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

Then the creature set its paw down and reached for the bolt with its other paw. I gaped as it wrapped its claws around the bolt to seize a firm hold – the way a human would – and pulled it out.

It dropped the bloody bolt to the ground and regarded me, while I blinked at the impossible feat.

Crimson whinnied from his hiding place in the stable. He burst into the clearing, pounding toward me at full gallop. I grabbed onto his saddle as the wolf’s jaws opened to chomp at my legs.

Crimson whisked me away and raced into the woods, as I clung to him with one foot in the stirrup. Behind me, three other wolves rose in similar fashion, grinning and showing little signs of the battle.

Crimson knew when to run.

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22.

Crimson thundered through the misting rain over twigs and pine needles, as I hung precariously alongside. Pressing hard into the stirrup, I grabbed the saddle’s horn and tugged myself onto his back to settle onto him.

I crouched low against his neck as he galloped through the black woods, leaving Favreau’s drenched farm behind. My fingers ached from their grip around the repeating crossbow but I refused to let go of it, despite how little it had helped me. What were these creatures that looked 204

like wolves, but withstood bullets and pulled metal bolts from their paws?

Clinging to Crimson, I glanced back at the monsters chasing us. Up ahead, more pairs of red and yellow eyes leered from the darkness. I tugged at the reins and Crimson skidded to a halt, twisting to one side. Three wolves strolled out from behind tree trunks, cutting off our exit while the others closed in from behind.

I tugged Crimson to the right. Two more pairs of eyes blazed in the distance. The wolves that owned them padded into the spreading moonlight. I continued circling. Another wolf loped toward us from the opposite direction.

We were dead.

I swallowed and drew Pierre’s crossbow. If I sank enough bolts into one of them – just one of them – it might bring him down. It was the best I could do. I was about to die, like my family. Like Francois. I would never know love. Never have children. Never see Pierre or Father Vestille or Monsieur Laurent or anyone else again. And no one in the village would know that I had died in a foolish attempt to save them.

But I could still honor Suzette, if I could kill one of these monsters. Just one.

The wolves blocking our escape stood ready to attack, yet they restrained themselves. I turned about to face the wolves that had chased us from the farm. Their gray leader strode toward me, his three companions following close behind.

I choked back a sob. Why did I have to die?

A young girl, scarred and helpless and stupid 205

enough to fight these creatures because I knew that someone needed to. Why should I die while these beasts lived to kill again?

I had six bolts. It was all that could load before the wolves rose to chase me.

I fired the first one. It sank into the gray wolf’s chest, throwing him backward in a tumble.

The others waited as it lay on the ground. Then it rolled back to its feet, the bolt protruding from its shoulder. One of his companions padded over to him and yanked the bolt out with its teeth. Then they marched forward.

I fired another. I struck him in the same place, close to his shoulder wound, hoping to weaken it. Surely their blood couldn’t flow fast enough to heal the same damaged spot.

The wolf rolled backward, grunting against the pain of the blow. Then it rose to its feet again, letting another wolf tear the bolt out. They continued to advance on me as an organized mob.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I fired a third bolt. It gleamed in the moonlight as it flew, striking the wolf in the center of his skull.

The animal tipped backward and its eyes