Hannah Pole - Silence of the Wolves

One day I came across an old diary entry that made me laugh so hard I actually fell off my chair. (Yes, this really can happen!) I decided that the entry was so funny, it needed to be shared with the world. So I started writing, and attempted to turn it into a novel. Though to this day that novel remains unfinished, it will always be the novel that got me started, and showed me what I was passionate about. I have aspired to be everything from a private investigator to a zoo keeper; my interests change so quickly that I could never stick to one. Writing gives me the freedom to choose; I can be a cold-hearted assassin in love with a poet one day and the secret lesbian lover of a politician the next! All my life, I have had a strong, unwavering passion for anything supernatural, spiritual and slightly unexplainable, I love the idea that there can be something completely fantastical lurking beneath the confines of normality. So of course, mythical creatures of all shapes and sizes dominate most of my work In a nutshell, I am a creative, crazy bean, living with my lovely husband and a house full of too many animals. I’ve always secretly wished I were a werewolf of some description, but have come to realise that I will have to settle for writing about them instead! I’m happiest in the sun with my head in a good book! All I can say from here is, I hope you like what you read!

Acknowledgements Firstly, thank you to Daniel Pole, my lovely man. Thank you for supporting me through my literary dreams. I realise the long hours I’ve put into these books have left you wifeless and fending for yourself most of the time. I am truly grateful that you still put up with me after all this time. And to Anna, my editor, thank you for your patience and keen eye for detail. Without your help, I can honestly say this book would not be even remotely as strong as it is today. Your guidance and passion has made me a better writer than I could ever have hoped to be. I would also like to thank Vicky Castle, for getting me started. Georgia Lycett, Liza, Mike and William Townsend for all your love and support. And to Fiona Dixon and Adam Stewart for keeping me going through the hard parts. Thank you to everyone who has put up with my constant rambling; it is greatly appreciated and, without you, I wouldn’t have made it this far.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Breaking news

Swirling her now cold coffee around in her mug, Tamriel sat staring at the screen at the only two words she’d written all day. As if it was taunting her, the screen saver flashed up again, notifying her that she’d not done a thing for the last twenty minutes. With a sigh, she moved the mouse to bring the screen back up, checked her email for the hundredth time, and finally logged out.

Picking up her jumper, she headed for the door.

Two weeks and not one good story. TWO WEEKS!

She’d become a junior reporter for Kent News because she loved the excitement of a good story; she loved the chase of the unknown. What she’d found, however, was a whole lot of nothing. Wow, yesterday, a cat had managed to get stuck in a tree… Like that’s never happened before.

Breaking news! I’m stuck in a dead end job, going nowhere.

Waving goodbye to the few people she actually spoke to in the office, and passing Harlan the creepy janitor, she stepped out into the cold night. The cold wind hit her face like an icy slap, urging her feet forward. The night was clear; the streets empty, except for the odd drunk stumbling towards the next pub. The only sound, echoing through the cold night, was the bass of nightclubs filling the air with a dull thumping in the distance.

As she strode home, Tamriel found herself wishing for a better job, for a more interesting life. Once she’d been happy, when her father was still around. He was the only person she’d ever felt understood her.

When she was a child, he’d always told her to love the person she was, to embrace the life she had. They had spent their days sparring; unlike most fathers who taught their children to read, he taught her to fight. She’d learnt everything she knew about self-defence and tracking from him. It was those years of knowledge that had led her to be the writer she was, hunting out a good story and knowing how to defend herself if the situation got nasty. But no one wanted her to do what she was truly good at; the sexist pig she had for a boss thought women should be interviewing old ladies and children, writing about gossip and fashion. Not hunting down rapists, helping the police solve murders and writing hard-hitting news. No, any leads she got hold of were instantly shifted over to one of her boss’s lackeys and she was shoved straight back to doing admin. She cursed herself for her lack of backbone and wished for the thousandth time that she had the balls to just up and leave. Lord only knew what was keeping her in this little town.

Turning the corner onto her road, Tam stopped, then whipped round, every sense screaming at her. She was being followed, she was sure of it. Her skin crawled with the feeling that eyes were on her, but who? Where? The streets were as empty as the sky itself; not a person or cloud in sight.

She crouched, inspecting the ground underneath the cars lining the road, scanned the surrounding ‘decorative’ trees, nothing.

Though the light of day had long gone, and the only illumination came from the dim, flickering street lights, Tam was certain there was nothing to be found; hell, her night vision was nigh-on perfect, and even when that failed her, her other senses were abnormally accurate. Sure, she was currently stamping along the pavement like a pissed- off child, but generally she kept herself silent; she could move fluidly through almost any environment without making a sound. Her hearing had always been so advanced she’d been called a freak because of it in her school days; though usually whispered from across the classroom, she’d always heard it. Heard it and hated it.

Feeling like a paranoid loon, she continued, listening intently for the sound of footsteps, watching for someone hidden in the darkness. Something was off. Way off.

The reporter in her wanted to search the area, stalk the streets until she found what was there; she loved tracking what little evidence there might be until she found the hidden story. Maybe that was it? Maybe she was so desperate for anything interesting to write about that she was inventing problems? Were the hairs on the back of her neck rising to tell her something was amiss, or was it actually just because it was a cold winter night? Was the tight ball curling its way through her gut instinct telling her to be aware of her surroundings? She had always trusted her instincts; they’d never led her astray before.

‘Get off me!’ The scream was piercing, deafening to Tamriel’s ears.

Without thinking, Tam broke into a sprint towards the sound echoing through the darkness. She had never been cautious, had always been prepared to jump head first into danger; her father had told her that would be her downfall. He’d always told her to take a step back to assess the situation first, but seriously? When someone is screaming up ahead, possibly hurt and in desperate need of help? How could you not run to help?

The safe route never led to anything interesting anyway.

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