by Marc Daniel
There was another reason Michael had elected to wage his war far away from any trace of civilization. A trump he had not used in so many years he wasn’t even sure he remembered how to use it.
Chapter 104
The snow was now steadily falling upon the evergreen-covered slopes Bill Thomason was currently climbing. Hiking in the snow at two in the morning was not exactly Bill’s idea of fun, but Michael hadn’t left him with a choice.
The snow-swollen clouds absorbed almost all the light from the stars and the moon, and cast a pitch-black veil over the treacherous trail Bill was following. Unlike Michael’s, Bill’s night vision was not any better than the average person’s, but he had other resources Michael had never suspected. Bill’s eyes did not need to see for him to know where he was going. His mind could feel the obstacles his sight didn’t perceive.
About five hundred feet ahead of Bill, Michael, unsuspecting, was progressing at a steady pace, making his own trail in the midst of the vegetation, as he had done many times before. He was heading for his chosen battleground, a large clearing about seven miles northwest of his cabin. The clearing was just outside the caldera boundary north of a relatively small pond ironically named Wolf Lake.
Michael had visited this clearing numerous times over the years and knew its topography as well as the back of his hand. The near perfect flatness of the place had been a decisive point in his selection. Bears’ front legs being shorter than their hind limbs, they had difficulties running downhill, a disadvantage over the wolves Michael wanted to eliminate.
Bill was progressing upwind from Michael. Under normal circumstances Michael would have smelled him coming from five miles away, but Bill Thomason had more than one trick in his bag, and being able to completely mask his scent was one of them—a handy one in the current situation.
When Michael finally arrived at his chosen destination, he stripped out of his clothes and placed them in the small backpack he had brought along. Leaving his bundle by a tree, he walked naked to the center of the clearing, apparently unaffected by the snow and wind accompanying the twenty-degree weather. He stood there for an instant, smelling the air before finally morphing, silently. Knowing he was in no rush, he took his time to transform. It was therefore almost an entire minute before an 800-pound bear stood in his place in the center of the snow-covered clearing.
Chapter 105
The convoy had arrived at Michael’s cabin a couple hours before sunrise. A flat tire and the snow, which had been following them all the way since Denver, had significantly lengthened the pack’s journey. Peter Clemens was not happy with the delay; he was eager to finish up Biörn and get back to Houston’s more civilized climate. The fact they had found the cabin deserted had not helped improve Clemens’ disposition either.
The pack had picked up on the Alpha’s temper and was in an altogether foul mood. Clemens had been forced to intervene twice already to prevent his wolves from fighting each other.
They had picked up Michael’s faint smell at the cabin and had followed the trail up in the mountains, morphing into their more efficient wolf forms as soon as they had been under the cover of the forest canopy. They had quickly noticed a second scent on the trail, a more recent one, as if Michael had been followed. Followed by… a woman! Axel Thompkins had finally identified the odor as belonging to Sheila Wang. He had been in close proximity with the journalist when he and his fallen comrades had fought Biörn at his hotel, and the woman’s odor had been etched in his olfactory memory.
Why the journalist was following Biörn at a distance—a large distance based on the intensity of their respective odors—Clemens couldn’t fathom. Nonetheless, one thing was clear: the two had been warned about the imminent arrival of the pack! They knew the wolves were coming for them! This was the only satisfactory explanation for their hike in the snow in the middle of the night. This once again raised the question of who was providing Michael with his intel? Who was the pain in Clemens’ side? Katia Olveda, via David Starks, was an obvious possibility, but Clemens didn’t think the assistant DA was stupid enough to betray him. She knew too well the consequences of such betrayal. Who else then?
Isabella, one of the pack’s best trackers, was running with a couple of other wolves a couple hundred yards ahead of the pack when she noticed the woman’s scent becoming significantly stronger—they were catching up with one of their prey.
Chapter 106
The sun was rising when Michael caught the first whiff of his hereditary enemies. The snow had stopped falling a short while before, leaving on the frozen ground a good foot of scintillating white powder. The clouds were starting to clear out, and Michael had lived in the park long enough to know with certainty that it would be a sunny morning. The air temperature, however, had dropped to zero, and the battle would therefore take place on a snow-carpeted ground.
The idea of the Houston pack having to fight in the snow did not displease Michael. Clemens’ wolves were unlikely to be used to this type of conditions and would be at a disadvantage. Even praeternatural creatures suffered from the cold and the Houston wolves were unlikely to have coats thick enough to withstand Yellowstone’s biting cold. Of course, once the battle was waged, adrenaline would keep them warm, but they would arrive at the clearing already weakened.
The pack scent was getting stronger by the minute, and Michael could start distinguishing individual scents out of the generic pack odor. He caught Isabella’s scent first, followed by that of her husband. He then identified the scent of the wolf who had survived the battle at the hotel and escaped. There was a multitude of other odors Michael could now pick up: too many… As he realized Clemens had brought well over thirty wolves with him, Michael’s hyper-sensitive nose detected a very familiar odor… Sheila’s! He could not tell whether she was accompanying the wolves or if her odor was simply coming from their general direction, but one thing was certain—the pack was a lot closer to her than he was.
The woman had no reason to be anywhere near this part of the park. He had left her with Bill Thomason, so what was she doing here, a few miles away from his position, judging by the intensity of her scent?
Michael knew full well that, assuming they hadn’t already done so, the wolves would catch up with Sheila long before he could. Going after them now meant losing all the advantages he had planned for; it meant certain death for both of them. He suspected Clemens would bring Sheila along unharmed, if for no other reason than to kill her in front of him. The best thing to do was to stay in place and wait patiently. They would be here soon enough. He just hoped he wasn’t wrong about Clemens keeping Sheila alive. His wife Isibel, his childhood sweetheart, the woman he had loved the most in his entire life, had already perished because of him. If the same thing were to happen to Sheila…
Standing on his back legs, Michael put all his frustration, anger, and fear into a formidable roar, which echoed back against the surrounding mountains’ walls to be heard in a five-mile radius.
Chapter 107
Shortly after Michael had dropped her at his boss’s house, Sheila had noticed Bill Thomason’s increasing nervousness. Wondering what this was about, she had pretended to be tired and Bill had shown her to her room. The journalist had only been in bed five minutes when she heard a car starting outside the house. In a flash, she was out of bed and heading for the front door. Anticipating Bill’s departure, she had not undressed before lying down and was ready to take off at an instant’s notice. She was deeply worried for Michael. Whatever Bill Thomason had in mind, he hadn’t said a word of it to his employee, and she had a bad feeling about the whole thing.
Bill’s personal truck was gone, but his official police vehicle was still parked in front of the house. She jumped behind the wheel, ready to hotwire the truck—a useful skill taught to her by one of her informants—but the keys were in the ignition. She started the truck and headed straight for Michael’s cabin, speeding in the snow and almost losing control of the vehicle on several occasions. She was f
inally compelled to slow down after yet another close call involving a guardrail.
She eventually made it to the cabin to find Bill’s truck parked next to Michael’s. Using a flashlight, she discovered the trail left by the two men and started following it. The snow was quickly covering their tracks, however, and the trail became difficult to follow. Shortly after losing the trail for good, Sheila’s flashlight died, leaving her officially lost in the middle of Yellowstone’s wilderness. She walked in the snow aimlessly for hours before finally deciding she was too cold, too tired and too scared to care about who would find her first… as long as someone found her. It was only after seeing the first wolves closing in on her at the strike of dawn that she realized she had been wrong about this.
Isabella was still leading the scouts when they finally caught up with Sheila. The journalist had wandered off her boyfriend’s trail, but she had been easy enough to find. The wolves, irritated by the thin mountain air, the steep climb, and the foot of snow on the ground needed to vent their frustration on someone and Sheila would do perfectly.
The scouts started circling Sheila who, paralyzed by terror, stood motionless with her back against the trunk of a large pine tree. The wolves were snarling like rabid dogs, showcasing canines that would have made most tigers envious.
Isabella quickly grew tired of playing the scaring the defenseless journalist game and started slowly closing the gap between her and the unfortunate woman. She was about to sink her teeth into Sheila’s flesh when her husband pounced between them. The Alpha’s command was unmistakable, and Isabella backed down. Sheila Wang was not to be harmed just yet.
Chapter 108
Although he had come prepared for the cold, Bill Thomason was still suffering from the drop in temperature that had occurred overnight. He had to remain almost entirely immobile to avoid attracting Michael’s attention, and this forced immobility was not helping warm him up in any way.
Bill had reached the edge of the clearing just in time to witness Michael’s transformation. Although the clearing benefited from a better light quality than the surrounding woods, Michael was standing a hundred yards away and Bill could make out little more than the outline of his silhouette. It had therefore taken some time for the ranger to finally realize he was staring at a colossal bear. The revelation wasn’t exactly shocking, as Bill had suspected Michael’s praeternatural nature for many years now, but it was definitely surprising since supposedly werebears had been extinct for centuries.
After Michael had stood in his bear form in the center of the clearing for several minutes without showing any desire to move on, Bill understood that he was waiting for something. It hadn’t taken the ranger very long to guess a fight was coming, and since he was still standing on the trail made by Michael, there was a good chance that whatever was coming after the werebear would follow the same trail…
In order to avoid being sandwiched between the werebear and his incoming enemy, Bill had decided to go stand on the opposite side of the clearing. Very slowly and as silently as he could manage, he gave up his eastern position and circled the defoliated area from the north to land at the most western point of the Wolf Lake clearing.
He had been standing there for over six hours now and at times wondered if his feet were not frozen solid inside his boots. At least the sun had risen and he now had absolute confirmation that Michael was, in fact, a monstrous werebear. This sight was worth the trip in itself…
Suddenly, Michael, who had been lying motionless in the snow for the better part of the night, got up on his four legs and, neck extended towards the east, started frantically smelling the air.
Chapter 109
When the pack’s scouts emerged from the same trail he and Michael had used to reach the clearing, Bill Thomason congratulated himself for moving to his current position on the opposite side of what would soon become the battlefield.
The wolves immediately started howling, warning the remaining members of the pack that the enemy had been found. Five minutes later, the clearing was teeming with werewolves.
Bill counted thirty-seven wolves, and by the size of the beasts he knew immediately these weren’t your National Park variety wolves. They quickly formed a circle around the bear, effectively preventing any potential retreat, but Michael did not attempt to evade the maneuver. He hadn’t come here to avoid the confrontation. Standing on his hind legs in the center of the clearing, the bear looked agitated but displayed no fear as far as Bill could tell. Each exhaled breath projected a thick cloud of vapor out of the bear’s mouth, further increasing the surreal atmosphere of the scene. The ranger wasn’t sure whether bears and werebears shared the same display of emotions but if they did, Michael seemed both angry and worried… or maybe annoyed?
At a call from the Alpha, the wolves started slowly converging towards Michael, gradually closing the circle they had formed around the bear. Peter Clemens had learned from his mistake and knew Michael was not to be underestimated. The attack needed to be coordinated to guarantee victory. This was now a personal feud for the pack. The bear needed to pay for what he had done to their brothers.
Although the wolves were closing in, the werebear’s attitude did not alter. He was still looking annoyed, mostly staring in one direction, almost ignoring the now quickly approaching threat. It all changed when a naked man walked out of the woods dragging behind him a disheveled, bruised up and half frozen Sheila.
Axel Thompkins was not particularly happy with his babysitting assignment. He not only wouldn’t get to participate in the fight, he was also freezing. His werewolf metabolism prevented him from turning into an icicle, but the near zero degree weather was still way too cold for not wearing any clothes. When he noticed the way the werebear was looking at him, a rush of adrenaline flowed through his body, raising his core temperature by a degree or two.
The bear was now rocking from side to side on his hind limbs, uttering loud and intimidating growls and roars while the wolves kept closing in on him. When the pack had tightened their ring to the point where they only stood thirty feet from Michael, the bear dropped back on his four legs and started charging towards the Alpha, easily recognizable by his all-black fur coat. The wolves on each side of Clemens instinctively rushed on an interception course towards the rapidly incoming werebear to protect their leader and were the first ones to reach Michael, but they could do little against the enormous momentum of the sprinting 800-pound beast. Michael rammed into the first one, sending him flying fifteen feet in the air before sinking his teeth in the throat of the other without even slowing down. The wolf’s spine splintered under the pressure, but Michael kept the beast’s lifeless body locked in his powerful jaws, using it as an improvised shield against the incoming tidal wave of the pack.
Before he could reach Peter Clemens, half a dozen wolves were on Michael, who was now using his victim’s corpse in the manner of a medieval flay, slamming it left and right against his enemies. The abused carcass did not hold together very long. Soon its severed head flew in one direction and the body in another.
The battle was now raging, the sheer power and wrath of the werebear against the speed and viciousness of the wolves. Michael made quick work of the first two or three wolves who had made the mistake of going for his throat, but the rest had gotten smarter. Under the Alpha’s guidance, they were now executing a well-organized harassment strategy aimed at wearing out their prey.
After twenty minutes of constant persecution, Michael started showing the first signs of exhaustion. He was slower to react when one of his opponents sank his teeth into his back or thigh and, most importantly, he was bleeding a lot more than any of them.
Although he had not yet bitten Michael, Clemens could already taste the blood of his enemy in his mouth. The werebear was obviously exhausted and would not stand a chance against their combined number. The Alpha gave the signal and the whole pack rushed toward Michael.
Chapter 110
The warehouse was located in a scary part of
town, an area the cops didn’t patrol and where they generally refused to set foot after dark. The chemist was standing, although barely, between two of Ivanov’s henchmen, looking scared out of his mind. He had been dragged from his home early that morning and brought to the warehouse without a word of explanation. There he had found Ivanov waiting for him in person along with his lieutenant, Igor Petrovich, and two other gorillas. Victor had been almost relieved to find out his kidnappers worked for Dimitri Ivanov. The mobster was the opposite of a nice guy, but the Chemist was less scared of him than he was of his mysterious customer. His relief had been short-lived, however. He had been strapped to a chair upon arrival, and the Russian boss had been directing the questioning ever since. Questioning that had taken its toll on Victor’s physical condition.
“I will rip your tongue out of your mouth with red hot pliers if you don’t start telling me what I want to know!” bellowed Ivanov, squeezing the chemist’s throat in his right hand. “Do you doubt my word, Victor?”
The Chemist shook his head vigorously since Ivanov’s chokehold prevented him from uttering the slightest sound.
“So start telling the truth,” said Ivanov, finally letting go of the man’s throat. Victor’s face was quickly losing its oxygen-deprived purple color and returning to a more ghostly shade of gray. He was sweating profusely, and held-back tears could be seen in the corners of his eyes.
“I swear I am not making drugs for anyone, Dimitri. I extract a specific molecule from some plant and that’s it. All the orders are placed over the phone, and I have never seen the man. I swear to you, it’s the truth,” he answered imploringly.