The Immortal Warriors Boxed Set: Books 1-11

by H. T. Night

  I never fell asleep, though Josiah did. He was exhausted and dark purple shadows under his eyes aged him in a night, from youth to man. His innocence was gone and he looked absolutely shattered. I didn’t even look at myself in the mirror. I was afraid of what I would see in my own eyes. Werewolf or man, I was a broken creature without my Maya.

  A couple of times during the night, I missed Maya so much that I felt sick. I went to the bathroom and dry-heaved into the toilet. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Neither Josiah nor I had eaten anything when we’d reached the house. We were too sick and too heartbroken to even think of eating.

  In the morning, Miguel called Josiah and told him that he had learned of the tragedy and expressed his sympathy. He would take care of everything in regard to the funeral arrangements. He also told Josiah that he automatically inherited everything, that in the will, it would be an even split, but because my Maya was also dead, he inherited all of it. Josiah was shocked to learn that his quiet parents had socked away a lot of money and paid off the house long ago.

  Luckily, for the both of us, Miguel and Daniel and Margaret’s friends took charge in getting the funeral and reception organized and put together.

  Josiah was actually the one who made all of the phone calls to the flower shop, the caterers, the photographers and the church to cancel the wedding. I didn’t ask him to. He just did it. And when I thanked him, he said, “That’s what a best man does. He takes care of details.”

  I nodded and became very choked up.

  ***

  The triple funeral was rough. Very rough. Both Josiah and I wore Reservoir Dogs-type suits that were black with skinny ties. We both also wore sunglasses.

  I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but when Maya’s casket was lowered into the ground in a cemetery in Corona, next to her parents’ caskets, I cried out loud and turned my head.

  Josiah… he never cried at the triple funeral. I knew he was in a lot of pain. I even leaned over and told him it was okay to cry. He just nodded at me.

  “I know,” he said.

  It was poor timing, and there was no way to deal with it, except to do what I had always done, but I had to leave Josiah for four days. I had to go up north and do my werewolf tour of duty on the enclosed property where I ran with my fellow werewolves until we turned back into our biped forms again. Tomorrow would be the full moon. There was no way to escape the turning. I was bound to the moon. Forever, it seemed.

  I hadn’t yet told him that I would be leaving for a few days. Every time I looked at his tight, distraught face, I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain why I needed to leave. It was getting harder and harder to lie about the reason. I had to leave, though—there was just no other way around it. I wasn’t going to turn full-on werewolf in my bro’s parents’ house. It would be destroyed and I had no idea how to control what I did when I turned. Would I ruin the carpet, jump through the sliding glass door? Would I bite my best friend? Oh, hell no, I needed to split while the getting was good.

  I didn’t want to leave Josiah on his own and I didn’t want to leave town, either. I wanted to find that motherfucker in the gray truck who killed my love and her parents and beat the living hell out of him. That is what I wanted to do.

  But it would be physically impossible to do so at this “time of the month.”

  At the funeral reception, I said to Josiah, “I have to go to my Army Reserves tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow is Monday. I thought the Reserves were just for the weekends.”

  I reminded Josiah that I was in an elite group in the Army and we met on weird dates. He was in too much pain to see that what I was saying was complete bullshit. I hated leaving him. I hated lying to the only person on Earth who trusted me. Most of all, I hated everything that had happened to shatter us into shards of glass and scatter us to the winds. Forever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  That night, I stayed over with Josiah again. I hadn’t moved all of my stuff over to his house, though I had given notice to my landlord and promised to clean out the apartment by the last day of the month. I had been slowly moving my things over during the last three days.

  Josiah wanted me to have his parents’ room. I insisted on him taking the master bedroom. He said it would be too painful. He said he needed to stay in his room. It was the only safe haven he felt in the house.

  I understood, but felt weird about taking over the master bedroom. And then, there was Maya’s old room. We had not yet discussed it, but I preferred her room, as if I could feel close to her again, somehow, by moving my stuff into her frilly pink childhood bedroom with its twin bed and little makeup vanity, and posters of rock bands and Olympic figure skaters on the walls. There was even a little jewelry box with kid jewelry in it and a little wind-up ballerina that spun around to “The Nutcracker Suite.” It was a girly, girly room, but it was Maya’s room and I wanted it. I had no idea how to ask Josiah about it.

  Once again, I couldn’t sleep and bedded down in the living room in a sleeping bag. I had probably slept a total of six hours in the last three days.

  Josiah had been taking sleeping pills to get to sleep. I planned to talk to him about it the following day and get him to stop. He would lose ground with his training, when we went back to it. I couldn’t even think of working out, not right now.

  Once I heard him snoring, I decided to get in my Mustang and go for a drive.

  I drove down to a bar that was in Colton, a city south of San Bernardino.

  I had been there a couple of times and the female bartender knew me. At least, she acted like she knew me every time I came in. It was smart on her part because it always made me want to tip her more after she said, “Welcome back! Double tequila and no lime, no salt, right? And a package of Corn Nuts?”

  “Yup. That’s me,” I replied. “Exactly.”

  I pounded down the drink like it was water. I wanted to not feel anything. Double shot wasn’t going to do it. “Another one,” I said.

  “Okay, you want to start a tab?” The female bartender smiled at me and slid the Corn Nuts across the bar. “Snack’s on the house.”

  “Thanks. Sure. Run a tab. Why not?” I was planning on doing some serious drinking tonight. I needed something to numb my pain. As I pounded one, I was ordering another.

  On my third double, she said, “Did you lose your girl or something?”

  “Yeah, my fiancée died in a car accident. How did you know?”

  “Bartenders know all. It was the look on your face. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I nodded. “Me, too.”

  When she brought me the fourth double, she said, “I won’t cut you off yet, but I need your car keys, please.” I handed them over without complaint. She set them on the back of the bar in plain sight. “I’ll call you a cab later, and when it comes, you get your car keys back, okay?”

  “Deal,” I said.

  “Do you want to talk about her? I’m not that busy yet.”

  “No. Thanks, though. Just keep the medicine coming.”

  “Okay, my friend. Take care.”

  “You got it.” I was on my sixth double shot of tequila and the effects of the alcohol were taking their course. I just let the feeling numb me. I didn’t want to think anymore. I didn’t want to feel anything. I was just sitting on the bar stool, existing, listening to the world rush past me in snatches of conversation about work, women, and sports, a Lakers game on the big screen, and the ka-dunk of pool balls at the bank of vintage tables. But, this was my life, after all. Nothing could be that easy.

  There were a couple of dorks playing pool very badly and being extraordinarily loud when they disagreed with a foul call against the Lakers. I had the attitude of live and let live. I wanted it quiet, but those two had every right to enjoy their evening. But like I said, these guys were clueless and mouthy.

  One of the guys hit a ball off the table and it rolled right under my seat. I looked down and saw the number 2 ball underneath my stool. I took my foot and just kicked
the ball behind me in the direction of where the two guys were playing pool.

  “Hey, fucker,” said the guy behind me. “You could have picked up the ball and handed it to me.”

  I turned around and stared at the guy who was talking to me. He was tall and skinny and looked to be around my age. The other guy looked to be in better shape, but he wasn’t the one talking. The tall, skinny guy was the talker.

  Then the skinny guy said something to me that nearly blew my mind. He had no fucking idea who he was talking to. The guy said, “Why don’t you fucking shave? You look like a homeless person. Like you don’t even give a shit to go out in public looking so scraggly. This is a fine sports bar, not a dive.”

  I rubbed my prickly chin. I hadn’t shaved in ten days. It seemed like the hair on my face grew at three times the normal rate, so I guess I was pretty scruffy. But who in the hell was this turd to say that to me? Then the tall, skinny brown hair motherfucker turned to his friend and said, “He’s probably a homeless person who begged for money all night and is now drinking himself to sleep. He’ll probably be passed out in the back alley in an hour.”

  I was stunned. This guy truly had no clue about how to treat people. So, I said to the guy, “Are you the one?”

  “The one what?” The guy laughed.

  “Oh, please tell me you’re the one,” I repeated. I locked eyes with the stupid motherfucker.

  “You aren’t making sense, bro.”

  “Oh, I am so not your bro!” I said gruffly.

  “Fine. Dude. I have no idea what this one thing is.” The guy continued to smile at his friend as if I was an idiot. I was drunk, but this guy was a prick. Drunk or not, I said, “You keep talking, so that’s telling me you’re the one.”

  “Well, maybe I am. The one.”

  “You are,” I said. “You definitely are. You are the one guy who is stupid enough to talk shit to me when you know nothing about me.”

  “What? Why the long face, Shaggy? Did your mommy die or something?” the skinny guy asked, laughing. He must have caught a few words of my soft conversation with the lady bartender.

  I looked at the guy and simply said, “Yeah, you’re the one.” I jumped off my stool and charged the long-haired asshole. I punched the guy with my right fist and he flew onto the pool table. I completely laid him out with one punch. I looked at his friend and said, “Are you also the one?”

  His friend took a step back and said, “No.” He added, “Hell, no,” just to make sure.

  I turned around and faced everyone in the bar. I yelled, “If anyone else wants to be the one, I’ll be outside smoking a cigarette. And waiting.” Normally, I didn’t smoke. But when I drank a lot, I liked to smoke, too.

  I walked over to the bouncer, who was sizing me, up and I said, “Do you guys sell cigarettes?”

  He nodded his head and said, “There is a vending machine back by the restrooms.”

  I nodded my thanks and made my way over there. I bought a pack of Marlboro Reds for six one-dollar bills. What a rip-off.

  I went back to the bartender and asked for some matches. “Please behave,” she said to me.

  “Just let anyone else know I’m right outside if they are interested.”

  “I will do no such thing.” She got right up to my face and said, “And if you put your hands on another patron, I’m calling the cops. The only reason why I haven’t is because that guy you hit has had it coming for months. And because your girlfriend died in a car wreck. I believe you, that it happened, and I feel for you. But we already have a bouncer. We don’t need you taking out the trash for us. And especially not when you’re drunk.”

  “I’ll be outside.”

  “Don’t forget you are running a tab,” she warned.

  “Don’t forget you have my car keys,” I countered.

  “Are you ready to call it a night? I can get you a cab,” she offered.

  “Not yet. I’m expecting company.”

  “Look. You seem like a decent guy. Don’t make me call the cops on you.”

  “No, ma’am,” I replied.

  “You want to order some black coffee and a burger? I can get it started on the grill for you while you have a smoke outside.”

  “No, ma’am,” I said again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I know you,” she said, peering into my face. “I used to call you Corn Nuts, in my head, so I could remember what drink you liked to order, but now, I think I’ve seen you fight on TV.”

  “That feels like a hundred years ago.”

  “If that is you, then you know better than to fight in a bar or on the street. You’re a professional. You can get into a lot of trouble.”

  “Trouble usually finds its way to my side of the fence.” I was in the mood to bust heads and asses. In that order. I wanted to snap bones, tear cartilage, smash noses, and crunch ribs.

  I turned around and walked out the front of the bar. I leaned on the building, relaxed, but still ready to bust some skulls, if they had the stupid balls to come outside. I lit a smoke and shielded it from the drizzle inside my cupped hand, holding it backward, like the badass I was tonight.

  Being a lonely lone wolf, I channeled a little bit of James Dean, and a lot of Dirty Harry, and I was ready to fight all comers.

  With no car keys, and with a full bar tab inside, I waited for them in a light drizzle, looking up at the murky night and hoping that Maya couldn’t see how far I had sunk without her.

  Unable to stop myself, I lifted my chin and, at full volume, I howled miserably into the weeping sky…

  The End

  To be continued in:

  Werewolf Without a Cause

  Return to the Table of Contents

  WEREWOLF WITHOUT A CAUSE

  by

  H.T. Night

  Immortal Warriors #4

  Werewolf Without a Cause

  Published by H.T. Night

  Copyright © 2012 by H.T. Night

  All rights reserved.

  Dedication

  This one is for Eve Paludan, A.J. Silver, Rhonda Plumhoff, Leslie Whitaker, Sarah Wales, J.R. Rain, Margaret Cervenkas, April M. Reign and Liz Jones. Thank you for all the love and support.

  Werewolf Without a Cause

  Chapter One

  “Trouble usually finds its way to my side of the fence.”

  That was the mantra of my existence.

  Trouble.

  I was in the mood to bust heads and asses. In that order. I wanted to snap bones, smash noses, and crunch ribs.

  I turned around and walked out the front of the bar. I leaned on the building, relaxed, but still ready to bust some skulls, if they had the stupid balls to come outside. I lit a smoke and shielded it from the drizzle inside my cupped hand, holding it backward.

  Being a lonely lone wolf, I channeled a little bit of James Dean, and a lot of Dirty Harry, and I was ready to fight all comers.

  With no car keys, and with a full bar tab inside, I waited for them in a light drizzle, looking up at the murky night and hoping that Maya couldn’t see how far I had sunk without her.

  Unable to stop myself, I lifted my chin and, at full volume, I howled miserably into the weeping sky.

  No one dared to come out. Not even the bouncer. That was just as well; the people in there were smarter than they looked. There wasn’t even one drunk asshole who was itching to fight like I was.

  That was fine. There was more of this night left. I walked inside and demanded my car keys. I paid my bar tab and I got the hell out of that shit bar.

  I was sure as hell not through with this aggression that loomed inside me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I just howled out my window as I drove. It was a howl for the ages. I howled all the way up the 15 freeway and I made my way to Las Vegas.

  No one had better mess with me. Actually, I hoped someone would.

  Be the one.

  I dare you.

  Chapter Two

  I drove down the 15 freeway. It was a dark, lonely road, and
a visual metaphor for how I felt inside. My future was only lit up as far as my headlights reached. It was a damn short vision of the next few hours, not to mention the rest of my life.

  How am I supposed to go forward when the love of my life has been taken from me?

  I started breathing heavily as I fought the urge to howl again, which took a lot out of me when I did it in my human form. My eyes began to water and I looked off into the night as I drove and cried out, “Why? Why!”

  This pain wouldn’t go away. I loved Maya so much.

  Before I knew it, my Mustang was hitting 100 miles an hour. The more I hurt, the faster I drove.

  My eyes were so watery that I could barely see the road. I passed the city of Baker and the next stop was State Line.

  I drove until I hit Las Vegas.

  By then, it was four in the morning and I wasn’t tired. My adrenaline was pumping and I needed to do something competitive. The only competitive thing a guy could honestly do in Vegas at four in the morning was play poker. I was still in the mood to drink and gamble, even though it was so early in the morning.

  I decided to stay at The Riviera, located between all the nice hotels on the Strip and downtown Las Vegas. Downtown Las Vegas was made up of classic famous casinos from the Bugsy Siegel era. It was a little cheaper than the high-end swanky hotels on the Strip. The Strip was glitzier and upscale. I was more of a downtown-and-dirty guy.

  I arrived at my room and looked at my bed. It did look inviting.

  Maybe I’ll sleep off this aggression?

  Not quite. This day had just begun. I was tired but wired. I continued to look at the bed and I couldn’t help but think of Maya. I missed her so much. I missed her next to me. I missed the way she would hold my hand all night. If I’d let go, she’d find my hand again and hold it. She had done that numerous times throughout the night. Eventually, I’d felt peace when she held my hand and it had become my comfort when I was sleeping. I didn’t have that comfort anymore. And I suddenly realized that a bed without Maya in it would just be torture right now.