Hear Her Howl

by Kim DeRose

Genres: YA Werewolves & Shifters

Synopsis

As fiercely feminist as it is hopeful, this speculative, sapphic YA romance from the author of For Girls Who Walk through Fire is simultaneously a modern-day war cry and a PSA that there is a wolf who slumbers inside us all—we only have to wake her. 

Rue’s life is over. After she’s caught kissing a girl behind the Sunday School classrooms, she gets exiled to Sacred Heart so she can be transformed into her mother’s idea of a respectable lady. The irony of being sent to—of all places—an all-girls Catholic boarding school is not lost on Rue, especially when she falls immediately and irreversibly under the spell of its ethereal, ferocious outcast, Charlotte Savage. 

But there’s more to Charlotte than her sharp gaze and even sharper tongue: Charlotte Savage is, against all logic, a werewolf. And Rue can become one, too—any woman can, if she’s brave enough to heed the wild that howls inside of her.

She and Charlotte aren’t alone in answering the call, and upon forming a wolf pack of wild girls who refuse to remain docile, Rue realizes she couldn’t have been more wrong. Her life isn’t over. It’s just beginning.

This world is not kind to women, much less wild women…but God help the man who tries to cage the girls of Sacred Heart.

Release date: November 4, 2025

Publisher: Union Square & Co.

Print pages: 320

Sample

If you had told sixteen-year-old Rue Holloway that being sent away to Sacred Heart Academy, an all-girls Catholic boarding school in the middle of East Jesus Nowheresville, would turn out to be the wildest, most transformative experience of her life, she would have told you that you were 1,000 percent delusional.

In fact, as she stared out the back-seat window of her stepdad’s Chevy Suburban on what could have been a perfect fall day—if it weren’t for the fact that she was driving eighty-three miles from her hometown in Upstate New York toward impending doom—all Rue could think was screw my life.

“Oh, but Sacred Heart is an exceptional academy, darling,” her mother had informed her when she’d delivered the stellar news. They’d been seated around Rue’s stepdad’s formal dining room table on a warm summer evening, suspiciously eating Rue’s favorite meal: spaghetti and meatballs. Though Rue had suddenly lost her appetite. “I, of all people, should know,” her mom added.

“You said you hated it there,” Rue reminded her. “Detested. That’s the precise word you used.”

“I resisted it, at first,” her mother allowed. “But I grew to deeply value the experience and all that it instilled.”

“And you’ll be continuing a longstanding family tradition,” Harold piped up, swirling the red wine in his glass. “Didn’t your mother go there, Katherine?”

“She did.” Rue’s mom nodded. “As you know, Ruthie, she’s long thought it the best thing for you. And I’ve finally decided I agree. After all, Sacred Heart has turned out many a respectable young woman. Tributes to the community who are—”

“Pleasing and useful, and spread God’s love through good acts—yeah, I read your school handbook, Mom.” Which sounded nightmarish for back then, and atrocious in 1996.

“Then you’re off to a good start.” Her mom smiled. “Mother Superior was so kind to ensure you had a space.”

Mother Superior. Rue mentally rolled her eyes.

And what had she done to deserve this horrific fate?

Well, it might have had something to do with the fact that two weeks prior to her life being blown up over spaghetti and meatballs, Rue had been caught kissing Amy Brewer behind the Sunday school classrooms—by Amy’s stick-up-the-ass mother, no less. It was just a dare, a panicked Amy had assured her mom (not at all true), it didn’t even mean anything (definitely not true—and it stung to hear Amy say that). And while Rue knew for a fact that Amy’s mother had talked to her own mom—she’d overheard their strained phone call—they’d yet to actually discuss anything.

Then again, maybe being shipped off to Sacred Heart was simply the result of something Rue’d heard her entire life: that she was just too much. Too loud, too emotional, too messy, too obstinate, too dramatic, too sensitive, too everything.

And was that even true? Was she too much? Or was her mom simply not enough? What if her mom was too restrictive? What if she expected things from Rue that Rue instinctively knew were BS?

She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know. But what she did know was that when you’re told who and what you are for long enough, it’s freaking hard not to believe.

“I can’t believe what you did to your hair, Ruthie,” her mother lamented now, glancing at Rue in the visor mirror.

Rue had taken a pair of scissors to her hair the night before and hacked it off at shoulder length, creating spiky bangs like Lydia Deetz from Beetlejuice. And then she’d used a cheap bottle of store-bought hair dye and turned her light brown hair black.

“Well, I can’t believe you’re sending me away to boarding school, Mom,” Rue retorted. “So I guess we’re even.”

Her mom took a slow, deep breath and smoothed her own perfectly coiffed light brown hair as she looked out the window. Harold reached over and squeezed her hand, as if she were the one who needed reassurance. But was it her world getting turned upside down?

Sacred Heart Academy was located just outside Thornhill, a small New Hampshire town of roughly 8,000 people. The kind of town that had covered bridges, and cute bookstores, and likely ran a fall harvest festival. Not that Rue would see any of it. As they drove along Main Street, she gazed morosely at a local music store situated beside a cozy coffee shop, wondering if she could just hop out of Harold’s car right then and there and make a run for it.

“You’re sure this is the right way?” Harold asked in thinly veiled irritation as they turned onto Maplewood Drive.

“Yes. Just half a mile more.” Rue’s mother checked herself in her compact, nervously readjusting her silver Virgin Mary medallion, which Rue hadn’t seen her wear in ages. She glanced over her shoulder at Rue. “You’ll want to spit out that gum before we arrive.”

In response, Rue blew a bubble and then sucked it back in.

“Turn there.” Rue’s mom pointed up ahead to a pair of ornate open gates. The wrought iron sign that arched between them read SACRED HEART ACADEMY with an image of a flaming heart bisected by a cross.

“Hey.” Harold leaned over the steering wheel to get a better look. “Now this is quite a place, huh, Ruth?”

Rue refused to confirm Harold’s bland musing, but as they made their way up the long tree-lined drive she also couldn’t deny it. Warm afternoon light streamed through the dense trees, which, even in early September, were already tinged with amber, crimson, and gold. Up ahead Rue spotted tennis courts and athletic fields and a brand-new brick building that must have been an athletic center. In the open field beyond, she spotted a horse corral where an elderly man in a straw hat was feeding a shiny brown mare.

“Feels more like an estate,” Harold mused as they followed the curving road and a large brownstone mansion became visible up ahead. Beyond the mansion stretched what looked like miles of woods, running up toward a low hillside. “That forest puts the nature preserve behind our place to shame.”

“You know this was an estate,” Rue’s mom replied. “Eight hundred and fifty acres to be exact. Hester Montrose donated it to the church in 1880 under the condition that it be turned into an all-girl’s school. The dorms and dining hall are over there, Ruthie.” Her mom pointed toward a series of brick and limestone buildings off to the right of the mansion. “And the academic buildings and chapel are all over there.” She gestured toward a grand stone church and a series of old ivy-covered buildings to the left.

Rue coldly ignored her mother, but she had to begrudgingly admit that the campus was gorgeous: all meandering paths, and ivy-covered buildings, and an annoyingly perfect autumnal air. Not quite Dead Poets Society but not far off. Though she’d yet to spot a single student, which felt creepy as hell. There were supposedly 360 students at Sacred Heart, seventy-two girls in each dorm, so where were they? Probably cloistered behind closed doors, silently praying or some shit. The statue of the Virgin Mary looming outside the mansion was certainly a stark reminder of the school’s actual purpose: turning out virtuous young women.

They parked in the small lot beside the mansion, and Rue’s mother climbed out, her spine stiffer than usual, as if anticipating someone reprimanding her to stand up straight. Rue climbed out, too, her shoulders slumped forward as she slammed her door shut.

“Ruth.” Her mother grabbed a tissue from her purse and held it out for the gum.

And here was the sad truth about Rue Holloway: yes, she pushed back against her mom in plenty of small ways, making snappy comments, and rolling her eyes, and, as she was doing in that very moment, trudging along while dragging her feet, but when it really came down to it, she was afraid of rejection and prone to keeping the peace, and therefore always ultimately complied.

Heaving a sigh, Rue spit out her gum.

Following her mom and stepdad toward the mansion, Rue couldn’t help but feel that they were dragging her away from her old life and locking her away in an autumnal, ivy-covered cage. Then again, maybe that was just her being too dramatic per usual.

As they rounded the path toward the front of the mansion, Rue saw a young nun awaiting them out front.

“Welcome,” the nun said brightly. “I’m Sister Agatha.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Rue’s mom stopped before her. “I’m Katherine Bishop. This is my husband, Harold. And this, of course, is Ruth.” She motioned.

“Rue,” Rue corrected flatly.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Rue.” Sister Agatha smiled. She was beautiful, with rosy skin, a heart-shaped face and startlingly blue eyes. Rue couldn’t tell what her hair color was underneath her wimple, but she didn’t seem much older than twenty-four or twenty-five. “I’m so pleased you’ve joined our community. Why don’t you follow me inside and we’ll get started?”

“Where is everyone?” Rue asked as they followed the nun up the stairs.

“Oh, the girls are at dinner,” Sister Agatha explained, opening the heavy wooden front door. “But don’t worry, you’ll meet them soon enough.”

Inside, the mansion was all wood-paneled walls and polished marble floors and fancy brass sconces, and was unusually chilly, the scent of lemon cleanser and Ivory hand soap thick in the air. They followed Sister Agatha through the stately entryway, which was dominated by an enormous chandelier, continued past an impressive double staircase, and turned right down a long, eerily quiet hall. They stopped at a set of frosted glass-fronted doors where a brass sign affixed to the wall read HEADMISTRESS’S OFFICE. Sister Agatha knocked softly.

“Enter,” came a cool, commanding voice.

When Sister Agatha opened the door, Rue was unsurprised to find that the owner of said voice was an imposing, older nun.

“Mother Superior.” Rue’s mom bowed her head as she stayed near the door. She suddenly seemed so timid and small, like a teenager herself.

It was hard to tell Mother Superior’s age—anywhere between fifty-five and 100. She had perfect posture, a handsome, pale, unlined face, and a long scar that ran across one eyebrow. Her elegant hands were calmly folded atop her massive desk, but her intense, dark eyes were trained on Rue.

She motioned to the chairs and Rue’s mom quickly approached. Rue shuffled toward the other seat. Sister Agatha closed the door and took her leave.

“How wonderful to see you again, Katherine,” Mother Superior greeted. “I’m pleased to see that you landed on your feet.” Her gaze moved from Rue’s mom to Harold, who was still standing by the door.

Rue could see a blush creeping up her mom’s neck. Mother Superior was, no doubt, referencing Rue’s parents, who’d had her out of wedlock at a young age and then promptly broken up. “It’s lovely to see you as well, Mother Superior.” Her mom inclined her head. “And thank you again for this opportunity.”

“Of course.” Mother Superior did her best approximation of a smile. “Continuity of tradition is important.”

“Harold Bishop,” Harold suddenly greeted, lurching forward and reaching out a hand toward the nun.

She stared at it and then up at Harold, who promptly withdrew his hand.

“I’m sorry, how rude of me,” said Rue’s mom. “This is my husband, Harold. And this is my daughter, Ruth.”

Mother Superior turned her attention back toward Rue. “You’re a fortunate girl to have a mother who cares enough about your providence and well-being to send you to Sacred Heart.”

Rue smiled tightly but gave no reply.

“Now then, I’m sure your mother will have told you all about our school, but I want to lay out a few important guidelines. We have three core values at Sacred Heart: distinction, transformation, and communion.” Mother Superior pointed to the plaques on her wall bearing these very words. “We expect our girls to distinguish themselves and rise above the fray to be models of excellence in all things. We seek to transform ourselves and those around us, creating a more compassionate and moral world. And we commune with our Lord on a daily basis, via both holy communion and prayer.

“We are a closed campus,” she went on, barely taking a breath. “There is no leaving the grounds unless for a chaperoned volunteer opportunity or school event. The forest is also off-limits unless you are taking part in a class activity or have received explicit permission for a school project. We have a strict dress code, and our girls are expected to wear their uniforms at all times. Skirts must remain one inch below the knee, blouses buttoned to the top, and all clothing must be ironed and wrinkle free. No jewelry, makeup, unnatural hair colors, or secular clothing of any sort. Sacred Heart girls are always presentable. Lastly, we believe that idle hands truly are the devil’s workshop. As such, our girls have robust and tightly controlled schedules. Sister Agatha will find you later and help you select your extracurriculars. Our rules and stipulations are outlined within the school handbook, which she will provide as well. Now then, do you have any questions, Ruth?”

Mother Superior had already confirmed Rue’s worst suspicions: this school was going to blow. “No.” Rue shook her head.

“From now on,” Mother Superior warned, “you will reply in full when addressing our staff. No, Mother Superior. Why don’t we try that again? Do you have any questions, Ruth?”

On second thought, this school was going to majorly blow.

While Harold went to the car to grab Rue’s things, Rue’s mom dragged her toward (okay led her toward) the dormitories. Apparently, Rue’s belongings had to go through inspections first, which brought to mind Mother Superior standing there in white gloves, a sin-sniffing dog at her side.

“I was in Saint Perpetua,” Rue’s mom breezily informed her as she strode toward one of the five buildings. “The patron saint of mothers, actually. But you’ve been placed in Saint Agnes.”

Rue spotted a painting of a long-haired young woman holding a lamb on the building’s front door. She had a reverent expression, and a—okay, a bloody gash across her neck? That wasn’t at all disturbing.

“What’s Saint Agnes the patron saint of?” Rue asked her mom. “Wistful expressions and bloodshed?”

Inside, the residential building was eerily quiet as well—and incredibly bland: forest green Berber carpet, white painted walls, no decorations to speak of, just a large marble holy water font attached to the wall. As they passed, Rue gazed into the small pool of water and snarled at her reflection.

“Here we are,” said her mom as they reached room 203. She moved to unlock the door, but it flew open.

“Hi!” A cheerful girl with curly red hair and pale freckled skin beamed back at them. She was wearing her school uniform: a white blouse tucked into a green-and-blue plaid pleated skirt, knee-high socks, black Mary Janes.

“Oh,” Rue’s mom said in surprise. “We hadn’t realized anyone was here.”

“Yes, everyone’s at dinner but I told Mother Superior I’d be happy to stay behind to greet you. I’m Helen.” She smiled at Rue. “Your new roomie! Come on in!” She opened the door wider.

Rue decided on the spot, based solely on Helen’s enthusiasm and sunny persona, that she hated her new roommate. Was that fair of her? No. But did she care? Also no.

Her mom swapped pleasantries with Helen, and then looked around the small space. “Oh! This is just as I remember. And you’ve done such a nice job decorating, Helen.”

Rue’s roommate had already set up her side of the room, which was closest to the closets: her twin bed covered with a peach floral comforter and matching pillows, photos and tasteful art prints taped to the wall, white twinkle lights strung around the ceiling. A large crucifix hung on the wall between the two beds. Rue stared at it, wondering if it was glued on or if she could pull it down.

“So where are you from?” Helen asked, leaning up against her desk.

Rue slumped onto her bare mattress. “New York.”

“New York City?” Helen asked in enthusiasm.

“Upstate.” Rue flopped backward onto her bed, staring up at the water-stained ceiling.

“Where are you from, Helen?” Rue’s mom asked, pointedly ignoring what she undoubtedly felt was her daughter’s dramatic behavior.

“I’m from Keene, New Hampshire. There’s nothing all that cool about Keene, but”—she shrugged—“we like it.”

Rue half listened as her mom and Helen discussed the litany of extracurriculars that Helen was taking. They all sounded like something from a 1950s handbook about feminine conformity: ballet, ceramics, flute, needlepoint.

“Gosh, Mom.” Rue propped herself up on her elbows once Helen had gone down to dinner and Harold had dropped off her belongings and then escaped to the commons room to read the paper. “You think I’ll get the chance to do needlepoint?”

“Ruth,” her mother said calmly as she unpacked Rue’s trunk. “Why don’t you get up and actually make yourself useful?”

Rue grudgingly stood and helped her mom set up her side of the room, making the bed, putting away her clothes, stacking her collection of books on the desk—well, at least those that had made it through inspections. She noted that her Christopher Pikes were gone.

“Ruthie, listen,” her mom said as she hung clothes up inside Rue’s closet. “I know you’re upset about this decision, and I understand. Believe me, I do. I felt the exact same way when Gran sent me away. But I really am doing what I think is best for you. Harold, and Gran, and I, we know you’re such a good girl inside, we just want what’s best for you.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Rue ripped the tags off her new knee socks before stuffing them into one of the dresser drawers. Her mom had tried to make a whole thing out of ordering Rue’s stupid school uniform, attempting to sit down together one evening so they could pore over the catalog. As if Rue gave a crap about picking out a navy cardigan versus a navy V-neck pullover. Thanks, Mom, but I’d rather stab out my eyes, she’d informed her before stomping upstairs to her room.

“Hey.” Her mom came over and turned Rue to face her. “This can be a fresh start, Ruthie. A chance to put everything behind you. Not everyone gets that opportunity. I know you’re… questioning a lot of things. That’s not uncommon with girls your age. But I really do think some structure and training will help you reconnect with your true self.”

Rue stared back. What was her true self, she wanted to ask. Someone who didn’t kiss girls behind the Sunday School classrooms? Someone who didn’t laugh too loud or slurp her soup or unintentionally stomp when she walked? Someone who wasn’t too much? Did her mom even know Rue’s true self? Or was she just wishing for some future version of Rue that she’d always dreamed of but would never actually exist?

“Sure, Mom,” she sighed. Because she suddenly felt so depressed by the whole thing that she didn’t even have the energy to argue.

Her mom pulled her into a hug. “I love you, Ruthie. I really do.”

And Rue believed her. She really did. She just wished her mom also knew and liked her.

Once Rue’s mom and Harold had finally driven off—Rue’s mom waving one manicured hand out the passenger-side window—Rue stood there a long moment, alone in the falling dark. In the distance, she could hear the singsongy voices of good little girls making their way back toward their saintly dorms, and beyond that, the occasional caw of a raven in the woods. Cool breeze stirred Rue’s newly dyed hair.

She had never felt more alone in her life.

Helen was back from dinner and reading a textbook at her desk when Rue returned. Rue had intentionally waited outside long enough that she could avoid the other girls, though she’d silently passed a few in the hall.

“Hi,” Helen greeted, turning to look at Rue.

“Hey.” Rue went to her desk and busied herself with rearranging her books, trying to organize the ache away.

“I just want you to know that I get that it can be hard to adjust to this place,” said Helen. “But I promise, you will.”

Rue was quiet, her gaze flitting to the photo of her best friends, Nicki and Lola. They’d promised to write, and she knew they would, but she also knew their lives would move on without her.

“Anyway, you should probably get changed,” Helen added, going back to her textbook. “We have mass in twenty minutes.”

“Mass in the evening?” Rue kicked off her Keds.

“We have mass every evening,” Helen informed her, turning the page of her book.

Rue stared at the row of identical outfits hanging in her closet. What was it about Catholic school uniforms, she wondered as she stepped behind her closet door to change? Why were they so fetishized when they were, in fact, so constricting and terrible? Then again, they weren’t drastically worse than the tasteful feminine outfits Rue’s mom bought her from The Limited.

At 6:50, Rue followed Helen out of their dorm, behind a trail of girls making their way across the dusky campus. The surrounding trees were silhouetted against the violet sky, which was threaded with apricot and gold. Rue tugged at her blazer sleeve as Helen introduced her to a few people, including a humorless girl who informed Rue she planned to one day join the Poor Clare’s. Rue almost laughed—the silent order of nuns? Okay—but then realized she was serious.

“Hey,” whispered a girl directly behind her. She was tall with dark brown skin and shoulder-length braids that reminded Rue of Dionne from Clueless. “You’re new, right?”

“Yeah.” Rue smiled awkwardly.

“I’m Morgan,” said the girl. “Just so you know, this place can take a little adjusting. This is my third year, but I hated it freshman year. Remember how I hated it?” she asked the girl beside her.

“Morgan was miserable,” the other girl confirmed. She was short and curvy, with light brown skin and long wavy brown hair that reminded Rue of Lola’s. “I’m Angelica, by the way. I’m also a junior.”

“Eventually I settled in, though,” Morgan assured Rue. “And this school has great academics. Their IB program is excellent—that’s the whole reason my parents sent me here. Anyway, just give it time is all I’m saying.”

“Totally,” Angelica agreed, playing with her necklace—a silver saint medallion like the one Rue’s mom wore. “It took me at least a semester to adjust, but now I’m good.”

Rue raised her eyebrows, smiling tightly, but she was certain there was no amount of time that would make this place palatable.

The chapel was already half full when they arrived, organ music drifting through the open doors of the long stone building, the scent of incense and burning candles thick in the air. Tall stained-glass windows lined the walls, and a large altar stood at the front, a crucifix of Jesus hanging on the wall behind it, his mournful expression turned heavenward.

As Rue filed into the nave behind the pack of other uniformed students, she was overcome with the same sensations she always felt when entering church: childhood awe, reverence for the Catholic vibes, and an overwhelming sense of duty. Like a shroud of obedience had descended from the heavens the moment she set foot inside the church. Though shalt be respectful. Though shalt stay in line. Though shalt do as thou are told and do so with a pleasant smile.

Rue followed Helen into one of the rows and took a seat on the hard wooden bench. She glanced around at the other girls filling the many pews of the nave, their hands folded in their laps, their gazes fixed on the front of the church. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that the final rows were filled with nuns, Mother Superior among them, sitting tall and straight.

Everyone abruptly stood as a middle-aged dark-haired priest entered the nave and strode down the center aisle in his regal gown.

Mass was your typical Catholic affair of standing and singing and sitting and kneeling and sitting and kneeling and on and on—a routine Rue knew so well from years of attending church with her mom that she could participate on autopilot while her mind drifted off.

She stared up at the stained-glass windows, realizing they all depicted female saints. Martyrs who’d rather be burned alive or beheaded than rescind their beliefs. What was the difference between burning a saint because you didn’t like the way she lived, and burning a “witch” because you didn’t like the way she lived? Seemed like people were pretty quick to burn any woman who was bold enough to lead her own life. Also, sainthood seemed a pretty shitty consolation prize; girls symbolically taking your name at Confirmation and then basically never thinking about you again? No thanks.

“Let us pray,” the priest said for the millionth time, and everyone knelt on their individual velvet-covered kneelers.

Rue was just folding her hands when she felt the distinct sensation of being watched. And not just by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; no, by an actual person. She turned her head and saw that five people down, at the very end of the pew, a steely-eyed blonde was staring at her.

The blonde had high cheekbones, a sharp chin, and dark brown eyes that stood out in comparison to her pale skin and long, white-blond hair. She was beautiful, but in an intense Fiona Apple kind of way, which, in Rue’s opinion, only added to her beauty. All the other Sacred Heart girls were prim and proper in their uniforms—shirts tucked into pleated skirts, blazers buttoned, black crisscross neckties perfectly in place—but the blonde had a weather-worn vibe, the sleeves of her rumpled shirt rolled up, her blazer tied around her waist, no necktie to be found.

Rue stared back.

The blonde did not break eye contact.

The priest was droning on, likely praying for their souls. Everyone else had their heads bowed, but Rue and the blonde kept staring at one another, barely blinking, neither backing down.

In the next moment everyone stood, and Rue lost her view of the blonde.

When she spotted her again, she was still seated and no longer staring at Rue; her atte. . .