When the Wolves Cry (Twin Flames Duet #1)

CHAPTER ONE

TALA

Ringing pulls me out of my sleep, my hand mechanically swatting around my nightstand in search of my phone. “Hello,” I answer groggily, smashing my face into a furry pillow.

“Honey,” Mom cries.

The high pitch shocks my nerves, panic pumping my heart faster and jolting me awake. I scurry out of bed and stand idle, frozen in place by the sniffles and whimpers filtering through my phone’s speaker.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this… Your grandparents’ housecaught on fire,” she chokes out, anguish straining her voice.

Heat sifts through the boulder forming in my throat, and I blanch. Pounding into the hardwood, I frantically run to my dresser and yank open a drawer. “W-what do you mean? Are they okay?” I ask naively, wedging my phone in between my face and shoulder to step into a pair of sweatpants.

Damn you for sleeping naked, dumbass. You knew it’d either be horrible news or a fucking intruder in the middle of a night .?

“It wasn’t called in until it was too late. Dad and I are speeding there to speak with the Chief. But you know how the police are here…”

“I’m on my way.” I smash my thumb into the screen, leaving her with a dead call.

I run to my closet, yanking a long sleeve shirt on while sliding my bare feet into my Chucks. Dread is tightening my chest, twisting my stomach, and nipping at my skin.

Somehow, the movement on my bed seems worse .?

My breathing becomes shallow, and my hands grow clammy .?

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Liam asks callously, glaring at me with murky blue eyes from the bed.

I swallow nervously, stashing my phone in my pocket and scampering out of the closet. “Uh, my grandparents,” I choke out, eyes stinging and welling with tears. “Their house, uh, caught on fire…” I rush out of my room and down the hall, knowing what happens when I wake him up.

I run down the stairs, heart lurching up my throat as his steps thunder after me. Once I stomp onto the mid-level landing, I glance into one of the mirrors along the gallery wall, wincing at his face tight with rage and eating up the distance between us too quickly.

“You know I have fucking work in the morning!” he rages.

I leap over the last three stairs, tightening my lips as the pain smarts in my ankles, and skitter over to the console table to the right of the staircase. I snatch my keys and book it to the front door, ripping it open and leaving it open, just so I can run across the porch and get to my SUV—without getting choked and smacked across the face.

This i s? m y ? house.

The home was built by my grandparents and given to me almost four years ago now. They painted the walls black for me, not knowing I’d let a monster live here and give my favorite color a deeper meaning.

A morbid, undoubtedly barbaric meaning.

I was raised with the wolves. Therefore, I’m fast on my feet and usually outrun him .?

But even when I do—I always come back.

And the next time I leave, it’s with a new split in my lip or fresh bruises around my neck.

Waves distort my vision, speedily throwing myself into the leather seat of my SUV and slamming my door. I press the start button, hitting the locks on the doors right as he slams his hand into my window.

I jump, and ignore his derogatory comments, fastening my seat belt and shifting into drive. The gravel shoots back as I hit the gas, and I whip the wheel to turn around, not giving a fuck if I run him over.

What would he do if I killed him? Haunt me?

The rustic mountain home is stationed in the middle of the woods, completely swallowed by western hemlocks and spruce trees. The only ones hearing me fly down the mile long driveway are the bears, wolves, and moose.

Hysteria has my nerves rattling inside my tense body, plaguing me with the aggravation of losing control of myself.

I’m so fucking tired of living in fight-or-flight.

With a trembling hand, I wipe my wet cheeks and battle myself the entire drive into the city of Anchorage.

My chest begins shaking with a sob once I see the red and blue flashing lights—and the embers dancing from the ash, drifting up into the night. Dread constricts my lungs and grief creeps in with malicious hands, violently tacking its talons into my throat and slashing me open .?

I pull over on the side of the street and jump out without turning the engine off, running across the road and towards the ash and rubble that once stood tall as a beautiful Victorian home.

I shove past the nosy assholes watching, dipping under the yellow tape, running to where the front porch used to be.

“Hey, ma’am! You can’t be behind the tape!” a masculine voice shouts behind me.

My nails claw into my scalp, my weight crashing my weak knees to the cracked sidewalk. If my eyes weren’t tight with the cry banging cruelly on my heart, I’m sure I’d find faint remnants of a flower drawn with chalk.

A pair of hands tenderly grab my shoulders. “Sweetheart, hey,” Dad says hoarsely, tying his cape on to be a superhero for me.

“It’s all gone. They’re gone,” I squeak, and swivel into his arms.

The smoky sulfur lingers in my nose, warm coffee wafting from his flannel and pervading my face. He holds me tight, allowing me a moment to let my broken heart spill in the safety of his arms. “I know, sweetie, I know,” he chokes out. “They’re never truly gone though. They’re still here with us.”

“You guys can’t be this close.”

“Give us a goddamn minute, boy!” Dad snaps.

I look up at him, tears filling the seam of my numb lips. “How did this happen?”

Although he has his own tears to catch, he wipes my messy face with his sleeve. “They’re claiming it was negligence. There’s no proof it was a gas line that caused it, but with them being older… It is what is, sweetheart. We can’t do anything about it now.”

There have been several tragic house fires within the last year. All covered up by the fucking Cheechako that waltzed into Alaska five years ago, somehow winning the election and becoming the mayor. He thought buying an old castle, fixing it up, and hosting events in it to donate the proceeds to mom-and-pop shops would conceal his wicked ways.

But I know better.

I also know the police are paid to turn a blind eye to Club Sin’ s ? underground tunnels. It extends further than that though. They don’t give a fuck about shit. They didn’t even attempt to find the missing women that had vanished after the other fires.

I spend a few hours here, taking in the heartbreaking aftermath that used to spill its scent of fresh sugar cookies and Earl Grey tea. Now, it just reeks of smoky sulfur and heartbreak .?

The police officers are all imbeciles. They do nothing besides worsen the thumping migraine blowing up in the middle of my forehead.

The hardest part is leaving. It’s the equivalent to finishing a book that you go t? hyperfixate d? on. You dive into the world with these characters that become your best friends, just to have to flip that last page, close the book, and wonder what’s next with them.

There is no next though. There’s only a different book.

Without them.

Slowly rolling up my illuminated driveway, I comb through the wet spots in my hairline, dragging my fingers through my long hair.

Liam will be even more pissed if I look disarray.

All moisture depletes from my mouth, pulling up to the unknown car in front of my house. I try to swallow, but all that’s in my mouth is thick mucus weighing in the back of my throat, encouraging me to throw up from the anxiety buzzing under my skin.

Who… the fuck?

I park and shut my SUV off, walking through the gravel with numb feet. My palms grow clammy, hiking up the steps and across the black front porch.

I get inside, quietly closing the door behind me. My cheeks begin pulsing with my frantic heartbeat, burning hot and sizzling my tired eyes. I persevere and take the stairs, fixing my raven hair in each passing mirror.

Getting halfway down the hall, the moans and groans make my movement impossible.

He’s in there fucking someone. In my fucking bed.

“Yes! Oh, yes,” a feminine voice moans.

“Yeah, you like that, you dirty whore,” Liam snickers.

I cringe, his voice and love for degradation twisting my stomach.

Growing the ovaries, I rush down the hall, throwing my door to the left wide open. I don’t know who the blonde woman is screaming like I’m a fucking slasher wanting to cut off her blonde locks and stab her fake tits.

Ignoring her, I pin down the ire hardenin g? Liam’ s? face as he pulls out of her .? “Are you serious?” I ask jadedly, eyes thinning to hateful slits.

She crawls backwards up the bed, rubbing her juices all over my goddamn pillows and curling up lik e? she’ s ? scared.

“Am I-am I serious?” he laughs wickedly. “Bitch, you’re the one fucking interrupting me!” He storms across the room, only wearing the condom glistening with her arousal.

Before I can flee, anxiety paralyzes me.

His hand rears back, cracking across my cheek and firing up the scalding heat I cannot seem to get used to. My hair whips with my head, concealing his hand launching out and constricting my throat. I gulp, getting yanked nose to nose with the face my best friends warned me about.

I clearly didn’t listen. I haven’t been able to speak to Nadia or Maverick in over seven months because he constantly takes my phone and keys.

“Since you wanted to ruin her fucking mood, you’re finishing me off!”

Fear widens my eyes. “No-no-no, please,” I cry, words strangled by his merciless hand.

The woman does nothing. She just watches him drag me to the bed and shove me over the edge.

The broken pieces of my heart shatter, spreading painfully through my shaking chest as my screams and cries resound throughout the room. His hand brutally presses into my spine, holding my thrashing body in place, his other ripping my sweatpants down to my ankles.

“Please don’t do this!” I wail.

He forces my legs wider, a pop breaking through the sounds of my distress, the sizzling pain on my ass cheek drawing out a guttural plead. “Shut the fuck up, whore!”

The latex rubs against my non-accepting vagina, and my mouth stretches for the louder cries shredding my lungs as he forces himself in-side me.

My head bows back, a scream of agonizing pain burning as bright as the ring of fire. It’s a flamin g? ouroboros, lighting up my entrance with the never-ending flames of being violated.

“Your pussy is so tight because you never let me fuck it. But it’s been around a lot. You practically hopped on every single dick you passed by because you’re a greedy slut. You should be fucking thanking me for saving your image!”

The pressure on my spine gets lifted, his hand grabbing a fistful of my hair and jerking my head back. I try to swat it, clawing at him to break free of the rupture of sparks on my scalp.

But my body is already growing too tired.

The pain surging through me is depleting the leftover energy I had after seeing the crisps of my grandparents. All I can do is lie here—and listen to my own cries as my body moves with each rapid thrust.

I’m not sure how much time goes by. Each ember stitches together and wreaks havoc under my tense skin.

At some point my voice went out.

My lungs are stripped, and my throat is raw, overruling my cries and leaving them hoarse.

A loud, vile groan of pleasure comes from him. “There we go,” he breathes elatedly, then hocks a? loogie, the disrespect landing on the bare skin of my tingling ass. “We’re done, stupid bitch. Have fun crying over your old ass grandparents all alone in your weird ass house.”

Oh, whatever shall I do without you here? Dumbass.

I lie in place, listening to them scuffle around through the heavy melody beating in my hot ears.

After several minutes, the front door slams downstairs, rattling the walls and knocking down a bundle of dead roses above my dresser.

I stiffly stand up, disconnected breaths shaking my chest and winces of pain filling the silence.

Silence.

I’m finally able to hear the wolves howling deep within the woods. It prompts guilt to gnaw on my mind.

I haven’t been to my family’s wolf sanctuary , ? Howling Haven , in several weeks. It was just easier to stay home and isolate myself, than face his wrath of jealousy and anger issues.

I’ve known for a long time that I needed to end it with him. But that’s like pulling a pin out of a bomb and holding on to it without the expectation of it blowing up and killing you.

I slowly closed myself off, began coexisting with him, hoping that he’d do it himself.

I guess he did. In Liam fashion.

Pain.

I don’t know what I’m doing. My body’s moving for me, forcing me to to wipe my face in the ornate mirror in the corner of my bedroom.

I smack some makeup on, dig out my favorite black minidress that Liam thought I burned, and throw it on with platform boots.

Every movement hurts while rushing out the door with my keys and phone.My heart leads me all the way t o? Club Sin , yearning for the comfort of my best friend since freshman year of high school.

Maverick Beckett. He came from nothing and built an empire. He always knew he’d get into business. Though, I’m not sure he knew it’d consist of illegal gambling and drug trades happening under dancing feet and booming music.

Maverick’s security guard Viper is posted outside the entrance, offering me a polite nod as I stomp over the wet pavement.

It’s four a.m. on a Monday, so it’s dead. But this place is Maverick’s baby. He’s always here handling business upstairs or having someone handle it down in the tunnels.

The closer I get, the lower Viper’s brows furrow. He’s inspecting my face, most likely wondering why I’m blinking away tears.

I awkwardly grin, shuffling in through the door as he opens it for me. “Is Maverick in his office?”

“He should be,” he nods, Russian accent thick.

“Thanks.” I swallow through the knot and step into the red light raining down over the club.

There are a few drunk stragglers stumbling around to the techno music that’s splitting my head in half. Paying no mind to them, I run across the club and enter the brick hallway on the farthest wall.

The black door concealing the stairwell down to the tunnels entices me to open it each time I pass by. I’ve never been allowed down there. Word through the grapevine says the stone walls are tainted with powder and the residue of dried crimson .?

I keep heading straight, aiming for the open door at the end of the hall. My boots echo off the brick with my hurried steps, ticking the time on my loaded tears to rupture down my pathetic face.

I run into his office with a hammering heart, and spin in aimless circles in search of a tall man with chocolate waves and brown eyes.

My vagina hurts so fucking bad. It’s making my legs twitch.

I walk out of his office and go back towards the other end, scanning over the bare, vast space. “Come on, where are you,” I whine through clenched teeth.

Not seeing him, I spin back around, run down the fucking hal l? again , and finally give in to the desire of opening the black door.

I’ve never even seen the metal stairs before. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t approve of Nads and I stepping a foot down there.

“Sorry, Mav,” I murmur to myself, closing the door behind me and beginning the commute down the loud steps.

Each one announces I’m coming down.

I’m sure it doesn’t help that I have m y? “whore boots ”? on.

Fuck Liam Zettle.

The air down here is stiff, drying my throat tenfold and weaseling trepidation under my flesh. I persevere, the dim floor lighting giving way to the numerous directions to take.

I keep straight, peeking in the rooms that are either vacant or have a few men smoking cigars around poker tables.

I’m trying to rush through here to avoid having to converse with humans, but I’m also trying to keep my steps light so my damn boots stop shouting to everyone that I’m lurking around.

You’re going to get lost, dumbass. You just couldn’t call Maverick. You had to bring your freshly violated body down into the fucking tunnels where there are hungry snakes ready to strike.

I race around the corner to a solo metal door.

My heart is taking me right to it, skin vibrating with fiery tingles that burn hotter the closer I get.

“He lives in the woods somewhere! I don’t know!” a masculine voice shouts edgily from within.

The screams of torment should make me backpedal, but my hand’s already on the handle and shoving the door open.

One foot makes it inside before I freeze in place, gaping at the ridiculously tall, dangerous man stabbing a mutilated man in the head.

He turns his head, stitching his sharp, hunter eyes to me.

My cheeks burn. I know I should run away from the man ripping a wet knife out of someone’s head—all while keeping his eyes on me.

But I cannot look away.

The world could crumble down—and I would not notice. There’s a heavy weight weighing in between us. A rope that’s pulling me, demanding me to get closer to the heavily tattooed beast.

Every angle on his sultry scowl is sharp and straight, even beneath the scruff. His black hair is longer and messy, parted down the middle and trimmed shorter around his temples. I can tell he doesn’t have to do anything with it to make it effortlessly sexy. It just swoops up at the root and frames around his eyes perfectly.

His eyes. They’re dark like obsidian, reflecting not even the slightest glimmer and are haunted with dark circles that hug deliciously to the hungry shape. His black hoodie is doing nothing to hinder or conceal his lean, behemoth physique.

Oh, my God. I’m just standing here staring at him.

He’s doing it too. Shamelessly mapping my vessel.

“I’m so sorry,” I rush, and turn my ass around, darting back the way I hopefully fucking came. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I whisper-shout at myself.

I run back to the stairs and thunder up them, my dress inching up my ass and giving whoever below me a five-star show.

My dignity has already been stripped from me tonight. So, I don’t care at the moment.

I bolt through the door, instantly smacking my head into a hard body. “Ow,” I groan, bracing a hand to my forehead and tightening my exhausted eyes.

“Killer,” Maverick breathes ecstatically, aggressively wrapping his arms around me and squeezing the oxygen from my sore lungs.

His cinnamon scent and warm embrace are comforting. I eagerly cage his waist, melting into the sense of home he brings me.

“Where is he?” Maverick asks, not willing to let me go.

A ripple of reality courses up my spine, replacing the heated tingles with cold chills. “I don’t know… Will you stay with me tonight?”

The monsters of the darkness are creeping closer, tapping their nails toward my ankles to drag me into the desolate pit I cannot escape. I’m getting tired and want to go to sleep, but I really don’t want Liam to come back and me to be there all alone.

“Absolutely. I’ll drive you home and get your SUV taken care of… God, I fucking missed you, killer.”

“I missed you,” I whisper.

If I speak any louder the frog in my throat will make me croak.

He rubs my back, calming the raging waters that are trying to pull me under, and waddles away with me. He finally lets me go before the corner of the hall, hastily grabbing my hand like he’s worried I’ll get lost.

He looks down at my neck, noting the broken capillaries in the shape of fingers. Before I can explain, the embers searing the left side of my body draw my attention down the hall.

I only get a glimpse of him.

This time, it’s his symmetrical front profile. There’s black ink designing his entire neck, snugly fitting to his jaw, sharpening it that much more. He’s standing in the doorway—just watching me, head at a tilt and rubbing his bloody knuckles.

It feels like defying the universe as I step farther away from him. Like, I’m hacking a machete into the rope and severing the connection that’s trying to knot itself up and scoot us closer.

The wall cuts our view of each other off.

And I get my breath back.