The Lonely Wolf

by Monica La Porta

  At the sight, Iris reacted with a faint growl that Ravenna ignored. “You are accused to have commissioned your sister’s murder.”

  “I have.” Again, Iris’s response was cold, emotionless.

  Ludwig pressed his hand over Quintilius’s shoulder, eliciting another growl from Iris.

  “You have falsified my signature to pay Claudius through Shifter Washer half a million euros. Why?” Quintilius asked.

  “To get rid of my sister once and for all, and play interference with the angel.”

  “Why?”

  “To rectify the mistake I made when I underestimated your sense of guilt over Camelia’s injury. She chose being a cripple for the rest of her life over becoming your wife. You were supposed to repudiate her, not give her the place in your house only a spouse deserves.” Iris paused for a long moment, dragging air in through her mouth, her face going white. “I was the one the elders should’ve chosen for you, not Camelia. She was never woman enough to make you forget that abomination.” She pointed her chin at Ludwig, but her eyes remained locked on Quintilius’s. “All the others were easy to get rid of, but he’s been sticking around forever, and he’s untouchable. So, I asked an old friend for help.”

  “Have you used the vampire Claudius to do your bidding before?” After asking the question, Ravenna angled the recorder back toward Iris.

  “It has been a mutual relationship. I lent him werewolves when he needed to disappear vampires who weren’t in line with his government.”

  “Werewolves? From my clan?” Quintilius grabbed the frame of the bed’s footrest.

  “I’m not stupid. My web extends to several gang leaders who owe me favors. Lately, I’ve added the Reds to my pocket by helping them expand their V dealing overseas.”

  “Through my enterprise—” Cold sweat ran down Quintilius’s spine.

  “And you never suspected anything.” For a moment, Iris’s eyes showed their usual spite.

  “You were behind Lupo’s involvement in the vampire’s attempted murder,” Ludwig said.

  “Yes—”

  Quintilius stopped her. “He told me he came to talk to me and you sent him away.” His hands tightened around the footrest.

  “Another persistent son of a bitch. It was easy enough to remove the bastard’s mother from Casolare del Lupo. I threw her into the streets where she belonged and forgot about her. But the bastard came back last year. He was all grown up, looking too much like you, and wearing the Reds’ insignia. Of course, I made Tancredi an offer he couldn’t refuse and waited for the right moment to collect my payment.” Iris emitted a strained sound that was the perversion of a laugh. “I can’t believe my bad luck on that one. The plan was simple. The bastard’s orders were straightforward. He had to kill the vampire, then an eyewitness would testify about seeing him at the murder scene. Once in prison, he would’ve met his untimely death, thanks to one of Claudius’s vampires, and you would’ve never known you had a son—” She took another long breath, her chest heaving for the effort. “But yet again, the angel had to ruin everything.” She shifted her gaze to Ludwig for the briefest of moments. “You have been the bane of my existence. I hate you and I curse you.”

  “So much pain and suffering for nothing.” Quintilius shook his head. “I could’ve never loved you.”

  “Because of him,” Iris spat, her mouth frothy with blood, and she addressed Ludwig again, “But I almost got you, angel. So many people hate you as much as I do, and when you took Arariel’s place, it was a piece of cake to find new allies.”

  “And that’s when Azahel comes in?” Ludwig asked.

  “Yes, when I told her how I intended to discredit you, she was immediately on board, but I should’ve know better than to trust your species.” Iris turned her head to the side.

  Ravenna stepped closer to the bed. “What happened with Azahel?”

  “I had become a liability, and she wanted to get rid of loose strings. Claudius saw the opportunity to make an alliance with a more powerful party and betrayed me. But Azahel didn’t just kill me, she wanted me to beg for it. She—” Iris broke and started sobbing, her body shaking until she convulsed.

  An alarm went off and two nurses rushed in, followed by the doctor.

  “Everyone out,” the doctor ordered.

  Before leaving, Quintilius gave Iris one last glance. “You are dark and twisted. That’s why I could never love you,” he whispered under his breath.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Underneath the ground level, Lupo’s cell was dark and cold, and he had already counted all the scratches on the wall. Fifteen hundred and eighty-seven parallel lines etched on the thin veneer of stucco covering the moldy tuff bricks. At one point, a Roman arch had been filled with construction material and covered, but the outline was still visible on the opposite wall from the entrance. A piece of an amphora emerged from the middle of the arch, like a long lost message in a bottle trapped in a sea of solid sand.

  Separated from the rest of the inmates by wooden bars covered in silver, Lupo would have already lost his sense of time if it weren’t for the aluminum clock on the wall opposite his cell. Down there, minutes became hours, and hours became days. The descent into madness was sudden and exponential, and he soon found himself looking forward to what little human contact he could get. Even seeing the warden three times a day for his meals was starting to look enticing to Lupo.

  Not even a day in Regina Coeli, and he was already hoping all the people who had promised to visit would honor their given word. His lawyer had.

  Using her attorney privileges as a vampire, Martina had come in the middle of the night and talked to him at length about what to expect during the next months. She was sweet and maternal, and Lupo felt he had to listen to her.

  He also knew Samuel had pulled a few strings to ensure he was given a single cell, and although he was past caring for comfort, he was grateful for the attentions the couple was bestowing upon him.

  Martina had left him with a parting, “Life could still surprise you, if you only give it a try.” At his small smile, she added, “I was dead once, and I’ve known despair so bleak it felt like I was drowning in viscous darkness.” She grabbed his hands in hers and squeezed them. “Don’t let pain define you. Jasmine wouldn’t have wanted such a fate for you.”

  Now, alone in his cell, he played their dialogue back. One thing Martina had said had resonated with him.

  Drowning in viscous darkness.

  Since leaving the hospital, the heavy weight pressing on his chest made breathing an onerous task, as if the air was made of molasses.

  He fell asleep after Martina left, and in his dream, Jasmine was alive and looking for him. She called him from behind a veil, but he couldn’t cut through it. He woke drenched in sweat that the cold draft dried on his skin. Then the memories came back and filled his mind with a bittersweet aftertaste, and that was all he had left of Jasmine. Suffocating nightmares and sweet reminiscences.

  Lunch had followed breakfast, and he was now waiting for dinner, and not for the food he couldn’t bring himself to eat.

  The warden came back when the position of the clock’s arms indicated five in the afternoon, but he didn’t carry the food tray. “You have visitors,” he said with a tone of deference.

  Lupo hopped down from his cot and his legs gave away from under him.

  “You should exercise during the day.” The warden waited for him to stand, then escorted him down the hall and up two sets of stairs.

  The high windows opening on the ground level let in the afternoon light, bathing everything in gold and giving the white walls and the red marble a softer hue.

  Lupo closed his eyes to let the sunrays warm him.

  “This way.” The man led him under an arch and past a secondary hallway. “Here.” He stopped before a door and opened it for him. “You have sixty minutes.”

  The way the warden said the last sentence sounded like an hour of visitation wasn’t the rule. Lupo hesitated befo
re entering the room, but the warden pushed him through and closed the door behind him with a resounding thump, followed by the lock being engaged.

  Quintilius sat behind a metal table, his hands palms down, pressed on the surface. His knuckles were broken, already mending, but the cuts had been deep and carved a path on his skin. “Hi, Lupo.” Dark circles rimmed his eyes, an unkempt beard covered his face, his hair stuck out every which way, and his suit was wrinkled and stained with rusty splotches.

  “Hi.” Lupo felt the tug of tears pulling at him, and he bit his lower lip.

  “How do you feel, son?” Quintilius gestured toward the table and the empty chair in front of it.

  Lupo grabbed the back of the chair and turned it, then straddle it. “Like I deserve to be here.”

  “Don’t say that. You never meant to hurt your mate.” Shaking his mane, Quintilius gave him a smile, which wasn’t joyous but had the effect to melt some of the ice covering Lupo’s heart.

  “What happened to you?” Lupo pointed at Quintilius’s hands with his chin.

  Quintilius’s eyes went to his hands. “That’s nothing.” Then he brought his arms up and noticed the state of his sleeves, stained with dried blood. “I apologize for not changing—”

  “I don’t care about that, I was just wondering about the hell of a fight you had.” He didn’t mention that the alpha looked like a drunkard.

  “Long story short, Iris went missing, and Ludwig and I found her. She has been sabotaging not only my life, but her sister’s, yours, Ludwig’s, even Raphael’s, and she eventually chewed more than she could swallow. She’s now fighting for her life.” Upon Lupo’s request, Quintilius then told him the whole story, of how the hateful woman had connived with vampires and angels to destroy everyone in her path, and how she had caused her own demise.

  “That’s one insane obsession she has had for you all those years,” Lupo commented at the end of the tale.

  “I’ve always known she wasn’t a good person, but I don’t understand how I’ve never seen her for what she was.”

  “Maybe you thought that since she was Camelia’s sister she couldn’t be that bad.”

  Quintilius shrugged.

  “What’s going to happen to her now? If she survives.”

  “I shunned her, so whatever happens to her, it isn’t the clan’s concern any longer.”

  “And what about the vampire and the angel? Will they pay too for their involvement?” Lupo had been surprised at hearing that the archangel, who merely knew him, would save Lupo at the cost of his own career and prestige.

  “That’s a complicated story, and Ludwig is taking care of it, but I’m positive we won’t hear from them for a while.” Quintilius passed his hands over his face, then he scoffed. “But enough of those people. They have ruined our lives long enough.” He smiled then, a heartwarming grin that had Lupo smiling back.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “You. I want to know everything about you, my son.” Quintilius extended his hand over the table, and Lupo took it.

  ****

  Ludwig had left Quintilius at Regina Coeli, after yet another sleepless night for the wolf. While he knew that Quintilius could function for a prolonged period of time without a single snooze, the last few days had been taxing, and he was worried for his wolf.

  After Iris’s chilling confession, they had moved to his office at Castel Sant’ Angelo. There, they spent hours putting together the case against the she-wolf, Claudius, and Azahel. The number of crimes the three had been involved in was such that it had taken until the morning to have all the forms ready for the Immortal Court.

  At breakfast time, Alexander came with espresso and croissants for everybody, then he dragged Ravenna away. Samuel replaced her and reported that Martina had seen Lupo during the night. Quintilius relaxed at the news, but he refused to go home and rest.

  They spent the rest of the morning waiting for the immortal elders to make a decision regarding the vampire and the angel. Finally, two summons were issued. Not that Ludwig, or anyone else, expected the two to answer the Council’s call, but the Immortal Court had to follow protocol, and the protocol dictated that everyone was innocent until proven guilty. And if guilty, everyone had the right to confess and atone. Even when the party under scrutiny was a repeat offender like Claudius, who was already on the most-wanted list for previous crimes.

  Sometimes, the Immortal Council worked in ways that were too mysterious to make sense.

  Tired and cranky, Ludwig had had enough already of doing things the Council’s way. He would have to wait until nightfall to contact Claudius, but he knew how to get ahold of the angel right away and only needed to quench his fury before confronting Azahel.

  While he waited for Quintilius to finish his visitation hour with Lupo, Ludwig flew over the prison in large circles, feeding on the sunrays and relaxing into a state of meditation. Floating above the clouds, his body rode the thermals, while his mind retreated into the white chamber he visualized to enter in contact with the creation.

  Every living creature on Earth connected to him and energized his tired aura, making it shine again. Grateful for the help, Ludwig shared with the creation his inner state of peace, a gift humans would receive in their next sleep in the form of a good dream. Closer to the creation, animals and plants would feel Ludwig’s offer right away.

  In the white chamber, time didn’t flow at the same speed as on Earth, and Ludwig’s astral projection reentered his body a fraction of a second later.

  Free of his troubled thoughts and the need to hurt someone, he was ready to do some cleaning in his own house.

  In the blink of an eye, he flew over the Holy Nation’s headquarters in the exclusive Roman neighborhood of Parioli, and, a moment later, wings still outstretched, he strode through the white marble hallway of the mausoleum-like building.

  Around him, angels stepped to the side to let him pass, opening a path toward the stairwell chamber that contained no stairs. A murmur that started soft soon took body, echoing higher and filling the high-ceilinged hall. He needed the crowd to carry his plan to completion and was pleased when several followed him at a distance.

  He surged through the flying chamber—angels would never let mortals into their sanctuary and therefore they had no need for dissembling—and hovered until he reached the archangel’s floor at the very top. Standing one hundred meters above the hall, the ceiling was an open eye into the sky. No glass covered it so that angels could come and go as they pleased. Inclement weather was kept at bay by a stasis field, a boon in the construction and the former archangel’s contribution to the building.

  If only Arariel had not been a sadistic monster, he could have done something good for the Holy Nation. With the bitter-sweet thought, Ludwig entered the quarters that would be his in a few days.

  Angels milled in the decadent waiting room outside the meeting chamber. Not one of them had expected to see him. That much was clear from the startled expressions and the sudden fluttering of wings.

  “At ease.” He passed through the archway and entered the room.

  As it had happened downstairs, an increasingly louder murmur followed his every action. The crowd grew in number with the addition of the angels from the ground floor.

  Inside, the meeting chamber was a representation of Arariel’s flair for the dramatic. There were no windows on the wall, but arches opening into the sky. Structured like a floating garden, succulents, plants, and potted trees were everywhere, grouped with an eye for the esthetic by shallow pools and waterfalls. Pavilions decorated with flower garlands completed the scene.

  Despite the beauty surrounding him, he knew Arariel had used the place as his torture chamber. There, Peter had been maimed by the ex-archangel and his wings ripped from him.

  Ludwig looked around. The place wasn’t deserted. A multitude of angels were partaking of the pastoral setting.

  “Out of the way.” Ludwig didn’t need to raise his voice above normal. His
command carried to the distant corners of the room that seemed to have no physical barriers.

  Once the angels scattered away from him, he called out to Azahel. “I know you are here. Come out. I’ll honor your sanctuary rights.” Not that those rights had ever meant anything in that place. But he was not Arariel, and he would start his legacy by respecting the sacredness of the Holy Nation’s home.

  “I believe you.” With a rich laugh, Azahel stepped out from one of the arches. “You are that kind of stupid.” The angel was tall and slender, her curves accentuated by the form-fitting, white dress she wore. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders and became one with her wings. In a display of control, she flew vertically, hovering with her chin high and her almond-shaped eyes looking at Ludwig. “What do you want?” She stopped in front of him, thrusting out her generous cleavage.

  Ludwig gave her a long stare. “Spare me.”

  “Right, you are immune to the feminine form,” she said with a derisive chuckle and a raise of her eyebrow. “So, I ask again. What do you want from me?”

  “You’ve been summoned by the Immortal Council. You and your friend, Claudius.”

  Gasps echoed all around.

  Outrage showed on Azahel’s face. “Please, don’t use that name. An angel would never befriend someone as low as a vampire. But you’ve forgotten about your race for a piece of dog ass, haven’t you?” She walked a step closer to him. “What a shame for the Holy Nation to have you as a replacement for the great Arariel.”

  The gasps were replaced by shocked silence. A few of the spectators stepped forward.

  Ludwig said, “I suggest you surrender to me, and I’ll take you into custody. You’ll be prosecuted for your crimes.”

  “Never!” Azahel’s elegant features changed into an ugly, warped version of her beauty, revealing her putrid inner soul. “I have committed no crimes. The Holy Nation stands by me. I acted on behalf of the angelic race, to preserve our purity from degenerates like you. For the sake of keeping the scandal contained and the Holy Nation untouched by the outcry that would follow, I was willing to keep silent about the sordid details of your sins.”