Luminaries and Legionaries (Greywood Legionaries #1)
Chapter One
Mira Greene
I’ve always enjoyed going on night hikes in forests.
It’s appealing for a wide variety of reasons.
First, there are no people around to stress me out.
Second, the clear Vermont sky offers the most beautiful, picturesque view of the stars.
On especially clear nights, I can even see the faint halo of the Milky Way glittering above me.
Finally, the most fascinating forest creatures come out at night--creatures that inspire fear in most people, and with good reason.
Yet, they have never once harmed me, despite their predisposition to do so.
After all, I’m human; most animals that have been hunted to the point of near extinction in these parts should either hate humans enough to attack them or run from us all together.
Despite all odds, I find myself sitting on the forest floor, my back leaned against an age-old oak tree.
Three adorable wolf pups clamber over my lap, yipping and pawing at each other.
The patriarch and alpha of the pack lazes beside me, head lying on his front paws.
He emits a low, contented rumble as I stroke his rich black fur.
The mother of the pups trots around me, playfully tussling with other members of the pack, her reddish-brown fur gleaming under the moon’s silvery glow.
I’ve been told often, repeatedly, and by very reliable sources that I should not go out to seek the company of wild animals. The thing is, I never have to seek them out. They’re the ones who come to me.
Maybe it’s because I’m planning on becoming a vet; maybe it’s because I’ve always been an irritatingly sensitive soul.
Perhaps it’s attributed to the positive energy I once had before it was beaten out of me.
Whatever the case is, I can’t go out into the wild without finding myself confronted by creatures of nature.
“I’ll have to go soon,” I tell the alpha.
“I have my early-morning classes tomorrow. Please don’t eat a hole through my shirt this time.
” While the alpha has never once harmed or bitten me, even when I was certain he would, he has no problem destroying my clothes in an effort to get me to remain with his pack.
I think he might regard me as a member of it.
The alpha’s head lifts from the ground and he turns around to give me a narrow-eyed look, letting out a growl of warning. It’s as if he’s saying, “stay right the fuck where you are, and don’t you dare stop petting me.”
First time he gave me this look, I nearly shit myself, thinking that he’d decided I was prey. Four months later, I understand that he simply doesn’t want me to go.
“I come back every week,” I remind him. “Twice a week, usually. I always bring treats that I home-bake. That’s gotta give me some brownie points, right?”
He licks his front muzzle and stands, turning around to face me. When I’m standing, the alpha comes up to my waist; seated, he towers above me in a way that would be intimidating to anyone with a modicum of sanity.
The same reliable sources who tell me to stay the hell away from wild animals have also told me that they’re quite certain I have little sanity, which I happen to agree with. The alpha butts his head against the backpack lying beside me, silently requesting more food.
I try not to bring too much to spoil the pack, since I don’t want these wolves to rely on me for their meals.
They need to preserve their instinct to hunt.
But, considering the deer carcass I found about a mile away, I know that these fellows do know how to hunt.
They also happen to enjoy the peanut butter treats I bake for them.
“One more,” I tell him, unzipping my backpack. “Then I really do need to go.” It’s nearly midnight, and it’ll take me the better part of an hour to drive back to my school’s campus.
As soon as I withdraw the plastic container filled with treats from my bag, the pups start yapping, whining, and diving for it.
One of the pups nips my shoulder, making me wince.
The alpha releases a bone-chilling growl, picks up the pup who bit me by the scruff, and tosses him aside.
The pup promptly rolls onto his back, showing his belly with a whine, effectively submitting to his patriarch.
The alpha releases another low growl, eyeing the rest of his kids with his ears pinned, warning them not to get rowdy.
I don’t know what I did to get this wolf to be so protective over me, but he is. He’s smacked down his pack members more than once when they started being rough with me. He nearly killed a younger wolf when she drew my blood with a play-scratch that didn’t feel very playful.
“Thank you,” I tell him, withdrawing a cookie and setting it on the ground in front of me. The wolf’s ears perk right up as he leans down to sniff the treat and gobbles it up.
I feed the two pups that now lie over my legs next; I chuck a third cookie at the final pup, who gets back on all fours to accept the offering.
Naturally, the six other wolves in the pack come barreling toward me at the scent of food. I toss the remaining four cookies in the distance, smiling as the wolves butt each other out of the way and start scrapping over the treats.
I sling the empty container into my bag, stand, and stretch my arms over my head. The alpha promptly bites down on the loose material of my shirt, giving me a look that warns me to stay exactly where I am. He doesn’t flatten his ears or growl in earnest; instead, he releases a frustrated whine.
“I know,” I tell him. “I’d like to stay here too, but we’ve discussed this before. I need to get back to my home while you stay in yours. How am I going to become a vet so I can truly help you if I start missing classes?”
The alpha releases another whine and gives a sharp tug on my shirt.
A ripping sound follows, and I sigh. “I’m running out of shirts, my friend.
You’re racking up quite the bill.” I bury my hands in his coarse fur, giving his neck a scratch.
“Come, now. You know how it goes. If you want, you can walk me down the mountain. Sound fair?”
The alpha chuffs and steps back. He lets out a low noise that gets the attention of the rest of his pack. They yip, bark, and whine in response before returning to fighting over the cookies.
With a final low rumble, the alpha turns around and trots to his pups. He starts to groom them and paw at them. Apparently, today will not be one of the days he walks me down the mountain. That’s fine by me—last time he did, he actually tried to get in the passenger seat of my car.
Rubbing at the little nip on my shoulder, I sigh and roll my eyes, thanking whatever higher power exists that I’m up to date on my rabies shots. None of these wolves are infected, but as a magnet for wild animals, it pays to be safe.
When I’m far enough away from the wolf pack, I grab my phone out of my bag and power it on, checking my messages.
Cara, my close friend and roommate, sent me two texts about an hour ago.
There’s another from Valerie, my other roommate and good friend, which was sent at about 10 p.m. Both girls texted me some variant of let us know that you’re not dead when you’re back to civilization.
Cara knows about the wolf pack that’s half-adopted me, and she delights in frequently reminding me that I’m insane for spending time with them.
Valerie is also aware, though I don’t think she cares much—she’s more reclusive than I am.
I shoot texts to both women, letting them know I’m making my way back to dorms. They’re probably asleep by now, but they still expect me to text back.
Pocketing my phone, I tense when I hear something in the distance. Not too far away, a rustling of leaves is coupled with labored breaths, piercing the silence. It’s not the wolves; they wouldn’t stalk me, they’d outright barrel after me. And those exhalations… they don’t sound animal, but human.
I palm the switchblade tucked into my belt and pull the mini bear-spray off the keychain that hangs from my backpack.
I never go on night hikes unarmed, thought I’ve never had to actually use the weapons I bring.
The knife has only ever cut stems of pretty flowers I want to bring back with me, and the bear spray hasn’t even been tested.
“Deeper,” a low, masculine voice in the distance murmurs. “You gotta go deeper than that if you want to get the job done.”
Jesus Christ. There must be a couple who decided to come to the forest and fuck. That explains the panted breaths and weird commentary. I’m not keen to stick around like a peeping tom, so I hurry forward, trying to keep my stride as quiet as possible.
That’s when my foot catches on a rock, and I go tumbling head over foot, getting scraped up by sticks and pebbles before crashing with a loud thud and yelped, “Shit.”
So much for being inconspicuous. I push myself to my hands and knees, letting out a low groan of irritation at the pain radiating through my shoulder. I’m going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow. I already feel it forming.
“What the fuck was that?” the very same voice who was telling someone to go deeper questions. “Did you hear that? There’s someone out here.”
Another male voice responds, his words too faint for me to discern. The back of my neck prickles with an oncoming sense of danger, giving a chilling warning that something deeply sinister is unfolding.
I didn’t accidentally bypass a couple having sex. No, something darker is going on here. Any time my neck gets this prickling pins-and-needles sensation, it’s always preceded me stumbling headfirst into danger.
The first time was when I was only six.
The last time was when I left my stepfather’s house and got the fuck away from that monster.