The opal wolf, p.1
The Opal Wolf, page 1
The Opal Wolf
Samara Saward
Copyright © 2022, 2023 Samara Saward
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
First edition published 2022. Second edition 2023.
Cover designed by: GetCovers
Formatting designed with Atticus
Contents
Dedication
Content Warning
The Opal Wolf
1. PART I
2. Chapter 1
3. Chapter 2
4. Chapter 3
5. Chapter 4
6. Chapter 5
7. Chapter 6
8. Chapter 7
9. Chapter 8
10. Chapter 9
11. Chapter 10
12. Chapter 11
13. Chapter 12
14. Chapter 13
15. Chapter 14
16. Chapter 15
17. Chapter 16
18. Chapter 17
19. Chapter 18
20. Chapter 19
21. Chapter 20
22. Chapter 21
23. Chapter 22
24. Chapter 23
25. Chapter 24
26. Chapter 25
27. PART II
28. Chapter 26
29. Chapter 27
30. Chapter 28
31. Chapter 29
32. Chapter 30
33. Chapter 31
34. Chapter 32
35. Chapter 33
36. Chapter 34
37. Chapter 35
38. Chapter 36
39. Chapter 37
40. Chapter 38
41. Chapter 39
42. Chapter 40
43. Chapter 41
44. Chapter 42
45. Chapter 43
46. Chapter 44
47. Chapter 45
48. Chapter 46
49. Chapter 47
50. Chapter 48
51. Chapter 49
52. Chapter 50
53. Chapter 51
54. Chapter 52
55. PART III
56. Chapter 53
57. Chapter 54
58. Chapter 55
59. Chapter 56
60. Chapter 57
61. Chapter 58
62. Chapter 59
63. Chapter 60
64. Chapter 61
65. Chapter 62
66. Chapter 63
67. Chapter 64
68. Chapter 65
69. Chapter 66
70. Chapter 67
71. Chapter 68
72. Chapter 69
73. Chapter 70
74. Chapter 71
75. Chapter 72
76. Chapter 73
77. Chapter 74
78. Chapter 75
79. Chapter 76
80. Chapter 77
81. Chapter 78
Also By
About the Author
For Dani, Cassie, Sophie, and Ash.
I'm forever thankful for your
kindness, humour, and heart.
Content Warning
The Opal Wolf contains scenes that may be triggering to some readers including, but not limited to, death (including death of a parent), presumed suicide, torture, trauma, vivid imagery, murder, unwanted sexual attention and harassment, depictions of PTSD, and open-door sex scenes.
Your mental health matters.
Beyond Blue (1300 224 636) provides information and support to help everyone in Australia achieve their best possible mental health, whatever their age and wherever they live.
The Opal Wolf
A playlist
Cover Me In Sunshine – Pink
Don't Stop Me Now – Queen
Love Me Like You Do – Ellie Goulding
Under The Bridge – Red Hot Chilli Peppers
From The Sea – Eskimo Joe
Hungry Eyes – Eric Carmen
Shivers – Ed Sheeran
You're Beautiful – James Blunt
Hello – Adele
Dreams – Fleetwood Mac
Spits On Girls – Amy Shark
Wrecking Ball – Miley Cyrus
Joker And The Thief – Wolfmother
Everybody Hurts – R.E.M.
Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley
Beautiful Stranger – Madonna
Baby Got Back – Sir Mix-A-Lot
Light Up The Sky – Yellowcard
The Horses – Daryl Braithwaite
All I Want For Christmas – Mariah Carey
Missing Piece – Vance Joy
PART I
Fate
Chapter 1
Lilly - Eighteen years ago
My heart pounds as I jerk upright, my eyes flicking over the shadows on the lilac walls, the curtains fluttering in the breeze, and the open door. Everything looks the same as it did last night, but… It feels wrong.
I shove the blanket aside and slip my feet to the hardwood floor, listening. Everything is quiet. Eerie. I’m lifting my legs back into bed when Mother screams.
My feet slide along the floorboards as I race to the stairs. I catch myself on the handrail when I almost miss a step, my heart racing once again. Descending with slow steps, I listen to the shouts coming from my parents’ room.
“Where is she?” a man asks, his voice raspy, thick with rage.
“You’ll never… get away with this… Marcus. They will never accept you… as the true leader… of this pack.” Father fights to get the words out, his voice strained.
“Tell me where she is, Landon, or I’ll make her life miserable. Tell me where she is, and I’ll show her mercy.”
“Don’t… touch her…” Father struggles to draw breath.
I wince at the thud which follows his words. My chest tightens, a chill slithering down my spine. I take a moment to slow my breathing, then crouch low, peering down the hallway toward my parents’ bedroom. It’s so dark, I almost miss the woman standing in the shadows of Father’s office.
Her ebony hair is dishevelled, like she’s been running, and the white strip on the left is dull in the darkness. Her burnt-orange dress reminds me of a summer sunset, too pretty for this nightmare. When I meet her glowing amber eyes, she beckons me closer.
“Your wife’s dead, Landon.” The raspy voice sends shivers down my spine. “Eleanor Thorne’s dead. Tell me where Liliana is.”
Tears well in my eyes and my shoulders shake in silent mourning for my mother. I press my hand against my mouth, trying to hold back the heartache.
Father coughs. “I’ll die before I tell you where she is.”
I cast one last look down the hallway before creeping toward the strange woman. Mother hasn’t made a sound since her scream, and Father’s struggling to breathe. This woman can take me to find help. I can save my parents.
“Foolish man,” snarls Marcus. “Find the girl and bring her to me. Landon’s going to watch as I slit his daughter’s throat.”
Father screams at me to run, the words laced with alpha power. My body obeys, even while my mind rebels.
As soon as I’m within reach, the sunset stranger clamps her hand over my arm and drags me into Father’s office. She shoves a chair aside, then presses her hand against a panel on the desk.
Rocks grind, something clanks loudly, and the scent of mildew creeps from the floor.
“In the office!” a woman shouts.
The sunset stranger shoves me toward the hollow space under Father’s desk, urging me to hurry. My eyebrows pinch when instead of floorboards, I find a dark tunnel which is so deep, I can’t see the bottom.
I slide myself into the tunnel and hang from the edge, flicking my eyes to the stranger. She nods, and I let go, holding my breath as I freefall.
I crash to the ground seconds later, my legs buckling from the impact. I stagger to the side, hitting my head on the hewn rock. White spots flash in my eyes, and I blink furiously, swallowing a cry. I touch a hand to my forehead; it comes back wet, slick with blood.
The same grinding and whirring rumbles from above seconds before the strange woman lands gracefully beside me. “We must hurry, child.”
“Who are you?” I whisper. “What’s happening? We have to get help. We have to save them.”
She swings me into her arms and races along the dark tunnel. Pity and pain twist her face. “Your parents are beyond help. All that matters is getting you to safety.”
The Sunset Stranger… She’s saving me.
Chapter 2
Lilly - Present day
A gasp tears at my throat as I thrash around, attempting to free myself of the sheets tangled around my legs. I wipe away the dampness on my face, reminding myself no one’s chasing me, there’s no strange woman in a burnt-orange dress carrying me through a tunnel, and there are no glowing amber eyes.
I untwist my legs from the sheets and clamber out of bed, my heart slowing as I drag my eyes to the photos tacked to my wall, replacing the nightmare with happy memories. It’s become somewhat of a routine, a way to settle back into reality after the panic of my nightly horrors.
; A quick check of the time, and I’m racing around my studio apartment, throwing on whatever my hands touch first. Ripped jeans, a Pokémon tee, and Vans aren’t bad for a twenty-second effort. I pull my long, brown waves into a messy bun on top of my head, casting a quick glance at my reflection to make sure I’m presentable.
I sigh at the dark circles shadowing my steel-grey eyes and grab the mascara from its shelf, dabbing it on my lashes. There’s nothing I can do about my washed-out face or the starkness of my freckles.
There are only three weeks until the end of the semester, and I can’t afford to skip out on any of my lessons. I race through the building and into the brisk autumn air, sighing at the crisp morning. It’s like Melbourne took the weather straight from a textbook.
Birds chirp from their perches in the trees, wispy clouds streak across the blue skies overhead, and the browns, oranges, and yellows of the campus foliage hide the lower half of the drab buildings. I’ve never liked this time of year. The colours of the turning leaves remind me of the Sunset Stranger.
I dash across campus to the Creative Arts Building, a three-storey, brown brick monstrosity, taking my phone out of my back pocket as I go. After checking for any notifications, I send a text to my best friend, Bree, reminding her of our party plans on Thursday night.
She replies instantly, like always, with more beer emojis than is really necessary. At least she’s excited to celebrate my twenty-first. I’d expect nothing less from my best friend.
Another message comes through as I take my seat in the middle of the lecture hall. The professor isn’t here yet, so I chance a peek. Another text from Bree, this time telling me she had a great time on her date. She’s attached a selfie of herself with a man who has strawberry blonde hair and intense green eyes.
The room fills in the short time it takes for me to check the message, the sound of friends catching up assaulting my sensitive ears. A girl in the front row failed her most recent essay, another has a date tonight, and a guy up the back is trying to sell marijuana to his friends. There’s no way I should be able to hear whispered conversations from here.
I’m saved the mindfuck of looking at that too closely when Professor Whitlock enters and slams his briefcase down on his desk. “Let us begin today’s lesson by reviewing what we know about character development.”
I groan. I could learn more about characters on my Kindle.
Thankfully, we’re dismissed half an hour early. With nothing else to do, I call Mum, hoping she has a few book recommendations for me. I’ve almost finished my current book, and I need something to pick up next, another way to procrastinate when I should be studying.
“Lilly! How are you, honey? Are you still coming home on Friday?”
For the past two years, I’ve spent my birthday hungover — I blame Bree and her preference for shots — too ill to drive across the city to see my parents. Since this is my twenty-first, I should make more of an effort. They did raise me, after all.
I laugh at her hopeful tone. “I promise I won’t drink too much at the party.”
Mum’s response fades to the background when the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and a shiver races down my spine. I squint and look around the quad. My gut is telling me I’m being watched.
It’s a normal school day, with students carrying books and coffees, entering the lecture halls, or heading toward the student housing. A grounds keeper cuts grass on a ride-on mower while a second rakes leaves. A group of shirtless guys play football, surrounded by a group of swooning girls. There’s nothing out of place, but there’s a pressure on my shoulders I can’t explain.
“Sorry, Mum, what did you say?” I rise from the park bench and head toward home. The sooner I’m out of sight, the better.
“I knew you weren’t listening, Lilly.” She sighs. “I asked if you want me to make your favourite cheesecake for your birthday. Then I asked if Bree’s coming.”
I rub by hand over my nape, trying to flatten the hairs that are still standing to attention. I’m still being watched, I’m sure of it. Rolling my shoulders to ease some of the tension, I pick up my pace. “Sure, that’d be great. I’ll ask Bree and let you know. Look, Mum, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have some coursework to finish this afternoon. I’ll see you Friday, okay?”
“That’s fine, honey. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” I keep my phone in my hand just in case I need to call the police or campus security.
My heart races, and my breaths come in ragged huffs as apprehension caresses my spine. Looking behind me as I enter the student housing, I spot a figure standing in the shadows across the quad, staring right at me.
Shit.
Students glare at me as I race through the lobby. I ignore them, not caring what they think. My hands shake as I dart up the stairs and into my apartment, locking the door behind me. I double check it’s secure before heading to the only window. Through a gap in the venetian blinds, I look to where I saw the figure. No one’s there.
I consider reporting the incident to campus security, but no one will believe me. The only proof I have is the hairs on my nape prickling and a strong gut instinct. Not enough to go on.
I snatch my Kindle from the table, needing something to distract me. Books always draw me in. I settle in to read a tale about a werewolf falling in love with a human who turns out to be a werewolf herself. It doesn’t take long for the story to suck me in, and I soon forget about the person lurking in the shadows, watching me.
When Thursday afternoon rolls around, I’m still jittery from the scare I had on Tuesday. Although I haven’t felt that pressure on my shoulders again, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. At least here, at the bookstore I work at, I’m not always looking over my shoulder or triple checking locks. Instead, the monotony of placing books on their shelves has calmed me down.
I’ve always loved it here. The store is small, intimate with its crammed shelves and reading corner. Even the old primary school desk which we use as a counter is cute. At the end of my shifts, I’m always sad to head home, to leave the worlds weaved into the pages of books.
It doesn’t help that at the end of every shift, I have to pretty much push Kyle — he’s been a regular at Best Books for three months — out the door. Today is no different.
“Kyle?” I wait, knowing this may take a few attempts. Seconds pass. “Kyle,” I say, louder this time.
He looks up at me with bright hazel eyes. “Yeah?”
“It’s time to close up. Are you about done?”
He rushes to stand, shoving his books into his backpack. He readjusts the frayed black beanie, covering the loose strands of honey-blonde hair, and slings the bag over his shoulders. Rubbing a hand over his pointed chin, he asks, “Any chance you’ll consider coming out with me tonight? My friends have been dying to meet you.”
Not this again. He tries to get me to go out with him at least once a week. He’s cute, in an understated way, but I don’t mix work with pleasure.
“Why would your friends be dying to meet me?”
He fidgets with the straps of his backpack. “Never mind. See you later.” He’s out the door before I can even say goodbye.
I rush through closing up, eager to go home. Bree’s waiting for me, ready to hit the town and celebrate my birthday in style.
When I walk the gravel path toward home, though, she’s nowhere to be seen. Worry churns in my gut as I look around in confusion, narrowing my eyes at the seat she always waits on. I send off a quick text, asking if she’s okay, then strain my ears for the telltale ding of her phone, figuring she’s nearby.
Silence.
Chapter 3
Lilly
I stretch my arms over my head and clamber from the bed, grabbing my phone from the bedside table. No new messages, no calls, nothing from Bree. I shoot off a quick message, voicing my worry and demanding a response. Then I wait. Ten seconds, twenty… Forty seconds go by without a response.
I’ve never waited longer than ten seconds for those three little dots to show up, telling me she’s typing. This is so out of character. Frowning, with nausea churning in my stomach, I gather my clothes and toiletry bag and head to the showers while I wait for her to reply.
