattress jutting against my thighs. I grimaced at the soreness in my leg, but it wasn’t too bad. My throat was dry, and my eyes felt heavy.
And there, sitting in the corner in the shadows, was a man. He looked tired. His hair hung around his face. His eyebrows were drawn down, and his mouth was twisted painfully. He looked at me and then away. The light from the fire flickered along the stubble on his jaw and cheek. He looked… hollow. He gripped the blanket around his shoulders tightly.
“What happened?”
/>
His head jerked up toward me, and his scowl deepened. “Stupid. You were stupid.” He spat the words forcefully, like each one taxed him greatly. His lips pulled back over human teeth. The two in front were slightly crooked, and I stared at them, my hands shaking until I curled them into fists. “Told you,” he said. “Stay away. You don’t listen. You never do.”
I said, “Gavin?”
He flinched. He was wearing ratty shorts and little else, his knees bony, legs thin. The shorts were familiar, and it took me a moment to realize why.
They were mine.
I’d thrown them in my bag, which had been in the truck I’d left behind when I’d gone into the house.
Then I remembered. “Hunters.”
He growled, eyes flashing violet. “Dead,” he said, and there was something feral about it, tinged with primal satisfaction. “All dead. Blood on the ground.” He bared his teeth again. “Killed them. Humans. They came here. You brought them here.” It was an accusation, sharp and biting.
“I didn’t know.”
He grunted, keeping a death grip on the blanket like it was shielding him.
I shifted my legs off the bed. He reared back, but I ignored him. I was naked under the blanket, and I looked down. The muscles in my leg were sore and tense, but the skin was smooth and unblemished.
“I was shot.”