#and yes boston ferns are native but... not... to boston... like at all??

[snekdood]

why didnt anyone tell me maidenhair ferns were native to america??

[alydiarackham]

(Cover by me)

The Campbell River: The Story of a Vampire and a Wolf by Alydia Rackham

CHAPTER ONE

August 3rd, 2015

Albert Blackwood

  I had ridden in coaches through the blackest streets of my native London, coal dust in my lungs and chill seeping through the wooden, rattling walls. I had been pulled down to the edge of Death by the icy grip of typhus at a wretched Yorkshire boy’s school. I had sat on the peak of Everest on the night of a new moon and gazed out over the desolate snow. But never had I felt so cold as I did sitting on that flight from Paris to Boston.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I just stared at the back of the first class seat in front of me, my hands clenched around the armrests.

Anna Porter was dead.

My coven was living in Boston now—and my sister Elizabeth had told me about what she had been told from a native of Heath: that Anna had gone missing in the woods of Campbellston, and presumed dead…

And then when I had called to speak to Anna’s father, he only had time to tell me that he appreciated the call but he didn’t have time to talk, because he was arranging a funeral.

There was only one thing that could mean.

And yet, as I once more sent the approaching stewardess a withering glare, I refused to believe it. Anna was stronger than that. I knew she was. And Mr. Porter was a rare good man, and Jack Campbell…

I knew Jack loved her. He had loved her before I had ever gone to college with Anna, before Anna had decided she would rather be with me than him—because, in spite of every bit of advice and everything I knew to be true about what I was and would always be…I had fallen madly in love with this enchanting, lively, optimistic, artistic, charming girl.

Before I had finally come to my senses, realizing that I was being utterly selfish, and if I loved her, I needed to—had to—break it off.

Jack was young, but fierce and resolute—even if he was one of them. I knew he would forgive her, and take her back. He and Mr. Porter could protect Anna, make her happy. I knew this. I had told myself that every time was about to hijack a plane and fly back from Europe.

Elizabeth's message, however, had shattered all my illusions. And I had the experience to know that even when they are surrounded by loving and protective friends, desperate and determined people can still do rash and stupid things. I remembered my own mother—I knew she had had people who loved her—and yet she had tried to kill herself.

I had to know. I had to make certain what had happened. I had to be sure that this was an accident, or a mistake.

Or I might do something rash and stupid of my own.

   I had told Elizabeth I was going back to Heath—I called her right after I called the Porter residence. I also told her and my family to stay away. They were in Boston still, which was good enough. I told George, my best friend and leader, that I would meet them there. I did not say how prompt I would be.

I strode off the airplane first, carrying a small bag. I had a few clothes and things in there—I didn't want them, but after traveling to every country on the planet during the past one-hundred-seventy-five years, I knew that passengers without bags drew suspicion.

I swept up the ramp and into Logan International Airport, my long black coat fluttering behind me. The chatter of a thousand people's thoughts surrounded me as I passed through the gate and made my way down the white tiled hall, but I tuned out the bustle of the busy crowd. As I walked, I lowered my head and straightened my shoulders. Everyone got out of my way.

Evening rain hit my face as I stepped through the revolving doors and into the chill air. Staying under the overhang and peering through the swish and rumble of the traffic, I hailed the first cab I saw. I climbed in, and rode in silence until the cab reached the outskirts of Boston. I watched the rain leave trails on the window. I vaguely remembered a time when my breath would have fogged up the glass.

"Let me off here," I finally said, without looking at the driver.

"Here?"

"Yes."

He slowed down. I grabbed my bag and pushed open the door.

"Thank you," I said, putting my hand on the wet roof of the car. I bent, and handed him a $100 bill through the gap in the plastic partition. He yelped about my change, but I was already gone. I slammed the door and stepped off the road into the grass as the driving rain hit me. It soaked my coat and hair and ran down my face. My boots sloshed through a puddle in the ditch as I made for the dark of the forest. I sensed the cab driver's unspoken bafflement behind me as he stalled there, watching me go. I did not look back.

As soon as the towering, silent trees shielded me from sight, and the pine needles silenced my footsteps, I dropped my bag, shed my coat and broke into a run.

Trees, ferns and boulders flashed past, and the raindrops that made it through the thick branches struck me like nails. The rain rushed like the sound of a river over my head. The wind cried—moaned, as if it was weary. I ran faster.

I knew these woods—they had been my backyard for many years. I knew every deer trail, every fallen log, and every bend in each stream.

I knew, exactly, the border of Campbellston. I gritted my teeth…

And crossed it.

I swept through the woods, not even displacing a leaf, my limbs feeling like ice. I ran until I heard whispers, fragments, of human sound. And then I slowed. I had to fight to do that—I wanted to run right up to the people and demand to know what had happened. I glimpsed a clearing up ahead. I approached with care, keeping myself hidden.

I squinted against the rain as I edged closer. A group of people stood in a huddled group beneath umbrellas, just on the edge of my range. They had their backs to me. Gray tombstones stood in lines, as silent as the people were. The rain droned all around.

It was a funeral. White light flashed across my vision as, for one sickening moment, I thought I'd stumbled across Anna's burial.

And then I blinked. Would Anna be buried in Campbell territory, rather than at Heath?

Then, the strong, musky scent of dozens of Canis overpowered me.

And as it did, a flicker of light began in my chest, like a candle in a vast cave.

Suddenly, my eyes fell upon young, dark-haired, good-looking Jack Campbell—whose face always bore a wolfish aspect, whether good-natured or fierce. The one who had abdicated his rightful title of the American Canis Maximus three years ago to pursue a more “human” life. He wore black, and carried an umbrella.

And then, as I clutched a tree for support, unblinking, frozen to the spot, I saw movement at the edge of the group.

A girl came up beside him and clasped his arm.

She smiled at him. Jack earnestly searched her face. The face I had memorized. The crystal-blue eyes, pretty features and sunset-red hair.

Anna.

Anna Porter.

I stared at her, unable to look away.

The two of them didn't speak, except with their eyes. Anna's gaze softened at Jack—an entirely unfamiliar look to me. She said something to him, then reached down and slid her hand into his. Jack gazed at her, transfixed.

I swallowed hard, digging my fingers into the bark of the tree.

Elizabeth had made a mistake.

She was alive. My Anna was alive. And she had smiled, and taken the hand of another man. She didn't need me anymore.

I backpedaled. I almost slipped on wet foliage. I turned and ran.

I ran as hard as I could, not caring that I was plunging deeper and deeper into the Campbells’ territory, even as the dusk deepened all around me.

I had only traveled a few miles before I began to shake. My feet stumbled. I caught myself against a tree, bent and threw up what I had eaten a week ago.

"It's better this way, you fool," I rasped through bloody lips. But the pain in my chest and gut kept traveling, kept clenching, so I staggered on.

Then, like a mounted highwayman, my guilt thundered up behind me, and rattled all my bones.

You selfish coward, it growled. You twisted monster. You cannot be happy she's alive? You would rather she was dead?

I snatched up a big stone from the base of a tree and struck myself across the head with it, trying to silence that voice. Pieces of rock flew. My head rang and my balance fled.

I let go, tumbling forward and downward into a knee-deep river.

The Campbell River.

The heart of Canis territory here in Massachusetts.

The icy liquid shocked me for a moment. Then, I tore open my shirt. If the cold couldn't numb my limbs, perhaps it could numb my mind.

I surrendered to my vertigo and plunged into the water, face first.

Striking the surface was like flash-freezing myself. I let out all my air, the bubbles hissing around my head, and sucked the water right into my lungs. It hurt. But not enough.

The night had come. I couldn’t die of drowning, now.

But I could let the ice water numb me to my bones.

I sank to the bottom and closed my eyes. My nose bumped a rock.

It's better this way…I repeated to myself, over and over.

But though my thoughts faded into nothing, I still felt as if a long, narrow knife stuck out from between my ribs.

   Something tugged sharply on the back of my shirt, with enough force to halfway rouse me.

It flipped me over and slapped me down, like a caught fish on a rock. My head lolled back. My eyes did not move beneath their lids. It was as if I was frozen. Or dead.

My lungs were still full of water, so I could not draw breath to smell anything. But my upper body lay out of the water now. The air felt cool on my face. My ears picked up nothing but dull thuds. My head was full of water, too.

I forced my eyes open just a bit. Ice broke away from my lashes. I saw nothing.

Except two eyes. They glinted in the moonlight, several feet in front of me, on the other side of the creek. I tried to frown, to lift my head. I couldn't move. Perhaps the eyes were not real.

The wolf's gleaming teeth bared.

It was real. And it was going to kill me. It should. I was an invader in Campbellston. I closed my eyes. I hoped it would kill me.

I waited. The water drained out of my ears. The dullness was replaced by the monotony of the creek.

Nothing happened. And I faded back down into the dark.

 Chapter Two

 Mara Kaylock

 I ran away as soon as the funeral was done.

My dad’s funeral.

My dad’s.

I didn't care if people wanted to console me or give me cards or hugs or casseroles—I didn't want to look at my brother David's face one more time, or look at the way dad’s best friend Steve Porter stood there looking lost. I couldn't. And I couldn't keep myself from screaming out loud anymore. After months and months of chemo and radiation and sympathy and “being strong”—no more.

No more.

And so, for once, I was thankful I could change my form into one that could not scream.

I Twisted as soon as I got out of sight—my black dress ripped apart at the seams and tumbled away, my shoes kicked off, and thick gray fur rushed and rippled all over my body. My mouth filled with razor teeth, my eyesight sharpened, my tail whipped out behind me and my broad paws struck the ground running.

I was a wolf—powerful and vicious—and in this body I could get farther away from that hell behind me than I ever could as a human.

Rain struck me, but it might as well have been snowflakes for all I felt—my hide was far too thick. The water ran in streaks across my nose as I whipped past trees and rocks.

My chest felt as if it was ripping apart. Not my chest—my heart. My stupid, human heart. I pushed myself faster. I sucked in air like a jet engine, forcing that pain out. My paws pounded the ferns and pine needles. I crashed through a small stream and kept going, ignoring the mud that splattered all over me.

Thunder rolled overhead. My heart thudded like a hammer on an anvil, and I snarled and rasped in my throat even as I pushed my pace.

A gunshot.

I jerked to a halt, my head snapping up, my ears perking. I sucked in quick breaths through my nose. I blinked as the rain got in my eyes. I could not smell anything because of it.

Had that really been a gunshot? It had been swift crack, but it didn't sound quite right…

Calming my breathing and shoving my human thoughts to the back of my head, I swept forward, silent, my eyes darting from tree to tree, even as twilight shrouded the forest.

More sounds. Rustling through the brush. I sank low, and crept through the ferns.

Slowly, I raised my head as my eyes focused ahead of me.

A man. A man drenched by rain, his white shirt and black pants torn. He was about fifty paces in front of me, his back to me. He staggered forward, moaning and gasping as if he had been stabbed.

Or shot.

My pulse leaped as my head came up again. Had he been shot?

I hurried forward, bracing myself to Twist back, ignoring the fact that I didn't have anything to wear if I did. I didn't think a man who was bleeding to death would care much.

I rushed up behind him even as he tumbled forward into the Campbell River, prepared to catch his shirt with my teeth. I lunged forward, opened my mouth—

And leaped back, snorting like I'd been sprayed by a skunk.

He reeked. He reeked like musty cellars and rotten cloth, and…

Blood.

My eyes went wide and my lips drew back from my teeth as I went completely still.

He was a vampire.

I stayed where I was on the bank as he ripped his shirt open and collapsed forward into the stream. My heart had gone cold, and I watched stonily as I wondered what he was doing. He thrashed once. He sank, and caught against some rocks that kept him from being pulled downstream. After that, he did not move.

I sat there for hours into the night, my yellow eyes fixed on his back. I watched the way the fabric of his white shirt flowed back and forth with the icy, clear water. I observed his hands, like white marble, spread out to either side of him.

I knew he wasn't dead. Vampires don't have to breathe at night—Frank, Jack’s dad, and Aaron, the Canis Maximus, had told me as much. But what was he doing out here, so deep into our territory? I couldn't smell him to identify his individual scent because he was in the water, and I couldn't see his face. Maybe he was a vampire from up north, who was ignorant of the pact.

In any case, I ought to kill him. I knew I should. It would be easy. And it would feel so good after the day I had just had…

Still, I waited.

He did not stir. The clouds cleared, the stars peeked out, and a beautiful full moon covered the earth in silver light. The vampire looked like a ghost—like the spirit of some pioneer who had drowned long ago. Still, he didn't move.

I huffed. My breath formed a cloud around my head. I stepped forward, trotted down the bank, sloshed into the creek and came right up to the vampire. I leaned down, plunged my nose into the freezing liquid, bit the back of his shirt and flung him up and over.

His limp body sprawled halfway onto the bank. His skull whacked against the stones, his arms landed heavily and his chest sounded like a sack of rocks. He looked absolutely dead.

But he also looked familiar.

I backed away from him, snarling, as fire blazed through my veins.

I knew that carven face, those strong cheek-bones, dark eyebrows and lashes, straight nose and deceptively delicate mouth.

It was Blackwood. Albert Blackwood. The one who had stolen Anna from Jack when she went off to college, and then broken her heart. It wasn't that I cared about Anna—I didn't at all, in fact—but I liked Jack. And he loved Anna. And if this Albert suddenly made a reappearance…

I snapped my jaws. I ought to tear out his throat right now. None of the other blood-suckers would know, and my pack wouldn't care. In fact, Jack and Aaron would be happy about it.

He moved.

I twitched.

He turned his head, just a little, and opened his eyes. I saw his neck tense, as if he was trying to lift his head. He couldn't.

His pale lips moved. Water leaked from his mouth—I guessed his lungs and throat were full of it. His eyelids fluttered closed. My lips tightened at him, but I was curious. I stepped forward into the gurgling water, and eyed him, my vibrant vision catching every movement of his lips. And I went still when I saw what he was mouthing.

"Look with mercy, O God our Father, on all whose increasing years bring them weakness, distress, or isolation. Provide for them homes of dignity and peace; give them understanding helpers, and the willingness to accept help; and, as their strength diminishes, increase their faith—" His throat spasmed, his head jerked back, and he coughed.

I flew backward, out of the stream, my eyes fixed on him.

He gagged and turned onto his side, bloody water spilling from his mouth. He coughed and sucked in air hard, and it rattled. He fell back, his body slapping the bank. I don't think he was conscious.

His chest lay open to the moonlight, and it didn't rise and fall. I shivered and backed away further.

I would get some clothes and come back here. Something wasn't right. I was going to ask him some questions when he woke up. And if he gave me any answers I didn't like, I'd kill him then.

ALBERT

 Sun hit my face. And my heart gave a hard beat inside my chest. It roused me as surely as if someone had slapped me. My eyes drifted open.

Morning lit this little stone-filled canyon with a golden glow. I almost let my eyelids drift closed again.

Until I realized I wasn't alone.

A young woman in shorts and a black tank top sat cross-legged on a boulder off to my left, near a bend in the creek. She looked comfortable, quiet, as if she had been waiting. She had tanned skin; jet black, wavy long hair that hung around her shoulders, and copper eyes that pinned me where I lay.

She was muscular and gracefully formed, like a well-made knife. Her mouth was hard. She watched me. I didn't move.

The girl canted her head.

"I heard all the Blackwoods had left. Months ago." Her tones were low and even. She narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

My brow twisted. I lifted my head—my shoulders were so frozen I could barely move. But I managed to sit up, eventually.

"I…" I tried, my voice so hoarse I almost didn't make a sound. "I came back because I thought…" I trailed off, my disjointed thoughts again focusing on the young woman across from me. I lifted my eyes to hers. My whole body was numb. I searched her face, squinting. "Who are you?" I croaked.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Mara Kaylock. And you're trespassing on Campbell land. Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Mara?" I repeated. I lifted my hand—I pressed it to my face, but my fingers had no feeling, and seemed like icicles against my cheek. I shook out my hand, and it tingled. I winced.

"Tell me, vampire," Mara said, sliding down from the rock and walking toward me, staying on the other bank of the creek. Her bare feet crunched on the small stones. "Why did you come back here? And why are you this far into Campbellston? Don't you remember the agreement? At all?"

I ran my fingers over the lump on my head. My fingers trembled.

"I heard Anna was dead," I managed. "Had to come back to see…"

"Anna?"

I heard the growl in her chest—it shook the stones, although it was a quiet sound. I looked up and met her eyes. Her gaze was black. My hand stopped. I blinked. Water droplets fell from my lashes onto my cheeks and trickled down. I gave her a weak smile, then swallowed.

"She isn't dead." I laughed. It hurt my throat. "She's with Jack Campbell, so…" I let my hand fall back down, and it splashed. My forehead twisted as I stared at the shimmering surface of the water, and I forgot what I was going to say to finish that sentence.

"You're right, she is with Jack," Mara snapped. "And you’d better thank God she is."

I blinked again, then looked up.

"Why?" I asked. “I didn’t break the pact—not concerning her. I did her no harm.”

Her mouth fell open, and she barked out a laugh.

"When you met her when you were pretending to go to college, did you even stop to ask whether or not she already had a boyfriend before you swept her off her feet? You took her from Jack, then completely broke her heart when you left her with nothing." She gestured in exasperation. "Jack has spent months pulling her out of the black hole she fell into when you dumped her."

I swallowed again, but it was as if broken glass was sliding down my throat, and I couldn't clear it. I could only stare at Mara, as if in a dream. She held my gaze.

"I don't care for Anna particularly, but Jack loves her. And he's a part of my pack." She pointed at me. "I won't see him broken again because of you. You will stay away from her—and all humans—or I will kill you myself, do you understand?"

I nodded, swaying slightly, feeling sick again. She hesitated, as if she had not expected that. Or maybe not—maybe I was misreading her. It didn't matter.

I lay back down on the rocks and stared up into the sky.

"Fine." Mara said. "I will be watching you, Blackwood."

I didn't answer. She left—faded back into the woods. I supposed she didn't leave altogether. After all, she said she would watch me…

A great shudder ran through me and I squeezed my eyes closed.

Oh, how I wished I could just freeze to death, and be rid of this crossways pain.

MARA

 I did watch him. I don't know how many hours a day I did, but I did. I left early in the morning, Twisted, and went to the place in the creek where he lay. Because that was all he did. Every day—and every night—for two weeks, he did not move from that spot. His legs lay submerged in that snowmelt water. Water that was so cold it hurt my tongue when I tried to drink it. He stared at the sky, blank. If I did not know better, I would have thought he was a corpse.

Yet I didn't tire of guard duty. In fact, I yearned for the chances I had to escape from my home and into the woods. Home was pain to me. Home was my brother's careworn face. Home was the sympathetic noises of my pack. Home was empty and strange and wrong without…

Without my dad watching TV in the living room, or tinkering in the garage, or pulling up in the driveway. The woods and the wolf and the vampire were distractions—they served to disengage my mind from the wracking torture I felt as a human.

Perhaps that was what Blackwood was trying to do. Or maybe he was trying to kill himself.

He had been nearly incoherent when I had spoken to him. I had seen him feel his head with his hand—maybe he had hit it earlier. But any normal man would have been dead within half an hour of lying in that water. He was trying to numb himself, to put himself to sleep. And I knew the reason. I could see it on his face.

He was mourning. And he wasn't ready to let it go. Just like me.

And then, one night, he got up.

I had been lying down across the stream, keeping one eye half open, when I saw him stir, and drag himself to his feet. He staggered sideways. I jumped up.

What was he doing?

He began to walk, slowly at first, then faster as he went. I followed him. I almost wish I hadn't.

He went hunting that night. Chased down a deer, threw it to the ground and devoured its blood. And he wasn't clean about it, either. I guessed that in his old life, he would have been, but he didn't care now. The entire front of his shirt was drenched in blood by the time he was done. I observed him from far away, my stomach rolling, trying to decide what to do if he headed for a human settlement.

But he didn't. He went right back to that bend in the river and lay down halfway in the water. For a long while, I stood out of sight, waiting to see if he would move again. He didn't. So I lay back down, too. The water in the moonlight turned scarlet for a few minutes, then washed it all away.

Every single night after that, he went hunting. Sometimes, he didn't catch anything, but he wandered the deer trails and lion trails nonetheless, eyes searching, sucking in deep breaths of the chill night air to smell for his prey. I learned his patterns, his methods, and the way he tracked footprints. I learned to predict whether or not he would be successful in each hunt. And I watched, as if from a distance, as we both became more and more wild.

Read this book: https://www.amazon.com/Campbell-River-Novel-Children-Constantin-ebook/dp/B074LZY558/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1572897222&sr=8-1