The Wild Hunt

[ sneak peak ]

BOOK ONE: The Wild  |  BOOK TWO: The Wilde Expedition

I started writing the third book immediately following the finish of The Wild Expedition, but I got hooked on writing The Immortal Chronicles, got wrapped up into this one TV show... and one thing lead to another... and I gave up original fiction for a while. Specifically, I gave up writing in first person. It's hard to go back after falling in love with exploring third person.

I could hear the phone ringing, and on the sixth ring, silence interrupted it. So it seemed he was capable of contact. "You shot my daughter?" Dad asked, and I was sure he meant it as a casual question, but it came out as a growl.

"I take it she told ya that."

"There's a goddamn chunk missing from her right ear."

"Real sorry 'bout that. So what do ya think of the plan?"

Dad scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an arm folded over his stomach. I watched as his eyes narrowed on me, and I shrugged. I didn't expect him to decide based on what I wanted—it was his town. He would do whatever he thought was right, regardless of family matters. If what Griffin thought was true, then I could aid in the effort of taking down the rogues they so desperately wanted out of their territory.

He released a ponderous sigh and raised his voice—"I'm not okay with you bringing your ideas to Reagan before me. I am still in charge here—she isn't qualified to negotiate with you on her own."

Griffin apologized, as he did in his half-assed sort of way. It made me snigger and quickly hide it behind my hand when Dad turned to me. I pulled my lips together and kept them that way. "What would be required of me in order to make this possible?"

"You'll have to cancel runs for a night—just so they don't interfere with the rogue. It'll feel more comfortable without obstacles. Purposefully welcome 'im by not having an aggressive front. Believe it or not, but the only reason he hasn't already taken out any a your people is 'cause ya still have active runners out at night. If ya stop the night runs, it'll be close enough to differentiate Reagan from everyone else. He found her so easily 'cause she was out in the middle of goddamn nowhere."

Dad knew I was listening, but even then he glared at me when Griffin mentioned my encounter with the rogue. I stuck my tongue out at him playfully, but it wasn't like he appreciated it. "Who else will be involved?"

"It'll just be the two of us. Anything more than that and the rogue'll get suspicious and instinctively stay away. Besides, if you come around, 'e won't come anywhere near us. Your alpha stench is too strong."

"What about his?" I questioned, and Dad pulled the phone away from his ear to hear me. "Griffin's an alpha too, ya know."

"A weak one." The answer came from the phone. Dad pressed the speaker button and held the phone closer to me. "It's not like I'm looking for pity, but most hunters are from weaker lineages. Some alphas that aren't surrounded by their own people since birth don't feel the animal instincts as strongly. We're what you call—what is it? There's a word for it."

"Lone wolf," Dad interjected, and Griffin agreed with it. I frowned at the both of them—well, Dad and the phone.

"How come I never knew that?" I demanded, looking to Dad then.

"That's the difference of being raised in a new lineage—no one wants to soil your view of weaker lines because it is all really the fault of the higher ups. Alphas are required to be raised in packs and catalogued or risk situations like Griffin, or the ones who slip through our fingers like rogues," he explained. I realized that perhaps Mom never learned about things like this—perhaps our elders kept them from us in an attempt to make lycanthropes seem like perfectly suitable members of society. Like we didn't abandon our own kind, and cause problems like the rogues terrorizing the wilderness.

"But that's a discussion for another time," Griffin's voice crackled through the phone, and I couldn't seem to even look at it. For some reason, I felt like shit for not knowing more about the situation. I supposed that was why I was here—to learn about these problems alphas face across North America.

"When would we do this then?" I asked, only to be interrupted swiftly—"I never agreed to it." Dad stared me down, as if surprised to find me suddenly on board with this. I shrugged again.

"It's not like he's gonna shoot me in the ear again, Dad," I countered.

"There's no guaranteeing that the rogue won't mutilate your shoulder again, either," he argued, and paused as the phone static increased, as if Griffin just tossed it in a pile of laundry and was sifting around for it again. I'm certain that wasn't the case, but it sure did sound like it.

"I'm not guaranteeing Reagan's certain safety—there're always risks with rogues," Griffin said.