Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Orion Dulac’s reputation was always brutal, but everyone always said he was smart. He did a lot of business in New Orleans, and with the surrounding packs. He was a real leader, a politician. A gentleman, by all accounts. A ladies’ man. And he tried to kill his fifteen-year-old son with an axe.
I look over at Karl. He’s staring at the road, no sign of softness anywhere on his hard, scarred face. I wonder if he’s known a moment of kindness in his life, either giving or receiving.
“Need gas,” he grunts as we pass a sign indicating a gas station isn’t too far off.
“Yep,” I say, not sure what I can add. Guess there’s nothing really to add.
We pull into the forecourt, and while he pumps gas, I go into the station, pee, and buy a couple of drinks. When I come out, he’s back in the car.
Karl looks at me with some surprise as I hand him some cream soda.
“For me?”
“For you,” I say. “You looked thirsty.”
“And you think I’m a cream soda man?”
“Sorry,” I say. “You don’t have to drink it.”
“No,” he says after a brief moment that makes me think he really doesn’t like it. He cracks the can and drinks.
Karl
The drink’s sweeter than I usually like. I don’t drink soda as a rule. I usually drink water, coffee, or alcohol. But there’s something in her eyes, something like disappointment and the kind of pain I guess I don’t want to inflict. She tried to do something nice for me. I don’t really know why. Is she trying to suck up to me? Does she think if she acts nice, I’ll be nicer to her?
I’m already doing something nice, so it can’t be that.
“Is this because of the scar? Are you feeling sorry for me?”
She looks at me. “I thought you were thirsty, asshole.”
I don’t know why being called asshole makes me feel more comfortable than a girl getting me a drink, but it makes me crack a smile.
“Alright,” I say. “Thanks.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to say, by the way, when someone does something human for you. You’re supposed to say, ‘thank you, that’s nice of you.’”
“You want to teach me about manners?”
“Someone should,” she says. “I guess you never learned about them, being parented by an axe.”
I laugh at the unexpected joke that actually tickles me really deeply. She’s funny.
“I got snacks too,” she says. “You want some jerky, or do you just want to be a jerk?”
“Alright, enough with the puns,” I say, extending my hand as we start driving. It’s good to be underway again. Makes me feel peaceful to have the road passing under the wheels of my car. I’ve been in New Orleans a little too long. I’ve been in that big house, trying to fill it with my presence and being far too uncivilized to do anything besides make a mess. Living in my father’s home feels like being five years old and trying to wear his shoes. It’s all too big, too fancy, and just not me. This wilder area feels more natural.
My brother and I used to hunt together, before sibling rivalry got too intense and Orion had us split up. I’ve spent the last three years doing the things the pack needs done, the things that nobody wants to do, and nobody wants to admit they’d ask anyone to do. Human families have black sheep. That’d be me.
Ellie slides a stick of jerky into my hand. I shove it into my mouth. There’s not enough there to even begin to sate my hunger, but the flavor of meat entertains my taste buds.
I never thought I’d take a mate, and I never really planned to have a family, but I guess when you meet the right girl, you change all your plans at once.
I’ve never felt happy before, I realize, as contentment settles over me. I like happy. I might try for more of it.
Ellie
They’ve already started destroying the forest when we arrive. I don’t know what you call the big creatures that are much, much worse than bulldozers. There are big spinning blades on the front on them that can turn a tree into wood chips in minutes. It’s so fucked.
“Stop! Stop!” I jump out of the car and run toward the woods to try to stop them from going any further.
Karl grabs me by the waist, swings me up off the ground, and tosses me out of the way as easily as he would pick up a bag of groceries. “Get out of the way,” he says.
“They’re already cutting the trees down! We’re too late!”
“We are not too late,” he says. “We are right on time.”
“Buddy, get your woman the hell out of my way,” the machine driver calls out.
Karl strides up to the machine, hauls the door open, and pulls the driver out of it, yanking him out of the protection of the cabin. The man is in his forties, wearing plaid and hi-vis, and a hard hat that tumbles onto the ground to reveal a bald pate.