Cole nudged the burning wood with a stick, hoping the food would get done already.
He did know this place. He’d only been a boy when Tom and the Gotham Boys brought him here, so he hadn’t been sure at first, but traveling into the mountains with Lars reminded him of that dreary winter night, the hunger eating him from the inside, and the icy wind using his cheeks as a pin cushion. At the time, the lights ahead had meant salvation, but not for the people who’d lived in the little, remote cabin.
Cole had written off the things he’d seen there as incidental. A necessity. But while he had been sent out to deal with the horses as soon as the owner had gone down under Zeb’s fist, the thud of Tom’s cleaver would stay with him forever. The poor man disappeared, and his wife had been in tears as she’d served them food.
Hunger had taken over Cole’s thoughts, and he didn’t ask the obvious questions, already knowing he might not like the answers. And then, he’d seen a boy in the back of the pantry, staring at Cole from between rough wooden planks that made up the cupboard. Cole had not revealed the boy’s presence to anyone, wary of what might happen to him. They were both children, reliant on the goodwill of adults, and at the time Cole had been lucky to ride with men willing and able to protect him.
He’d since wondered what had happened to the boy, and whether he’d gotten to grow into a man. If the cabin was still standing, maybe they could find shelter within its walls.
Cole growled. “So you stopped watching where we were? I told you it was just a hunch!”
“You said, and I quote, ‘I know this area, there’s a cabin two miles uphill’.”
Cole had never said that, so he squinted in growing displeasure.
Lars got up and started pacing like a rabid fox insistent on getting its teeth into something. “We’ve been fruitlessly meandering through these mountains for a week now, so excuse me for getting my hopes up!”
“Just sit down and eat. We’re not gonna move any further in this weather. Didn’t you say your country has the harshest winters?” Cole asked, swinging his arm to indicate the deep snow around them.
Evergreens emerged out of its dense covering like toy soldiers standing watch over their small camp, a silent army to witness their suffering. At least they had fire to ward off animals, but seven days into the journey, Cole’s mind was starting to play tricks on him and suggested that trembling shadows cast by the flames might not be what they seemed.
“It does have harsh winters, but I never said I liked them. I’m here, in America, ain’t I?” Lars huffed.
It hadn’t been his choice to leave Norway either, since he’d been a child when he’d last seen the fjords. If even that much was true, because Cole knew better than to trust Lars’s big mouth when it came to his personal story.
Something jangled beyond the glow of the flames, and Cole wouldn’t have thought twice of it if the noise didn’t continue, moving about in the dark. He could have blamed it on the wind, but the sound was too distinct, too much like a rattle. Lars grinned, about to say some foolhardy thing, but stilled when the howl of a wolf tore through the night from dangerously close, sending a shiver through Cole’s bones.
“What was that?” Lars voiced the question buzzing in both their heads and faced their surroundings with his back to the fire.
“A wolf. Get your rifle,” Cole said.
Lars snarled at him. "I've been a bounty hunter for five years. Don't tell me what to do! If you were any smarter, you would have brought a compass too instead of relying on me!"
The rattling grew louder and more frantic, and it circled them this time, like a predator stalking its prey. The hairs on Cole’s arms bristled.
Reluctantly, he opened one of the bags attached to the saddle resting alongside him. Cold climbed his back despite the thick fur coat he wore to protect himself from the elements. His cheeks pulsed with anger, but if there was a chance to find more adequate shelter, to keep back whatever beast had found them, he would take it.
He didn’t often take out the little box at the very bottom of the bag, not when Lars was around at least, and the polished wood reflected the flames in warning. Cole took a deep breath, trying to ignore the noise spinning around the campsite as he opened the lock to reveal items from a past life he rarely talked about.
A red plaid bandana, which no longer smelled of rosemary and sweat, lay on top, and underneath it—a brass compass Cole hadn’t used for seven years. Ned had given it to him with the sweet venom of words on his tongue.
If we’re ever forced to part, with this, you will find me.
Perhaps Cole should have trusted that promise and used the gift to track down the bastard and get his answers. In the seven years it had rested at the bottom of his bag, he hadn’t even gotten a whiff of Ned’s stench.
It didn’t matter anymore. Cole didn’t believe in superstitions, destiny, or love for that matter, so his only excuse for not having burned the box yet was sentiment. He shoved it under a tangle of clean unmentionables and stepped close to the fire, opening the compass with a flick of his finger. Why he’d held on to his resolve to not use a perfectly good compass, he couldn’t explain.
“Are you joking right now? You forgot you have another one?” Lars scoffed, his gaze wary as he reloaded his shotgun.
Cole ignored the scornful tone and focused on the needle, his mind moving at breakneck speed each time the noise lurking in the dark came too close for his liking. “When we could still see the mountains, I said the cabin would be north—”
When the needle settled on the right direction, he looked up, and all blood drained from his head.
A tall figure stood just beyond the edge of trembling light. It could have been a man, but its head was all fur and bones, with eyes reflecting the flames from inside the large skull.
When it moved, shadows of other creatures emerged from behind its back, clawing at the air. As the beast stepped closer to the campsite, Cole saw two more heads growing out of its arms, and as the one in the middle tilted back, all three howled in unison, their unnaturally low sound sending chills down Cole’s back. The trees creaked, moving with the wind yet somehow also encroaching on the campsite in the flickering light of the fire, as if they’d been waiting for a sign from their master all along.
Cole raised his rifle, standing his ground when the beast stepped toward them, embraced by a tangle of its brethren, and once his focus was entirely on the monster, a bell chimed behind him, closing in on Cole’s unprotected back. He spun around, staring into the black shadows that would never let him out if he dared to step in. He saw nothing yet could hear one, two, three, perhaps even four creatures lurking in the woods.
“We’re surrounded!” Cole yelled, and the rattling echoed over his head like an inhuman scream, moving around with no pattern, ever faster.
The creature stopped mid-stride and cocked its skull-face as if it wondered whether to ravage them both now or keep one for later. The long claws it had instead of fingers glistened in the light of the fire.
Lars rushed past Cole, as if he were a mountain lion about to pounce its prey, and threw his whole weight at the Wolfman. “We need him alive!” he cried, colliding with the mountain of fur.
Cole stilled, shocked by the ease with which his partner managed to take down a creature that had given him so much fright, but he stepped closer, frantically trying to pick up any noise made by the Wolfman’s companions. The wind shoved him forward, and in the faint glow of the fire he saw that the numerous paws climbing out of the beast’s form were only parts of the hides making up their captive’s coat. The two heads growing out of the beast’s arms were wolf skulls partially covered in leather. Everything Cole had seen had been a trick of the light.