by N M Thorn
Luc de la Crosse whispered a quick spell, moving his fingers over the box without touching it. A ray of purple light burst out of the disk, and as Cole looked up, he gasped, rising. The rune he’d seen earlier on Luciano’s forehead was glowing brightly on the ceiling, projected by the disk.
“This rune,” he whispered, pointing up. “What is it?”
The Master Warden got up slowly, his head upturned as his widened eyes explored the rune. “This is bad news, mon ami,” he whispered absentmindedly. “I need to do more research, but I believe we’re dealing with a necromancer. An extremely powerful one.”
“No...” Cole staggered back, fear coiling in the pit of his stomach. “It can’t be. I thought necromancy was outlawed by the Destiny Council and all practitioners were imprisoned years ago.”
“Not all,” said Luc. He closed the iron box, and the rune vanished from the ceiling. “When is Commander Blake coming back?”
“I don’t know,” replied Cole. “Either later on today or tomorrow.”
“He needs to know. Call him as soon as you can,” muttered Luc, taking the box. “I’m going back to Paris. I need to discuss the situation with the Grand Master of the Order.” He thought for a moment, nibbling on his lip. “If indeed we’re dealing with a necromancer powerful enough to conjure wurdulaks and control an ancient vampire, you’re not safe, Cole. None of the undead are safe.”
Luc waved his hand, opening a portal, but before he walked through it, he stilled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Cole, you can’t go back to your home or your company,” he said, twirling the box in his hands. “From here, I want you to drive straight to Paradise Manor. The left wing of the building is protected by powerful wards and spells. Whoever this necromancer is, even they won’t be able to break through. You should be safe there. I’ll talk to Commander Blake as soon as he comes back to Blue Creek, and we’ll find a way to protect your subjects.”
“I understand,” replied Cole, “but I can’t put myself on lockdown while the Court is hanging in the balance, and we’re on a brink of war with the werewolves which may spill into the realm of humans, exposing the World of Magic. I can’t hide, Luc. I must keep fighting. No matter how hard or how dangerous it gets, I must do what’s right. What kind of King would I be if I—”
“You’d be an alive King,” objected Luc de la Crosse dryly. “Live today to fight tomorrow, Cole. Do as I say. I’m not asking you. I command you in the name of the Destiny Council. If you don’t obey, we’ll lock you in a Destiny Council holding facility, and you’re not going to see your Court until all this is over. It’s better to have an imprisoned King than one controlled by a necromancer.”
Cole frowned but pressed his fist to his chest, inclining his head. “As you wish, Master Warden.”
Chapter 6
~ Damian Blake ~
Since Damian wasn’t familiar with the location of Hawk’s residence, he couldn’t teleport there, so he had no choice but to drive. From the warehouse, he teleported directly to Cole’s house and headed to his garage.
He entered the security code, using a small keypad located next to the entrance, and the door rolled up, giving him access to a spacious six-car garage. Shaking his head, Damian walked inside, flipping the light switch on. It wasn’t the first time he visited Cole’s garage. However, every time he was here, he couldn’t help but wonder why his brother needed so many vehicles, especially since he was a vampire and could move a lot faster than any car in his arsenal.
Damian walked toward the large white Mercedes G-Class SUV and opened the door, getting into the driver’s seat. It was the only car his brother owned that he felt comfortable driving. Cole had offered to transfer the title to him, but since Damian never cared to own a car, he just dismissed that idea, promising Cole that if he ever needed a vehicle, he’d borrow it.
Starting the engine, he peered at the touchscreen. “Dammit... How do you use it?” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. “Where the hell is that GPS-thingy...”
It took him a few minutes to find the navigation system and figure out how to enter the address. Once done, he drove the SUV out of the garage, pressed the button on the built-in remote to lower the door, and started on his way to Hawk’s residence.
Following the GPS instructions, Damian drove through the desert, wondering if the crazy machine was taking him on a wild-goose chase. The brownish-yellow land, covered in dry patches of grass, thorny bushes and towering Saguaro cacti, appeared to be endless and no matter how much he sharpened his human and supernatural senses, he couldn’t detect any presence of life.
“In five hundred yards, turn left,” demanded the GPS.
“Left where?” grumbled Damian, staring out the window. “There is nothing there.”
“Turn left now,” said the GPS flatly.
“Fine. Stubborn...”
He swung the vehicle to the left, taking a small byroad. After a short drive, he noticed a white fence surrounding a large piece of land with a small farmhouse visible in the distance. He parked the SUV by the gates and walked out, carefully surveying the area. Even though he didn’t notice any people, he could hear the sound of some kind of power tools or machinery working at the far end of the property, and that told him that at least some members of the pack were home.
Damian approached the gate, ready to push it open, when a slight fluctuation in the magical energy field touched his senses. He pulled his hand back and opened his other sight, scanning the gates and the fence around the farm.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, observing a set of runes glowing with brilliant white light. The thin lines of wards stretched along the fence as far as he could see, and a barely visible net of glowing white lines encapsulated the entire property rising high in the air. “These wards were cast by a god...” He moved his hand over the shiny white lines without touching them and shook his head. “Not only by a god, but also by a Child of Fire or the Great Salamander himself. Perun almighty... Who the hell are these people?”
“Who wants to know?”
Damian spun around to see a young man no older than eighteen standing before him with his arms folded across his chest. Dressed in washed out blue jeans and a shirt, he was tall and muscled, but his body still had the youthful slenderness of a teen. As far as Damian could see, he was unarmed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. The unmistakable energy signature of a lycanthrope surrounded him like a thick cloud, yet it was too weak to belong to a purebred werewolf.
“Hello,” said Damian, trying to sound as friendly as he could, extending his hand. “My name is Damian Blake, and I need to see your Alpha.”
“You do, don’t yah?” The young man glanced at Damian’s hand but didn’t shake it, his eyes lingering on it for a moment too long. Instead, he cocked his head slightly, and an arrogant smirk stretched his lips. “First, you’re gonna tell me why you are here and what you want with Hawk. And then, I’ll decide what to do with you next.”
“I’m sorry. The reason I’m here I can only discuss with the Alpha,” replied Damian calmly. Getting in a confrontation with one of the members of the pack wasn’t going to help his cause. But as much as he was determined to keep it nice and peaceful, the young werewolf was getting under his skin.
The young man laughed. “How does a little human like you know what an Alpha is?”
“I read a lot of Urban Fantasy,” replied Damian, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. He took a step closer to the obnoxious teenager, towering at least half a foot over him. “You’re going to go to your Alpha now and let him know that the little human needs to speak with him. Am I clear, young man?”
The young werewolf staggered back, and for a split second, his eyes widened, but then he raised his hand and twirled his wrist, a derisive smirk splitting his face. A soft whistling sound touched Damian’s hearing, and he turned around in the direction of the noise a moment too late. As something sharp penetrated his skin, he hissed and jerked his hand up to his ne
ck involuntarily. Feeling a cold and slippery object under his fingers, he seized it and pulled it out, staring at a tiny dart lying in the palm of his hand.
The world spun in a slow and nauseating manner, and he dropped the dart, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t remember falling, and he didn’t feel when he hit the ground. All he felt was two more stings, and suddenly, the teenager’s boots were right next to his face. He wanted to move, but his limbs were too heavy, his body refusing to obey the commands of his mind. His eyelids closed, and the darkness embraced him.
The acrid smell of burned wood, smoke and dust invaded his nostrils, breaking through the heavy cover of the darkness, and the memory of what had happened spiked through his fogged mind. As Damian regained his consciousness, he jerked, hitting his head against something hard. He groaned and moved his hand up to rub his head, just to realize that his hands were bound behind his back. He cracked his eyelids open, squinting at the bright rectangle of light.
“Holy shit! I shot him with three doses of horse tranquilizer, and he’s already up!”
Damian heard a youthful voice somewhere above him and blinked a few times, struggling to adjust his blurry vision. He was sitting on the floor of a small smithy. The forge was cold, and it looked like no one had used it for a while. The corner of his mouth lifted into an uneven smirk as he assessed his restraints. Thick ropes wrapped around his torso and arms, tying him to an anvil. His wrists were also bound with a rope. However, as thick as the restraints were, they weren’t going to hold him for longer than a few seconds if he decided to break free.
Three young people—two men and a woman, who had barely transitioned from their childhood to adolescence—stood in front of him, staring at him with unconcealed curiosity. All three were werewolves, but none of them were purebred.
“Now that you had your fun, please fetch your Alpha,” Damian said, regarding them calmly. “It’s urgent, and I don’t have time to play games.”
The young woman tittered, shaking her head. “I don’t think you’re in a position to give commands.”
“I’m always in a position to command,” objected Damian, frowning. As much as he didn’t want to fight with these baby-wolves, he had no time to spare. “You have one minute to summon Hawk. You don’t have to untie me if it makes you feel safer.”
“And what will you do if we don’t, little human?” asked the same young man he had met at the gates.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” growled Damian, enhancing his voice with his magic just a little. “Do it! Now!”
As his deep voice rolled through the smithy, reverberating against the walls, the teens flinched, and the younger of the two boys ran out of the building. A few seconds later, the sound of heavy footsteps reached Damian’s ears, and a powerful wave of magical energy characteristic to a purebred werewolf assailed his magical senses. A moment later, an older man walked inside the smithy and halted in front of Damian, holding a rifle trained at him.
Even though he wasn’t tall, he had the wide chest and muscled arms of a man who got used to working with his hands without shying away from hard physical labor. An old scar disfigured the left side of his face, running from the middle of his cheek down to his neck. Deep wrinkles settled around his tightly pressed mouth, and his thick eyebrows gathered over the golden eyes of a predator as he carefully observed Damian.
After a moment, he sighed and lowered his rifle, staring at the young werewolves reproachfully.
“Have I taught you nothing in the last few years?” he asked them, his raspy voice carrying notes of bitterness. “Who do you think this man is?”
“A human pet of some disgusting vamp,” offered the older teen, anger making his voice waver.
Damian’s jaw dropped, but he said nothing, allowing the Alpha to continue.
“First of all, not human. He’s extremely skilled at hiding his true nature. Even I can’t detect any magic in him. But what did I teach you about a werewolf’s intuition?” asked Hawk, shaking his head.
“It’s very powerful, and we must always listen to our intuition,” said the younger boy.
“And what does it tell you when you look at this man?” asked Hawk, sounding like a patient first-grade teacher.
The young werewolves exchanged bewildered looks and shrugged.
“Damn, kids...” Hawk threw his hands up, tones of disappointment clear in his voice. “Second, why would you even think he belongs to a vamp? Do you see any bite marks on his arms or neck?”
“No... but he reeks of one,” the girl suggested tentatively.
“Oh shit,” mumbled Damian, stifling laughter. “And I thought I took a good, long shower this morning.”
The Alpha’s eyes darted from the kids to Damian, and for the first time, a spark of humor reflected in his gaze. He inclined his head in a respectful bow.
“My lord, I apologize for my kids’ disrespectful behavior. I know you came in peace. They were stupid enough”—he threw a scorching glare at the three teens—“to take you across the wards, and if you wanted war, they would be dead by now,” he said softly. “I don’t know what you are, but for the sake of the lessons they need to learn, could you please demonstrate your true nature to these juvenile jackasses? In a safe way, of course.”
“Are you sure?” asked Damian, checking the space available in the smithy.
“Please, proceed, my lord.” Hawk inclined his head, pushing the young members of his pack toward the walls. “They must understand that in the World of Magic things are never what they appear to be.”
“As you wish.” Damian took a deep breath and channeled his magic, connecting with the elemental energy of the Earth. As the energy of his element traveled to his eyes, he knew they lit up with a bright orange light, and he allowed his magic to take him over, making the ground tremble a little for added effect. A brilliant white light emitted by his body filled the dark smithy, illuminating every corner. The ropes restraining him fell, turning into dust, and he rose to his feet, taking a step away from the anvil.
A deep shudder ran through him as he reveled in the feeling of his full power surging through him. Throwing his head back, he roared and spread his arms wide, his black wings opening to the full extent behind his back.
Hawk’s eyes widened, and he dropped to one knee, pressing his fist to his chest. The teens followed his move, staring at him in awe.
“Lord Enforcer,” the Alpha exhaled, inclining his head. “How can I be of service?”
Damian folded his wings and let go of his magic, taking his human form. “Please, don’t kneel, sir,” he said, touching Hawk’s shoulder. “I came here because I need your help. Is there a place we could speak in private?”
Hawk got up, unease reflecting on his weather-beaten face. “Not the first time I hear this kind of preamble,” he muttered, frowning. “Usually, it means nothing good. Especially when it comes from a Destiny Enforcer.” He turned to his teens and gestured for them to get up. “I hope that was a lesson for you. Assaulting a Destiny Enforcer can be the last thing you do in your lives.” He glowered at the teens, watching them squirm under his heavy stare, but then waved his hand dismissively. “You can leave now.”
As the young werewolves bowed to Damian and their pack master and left the smithy, Hawk gestured at the door. “Walk with me, Lord Enforcer. Tell me what brought you here.”
Chapter 7
~ Damian Blake ~
Hawk slowly walked across the property, leading Damian around the machine shop. The door was open, and a loud banging accompanied by the hissing noise of lifts was coming through the doorway. The smell of motor oil, grease and gasoline hung in the air, overpowering the scents of the afternoon desert. Hawk glanced at the shop, a wistful smile touching his lips as he waved at one of the men working inside.
Turning to Damian, he gave him a quick once-over. “I always wanted to know,” he said, moving toward a small bench next to the fence behind the machine shop. “How do Destiny Enforcers manage to keep their shirts i
n one piece when they open their wings?”
Damian glanced at him, wondering if the Alpha was joking, but since Hawk looked dead serious, he answered, “I have to cast a spell on all my shirts and jackets. I hate these damn things. I never use them, except for those rare occasions when some werewolf Alpha asks me to intimidate his wild teenagers.”
Hawk chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re alright, kid,” he muttered, but Damian wasn’t sure if he said it to him or to himself. “I’ve met a few of your kind before. Most of them were self-important assholes. You don’t strike me as such.”
“Thank you, I guess?”
The Alpha lowered on the bench and tapped the space next to him, inviting Damian to sit down. “So, what’s your human name, Lord Enforcer?” he asked, staring into the desert, his gaze veiled with sadness. “Sorry, but I’m not a big fan of all these courtly procedures and medieval manners of the World of Magic.”
“Neither am I,” replied Damian, offering Hawk his hand. “My name is Damian Blake. You can call me Damian, sir.”
“Drop that ‘sir’ part, Damian. You’re probably a few centuries older than me.” He shook his hand, but his face turned hard as he leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “The kids were right though, you know?”
“About?”
“You stink of the undead,” replied the Alpha, his golden eyes turning darker. “Why is that?”
Damian exhaled, looking at Hawk sideways. Even though on the outside Hawk appeared calm, Damian could sense his grief and internal turmoil, and he wasn’t sure how to approach the sensitive subject. Making a split-second decision, he chose to stick to the truth, believing that Hawk deserved his honesty.
“My brother is a vampire,” he said, shifting slightly to face the Alpha. “It’s his essence you smell on me.”