The Wolf King (The Wolf Kings #1) (MLM)

CHAPTER ONE.

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Don't go out at night. It was a rule that, if you came to visit the miniscule town of Crowswood for even a few days, the locals were more than happy to whisper. Whatever you do, whatever voices you hear, whatever the reason, do not go out at night.

                It was, in part, a joke. A cautionary bedtime story to get children to behave, or keep teenagers from sneaking out. But most people still believed the legend that accompanied the tale. They believed in the Wolf King, a vicious werewolf that lived in the forest encircling the tiny town. The beast that was said to take men and women as his playthings and eat them afterwards.

                They believed because they had to. They believed because the bodies that littered the forest and the attacks on anyone foolish enough to take up dares too close to the trees were a hard, undeniable proof that something dark lived close by.

                Now, Jack Hunter didn't believe in dark forces or werewolves or monsters in the shadows. He was an investigative journalist which meant that he knew, more than anyone, that when something scary showed up, there was usually a flesh-and-blood villain behind the scenes controlling the strings. So when he got to Crowswood himself to do an op-ed on the murders only to find ghost stories, he knew that something weird was going on.

                The forest, a voice so much like his own and nothing like his own whispered suddenly in his ear for the millionth time, and Jack ignored it. He'd been learning to ignore it since he first read the Crowswood name three months ago.

                The road beneath Jack's tires as he drove through the town was as bumpy and unpleasant as the drive in. He supposed he should just be glad he'd found the way in so easily, especially since no one back in Portland seemed to have even heard of this place, let alone have a map to it. He'd expected difficulties finding his way, but it was like the town was inviting him in. At least he'd thought it was before he started asking around and realized people were just trying to scare him away.

When he'd arrived, he'd stopped at the first diner he could find, which was probably the only one around for miles. He'd tried to pat down his unruly dark brown hair, but it didn't stop the locals' eyes from picking him out of the crowd. The waitress had wasted no time in warning him, with a coy smile and a wink, that "pretty people aren't safe out at night, sugar." When Jack, unperturbed, had asked why, the woman's eyes narrowed mischievously. "Well, we wouldn't want the Wolf King to get you, would we?"

At the name, the same voice echoed in his ear. The forest.

                He hadn't been able to help his scoff. "The Wolf King?"

                The old man to his right with the eyepatch and scruffy white hair had grumbled over his scrambled eggs, "Careful there, boy. No one mocks the Wolf King around here and lives." Then he'd blinked his one good eye, like he was finally seeing Jack, and said, "Say, you're new. . . . How'd you find your way here? No one ever comes here . . ." Then he'd suddenly gasped and stumbled out of his seat, his wide, horrified eye on Jack as if he'd seen something vile on his face, and he gave him a wide berth on his escape from the diner.