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

Then I untied my cloak with one hand. The wind blew the hood wide as I pulled it against Crimson’s neck and secured it to the reins. I pushed the flapping cloak from my face and looped the crossbow strap over my neck, then gripped the reins in my left hand as I drew my grappling hook. I flicked its prongs open and let the hook dangle at my hip.

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I spotted a thick tree limb, the kind I needed, and swung the hook toward its base. It looped under the branch and locked in place as I gave Crimson a final prod and a shout. Then I lifted my heels and held tight to the rope, tugging myself out of the stirrups. I curved up under the limb as Crimson fled beneath me. He paused and glanced back, but I shouted again for him to keep going. He obeyed, confused, but slowed to a trot, refusing to stray too far as I scrambled up the rope.

We had gained enough distance that the wolves wouldn’t see me climbing in the dark fog. At least, I hoped they wouldn’t.

I hoisted myself onto the limb, straining to wrap my leg around it. I straddled the branch in time to see the wolves approaching. They stared straight ahead, focused on Crimson and the flapping cloak. I slid the repeating crossbow strap off my shoulder and took aim. Pierre had melted down enough material to load it with ten bolts, all tipped with silver.

I fired at the three closest wolves as they rushed toward my tree, plugging each one.

They dropped to the ground and lay silent.

The silver worked.

I fired at two more oncoming wolves, who broke their stride to view their fallen companions.

Once struck, they lay a few feet past them in a heap.

The other wolves slowed their rush. Some stopped altogether and hunched, twisting their necks toward the surrounding trees. I fired at the two in front, dropping them where they stood.

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The rear wolves backed up a few paces.

Some turned and fled.

An auburn wolf growled back at them.

“Cowards!” he shouted in a guttural voice.

My blood ran cold. It was true, what I heard as a child.

The wolves could speak.

Men who could turn into wolves, but still think and speak like men. And they had organized themselves into a small army to attack the people of La Rue Sauvage. To attack families and their children. Why?

I dismissed my questions for the moment. I had three bolts left. More than a dozen wolves remained below.

If I took out their leader – the auburn wolf shouting at the ones who fled – then the others might back down. He still faced them while the other wolves paused in the clearing, shifting from side to side and looking uncertainly at one another.

I took aim at his head, just below the pointed ear.

He charged back toward the other wolves as I fired. “Come bac–!” he growled as my bolt sank into the tree trunk behind him.

The wolves froze. I trembled, trying not to give away my position.

Two bolts left.

“There!” the auburn wolf snarled. “He’s up there!”

The others padded a few steps back.

Perhaps to get a better angle. Perhaps out of genuine fear. I focused on the auburn wolf but he bounded away before I could fire again, toward the 262

wolves that escaped. I puzzled over that while the rest of the pack shifted back and forth in the muddy ground.

I worked to slow my breathing. Where had the auburn wolf gone? Had he run off to gather reinforcements from the barn? I couldn’t last long against them all, and I couldn’t wait them out until daybreak. I had to use every small advantage I had.

Such as the fact that wolves couldn’t climb trees.

Something snarled and rushed from behind the other wolves, who parted to make way for it.

The auburn wolf charged between them, sprinting madly at the tree trunk where my bolt had embedded itself. He leaped at the tree and bounded off it to jump higher at