The Wolf Gift: The Wolf Gift Chronicles (1)
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When Reuben Golding, a young reporter on assignment, arrives at a secluded mansion on a bluff high above the Pacific, it’s at the behest of the home’s enigmatic female owner. She quickly seduces him, but their idyllic night is shattered by violence when the man is inexplicably attacked—bitten—by a beast he cannot see in the rural darkness. It will set in motion a terrifying yet seductive transformation that will propel Reuben into a mysterious new world and raise profound questions. Why has he been given the wolf gift? What is its true nature--good or evil? And are there others out there like him?
her please to connect with the doctor. The kid had been bitten. It was true. His mother was silent for a moment. Then she said in a strained voice, “Reuben, if I were to tell this doctor the things I observed in your case, I’m not sure I’d have much cred with her at all.” “I know that, Mom, I understand. I know,” he said. “But there just could be some really important things you could share with her, you know, about the antibiotics you used, the rabies treatment, whatever you did in my case
became of them, of that particular way of life. I was no conscious chronicler or witness of the events that unfolded in those times. Surely you understand. You must understand. Do you look thousands of years into the future? Do you measure what’s happening to you now by what may matter a thousand years hence? I was stumbling and lurching, groping and from time to time drowning, as any man might.” His voice was now heated and running smoothly. “I had no view of myself as positioned by fate or
Oriental carpets, turning on the many scattered lamps. Slowly the room took on a cheerful glow. The furniture was immense, but comfortable, with worn but serviceable slipcovers and occasional caramel-colored leather chairs. There were a few hulking bronze sculptures, all of predictable mythological figures, very old-fashioned. And a number of dark landscapes in heavy gilt frames hanging here and there. The warmth was now relentless. In a few minutes he would be taking off his scarf and his
and again, Reuben sank his fangs, wounding, maddening the animal, and then shredding the thick resistant layer of living meat with all the strength he had in his jaws. The cat would not give up. Its long powerful body convulsed, its hind legs kicking. It gave a deep whining and furious cry. Only as he came round on top of it, forcing its head back with his left claw, was he able to kill it, piercing the softer underside of its neck, fangs closing deep on its spine. The flesh and the blood were
around this place, you know. This place is yours now, son, and people have got to get used to that. It’s not Felix’s house. Felix is long gone.” “Well, I’ll be on the lookout for him,” Reuben said. “Like I was saying, he isn’t really a bad fella. Everybody knows him around here. He’s just one of those strange international drifters that was always around. But this is your house now.” He walked Galton to the door. “You come down to the Inn tonight if you want to have a drink with us,” he said.