Aching Silver: House of Wolves, #1

By Amber Naralim

Aching Silver

 

Book 1 in the House of Wolves Series

 

The moon won't be denied.

 

My family is dead.

Torn apart by a savage werewolf.

 

Zoe is all I have left. They took my baby sister.

 

Caught in the middle of a madman's plans for devastating vengeance and a family trying to save their name, I must choose a side in the brewing war. One that's about to spill into the night and shake the pillars of a world maintained with centuries of brutal secrecy and bloodshed.

 

Will a mix of magic and moonlight be enough to save us from the Lunatic's cry?

 

Aching Silver is book one in the ongoing House of Wolves series, inspired by tales of King Arthur, Game of Thrones, and Little Red Riding Hood. It's perfect for paranormal romance readers who enjoy bone-crunching action, swoon-worthy couples, and a dark world.

 

You'll love this Romantic Paranormal Suspense because every family is a little dysfunctional.

 Grab yours now!

 

The House of Wolves series includes

 

Aching Silver

A Crown of Gossamer and Bone

By Blood and with Bone

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amber Naralim
• Release date: Oct 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223495598

Book preview

The lunatics were the moon’s first children. Brimming with Prime, their beasts could not be bound by human flesh and so they spread by tooth and claw, victim begetting victim until their rage threatened to swallow the world.

Wild and mercurial, they were sculpted with the fingerprint of her rage. Make no mistake Our Lady burns white-hot with it. The sun hanging high in the sky is a benevolent ruler. Force his hand and he will scorch you. The moon offers no such warnings, only the chaos of her whim. Death, bloody and painful is the only answer the moon had for those who displeased her fickle countenance.

She created the Lunatics to bear her cruelty.

-A treatise on Lycanthropic Bloodlines by, Professor Maria Ornlock, Folk historian.

The wail of a woman drew the Moon to earth one night. She clung to the body of her dead child. The soul-rending pain of her loss touched Our Lady and silver tears poured from her eyes. Our Lady wept for what the malice of her rage stole from the woman.

Our Lady held the boy in her arms and wove him together with light and shadow into a shackle of guilt. She hung it around the woman’s neck. And thus the Kin were given the gift of control. Our Lady bade the woman teach the others the wisdom she was shown.

When the woman asked what to do with those who refused to learn, Our Lady picked up a shard of her hardened tears and said, Use my tears to send them back to me and I shall punish them.

-Creation Myths of North American Werewolf Tribes by, Skald William of house Hawthorn.

Chapter

Blood gleamed against the vanilla paint like a galaxy of stars.

The house had an eerie silence. No more screams. Where was everyone? Zoe couldn’t just keep hiding. Rallying her courage to go out there was a little easier than she thought it should be, in all honesty.

She twisted the knob slowly trying not to make a sound. Zoe grabbed one of Tate’s little-league bats, closing her bloodstained fingers around it. Her hitching sobs were explosions in her ears. Fear twisted her stomach, but it didn’t halt her step.

Her heartbeat slammed against her rib cage in a jarring rhythm. Zoe cringed at every creak the wood floors made. Her gaze jerked back and forth taking in every detail her frantic mind could hold onto.

Where did the monster go?

Where was Tate?

They got separated. All Zoe could remember were his frightened expression and glassy blue glare as her father dragged him down the opposite hallway. She took the stairs two at a time to the main floor. A rectangle of silver quickened her pace.

Salvation! A way out.

Zoe gagged. The smell was putrid and sharp. Her face twisted in disgust, afraid to swallow. Worried she would spill the contents of her stomach all over the floor, just the thought had bile burning the back of her throat. She swayed with a wave of nausea. Her bare feet squelched and she froze, throwing her hands over her mouth to silence a yelp.

The blood was still warm and thick oozing between her toes.

A husk of red meat sparkled with the beacon of the open doorway. She couldn’t look away. At first, Zoe’s brain didn’t make sense of what she saw. Slowly the pieces came together. A corona of blond hair hammered the final nail of understanding home.

Zoe collapsed to her knees sobbing next to what was left of her stepmother. Zoe reached out but hesitated, hand hovering above the flayed skin and crushed bones of what used to be a pretty face.

Maxine had told her to run. To hide.

Zoe just left her!

She left her and now her stepmother was dead.

A creak from the stairs snapped Zoe’s head toward them, leaving her inner turmoil to slosh against her insides. The sound killed her sobbing dead. Eyes wide, Zoe came up on her knees ready to bolt for the creaking door.

The blow to the back of her head was a total surprise. She collapsed to the floor with a meaty thud only outdone by the aluminum baseball bat bouncing and rolling toward the wall.

Unconscious.

A MAN MATERIALIZED out of the shadows behind her, a Berretta M9 in his hand. He huffed out a breath, gaping at the aftermath.

This was all my fault.

He had a job to do. A mission. And it all fell away the moment he looked at her face.

John Merrick huffed out a breath and hit the safety. This family was dead. There was nothing he could do to fix that. The girl mewled.

Guilt dragged him down like he had pockets full of stones.

John made his choice.

Chapter

Izobel bolted upright , a scream dying on her lips. Beads of sweat rolled down her back. The light of the full moon highlighted her willowy curves. She dropped her chin to her chest. Heaving breaths moved her body. Her lover rolled over, pulling the sheets up.

You all right? Deklan asked.

She didn’t answer. Izobel leaned over, snatching her phone off the cluttered bedside table. She searched through her contacts with shaking fingers. Prophecy still coated her lips. It was all she could do to swallow it down without choking. Finally, she clicked on Zoe’s name and it rang distant on the other end.

Come on. Come on. Pick up. Pick up damn it!

Izzy, it’s three in the morning, Deklan said, sitting up. He scrubbed both hands down his face like he could wipe the sleep away.

I’m out doing fabulous things. You know what to do, Zoe’s voicemail answered.

Izobel hung up and redialed.

Deklan threw back the sheets and padded naked to where his jeans lay on the floor. He slipped into them, giving her the time she needed to calm down and him the time to wake up before he tried again. He left the belt hanging open, the button undone. Deklan bunched up his shirt and stretched it over his head. The red fabric settled over lines and symbols tattooed across his back and chest.

Something’s wrong! Izobel said, more to herself than to Deklan.

He huffed out a breath and crawled back onto the bed. She’s asleep, babe. It was a nightmare.

Don’t call me that. I’m not your girlfriend, Izobel snapped.

Deklan’s jaw bunched. Deklan could taste the fear behind it and so he kept his tongue leashed rather than make it worse. Izobel was like a feral cat- all the more dangerous when she was hurt or afraid, and she could be downright lethal when she was cornered. He ran a hand over his spiky ash-brown hair, working to keep his frustrations in check. He couldn’t let them spill over onto his expression.

Izobel climbed out of his bed. He rolled over to get out of her way and took a few telegraphed moments to slather delusions back over his damaged pride. Izobel pulled her tight black jeans over her thighs. She didn’t bother with a bra. She kept dialing and redialing the phone number.

Damn it, Zoe, answer your fucking phone! Izobel yelled into the receiver. I just really want you to be safe right now, her voice softened into begging.

Izobel bordered on panic. Deklan crossed the floor and touched his hands to either side of her face, threading his fingers through her luxuriant black hair. He held her watery blue eyes.

How can I help? His voice was gentle and serious. Even in the mood, she was in Izobel appreciated it. That look was how he managed to worm his way into her panties despite her better judgment.

She could see it on his face. He wanted this to be more than it was. Izobel needed the guidance of a teacher and his can-do attitude. What happened tonight was too much wine and not enough human interaction. She didn’t want to lose him. But Izobel didn’t know how to navigate the waters he’d plunged her into either.

Can I borrow your car?

You’re planning on driving all the way to Augusta, Maine because she’s not answering her phone?

Something is wrong, Deklan! I can feel it. It’s coating my palms. I can taste her fear.

All right, he said, hands up in surrender. Turning from her, he grabbed his shoes. Deklan took that moment to let his expression rest, doing calculations in his head. I’ll come with you.

Izobel’s mouth dropped open. Last night was a mistake. She knew it then. She shouldn’t have led him on. Deklan was a standup-guy. But she didn’t want anything more than his body last night.

"I just need your car. I need to check on her. Them," Izobel corrected.

Twelve years and Izobel still hadn’t forgiven her father for remarrying. Zoe was too young to even remember their mother. She loved Maxine. Izobel couldn’t get past her blame. She liked Tate. He was a good kid. But she just couldn’t get close to her father’s new family.

Zoe was all she cared about.

Deklan opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut again. He needed another way. He grabbed his car keys off the dresser and palmed a crystal. Deklan spent a few seconds whispering a chant with his back to her. The crystal deteriorated into gold dust over the keys. She’d already accepted them. The spell shouldn’t be noticed.

He plastered a compassionate look onto his features and placed them in her palm with a sigh. Deklan closed his hand over hers.

Promise me you’ll call.

I’ll call, Izobel nodded.

He wanted to fight her on this. He was just afraid to push her. Izobel didn’t do well with challenge. She invariably rose to fight it no matter what her best interests were. He nodded.

Okay. I can have the Circle ready if you need us.

She gave him the smile he was hoping for. Thank you, Deklan. I won’t forget this.

Izobel slammed the door behind her and Deklan flopped onto the bed. He grabbed his phone and dialed Claudia’s number. The ignition rumbled through the open window and he thought once more about chasing after her.

Patience.

Patience was the only thing that worked with Izobel.

Chapter

John Merrick closed the door behind him. He crossed the tiles slowly, quietly. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling shed a pool of dancing golden light painting his shadow larger than life on the wall. He set a tray down on a couple of stacked crates. Pulling at the blanket that hung from his shoulder, he draped it over Zoe’s legs.

She was a pretty thing, delicate and thin, with skin pale and smooth as a porcelain doll. Dark hair puddled beneath her head. John plucked a rag from the tray and wet it in the bowl of water he brought. Johnny crouched next to her, resting on the balls of his feet. He reached out for her hand but hesitated.

Johnny wasn’t ready for the guilt. He wasn’t ready for her fear. He wasn’t ready for the truth. Foolish a notion that he’d be able to hide from what he’d done was, he clung to it anyway. Johnny dabbed at the dried blood on her hands. His shirt was huge on her. He pushed back the sleeve. Johnny realized then that he’d gotten some of the buttons wrong.

What was left of her clothes were in the laundry, but he figured they were toast. They’d have to do something about that eventually. Johnny brushed a swath of her shiny hair back from her forehead. He liked the streaks of blue.

Her makeup was heavy. Purple eyeliner stained and smudged across her face. More dried blood in her hairline brought his attention to the swollen knot and gash he’d left.

John hadn’t meant to hit her that hard, but unconscious was the only way this worked. At least, that’s what he told himself at the time.

Johnny huffed out a breath. The sound of arguing drifted from the kitchen upstairs. Nora did her level best to keep Abel from doing something stupid. Johnny didn’t hold out much hope for that either.

What was I thinking? John mumbled. Why didn’t I just do as I was told? It would have been kinder in the long run.

Zoe mewled, her hand coming up to wipe at her nose and he had his answer. She was innocent. None of this was her fault. She didn’t deserve to pay the price for Isaak’s insanity, or Johnny’s mistakes for that matter. He never meant to hurt her.

The dried blood on her hands screeched accusations. Johnny supposed that any more of a price was a little more fitting to say. She had already been knocked off course by this.

It was all he could do to keep her alive now.

Dust rained into the light. Abel’s heavy footsteps didn’t bode well. Johnny set the plate of peanut-butter sandwiches and a glass of water next to her on the floor and made sure the door was locked behind him.

John took the extra time to shut and lock the cage door and lay the heavy block of wood across it as an added precaution. The moon still hung high in the sky. But the Lunatic cry was finished for now.

He closed his eyes. Steeling himself for the fight he was about to walk into, John straightened his shoulders.

Calm down, Abel. It’s done, Connor said, tossing a grape in his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb.

Abel turned on him, eyes on fire, mouth dropping open to scream. Catching sight of Johnny coming up the basement stairs Abel rushed across the floor instead, fists tight at his sides.

You! Abel pointed. You had one damned job. If I can’t trust my brothers to do what I say what’s the goddamned point?

I told you, she broke free! Johnny argued.

Abel narrowed his eyes, jaw clenching. He couldn’t gauge if John was telling the truth or just had the perfect excuse. Either way, someone had to do this.

Move, Abel commanded.

Johnny’s expression went hard. Determined. We don’t have to do this. John stood his ground.

Tell that to the family that was butchered! Abel bellowed.

That’s not her fault. You want to blame someone. Blame Isaak.

Silence stretched between them, so tense any movement at all might trip the bomb. Standing near the sink, her ample bosom heaving, Nora’s mouth dropped open to say something, but Connor beat her to it.

He’s right. Murdering his victims won’t stop Isaak, Conner said.

Abel glared Johnny down. He didn’t flinch. Abel growled, turning from him; he knocked everything off the table in a violent swing of his arm. Abel stomped out the front door, slamming it so hard the wood splintered.

Connor blew the breath he’d been holding free. Well, that went well. He slid his hands into his front pockets, shaking his head.

Johnny tipped his head back to rest against his shoulders.

Tell me you do have a plan, sugar? Nora asked, ever the voice of reason.

Johnny made a face that was far from encouraging. She broke free. I swear it.

That buys you a month. Maybe. Nora crossed the floor and touched the side of his face. I’ll talk to him. But you need to figure out what you’re going to do, John.

John nodded.

Nora shot Connor the weak edge of a smile. He’s just trying to do what’s right.

Johnny couldn’t be sure who she was trying to convince more, them, or herself. Johnny palmed the back of her head. Nora’s blond curls spilled through his fingers.

This isn’t your fault either, you know, John whispered. Don’t let him use it against you.

Abel is a good man, but Isaak blinds him, Nora said.

Changes him, John admitted. Abel lashes out at all the wrong people especially when he’s hurting. You’ve proved yourself pack. I won’t let Abel fuck that up too.

Nora’s smile was a breathtaking thing, warm and sweet, and loving. She pulled him in for a hug they both needed.

It’s going to be all right. It has to be, Nora whispered.

The phone on the counter rang. Again. Connor picked it up. His eyes swept the photo that popped up on the screen. The same shiny black hair as their hostage, though hers had a wave to it. The woman had classically beautiful features. A little older, but not much. Delicate cheekbones and a strong chin balanced out heavy eyebrows. Their hostage had the same striking, blue eyes.

Connor chewed on his bottom lip, staring at it. The name Izzy showed one last time as the call went to voicemail. He sighed and shut the phone off. He was sick of listening to it ring.

Chapter

Izobel pulled the Jeep in close to the curb and shut the ignition off on Billie Holiday’s soulful croon. The house was dark. It was somewhere around one in the morning. The place had an eerie aura that coated her skin, thick and sticky. Her head ached with the echoes of divination.

She got out of the car. Every bone in her body told her to stay here. Don’t go any closer. Izobel exhaled, straightening her shoulders. She moved toward the house.

The night was heavy. Darkness ate away at the edges of the world. Something fluttered in the distance.

Izobel picked up her pace.

No, she said aloud. No, no no no no.

Izobel ran the final few feet. She grabbed hold of the yellow police tape strung across the front porch and ripped it away. She shouldered the door. It wouldn’t budge.

She stopped.

Izobel forced herself to think through the panic bubbling up inside her. She turned, jumping off the porch. A tasteful border, decorated with rocks, fenced in the shrubs. She plucked a larger rock near the stairs. It was lighter than it appeared. Izobel flipped it over and pulled the spare key from its depths.

The door swung in. The darkness was no less impenetrable inside. Broken glass sparkled with weak silver in a wide arc. Izobel swallowed hard. The smell was awful. Spun copper laced with putrescence. She pressed the back of her hand over her mouth and nose.

Her last fight with her father and his wife rang in her head as Izobel wandered through the living room. Overturned furniture, scattered knickknacks, and picture frames, blood splattered on the wall, pooled on the floor.

Maxine wasn’t a horrible woman. Truthfully, her worst crime was marrying Izobel’s father. That was enough to condemn her to a lifetime of Izobel’s hostility and derision. Tate was a good kid. Izobel never blamed him for the sins of their parents. But she couldn’t love him the way she loved Zoe. Staring down at the black stain on the carpet, Izobel regretted that a little.

The dining room wasn’t much different. Scattered chairs and shattered dishes. Blood. Izobel touched deep scratches left in the plaster, four of them tapered and long.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Izobel whispered it like a prayer.

Izobel couldn’t bring herself to explore any more of the house. She headed straight for the stairs. More dried blood chased her faster down the hallway. Third door on the right, Izobel shouldered her way into the room. A breath fell out of her.

It was just like she remembered it. Some clothes on the floor. A teddy bear and stuffed penguin propped against the pillows. White Christmas lights stapled in a spiral on the ceiling and draped over the full-size mirror set against the far, teal wall. Izobel flipped on the lights and it was easy to forget the carnage outside the door.

She sat down on the bed. Tears brimming in her eyes, Izobel hugged the penguin to her chest. Her shoulders shook with sobs. Memories of an adorable little girl with shiny black hair and a smile that could light up the world danced around her like ghosts.

Zoe was all she had. She couldn’t be gone. Izobel wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t.

She sucked in a breath that pushed at her bones. Izobel tossed the penguin back on the pillows and climbed to her feet. Resolute in her decision, she nodded. Izobel stomped over to the vanity. Pushing things this way and pulling them that, she laid hands on a bracelet she’d given to Zoe for her seventeenth birthday.

She left the room jogging down the stairs. Stopping in the kitchen, she found a knife. Small, sharp, exactly what she needed. From there she headed down the basement steps. Izobel was surprised her bedroom was exactly as she’d left it. She opened the closet door. Hanging clothes, she pushed past them to the box tucked on a high shelf.

Candles, chalk dust... she needed salt.

Back up to the kitchen, Izobel searched the cupboards franticly. Laying hands on it she went back to start the spell. Pushing the chair out of the way, she drew a circle on the floor with chalk dust. Another smaller circle in the center made of salt, Izobel set the bracelet inside it reverently.

She licked her lips and touched the knife to the palm of her left hand. Izobel sliced into the meat of her thumb with a hiss and closed her hand into a tight fist. Blood dripped onto the fake gemstones.

Izobel closed her eyes, chanting, moving her fingers in complicated choreography it took her months to learn. Magic bit along her fingertips like sparks. It answered her call eagerly eating away at the blood with a line of gold.

The bracelet shuddered. Izobel moved her hands quick as light. The bracelet rose into the air and shot across the room slamming into the far wall. It kept pushing trying to force its way through.

She smiled.

Izobel knew it! Zoe was alive.

Izobel found a bag underneath her bed. She grabbed some clothes out of her closet not paying too much attention. She shoved them into the bag, choosing underwear and bras out of the top drawer of the dresser. Finally, she took the bracelet, fighting to tie a bit of string to it. The other end she looped around her wrist.

Excitement roiled in her veins. She took off back to Deklan’s jeep. The bracelet pointed southeast. That’s the way she drove.

Izobel would find her little sister and woe to the fool who took her. The bracelet tapped, pushed against the windshield begging to fly in the direction of Zoe. The magic was strong. Deklan would be proud.

I’m coming, Zoe, Izobel said to the world, in general, stepping her foot down on the gas pedal. Just hold on. I’ll be there soon.

Chapter

Footsteps had her eyes fluttering. Zoe sat up and regretted it immediately. Her head felt like it was going to explode. She touched the palm of her hand to her temple and jerked it back just as quick, hissing.

An egg throbbed on top of the fiery spike that shot down her neck. A pounding ache behind her right eye and a wave of nausea was quickly pushed to the back of her worry list the moment she got a look at her surroundings.

Dingy white tile covered everything. A drain was embedded in the floor and four spigots stuck out of the walls. Too big to be just a shower, but that was the vibe she got. There were no windows, only one door, and a few wooden crates stacked on the other side of the room.

Zoe pushed frantically at the scratchy, wool blanket puddled around her legs and jumped to her feet pressing her back against the corner. She sure as hell didn’t know this place.

The kk-chunk sound of a lock being thrown back thundered in her ears. Her eyes darted around looking for anything she could use as a weapon. The best thing she could find was a butter knife on a tray of food next to where she’d slept. Zoe snatched it up and held it out threateningly.

The door swung open.

Stay back! Zoe shouted.

He was tall, with the beginnings of a triangular figure and broad shoulders. The guy was her age maybe even younger. Short brown curls and mossy green eyes tempered a strong jaw and heavy brow ridge. The easy smile he wore and his sing-song charm didn’t match the terror of her imagination even a little.

You’re awake, Conner said with a jovially, conversative tone.

I-I have a knife, Zoe doubled down.

CONNOR’S PRETTY EYES flicked to the butter knife and then back to her. And a fine knife it is. But don’t worry. You won’t need it... At least not against me.

It’s always good to keep a mark on the defensive. To remind them often of the scary consequences she’d face without his help. He wandered further into the room but was sure to give her the distance she obviously needed. Conner also left the door open. Manipulation is about striking the perfect balance between savior and terror.

How did I get here? Zoe demanded. Hyper-vigilant, she refused to drop her defensive stance in the face of his friendly demeanor.

Conner cocked a brow dropping his head to one side. You don’t remember?

Remember what?

Connor nibbled on his bottom lip. He drank her in for a moment mulling his next move. She was lovely, an hourglass figure with long legs and small breasts. Coal-black hair frothed around her slender shoulders highlighting her delicate features and wide kissable mouth.

She presented a perfect solution to what ailed him of late. And better yet, he had the perfect leverage.

Waste not. Want not.

Connor saw two distinct paths this conversation could take. Both had consequences.

You don’t remember anything? he asked again broaching the question with blatant focus and little pretense.

Zoe deflated a little. She thought back groping for even a thread of the events that led her here. Fuzzy at best, she could almost pick out details. They spun just on the edge of her reach.

Barking. A dog snarling was all she could make sense of.

The dread emanating from the recollection left her shaking. She shook her head. No. Nothing?

He believed her.

We saved you, Conner was quick to set the hook. Well, my brother saved you. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Saved me? From what? she demanded.

It’s complicated.

Every inch he’d made with her evaporated like smoke and she went right back to defensive. Even lifted the knife again. The set belonged to her. But there were other games. Conner had patience.

Your family was attacked. Johnny got you out of there. I promise. We’ll tell you everything. Conner turned toward the door, playing coy. You coming?

Chapter

Zoe gave him a skeptical look in answer. The dread and pain she could recall were fresh and horribly detailed. Her hands came up and pressed over her mouth. Max!

Flashes of her stepmom lying there in a pool of blood had Zoe disassociating hard. She ran full tilt in the other direction of where those moments played out, and the realities they brought with them.

My family, the words fell out in a stammered whisper. She didn’t bother asking if they were okay. Zoe knew the answer.

Conner softened a little.

It’s more comfortable upstairs. Warmer too, he offered.

Zoe dropped her arm, fist tightening on the butter knife. He walked out. She cast a glance around the room once more and followed him out into a cage.

Thick bars anchored into the ceiling and the concrete floors both. Beyond it, the basement was huge. An immense, empty space dotted with antique furniture and trunks of forgotten junk. Pillars of brick and decorative tile work held the ceiling high.

She passed by a stained glass window propped against the stairs. Those were cramped and steep. Zoe used the tiled wall to help her climb them.