Ghostly Snow: A Dark Fairy Tale Adaptation (Girl Among Wolves Book 3) Read online

  Ghostly Snow

  Girl Among Wolves 3

  By Lena Mae Hill

  Ghostly Snow © 2017 Lena Mae Hill

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945780-39-4

  Chapter 1

  For six months I roam the Three Valleys, killing every living being that crosses my path, messily and without ceremony or remorse. I crunch the bones of beasts large and small, from the tiny mouse to the fearsome stag. I am the most powerful creature alive, a white tiger in the green forests. On the hot days of summer, I burn inside my coat and spend afternoons lying on cool rocks in the shade, drinking from a cold, clear stream. In fall, I watch the wood smoke wind up from chimneys in the valleys, but I don’t need a fire to keep me warm. In winter, when the trees have been stripped bare, I am thankful for the warmth of my thick fur.

  Oblivious to the cold, I bound forward, the thrill of the chase humming through me like an electrical charge. The scent of blood draws me to it, this animal I have yet to set eyes upon. I leap from one boulder to the next, whip around the corner of a large one and through a passage between two others. Above me, a silvery bluff towers like a wall, one that even I can’t scale. And neither can the creature I spot ahead, racing along the base of the bluff, fear surrounding it like a cloud. I gather my strength and leap for it, already tasting slippery, coppery blood in the back of my throat.

  Knocking it to the ground beneath me, I roll it over with my large white paws. But even as I am turning it, it is shifting and changing under me, transforming into something less animal than it was, than I am. Fur is sucked back through skin, bones snap and bulge, the skull flattens where it once was elongated. I open my mouth, showing it my sharp teeth and powerful jaws. The furless girl beneath me gibbers in a language I no longer understand, her eyes wide and terrified, her hair a wild tangle the color of autumn leaves. But I am an animal now, and I have no intention of going back to my weak and vulnerable human form to translate her words.

  As if the thought has some strange power I don’t understand, my body jerks suddenly, the familiar pull of my own limbs beginning to shift. I roar in protest, my head snapping back, my hips twisting painfully. I fall sideways, my skull striking the stone wall of the cliff. My prey scrambles away as I fight back the change, refusing to give in even as my own fur recedes into my skin, as my shoulders snap back. In seconds, my powerful body shrinks into something so fragile and helpless that a flimsy wooden door could trap it in captivity for three years.

  My vision swims, distorting the trees into frightening shapes. Black petals blossom across my retinas like drops of blood on wet leaves. I have one moment of blind, helpless panic—I can’t go back into captivity—before consciousness eludes me.

  Chapter 2

  I wake naked and alone, curled in the leaves where I fell. I sit up stiffly, touch the painful lump on my head. What the hell? I reach for the tiger within, but she hunkers down, refusing to be coaxed from inside me.

  Well, this is unfortunate. I haven’t worn clothes in six months, hadn’t known I’d ever need them again. It would be awkward to go home now, sneak into my mother’s house—or my father’s—to steal some clothes.

  I reach for my tiger again, but she digs in further, sulking at the ill treatment she received. Maybe there is a limit to how long I can stay in one form. I didn’t have time to learn much about being a shifter from my dad before I ran away. In truth, I probably know more about being a werewolf, like the rest of my family. For instance, I know they have to transition at the full moon, and if for some reason they don’t for three months, they lose the ability forever. I’ve already spent six months without shifting. Maybe it’s like visiting another country, and you have to come back for a week every six months to maintain citizenship. Except I don’t care about maintaining my human identity. I spent sixteen years as a human, and the last three have completely sucked.

  Not knowing what else to do, I stand and start walking. It’s too cold to stay human, with hair placed seemingly at random. It isn’t very practical, this vulnerable human body. I mean, who needs fur under their arms? That’s the last place that’s going to get cold.

  Suddenly, a vine whips around my ankles. I stumble, cursing my clumsy human body, and fall to all fours. Rocks bite painfully into my flesh and bones. Tigers never trip. And if they do, they sure don’t go sprawling ungracefully in the dirt. Before I can recover myself, something falls over my back, something heavy and blanketing. I open my mouth to roar, but a girlish shriek comes out instead. As I push myself to my knees, panic churn in my gut, rushes in my ears. I’m in a net. Trapped.

  God, I hate being human.

  Chapter 3

  I must have tripped a snare when I caught my foot in the vine. Now the net lifts me, struggling and kicking, ten feet off the ground. I dangle in midair, swinging haphazardly until I tire myself out and stop moving. Curling into a ball, I shiver in the trap until it begins to rise. At last, it reaches the first branch of the tree. With a final heave, I’m yanked into the bare branches of the trees and deposited onto a platform. Soft tremors go through the tree as pairs of feet drop all around me, from the branches above.

  I struggle to free myself, but I’m still bound inside the net. Little creatures stand around me, poking me and uttering a few grunts and unintelligible words. I have seen a few of these things when hunting, in tiger form. There is something a few feet tall, with a flat face and a turned-up nose, the wrinkles in his skin lined with dust and grime.

  A troll?

  A smallish blonde creature with sharp ears, feathers in her long hair, and a pointy little chin, maybe an elf or a fairy?

  Heavier footsteps approach, and the little creatures step closer to make room for the regular-sized human who leans over me. I bear my teeth at her and growl. “It’s a feisty one,” she says in a flat, nasally voice. I’m not sure if it’s the girl I was hunting when she knocked me back into human form. It seems her hair is different, darker, but I see things differently through tiger eyes.

  “What did you do to me?” I ask wriggling to get my hand through one of the holes in the net. “I’m a tiger. Let me go back.”

  A pair of worn leather boots lands soundlessly on the floor beside me, though the wearer doesn’t so much as cause a tremor in the platform. “A tiger?” a voice asks. I twist around and find myself looking up at a small boy, maybe five feet tall, with delicate build and features. He leans over, his hands on his knees, and grins down at me. He has sharp, pointed teeth like a shark.

  I shiver and draw my hand back into the net. “I’m sorry I was hunting you,” I say, twisting around to see the human. Or whatever she is. Her hair is full of sticks and feathers, and one of those fox stoles with the head still attached lies draped across her shoulders. “I’ll be more careful. I�
��m not trying to hurt anyone. Just let me go, and I’ll leave you alone. All of you.”

  “And what are you going to do then? If we let you go?” She has a strange accent, maybe midwestern or northeastern.

  “Nothing. I just want to be left alone. I’ll go back to being a tiger, and I won’t hunt any of you.” I break off when the fox lying on her shoulders lifts its head. “Or your…animal,” I finish lamely.

  “If it idn’t the tiger girl.” She looks to the boy with the sharp teeth.

  “Told you.”

  “You’s right,” she says, leaning in to poke me with one sharp fingernail. “It’s her, all right. What should we do with ‘er?”

  “Eat her for dinner,” growls the troll.

  “Can we keep her?” asks the elf, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands like she’s asking for a puppy for Christmas. The platform shakes as if it might split apart under the sudden assault.

  “Like for a pet?” the shark boy asks.

  “She could be our familiar,” says the elf.

  “I got a familiar,” the human says, patting the lazy fox on her shoulder.

  “I think a tiger is my spirit animal,” says a creature that could be the same species as the troll or elf, but looks a little different. She could be a dwarf or gnome. She has lovely black hair that’s so glossy it seems to reflect every ray of light in the forest, and a silky deep voice.

  “Okay, let’s keep ‘er!” yells the human with the wild hair.

  “Now wait just a minute,” the boy says, leaning down to inspect me critically. “If she’s the tiger that the wolf people have been looking for…”

  “What?” I ask, trying to sit up, only to have the net yank me back down. The boy and the wild girl exchange looks.

  “Can I please just get out of this cage, so I can hear what you have to say without being trapped in here like an animal? And stop talking about me like I’m not even here, if you don’t mind.”

  “What if she runs away?” the troll asks when the girl steps forward to loosen the net.

  “I’ll catch her,” she says nonchalantly. She digs a finger into one of the knots, flicks it open, and the whole net falls open. Now I’m completely exposed, aware suddenly how very naked I am, while everyone else is dressed. That’s when I notice the boy isn’t a kid. He’s a tiny little man.

  “Um. Thanks,” I say. “You wouldn’t happen to have a few clothes I could borrow?”

  “Oh, sure,” the girl says, grabbing a vine and yanking on it like she’s ringing a huge bell. It wraps around her arm like a snake and lifts her off her feet. As she swings away on it, I glance around suspiciously at the trees around us. The Enchanted Forest. Harmon said it was full of possessed trees and evil wraiths. They don’t seem to mind the weird girl, though. A minute later, she swings back, and the vine deposits her onto the wooden platform, which is built on the branches of a large oak.

  When I’m dressed in her clothes—a black skirt with patches of several different fabrics sewn on, a grey t-shirt and a brown fitted blazer worn soft with age—I turn back to the group. “I’m Stella,” I say. “And yes, I’m the tiger that’s been hunting here for the past six months. I hope I didn’t eat any of your friends.”

  “Haven,” the girl says, pressing a fist to her heart. “I’m a witch. I used to belong to the Winslow Coven, but I went rogue. So now I live here with all these other rejects.” She gestures around with a broad grin, as if she’s just given them a huge compliment. One of her canines sticks out at a cute angle, making her look just a little cheeky.

  “I prefer outcast, but yeah, basically,” the blonde says. She’s about as tall as my shoulder, with a sturdy body clad in leather boots, brown leggings, a green tunic and a wide belt. She looks like a kid dressed up as Robin Hood, but when I study her face, I see that she’s probably at least my age if not older. “I’m Xela, an outcast elf.”

  The guy with the sharp teeth introduces himself as Kale. He has fluffy bronze hair that feathers out around his ears, light brown skin, and warm, chocolate-brown eyes. He’s only a few inches shorter than me, but his lovely face and delicate bones make him look smaller, almost like a doll. “Looking for my gossamer wings?” he asks with a smug smile when he catches me studying him. I take it he’s a fairy.

  The others introduce themselves in turn. The troll is named Yorn, and the girl with the shiny black hair is Uzula. She doesn’t share her heritage, so I don’t ask.

  “So, what’s your story?” Haven asks in that funny accent. “You an outcast tiger?”

  “Something like that,” I say. “Or I was, until you did your little spell. Can you please undo it?”

  “Ah, now, you can’t undo a spell,” she says. “You’ll just have to wait until it wears off.”

  “Great. How long is that?”

  “Could be a few hours,” she says, cocking her head and surveying me. “Could be a few weeks.”

  “Weeks?” I squeak. “What am I supposed to do? What will I eat? Where will I live?”

  “I suppose you could live here with us,” Kale says, smiling shyly at me. “Just until you’re better. If you wanted.”

  “Quit flirting,” Yorn grumbles, giving him a dark look.

  “How can you not know?” I ask, turning to Haven. “What if it never wears off?”

  She scratches her head, looking at the wooden floor. “Well, y’see, when I went rogue, I hadn’t finished my training. So, I’m not really so good at magic. Don’t blame me, I didn’t do that to you.”

  “Oh,” I say, relaxing a little. There’s a long silence. “Do you know who did?”

  “Nah, it could have been any witch. They live all around this valley, y’know.”

  Sinking to the nearest branch, I rest my head in my hands. What am I going to do? I never wanted to be human again. I gave up being human when I gave up Harmon. My human spirit is too fragile, my human body too breakable. A tiger doesn’t think about how she had to choose between letting the one she loved turn his back on his people or stay and be the man that he was meant to be. A tiger doesn’t wonder if the boy she loved will fulfill his destiny and lead his people to peace with all the other supernatural beings in the world. A tiger’s heart doesn’t break.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m real sorry,” Haven offers. “But you can, if you want. Stay with us. I got clothes you can borrow. You’re not so much smaller than me. Those one’s don’t look half bad on ya.”

  “And we got warm beds,” Xela says, sitting beside me and patting my shoulder awkwardly. “Real warm. And food.”

  “It would be a lot easier if I could hunt,” I say, lifting my head.

  “That would be so rad,” Haven says with a big grin. “We’d eat like kings of the jungle.” She looks a little bit crazy with that huge smile and her tangle of dark hair. But now that I look at her, I know she wasn’t the girl who changed me. That girl had silky, pale auburn hair. And she was a shifter.

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “Whoever did this spell on me, she’s a witch and a shifter. Is that possible? Or was she disguising herself as an animal with some kind of illusion?”

  “Could be either,” Haven says. “A witch is just a human with the ability to control the elements. Anything with a human side could be a witch, too.”

  I take all that in and then stand. All this supernatural stuff used to seem impossible, but now I just take it as it comes. “I might as well make the best of it while I’m here,” I say. “At least I’m not naked anymore, and I’d probably freeze to death out there as a human. So…thank you. What can I do to help?”

  “That’s the spirit,” Uzula says. “Let’s show her the ropes. Then we’ll have dinner with Doralice and tell stories.”

  Xela claps her hands together and jumps up and down again, shaking the tree around us with her sturdy little hops. “Someone new,” she squeals. “We haven’t gotten to tell anyone new our stories since…” She trails off and casts a guilty glance at Kale.

  “Since Zinnia,” he say
s, picking at a callous on his knuckle.

  “Sorry,” Xela mutters.

  “Enough drama,” Haven interrupts. “Let me show you to your quarters.” With that, she reaches up again, and the vine drops down to snake around her arm. When I don’t immediately leap at the idea, she motions impatiently.

  I join her, gripping the vine. But when it starts to wind around my hand, I jerk back. “I’m not really…I’d rather hold on myself.”

  “Suit yourself,” she says. “You’ll have to hold onto me, then.”

  With that, she wraps her free arm around my waist and secures me against her. On her count, we do a little jump, and the vine swings us up. I’m not a big fan of flying. I’d prefer to keep my paws firmly on solid ground. But I have been known to lounge about in trees, and take some questionable leaps from one high boulder to another. It’s not much further than that. The vine swings us from the little platform, up and over to the next tree. There, the vines don’t seem to want to cooperate, so Haven sits down and has a chat with the tree while I try not stare at her like she’s crazy.

  “They’re people like anyone else,” she says when she catches my look. “Well, people and trees both, I suppose. If you’re friendly to them, they’ll be friendly to you.”

  I remember the juniper tree that scratched my neck and told me it was my mother. I remember the vine picking me up and swinging me against a tree trunk and knocking me out. “If you say so,” I mutter. But I hold onto Haven as she swings on the relenting vine to the next tree.

  “This is hot,” she says, smiling down at me as I cling to her. “Maybe now’s the time I should let you know that I’m rather fond of ladies as well as gents.”

  My face warms as the vine sets us down on a thick, arching branch of an oak tree. “Not a problem,” I say. “I’m not really fond of either right now.”