Justin grinned, “Hell yeah.”
Aedan nodded. “Good. Get set up. You’ll be shooting to the west as the pack heads north.”
“What about all the trees?” Damon asked.
“What about them? No big deal,” Justin said.
“Damon, once Justin takes his first shot, you’ll have a matter of moments before you’re up, so be ready.”
Damon nodded.
A howl rose in the distance, joined almost immediately by innumerable others. The full moon hung like a bleached skull in the night sky.
They waited, knowing that the pack approached.
Aedan crouched beside Justin, who laid on his stomach with his shoulder pressed against the butt of his rifle and his eye up to the scope.
“Always take out the alpha male first. Not only is he the most dangerous member of the pack, he’s also the leader. Take him out and you’ll have multiple beta males that want to take over. The others won’t know whose lead to follow,” Aedan said.
“And the alpha’s the big guy up front,” Justin said.
“Usually up front. Always the biggest wolf in the pack,” Aedan said.
Another howl rose, much closer this time and followed by the faint sounds of loud growls and snarls.
Justin scanned the southern edge of his field of view as the pack burst out of the night. He scanned back and forth a few times before finding a male near the front of the pack that stood a head taller than those around it.
Justin lined up his shot, adjusting to account for the distance, the slight breeze, and the speed of the pack. He took a deep breath, held it, and took the shot.
The big male’s head snapped to the side. Blood, brain, and chips of bone sprayed onto the wolf that ran beside it as the huge, hairy body fell forward and skidded to a stop.
A booming howl erupted from the rear of the pack. The sound hit them at their place atop the hill like a peal of thunder. The note was long and deep and seemed to make the air around them vibrate.
“Shit,” Aedan said as he stood.
“What happened?” Justin asked. Though he remained at the rifle, there was panic in his voice.
“That wasn’t the alpha,” Aedan said. “Get up and get ready.”
The pack shifted as one. It moved towards the hill, spreading out as it did so, so that the wolves approached the hill from all sides.
The alpha male came straight at them. He was far too big to try an ambush. He was also too fast and strong to be afraid of a trio of men, even armed men. Running hunched, the alpha stood nearly ten feet tall. It growled as it moved, and the deep bass of it rumbled in the hunters’ bones.
The females and smaller males moved like greyhounds, keeping ahead of their leader. The alpha moved as if he were in no hurry, ominous and slow in his ascent of the hill.
“Training is over,” Aedan said to the rookies. He pulled his Glocks from their holsters.
Justin picked up his assault rifle. He squeezed off bursts at the wolves that made their way up the south side of the hill.
Aedan squeezed off one shot after the next, never rushing, always careful to ensure that each shot resulted in a kill.
Damon held the monk’s spade and watched the wolves advance.
Then Aedan holstered one gun and pulled his short sword from the sheath on his back. Once the sword was ready, he holstered the other Glock and slid one of the silver-tipped brass knuckles over his right hand.
As the wolves neared, Justin realized that he needed the option of shooting in multiple directions at once. He dropped the rifle and pulled two semi-automatic pistols.
He concentrated on the south and east of the hill, keeping his breathing regular and focusing only on the closest wolves.
Then he heard growling that seemed to be right in his ear. He turned to find a big male, likely a beta, diving at him with its huge jaws spread wide.
Justin reacted without thinking, bringing his arm up to protect himself. The wolf bit down on his forearm and plowed into him, knocking them both to the ground. Justin craned his neck and saw other wolves approaching. He squeezed off a few shots with his free hand.
The wolf at his arm growled, but Justin focused on the others. Although the wolf’s teeth could not penetrate the Kevlar body armor, the flexible material gave under the immense pressure of the monster’s bite. There was a muffled snap as the bones in Justin’s forearm snapped.
He screamed as the wolf bit down harder, grinding the broken radius and ulna together.
The wolf reached up and clawed at Justin’s face. The long, sharp nails on two of its fingers cut deep gashes from his forehead, over his eye, and right past the corner of his mouth.
Justin ground his teeth and put the barrel of the gun between the wolf’s eyes. His eyes narrowed and he shot again and again, putting bullets into the beast’s face until it slumped onto his broken arm as dead weight.
As Damon watched the wolves approach, he tried to force his chi outward, to sense his approaching enemies, to feel their attacks before his eyes could see them.
Damon watched them approach and he felt only fear; it caused his chi to shrink inward and form a small, useless lump in the center of his chest.
The monk’s spade felt light in his hands. Damon inhaled, forcing the air deep into his lungs, and threw himself at the approaching beasts.
He moved like water, his body bending and flowing past every snarling mouth and slashing set of claws. The spade was an extension of his body; as he moved, it moved around him, swiping with the wide curve of the half moon blade, thrusting with the concave edge of the crescent moon blade.
Damon focused not on the kill, but on the flow and interactions of energies, his and the wolves’. He thrust his blade at a clawed hand, an open maw, attacking the weapons of his enemies.
Then a small female that moved like lightning brought a meaty hand down on the monk’s spade, snapping the staff near the middle.
Damon slashed at the female with the remnants of his weapon, but its balance was gone, his movements were off, and she evaded his every strike.
Damon dropped the broken weapon and pulled two chain whips from his pockets. Each one consisted of short, iron links with a silver blade at the end.
The wolves approached from all sides, and Damon’s fear became unbearable. He spun the chain whips and they hummed in his ear, blocking out the sound of growling.
The silver blades orbited Damon like electrons around the nucleus of an atom, moving so fast and at such shifting angles that they seemed to be everywhere at once.
Damon forced his breathing to slow; he forced himself to focus on the hum of cut air. As his fear faded, his chi expanded. It reached out, and it sensed the wolves.
Damon knew all at once the position and distance of every wolf around him. He broke his own rhythm then. The silver blades slashed and shot like darts. They slit throats and stabbed eyes.
Damon forced his chi down the links and into the blades, ensuring their accuracy, increasing the power of each strike. His chi throbbed around him, beating like the heart of the universe. He feared nothing.
To the untrained eye, Aedan seemed to react to attacks before they had even occurred. To the untrained eye, Aedan seemed to move with supernatural speed, to strike with inhuman strength.
In reality, Aedan’s abilities were a unity of genetics and training. His speed, strength, and reactions were all very human, but Aedan was an alpha, the best of even the best humans.
He moved towards the enormous male, knowing that he had to be the one to fight it. Aedan had seen some huge wolves in his time, but this was by far the biggest.
Smaller males went before their leader.
Aedan slashed with his short sword and severed a clawed hand, a lupine head, the front half of a fanged snout.
A wolf ran at him with its mouth opened, and Aedan dislocated its jaw with a single hook punch with the silver-spiked brass knuckles.
Aedan went through one wolf after the next and he never stopped moving
towards the alpha.
The gargantuan male howled as Aedan approached. Then it crouched and seemed to smile. Thick saliva dripped from its fangs.
Aedan stood only a bit taller than the alpha’s waist. Moonlight gleamed on the silver symbols etched into the blade of his sword. Aedan rolled his wrist and cut through the air with his weapon as he neared his adversary.
The alpha clenched its fists once and then deepened its crouch.
For a single moment, they were both still.
Then the alpha threw itself forward and slashed at Aedan with the claws of its right hand.
Aedan blocked the slash with the broad side of his sword, dropped into a deep stance, and punched into the side of the alpha’s knee with the silver-spiked brass knuckles.
Its leg buckled, and the alpha fell forward.
Aedan shuffled backward as the beast’s immense weight brought it down.
The alpha stretched forward and snapped its jaws at Aedan. It landed on its powerful arms and used its uninjured leg to lunge at the hunter.
Aedan dodged, throwing himself forward and sideways, swiping with his sword as he did so. The blade caught the alpha at the back of its hurt knee.
The alpha growled but remained down on all fours. It held its left leg off the ground. The wound bled profusely, unable to close because it was inflicted with silver.
The alpha was still tall enough to look straight into Aedan’s eyes.
Aedan attacked with his sword, but the alpha was too fast. It slipped the attack and clawed at Aedan’s arm, aiming for the veins in his forearm.
Aedan turned his arm at the last moment, taking the claws to the muscle on the back of his forearm. The sword was knocked from his hand and it felt like fire had spread up his arm.
Aedan shuffled back, slipping the other brass knuckles over his unarmed hand as he did so.
Smelling the intense copper odor of blood, the alpha, drooling heavily, lunged forward at the retreating hunter.
As the brass knuckles slid into place, Aedan made two tight fists and took a final step back. He landed on the balls of his feet and sprung forward.
His first two punches caught the alpha in the eye and at the side of the jaw, knocking its head to the left. Aedan threw a flurry of punches at the alpha’s exposed neck. The small silver spikes bit into the alpha’s throat and tore away pieces of flesh.
The wolf growled at Aedan and slashed with its claws in a wide arch that Aedan ducked under.
The hunter threw three punches, all into the corner of the alpha’s eye. With the third punch there was a loud snap as the orbital socket cracked.
Aedan felt it then. Every warrior culture had a name for it. It’s the calm found only in frenzy, the peace in violence. He was at one with the hunt. He was a weapon fulfilling its purpose.
He threw a powerful uppercut, knocking the alpha’s massive head back. He followed with a punch to the throat that crushed the wolf’s windpipe.
Aedan stopped consciously aiming then, but his training was such that every seemingly wild punch struck a weak point.
The last two punches turned the head and then snapped the neck, effectively decapitating the alpha.
The wolf fell forward at Aedan’s feet.
Aedan looked down at it for a moment while he caught his breath. Then he turned, still clenching the bloodied brass knuckles in his fists.
Justin and Damon stood at the top of the hill. Justin cradled his broken arm against his abdomen. His left eye was closed and the long cuts on his face oozed thick, clotting blood. The young hunters just stared at him.
“Nice work,” Aedan said.
“Holy shit,” Justin said.
“You okay?”
“Chicks dig scars,” Justin said.
Aedan smiled. “And you? How do you feel, Damon?”
Damon thought for a moment, then smiled a serene grin. “Enlightened.”
Aedan laughed. “Congratulations, boys. You’re hunters now.”
Two days later, Aedan stood before Maxwell Caulfield’s imposing desk. Justin, his injured arm wrapped and in a sling and the cuts on his face stitched up, and Damon, wearing the loose monk’s robes in which he was most comfortable, stood at attention behind him.
“All taken care of?” Caulfield asked.
“And cleaned up,” Aedan said.
“Please, Aedan, what is your honest…” Caulfield sought the right word for a moment “… professional assessment?”
Aedan cracked a slight smile and nodded.
Caulfield clapped his hands together and flashed his predator’s smile. “As I’d hoped. Thank you, Aedan. I appreciate your having done this.”
“It was my pleasure, sir.” Aedan bowed. Caulfield nodded.
Aedan turned to Justin and Damon and bowed to each one. “It’s been a pleasure. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”
They bowed as well.
Then Aedan left. He had just enough time to have lunch with Father Stephen before he had to get on a plane headed for Canada. Something was preying on tourists in the northern Rockies.
Aedan smiled as he walked down the hall. He loved his job.
Hunting Vengeance
Steven Gepp
He was a hunter. It was not what he loved exactly, but it was what he did, what he indulged in, and he could afford it. The inheritance had seen him start life comfortably, even though coming into it quite young, and his own business nous had seen his wealth increase so significantly he no longer needed to work. And so he could indulge his passions: reading and collecting books, hiking and walking, music, and of course, the hunting.
But he did not hunt indiscriminately.
He hunted specific animals: very specific animals. It often took quite a while to find one in the back woods or in the out of the way places of the United Kingdom, where he restricted himself. But when he was successful, their heads found a place onto the walls of the Mausoleum—his name for the large, subterranean room beneath his fifteenth century mansion—and he was very satisfied.
Of course, if he was mistaken, then it was not a waste, as the heads would be treated, mounted onto wooden backboards and then used to decorate his large smoking room amongst the portraits of long-dead relations and suits of armor that lined this antique room. Nothing ever went to waste…
If only Lydia was still here to enjoy it with him.
Of course, then, the hunting would not be necessary.
That emptiness of her passing had never left, never been filled.
But she had also become his inspiration.
One of those… those things had killed her, and now he was going to kill as many of them as possible, leaving none alive.
It was the mission he set for himself.
And this mid-morning, like every other, Sir Lionel Farnsworth sat at his breakfast table and pored over every regional newspaper that his faithful manservant had was able to procure for him. A smile crossed his lips as an article in one of the local papers showed promise. The paper was printed at seven o’clock each morning in the back of the post office, and Lawrence made sure a copy was delivered here straight from the presses. The town was Derbyville was not more than twenty miles away.
So close to home…
He was sure he had eliminated them all for fifty miles in every direction, but now one was close again. Must be a newly turned one, or an itinerant, or maybe even an old one returning home. No matter; it was here, and that was all that was relevant…
“Sir?” He looked up with a start at his manservant.
“Is there a problem, Lawrence?”
“Your smile, sir. I assume we are going hunting?”
“You assume correctly.” He took a sip of his tea. “Tonight, I think.”
“Very good, sir. I shall prepare everything.”
“Thank you, Lawrence.” The suited man went off to fulfill his duty. Almost an anachronism, Sir Lionel thought, but Lawrence never complained, and over the years they had developed as close to a friendship as Sir Lion
el had with anyone…
But Derbyville—it was so very close. He looked at the article again. Wolf attacking sheep, very savage, more than one sheep carcass found, dog carcass found as well. Of course, it could be just a wolf, but they normally hunted in packs, or took one animal and then dragged it away. Not random and senseless acts of violence.
That was more indicative of the beasts he hunted—that he felt the need to exterminate.
And he had two more nights to succeed.
And he would succeed.
If this were one of the beasts, then he would succeed. He was yet to fail. It was what they deserved after all—to end up in the Mausoleum.
The ride was uneventful; both Lawrence and Sir Lionel were so used to this adventure now that they had become increasingly blasé about what they were embarking upon. They arrived in the neighboring town in time for lunch, where Sir Lionel made it known that he was hunting the animal, which had the previous night, attacked the stock of the area. He never hid his actions; the creatures were creatures of habit and he knew he had three days to succeed, and then it would be a matter of time before the animal made itself known again. But he wanted it tonight. It had been too long since they had last had a successful hunt.
They knew they were nearing the end of the line; the amount of heads in the Mausoleum indicated that many had died at their hands over the past twenty-five years. And so that meant going further and further afield in order to kill another of the race they sought so fervently. But to have one this close to home…
They would not take their task lightly. These animals were dangerous when trapped, and with their superior intelligence and animal cunning, they were a more than formidable opponent. They may have been creatures of habit, unable to control certain urges, but they were too clever to be caught by normal means.
In the company of the farmer whose own animals had been slaughtered, they went to examine the field. The carcasses had long since been removed, but there were still enough tell-tale signs that years of doing this had taught them to watch out for. Bushes crushed underfoot, the trail of blood, the site where it had feasted, the trickle of blood leading away from its victim…
Both Barrels of Monster Hunter Legends (Legends of the Monster Hunter Book 1) Page 9