De Wolfe Pack – Wolfe of the West

Wolfe of the Weslogo500

This book is part of Kathryn Le Veque’s World of de Wolfe Pack in amazon’s Kindle Worlds.

Wolfe of the West


A man is visited by a medieval ghost to set him straight on his path.


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Excerpt of Wolfe of the West

Billy de Wolfe, known as Wolfe to his friends as well as his enemies, trudged through the marshlands, stopping as the toe of his boot kicked against an object with a loud thunk. The night was dark, and the swampy earth beneath his feet smelled foul and rancid. The fog enshrouded his body like a glove, and he could not see where he was going nor where he’d been. Then came a strong breeze. The fog cleared and allowed the full moon in the sky to break through.

He tilted the brim of his hat upward, surveying the moon that was full and blood red. He’d never seen anything like this before. This looked downright nastier than Old Jed the last time he’d fallen into the work trough after bleeding out his prized pig.

Wolfe took in his surroundings, trying to find anything that looked familiar. He was a tracker and bounty hunter and made a living hunting down outlaws for the bounty on their heads. He’d never been lost before, but tonight nothing around him looked familiar. How did he get here? And where was here? Nothing made a lick of sense.

He looked down, surprised to see his bare chest. He stood there in the night in only his drawstring drawers, his boots, and hat. He hoped to hell he hadn’t gotten drunk on some of Crazy Zeke’s latest batch of white lightning and wandered out half naked.

His eyes roamed downward, and he bent over and picked up the object he’d hit with his foot. It was some sort of curved animal horn – possibly from a longhorn steer, or other very large animal. Moonbeams illuminated the horn, giving it an eerie glow. A shudder ran up his spine, and he figured it to be the cold breeze against his bare skin and nothing else.

Then his eyes wandered over the marshland, and as the fog thinned he was able to make out a bed of white on the ground.

“Son of a jackal, I don’t believe it.” His eyes opened in horror, seeing the boneyard all around him. Thousands of human skeletons were broken, crushed, and scattered about the whole area. His heart beat against his ribs as the hollowed-out eyes of the decapitated skulls gazed at him in silent warning. He swore he heard the wails and screams of these people echoing hard against his brain.

Looking upward, he saw a hill with a large stone castle in the distance. Turrets on each end and a large center keep rose up majestically into the sky. Though it was old and crumbling it held an undeniable elegance about it. Perhaps it was once the home of a king.

“A castle?” He spoke aloud and shook his head. He had to be mistaken. This wasn’t medieval England. He lived on the dusty plains of the rugged west. Homes were small and made of logs, and the ground was hard and dry, not soggy. None of this made any sense, and he was starting to feel very anxious.

With the next gust of wind, his senses were assaulted with a stench that smelled like the display of the latest dead outlaw in an upright open casket, outside the front of the sheriff’s office. But this was more horrifying than even the last pile of dead bodies the executioner loaded on the buckboard after the hanging of the entire Wilhelm gang just last week.

A hissing sound split the air, and Wolfe’s right hand itched and his trigger finger became jumpy. By habit, he reached for his Colt revolver, but had already forgotten it wasn’t at his side. Damn, this was going to be one hell of a night.