Tuesday Teaser 9/24-Wolf’s Vengeance
I’ve been struggling with the opening scene for Mel and Snake’s book. I’ve started it three times, each in a different place. I think I’ve settled on this one. It’s very bare bones right now, and I’ll go in later and add some detail and description, but here it is.
The distant shout jerked Mel’s head up from the big pot of stew she stirred. Sara punched the bread dough down and laid a damp towel over the bowl with a frown. “What was that?” the teenager asked.
“Strangers are coming.” Mel put the lid on the stew pot and grabbed a rifle from the rack by the kitchen door to hand to Sara. “You know how to use this?”
Sara grabbed another towel to wipe her hands clean of bread dough before taking the rifle. “Of course.”
The teenager checked to see if the rifle was loaded. Mel approved the easy familiarity she showed as she handled the rifle. “Come on. We need to close the doors and windows and head upstairs to the safe room.”
Even as she spoke Mel slammed the iron-reinforced shutters closed over the kitchen window. Sara hurried to the back door off the mudroom and closed it. The lock fell into place with a loud metallic click that relieved a tiny bit of Mel’s anxiety. Mel took the other rifle from the rack and ran into the hall that led past the living room to the front door. Before she reached the entryway, two large gray-furred wolves barreled into her, hackles raised, toenails scraping over the worn tile.
Mel, scrambling for balance, tried to determine which of the wolves was her husband. Snake was a bit bulkier than his cousin Stone, his fur slightly darker, but she couldn’t tell who was who until the wolves morphed into naked men. Snake, the man she’d married only twenty-four hours ago, gripped her shoulders.
“Mike and Mord are two miles out,” he said in a rapid voice. “Marc will be here in a minute. He’ll bar the front door. Me and Stone are going to the bunkhouse. You and Sara cover the yard from upstairs.”
Mel touched the butt of her pistol. “Okay. Who’s coming? How many?”
Snake’s face, never as soft and pretty as Stone’s, hardened. “Fosses,” he spat.