Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 1
HEART SO HOLLOW
EMILY NEALIS
Emily Nealis
Copyright © 2024 Emily Nealis
Cover Design © 2024 Designs By Charly
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For the girls who like knives.
The boys in this book won’t come off these pages,
they’ll just come inside you.
PLAYLIST
Stream the Heart So Hollow playlist here
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/09zS3XWqCNQuReo1RHANP3?si=6119ca91550c445c
I Think I’m OKAY – mgk, YUNGBLUD, Travis Barker
Satellite – STARSET
Y’all Want a Single – Korn
In The Air Tonight – Panski, John Skyfield, Dana Kelson
roses red – Jeris Johnson
Blood – In This Moment
Monster – STARSET
Heartbeat – Childish Gambino
Eat You Alive – Limp Bizkit
Let You Go – mgk
War – Story Of The Year
I Fucking Hate You – Godsmack
Hangfire – Wind Walkers
Bring Me To Life – Evanescence
Hey Brother – Avicii
Atlas – Parkway Drive
A Deathless Song – Parkway Drive, Jenna McDougall
Vengeance – Twelve Foot Ninja
Never Run – Micah Ariss, Chandler Burton
Rest In Peace – Dorothy
Black Thunder – The HU, Serj Tankian, Bad Wolves, Daniel Laskiewicz
IMPORTANT NOTE
This book is a work of fiction and intended for mature audiences only. It is NOT a guide to romance or relationships. The contents deal with dark themes and triggering situations that include the following:
Abortion ∙ Adulterated beverages ∙ Birth control/medication tampering ∙ Bondage ∙ Breath play ∙ Breeding kink ∙ Chasing ∙ Cheating ∙ CNC ∙ Cock-smacking ∙ Cum smearing ∙ Cum stuffing ∙ Death by suicide (discussed) ∙ Degradation ∙ Denied orgasm ∙ Dub-con ∙ Edging ∙ Forced breeding (discussed only) ∙ Gaslighting ∙ Gore ∙ Gun play (non-consensual) ∙ Hand necklaces ∙ Knife play ∙ Masturbation ∙ Murder (on-page) ∙ Mutilation ∙ Penetration with an object ∙ Praise ∙ Pregnancy ∙ Primal ∙ PTSD ∙ Rape/sexual assault (on-page) ∙ Revenge ∙ Rough blow jobs ∙ Self-harm ∙ Snowballs ∙ Sociopathic behavior ∙ Spitting ∙ Stalking/obsessive behavior ∙ Stealthing ∙ Step-siblings ∙ Strong sexual content ∙ Underwear snatching ∙ Tracking ∙ Trauma ∙ Dateline-level crime and violence against women
Readers are strongly encouraged to review this list before proceeding. Your mental health matters.
HELL IS EMPTY AND ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE.
–William Shakespeare, The Tempest
CONTENTS
HEART SO HOLLOW
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Brett
Present
“Did he send you back here,” I raise my chin and narrow my eyes, “or did you come on your own?”
Blood rushes into my ears as I take in her ring; every facet of that stone, every detail of that gold band. An anxious hum fills my head—the hum that only happens when adrenaline crashes through the body and reduces sight to tunnel vision. The messy bun at the crown of my head pulls at my scalp as I glare at her.
Two women facing off to see who will bend first.
She blinks in surprise, “What?”
Staring into her soft, caramel eyes, I unfold my legs from beneath me and rise from the sofa.
Intruder. Interloper. Trespasser. Invader. Fraud.
Filled with fury, I want nothing more than to eject this woman out of my home, to kick her through the door and throw her from the porch onto the concrete walkway. Maybe I could embed some gravel in her face while I’m at it.
Lying snake in the weeds.
Ignorance is no excuse. We all have choices, and she’s made hers.
I lower the pitch of my voice to a growl, “Get out of my house,” I clench my teeth, “now.”
She nervously rises from the sofa, her eyes round with fear. I track her with laser focus as she makes for the front door, averting her eyes. Somehow, she’s both shocked and agreeable with my demand.
You should hide your face.
She reaches for the doorknob and glances over her shoulder. Her expression changes, but only for a split second. I see the flash in her eyes, the realization she’s been discovered, and then the seething disdain just beneath the surface betraying her demure, unassuming posture. There are no more excuses, no way to hide her insidious intentions.
She jerks open the door, flies down the steps, and marches across the lawn to the white SUV parked on the gravel. I follow her, keeping a steady pace, my eyes glued to the back of her head, her dark chocolate hair blowing wildly in the breeze. The wind’s picked up; a storm is coming.
“Go tell him!” I call after her, my voice dripping with poison. “Tell him I’m waiting for him!”
She tugs open the driver’s side door and glances up momentarily, casting me an indignant scowl before ducking inside. I scoff to myself, running my eyes over the vehicle, and then shake my head.
So fucking obvious.
The vehicle roars to life and immediately turns sharply, throwing gravel into the grass. I glower at her through the windshield as she jerks a 3-point-turn and then starts down the driveway back to the road.
I follow her all the way to the end of the driveway, knowing she’ll nearly be out of sight by the time I reach the strip of weedy dirt at the edge of the asphalt. But I have to make sure she’s gone. I come to a halt at the end of the drive, staring down the empty road until it curves to the left and all I can see is a wall of conifers. The SUV is gone, but a heaviness hangs in the air like a thick cloud of cigarette smoke.
I knew what was coming. Eventually, it would be time to step out of my whimsical hiding place behind the columbine and junipers, and face what’s lurking outside. Because I’ve never forgiven, and I’ve never forgotten.
And neither has he.
I’ve finally been discovered, and these woods and
A gust of wind hits my cheeks and fills the air with the rustle of leaves. A chill slices through the once balmy air, and when I turn to look at the horizon, I see deep bluish grey clouds building to the west. The trees turn emerald, popping against the thunderheads fast approaching. A faint rumble of thunder hums and grows into a deep concussion.
When I return to the house and reach the top of the porch steps, I stop abruptly, and stare at the front door. A stark white, folded piece of paper is affixed to the heavy oak door with a knife.
His knife.
I’d recognize it anywhere.
It wasn’t there when I chased her from the house, was it? It couldn’t have been. I gather my nerves and storm across the porch, tearing the paper from the blade and jerking the knife out of the wood. I let my rage about the marred door drive my hands to unfold the paper. And when I do, every emotion in me that’s been simmering just beneath the surface boils over all at once.
You’ve been a bad bad girl Honeybee
CHAPTER TWO
Brett
One Year Ago
If the legends are true, I’m on a journey to find monsters in the hills of Guernsey County, whether they’re hairy humanoids dubbed “the Grassman” or just a guy named “Thick Rick” perched on a tailgate doling out relationship advice. The hills at Salt Fork are full of stories, and I’m here to write my own, to escape the outside world for a few, precious days that are hard to come by.
My room smells of Fabuloso and orange scented dust cleaner, but it’s better than must and stale cigarette smoke. The wood paneling looks freshly painted white with a sage green accent wall that pops out from behind the massive oak headboard. The room is exceptionally bright with a sliding glass door that lets the sunlight in. There’s also a balcony overlooking the lake, framed by maples and poplars.
I watch the door shut behind me and listen for the latch to click. Once it does, I reach for the door handle and give it a few good tugs. The latch holds firm. I’ve seen too many Instagram and TikTok videos of faulty locks and gaps in hotel doors. My eyes move to the emergency exit diagram posted on the back of the door. I scan the map and take mental note of which direction to turn and which stairwell to take in case the building spontaneously combusts. I don’t anticipate a fiery escape, but so many people overlook this kind of thing. It takes five seconds to look, so it’s idiotic not to.
The crisp, white hotel sheets and pillowcases look new. That, or they’ve been soaked in bleach and baked in an industrial dryer. Either way is fine with me. I lift my backpack from my shoulders and let it fall onto the edge of the bed. I’m pleasantly surprised to see a solid, beige bedspread punctuated by a russet brown throw blanket instead of the dated red and green floral polyester disaster that every other hotel seemed to cling to. Then again, maybe I’ve just been a cheapskate and nicer hotels actually update their décor.
This excursion is a last-minute splurge, but that doesn’t mean I don’t methodically check the room and search behind curtains, in closets, behind the shower curtain, and over the side of the balcony. I circle back to the bed and unzip the front pocket of my backpack to retrieve a black rubber doorstop, the same kind in every school and office building in America. They’re also good for reinforcing hotel room doors. After I drop it on the floor and wedge it under the door with my foot, I return to the king size bed and make my way to the side table. I lift the phone from the receiver and dial the front desk.
“Salt Fork Park Lodge, this is Leah,” a bubbly voice answers.
“Hi, Leah. Can you please tell me when breakfast is served?”
I don’t need to know when breakfast is served. But it does tell me that the phone is working properly. After I hang up, I retrieve a small flashlight from the side pocket of my backpack and walk to the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony.
I don’t like these.
I step out onto the balcony, peer over the black metal railing, and look from side to side. I’m on the second floor and the neighboring balconies are flush with the building and way too far away to reach one another. I’m not totally convinced, but I’ll figure it out later.
Stepping back through the doors, I pull the cord and slide the blackout curtains over the glass, casting the room into darkness. I click on the flashlight and began scanning the room slowly. Over the walls, between the shelves of the TV stand, and between the air vents, looking for any reflection that’s not supposed to be there. Once I’m satisfied that my checklist is complete, I open the curtains again and decide my mini-vacation can commence.
Some, including my best friend, Barrett, might call it overkill, a symptom of paranoia. One might say I’ve watched too many episodes of Dateline or listened to too many true crime podcasts. But who can blame me? What woman travelling alone doesn’t take some sort of precaution? I’m not paranoid or overly cautious. I have other reasons for being so vigilant, ones that don’t need to be discussed ad nauseum.
Besides all that, “safety” is in my job title. Safety checks, safety protocols, hypothetical scenarios conjured up to plan for the worst that will probably never happen. And that’s how I created my checklist—by watching the security personnel I work with every day.
My day job is also why I’m here. I’ve only been at Wolfsson, a mid-size defense contractor, for a little over a year and this is my first permanent position after being a contractor for the first couple years out of college, but I think I’ve finally proven myself. As part of the safety and compliance unit, I was made the designated liaison between the C-suite and their military brass clients during their annual inspection. Detailed, organized, confident, and a fast learner, I always try to exude professionalism. That didn’t happen yesterday though when safety got in the way of profit and everything devolved into a shouting match.
But at the end of the day, we did our jobs, safety protocols were upheld, and my boss Dave gave me an “unofficial” extra day off and we both agreed to try to forget the whole ordeal. I decided it warranted getting out of town—even if it is only an hour and 45 minutes outside of Columbus. It’s the little things.
I’m also at Salt Fork for another, far more important, reason.
I stretch my arms toward the ceiling, stretch from side to side, and focus on my laptop screen. Besides taking a much-needed break from reality, coming to the park is an opportunity to work on the book I’m writing, uninterrupted, and without distraction.
I estimate it’s half complete. But who can really say? I plan to get up early each morning and do nothing but write, hike, and eat—not necessarily in that order. It’d be better if this place was a Rocky Mountain hideaway. I don’t know why people are so creeped out by The Shining. Ghosts or not, shutting myself away in a historic mountain lodge for half the year to write sounds absolutely grand to me, but I have to take what I can get.
I save my progress and lift my laptop from the tops of my thighs, beaded with sweat from the heat of the battery. The digital clock reads 4:48. I was on such a roll that I didn’t stop for lunch and only had a Twix since breakfast. I stand up and stretch again while considering my options. After deciding to take a walk around the lake, order a pizza, and spend the evening on the balcony, I pull on my pink and orange Nikes and tuck my room key and phone into the pockets of my grey running shorts. Standing in front of the mirror, I pull my mass of curly hair off my shoulders into a ponytail with a scrunchy.
Good enough.
Minutes later, I emerge from the entrance of the lodge and follow the asphalt path toward the lake. I feel light on my feet after hours of sitting, immersed in a different world. The road follows the perimeter of the lake, dotted with waterfront and hillside cabins on each side. The warmth of the sun feels amazing on my forehead and cheeks and there’s a warm breeze skipping off the water. The aroma of burning charcoal hits my nose and immediately reminds me of all the summers of my childhood. I inhale deeply, breathing in nostalgia. Children dart across the grass and through the trees, past the full picnic tables where laughter spills out from cabin porches and fire rings.
As I approach one of the campgrounds lined with RVs, I laugh to myself. Barrett was so worried about me escaping to a state park by myself. But once Labor Day rolls around, it’ll be impossible to be alone anywhere that includes a lake and campgrounds. Once I reach a pebbly beach just beyond the campground, I reach into my pocket to retrieve my phone and step onto a large chunk of sandstone lining the road. Scrolling through a page of search results, I choose the closest pizza place and order a medium Supreme.
