When the Wolves Cry (Twin Flames Duet #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

TALA

Howls fill the brisk air, and the warm rays of sun kiss my skin. The hammock swings gently, rocking me into a state of comfort while my tired eyes fix on the looming trees. They sway in the wind, creating a soft rattle that adds to the melancholic mood.

Life is weird.

It’s uncomfortable to know it can be stripped away from us at any given moment. Whether that be our bodies failing, or someone taking it.

I’d like to believe that we’re one with nature. Even after death, there’s still life waiting for us.

Just look at dead flowers. They have their own form of rigo r? mortis. They lose color, harden, shrivel, and yet they’re still beautiful, still full of character and have a whole new life to them.

I like them better when they no longer produce oxygen. Simply because it gives me hope that death will bring us something more, something that we’re not deserving of until we bide our time.

Or maybe I’m just naive and telling myself that because of the love I’ve lost.Not in my heart, of course. Their physical beings.

Time doesn’t heal grief.

We just learn to live without them.

Lazily swinging my legs over the side of the hammock, I pull myself up to sit. Stars invade my vision and entice me to lay my ass back down, but the pale-yellow eyes beaming at me stop me from doing so.

“I’m fine ,? Valko. You don’t have to stare at me like you’re eagerly waiting for my body to be up for grabs… Creep.”

He’s always lurking around with eyes that reflect hunger. My dad feeds the wolves better than himself though. Valko’s just an intense guy that would probably benefit from therapy.

The white patches above his eyes raise, making him appear a little friendlier, and I take the opportunity to shuffle my hips until my boots meet the ground. I groan, trying to haul my ass out of the hammock, and ignore his eyes piercing into my back as I walk away.

I was three when my dad create d? Howling Haven . Grandpa raised him, and Dad raised me, on the vital roles that wolves play in the ecosystems. Without them, the food chain would fall apart, eventually collapse, and life as we know it would enter sketchy territory from the food shortages.

It’s more of a passion project than anything. But all ten wolves here have been surrendered by unqualified people or found in rough conditions without a pack. We’ve loved and lost a lot.

Unfortunately, wolves age too.

Valk o? was dumped by the door of the Visitor Center with a chain embedded into his neck. We aren’t sure what happened to him. They dumped and bolted before my dad could ask questions.

Which is why I give him some grace for being a creeper.

The gravel crunches under my boots, taking the path that circles and winds around over four-hundred acres in the woods. We have an ICU cabin, two chain-link quarantine units, wood houses, platforms, swimming holes, and a lot of free roam for the wolves.

It’s all fenced and gated in. But the wolves still get the chance fo r? predatio n? with how many wild animals venture in. Most of the pelts we have lying around are fro m? Valk o? finding a midnight snack with a squirrel or fox.

I know. Kind of fucked up.

That’s the food chain though. They’re predators.

Vibrant white fur catches my eye. Where she is, my dad is.

Pulling the sleeves of my sweater over my hands, I tuck them under my arms and trudge through the gravel, rounding a cluster of trees. Echo’s yellow eyes peer back at me, and she politely wags her lush tail while patiently waiting for my unhurried steps.

My grandpa found her stuck in a bear trap in the woods. He said he just got down on her level, released the bear trap, and she accepted the help he offered. Her leg was shattered from it. My dad worked his magic, gave her tedious TLC for an entire year, and they’ve been attached at the hip ever since.

Grief comes and goes in waves, sometimes even tides .?

Right now, it feels like a tsunami.

It’s been four years since I lost my best friend Maiko. Yet I still find myself looking for his black paws walking alongside my boots. It zaps my heart with a stitch, tightening my chest. I tear away from the ghost of him, over to the flannel harboring my dad’s back.

The gravel crunching gets his attention. He checks over his shoulder with tired eyes, quickly brightening his tan face with a smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Yo u? doin’ okay?”

I wrap around his coffee scented back, attempting to hide the grimness creeping into my eyes. “Mm-hmm,” I hum. “What are you doing?” I point to the tablet in his hands, unlatching my arms to step off to his side.

“Okay, sweetie,” he grins. “I’m jus t? makin’ sure all paws are accounted for. I strolled around and never did find Rose. So, I’ m? pullin’ up her chip to see where her old ass fell asleep.”

I rake through Echo’s white fur with my nails, laughing over the aggravation he gets at finding sleeping wolves. “You know she likes to lay in Maiko and I’s spot, right?”

Realization sweeps over his face, and he locks the tablet. “You wanna take a walk with your old man? I’ve just been on edge about them since those weirdos showed up.”

I haven’t been to our spot in four years. The last time I walked away from it I was stumbling around and shaking and crying from the fracture of watching him pass away. I couldn’t even help bury him. My dad stamped his paw print for me and buried him under the fireweed he used to hide from me in.

“Yeah,” I agree softly, and step in line with his leisure steps. “About those guys… Did they say who wanted to buy them?”

He scrunches his face, crow's feet deepening in thought. “Pyro, or something like that.”

What a peculiar name.

My brows knit. “You need to get cameras installed, Dad. Not only to keep an eye on the wolves, but to save your ass from kids falling and getting hurt, then running home to Mommy about a wolf trying to kill them.”

It’s happened before. A bunch of kids were on a field trip, and I watched one of them jump off the rocks they were told not to climb, and the little asshole sprained his ankle. He told his parents a wolf was chasing him. It was a huge ordeal that almost go t? Howling Have n? shut down.

“You’re right, sweetheart. But I don’t know squat about them. Your mom’s the on e? workin’ the cell phone to keep people interested in visiting.”

“I’m sure Maverick can help,” I suggest.

My heart sinks, approaching the solo western hemlock surrounded by fireweed. Dad still maintains the clearing that Maiko would lay in.Now, Rose’s powdery face lays in it.

His hand slides over my shoulder blades, curling around my arm and bringing me into his arms. “You know he’s still watching over you. Grandpa’s probably spoiling him with those salmon treats he loved, and you know Grandma’s brushing him like a dog.”

Life is cruel.

We’re handed these bonds that swell our hearts. We go about our lives cherishing them, but not actually expecting them to vanish.

They do, though.

“…your mouth will be permanently ripped open,” the doll on the TV says menacingly.

I’ve seen this movie countless times. The reverse bear trap has always instilled thrill to flutter my stomach.I guess I’m curious to know what it would feel like. Not only the trap, the adrenaline of having to think quickly to make it out alive.

In a snap of a finger, the dread is replaced with the same feeling I had the other night. Like… someone’s intently watching me, scanning through my vessel and getting a glimpse of my soul.

It’s tingling my skin.

Looking away from the brunette frantically trying to get the trap off, I scan over the living room windows and push my horizontal body up.

Is it you, guard dog?

I slip off the edge of the couch, tiptoeing to the cheetah print futon in my bay window. Placing my knees into the cushion, I lean over the back of the futon and grab the curtain, sliding it out of my way to see the driveway a little better.

I squint, pressing my forehead to the cold glass to look at the silhouette with sharp ears. “Is that a literal dog?” I whisper, my breath fogging up the glass.

I scurry backwards off the futon, sprinting through the cased opening and into the entryway. Like the dumbass I am, I fling the door open and run out onto the porch.

There’s a Doberma n? Pinsche r? striding up my driveway with something in his mouth.

“Hi, baby,” I coo, racing down the steps toward him.

His beady eyes are glued to me, paws making haste and closing the distance. The closer he gets, the clearer I see the bouquet in his mouth.

He stops in front of me, and I crouch down, petting his soft head while eyeing the dead, black roses that are bundled up in black paper. “Where did you come from?” I ask. As if he’ll respond.

He nudges the flowers at me. I open my hand, letting him drop them into my palm, and continue petting his short fur while reading the familiar handwriting on a white card.

I haven’t gotten flowers in a long time. And I’ve never had a man send his dog to deliver them to me.

I can’t stifle the smile that’s tightening my cheeks. I’m not interested in whoever “J.S.” is. The gesture’s just nice and goes a long way.

“Should I, uh, walk you back?” I scratch under his chin, standing up with little sore spots indenting my knees from the rocks. “Stay here. I’ll go get my shoes.”

I turn around, running across the sidewalk and up the stairs. I check over my shoulder to make sure he’s still there—and he’s gone. “What the hell? Did you just teleport?” I walk back to the top step, not seeing the mysterious Doberman striding through the night.

Perplexed as hell, I go inside and tear down the only flowers Liam ever got me from the entryway wall, running back outside and launching those fuckers off the front porch. Then, happily glide back inside, take the note out of the black roses, unwrap the paper from them, and hang them up in the vacant spot.

“Oh, no,” I whine. “Don’t do it again. Don’t open your heart to a monster just because he gave you fucking flowers.”