Below are two chapters from our first book, No Bones About It. Together these chapters form a flashback that also functions as a sort of prologue to the story itself, establishing how the two main characters first met. Please enjoy, it spoils nothing about the main story of the book and will only give a better understanding of character dynamics starting out.

CHAPTER EIGHT - SILVER CHAINS

The moon hung high in the sky, threatening to overpower the stars with the width of its curves. Not full, but near it. Charlie used the light to skirt around the edge of the metal storage building, keeping beneath the windows. 

Suspecting this was one of the safe houses, there were no cars in the drive, and it was out of the city. She’d driven close to thirty minutes out here to reach it. She parked her truck down the road quite a way out, leaving it in the open. It appeared as if something had gone wrong while driving, as the truck sat parked crooked, the hood slightly ajar.

Jimmying the lock in order to gain access as she pushed it open, she entered cautiously. Rolling the small toolkit backup and slipping it into her back pocket, it nestled in beside the burner phone she carried on these missions. A small handgun pressed against her front right side in a metal carrier, the clip digging into her skin when she bent down, hidden by the looseness of her black shirt. 

Each step taken displayed calculation, slow and steady, so as not to make noise. Having investigated on the hunch of one of her informants, this was part of a favor to Arthur. The man always sent her to the darkest damn places, and she had no problem reminding him that the police could handle some affairs. She’d not understood his interest in this case until her eyes slid over to a gleaming cage. 

Gleaming because the bars were clean, and they weren’t iron. 

The cage encompassed an area large enough for a compact car, but was still too small. Silver bars set just far enough apart that the creature sitting in the middle of it, curled into a ball, did not brush against them. The monster inside seemed well and truly trapped and bound, its will no longer his own, none that she could feel at least with the distance she placed herself at. 

With the full moon so close it would cost any werewolf considerable self-control not to lose themselves in that form. Most would have bashed their body against silver bars, hurting themselves further. None that she had met up to that point could resist except perhaps the head of the IDPD, who she’d regaled to Angie once about the stick up his ass.

The wolf’s massive chin rose and swung about until his focus clearly landed on her. Large eyes of a temperate, demure yellow, assuredly aggressive in their presentation, reflecting the light back. Then softening as the flashlight beam flicked downward. Intelligence flashed as the pale light beamed over his form. But rage, it rolled off him in tangible waves. 

He did not growl, only looked, and she quickly averted the direction of the stream of LEDs in order to prevent blinding him, taking a better look at the cage. But her heart pounded oddly as she felt sympathy for the wretched balled position the confined space allowed.

Knowing that clearing the entire room should be her priority, resistance to leaving it alone made it hard to tear herself away. But safety, from whatever else might lie there, had to come first. “I’ll be back in a second,” she told the wolf, even if he did not understand what she said. Slipping off to confirm there was no immediate danger, she would keep her word. All while ignoring the feeling of being watched because she literally was.

Charlie was moderately cautious, but she wasn’t a fool. A large caged animal could snap within the confines of its holding, but not beyond. When she released it, she would do so carefully in a way that the cage door came back in order to prevent it from snapping or getting to her. At least that was the plan as she rounded the warehouse, finding a few larger cages, all empty. 

Cursing her luck on that part, she found buckets within them and signs of a more human presence. Toilet paper, cloth rearranged into a bed like formation. The thought was sickening. 

Fury abounded, concealing all other emotions in its crossfire. 

Rounding back to the cage, she bent down before it just enough to be eye to eye. Before it had been but a fleeting glance, but now she was searching for a way to free him. Plainly sentient, it deserved at least a chance to escape before the IDPD or the regular police came crawling in.

Close enough now to have a decent look. It gave her pause. Before, she’d ignored the wiggle in the back of her mind that spoke of matters not being what they seemed, but now that she was face to face with him, she knew something was not right. Even if she could not put her finger on it. The bars were an obvious deterrent, but his distance did not explain the painful sensation his lack of control then allowed her to feel.

“Hey there,” she spoke with a mollifying timbre, like one spoke to any animal, but there was a reluctance now, for she felt there was more to this beast than just those attributes.

Throughout her entire exploration of the barn, the wolf had watched her. Silent, moving slowly, carefully, like it was afraid of touching the bars but too curious not to keep its eyes on her. When she finally returned and approached closer, her sense of scale for the beast within kicked in. 

Perhaps due to how tight of a ball it was in or perhaps because she hadn’t gotten close enough earlier, she realized just how large of a creature inhabited it. Exact numbers were hard to guess with it forced low and tight around itself, but the thing looked like it was likely as big as a horse, or larger. 

Its size made its eyes more ominous. The fierce intellect and outrage were still there in spades, but there was also something else behind those predatory orbs. Yet it still didn’t get hostile, no growling or whaling eyes.

And closer inspection revealed the source of her intuition’s bothering. The fur around the collar encircling its neck lacked hair, the open skin covered in blisters that... disturbingly seemed to be healing and reforming before her eyes. 

Whatever this thing was, it may look like a singularly normal werewolf, but she would know deep down in her bones it wasn’t a natural creation, her earlier guesses confirmed.

“You’re absolutely massive.” 

Of all the things that might have come out of her mouth that was what popped out, the captain obvious words were beneath her, but the pure immensity of realizing his size just brought it forward. Even if he was genetically modified, larger than any other she’d heard of, it would not allow him to make so many advances in control. 

Wolves were intelligent, but not enough to not snap out in anger if they felt it. The fact he resisted told her one of the few things she needed to know; he had it out for a certain person and she simply was not it. 

Slipping the tools back out of her pocket, to at least attempt to pick the lock, as was her first choice, the second was to bash it in with a sledgehammer she’d seen against the wall. Try the easiest manner of handling things first, she reminded herself, but remained perfectly willing to beat the cage into submission if she had to. 

“That bloody tool of a man,” she spoke underneath her breath as she found the right angles. Putting her flashlight in her mouth in order to hold it steady, the move obviously involved practice and kept her from speaking further. 

The wolf just sat there and watched the woman. The lock tumblers resisted, the choice of installation a good one, but not a masterwork by any means, so after a few minutes of twisting and backtracking, she found the angles needed.

All while casting furtive glances upward. 

Being gifted meant that her sense of things was quite beyond others. People, for instance, always had a distinct aura, and when she was a young girl, she almost always knew who to avoid. 

Malice was hard to disguise, and she felt no true malice within him towards her. 

Feeling the final tumbler in the lock give way, she took the flashlight out of her mouth before she moved to push up the last one she halted. 

It was only one flick of the wrist away, but for once she was having second thoughts. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” 

Second guessing herself, the steadiness of her hold didn’t falter. She felt drawn here, drawn back to him. The flashlight settled in her hand between her fingers; the beam pointed at the ceiling, but the dim light it cast in his direction was well enough to see.

A snort left his muzzle in a blast of air that made her hair fly up. Even though it was a distinctly animal reaction, the magnificent beast laughed at her with it, her interpretation of the action. Likely because of how ridiculous it was to ask something that couldn’t speak, whether it would hurt her, or how late she’d done it. 

The reaction almost cost him as his body shifted and one of his hair brushed against the silver bars, getting singed, smoke spiraling upward in a singular stream.

The childish response felt deserved at her rather blatantly late question and she gave him a look that said ‘knock it off’ but she couldn’t maintain it for long. She half smiled as she retook the tumblers and said, “sense of humor, check.” 

Finding it easier around animals to speak openly, they rarely judged other than to make sure if you were predator or prey. If they were the latter, if they were in danger, came next. 

Obviously, he was not in danger from her, but she was from him. He was gigantic and could rip her apart without issue. She was the prey here if he so saw it that way, but something about his eyes told her this was the right thing to do. 

“There,” the lock clicked just as she said it and released the pressure on the mechanism. Pulling it back as she moved, she left him plenty of room to step outward.

Unfolding slowly, he gingerly stepped outside of the silver cage. Careful to avoid touching the bars. Free of the confines, he looked down at his savior, literally, the hulking mass eight feet tall at the shoulder. 

It eyed her in silence for a long moment before exposing its neck to her. Revealing the collar around it and the wounds it continuously dealt to the exposed, raw expanse of skin. 

“What kind of monster,” she didn’t refer to him, nor was it a question. She looked for a clasp or other such way to remove it without touching him right away. 

Too high for her to assess, or reach in the dimness, she offered, “if you’ll lay down I can probably get it off.”

Charlie knew the man who did this, but not the absolute depths of his depravity. Then again, she didn’t know the monster she was about to free. The wolf obliged her request, laying down on his belly to allow her access to the collar. There was a clasp, partly crushed shut, to keep it from being removed easily.

Breaking it would be simpler than forcing it open, but she needed leverage and a way to keep it off his already injured neck. The bolt cutters she’d brought in might be suitable, but they’d take time, and a herculean effort. Tampering with it against him having to push it to one side would make her feel guilty. 

“It will not be easy to open, I’m afraid that if I try to force it open it will hurt you further as well,” she explained her dilemma and why she was taking so long to figure out a plan, “I could use the bolt cutters but it’s going to take a few snips and I’ll have to pull it towards me.”  

It nodded up and down, giving her permission to cut it off.

“Alright,” pulling them out of her back belt and grasping the short handles in one hand each, she slid it beneath the metal.

It took all her strength to slam the things to cleave it halfway. Readjusting, she did not know how painful it would be for it unless it physically showed it other than tugging on the already softened skin, but he, as she’d realized it truly was a male, remained perfectly still.

But as soon as it gave a bit of give, he shook his great head hard until the collar went flying away. Putting the horrible line of burned and scarred skin that rimmed his neck into full view. 

Rising back to his towering eight feet, he peered down at the girl. She felt insignificant in such a presence. Then he leaned in and pressed his nose to her face in a sign of gratitude. Charlie looked upward when he lowered his nose, touching her face with the cool skin. When he drew back, she touched her own nose, a chill settling there.

Then, almost faster than her eyes could track, he bolted. An almighty crack like thunder erupted, as a hole opened in the barn's side and through it she could see the rapidly vanishing form of the wolf and the house in the distance.

CHAPTER NINE - MERCY FOR MERCY’S SAKE

Like lightning he bolted, the fabric of the wall little more than paper in his rush, fraying the edges of its entirety, ruining any chance Charlie had of stealthily going forward. 

Frowning, the woman gingerly stepped through it, seeing no point in using the door. Watching his path, she wanted to know if he ran to safety or if he knew something she didn’t. 

He impacted with the side of the house and, much like with the barn, walls didn’t impede his path. The turn of the century estate once had a lovely solid oak double door and now there was little more than splinters and iron hinges left.

The sound emanating from the house suggested things did not get any subtler after that. The wolf tore through the house, destroying works of art, furniture, and walls as it barreled through things on a direct path to whatever its goal was. 

Oddly, the swath of destruction seemed to be of a magnitude larger than what might have occurred if a bulldozer just charged through the house. Almost as though a hurricane force wind spread out from behind him, tearing through the building as the monster blasted its way through.

Charlie, running on two legs instead of four, reached the house well after the destruction began. Trailing after him at a much slower pace when she came to a stop at the doorway. The tornado-like blaze left only the outer shell intact. 

He had demolished almost everything. 

Careful to step over the shards of a vase smashed along the floor, her shoes had thick soles but not enough for all the mess. Frames rested in splinters, the pictures unrecognizable, furniture upheaved and broken sent wooden shards skittering across the floor, and even if some of it was priceless, she placed no blame on him. 

Not after seeing the way the collar had scarred and torn his neck apart.

The whistling of air, surrounding something falling, brought her attention upward. A body flew from the upper landing, hitting with a thud and a crunch directly in front of her feet, like an offering. 

Almost lifeless, no movement in the fall, nor after landing in a heap, a leg twisted the wrong direction, lacerations from head to toe, small wind shorn cuts on every piece of skin showing. 

Ambrose, she thought, recognizing his facial structure despite the splotches spreading across a broken nose, one that bubbled with blood, his chest heaving upward.

Still breathing, knowing he was alive for the moment did not help the next, but if he could recover from his injuries was another matter. The wolf followed a moment after, its massive paw landing squarely on the man’s chest. 

The man screamed his words, every one rising in pitch. "How did you get free?! The silver had you contained! Controlled!" 

Ambrose struggled against the weight of a paw almost as big as his torso, bloody fingernails ripping back further into the fur and muscle. 

The wolf began shifting and changed. Limbs cracked, bones tore, the shearing an audible scraping and features changed as the paw turned into something more like a hand and the wolf bore a resemblance between what it was and a man.

“You chained me. Collared me. USED ME!” Its voice blasted deep and guttural words, being spat around massive fangs as the clawed hands picked the man up bodily with no more effort than Charlie would use to lift a glass. “You forced me to kill for you!”

“You are nothing but a monster! Why should I not use you to kill those who oppose me!”

The broken man tried to yell but could barely manage more than a hoarse whisper from his broken chest. Charlie stood there, speechless and trembling like a leaf, wanting to intervene but unable to. She’d cringed at the fall. Tucking her gun back into the holster at her waistband she kept her hands to her sides with her fingers spread out in a submissive gesture. 

Trembling, the futile attempt of the man to convince him it was appropriate to use another simply for what they were broke the floodgates inside of Charlie. To her core she’d known that the position the wolf had been in was wrong, but to know his intelligence was truly there in werewolf form and he understood his actions. She almost couldn’t blame him for what he did now. 

Except she knew what would come if she did not stop him and though she felt like the pressure of all gravity was upon her, she raised one hand to reach out to the beast, her voice full of tears unable to fall, “no, please. Stop.”

***

Wolf’s hands tightened around the man’s torso. It would have been so easy to continue to squeeze. The man’s chest would have caved in within his grasp as easily as an empty pop-can would crumple in a human hand. Before he could finish the job, a noise broke through the haze of his fury. Someone had spoken to him.

The words were sad, underlain with fear, but filled with a certain resolve. He could feel a gentle brushing of a hand against his fur and his attention shifted from the form within his claw to the one next to him. The young woman from the barn. She’d evidently followed him to the house, and she begged for him to stop.

The first thought in Wolf’s head was that she was somehow affiliated with Ambrose Treadstone, the sorcerer he was in the process of killing. But no, that made no sense. Only the faintest hint of this place clung to her, as if she had recently arrived, and she didn’t have the scent of being related to him. She had also freed him and...

The realization that perhaps she took pity on the man, much as she’d taken pity on him, occurred. No, pity was the wrong word. She begged for mercy. Pity involved no personal risk, no personal stake, but she was very much taking her life into her hands by offering mercy. When was the last time he’d met a human capable of that? Capable of extending mercy even when putting themselves in danger?

***

“He needs to pay. He used me to kill people. Innocents,” The wolf growled.

“I know,” She said. Whatever he thought she was aware of, whatever reason he believed she was in that warehouse for, he could not have expected the depth of her knowledge. She knew what he’d done and was after further evidence of it before she turned him over to the IDPD. Aware something had destroyed his victims in an animal-like way, it was the reason Charlie was so careful and yet careless about the wolf within the barn, for she felt no anger directed at her but the instant she touched him here she felt it. Felt it as it wound its way up around her heart and wished so sincerely to crush the mercy she begged of him to give. 

But it did not. 

 “I know what he has done to others but not fully to you,” she continued, unable to look at the very man she spoke of only looking to the wolf. “But if you do this, if you take revenge on him, you will be no better.” 

To her, revenge was an odd game of give and take, and she had seen much of it in the ways of her own work. Truthfully, she’d been the instigator of some by proving people right about their suspicions, but she’d always advised otherwise. Always told them to walk away for their own souls, for it did not make anyone feel better to cause harm in the long run.

***

Wolf had long ago shed the foolish concept of needing to be better than those he killed. The reality was human life was so fragile, it hardly mattered if he ended one of them. And this human life, this fragile little thing he held in his claws, had wronged him. Wronged him more grievously than he’d been wronged in years. 

Every drop of blood, every bone, every muscle, every fiber of his being called out to him. The logical side of his mind, the human side only just barely holding on, just barely keeping the Wolf in check, and only because he didn’t want to be the beast that Ambrose’s magic had tortured him into being these last few months.

And perhaps because he wanted to stay in control in equal measure to his desire to kill, he found himself listening to the woman who was so utterly, pathetically insignificant. Yet despite how small, how weak, and how fragile she was... she’d saved him. And despite all of her weakness, she was asking him, a being who could shatter her with a single blow, to save another even if they didn’t deserve it.

And if he was honest, that would be the second person who didn’t deserve mercy she would have saved that night.

A cracking sound. Ambrose cried out in pain, but then he dropped to the floor. 

“He lives,” Wolf growled, the frustration in his voice turning the last word into a guttural thing. 

While Ambrose was still alive and would survive, assuming an ambulance arrived within the next hour, his broken bones would prevent him from going anywhere soon.

Looking down at the woman, Wolf shuddered and then without a word he turned and bounded out of the house, smashing through another wall as his body returned to its four-legged form. No goodbyes, no explanation, no last words.

***

“Thank you.”  

Charlie whispered almost to herself. Ambrose did not deserve it, and she figured he would not survive the night anyway, but what choice did she have? What the wolf had done was beast like, but Ambrose he was the true monster.

Which meant the wolf was perhaps not born into the role he portrayed then, but lashing out then as one and thinking as one, whatever shred of humanity left within him but a dim thought on the horizon. One that had flashed just briefly. Long enough to drop the notion of revenge.

Charlie called the IDPD and told them they would need an ambulance, human, she advised on the patient, and when they arrived, she told them she’d been investigating Mr. Treadstone. 

She stated she arrived after the destruction had taken place, as she meant to speak to him directly about something related to the case itself. Her working relationship with them and the sheer magnitude of the destruction, which she couldn’t possibly enact, meant filled out a witness statement and leaving the rest in their hands without many questions asked.

Returning to her car she’d hitched a ride with one of the men from the local Sheriff’s office, who’d shown up because they needed to have their stories straight, explaining her own truck had broken down on the way there since she’d left it so indisposed on the side of the road. The rest of the night played out with Treadstone being airlifted to the hospital and her getting the truck towed. A fine idea in her mind as driving set her on edge as it was.