The Lonely Wolf

by Monica La Porta

  “At what time does it start?” Raphael asked.

  “Eleven p.m. tonight. I tried to push the hearing to midnight to give Martina time to wake and prepare her defense, but the judge refused to budge. The Cannalis’ lawyer painted a compelling case, and the judge has a daughter of Jasmine’s age.” Samuel flexed his wings, then tilted his head from one shoulder to the other. “The family’s grief is impossible to ignore.”

  On the wake of Samuel’s statement, Ludwig caught Quintilius’s nervous aura preceding him, and a moment later the werewolf stormed into the sitting room.

  “I must go home. Now,” Quintilius said wide-eyed, pressing a hand over his temple.

  Already oppressive, the atmosphere in the room became downright claustrophobic. Eager to stretch his wings and to have a private moment with his wolf, Ludwig rose from the couch. “I’ll take you.”

  “I was going to offer my Testarossa, but wings are faster.” Drako stood up as well to accompany them to the door. Halfway through the hallway and away from young werewolf ears, he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Iris is missing.” Quintilius passed a hand over his beard, now darkening his features with a thick coat of silver and black, his eyes scanning the place but unfocused. “Her cottage was ransacked, and she hasn’t been in the office since yesterday.”

  They walked a few steps in silence, then, when a few meters from the foyer, Alexander slowed his gait and asked, “Do you think it was the vampires’ doing?”

  “Who else could it be? Iris disappears soon after Camelia is attacked. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “There must be a way to stop Claudius once and for all. The man has caused more pain and suffering than anyone should be allowed to. I’m fed up with the Immortal Council and all this diplomacy crap,” Alexander said, then gave Ludwig a shrug. “I’m sorry, archangel, but that’s the truth.”

  Ludwig patted Drako’s shoulder. “No need to apologize. I agree.”

  “Please, keep us informed.” Alexander opened the big wooden door, then stepped aside to let them through.

  “We will,” Ludwig answered for the two of them, then as soon as they were outside and the door was closed behind them, he took Quin in his arms. “Ready?” At his assent, he raised the invisibility shield and took off.

  Only in the air did Ludwig relax. Away from indiscreet eyes, he took Quintilius’s mouth and kissed him, devouring his lips, demanding he open to him. “I need you.” His hand roamed lower to caress the wolf’s back, rejoicing at how Quintilius’s body reacted to his touch. “You are mine.”

  Quintilius’s moan was all Ludwig needed to cup his sculpted gluteus and squeeze. “We’ve arrived.” He smiled against his wolf’s full lips, now swollen, then landed on the immaculate lawn before the casolare’s main entry.

  “Already?” Dazed and disheveled, Quintilius blinked. “I didn’t realize you were flying that fast.”

  “You needed a break.” Ludwig placed both hands to the side of Quin’s face. “Truth is, I’ve been longing to kiss that delectable mouth of yours for the last three days, and I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “I miss you.” Quintilius bumped his forehead against Ludwig’s.

  Through the open windows, voices echoed from the casolare, and Ludwig opened his arms to let Quintilius go. “Do you want me to accompany you in?”

  Quintilius’s eyes went to the brick wall of his house, then back to Ludwig, sadness showing in his gaze as he stepped away from his embrace. “It’s clan business.”

  Several members of the staff erupted from the door, in haste to meet their master. When they saw he wasn’t alone, they remained on the landing with grim expressions and nervous stances.

  Ludwig understood their silent request for him to leave and waved at the staff, while he said, “I am one call away if you need me.”

  With a nod, Quintilius walked away from him, toward the marble stairs leading up to the door. The conversation started at once, and he disappeared inside the house.

  Ludwig looked up. The sun was at its zenith, warming up the ground, and the few clouds traveling fast in the sky were white and ever-changing. The day wasn’t shaping up to be pleasant, but the weather was perfect for flying at high speed over Rome. His body hummed with energy he couldn’t spend, and he decided he could use a diversion after all, flying over to Dana’s for a courtesy visit.

  The elf had left two messages on his cell phone, both times proclaiming in his boisterous lingo he had news and would deliver solid proof of the bloodsuckers’ illicit dealings.

  Stretching his flying speed to its limits, Ludwig covered the whole length of Rome, from the Appian Way to the Aurelian Way in a handful of seconds. Dana lived in one of the oldest suburbs, the neighborhood built with tuff bricks and red-clay tiles amidst a sea of Mediterranean pine trees.

  A pleasant smell of pine wafted up when Ludwig crushed green needles under his boots, the sound as satisfying as the resin scent. His stomping activated the magik wards protecting the elf’s street from unwanted visitors. Announced by a bell only his hypersensitive ears could detect, he entered the small courtyard where anachronistic chimney smoke filled the air. A bakery had its doors open to the irregular square, and fresh baked breads were displayed in baskets behind the window. A man dressed in Renaissance clothes leaned over one of the baskets, arranging breaded loaves in a circle.

  “Dana.” Ludwig rapped his knuckles on the window, startling the elf whose hand hit the basket, scattering the bread all over the floor.

  “Archangel—” Dana eyed him nervously, then bent to retrieve the spoiled goodies. “I’ll be right with you.”

  After moving a terracotta vase filled with geraniums, Ludwig sat on the brick bench jutting from the bakery’s wall. The sunrays warmed his skin and the light breeze cooled it. Closing his eyes, he set to analyze the events that had happened in the last days, but the elf’s shadow obscured the sun before he could finish his first thought. He glared at Dana, his boot tapping the side of the elf’s leg. “You said you have proof.”

  Dana’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as his eyes darted around. “Not so loud.”

  “Spit it out.” Ludwig didn’t lower his voice.

  “Please, I could lose my job.” Dana’s eyes darted to the corner of the building, where an arch opened into a narrow alley.

  Besides an orange cat sleeping on the short, truncated column guarding the arch, nobody else was present. Ludwig didn’t detect paranormals skulking around and gave Dana a shrug. “Talk.”

  The elf licked his lips. “This is big—” Rocking on the balls of his feet, he scanned the surroundings again.

  Even sitting, Ludwig was taller than the standing elf, so he stared down at him without saying a word.

  “Archangel, I’d rather be paid now.” Dana pushed his hands inside his apron’s central pocket.

  Ludwig raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I’ll talk, but I need money to lay low for a while.” At Ludwig’s nod, Dana let out a breath, then leaned on the wall, bent his knee, and pressed the sole of his sneaker against the bricks, while he lit a cigarette. “Claudius is doing some belated spring cleanup.”

  Outwardly, Ludwig and the elf gave the impression of two friends taking a break from work. Ludwig reinforced the image by stretching his legs in front of him and crossing them at the ankles as he folded his arms over his chest. His prolonged silence unnerved the elf who started biting his nails in between puffs of smoke.

  “He’s using werewolves to do his bidding,” Dana said.

  Ludwig placed his hands at his sides, palms down, and made to stand.

  “One clan’s name came up—”

  At Dana’s hesitation, Ludwig had enough and pushed himself up.

  “It’s Quintilius’s clan that is involved,” Dana blurted.

  “Not possible.” Ludwig spoke before thinking. “How do you know? Who told you this?”

  “You know I can’t give you names.” The elf raised one hand to placate Ludwig’s ire.
“But I told you I’d give you proof.” He fished his cell phone from inside the apron’s central pocket, unlocked the screen, then scrolled down until he found what he was looking for. “Here it is.”

  Heart beating too fast and anger mounting, Ludwig peered down at the picture of a check. “It can’t be right.”

  Black on white, Quintilius’s masculine penmanship had signed an exuberant amount of money to a Shifter Washer for dry-cleaning.

  “Who’s this?” Ludwig pointed at the name of the company.

  “I don’t know, but their listed address matches a vampire nest in Fiumicino.”

  The whole situation was getting muddier instead of clearer, and Ludwig, who could not feel physical discomfort, experienced a painful tightening in his chest. “What else did you find?”

  “Just a rumor—” Again, the elf hesitated, enraging Ludwig who took a step forward, prompting Dana to say, “I’m sure it isn’t true, but…” Chest heaving and eyes pleading, he shook his head. “They say an angel is involved.”

  “Who?”

  Dana let out a breath though his nose in a smoke filled snort. “Nobody would be so stupid to reveal an angel’s name.”

  Ludwig had heard enough. He took a picture of the image on Dana’s cell phone, then transferred money to the elf’s account, shielded himself, opened his arms to the side, and took off with a whoosh of his powerful wings. Like a projectile, he shot upward and reached the atmosphere mere minutes later.

  With a mood that was darkening by the minute, he reached his office to make his own enquiries on the dry-cleaning company. If he hurried, he would be done before Quintilius called him.

  ****

  “Master, we aren’t sure at what time Iris disappeared.” Quintilius’s majordomo, Paolo, lowered his chin, his shoulders sagging low.

  After being debriefed by his staff, Quintilius had asked Paolo to accompany him to Iris’s cottage. During the short walk, Quintilius asked the questions he hadn’t wanted to enquire before the rest of his household, but he didn’t want to upset the majordomo any longer. “Not your fault this happened.” He patted the man’s arm, then opened his senses to track any foreign scent on the trail. A few meters from the cottage’s entrance, he caught a whiff of vampire mixed with werewolf.

  Outside, the quaint building of bricks and terracotta tiles appeared unscathed. The hedgerow bordering the perimeter had been recently pruned—which reminded Quintilius of the loss of his gardener and of the fact there had not been time to properly commemorate his memory.

  Upon entering the main room, a struggle was evident. Furniture and decor lay overturned and clothing dotted the floor, displaying Iris’s personal belongings for everyone to see.

  “I can’t believe something so barbaric happened here, in our home,” The majordomo walked to one of the windows and opened the curtains to let the sun in.

  Quintilius heard the possessive tone in his majordomo’s voice and couldn’t help but rejoice—if even for the briefest of moments—amidst so much sorrow and upheaval in his life. At least, he had created an environment where his employees cared for his property as if it were their own.

  In complete disrespect of possibly contaminating a crime scene, Paolo moved from one upside down coffee table to a torn couch, fretting over the state of furniture in hushed tones.

  Quintilius didn’t have the heart to stop the majordomo to do what the man considered his vocation more than a job. Instead, he closed his eyes and let his nose tell him what had happened.

  Nostrils flared, he followed a few scents around the living room, then into Iris’s bedroom. There, he opened his eyes and saw how careless fangs had shredded to pieces the mattress on her bed. Delicate porcelain figurines had been either decapitated or hurled against the walls. The armoire’s doors had been ripped from the hinges, and its shelves were empty of the clothes that were everywhere but in the closet.

  “Let me open those windows for you.” Paolo hurried to unlatch the Venetian blinds.

  Once the late morning light inundated the bedroom and the adjacent bathroom, Quintilius’s nostrils flared in recognition of a long forgotten evil. Following his nose, he found what remained of a small glass bottle smashed near the nightstand and swore under his breath.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Supported on either side by Samuel and Quintilius, Lupo entered the courtroom.

  The lawyer who had agreed to represent him, Martina Colonna, a vampire who was the fallen’s fiancé, was waiting for him in the front.

  Despite his life as a gang member, Lupo had never set foot in a courtroom before. His first impression of the dimly-lit room paneled in dark wood was that it looked both scary and depressing. After a day spent awake in bed, with Samuel, who pep-talked and instructed him on how the night would proceed, he wanted nothing else but for the whole charade to be over.

  “Hi, Lupo, my name is Martina, and I am your defense attorney.” The woman, a small athletic brunette, took his hand for a vigorous shake. “I promise I’ll fight for you to have a fair process.”

  From some far away recess in his mind, Lupo translated her neatly arranged words to their basic meaning. He didn’t have a chance to leave the court free, but she would work hard to lessen his sentence.

  “It’s okay,” he said to her, plopping down on the seat reserved for him. The change of clothes the archangel had brought him was not only his size, but also comfortable. But he didn’t want comfortable. He wanted to experience misery.

  Raphael, who was part of his group, sat one row behind and leaned forward to squeeze his arm. He didn’t say anything, but gave him a nod.

  Ravenna del Sarto, Alexander Drako, the Controller and his companion had come too, and they took a seat alongside Raphael, while Quintilius remained standing until Ludwig Barnes arrived. After a brief exchange of whispered words, the archangel grabbed the chair on the other side of Raphael, and Quintilius joined the rest of his friends.

  When Jasmine’s family entered the room accompanied by their lawyers, Lupo’s heart broke all over again. The somber group regally walked through the whole length of the central aisle with their chins up and their backs straight. Both the men, wearing dark, custom-made suits, and the women, clad in those horrid black chitons, exuded pain and suffering, and their animals’ mournful wails reached Lupo’s wolf. He took in their hurt, welcoming the punishment, hoping he would faint from it.

  A few minutes after the Purists sat behind their lawyers on the other side of the aisle from Lupo, the court chancellor stood and asked the audience to follow him. A moment later, the judge walked in from a door behind the stand.

  Distracted by the nearness of Jasmine’s family with their scents similar to hers and those ugly feminine clothes that would forever remind him of her, and unable to concentrate on what was said, Lupo’s mind wandered to Jasmine, as it had done the whole day.

  “Lupo Solis, you are asked to testify,” the chancellor announced.

  Samuel had explained to him in lengthy details what would happen and when, during the hearing. But the moment arrived for Lupo to face the audience, and he wasn’t ready to tell his side of the story.

  “Lupo, go ahead.” Martina Colonna gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Don’t worry, son. Just tell the truth,” Quintilius whispered from behind, both his hands on Lupo’s shoulders.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Ludwig said.

  The chancellor gave Lupo a menacing glance, and he pushed his chair away from the table as he stood on shaky legs. He hadn’t eaten anything, not for lack of trying from everyone living in Drako’s household, but because he had refused food every time they offered. With only water sloshing in his stomach, nausea hit him, and he lurched forward.

  Be strong, my wolf.

  Jasmine’s words echoed in his head, giving Lupo the strength to walk toward the deposition stand. It didn’t matter to him that her voice was a construct of his mind.

  Guided by the chancellor, Lupo took his place behind the stand and swor
e to tell the truth. His eyes went to the army in black facing him. Jasmine’s family breathed and moved as one, their collective gaze full of hate trained at him, as if they were aiming to shoot at a target.

  Martina Colonna stood, walked a few steps toward the stand, and asked, “Lupo, tell us how you met Jasmine Cannalis Corte.”

  Memories flooded Lupo’s mind and he spoke, slow at first, his voice choking.

  “I made a delivery in the same building she lives…” He blinked away the tears. “Where she lived.”

  “Can you state for the court what kind of product you delivered at the Cannalis Corte’s?”

  “It was V.”

  His statement was received with a low rumble from the Purists’ corner. Lupo’s lawyer ignored them. “Are you a freelancer?”

  “I belonged to a gang.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Reds.” Lupo wondered why his lawyer was following that line of inquiry.

  The low rumble became a growl.

  “Are you still a member of the gang?”

  “I haven’t had any time to cut my ties with them, but I would’ve. For Jasmine.”

  “Are you under the impression the gang would let you go?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but my intention was to start a new life with Jasmine far away from here. Somewhere where she could have been safe.”

  Jasmine’s family reacted strongly to his statement and a few disparaging words were whispered.

  “Let’s get back to the beginning of your story.” Martina Colonna waited for the disturbance to quiet down. “How was your courtship conducted?”

  “Jasmine’s panther and my wolf decided for us. They called each other and influenced our decisions. One afternoon, I found myself in a bit of a situation, and Jasmine came to my rescue.” With renewed ache, he realized the afternoon that now seemed so far away in time had happened not even a week ago. “She sneaked me into her apartment and—”

  One of the Purist women jumped up. “Liar!”