The Worst Werewolf

by Jacqueline Rohrbach

  It was a strong blow—stronger as a wolf than it would have been in his human form—and Lavario had the element of surprise. Thrilling as it was to watch her fly across the room, Lavario suppressed the urge to gloat, either internally or externally, while Kijo shook herself and got back to her feet with unsteady, almost drunken unease. Arrogant. The word was an apt way to describe him. But then his daughter was, too. She thought it would be so easy once she forced him into a melee battle; her superior strength would overcome any Boo Hag trickery he could conjure. Pride was no doubt wounded right now, but he knew it was not over. Fight was all Kijo knew. Finally back on her feet, she charged him again, her paws hitting the ground with heavy thuds, intent on making it a physical confrontation.

  The fire he created for Amber was for show, nothing more than little lights flashing around him before blinking out in a puff of smoke. The fireball taking shape in his paw now was massive. He struggled to maintain enough concentration to hold it together when it flared. Hair burned, releasing a sulfurous odor into the air. Not yet, he told himself, clamping his jaw in a long-toothed grimace to keep himself from roaring in pain. With difficulty, he focused his mind away from the burning sensation and brought his magic under control. The fireball solidified into a tight, condensed coil of energy waiting to be released.

  He hurled it when she was about ten feet away from him, thinking she’d be forced to revert to human form to counter the magic. His failing concentration made his aim poor, though. He hit her leg rather than her chest as he intended. Enraged, she howled but continued toward him. Lavario crashed to the ground as Kijo slammed into him. Claws dug into his sides, fire scorched his belly, and her teeth penetrated deep into his right shoulder. Blood welled then suffused as she shook her head side-to-side to deepen her hold and open the wound. She only just barely missed his throat. He’d be dying or even dead by now if she hadn’t.

  She wanted him to bleed out.

  Strength failing, Lavario placed his hand on her chest and sent her flying backward once again with less force. Perhaps thinking she had the time given his injuries, she reverted to her human form to counter his magic. Instinct took over Lavario. Until this was done, she was not his daughter. She was vulnerable prey.

  Lavario jumped on top of her and jabbed all five claws into her side. He felt her body jerk and spasm when he got to bone. It was not a fatal wound, but she was done.

  He’d won.

  This was a moment Lavario pictured a billion times over. The details imagined then reimagined came to focus. The shock of his peers, their crestfallen faces as they realized the extent of his power, even Garvey in the audience saying something ridiculous, out of touch, and inappropriate—the least popular of all his stupid things spiking the ball for him. Only Kijo’s presence deviated from the idealized version of events so far. In fantasy, Lavario never fought his daughter, never so much as touched a hair on her head. It was Mazgan. And Mazgan was dead by now.

  He looked down at his daughter, impaled by his own hand. She did not succumb to anger as he anticipated. She maintained her calm and went for an early kill as he taught her. “Submit.” He whispered it in her ear. Black eyes narrowed in response, nostrils flared. She tried to rise, but Lavario twisted his hand inside her. “Submit. It’s over.” Defeat was an odious look on his Kijo, the intended savior of the Varcolac. Part of Lavario wanted her to win probably about as much as she wanted to beat him, if only to avoid this moment. Fantasy no longer, this was what Lavario had always dreaded the most. He knew she would not yield. Yet he was not above begging. “Please, my daughter. Submit.”

  “Never.”

  She meant it. Trumped up as this fight was, she could hardly escape the backlash, the disappointment, of defeat. She was panting heavily. Lavario felt his own strength ebb as his shoulder wound nagged at him. Both of them needed to heal. “Then I submit to you.” Withdrawing as he stood, Lavario looked down at Kijo, who looked at him as though he was insane. Maybe he was.

  “I do not accept your submission.” She spat at him with vitriol that stung.

  “Then I forfeit.” She gasped at him, clearly stunned. To submit was shameful enough, to forfeit was to exit in disgrace. Worse than exile, worse than death. Forever marked as a coward, he’d live his life scorned, without rank. But he would not lose his daughter. “I forfeit.” He said it loudly, so all wolves could hear.

  Official responses had apparently dried up. Mazgan stood at the edge of the fighting stage with a dumbfounded look. But the fight was over. Kijo had no choice but to accept a forfeit. Lavario transformed back to his human form to heal his shoulder, leaving only a few of his daughter’s teeth marks as a decorative badge from the fight. Slowly, showing some uncertainty, Kijo did the same to her wound.

  Miraculously unsoiled, the robe tarried in the spot where Lavario left it. Wrapping himself back in it felt good, felt right. He was the wolf with the frills after all. Rule breaker. Loner. Lavario looked to all his kith and howled on his own, a private celebration for everyone’s favorite sentimental, Boo Hag fool.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: UNDERSTANDABLY DISAPPOINTED

  “What the fuck was that?” Amber shouted at him. “You are the worst. The worst. You had that shit in the bag, and then you were just…” She trailed off into a series of flustered hand gestures.

  “Your disappointment is noted.” Lavario sat perched on one of his favorite ornamental chairs. He’d enjoy it while he could and to the extent Amber would allow. Good-bye comfort. Good-bye luxury. Good-bye elegance. He was sure Mazgan and his daughter would be here soon to repossess everything that made life worth living.

  Amber would certainly remain. As she continued to seethe and Godzilla his stuff, he became more and more sure of it. The girl was on a binge. Promises had been broken in her estimation, and he was going to pay the price. Under it all—the pageantry of her anger—she was simply terrified. What’s going to happen to me? An emotion she broadcasted over and over again. Lavario wanted to comfort her, but realistically she would share in whatever fate Kijo and Mazgan brought to his door. He had no idea what it might be. He just knew it wouldn’t be very good. There was little comfort to offer.

  “And put on some goddamn pants.” She went to his dresser, flinging out all his sorted laundry—all of it once cleanly folded and slotted in its proper spot—until she found some trousers. “Here.” She flung them at him. Lavario grabbed at them before they hit him in the face. Tiredly, he did as she told him. Maybe he was the worst werewolf ever. Taking orders from a human teenager. Forfeiting fights he should have won.

  Lavario was on the verge of giving her what might count as a pep talk when his door flung open. “Hey, kids.” Garvey. Lavario growled. The presence of his errant progeny was only slightly better than Mazgan and Kijo coming to kill him or take his possessions. “So how’s it going?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Amber blurted out immediately. The child had no filter, no conceptualization that other wolves might actually hurt her. Luckily for her, Garvey was a different type of fool.

  “My apologies. How rude of me not to introduce myself to Lavario’s new keeper. I’m Garvey, Lavario’s first and worst mistake.” He bent down, grabbed the young girl’s hand and kissed it. “Delighted to meet you. Please feel free to join in and continue to lambast Lavi-doodle here.” Lavario snarled at the pejorative. “Do you like that? It’s a combo of your name and poodle, sort of a sissy breed of nonstarters. I don’t know if he’s the worst werewolf ever, though. Close. Probably pretty close. What do you think, Lav?”

  “Are you here to gloat?” Lavario asked him with gravel in his voice.

  “I’m in the process of gloating. So yes.” Garvey leaned up against the frame of the door, smiling his typical big-toothed grin.

  Lavario was in no mood for it. “Task accomplished. See yourself back out.”

  Garvey ignored him and continued to address Amber. “He’s always this way. In case you were wondering. Enjoy your life of sulking and skulking followed b
y some quiet reflection and soul searching.”

  Amber’s mouth hung open in shocked silence. Perhaps because she finally met someone who was a bigger pain in his ass than she was, or maybe because Garvey—outlandish and talkative—was unlike any werewolf she’d met so far. She was finally unable to come up with a retort.

  Urges to kill or at least maim Garvey worked their way through Lavario. His wayward son’s foolishness had cost him dearly. Kijo would be his daughter and the fantasy of killing Mazgan, either himself or through Kijo, might have come to pass. Instead, he had an annoying teenage girl as his bloodservant and his daughter was his enemy. Disgraced. Facing an uncertain future. All because of Garvey. He wanted to kill the other wolf. Or fuck him. Lavario was never entirely sure which it was. “This is your doing.”

  Garvey acted as if he had no idea what Lavario was talking about for a while. Until, “Oh, the whole Tovin thing?”

  Lavario’s claws seeped into the wood of his chair. “Yes, the whole Tovin thing.”

  “Jesus, Lav. That chair forfeits. It’s too fabulous to fight. Leave it be, why don’t you?” Garvey tsked him. “And Tovin. Oh Tovin. Such a sweet little treat he was. You,” he paused to point at Lavario, “you definitely would have enjoyed him.”

  “You were going to have sex with the other guy?” Amber butted into the conversation. For once Lavario was grateful. He was nearly to the point of jumping out of his chair. Frenzy. Frenzy. Frenzy. The one thing he always told all his children not to do. Only Garvey could ever bring him to this point so quickly and with so little energy spent on his part. “I thought you and Kijo…”

  She trailed off as Garvey cut her off with a laugh. Then he stopped himself to turn back to Lavario. “Wait, did you guys ever get down and dirty?”

  “No.” She was always his daughter.

  “Yeah, that would be weird. She never stopped calling you Daddy.” Lavario only snarled in response. “Right. ‘Father.’ Formal, dignified wolves you two.” Garvey smiled and turned back to Amber. “So is this fine young lady to be your new baby or new paramour?” Amber gave him another confused glance. With a quick wink, he explained, “Paramour is a fancy way of saying fuck buddy.”

  “I know what the word means.” She was defensive, then angry again. “I want to kill him. He murdered my family.”

  Amber never missed her chance to remind anyone and everyone of her ultimate goal. Lavario started to see it as her statement of comfort, a verbal security blanket she could retreat back into when the situation got out of her control: No matter what’s going on now, it’s okay. I’m going to kill him at the end of it all. Despite the undesirability of the outcome, he could appreciate the mantra at its core. It was important to have long-term goals. But if she was looking for sympathy from Garvey, she was not likely to find it. He had killed more than his fair share of humans.

  “Perfect.” Garvey beamed at Amber. “We all wish you the best of luck with that. For now, though, take your revenge monologue on the road.” He shooed her, pointing repeatedly to the bloodservant’s chambers. “Go on now. Be a good little nondead girl.” She left. Reluctantly. There was a moment Lavario resented the exchange, her willingness to obey his idiot progeny over him. It passed. At least she was in the other room. At least she was quiet. Garvey closed the door behind her, locking it.

  “You should probably end that particular plotline. Nothing some teeth in the old jugular wouldn’t solve.” Lavario declined to comment, though he sort of agreed in spirit. “Munching an entire family, though. Pretty dastardly stuff there. I’m not sure your Boo Hag buddies would approve.” He stopped to wink.

  Difficult as it was, Lavario ignored him. When it became clear Lavario wasn’t going to engage, Garvey wandered around the room, picking up various items. Eventually he found the picture of Tovin that Yuri sent Lavario among the items on the desk.

  “Oh Tovin. Sweet little Tovin. I was really sorry he got caught up in this, by the way.” Garvey directed the comment at Lavario but kept his eyes locked on the picture. For once, Garvey sounded as though he might regret his actions. Lavario almost believed him. As if Garvey sensed he was on the fence, he continued, “No. Really. He is a kindhearted little fellow. You should have seen the determined way he tossed himself over me when Eresna was about to beat me half to death. He was such a gallant little speed bump. And a good kisser once you get him going. Right up until the point I became a giant, unfriendly wolf monster, I’m pretty sure I was the best date that boy had ever had.”

  It was hard for Lavario to picture anyone—let alone the contusion-covered young man Lavario saw at the distribution point—throwing himself in front of an enraged Eresna, especially to protect Garvey. Who, other than himself, would ever be that stupid? “He is doing all right?” Lavario knew he was being baited into the conversation, but he allowed it. Engaging Garvey under this circumstance at least got him the information he wanted.

  “Yes, Eresna took him in at Yuri’s request. It was close, though. Sort of reckless of you to trade him for a guardian’s servant, don’t you think? I would have gone for a scroggling if I wanted to keep the boy alive. Most of the lower-ranking would have been thrilled to receive your cast off. Another guardian…not so much. Picky lot.” Garvey waved his hand to encompass Lavario’s room as if to say, do you see what a bunch of decadent assholes you are?

  Lavario fretted after the exchange of servants. He thought he might have doomed Tovin in his own selfish bid to maintain ownership. He made many mistakes that night. To keep Tovin safe, he should have taken a scroggling, the servant of a lower-ranked wolf, as his choice. The Boo Hags went through a lot of trouble for Eresna’s bloodservant. Kidnapping unwanted unknowns was simple. Few—aside from scattered close friends or relatives—ever looked for them. Kidnapping affluent or even middle-class humans was far riskier. National news levels of risky. Only a guardian could demand something so lavish and impractical, and Lavario gambled on their unwillingness to part with such a status symbol. There were moments when he halfway expected Eresna to show up at his door to reclaim the man.

  Lavario snorted uncomfortably. “I hoped they wouldn’t make the trade at all.”

  “Ah. Guess that makes sense…if you’re a selfish prick who just wants to Stockholm some poor guy until he’s comfortable enough to take off his pants.” Garvey smiled, a sort of lopsided gotcha-grin. There was also a resoluteness Lavario rarely heard. The thought Garvey did care for the boy tipped him over the edge. “Anyway…”

  Lavario did not let him finish. With speed that surprised even himself, he whirled out of his chair and charged Garvey into the wall, pinning him there with an elbow across the chest. Pots clanked together, some fell off the shelves on impact. The other wolf cringed back involuntarily, avoiding eye contact. The proximity. The smell. Lavario tried to hold on to his anger. “You would have killed him.”

  “Yes,” Garvey bit it out, “I would have killed him. I wouldn’t diminish him.”

  “Is that what I did to you?” Few could anger Lavario the way Garvey did. Everything Lavario held dear was lost when he made the other wolf—family, status, reputation, community. Still, Garvey resented him. Still, he hated him. “Did I diminish you?”

  “Yes.” For once, there was no embellishment, just a simple affirmation.

  “Look at me.”

  The other wolf kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Doesn’t this count as a frenzy, Lav?” It was an attempt to come off as chiding, nonchalant. Lavario knew better. Garvey was far from unconcerned. But he had a point. Control was no longer present.

  Lavario slammed him up against the wall again. Curios everywhere. “Look at me.”

  Hesitantly, Garvey lowered his head so that his eyes met Lavario’s. “Good. Now tell me how I diminished you. I made you immortal.”

  Instead of answering, Garvey twisted and turned until Lavario simply let him go. Once free, Garvey transformed. Most wolves found Garvey’s—and the form of the other False Moon wolves—comical, something they might hav
e dressed up for at Halloween as a lark if they had any sense of humor. Stunted, dog like. Lowly. “You made a joke.” His huge paws clenched into fists. “I and my ‘false moon’ brothers and sisters are mocked, abused, killed. And this,” he gestured once again to Lavario’s room, his belongings, “has been your punishment. Rather a great deal more lavish than you deserve.”

  “I gave you the option to stay with me.” He paused, trying to draw nearer to Garvey. “I wanted you to stay with me.”

  “They called me your pet. Your mistake.” Garvey shook his head. “And you never even considered coming with me, living outside of the true packs.”

  It was spat at him with such force that Lavario winced away. Denying it was useless. Lavario never considered living with the False Moons as an option until it came down to that or killing Kijo. He was one of the originals, one of the oldest, a true wolf, but he had loved Garvey. No one could not deny him that. “I never saw you as a pet or as a mistake. Garvey, my—”

  “I am not yours.”

  Lavario continued. “My love…I did what I did to keep you alive. I could not lose you.”

  “You’re such a benign collector, Lav.” It was said with less force, a sad resignation.

  “I have been selfish, I admit.” Each bloodservant since Garvey had been a new Garvey, an attempt to reclaim what he had before. It was a foolish, stupid desire and one that never failed to disappoint. Lavario was far too old to call it anything else. “I never saw you as an object for me to collect, as a mistake, or as a pet. I never wanted to diminish you.” He was standing right beside Garvey, and—for once—the other wolf did not pull away. He reached out to touch him but stopped himself short. In fantasies, Garvey turned to him at this point. They made love the way they used to. Garvey forgave everything. Fantasy and reality were not matching up today. Garvey left.