Read The Devil Inside (Wolf Guard Book 1) for Free Online Page A

one
tan.
    The
Boerboel: a heavily muscled, intimidating mastiff.
    I
sat still, my eyes drunkenly taking in the sight before me. I still had my
knife but my arm refused to move now that I had stopped. It was locked in
place, limp and useless. Their master came crashing through the bushes a second
later and they acknowledged him with short little grunts of pleasure.
    My
eyes closed before I could burn his image into my brain. I made a soft sound of
protest when he took an arm and hefted me off the floor.
    "Well...you
a tiny little thing ain't you? Now dun ya worry nuthin' girlie, ya come on home
with ol' Sam."
    I
registered his words but I lost consciousness well before I could think to
struggle.
    ****************
    The next time my eyes opened it was to a
hiss of displeasure. The bright light burning into my sleep filled eyes. The
cot I lay on was hard and stiff though definitely not the worst place I'd ever
slept.
    To my great relief I was still fully
clothed, the blood dried and brittle on the jumper but comforting in its
presence. I sat up too quickly and had to remain still while blood pounded
around my skull. I took the time to look at my surroundings. The wooden floor,
walls and door. An old four paned glass window in front of the cot.
    I heard barking outside and forced my legs
to stand and hold my weight. Slipping to the door I opened it quietly and blew
out a breath at the vacant living room and kitchen it revealed. With the front
door in sight I moved quieter than I thought possible and eased the latch off
soundlessly.
    I stood on a porch, wooden like the rest of
the little cabin. Squeaky floorboards that moaned beneath my feet. I winced at
every sound and hoped the dogs boisterous barking would cover my escape enough.
I was almost to the steps and could see the forest covering at my right.
    "Ya goin' somewhere, girlie?"
    I startled so hard I nearly fell down the
remaining steps. That voice, an odd concoction of American and British, an
accent of broad English with a touch of deep South.
    "Shit."
    He chuckled at my exclamation and I turned
around to face him. Tall, nigh on six and half feet. Weathered skin with deep
lines on a soft, black face. Liver spots on his forehead and an aged nose that
spoke of a whisky habit. He was fit enough for his age, sixty or so and still
flat in the stomach with broad shoulders and large hands that showed a working
man.
    "Ya done checking me out, girlie? I
look suspect ta you?"
    The smile on his face softened his words
and I couldn't help but quirk a lip in return.
    "I have to go," I answered, my
feet moving forward before my words finished.
    "Hm, well I guess tha' stew on the
stove'll keep sum. Probly end up feedin' them damn dogs tho'."
    My feet locked in place, willing them with
everything in me and yet they refused to move one more step.
    "Yeeep, smell good too. Been stewin'
all night an' mornin'."
    I heard him step right up behind me. As
quiet as his footsteps were, I felt his presence like a balm at my back.
    He reached out a hand and touched my
shoulder lightly.
    The fire burned and raged inside, a blaze
that ignited in seconds and tore through perspective and sanity.
    I whipped my body around with a snarl, my
face screwed in distaste and anger. My eyes flashing a promise of death and my
lips curled up to reveal my teeth.
    He stood a few steps away from me, his
hands in the air raised in surrender, a smirk on his dry lips.
    Oddly, it was enough to pause my instinct.
A reaction the fire did not expect.
    "Uhuh. You goin' ta need ta cage tha'
beast, girlie. She angry." He stared into my confused eyes and rumbled.
"Yeah. I see you. You ain't comin' out yet ya hear? It ain't your
time."
    My anger dissipated to a puff of smoke. He
grinned and walked back to the porch.
    "Come now, girlie. You look like ya
need sum feedin'."
    I was lost in a sea of confusion and found
my legs taking me back into the cabin. The smell of cooked meat and gravy
drifting towards me, leading me on.
    The man