Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga

door. Against the doorframe, a thick smear of blood was spread like tar. My throat went dry. On the floor beneath lay a large shred of Mama’s dress.
I ran to it, clutched the fabric to my chest. I raised the crossbow high and kicked the back door open.
Splotches of blood formed a trail from the rear stoop, across the grass behind the cottage, continuing toward the stable. Crimson cantered around the cottage to meet me, drawn by the noise at the back door. He noted my intensity and looked to one side, perhaps wondering what I was tracking. He sniffed at the blood and snorted, 144
sounding angry. I followed the scarlet trail to the stable entrance and hurried inside.
The mess was everywhere. The walls, the posts, the hay, the troughs. All matted with thick blood. Most of it had collected in Royale’s stall. I moved toward it slowly, trembling. Within the stall, Royale’s saddle lay on its side. Strands of hay stuck to the blood that coated it.
Beyond the stall, the rest of my mother’s dress lay in a sickening pile of straw and dark blood. Crimson stood back and stamped his hooves. My legs felt like melting wax as I stepped closer. I found her jewelry and one of her shoes.
Nothing more. She had been taken naked, along with Papa’s horse. They had taken everything from us. Everything.
Beside Mama’s abandoned dress lay a hand. A tiny skeletal hand.
I fell to my knees before it. My crossbow fell to the hay. It landed on something soft and red, but it didn’t sink through the way it would have sunk into straw. I reached into the inky blood that coated the fabric and lifted it slowly. The blood clung to it and wouldn’t let go.
It was her blanket. Her fuzzy woolie.
I felt the moan gathering in my gut before it reached my throat and became a wail.
Suzette.
“Celeste! Suzette!” It was Father Vestille’s voice, calling from somewhere near the front of the cottage.
I considered calling out to him from the stable. To come find my family’s remains.
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My mouth would only whimper.
Father Vestille’s feet kicked up a flurry of dust as he skidded into the stable. He gaped at me as I knelt beside Royale’s stall, next to the dress and my sister’s hand, holding her bloody blanket.
He stood at the entrance beside Crimson, his chest heaving. “Helena. What – happened?”
I didn’t answer. He knew what happened.
Anyone seeing this would know. But just like Father Vestille, no one would admit to knowing.
A wolf howled nearby.
Dark rage surged through me and lifted me to my feet. I snatched up Papa’s crossbow and ran past Father Vestille.
“Helena, wait!”
He ran after me with Crimson trotting along behind. At the edge of the forest, barely hidden among the trees, a wolf stood.
Stood.
I had not imagined it. The monster stood on its hind legs, even now, and grinned. Mocking me from the woods.
I lunged toward it. Father Vestille tackled me and pinned me to the ground. “Helena, no!”
He held me down with his full weight, pressing me into the dirt. I strained to rise. To strike at the beast. To fire a bolt into its belly and turn that smile into a grimace of agony.
I finally pushed Father Vestille off and rolled aside. I ran at the wolf as it turned to lope away. I heard it laugh as it fled – actually laugh –
in a sort of whooping cackle.
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I charged at the spot where it had stood. I squinted for a sign of its vanishing tail while Father Vestille chased after me.
“Stop, Helena, stop!”
Crimson galloped from behind me and clomped to a halt, blocking my path. Doing what Father Vestille could not do. Stopping me from rushing straight to my own death.
Father Vestille soon reached us. Crimson snorted at me and I stood there, struggling to control my rage.
To focus it.
Father Vestille wheezed and bent over, his hands on his knees. He wasn’t used to sprinting.
“Helena, please,” he gasped. “There’s nothing –
you can do.”
I stared through tree after dark tree, tracing the wolf’s likely path. “Not yet.”
He hung his head. “Helena –.”
“You saw it, Father. It stood.”
“Stood?”