The Demise of Manfred T. Allowisseus Meriwether (Grizzelwolf Tales Book 1)

A Dark Historical Fantasy of Courage, Revenge, and Survival

For more than a century, the Meriwether and Crippedahl families have defended the wild forests of New France against the Grizzelwolfs—merciless, hell-born creatures determined to destroy mankind. Now, in 1737, legendary Grizzelwolf hunter Manfred T. Allowisseous Meriwether is nearing sixty, crippled by an old injury and facing the possible extinction of his family.

With time running out, Manfred and his wife, Lucette, devise one final plan to defeat Florence Grizzelwolf, the ruthless leader of their ancient enemies. Manfred will tether himself to a stake and lure Florence into a deadly confrontation. But as colonial border conflicts, unexpected romance, family secrets, and dangerous alliances complicate their plans, the line between victory and disaster grows dangerously thin.

Blending historical adventure, dark fantasy, family drama, and supernatural suspense, The Demise of Manfred T. Allowisseous Meriwether explores loyalty, sacrifice, and the extraordinary lengths one man will go to protect those he loves.

Discover a gripping tale of courage and betrayal in the untamed wilderness of eighteenth-century North America, where an old warrior's final battle may determine the fate of generations to come.

Excerpt from the book

Years

1709

“You sure picked a beautiful day for Matthieu’s birthday dinner,” Manfred said in Portuguese. Lucy had her arm around his waist. His stomach churned with butterflies.

He had his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned her head into him. As they walked down the trail to his cabin, her heart was racing. The smell of the wildflowers, the hardwoods, and the pines danced in her soul. A whip-poor-will sang. Will this be the day that he asks me? she wondered. “You do know that Abigail is pregnant again. I’m so happy for her.” Lucy reflected on Abigail’s miscarriage, her sadness, her anger, her wild escapades afterward.

He stopped and looked at her. “Why couldn’t that baby sister of mine listen to me and just grow up first instead of catting around?”

Lucy put her hand on his chest. “Manfred, Matthieu did have something to do with her getting pregnant…” She diverted her eyes to the ground, then sighed looking back at him. “and her miscarriage. Must you be so hard on her? What’s done is done. She needs you to be happy for her.”

He brushed her hair with his fingers and kissed her. “You’re right. Abbi says they are head over tea kettle in love now.” He chuckled. “What tickles me is that she thinks none of us know that she’s pregnant. Don’t worry, Lucette, I’ll act surprised and be happy for her.”

Lucy wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her head in his chest. “Oh, Manfred, thank you. I love you so much.”

He held her tight, drinking in the scent of her hair. “I love you, Lucette." I will ask her today.

The ancient of days, Horace C.W. Grizzelwolf, had been wandering aimlessly for weeks. His unkept black fur was now speckled with grey, and his huge grizzly bear shaped head with large white eyebrows arching over gargoyle-like eyes was missing the left ear. His four-and-a-half-inch double set of fangs—which were once needle sharp—protruding from a cavernous wolflike snout were now yellow and blunt. The devastating seven-inch razor-sharp claws that once adorned his front paws, half again the size of a man’s footprint, were now dull and worn to four inches.

He was five feet tall from the hump of his shoulders to the soles of his front paws. His ribs could be counted under his hide, and his gaunt, wolflike hind quarters revealed the weakness of age. The hair on his tail had begun to fall out. Even his keen eyesight was now dull. He grunted in disgust. “At least I can smell a mess of Ma Crippedahl’s taters an’ beans a mile away. That is, if there were any to smell.”

Spasms of addiction shot through his body. “Those stinkin’ wretched Meriwethers.” He flipped over a rotten log and lapped up the few grubs as his body quivered. “Oh, to just lick the drippings off a plate of taters and beans,” he muttered. He swung his head sideways and spat on the ground. “I curse you, Mordecai Meriwether. I curse you from your grave.”