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1

Jaime feels like her life has become a dream. From the moment she wakes up with weary confusion dredging through her bones, to the moment her head hits the pillow again that night, her mind is drenched in fog, and nothing feels real. Not home, not school, or the town or her life. She starts to fear she left reality behind when they moved to Black Hare Valley.

She wonders in odd moments, such as during morning assembly or while playing netball or eating her lunch, if she is maybe just in some sort of stupor. Shock. She supposes it would make sense. After all, she moved innocently to a new town and found herself pulled instantly into this hideous nightmare that surely can’t be real…

The realist part of her still won’t fully believe any of it. The journalist in her can’t let go no matter how dangerous or terrifying or confusing it gets. And her logical rational mind still can’t fully grasp what she is trying to deal with.

For surely, it can’t really be true?

That a sinister committee rule the town, that the mayor, the headteacher, the policeman, can all turn into animals? That people go missing here… some never heard of or seen again…. While others… She saw the black hare with her own eyes yet she still can’t believe it.

And now she and her friends are planning to kill someone. Fear grips her whenever she thinks of it. She can’t eat, every mouthful sticks in her throat; she can’t sleep. She certainly can’t concentrate on school and she dreads being called into the head’s office…

But if they don’t do it…

If she’s too scared, too afraid, if she cowers or breaks or lets them down… If they don’t do it, it will all carry on. Missing people, missing children. She does not want that on her conscience because she seems to know that allowing it would ruin her life forever.

Ralph tells her he is going to Rowan Farm after school. Jaime nods back at him before she can say no. ‘Me too,’ she whispers and it is decided.

When they arrive at the farm, Bob Rowan is waiting for them at the gate. It’s a dull grey afternoon; night eager to creep in and steal the town until morning. There are murmurs all over town about the awful weather and how it feels like summer will never arrive. Jaime can’t help feel like it is their fault. She nervously checks the sky as they approach the gate. She’s relieved to see Rowan there. Though her guts churn with dread, at least they didn’t have to risk trespassing again.

‘Better be quick,’ the old man grunts at them, arms resting loosely on the top bar of the gate. He’s wearing dark overalls and wellingtons, all smeared in mud. A scruffy olive green duffel coat hangs open, revealing a blue knit jumper that has seen better days. His woollen cap is pulled low, shielding his eyes. ‘What d’you want?’ he snaps. Then adds with a snarl, ‘Quick.’

‘We’re going to do it,’ Ralph blurts out. ‘When he’s changed. We need to know when and where and how. We don’t want to mess it up.’

‘He’s smarter than you are,’ Rowan retorts, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Faster, stronger, smell you coming, he will. Hear your thoughts. He’ll be ahead of you so how you gonna do it?’

‘You could help us,’ Ralph says, pleadingly. ‘Tell us what to do, so it works!’

The old man laughs at him. ‘Don’t let him catch you. If you’re gonna do it, you’re gonna do it. You’re not gonna get another chance. You gotta weaken him, slow him down, get the upper hand.’

‘Like a drug?’ Jaime askes, brightening.

Rowan waves a hand, looking away. ‘Something like that. You’re not gonna get close enough though, he’ll know you’re coming.’

‘There’s more of us,’ Jaime replies stiffly. ‘And we won’t give up. He needs to be stopped.’

Rowan nods. ‘He’s bloodthirsty. Hungry as hell. Gets worse every year. He’s a devil. Bad seed. Wrong un. Always known it.’

Jaime suddenly wants to ask him so many things. Her head is full of questions she has to know the answers to but she feels panicked knowing he’s already tired of them. So, she reaches out and snatches for the best question, the right question – the question with an answer that will make killing Sergeant Mayfield something she can do.

‘You’re one of them,’ she says. ‘A raven. But how? How did that happen to you?’

He waves a hand again, stepping back. ‘Committee stuff. Old stuff.’

‘How old? Hundreds of years? How long ago did this start?’

‘No date,’ he almost laughs. ‘Just when.’

‘When?’ she almost screams. ‘How long?’

‘As long as the town!’ he barks back at her. ‘It’s the place, idiot girl. It’s this place.’

‘But what about it? A place can’t turn people into animals…’

‘Don’t understand it.’ He shakes his head. ‘Place is special. Different. The air, the earth, the blood.’

‘Is it some kind of magic?’ Ralph asks then. ‘Iris gave Paddy that book full of spells.’

Bob Rowan breathes in and then out again slowly, as if considering the best way to answer such a question.

‘Called ‘em witches back then,’ he grunts. ‘But I dunno. I think it was here before then, before society, before people, before any of this. She harnessed it maybe. Found the right words or objects, maybe. She was the first. The oldest.’

Jaime gawps. ‘Are you saying Iris started it? But started what? What did she do to the rest of you? You must know! It happened to you! You’re one of them!’

He waves a hand again and looks annoyed. ‘Wasting time! If you want it to stop… the missing ones, the dead…. You got to kill him. That’s it. Talk after.’

Jaime stares at him. It is an enticing thought. One that tickles her investigative mind. One that almost makes her want to go and murder officer Mayfield right now. She feels brighter suddenly. More awake. She licks her lips and turns to Ralph.

‘How will we do it?’

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugs at her helplessly. ‘I don’t even know what he is. Mr Rowan, if we did it, would it be easier to kill the man or the… ?’

Bob Rowan shoves his hands into his pockets and nods once. Ralph nods back.

‘We should do it tonight,’ says Jaime and then feels ashamed and shocked by her own words. She and Ralph look as Bob Rowan lowers his head and walks slowly away.

2

Willow wanders restlessly for hours. She goes home, then leaves again, taking a few orders with her to deliver for her parents. She can’t settle – how can she? Knowing what they must do. And it must be soon, tonight, before any of them chicken out. She’s written another note for each of them and delivers them as discreetly as she can, adding to Ralph’s that he ought to use his mother again to get it to Jesse. It feels risky. As usual, she can’t help fearing who might be watching, who will know what they are planning. It seems like the committee are always one step ahead.

She’s not sure if they’ll all come – Jaime seemed panicked and sickened at the ruins earlier and she still thinks Jesse is in almost constant peril at Hill Fort Farm – then there is whatever is happening to him, changing him. Can they trust him? Willow hopes so. She just knows that she’ll be there, with or without the others.

She flits around town like a shadow – making the deliveries, keeping her eyes open, for what or who, she doesn’t know. Willow eventually finds herself at the police station. She wanders slowly past, glancing in the open door to overhear an old lady complaining that someone has been picking her flowers without her permission.

Willow lingers long enough to hear Sergeant Mayfield’s gruff tones responding. Willow moves on, a sudden plan forming in her head. She doesn’t think, she just moves. She knows she can’t allow herself to pause, plan or consider because if she does, she’ll tell herself that this is too crazy. Too dangerous.

So she runs around to the back of the house and flattens herself against the house wall. Willow blinks away the rain running down from her hood and into her eyes. She counts to three then reaches out and tries the door handle. It’s locked. She sighs. A broken window it is then.

3

Jesse looks up with a start when the library door creaks open. He whirls around with an armful of books to find himself face to face with Margaret. He lowers his arms slightly but holds onto the books.

‘Jesse,’ she says, standing up a little taller and pushing the door gently shut behind her. ‘There you are.’

He glares back at her while his pulse throbs violently in his ears. A smile flutters hesitantly on her lips. ‘What are you doing?’

He turns back to the shelves, running a finger along the ancient dusty spines. ‘You can’t stop me.’

‘Stop you doing what? Looking for a book?’ She gives a little chuckle. ‘Jesse, if you want some reading recommendations I’d be very happy to oblige.’

‘Okay then.’ He swings to face her again. ‘How about a book on how to kill men who can change into wolves? That would be helpful.’

Margaret lowers her arms and her shoulders dip as a puff of air escapes her pursed lips. ‘Jesse… You’re planning to kill Sergeant Mayfield?’

Jesse doesn’t answer. He carries the books over to the small round table and deposits them there on the shiny surface.

‘I can help you…’ Margaret says in a low, soft voice and Jesse’s head whips up, his eyes narrowing.

‘What?’

She comes forward. ‘I can help you. But first, you have to do something for me.’

He shrinks back instinctively. ‘What?’

‘I want you on the committee, Jesse. I need you.’ She comes closer again, smiling gently. ‘You’re right about Aaron. He needs to go. He’s a danger to us all. But the committee won’t like it. Some of them in particular. You might say there is a power struggle… Perhaps there always has been.’

She sighs and slips into the chair beside the table.

‘What do you mean?’ Jesse asks her.

‘Bob Rowan.’ She rests her head in one hand and looks up at him. ‘The reason he left us was Aaron. He didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. Saw the direction his bloodlust was pulling us in, I suppose. Bob left us a long time ago, Jesse, but that only made Aaron stronger and I know you know how he keeps control over so many people.’

Jesse nods stiffly. ‘The cameras.’

‘Indeed. Cameras everywhere. Secrets and lies and blackmail. He doesn’t have anything on me – well, no more than I have on him obviously, but the others are afraid of him.’

‘Then let me kill him.’

She smiles. ‘I will. Before Aaron joined us there were no deaths, you know, no kills.’

‘There were missing children though?’

‘Yes,’ she nods. ‘There always were. Once in a generation we have to feed. But our feeding doesn’t kill the child. You’ve seen that for yourself.’

Jesse feels his stomach muscles tightening. ‘Paddy.’

‘Exactly.’

‘You change them to keep you alive? To stop you ageing?’

‘It’s complex,’ she sighs. ‘But you’ll understand it all once you’re one of us.’

He shakes his head even though he knows it’s too late. ‘I don’t want to be.’

‘Well, I’m sorry but you already are. There’s no turning back, no undoing what’s already been done. You need to keep going, keep trusting me and then we can take on Aaron together.’

‘I’m going to get a gun.’

She shakes her head. ‘I’ll give you a knife. It has to be a silver knife. You’ll need to wait for him to change.’

‘Okay.’

Now she leans closer and takes his hand. ‘Come on,’ she whispers. ‘Come with me now. I’ll give you the knife and you’ll do something for me.’

He swallows tightly. ‘What if I don’t want to?’

Her smile stretches. ‘Jesse, do you want to find out what happened to your mum?’

His mouth falls open slowly. Time stops.

The mayor takes his hand again. ‘Come on. It’s time.’

4

Jaime and Ralph have both received the message from Willow. They were about to go their separate ways but the message tugs them together again. Ralph suggests they call the pub and tell Jaime’s mother she is staying for pizza at his house.

‘It’s not even a lie,’ he smiles as he picks up the phone. ‘Mum left me money to order in. She’s working late.’ 

Jaime nods unsurely and slips wearily into a wooden chair in the small kitchen. ‘Okay then.’ She takes the phone and starts to dial.

Ralph walks into the lounge. ‘I’m gonna pack some stuff,’ he says over his shoulder and she gives him a thumbs up as the phone starts to ring.

Ralph leaves her to it and hurries up to his room. He finds his school bag and empties it on to the bed. He grabs whatever he thinks could be useful in taking down a human/wolf hybrid. Rope from the shed, a hammer, an axe, a first aid kit, a bottle of water and a roll of thick tape.

Jaime finishes her call and watches him carefully. ‘Best to be prepared,’ he shrugs at her. ‘Just in case.’

‘What will we do with the body?’ she asks him.

He winces. ‘I don’t know. He’ll be an animal though, right? We could just bury it or throw it in the river. I don’t know.’

‘We need to get it all worked out,’ says Jaime, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice. ‘It needs to be a proper plan. We need to be sensible. Careful.’

‘We will be,’ nods Ralph. ‘Once we’re all together at the treehouse.’

Jaime drops her head into her hands. ‘If we get there!’ she exclaims. ‘If something or someone doesn’t try to stop us.’

5

Willow waits for a terrifying few minutes, convinced someone at the station would have heard the breaking glass. She thinks of Sergeant Mayfield and his super senses and closes her eyes tightly for a moment, willing herself to stay strong and not panic.

No one comes whirling around the corner so she reaches through the glass and turns the handle from the inside, letting the door swing open. Now she knows she must be fast. She remembers the cameras – will he have access to them while he’s next door? There’s no time to think about it – no time to think twice or worry. She takes off, running into the house, clattering, breath held, up the stairs and into his surveillance room.

Oh, how she would love to sit and watch each screen. Learn his secrets and unravel the hold he has over the town and everyone in it. But no, she’s here for one thing and one thing only. Willow recalls what Jesse told them about the loft door and she does as he must have done; climbing onto a desk and balancing on one leg while she stretches her fingers towards the hatch door.

She grunts, straining, reaching the latch and shoving the door to one side before flailing around for the book. For a horrible heart-stopping moment she fears that it’s not there. That she has risked everything for nothing. Then, her thumb brushes over the soft material of the cloth it was wrapped in and she reaches in further, gripping it, yanking it.

At that moment, she leans out too far and suddenly she’s falling. She’s shorter than Jesse and has overstretched. She hits the floor on her knees and elbows and the cloth bound book thumps down beside her. Winded, electrified, terrified, Willow grabs it and runs.

6

Margaret leads the way through the kitchen with Jesse in tow. She holds his hand tightly and does not even glance at Hilda or Horatio who are sharing ham sandwiches together. They enter the large pantry and Margaret closes the door behind them, perhaps indicating that they must not be disturbed.

She strides forward to the cellar door and Jesse feels colder, fear prickling across his skin while his pulse continues to roar in his head and his heart starts to hammer thunderously. Outside, the storm is picking up pace again – not finished with the town just yet. He catches a glimpse of tall dark trees shaking wildly from side to side outside, and then Margaret unlocks the door and nods for him to go on.

He steps down and cold air hits his face; makes him draw back. Under the cold air is something else though, something low and warm and alive. Margaret bumps into his back so Jesse takes the steps down until his feet meet the hard compacted earth floor. He looks around, peering into the shadows – his lips trembling as he forces his teeth together to prevent a scream from escaping.

Margaret picks up an old lantern and lights it with her lighter. It provides enough light to guide their way into the centre of the space. Jesse turns his head, taking in the cell doors and the stains on the ground. There is that buzzing in the air again – electricity thrumming in waves, making his hairs stand on end and his teeth chatter.

‘What happened to my mum?’ he hears himself ask in a small young voice.

Margaret lets go of his arm and walks away a few paces. He sees her come back with the same bottle she had at the meeting – the one he drank from. He shakes his head.

‘I’m not drinking anything until you tell me.’

He realises then that he can’t move. He’s in the same spot – frozen in place – limbs and muscles locked by some awful ancient primal fear. Fright or flight he thinks helplessly. Predator or prey.

Margaret stands before him clasping the bottle. He sees something glinting in her other hand. ‘This is the knife that will kill him,’ she says in a low, soft hypnotically gentle voice. ‘And you can kill him, Jesse. You can do it. But you must drink this first.’

‘Why? What will it do to me?’

‘It’ll find you. That’s what it does. It goes to the very core of you and finds who you really are. And then in time, sometimes lots of time, you can truly become what you really are.’

‘I’ll change,’ he murmurs. ‘Into an animal, like you can?’

‘In time,’ she repeats. ‘You take the drink to start the process, to give it time to find you. And then, once in every generation a child from town is sacrificed in order for a committee member to fully change. And that, Jesse, means you can in theory, live forever.’

He stares back at her. ‘Why would you want to?’

‘To protect the town,’ she replies. ‘That’s all this was ever about. A town born from war and battle and blood and death, and grief and revenge. There were hill forts on either side. Many, many bloody battles were fought here. The earth drenched in blood. Generation after generation through time. There is a special energy here. No one knows what or why. Everyone has a theory. If you ask the vicar, he would say God, I suppose. Maybe Aaron would say the devil. Maybe Iris would say witchcraft, for she was one. Maybe everyone is driven by their own inner force, Jesse. Bob Rowan would say nature. I’d say loyalty and protection, family and blood, but it doesn’t matter what causes it or where the power comes from. What matters is what it can do.’

‘How do you do it?’ he asks quickly. ‘How do you change?’

‘I told you, you take the drink until it’s your time. When it’s your time, a child must be chosen.’

‘But not killed?’

‘The body dies,’ Margaret replies smoothly. ‘Paddy Finnis does not have a human body he can change back to. He was a sacrifice. But he lives on, like Horatio and the others.’

‘Horatio was a child?’

‘Not just any child,’ Margaret smiles. ‘My son.’

If Jesse could move, he would stagger backwards away from her. But he can’t. He is frozen to the spot. Trapped. ‘Wh-what?’

‘Ugh.’ She clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. ‘It’s a long, long story. I was too old. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve never been maternal, and he was handicapped, mentally. It was cruel, really. I suppose if you could have combined Hilda’s mind with his body, he would have been normal. But it wasn’t to be. He was sacrificed a long time ago. He’s far older than Hilda. He’s forgotten, Jesse. He’s not trapped. He’s forgotten who he was.’

‘Hilda’s not really your sister, is she?’

‘No, she’s my daughter. But as you’ve probably noticed, she looks older than me these days. She’s very good really. And we are more like sisters than mother and daughter.’

‘So, why? Why him and not her?’

‘You can only choose one child,’ she explains patiently. ‘Every generation, which loosely speaking is every thirty years, give or take. And Horatio… it was best for everyone. Best for him and me, and the town. And he’s happy, you’ve seen that yourself. He’s better off. And he’ll live forever unless something or someone kills him.’

‘Tell me about my mum,’ Jesse says, watching in horror as she unscrews the cap to the bottle.

She nods. ‘Of course, we have a deal. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but take a sip first, just one…’

Jesse doesn’t want to – she could be lying – but he doesn’t see he has a choice. He opens his mouth and she pushes the rim of the bottle between his lips. He draws in a sip, a taste – it’s warm and rich and earthy. It slips down his throat like silk, burning and fizzing. His pupils dilate and his mouth falls open.

‘You aunt was a sacrifice,’ purrs Margaret. ‘She became a cat. A beautiful dainty black cat.’

Margaret lowers the bottle and he swallows again, drinking down the residue. He is already craving it and supresses a whimper to beg for more.

‘Aaron killed her,’ Margaret explains. ‘He had his reasons. She rejoined the family, you see, grew close to your mother, her sister. Your mother in time began to, well, she was very much like you and your friends, Jesse. She became a problem, a threat and she was drawing in others. Your father, Nicky we called him back then, he was obsessed with Angie Radley. He’d do anything for her. Frankie Maxwell and Willow’s mother, Lizzie, also got mixed up in it all.’ She reaches out and caresses his cheek.

‘They were a lot like you and your friends, I suppose. Anyway, Aaron’s reasons for killing Carol-Anne were legitimate but not agreed on. The committee had not voted yet. It did, however, solve the problem. At least for a while. Your mother grieved – but then she picked up where she had left off, nosing around, making accusations. People laughed at her, of course. No one believed her. She was scorned and ridiculed. The town turned on her, Jesse, like it’s turned on you, until now. She was an outcast really.

‘Your father tried to look after her but she could not cope with motherhood, I’m sure you’ll remember. She did indeed run away. She intended on escaping town and raising her alarm somewhere else. Maybe she thought she would come back for you and your brothers. But she never made it out of town. At the border, Aaron caught up with her and killed her. He ate her and brought her bones here to share with us – to add to the ancient drink that’s coursing through your veins right now, Jesse.’

She lifts the knife and shows it to him. ‘Aaron killed your aunt and your mother because they were onto him. He acted alone. After that, the committee was uncertain, fragile and divided. Bob Rowan was appalled – he wanted Aaron cast out – they fought, then Bob left us. He hates us. Despises us all.

‘Iris was similar to Aaron, but in many ways it was all a sadistic game to her. And with Aaron and Bishop it’s all about survival and fulfilling the inner, primal need. With the rest of us it’s about the town, nothing else. Protecting and saving this town. Whatever that means. Whatever it takes.’

Margaret lifts his hands and presses the knife handle into his open palm. ‘Aaron has a taste now. He’s killed more since. Not sacrifices, not even people who are on to him, just anyone, strangers and passers-by. He will only get worse, more bloodthirsty and out of control. We need to stop him and the committee are in agreement, Jesse. You can do it with this knife. It’s almost as old as us. Take it and go and kill Aaron Mayfield.’

She closes his numb fingers around the handle and eases him gently from the centre of the room. He staggers, blinking, emerging from the spell but with just one more drop racing around inside of him, he knows it is too late for him. But he doesn’t have to be like them. He doesn’t have to join them. It’s horrible and terrible and wonderful that his mother is now a part of him.

He stumbles to the light surrounding the closed door then he pauses and looks back at the mayor. ‘Is that where you do it? That spot in the middle where it feels different.’

Margaret nods. ‘Yes. Generations of blood, bone, flesh and fear and sorrow have sunk into that earth. It ensnares you. It keeps you there. Then you drink from it.’

‘Not me,’ he says again, his voice a croak as he reaches weakly for the door. ‘Not again.’

‘For now, just worry about Aaron. Can you do it, Jesse? Because it’s you or him. You know that, don’t you? If you don’t kill him, he will kill you.’

‘Yeah. I know.’ Jesse pulls down the handle and warm light floods his eyes, making him feel dizzy. He lowers his head and moves sluggishly through it.

7

Willow scrambles her way out of the house. She is panicked beyond reason gripping the cloth bound book to her chest as she races down the stairs and flies at the still open door. She expects to run straight into him there but the coast is still clear. She feels something though. A shift in the atmosphere. A change around her. He knows.

She runs.

8

Ralph and Jaime finish the last crust of pizza and close up the cardboard boxes. Jaime wipes sauce from her chin and licks her fingers one by one. ‘Time to go?’ she asks Ralph.

He looks away, his chunky shoulders rising as he inhales slowly – then dropping as he breathes out – the weariest of sighs. ‘I think so.’

He stands and shoulders his backpack. He has checked it dozens of times and has added some food, more tools and spare clothes, just in case. Jaime doesn’t know why – she supposes he is preparing for any and every outcome. Before they head to the door, he passes her a baseball bat and she takes it silently, swallowing her horror and guilt.

She follows him to the door and they slip out silently, side by side. The town is dark and still and the air around them feels charged, like anything could happen. And something does almost instantly; a large brown owl swoops soundlessly down from the roof and startles them.

‘Shoo!’ Jaime cowers from it, recalling Bob Rowan’s relentless claws. She covers her head with her arms and looks up fearfully. The owl has flapped away but it is already turning around.

Ralph scowls at the house next door. ‘Eugenie,’ he mutters darkly and pulls the hammer from the side pocket of his bag. ‘Head for Paddy’s,’ he hisses at Jaime. ‘And be ready.’

Jaime grips the bat and nods grimly. The owl swoops again, but this time Jaime is ready for it. She swings the bat and feels the satisfying whomp as it collides with the feathered body. The bird spins in the air, wings flapping wildly, feathers spilling across the street.

‘Jaime Perry! Ralph Maxwell! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

They spin around in shock.

‘Shit,’ Jaime whimpers.

‘Bishop,’ growls Ralph.

Their headteacher is stood at the end of the road, blocking the direction they need to go.

Ralph grabs Jaime by the arm and moves back. ‘Run,’ he says.

9

Jesse is running. Whatever was in that drink is setting his insides on fire. His muscles are exploding. He feels like is growing and changing – getting stronger and faster with every step, every breath.

He races from Hill Fort Farm and onto Hill Lane at top speed, hurtling through the pouring rain – untouched by the gusts of wind charging up and down the hillsides. He runs and does not think once about his brother waiting for him in a car park with a gun. He clutches the knife tightly and follows his instincts. He has to get to the treehouse. He has to kill Aaron Mayfield. Aaron Mayfield slaughtered his aunt and his mother and if he has his way, Jesse will be next.

He runs on towards town, past Black Woods where he swears he hears a low thin wail following his progress. He runs faster and outruns it. All of his senses are amplified. He can smell the coffee someone is drinking in the caravan park on Hill Lane and even the engine oil on their hands. He can hear the bins being scraped out in a kitchen on Town Road as he tears across the fields behind the town hall, towards Black Hare Lane.

10

Weighed down by the book, Willow staggers blindly through the back alley adjacent to Black Hare Lane. The grass is so long and whips and twists around her ankles, her knees buckling with almost every step – the book feeling heavier and heavier in her grasp.

She is almost at the gate when she hears the thud of great paws landing nimbly behind her and although she cannot stop, or look around, she knows it is him. Mayfield. He snarls and hot meaty breath coats her neck and pushes her forward. She scrambles on, tripping and falling and rising and running in a chaotic chain of movements. He bears down on her but in the moment she feels her breath snag in terror in her throat and the creature’s breath brushing her hair it suddenly falls back.

Willow keeps going, lengthening the distance between them and when she finally reaches Paddy’s open gate, she clings to it, her chest heaving in panic and she turns and looks back. She sees a large dark grey wolf slinking back the way it came, picking up speed steadily, then breaking into a run. Breath held in horror that prickles across her flesh, Willow watches it vanish into the shadows.

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY THE FINAL CHAPTER!: Chapter Thirty “The Fight”