Haunt of the Wilds (The Wilds Duology Book 1) by Lawrence Emmi

Author:Lawrence, Emmi [Lawrence, Emmi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: EAMS Publishing
Published: 2015-12-03T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Caliebb’s words continued to echo in his mind long after the spring had gone after the crazy religious nullifier. You can’t lie to me. Not anymore. Not anymore. De’vii could feel his pack agreeing quietly. Had felt Mott rush to connect Caliebb just enough to prove De’vii’s words no more than a houndmaster’s bravado.

His fist clenched and he called her every awful name he could think of, starting and ending with abandoned mutt to bring up her own painful memories of losing his dam. Mott snarled at him and even Wit and Ens, normally oblivious to the interworking and references that occasionally flashed across the collective consciousness, told him he was being unusually cruel.

He was. The fear was making it so. His pack had been with him, had stood by his side through every terrible experience. They were his everything. And here he was, mocking her, exacerbating her pain—his pain—out of spite. He should feel ashamed, and instead, he only became more angry.

Somewhere in the house he heard Caliebb’s little bone flute playing, the sound gentle and sweet and high, more like a cheerful little ditty this evening and nothing like the morose tune he’d played at Sou’s makeshift funeral. His dogs sent an echoing of that night, their own version of Caliebb’s playing—his respect, his empathy, his desire to sooth their pain and pave the way for them to recall their happy memories of Sou instead of dwelling on the awful moments leading up to his death. Even Fel agreed. Even Fel twisted De’vii’s own thoughts back on him, reminding him that even De’vii had been steered into recollections rather than focusing on the empty body burning in front of them.

He found himself touching the teeth and fur he’d taken from Sou’s body and yanked his hand out of his pocket. Dogshit! He blinked away the tear that threatened to spill and went in search of Caliebb and Aunt Pepita, finding them in a cozy kitchen. A cage hung by a now long dark window. The little moala—the ancestral bitch had not been kind to the animal considering it looked like an ugly cross between a sandy-colored possum and a miniature anteater—walked its way up the side of the cage by its claws and twisted snout. Caliebb’s eyes flicked to De’vii when he entered, but his fingers didn’t pause in their happy dance over the holes of his flute.

De’vii sat quietly next to Aunt Pepita and folded his arms against the table. She didn’t seem to be the least bit perturbed, her fingers tapping to the rhythm of Caliebb’s playing, her head bouncing occasionally. She couldn’t tell how Caliebb worried though. How his brow creased in consternation, his tongue flicked out in between breathes to lick his lips nervously, how his body tensed every time the moala made a sudden move. He was a giant bundle of exhausted nerves and Aunt Pepita was completely oblivious.

Caliebb let a single last note ring through the tiny, cluttered kitchen and dropped

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