Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 87
“But how?” I ask.
There’s a lot Dallas isn’t saying beneath her soft voice and docile demeanor. There’s a familiar tone to her voice. She sounds like Colson; calm, contented, and almost…
Unbothered.
She stares ahead, the glow of the flames flickering across the apples of her cheeks and, slowly, her glossy lips twist into an impish smile. There’s more to Dallas Berrera than meets the eye. But I already knew that. What I don’t know is how deep her loyalties lie and how much more vengeful she can be than her older brother.
“Christmas,” I hear Sydney’s smooth voice over my shoulder, “at my house this year.”
It sounds like she’s changing the subject, until Tyler pipes up, “There’ll be hot chocolate, presents under the tree, a roaring fire…and scary stories…”
Suddenly, I feel like everyone knows something that I don’t. Suddenly, I feel like these three women I’ve grown to trust over the past year are drawing me deeper into their world and are about to reveal secrets they’ve been keeping all this time.
“We’ll tell you all about it,” Dallas turns to me, the inferno reflecting in her eyes, “I promise…”
Before I can respond, a deep voice cuts through the smokey air, drawing our attention.
“Beasts of waste!” Mason’s voice echoes into the emerald treetops stretching high into the failing daylight.
“Beasts of desolation!” Alex returns the call.
“We die alone!” Aiden continues.
“But together—” Colson shouts.
“Rulers of creation!” the girls echo around me before the entire clearing erupts in a cacophony of howls.
As the howls and laughter die down, there’s a pause, and then a wave of gasps and murmurs as a faint sound permeates the mountain air. Howls of a real wolfpack echo over the valley, sending a shiver up my back. Their songs are like our stories, each one taking us down winding paths through the woods that lead us all back home. And, now, it’s our story to share.
Because if you keep howling, the wolves do come running.
EPILOGUE
Brett
Six Months Later
Aiden and Sydney’s house looks like something out of an old Hollywood movie. The grey stone Victorian mansion covered with tendrils of ivy and filled with urns and ferns lies hidden within groves of trees that lead down a grassy hill to the meandering Hellbranch Creek. Granted, it’s almost Christmas, so the creek is barely meandering right now, instead jammed with frozen debris and sheets of ice.
I imagine this house loves summer, when the pool is glimmering in the sun and towering trees cast shade over the sprawling stone patio. I’d half expect to see Sydney saunter through the French doors in giant black sunglasses, a silk robe, with her icy blonde hair flowing behind her.
But then I remember it’s Sydney, and even though she looks like she stepped off the pages of Vogue, it’s more likely she’d be shooting clays off the back patio rather than sunbathing. She also loves cooking…and snacks. Just like Tyler said, there’s a hot chocolate bar spread across the sideboard, complete with mini marshmallows and candy cane stirrers, as well as presents under a magnificent tree and a roaring fire on the massive stone hearth.
Dallas emerges from a room down the hallway, gently shutting the door behind her. She tip-toes across the marble floor, her eyes glued to the baby monitor in her hand as she makes her way back to the living room. It was her idea to set up a crib in the first-floor office so that we wouldn’t be too far away in case Ev woke up.
“Like a rock,” Dallas whispers triumphantly as she approaches the overstuffed sofas surrounding the fireplace.
It’s only been a month since Ev was born—Ev with my nose and Colson’s aquamarine eyes—and I was stressing about the cross-country flight right up to the point the airplane door sealed shut. That was before I immediately realized that tiny babies don’t care about long flights because all they want to do is sleep against their mom’s chest. It also didn’t hurt that we flew here in a plane chartered through Mason’s company instead of flying commercial, which quelled my fears about infectious disease…
And from the moment we stepped through the massive mahogany door in Dire Ridge, I’ve barely seen my baby, swept away by doting friends inhaling her sweet baby smell like oxygen. I should be exhausted, collapsed on a bed in one of the 9,000 rooms in this house, but the electric atmosphere of this place gives me energy I thought was all but dead. Instead, I’m in my favorite place, curled beneath Colson’s arm, breathing easy and watching the others flutter back and forth through the archway between the kitchen and living room.
The song playing over the speakers changes and gives me pause, “Wow,” I say as Wonderwall ends and Linger by the Cranberries begins, “I haven’t heard this song in…forever.”
“I hope you like 90s alternative,” Colson mutters, “it’s all that plays here.”
“I do…” I reply, letting my eyes wander across the room to Sydney at the sideboard, in her black leggings and loose, flowy red sweater, emptying a bag of red and green M&Ms into a small milk glass bowl.
Aiden approaches her from behind, wrapping his vast wingspan around her, as he usually does. I continue watching them with intrigue; Sydney so bright like she was birthed from the blanket of snow outside, while he looks like the raven straight out of once upon a midnight dreary with his jet-black hair and black tattoos that stretch up his neck all the way to his jawline and down to his knuckles.
As Dolores O’Riordan’s haunting voice drifts through the room, Aiden starts gently swaying. He presses his mouth to Sydney’s ear, his lips moving like a silent movie as he whispers to her. A moment later, she turns to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She sways with him as if no one else exists, eyes closed and her cheek pressed to his. Her mouth is slightly open, and every few seconds the corners twitch like she’s recalling a beautiful memory. She brings one hand around to his face, caressing his cheek like she’s memorizing every inch.
Dallas collapses onto the adjacent sofa next to Alex, “Just call me the baby whisperer,” she swings her legs across his lap, still riding the high of successfully putting a tiny infant down to sleep.
“That’s fortunate,” he runs his hand back and forth over her thigh, “the women in my family have lots of babies.”
“You wish…” Dallas retorts, weaving her fingers in his.
“Mi Angelína, you say that now,” Alex smirks, “but you always end up giving me what I want—” he flashes her a satisfied grin, “and then act like it was your idea all along.”
Dallas tries to stifle a smile, but can’t do it to save her life.
I glance up at Colson with amusement, “Are you mortified?” I tease him.
“I’ve gotten good at tuning things out,” he replies through slitted eyes.
Tyler suddenly appears at my shoulder with a handful of marshmallows, giving me a start. I didn’t even notice her sit down next to me. God, I feel like she’s always disappearing and reappearing out of thin air…
“Have you seen his tattoo?” she nods to Alex.
I shake my head, unaware that Alex even has tattoos. Add it to the list of things I learn about him purely by chance…
Tyler gives an exaggerated shiver and flashes her eyebrows at me, making my eyes round with curiosity, “Ask him to take off his shirt sometime,” she mumbles salaciously.
At that, Colson lets out a chuckle, scratching the bridge of his nose.
“There will be no show and tell, thank you very much!” Dallas barks across the coffee table.
“Mase,” Alex lets his head fall back as Mason walks behind them, “have I told you lately that your woman’s batshit?”
“What, are you new here?” Mason scoffs as he rounds the corner and sits down next to Tyler.
“Don’t be shy,” Tyler raises her chin, casting Alex a pompous glance, “I think it’s a beautiful homage to your most prized possession.”
At that, Dallas’s face instantly softens and her mouth falls open, “That is so sweet, thank you…”
I have no idea what they’re talking about and Alex doesn’t seem interested in elaborating. “Fine,” he narrows his eyes at Tyler, “then why don’t you quit talking about mine and show her yours?”
She throws him a smug look and turns, tossing her leg over Mason’s. His eyes light up as she straddles his lap and leans onto his chest. Hooking his thumb in the back of her sweatpants, he pulls the waistband down to reveal a string of ornate lettering across the small of her back.
I push away from Colson’s side and lean toward her to get a better look, “La…” I pause as I try to make out the second word.
“Strega,” Alex rumbles menacingly, switching from a Spanish accent to Italian.
“What does it mean?” I ask, admiring the smooth curls of Edwardian script.
But Tyler doesn’t answer. When I glance up, Mason is gripping the back of her neck, kissing her while his hand gradually dips lower until I can’t see the letters anymore. I lean away, retracting back into Colson’s side again.
Colson averts his eyes and then looks away altogether, not so much out of respect for them, but for me, “The witch…” he mutters with a faint smile.
“Why the witch?” I ask, gazing up at him.
“Because,” Mason’s voice cuts in, “she is…”
“La Strega…” Alex finishes his sentence in the same deep, Italian accent, nodding slowly as a smile plays behind his eyes.
“Clearly, I need to catch up—with the ink and the stories,” I say, brushing my thumb over the compass rose on Colson’s arm, “does Sydney have any tattoos?”
“Just one,” Tyler replies with a hint of bitterness.
As she slides off Mason’s lap, her fiery gaze slowly shifts from me to Aiden, who’s appeared behind Alex and Dallas.
A devious smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, making him look positively wicked as he locks eyes with Tyler. He stays that way until Sydney appears behind him and he turns to follow her around the corner of the sofa.
“Are we ready?” she asks as she takes a seat on the sofa across from us.
She’s so full of poise, her posture perfect as she sits at the edge of the cushion, beaming at everyone around the coffee table smattered with mugs and bowls of festive snacks. Aiden settles in next to her, leaning back into the cushions with his arm slung over his head and his legs spread wide. In this opulent mansion, he looks like some war lord who should have a couple of Dobermans or a Bengal tiger sitting at his feet.
“Alright,” Dallas slides her legs off of Alex’s lap and straightens up, “I would like to start off this magical and horrifying evening off with a couple of toasts—” she raises her mug, “to Evie and Emily, who should be here with us right now. We never forgot, and we never gave up, and I hope we’ve made you proud.” Dallas pauses in reflection, “I wish we’d gotten to see who both of you might’ve been,” she says softly. A moment later, she takes a deep breath and casts a sly glance to Sydney, “And also to the first federal court date for Canaan’s finest.”
At that, a cacophony of whoops and whistles echoes through the room, bouncing off the high ceiling. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, indeed. Once the commotion dies down, Dallas continues her introductions.
“Now, as we all know, Brett is a writer—a best-selling author of the grotesque and macabre. She and Colson have travelled all this way and I promised her some scary stories, so we—” she glances at Sydney and Tyler, “thought this would be the perfect opportunity to tell her some of our own.” Dallas swivels her head around to me with a smirk, “Are you ready?”
“You have my attention,” I glance up at Colson, “especially after you said he doesn’t even know some of them.”
“Wait, what?” Colson perks up, “Know what?”
“Ooooh…” Sydney taunts him from across the table, drawing her knees up and settling back against Aiden, who laughs under his breath.
Colson narrows his eyes at Dallas, “The fuck did you all do?”
“We didn’t start the fire…” Tyler starts singing from across the sofa, “it was always burning, since the world was turning…” soon, she descends into laughter and the three of them break into giggles.
“Alright, alright…” Dallas brings order back to the group and picks up a flashlight that’s sitting amongst the snacks on the table, “Sydney, will you please do the honors?”
Sydney grabs a remote from the side table and dims the black chandelier hanging above us. They’re not kidding with the ambiance. Candlelight flickers in the hurricane lamps scattered throughout the room, decorated with holly berries and garland.
“Now,” Dallas clears her throat and clicks on the flashlight, raising it to her chin in dramatic fashion, “pay attention. Because this story has a lot of twists and turns, and if you get lost,” her dark eyes brim with anticipation, “you’ll never find your way home…”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First, a heartfelt thank you to those of you who have been here from the beginning, reading my words and letting my characters infiltrate your minds. And thank you to new friends who have been waiting patiently to meet the Dire Wolves and motivating me with your excitement, encouragement, and enthusiasm. I wouldn’t be here without you.
I also wouldn’t be here without Stuart, my alpha reader and forever support person in childbirth and beyond. Thank you for your patience when I space out at random times because I’m working out a plot point or have to stop mid-conversation to write down an idea. Some people ask how someone can sit down and write a whole book, and the answer is simple—have cerebral discussions over breakfast about cum-shots in coffee and create a list of the most hilarious gamer tags you see while playing Call of Duty.
Thank you to Annie for bringing Barrett and Anna to life (she is them and they are her) and for being my official mental health subject matter expert, responding to sporadic texts with detailed information about how a trauma therapist would deal with the audacity of these men.
Thank you to Katie, the one person who gets to hear every spoiler first because she’d rather hear it from me than read it, and I am totally OK with that. Sorry for the nightmares.
Thank you to Jordan for reading this unhinged trainwreck and giving me such amazing feedback. I can’t believe we came full circle from critiquing each other’s angsty teen poetry in Mrs. J’s class 20 years ago to reconnecting over dark romance TBR lists.
Thank you to Danielle, Rosie, and the rest of Wine and Spines for making me make time to read, reading my words, pumping me up, and, of course, immediately driving to my house to drop off certain books at a moment’s notice!
Emily Nealis, Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1)
