Havok Publishing

Tag - wolves

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Danger Where It Walks

Yesterday, Albert Cook offered me a ride home from school. Thanking him, I scrambled into his Pa’s wagon. We talked of that day’s ball game and spelling bee.
Finally, he asked, “Ever see a ghost around your place, Pete?”
I shook my head. “Nope. My grandfolks died there last month, but they’re lying

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Survivor’s Instinct

The wolf pack was hunting again. I could sense it in how their ears perked, the subtle way they started to fan out and slink off, taking up their positions perfectly without any audible communication.
Scanning the city streets far below me through my scope, I searched for their prey.

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Human

I smell the humans before I see them.
Their oily scent mixes with the sharp freshness of wet snow. I catch a whiff of woodsmoke and the faint crackle of a campfire.
My hackles rise. I growl deep in my throat. My wolf pups are asleep in their den a safe distance

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To Wish Upon a Wolf

I grip Flor’s clammy arms and hoist her onto my back. Crouching low, I pass rows of straw cottages and head for the gloomy thicket. Flor presses a feverish cheek against the nape of my neck and sighs, her breath sweetened with nopal. Mamá must have coaxed some fried cactus down her throat

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Tail of Hope

“I’m not insane,” I mutter to myself as I pace the entrance of the tent.
I’m supposed to be helping my older brother close the tent after the biggest market of the season. Ours is situated at the outskirts of the rest.
But it’s hard to focus when you see an extinct animal running

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Long Abandoned

Noah perked up as the call came through. Another nighttime commotion at the old, abandoned fairground.
“Dispatch, I’m at that end of town, I’ll check it out.”
Noah turned at the junction, towards the site.
On the outskirts of the small town, it was a relic of its heyday, bankrupted by the advent

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Red Hood, Red Legend

“Scarlet!”
I wince.
“Yes, ma’am?” I turn and bow to our loud neighbor.
“Are you going to drag your grandfather home?”
I bristle at her tone. He may drink too much, but only to forget his memories of the war. Everyone understands… except Lenora Cutter. She never has grace for anyone, not even

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Family Connections

The beam from my uncle’s flashlight slid like a ghostly finger over the towering piles of antiques, and I shivered. Evidently, the small museum he’d worked at for years didn’t heat their storage room. A collection of Victorian dolls stared balefully at me, so I snatched up an old, canvas tarp

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