Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (best books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

The forest grew denser, until I felt it might close in on me. I scoured every direction for the source of the growling voice but saw nothing.

So nice to see you again, little girl.

My heart pounded. I ran faster. I stumbled, but rose to my feet and raced on. The voice grew louder.

I can see you, little Helena. I’m coming after you …

I emerged from the woods, from the heavy strangle of trees, into the broad meadow outside Grand’Mere Marie’s cottage. I had to warn her. I ran to her door and pounded on it, stealing glances over my shoulder. The woods remained still and quiet, but the voice persisted from somewhere.

Helena. I’m coming for you …

46

I heard snoring. At the neighboring cottage, the window shutter hung open. I could see Francois’ large frame, asleep on his cot, his giant belly rising and falling.

Ah, there you are, Helena.

I spun around. In a stream of fog at the edge of the dark forest, the black wolf stood tall, its blue-gray eyes shining brightly.

I twisted the doorknob and ran inside.

I slammed the door shut with both hands, then swung the bolt down to lock it. I turned to find Grand’Mere.

There on her bed, something shuffled in the sheets. The black wolf had already gotten inside somehow,

circling

among

Grand’Mere’s

nightgown and cap, now soaked in blood.

I gasped and fell against the door. The beast fixed its ghostly eyes on me.

Its voice rasped low and cruel. “Come in, little girl. Come see your Grand’Mere.”

The same wolf that had padded close to me in the woods, keeping its distance but calling out until I answered. Until I told it I was going to my Grand’Mere’s house, and to leave me alone.

Instead, it had raced ahead to devour her.

The wolf jumped down from the bloody bed and padded across the cherrywood floor toward me. It stood – stood – on its hind legs, grinning. I hurled my basket at its face.

It scraped the beast’s nose and bounced off.

The wolf arched its eyebrows, its blue-gray eyes widening. It lifted its paw, extending sharp claws, then swiped at me as I screamed.

47

Everything fell black. My skin felt clammy, my nightgown drenched with sweat. I sat straight up in bed, feeling the soreness in my back as I stared into the pitch darkness.

Something stomped hard across the

floorboards. Then a faint light peeked beneath my door. Mama came in. Papa followed her, bearing a lantern.

Mama rushed to my side and cradled me.

“Helena, you’re all right. It’s just a bad dream.”

I clung to her, feeling numb. I stared at Papa’s lantern, the only source of light. “It spoke again,” I said.

“Hush, Helena,” she told me. “It was just a bad dream. Wolves can’t speak.”

I let her rock me back and forth, back and forth. They never believed me, any more than Father Vestille or Francois had when they brought me to Doctor Renoire. They assumed I was hysterical and babbling in my delirium.

I closed my eyes to shut out the nightmare.

But my mind saw the wolf’s leering grin. Heard its guttural voice. “Where’s my cloak?” I asked.

They said nothing.

I opened my eyes.

Papa straightened, his posture rigid. “It’s put away.”

“Grand’Mere Marie made it for me. It’s mine.”

In the pale light of his high lantern, Papa’s dark moustache formed a thick frown. “Your burlap cloak will keep you warm enough. And it won’t attract attention.”

48

A wolf howled in the distance. My body tensed in a spasm as Mama tightened her hold.

Papa rushed to the shuttered window. He stood there, his back to me. For a moment, I thought he would throw open the shutter, to see if the wolf was lurking right outside. I expected him to leap through the window in one bound, race into the forest, find the wolf, and strangle it with his bare hands.

He only stood there, listening. The wolf’s howls rose, rattling my nerves as though it lived inside me.

Papa stared at the closed shutter. “You can sleep in our bed again tonight,” he said.

49

6.

The sun broke