Excerpt:
It was the wolves that woke her.
At some indeterminate point between sleep and waking she became
conscious of a sound. It insinuated itself subtly and delicately
first into her ears, and then her mind, becoming part of her dreams: a
sound she had never heard before, composed of multiple high-pitched
cries. She visualized these in her head as intertwining silver
threads, weaving in and out of the darkness as if it were a backing of
black velvet: each strand clear and shimmering and pure. They
reminded her of birdsong or whale-music. But birds and whales
are solitary singers: this was a whole chorus of ethereal voices
raised, not in perfect harmony, but in a kind of counterpoint.
One voice would begin, soft and low, rising to a thin quaver; then the
rest would join in. Trying drowsily to analyze what she was
hearing, Chantal moved at last from fragmented semi-consciousness into
full waking awareness.
Wolves – it’s a wolf pack!
She had never heard wolves howl in the wild, only in movies where the
sound effect used was a single long wail like a lonely dog’s.
Never had she imagined anything like this. The sound was
beautiful, but also unearthly. She had heard of things that
could make one’s hair stand on end; as she listened, she swore she
could actually feel the fine hairs on her arms and the nape of her
neck pricking up. It must be her imagination though, for the odd
sensation extended even to where she had no hair, on her cheeks and
the backs of her hands and along her spine. She alternately
shivered as though cold, and then flushed as if with a fever.
Opening her eyes, she saw the moon at the window: full, round, tinged
with gold; a “hunter’s moon”.
Springing out of bed, she went to the window and opened it, letting
in the chill night air. She breathed it in, in deep hungry
gulps. But she still felt sweaty and flushed. She tore off
her pants and tee shirt and tossed them aside. Now the night
breeze blew upon her entire body, and her hot prickling skin responded
to its icy caress as if to a physical touch. A brief giddiness
made her reel and clutch at the windowsill for support. Chantal
looked down at her hands resting on the sill.
But they were no longer hands.
They had become two grey-brown furred limbs ended in broad, clawed
pads. It was the fur that made her feel so hot, she realized.
Her tongue lolled, panting, from her mouth, its soft length spilling
over teeth and jaws that now had a different shape…
With understanding came not fear, but relief and joy. She was
not feverish after all, nor was she in any kind of danger. This
was obviously just a dream. She would wake from it soon, as she
did from every dream, and then everything would be all right.
But now the wolf-voices called again, and the dream-body she wore
yearned for the freedom of the outdoors, for the cool scent-laden air
and the exhilaration of running through the forest. She glimpsed
indistinct, shadowy shapes flitting through the blackness under the
trees, and eyes like glimmering stars turned towards her in
invitation.
In one light easy motion, Chantal sprang out of the window and into
the night.
I love books about wolves, they remind me of dogs.
ReplyDeleteI love dogs too. When I wrote this book I kept picturing our family dog, Jay. He had husky and shepherd in his ancestry so he was almost wolf-like. And he was big!
Delete- Alison Baird
Very nice cover. I love paranormal. The blurb sounds good. Thanks for the chance.
ReplyDelete