Ruler (Wolves of Royal Paynes #2) - Kiki Burrelli Page 0,10

only making themselves known with an isolated howl or snarl.

They didn't try to eat each other; the animals didn't interact at all. They watched.

And they continued to watch while evening transitioned into night before swinging back around to start the clock again. The road continued, and to Diesel's credit, he didn't suggest turning around once. At some point, we would have to, either when the road ended or it was clear there was no one here.

Until then, we stalked forward at a brisk pace fast enough to cover ground, but not so fast we would miss something. I strained my ears for a whisper, a moan, something that would indicate someone was around, in pain or afraid, but it was impossible to pinpoint anything over the racket.

My body prepared like it would for a fight, pumping large amounts of blood to my outer extremities, delivering liquid power that had no outlet. "The forest clears ahead." I gestured forward with my forehead, and Diesel grunted.

"I can't tell if anyone's up there. It's too loud. And there are too many extra smells."

Our extra senses weren't as helpful in a situation like this, where we were surrounded with auditory and olfactory stimuli, but my intuition had gotten us this far, and right now it told me we were on the right track.

The trees thinned out, thinning the herds and flocks around us as well. We broke into a clearing surrounded by a chain-link fence that had once separated the rectangle of land from the surrounding forest. Now, it was broken and sagging in places, while other portions of the fence lay completely on the ground, creating several entry points around the enclosure. A collection of structures, small huts and moderately larger cabins painted forest ranger green, sat in a loose format that reminded me of a work camp or a prison. Near the entrance where one side of the chain-link gate hung like a loose tooth stood a tower, probably fifty feet high.

Tall tower.

My chest lurched, pulling me toward the tower, but the stairs leading up had seen better days. The notes made me think he was up there, but I had to rely on my senses. I couldn't smell anything different from that direction, just more of the animal smells that covered everything else. Feathers and bits of fur rolled over the ground like tumbleweeds. I couldn't hear him either, not his breathing, not his heartbeat. The tower didn't look like it had been used in some time. Where the stairs weren't starting to crumble, the way was blocked with branches and pieces of broken furniture.

The branches didn't look out of place. The forest had already started reclaiming the land with trees growing inside of a few of the huts. Their branches stuck out the hut windows like arms in a shirt.

The only building that didn't look like it was a strong wind away from toppling over was the largest cabin directly in front of us.

Dog broke from our three-point formation to circle around the back and check the building's perimeter while I charged forward, motioning for Diesel to hold his position. Unlike most of the other buildings, the door to this one was shut tight and locked closed with a padlock attached to the safety hasp. Spiderwebs clung to the doorframe, enough to tell me it hadn't been open in at least a week.

Dog let out two sharp barks, his signal that he hadn't sensed anything from the other side of the house. I pulled a Leatherman from my belt and used the knife end to pry the lock.

Inside smelled like wet wood and ash, sharp and musty. The room was pitch black, save for the light flowing in through the doorway. There was a woodstove in the corner that likely provided the only light when the door was shut, considering how the windows were all covered with butcher paper. It spread across every wall of the room, lined with pictures that had been taped on or hand-drawn notes.

Next to the door, the words, "From heaven? Or hell?" were written in thick letters that looked nothing like the handwriting from the notes. The notes continued all the way around the room, separated by pictures. Some were cut from magazines or newspapers, while others were developed photos.

My eyes landed on a smiling face against a blue background. A school photo, judging from the age of the subject and the style of the photo. The kid was in his teens with a mop