Son of hell: Blood of wolves

by Michaela Burdová

  SON OF HELL – BLOOD OF WOLVES

  Michelle Burdova

  Son of hell – Blood of wolves

  Michelle Burdova

  Translated by NK Translators s.r.o., www.nk-translators.com

  Map illustration Michelle Burdova

  https://www.facebook.com/burdova.michelle/

  Dedication

  To my beloved Eddy.

  You've been my best friend throughout my childhood and adolescence and you will forever be in my heart.

  In the chest a cruel heart beats

  In the corner a dark soul cries

  Into the night loneliness howls

  The voice of scary memories

  You run away

  Betrayal awaits, you are scared

  It lives in you as you fade

  You run away

  Flesh and blood, and death attract you

  But relief’s not here to help and save you

  In the chest a cruel heart beats

  Feel the grip that won’t release

  In the soil the dead now rot

  Wolves, they never leave

  Prologue

  Devour him and eat

  In your mouth let him beat

  Hurry up and move your hips

  And let him live on your lips

  Devour him and eat

  Swallow his might!

  Call and join the ancient forces

  Darkness falls tonight

  She watched as they impaled the werewolf’s head on a pole. It was a human face as none of them were in their lupine form.His motionless body lay shackled in silver chains, soaked in his own blood. Kneeling beside him was another werewolf with chains burned into his flesh. As one man held the werewolf´s head backwards with brutal force, another in armour poured molten silver onto his forehead. The werewolf’s roar aroused the gazing crowd to frenzied cheers.Liadalla looked on at the torturing of the creature and for a split moment was impressed by the depths of human cruelty.

  Wealthy nobles, the lords of the city, dressed in fine armour, watched the spectacle unfold. Their smiles beneath bushy moustaches were vicious and eager.The Erinol Kingdom was well-known for its werewolf hunts.In the last one hundred years they had killed over a thousand Sons of Hell. After the Elven Gods had driven the Black Messenger back to the Fiery Gorges, his sons could no longer reproduce. Liadalla guessed that as of now, there were not that many of them left.Some of them had left their packs to mingle with people and blend in with them.Some had even managed to find human wives.However, it was rare that such unions ever produced werewolf offspring.

  She stood on the street corner. Excited people were passing her by with their eyes radiating a fanatical gleam. They longed to see blood. She grimaced. They had no idea what real carnage was, what real, unadulterated cruelty looks like, or what the suffering of others tastes like. After the Exaltation Ceremony, everyone would learn what true agony is.

  She was overwhelmed by anger when her thoughts were broken by a boy accidentally pushing into her. She pulled her hood more into her face, burning a hole in the boy’s disappearing back with her eyes. The tortured werewolf made another painful roar.

  "Can you see them, do you feel their pain?" Liadalla turned. A huge, tall man towered behind her. He looked quite dangerous at first, with his black hair, swarthy skin and ursine body. On closer inspection she saw that his body was all muscle, his neck strings of hard tendons and his hands like shovels.He radiated heat and an inner fire and his black eyes cast a red glare.

  "You took a big risk when you chose this place," Liadalla said.

  "I wanted you to see it. I wanted you to see the execution of my two brothers. Those men are members of my pack and I cannot help them."

  "That’s sad," Liadalla replied indifferently. "I don’t have much time.Let´s get down to business. I don’t wish to be revealed either. I got your message."

  "I wrote to you who I was."

  "But you did not write what you wanted."

  "I heard about your rising power and that one of you is planning to disrupt it."

  "How?" she struck back with a menacing voice.

  "It's not a secret" he grinned, "you're the thirteenth and need more power."

  Liadalla raised an eyebrow. "What’s your point?"

  "I am Wolfgar, one of the strongest and most dangerous weer worfs. If I gave you my strength ...”

  "What?" Liadalla yelled in amazement. "You wouldn’t do that." As she said it, a keen desire filled her heart to the brim. She trembled with the idea of having limitless power.

  "Look at what they are doing to my brothers. Our kind is doomed. My pack, my family ... won’t survive for long. I can´t allow it."

  Liadalla understood instantly. "You want to save them."

  "I want them to survive. I don’t care how you do it, but they must survive. My bloodline must live on. It must never perish."

  "That can easily be arranged," Liadalla whispered with a smile.

  "I need proof. Your word is not enough."

  "I will take an oath, one that I cannot violate and which is based on the most ancient of witchcraft."

  "I don’t care for elven witchcraft! I want something more!"

  She moved a little closer to him, felt his heat on her skin, and almost moaned with pleasure. It was almost impossible to imagine that such an opportunity had presented itself to her!

  "Listen to me. I will seal my oath with my blood that you yourself can taste. My blood cannot lie. When you taste it you will feel its power."

  Wolfgar hestitated, frowned, and then agreed. "Show me."

  Liadalla took a deep breath and began reciting enticing words in the tongue ofAncient Times. She felt her growing excitement, the build-up of power entering her veins. She lifted her arm and pulled her sleeve off her wrist. Her pale skin suddenly opened up as if slit by an invisible knife.

  "Drink," she bade Wolfgar longingly. "Go ahead and drink!"

  The werewolf did not have to be asked twice. He took her small hand and sank his fangs into her wrist. It hurt, but the feelings of satisfaction and pleasure were much stronger. Wolfgar suddenly pulled back, his eyes wide open, mouth stained with blood.

  "I feel it," he whispered in amazement. "Now, I believe you."

  Liadalla smiled. "This seals our agreement. Are you ready?"

  Wolfgar breathed deeply, his chest heaving violently. Finally, he nodded vigorously. "Yes, I am. Here's my sacrifice, my power, my life."

  Liadalla stepped closer still. She tilted her head to look at his face and with the back of her hand gently stroked his cheek. "Yes, yes, you are mine."

  Then, with all the force she could muster, she broke through his ribs and pushed her hand into the depths of his chest. Wolfgar’s knees buckled, his face contorting into painful grimaces. Before he could collapse, Liadalla ripped out his still beating heart.

  She looked down at his lifeless body with a smile. Nobody was passing through this dark alley, so there were no witnesses. Even if there were, what did it matter? After the thirteen demons take over the world, people will just perish in agony and despair due to the dark forces on Earth.

  The warmth of the fresh heart of her donor brought her thoughts back to the present. Liadalla smiled. She bit into it, relishing every bite, feeling Wolfgar’s life ebbing away.

  As she finished eating it, she saw them chop off the tormented werewolf’s head.

  Part I

  Aragen´s Rebellion

  Chapter 1

  Daughter’s Revolt

  Revolt and hunger

  Scream in your head

  Listen to their voices

  Trust hanging by a thread

  Obsession under mask

  Inno
cent? Don’t ask!

  Your killer is your anger

  Revolt and hunger

  Aragen thought of neither meat nor blood, only of excitement. She had never killed a human before. None of the Young had. Her father would not allow it. In his opinion it was too dangerous. Aragen thought otherwise. Somewhere deep inside she felt a desperate emptiness in her life that could only be filled by one thing, excitement. She instinctively knew that her voracious craving could only be appeased by murdering someone.

  She did not lack courage. Yet she had not decided to make the forbidden visit to the village until today. The pack had been camped in the forested hills above the village for several weeks already. A day would not go by without Aragen standing on the hill looking down at the small village of Maily. She pondered about the everyday life of an ordinary human, questioning how their society worked, their laws, their families. Would one feel the seductive animal warmth, the heat and fervour of their blood and their beating hearts that her mother always talked about? Her father never mentioned the ancient hunts, when the Black Messenger still led his offspring. He brought only dead, stiff, cold victims to the camp. It was purely a matter of survival, with neither pleasure, tension, nor excitement.

  Aragen wanted more. She knew she could have it and was predestined to get it. She believed that her power was not born in vain. She had always known that she would need more from life and that it was there for the taking if only she had the ability and strength to do it. Aragen had both. She knew it so unwaveringly that she trembled with tension as she approached the small village.

  As darkness fell stealthily, silently and mysteriously over the forest, she made her way through the trees, twigs softly crunching under her feet. Her heart beat loudly. With each new breath, the air became damper and colder. Aragen stopped and clung to a wide trunk. In the twilight she saw light radiating from the first hut. She was excited, but it was not that excitement. She thought about how vulnerable the people were, living their empty lives in peace, with no respect for or fear of the superior beings they had almost exterminated. Aragen was convinced that werewolves would one day rise again.

  She took a deep breath and entered the village. Human scent immediately attacked her olfactory cells. She inhaled it passionately, savouring it, until the point she thought she would almost suffocate from it and desperately wanted to run away. She restrained herself and her senses slowly calmed down. She saw villagers moving between the houses. There were women in long, simple dresses, men with tired faces, and screaming children. They were playing a strange game, running behind one another and trying to catch each other. Aragen came to a crossroads, stood and watched with intrigue. She waited to see if they would show some signs of aggression towards her, but there was none. They just laughed and in each of their gestures was something warm and friendly.

  She noticed that the humans were intently watching her with curiosity. She turned away. Compared to them, she looked rather shabby. In the pack they were used to covering up because of their shape shifting, using veils and old rags to do so. She must have reminded them of a lost child.

  She had not come here for sympathy. One day, they would look at her with pleading and terror in their eyes, and she would think about how merciful she could be. She knew she could be merciful and kind when she wanted to be and never believed herself to be a cruel being. She refused to suppress her nature and her desires only because of her fear of hunters and the cruelty of humans. It was the human race that was brimming with extraordinary heartlessness and bloodlust. They looked all innocent, but they became beasts when they saw an opportunity to add to the misfortune of others. They enjoyed such opportunities the most when it involved creatures that were different or unique. Knowing that they themselves were far from extraordinary, meant they did not tolerate that someone else could be. This was the reason why Aragen believed so many of her kind had died such painful deaths.

  She walked down a narrow path between some houses. The light from the houses vanished for a moment, but her predator eyes could see perfectly. She soon found herself standing on the next intersection in the centre of the village which was adorned with beds of colourful flowers. A woman was just leading a goat to a shed. She looked up, noticed Aragen, and paused for just a moment. Her eyes looked her over before she decided to come closer, leading the goat behind her.

  "Are you lost?" she asked amiably. She had dimples in her face and cobwebs of fine wrinkles around the eyes. Aragen shook her head. The woman looked worried. "Are you sure? I don’t know you. You're not from here ...”

  Aragen looked at the goat. The animal immediately flinched, looked away, and bolted. The woman looked on, startled and scared. Both headed down the street, the goat bleating as it went, whilst the peasant woman ran behind it calling its name. Suddenly, Aragen felt something. She heard hollow sounds with a regular rhythm. They were coming from not so far away. Then came the smell ... sweat, human sweat, male sweat.

  She followed the scent as if in a trance. It brought her to a lonely hut at the edge of the village. A lamp hung above the porch. A boy stood there illuminated. He bent over a thick log and chipped away at the wood with an axe. His body scent tickled Aragen’s nose. She immediately sensed that he was suppressing a lot of pent up anger. Chopping the wood seemed to be his way of releasing it. She tentatively took one step closer and sniffed the air. By the Gods, it smelled fantastic.

  He paused, looked up, as if sensing her presence. Can humans do such a thing? When he saw her, his hand slipped from the axe and it dropped to the ground. Aragen knew that she was quite nubile for her age. Her dark skin and black hair lent her a mysterious, sensual look. She thought the boy could be about two years older than her, so about eighteen years old. At that point though, she knew he was staring at her as an adult, infatuated man.

  "Hi there," he gulped. "Who are you?"

  Aragen watched the sweat run down his neck and under his shirt.

  "And who are you?" she replied.

  "Well ... my name is Pall."

  "You seem to be upset, Pall."

  "I am, because I ..." he looked down at his axe. "It's my father. He thinks I should listen to him. He only ever bosses me around and … Why am I telling you this?"

  "You should always honour your parents," she said and came another step closer. She instinctively felt his pulse quicken.

  "You're not from here," he said. She came even closer to him, feeling the warmth of his breath on her face. She inhaled and tasted it. "I'm not," she whispered. "Come with me."

  "Where to?" he blurted out, his eyes full of enthusiasm. She smiled. "I'll show you where I come from."

  He almost nodded his head until his brain woke him up from his stupor. He looked back towards the house. "What about my parents?"

  She put her hand gently on his chest. "Just for a moment," she said. He looked at her, checking her breasts and hips with his longing eyes. He immediately nodded. Aragen grabbed him by the hand and led him into the forest.

  Once they had moved away from the village, they were quickly surrounded by darkness. Pall was breathing heavily. Aragen felt that it was from excitement, uncertainty, and fear. He initially gave no resistance as she led him on. He finally stopped her, looking back at where they had come from, wanting to run back. The village was not far away but its lights did not penetrate here. Despite this, Aragen could still feel its presence. Something was holding Pall back. That something appeared every time he looked at her. It was lust.

  Aragen pulled him into her, pressing her breasts against his chest and her hips against his. Immediately, she felt his growing desire. She now felt it in herself too but it was different to his. Yes, she suddenly felt that she had finally found what she yearned for for so long. It was excitement. It was the moment just before he would lie in her arms and she would take his life, that moment when she would have the power to control him, that moment just before she would get a taste of him, that moment before she merged with his heartbeat and everything around her
would momentarily come to a standstill.

  He kissed her. It was a fiery, wet kiss. He was bursting with anticipation. He awkwardly pressed his hands against her hips and then touched her breast. She grabbed him by the hair and pushed his head backwards. He shouted in surprise and then released an excited sigh full of expectation. He surrendered to her completely. Her tongue brushed the side of his neck, tasting his salty sweat. She felt her burning gums and her cheeks twitch. Her jaws lengthened, creaking awfully as they did so. Pall became a little scared, but she did not let him look at her. Sharp fangs erupted from her gums. She pushed her hands against his chest, pinning him to the tree. This was when he first felt her true strength.

  As her fangs pierced his skin and sank into his flesh, he yelled and started convulsing. Aragen felt like she was in heaven. Yes, she thought, defend yourself, scream! More, more, I want more! She relished drinking his blood and tearing flesh from his shoulder while he exhausted all his forces in futile attempts to extricate himself. She could feel his life slowly starting to circulate in her veins, whilst at the same time his suffering penetrated her body and forced her to be even more brutal. She felt it fill her up and knew that she would never forfeit this feeling ever again.

  When he collapsed into her arms, she perceived his life was slipping away. She could have saved him. She could have stopped herself, but couldn´t. She wanted to know what it was like to have the greatest power of all - the power to take life.

  She tore his throat out in just a few seconds.

  Finally she broke away and let his limp body fall to the ground under the tree. His eyes stared blindly into the darkness. Aragen felt his warm blood on her skin. It was pleasingly warm. Her intoxication and reverie were interrupted by someone’s presence.

  That someone was good at hiding, for Aragen could not find her immediately. Her superhuman abilities kicked in and she soon discovered where they were. She grabbed the person by the throat, and then slowly released her grip. "Drel," she asked, “What are you doing here?"