Excerpt: The Wolf Rises

Chapter One

Samantha 

MY UBER pulls up to the curb on Eighth street in downtown Seattle in front of a towering 60-story high rise. Whelan Tower is displayed prominently in large shiny metal letters above the main entrance. I hesitate before opening the rear door of the car. I knew the address but not the name of the building. My heart starts racing, but I reassure myself the name is just a coincidence. After all, Whelan is not uncommon. There was no reason to connect it to the man I had known in college, the man I had loved. The man I left without a word.

A voice cuts into my thoughts. “We’re here, ma’am. Do you need some help?”

“No, thank you.” I shake my head, a little embarrassed. I fumble around, pull out my card, and hand it to him. I’m already stepping onto the curb when he finishes charging my card. 

“Ma’am,” he calls and hands my card through the window. Flustered, I take it and mutter thanks as I turn toward the glass doors.

I take a deep breath and give myself a quick once-over. My sun-bleached blond hair hasn’t yet worked loose from the bun anchored at the back of my neck, my dark green pants suit with its fitted jacket looks professional. It’s quite a departure from my usual fieldwork attire as a wolf biologist. I smile at how good it feels to wear long sleeves for a reason other than covering up bruises.

 My four-inch heels that bring me up to an imposing six foot two. I figure I can use all the status I can get for the upcoming interview. As a child I disliked my height. Being tall plus having dark amber eyes, an unusual color, guaranteed I would be teased, but now it has its uses.

Gripping my leather briefcase, containing my resume, project notes, and a notebook, I enter the three-story atrium. I gawk at the large, almost tree-sized plants in minimalist planters and at the massive abstract paintings adorning the walls. All this oversize decoration makes me feel very small indeed.

I can do this, I tell myself trying for a confidence I don’t have. 

I walk across the terrazzo floor to the elevators where a directory tells me The Wildhaven Legacy Trust is on sixty. When the elevator door opens, a crowd of business professionals steps in with me. Some hold steaming coffee cups, others are engrossed in conversations or on their phones. They all appear confident, like they know what they are doing. I wish I felt that self-assured. Track a wolf miles through a forest–yup, I can do that. Go into an ultra modern office building for an interview–not so much.

The elevator stops frequently, offloading passengers. By the time it gets to sixty, the top floor, I’m alone. I step into a spacious anteroom where a long desk made of reclaimed wood greets visitors. Two large photos, each a closeup of a wolf, decorate the wall behind the desk. Two sets of amber eyes stare back at me. 

A friendly secretary with expertly coiffed gray hair asks, “Can I help you?”

I tell her, “Yes, I’m Samantha Conners.” I smile; it feels good to say Conners instead of Montgomery. “I have an appointment with the Wildhaven Trust manager.” At least my voice is steady.

 Janice, according to her name tag, picks up the phone, on the desk, punches some buttons, and says, “Your eleven o’clock is here, sir.” After a few seconds she stands and gestures to me.

“This way.”

She opens a door to the right, and I walk in. Then I see the man sitting at the massive custom desk and feel faint. I wish I were anywhere else. He is no longer the tanned, wiry college student I had jokingly called prospector because of his major in minerals and mining. Before me is a man in charge, with broad muscular shoulders and strong well-defined arms. He has the same dark hair, the same amber eyes. He stands, taller than me even in four-inch heels, and he’s looking at me with the eerie curiosity of a wolf.

He finally breaks the silence. “Come in, Samantha,” his voice soft and enticing, Big Bad calling to Little Red. I immediately feel hunted. Taking another step into this office is a bad plan. I ought to turn and run the other direction, but I already feel the pull. I’m not in charge of my feet. I feel myself walking toward the desk.

#

Morgan

I sit at my desk trying to focus on my latest downtown acquisition, a vacant lot near the waterfront, ripe for condos. When the door opens, I look up irritated. I don’t know why I agreed to meet with this woman after sending two other wolf biologists packing, especially once I read her name, Samantha Conners. My brother, Grayson, convinced me the loss of privacy having someone on the property would entail wasn’t worth the goodwill a wolf survey would create with various government agencies. And having Samantha Conners around will definitely be more trouble than the survey is worth.

I was ready to tell her the meeting was off. If she’s bothered she came for nothing, it serves her right. But when I see her, the words die in my throat. She’s more beautiful now than she was ten years ago. Not exactly beautiful, I correct, but there is something about her. When I first met her something inside me woke up. The same something draws me more strongly now than when we were in college. Draws me? The imperative hits me like a cannonball in the gut. “Mine!” I think, and the howl of my wolf echoes silently in my head. 

I think I told her to come in, but I’m not sure. I could have suggested we get clam chowder on the waterfront. I shake my head to clear it, more unnerved than I want to admit. My wolf is closer to the limit of control than since college. 

She sits in facing my desk, on the edge of the dark leather-covered chair, clutching her briefcase in front of her like a shield. She’s nervous about this meeting, as well she should be after the way she ran out on me without a word ten years ago. My temper sparks clearing my head. This time, it doesn’t matter what she’s offering, I’ll take what I want. 

She stands and reaches a hand across the desk. “I’m Samantha Conners. I look at her hand not taking it and ask, “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?”

She sits back down, unruffled, as I say, “You’re here to propose a wolf study on the Trust land.” I let the silence grow and am gratified when she nods rather than jump in talking.

“You should know,” I said, “I already turned down two proposals.”

 Her expression doesn’t waver. “But you’re willing to listen to mine.” Does she feel anything. Does she think about our relationship ten years ago, the one she ran away from?

“Yes, but I, we, have particular requirements.”

She doesn’t show by so much as a flicker she picked up on the double entendre. Her face used to reveal every feeling, every emotion, and I wonder what happened to teach her such self-control.

“It’s important for the landowner and the biologist to approach a survey of this sort with like-mindedness. What are your requirements?”

“First, our priority is privacy. The Wildlife Trust comprises five hundred thousand acres. It is bordered on the west by the Kwanahee river which separates the Trust land and Chalakwa Indian reservation. 

We have various camps, wilderness survival, hunting, white-water rafting, nature watching, and occasionally scouts. None of our guests would appreciate being filmed. We would rather not have cameras, but a study like this requires them. So, hunter cams are limited to agreed upon locations. No drones. And we review all film before it is released to you.”

Again, her face tells me nothing. “That seems workable although much valuable information will not be recorded. Still, I understand your obligations to your customers.”

“With regard to those customers, if you should come across them, of course be friendly, but you are not to interview them about what they have seen.”

“Understood. No fraternizing with the paying guests. What else?”

“No collars or ear tags.”

Her brows came together at that. “Why? Collars are the common approach.”

“The purpose of this study is to document any new pack, and to determine the effects of wolves on the other species present. That does not require recording the movements of individual wolves.”

“But movements of packs are. Without electronic data, monitoring the wolves movement will be very time consuming.”

This was the tricky part, I thought. “Since we won’t allow electronic tracking, you will have to spend a significant amount of time on site. Does that work, for you?”

“Your land, your rules. Anything else?

I had expected pushback, but instead I catch a flicker of what I think is relief. She sits back in the chair, sets her briefcase beside her on the floor, and for the first time looks around the room. She takes her time perusing the various wolf photos on the wall.

“I can see wolves are important to you.”

“You might say.” She has no idea how important. Or maybe she does. Did she run because she somehow found out what I am?

I relax when she brings her attention back to me. “Do you have lodging on the land?” 

“It’s not what you’re used to, but we do have a one-room log cabin. It has a wood floor, a modicum of furniture, a sleeping loft, and a cookstove. The good news is it has hot running water, an indoor toilet, and a generator thanks to my brother Grayson. There is no cell service, but you can keep your phone charged and take pictures, which I imagine is important to your study.”

She smiles, finally breaking her poker face, letting loose the light I remember. “Sounds perfect.”

I pause, cocking my head to the side. “I’ll admit, that wasn’t the response I expected.”

“Well, the truth is my divorce is recent, and not what anyone would call amicable. Time alone in a remote location is what I need right now.” I already know about her divorce, but by letting me know she’s free, she has taken the first step in the courtship ritual.

“How long will it take to complete a survey including the effects to other animals in the ecosystem.”

“Three to six months, with a follow-up in a year.” 

“Good, you can begin Monday. Come by the headquarters first. Someone there will provide keys to the cabin, give you the nickel tour, and start the generator. It runs the refrigerator, the lights, and the water heater, so you have to feed it regularly. I’ll add gasoline to our weekly grocery run.” 

She only nods. Aside from a brief smile at running water and the generator and her curiosity about not using collars, her face hasn’t changed expression since she walked in. She has shown me no emotion in spite of the anxiety I can smell coming off her in waves. I admire her control while I’m consumed with the hyperawareness of a wolf for its mate. Is her unease because of me or something else?

I imagine myself yanking her out of the chair and crushing my mouth to hers so she will be as aware of me as I’m of her. But I do nothing. The hunter in me knows she’s curious now, and if I wait, she will come to me.

My thoughts are interrupted when she says, “You didn’t ask for my resume,” as she leafs through papers in her briefcase. “You might want to see it. You’ll find I’m well qualified to perform this survey.”

I smile, showing my teeth. “I’m aware,” I say as I stand, indicating the interview is over. “Since your divorce a year ago you have spoken on wolves at two conferences, started a YouTube channel on wolves which has twenty thousand subscribers, and written articles for three magazines.”

She gapes at me, speechless, as I walk her to the door. I resist putting my hand on the small of her back. As I open it, I say, “I already know everything there is to know about you, Samantha.” Everything except one, but I’ll learn that soon enough.