The Lonely Wolf

by Monica La Porta

  A long pause, then Quintilius said, “Why aren’t you here, angel?”

  “You know why.”

  “Do I?”

  “Quin—”

  A strangled sound came from the other end of the line. “I must go back outside and attend to my guests.”

  “Will I see you next week?” Ludwig knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t help it. They had seen each other last at Drako’s residence, the night of the Valentine’s Day party. More than once, he had been on the verge of responding to Quintilius’s invite with a yes. But going to the party would have been an exercise in restraint he couldn’t bear anymore. He told himself he had never been a masochist and didn’t intend on becoming one any time soon, and yet he was prolonging his agony by staying on the phone.

  “I might be busy.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  Ludwig heard the call drop and part of him was relieved Quintilius had decided for the two of them. The part of him that wasn’t elated was louder in its reaction though, and his heart fell and broke like glass.

  His invisible wings stirred behind him and he cloaked the rest of his body, then levitated over the cobblestones and reached for the bridge parapet from where he took flight. Skirting the fireworks, he rode the thermals over Rome and floated, numb and weightless, until he found himself staring down at Quintilius’s villa.

  Unable to resist the call, he descended toward the gardens, spiraling down, his presence still concealed. Among the sea of people milling along the paths, hundreds craning their necks toward the sky, he saw Quintilius right away. Under the trellis of a white lattice gazebo, the werewolf was talking to his adopted daughter, Ophelia, and her companion. His mane of dark hair dusted with silver at the sides moved as he laughed at something Ophelia had said.

  Then Quintilius stopped laughing, his whole body stiffened and he turned.

  Ludwig was filled with a bitter-sweet emotion when Quintilius’s unseeing eyes met his. The werewolf shouldn’t have been able to sense Ludwig, but he had. Shivers ran along his spine, making the white feathers on his wings bristle. His legs moved of their own accord, and he marched toward the gazebo. Quintilius stood and stepped down from the wooden structure, walking toward Ludwig.

  As if an invisible rope was pulling the two of them together, they advanced toward each other. Quintilius’s steps never faltered, and Ludwig wondered at the strength of their connection and how it had grown stronger through the centuries.

  One more step, and they stood face to face.

  Ludwig’s breath hitched and his heart skipped a beat, he raised one hand and let it hover ever so close to Quintilius’s jaw. Quintilius leaned into his touch, but Ludwig didn’t close the distance. Instead, he stepped back, then took off, leaving behind a gentle vortex that engulfed Quintilius.

  Ludwig made the mistake of looking down and found Quintilius looking up, his deep brown eyes searching the sky for him. His shadow, the lovely Camelia, wheeled by his side and took his hand in hers. The thought his wolf wasn’t alone comforted Ludwig, and he flew away, hoping he would find solace himself one day.

  Gliding over the clouds usually calmed him, but after three hours of circling the sky, Ludwig was still restless. The first sunrays of the day had tinted the terracotta roofs in pink, when he found himself in Castel Gandolfo. Amidst the hills bordering Rome, the medieval city overlooking the peaceful Lake Albano was one of the places he liked to visit when he was upset. He would perch on the dome of the small Renaissance church and let the sight of the lake pacify his thoughts.

  But not this time. After half an hour of stretching and folding his large wings and scaring the birds nearby, Ludwig resigned himself to fly back to Rome and Castel Sant’ Angelo. Another endless day ahead of him, he dove from the dome, without correcting his trajectory until he was a few meters from the thin layer of asphalt covering the ancient Roman road. A stray cat passing by hissed at him, and a pigeon that had been scavenging for food between the cobblestones’ crevices fluttered out of the way with an annoyed coo.

  Nothing excited Ludwig anymore. Older than Rome, older than any other living soul on Earth, he had lived for so long serving the angel cause, he didn’t remember what being alive meant anymore.

  Veering at the last possible moment, he shot up, then, as if tipping an oar into the current, he angled his left wing and turned, changing trajectory once again. Morning breeze and bright sunrays created a contrasting mix of cold and warm on his skin, but he needed more. In a vertical loop, he ascended over the clouds where the wind was colder and the sunrays brighter and warmer.

  Flying over and under the white blanket of ever-changing billows, he let his thoughts run wild until memories surfaced amidst the chaos, reminding him of stolen kisses and blissful intimacies. He had known happiness and fulfilment in Quintilius’s arms. Then he sacrificed everything for the greater good of his species. As the new archangel, he could never officially mate with a non-angel. The ancient canons were adamant on the subject. Angels were racists, and if he wanted to unite them under his rule, he must be beyond reproach. His immolation should have been worth the price, but his heart disagreed.

  The sun was high in the sky and it was time for Ludwig to fly back to Rome. Not ready to face his new secretary and the pile of papers that needed his immediate attention, he floated down closer to the ground and followed the contour of Castel Gandolfo’s ridge toward the lake.

  A suspicious flurry of activity from the grounds below grabbed his attention as he was about to angle his right wing and make a sharp turn. From above, he recognized the structure of the vampire Claudius’s palace. The small Renaissance fortress overlooking the hills and lake housed one of the most powerful vampire nests in all of Europe, and in recent years had been at the center of a few interspecies accidents. Amongst kidnapping and homicide charges, Claudius had fled and was still at large. As a result, Ludwig had become acquainted with the place, even though he didn’t like dealing with Claudius’s cohort.

  As he swept the terracotta tiles of the roof, a most unpleasant scene came into view. Two werewolves were dragging a vampire out of the safety of the porch and into the sun-drenched maze-gardens behind the house. The vampire fought back, but the daily lethargy made him weak. A row of centennial weeping willows shielded the path between the tree and the maze from the morning sunrays, and the vampire threw himself under their shadows.

  Aiming at the trio, Ludwig dove toward the ground, but, between the willows and the high walls of the maze greenery, there wasn’t enough clearance for him to land. His snowy-white wings, his only pride and joy, had a span of twelve meters and were a hindrance in narrow spaces. Unable to reach the ground, hovering over the werewolves’ heads, he flapped his wings and created a whirlwind that shoved the two to the side.

  “Don’t you even think about running!” Ludwig bellowed from midair, but it was soon clear he had to make a decision, take the vampire to safety or catch the werewolves.

  Sunrays hit the edge of the maze walls, and the vampire whimpered in pain. His skin sizzled and soon it would be too late to save him.

  Maintaining a horizontal trajectory with his body parallel to the ground, Ludwig circled over the vampire and trailed his arm down as low as he could. “Grab my hand.” Brushing the maze wall foliage, he had to try the maneuver twice more before the trembling vampire managed to get hold of his fingers. He then hauled the man up and over the maze, and cradled the simpering body in his arms, keeping him shielded from the sun with his own body and wings.

  With a powerful push of his shoulder blades, Ludwig set toward the roof and a skylight he had noticed earlier. A blink of an eye later, he crashed the glass of the window with his heel and threw the now comatose vampire down the skylight. Then he covered the opening with his body to give the vampire time to reach safety. When he heard hurried steps and whispering, he knew the wounded man was being taken care of and left the roof.

  As expected, the werewolves had disapp
eared into the maze and they were probably already out of the property, but, following protocol, Ludwig still flew over the gardens. When he came back to the corner where the willows bordered the maze, he noticed something shiny sticking out of the bush and reached down. Stretching his fingers, he grabbed a button-sized pin and almost dropped it when he pricked his fingertips with the sharp point.

  He fumbled with the disk for a moment before closing his hand around the hard edges and securing it in his hold. When he pried his fingers open and saw a familiar logo on the round surface, Ludwig blanched and closed his fingers over it once again.

  Quintilius’s stylized wolf head and laurels were etched on the pin.

  Chapter Two

  Once he reached his bike, Lupo ran away from Castel Gandolfo without looking back once. He would have to explain what had happened to a furious Tancredi, but even the alpha’s ire was preferable to killing a man.

  He had thought it wouldn’t matter that his target was a bloodsucker. But it had. While trying to keep the man down, waiting for the sunrays to burn him, he had looked at Antonio, the big brother he had been paired with for the job. A veteran of killing Reds’ enemies, Antonio’s face was expressionless when the man’s skin started smoking and the acrid stench of burnt vampire flesh filled the air.

  Then, as if Lupo’s silent prayers had been answered, the sound of flapping wings had distracted Antonio and Lupo had pushed the vampire into the shadow. The greenery wall bordering the outer edge of the maze had been tall enough to stave off the sun from barbecuing the man. A sudden vortex had thrown both Lupo and Antonio a few meters away from their victim, and as a majestic angel rescued the vampire, they had scampered farther along the path.

  The forty-five minute ride to Eur neighborhood and the Reds’ building shaped liked a big sail made of glass and steel was enough time for Lupo to ponder upon the events of the last month. His mind went to the chilly night that had changed his life forever, and he shivered even though he wasn’t cold.

  ****

  After vandalizing Cradle and Bites, as soon as he stopped vomiting, Lupo drove to Casolare del Lupo with every intention to confront the alpha.

  When he reached the wrought iron gate sporting wolf heads and laurels, Lupo wondered what he would say to the man. The uncertainty didn’t last long. High on adrenaline, he rang the bell until the intercom went off with a buzz.

  “Who is it?” a male voice barked.

  “I’m here to speak to Quintilius.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  Lupo grabbed the gate with both hands. “No. I don’t, but—”

  “The alpha doesn’t receive visitors without an appointment.”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  A soft click announced the communication had been interrupted. Lupo shook the gate railings and swore. But he wasn’t going back to his room without asking his questions, so he buzzed the intercom once again.

  “Security is on its way to remove you from the premises,” the man said, not without a hint of amusement.

  At a distance, Lupo could see a car driving along the asphalted path and heading toward the exit and him.

  He didn’t move. “It’s important I speak with the alpha.”

  “Listen, boy—”

  “I am Quintilius’s son,” Lupo blurted out, his heart beating fast in his chest.

  “That’s funny—”

  Lupo heard steps and muffled voices coming from the other end of the speaker, then, “Surveillance will escort you inside.”

  The statement surprised Lupo, but he didn’t have time to think about the man’s sudden change of heart. The car had almost arrived at the gate, when it opened with a well-oiled whoosh. The first pangs of doubt hit Lupo, but he waited for the car to stop before him.

  A man in his early forties, with a close cropped haircut and looking very much ex-army, gave him a disgruntled look from the driver’s seat. “Get in.” He tilted his head over his shoulder to indicate the rear of the car.

  When Lupo hesitated, the man lowered his hand to the shift stick and backed away from the gate that had started closing. Lupo hurried inside and ran after the car. “Wait.”

  The man hit the brakes but only slowed the car. Lupo reached for the passenger’s door handle and jumped inside the still moving vehicle. While driving in reverse, the man kept his eyes on Lupo instead of looking at the street.

  When they reached a widening in the path, the man made a U-turn, then drove toward a secondary road that rounded the big manor towering over manicured gardens. Lupo hadn’t expected to be welcomed with a red carpet and a fanfare, but when the silent driver—who kept staring at him with unwavering eyes from the rearview mirror—swerved yet again, and entered a smaller road that led into a thick copse of woods, he began to worry.

  The ride finally came to an end before a small cottage ensconced at the very heart of the woods.

  “Get out,” the man commanded, yanking Lupo’s door open.

  Lupo raised his hands when the man made to grab him by the elbow and exited the car before being thrown into the gravel path. The dark, wooden door on the rock and plaster façade of the cottage opened, and yet another man with the same ex-army look stood sentinel at the entry.

  “Go inside,” the sentinel said, looking over his shoulder and pointing at the room behind him.

  Another order Lupo was fast in obeying, hoping the weirdness was only due to Quintilius’s very public persona. The alpha must receive threats every day, and all the surveillance is necessary, he thought, entering the cottage as the sentinel stepped to the side.

  “So, you are Quintilius’s son.” A woman in her late forties, slim and stern-looking, stood in the middle of a room that in any other circumstance might have been considered cozy. A large fireplace dominated the opposite wall, but it wasn’t lit. The two gray couches facing the fireplace were covered with white pillows. The woman was dressed all in black, from her austere glasses to her heels, and looked out of place there. “What’s your name, pup?”

  The woman studied him with cold eyes, but he refused to be intimidated. “Lupo Solis.”

  At his name, she stepped back and bumped the couch behind her. A moment passed, then she tilted her head and a calculating smile tugged at her lips. “Why are you here?”

  Mirroring her gestures and attitude, Lupo answered, “Why do you think I’m here?”

  The woman’s smile faltered. “Don’t try my patience, pup.” She made a sign for the sentinel to come closer.

  “I want to talk with the alpha.”

  “About what?”

  “About the fact that I am his son and he never claimed me as his.” Rage surfaced from under the thin layer of politeness Lupo was trying to maintain.

  With a shrug and a small chuckle, the woman said, “And what makes you think he’s interested in seeing you again?”

  The woman’s last word left Lupo speechless.

  “That’s right. Do you think he doesn’t know about you?” She laughed. “Do you think he cares?”

  Lupo’s wolf whined in pain, but he didn’t let him out. He would have never given that spiteful woman the satisfaction to see him out of control.

  “Your mother didn’t want you either. Did you know that?” She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “She left you at the orphanage then fled Italy.”

  “How do you know that?” Lupo’s hands were shaking and he fisted them.

  “Because she asked me to deliver you to Cradle and Bites, soon after she had you. You are the byproduct of a night of lust between the alpha and one of the kitchen servants. Not exactly something to be proud of, don’t you think? So Quintilius told me to pay the pregnant maid and get rid of her. She got enough money to start a new life somewhere else and didn’t want to be burdened with a bastard.”

  Rage possessed Lupo at the woman’s statement, but the sentinel was at his side before he could lash out.

  “Anything else?” The woman ran her hands down her pencil s
kirt, a satisfied expression on her stark face.

  Unable to utter a word that wasn’t an insult, he turned on his heels and stormed out of the cottage.

  The driver opened the car door for him. He climbed in, and they left.

  His thoughts spread in every direction, Lupo was wounded and heartbroken, and someone had to pay for it. So, when he was deposited outside of Quintilius’s property, he drove back to the Reds’ at breakneck speed and went directly to the gym, looking forward to a cage fight or two. He ended up fighting five different matches that night, and Guts, the Reds’ tattooist and doctor, had to patch him up with several stitches on his face and head.

  The morning after, he asked Rock, who was also the house manager, if he could add tasks to his roster.

  “Sure, what would you like to do?” Rock asked.

  “Anything to prove I’m ready to be a Red.” Lupo was a recruit, and although he had demonstrated he could handle more dangerous gigs, so far Rock had only given him low risk jobs. As a patched recruit, he was already delivering V, but it wasn’t enough to get Tancredi’s attention. He wanted to become a Red and have a big brother who would look after him. He wanted to belong.

  Chapter Three

  The morning after a party was always difficult for Quintilius to get his bearings. Not because he drank too much, he seldom imbibed to the point of drunkenness anymore. After one awful awakening too many, he decided an alpha should have known better than to drown his sorrow in the bottle. Nowadays, he liked to set an example for his pack, and no one in his entourage was ever to conduct themselves in a disgraceful manner. But there was an inherent sadness at seeing the house empty of the partygoers. The night before, all the rooms of his casolare had been filled to the brim, and now it was just him and his loyal employees.

  A family man through and through, life had dealt one of those cruel blows to Quintilius that would seem ironic if it weren’t so painful to ponder upon. Even though his greatest wish was to have a big patriarchal family with cubs running around everywhere, he had never married.