Free Web NovelChapter 40: Mountains
Mountains appear long before the compound does.
For the last hour, I’ve watched them rise higher and higher through the windshield, dark green forests climbing impossible slopes beneath a sky so blue it looks fake.
Raulf and I haven’t spoken much since leaving the house. Strangely, the silence never becomes awkward. Every now and then, I catch him glancing over, checking I’m still there, and every time I look back he gives a small nod.
The road eventually narrows, twisting upward through dense pine forest where sunlight filters through branches in shifting ribbons of gold. We round a bend and the trees open. The sight that greets me steals every coherent thought from my head.
Nestled against the side of the mountain is what can only be described as an entire village. Large log cabins scatter across the landscape, connected by winding paths and wooden walkways. Smoke curls lazily from stone chimneys.
Children race across open grass laughing while adults chop wood, repair fences and talk in small groups. Cats sleep on porches, wind chimes sing in the distance. Nobody looks afraid.
It’s alive in a way that makes my chest ache. Not because it’s beautiful, although it is. Because I look at it and think, yes.
My fingers tighten around the edge of the seat. The feeling only grows stronger as we roll slowly through the centre of the compound and people wave at Raulf. Some smile at me. Others stare openly.
He pulls up outside the largest building in the settlement. Calling it a house feels ridiculous. The structure is torn straight out of a storybook. Massive logs form towering walls, huge windows reflect the mountains behind us, stonework climbs one side of the building where several chimneys release streams of woodsmoke into the afternoon air.
A wraparound porch circles the entire place, filled with rocking chairs, blankets and potted flowers. Before I can gather enough courage to open my door, Raulf reaches across and takes my hand. His enormous fingers wrap around mine and squeeze.
"You okay, pup?"
I glance toward him and realise he’s watching me carefully. "I think so."
His smile softens. "Good."
He climbs out, a second later I follow him into crisp mountain air scented with pine needles, and something uniquely wolf that’s woven into every inch of the place. The deeper we walk into the compound, the stranger I feel. Excited enough that my stomach won’t settle.
Awake. Whatever’s hidden has been asleep my entire life and has only just opened its eyes. People continue smiling as we pass. An older woman carrying firewood reaches out and briefly touches my arm. A group of teenagers sitting on a fence grin at me. It hums with warmth and life. I can’t stop looking around. It feels absurdly like arriving somewhere I’ve never been and somehow remembering it at the same time.
Inside, the house is, well, it’s incredible. Massive timber beams stretch across vaulted ceilings several stories overhead. Stone fireplaces crackle at opposite ends of an enormous room filled with worn leather furniture, woven rugs and shelves packed with books. The scent of burning wood mixes with coffee, baking bread and dozens of other comforting smells. It’s lived in. Loved. Used.
Nothing is polished to perfection.
Raulf leads me to a huge armchair near one of the fires before finally stopping. "Wait here for me."
I nod with a small. "Okay."
He hesitates, squeezes my shoulder, then disappears through a doorway at the back of the house.
Silence settles, not the absence of sound. The house whispers quietly still, soft creaks, crackles, voices drifting from upstairs. I lower myself into the chair and stare around the room, my pulse gradually picking up speed.
Excitement and nerves twist together inside my chest until I can’t separate one from the other. Something is coming. I don’t know what. The feeling in my blood has become impossible to ignore. It pulls at me with increasing urgency, like an invisible thread stretching deeper into the house. It’s not like the pull toward the guys, which is currently making my stomach churn.
This is straining toward whoever ’she’ is.
I sit awkwardly in the oversized armchair trying very hard not to look as nervous as I feel. It isn’t working. I find myself staring at doorways and hallways, wondering who’s about to walk through them. A blur of movement tears through the room.
A girl about my age comes flying around the corner at a full sprint. She’s tall and long-limbed, built entirely for movement, all sharp elbows and endless legs. A riot of copper-red curls bounces around her shoulders, freckles dusting every inch of visible skin from her cheeks to her arms. Overwhelming every other feature are her eyes, which are so pale grey they almost look white in the sunlight.
She skids to a stop directly in front of me, breathing hard and grinning like a complete lunatic, then shoves a mobile phone into my hands before I can even open my mouth.
"Sit on this."
I blink. "Sorry?"
"If anybody asks, you never saw me." The girl laughs breathlessly, glancing over her shoulder. "Actually, that’s not enough. If anybody asks, I’ve been dead for at least six months."
"What?" I squeak out.
"Perfect." She points at me. "I like you already."
Before I can ask a single question, she spins around and takes off again, disappearing through another doorway at supernatural speed.
I stare after her with the phone still clutched in my hand. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
Footsteps thunder from deeper in the house. My survival instincts decide that the unhinged redhead probably knows more about this situation than I do, so I shove the phone beneath my ass cheek just as a man barrels into the room.
He can’t be much older than the girl. Maybe mid-twenties. Tall enough that he’d fit right in beside the guys at home, with broad shoulders, dark hair falling into his eyes and the sort of face that probably gets away with far too much. He stops so abruptly his boots skid across the wooden floor. He scans the room, slowly his gaze lands on me. Suspicion narrows his eyes.
"Did an annoying redhead run through here?" His tone suggests this is not the first time he’s asked this question today.
I do my best impression of innocence. "No."
The lie is terrible.
His eyebrows slowly rise. "Really."
I nod. "Really."
He stares at me.
I stare back, completely committed to this ridiculous situation. I point vaguely toward a hallway on the opposite side of the room.
"I think I saw somebody go that way."
His gaze follows my finger slowly. He looks back at me, the smirk that spreads across his face makes it painfully obvious he doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. "That so?"
"Yep."
Another pause. Until, to my complete surprise, he nods. "Good enough for me."
He turns and sprints in the direction I indicated, disappearing around the corner without another word.
I let out a breath and pull the phone out from under my cheek. I consider simply leaving it where it is. Then I imagine the freckled menace returning and knowing I failed my very first assignment. With a sigh, I tuck the phone carefully down the side of the armchair cushion instead. I’m not getting involved.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I sit here grinning like an idiot.
By the time Raulf finally returns, I’ve spent so long sat in the armchair pretending not to be nervous that my entire body’s wound tight. The mystery redhead has not reappeared. Neither has the man chasing her. The phone remains hidden down the side of the cushion. Every few minutes somebody walks through the room, smiles at me, then continues on their way, which only adds to the strange sensation that everyone here already knows who I am.
He appears in the doorway and I straighten. He doesn’t speak straight away, his pale eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, then jerks his head toward the corridor behind him.
"Ready?"
"Think so."
His chuckle follows us into the hallway. "That’s usually how these things start."
The house is larger once we’re moving through it. Corridors branch in different directions, staircases climb toward upper floors. As we walk, Raulf slows slightly, glancing sideways at me, remembering something important.
"I should probably tell you a few things before we go in."
My pulse picks up speed. "That sounds ominous."
"It’s not." The fact he says it while looking amused does not reassure me. "Pack etiquette."
"Oh God."
Raulf laughs outright. "It’s not difficult, pup. Just different."
I wait.
"When you meet an Alpha, particularly one outside your own pack, you acknowledge them first. Eye contact is fine. Confidence is fine. Fear is unnecessary."
"I’m not sure I have a pack," I say slowly, testing the word. "And fear isn’t really my thing."
His grin widens. "Figured."
We turn another corner.
"If you want to show respect, place your hand over your heart," He demonstrates briefly. "Like this. It’s an old custom. It means I come with honesty, no weapons, no deception."
I stare at him. "What about bowing?"
"Some packs still do it, most don’t expect it. Vaela certainly won’t." He confirms.
The name immediately sends a strange flutter through my chest. "Should I call her Alpha?"
"You can if you wish."
The answer surprises me. "But?"
"But she prefers people speak to her as a person before they speak to her as a title."
We continue walking.
"If she offers her hand, take it. If she asks questions, answer honestly. If your instincts tell you something, don’t ignore them."
I glance sideways. "That’s the least helpful advice anyone has ever given me."
Raulf’s laugh echoes down the corridor. "Trust me. It’ll make sense soon."
The further we walk, the stronger the strange sensation beneath my ribs becomes. Anticipation but not quite. Older, primal and stretching awake. By the time Raulf stops outside a heavy wooden door, my palms are damp. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.
"You’ll be fine."
I wish I believed him. The door swings inward before I can overthink it any further.
The room beyond is unexpectedly cosy. A huge wooden table dominates the centre of the space, covered in maps, notebooks, scattered papers and enough handwritten notes to suggest whoever works here survives entirely on determination. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line every wall, packed so tightly with books that some have been stacked horizontally on top of the others. A fire burns quietly in a stone hearth. Lamps cast warm pools of golden light across worn rugs and polished wood floors.
Despite the comfort of the room, the first thing to smack anyone who enters is the energy.
A presence that fills every corner. The unmistakable feeling that somebody important occupies this space.
My attention follows it to the far end of the room, standing in front of a large interactive screen covered with maps and diagrams, a woman is drawing lines across the display with one hand while reading something in the other. She hasn’t noticed us yet. Or maybe she has and simply doesn’t care.
Either way, I can’t look anywhere else.
The unfurling thing goes still.
Recognition.
I understand why every mile of this journey felt like I was being pulled somewhere rather than travelling here myself.
