Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

  “So we have a shitstorm on our hands,” she said, cutting through the silence.

  The remark made Mark's lips twist slightly upward, but his voice was stone cold and completely leveled as he confirmed her suspicions.

  “Has anyone even seen the Gamayun in our lifetime?” Jürgen asked with caution, as if the Gamayun could sense them talking about her. “I mean, she basically is a legend.”

  They slowly shook their heads. They all grew up with knowledge of those myths they knew to be true but were next to impossible to witness with their own eyes. And now, one of those myths was about to join them at their favorite bar.

  “Fuck, is it even appropriate to be drinking beer in her company?” Jens asked, stupefied, a hint of his family's origin seeping through in a German accent. The Double Js always combatted arduous situations with at least a bit of humor.

  Rose couldn't help but laugh, but what came out was something more similar to a deep growl than anything else.

  “Well, shit, I guess this implied danger got my were-impulses going,” she noted and her growl-laughed. “And thanks for reminding me—I need a beer, too.”

  She signaled to Frank, and he returned within seconds with a cold pitcher of beer in his hands.

  “You think we should strengthen the glamor around this place?” Frank asked as he set the pitcher in front of a very thankful Rose. They knew he heard every word of their conversation but was polite enough to give them their space.

  “I think someone with that kind of power will take care of it on their own,” Tim replied in a small, yet firm voice, his eyes still fixed on the mosaic structure of the table. He remained silent, his gaze focused on one of the tiles before he lifted his eyes to the rest of the company. “Why us?”

  The question lingered in the air. However, the pause wasn't due to searching for an answer. They already knew why.

  Rose was the first to break the silence.

  “Because of our fur,” she muttered under her breath.

  They were all descendants of the original Black Werewolf pack and one of the few pure-Black packs in existence. Their ancestors were the embodiment of the first mutations of the werewolf gene; the six of them, seated around the table, still proudly wore the pitch-black fur they inherited, but they had also evolved. Rose knew more changes would accompany future generations. Everybody assumed as much, but she felt that whatever caused the mutation of the gene wasn't at a standstill even now. At least not when it came to her specifically. However, she decided not to discuss that with the rest of the pack, not until she was certain of it herself.

  “Okay, so the Gamayun needs flexible weres,” Jens said.

  “No, not flexible. She needs someone calculative with that cold ruthlessness only the human species was able to develop,” Mark explained.

  Basically, the Gamayun is in need of psychopaths, Rose thought, none too pleased with the new information.

  Frank, who remained standing next to her throughout the conversation, shift his weight, which subtly gave away his uneasiness.

  “At least you're in the clear.” She smiled at him, sincerely glad he wasn't going to be pulled into whatever shitstorm that awaited them.

  “You know I hate seeing you go into something like this by yourself,” he said, the years of their friendship echoing in his voice.

  Rose smiled and traced her gaze across the remaining five weres seated around the table.

  “Luckily, I won't be alone.”

  Chapter 2

  Rose joined Frank inside the bar when the nerves kicked in, the werewolves nearly frenzying over the fast-approaching arrival of the Gamayun. She leaned on the counter, her chin resting in the palms of her hands and watched Frank's everyday routine of washing the beer glasses and the occasional coffee mug after his patrons, who had, luckily, cleared away, as if they sensed something was up.

  She observed the steady jet of water, letting her mind run free for a while until it came to her. Her vacation in Paris was lost, but if this upcoming issue was as grave as it seemed, a somewhat different trip didn't escape her; she would need to fly out to see her mother. It would be as much a matter of sentiment as a pursuit of knowledge. She always preferred to tackle things well-prepared, and her mother was the perfect source for less-known information.

  “It's better if you stay inside for this, Frank,” she said as she lifted her head from her hands. “We've got everything we need. The Gamayun doesn't need to know about your existence.”

  Although it was highly unlikely a creature of such knowledge would be oblivious to any information, Rose figured bringing something or someone to her attention couldn't result in anything particularly positive. Beings that belonged to mythology tended to be unpredictable. Frank gave her a short nod, carrying on with his easy, automated movement.

  Rose stalked outside, the mixture of voices growing louder with every step. Trying to push away the thought that anxious weres weren't the most effective weres, she joined the rest of the pack, fighting her own quickened heart rate. They tried to resume having a casual conversation, acting as if this meet-up were no different than all the pack meetings they had held in the past, but the uneasiness lingered.

  “Who was contacted by the Gamayun in the first place?” Rose asked.

  They weren't exactly a pack in the traditional sense; they had no leader and stuck to strict democracy when it came to their dealings and decisions.

  “Mark received a letter…” Evelin replied.

  “It came in the mail right before I contacted all of you for this meeting,” Mark said.

  “It came in the mail?” Rose couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that a mythological creature would use something as ordinary and human as mail.

  “Didn't know what the fuck to think of it myself at first,” Mark confessed, shuffling slightly in his seat. “I figured I was chosen as the recipient because I'm the oldest. Not that that holds any weight in our pack, but I guess to someone as ancient as the Gamayun, it's hard to sway away from the old chain of command.”

  He leaned back and finished his beer in two mouthfuls, letting the five weres breathe for a brief moment before resuming his story.

  “I was pissed that I couldn't tell you any of this beforehand,” he said, his gaze locking on Rose. They had known each other for so long that keeping secrets was not something they were used to. “But the directions were clear. I wasn't supposed to speak of the matter until our meet-up. I'm sorry, guys. I hate that you had to be thrown into this so unexpectedly.”

  The anger in his voice was clear, but they all understood that you simply didn't disobey the Gamayun's orders. No matter how liberally your pack was structured. Things might have changed substantially within the supernatural community–or at least they were allowed more freedom to organize within their alliances if they wished to do so–but when the fiber of their world was inseparably connected with forces that had existed at the beginning of time itself, a few codes were bound to remain. And regardless of the situation, those were the ones you had to abide by.

  “There was nothing else of relevance written. For a moment, I considered canceling the meeting altogether; we’ve never gone into something as blindly as we are now...”

  Rose felt Mark's frustration at being this powerless. It was one of their most primal impulses, protecting the pack. Facing something without preparation was certainly a clear violation of that deeply rooted notion.

  “But your instincts kicked in,” Tim offered.

  Silently they all agreed. Their gut told them this was something they had to be a part of, despite having to face the severe lack of information. The air chilled a little as evening finally settled in, and a wing-shaped shadow crept over their heads. Looking upwards, a wave of gasps echoed around the table. Outstretched wings of the darkest black with streaks of silver glimmered with each move, and a mass of hazelnut brown hair danced with the light currents of wind. The Gamayun was as magnificent as she was terrifying.

  “I sure hope humans ca
n't see this,” Jürgen murmured, causing a few nervous smiles around the table. “The Keepers would curse so hard if they had to clean up this mess.”

  The Gamayun slowly descended towards Pri Sojenicah, stretching out her wings one final time before landing with nonhuman grace on the table opposite the one the Black werewolves were huddled around. Voluminous hazelnut hair fell across her feathered shoulders as she straightened herself, pulling her wings close over the sides of her body. She faced the six weres who were sitting in perfect but alert stillness. The Gamayun's gaze brushed over each of them. With a suppressed gasp, Rose noticed her eyes were endless pits of black decorated with the same silver gleam as her feathers.

  “I have flown far.” The Gamayun's velvet voice spilled over the silence. “And I do not intend to waste more time, dear Dark Ones.”

  Rose twitched at the name. The Black werewolves had been referred to as The Dark Ones before, centuries before. The name came out of ruthlessness, out of the carnage their ancestors had been forced to bring about. And most importantly, out of fear of their power and the darkness with which they swept across the battlefields.

  “You are lesser in number than I would have liked. Your task will be more strenuous.” She repositioned her right wing slightly as if she were uncomfortable with her words. Yet her facial features remained like stone. “I felt currents, those that shouldn't be in existence for centuries to come, grow vivid with life. They eluded me–or at least they tried to. But anomalies tend to unveil themselves; it is in their nature.”

  Rose was unsure where the Gamayun's tale-like recollection of events was going. She ached for facts, not bedtime stories. Fighting hard to keep her claws retracted, she tried to clear her mind of anticipation, knowing the Gamayun would reveal what she wanted to at precisely the time she chose–mythical creatures were prone to be slightly rigid when it came to conversing.

  “You will travel east, but your travels will not end there. Earth's lifelines are festering. You will relieve them of this toxin.”

  The Gamayun fell silent, perched on the opposite table. The weres waited, but seeing she didn't intend to offer any more information freely, Mark intervened.

  “What is this toxin you speak of?”

  The Gamayun placed her pitch-black gaze upon him.

  “The toxin is something you must discover on your own. It is not that I wish to entice you; it is something you could not comprehend at this point. You rely on information before heading into battle–this is different. Delve into your lineage.”

  Rose didn't feel like delving into anything, especially not a hunt (was it even a hunt?) she had zero intelligence about. She bit back her anger towards the bird-like creature who kept staring at them with those abyss eyes.

  “So how are we supposed to know where to begin?” she asked as politely as she could, which was no small effort. She knew how to take orders, but the Gamayun was clearly above even hierarchical patterns that applied to combatants. Her words reflected a time when soldiers would lay down their lives for a cause they knew scarcely anything about.

  The Gamayun shifted her wings and leaned forward, releasing something that landed with a thud in the middle of their table. As the glamor dissolved, the object started to take shape. The whole ordeal of seeing the Gamayun in person–or maybe the fortified glamor–had made Rose oblivious of the corroding smell that was now invading her senses.

  Eyes focused on the materializing lump in front of them, none dared to breathe any longer, as if they could erase the stench that had already burned into their nostrils. Rose could sense without a doubt what it was, but she was unprepared for the final result. Deep growls boomed around the table as a severed head finally revealed itself in all its macabre glory.

  But it wasn't the decomposing flesh that caused them to recoil, their bodies ready to shift at any moment. A mark was drawn across the remaining features of a once beautiful female face. The oozing green liquid, violating Rose’s nostrils with a sinister smell, spelled out two connected letters.

  WV

  Chapter 3

  “Did someone misspell Volkswagen?” Jürgen asked.

  The Gamayun flew away without another word or warning, her wings spreading wide before blending in with the night sky, only the faintest trace of silver giving away her course of flight.

  Rose welcomed the distraction from the festering stench, though nobody else had the guts to laugh at Jürgen’s jest. Everyone’s eyes now fixed on her, she composed herself but remained waiting for someone else to start the impending discussion.

  “This couldn't have been done by anybody from the known supernatural community,” Evelin offered, her gaze never leaving the green mark that severed the facial flesh down to the bone. She was the most well-informed were of the pack. Her family had powerful ties with the community, ties that brought knowledge of even the slightest shifts in organizations; if somebody was up to mischief, she would have heard of it from her stepfather immediately.

  Rose leaned closer to the severed head. Even with the decomposition already taking place, she could clearly reconstruct the person who had been buried under the layer of death.

  “Strange,” she murmured, sniffing from different angles. “She was a were, that's certain. But...”

  Mark observed her keenly, likely not wanting to break her concentration as she tilted her head and welcomed more of the scent into her nostrils. Only when she straightened her back, exhaling, he shot her a wondering glance.

  “She... She smells like a newborn.”

  The five of them stared at Rose searchingly, the tension around them tightening. Slowly, they inhaled the smell, rummaging through the stench to isolate the lower layers.

  “She smells like a were, yes,” added Tim, an inarticulate question lingering in his words.

  “Smell deeper,” Rose urged them in a hissing growl.

  The weres ferociously sniffed at the head, following her instructions, but they seemed more frustrated than enlightened. Only Evelin broke away from the circle formed around the head, apprehension gleaming in her emerald eyes.

  “You're right,” she said with a small voice. “But that's impossible.”

  The remaining four gave up their pursuit to join the conversation. The two confirmations of the curious smell were enough to consider it a legitimate discovery.

  “You smelled it as well?” Jens asked.

  “There is another layer under the werewolf. It’s something primary, even primitive, I guess.”

  “What makes you two so special, to be the only ones to even notice it?” Jürgen asked, slightly sullen.

  “Maybe it's because we're female,” Evelin offered, looking at the woman's head lying in the middle of the table.

  Or maybe it's because we haven't stopped evolving, thought Rose. As soon as she sensed something shift within her almost a decade ago, she became more susceptible to the changes in others. There was definitely a new power resting within Evelin. She often wondered if her pack-mate was even aware of the sleeping potential she carried, but somehow–unsure of her own developing abilities–she always decided to put it off for a little longer. Maybe the wait was now undeniably over.

  “Basically, what you're saying is that this person didn't have just one primal layer to her existence?” Mark didn’t seem able to quite wrap his mind around the newly discovered information.

  Primal layers were the basis of one's life. Even werewolves had only one fundamental smell, despite their form-changing abilities. To have two, a person would have to be reborn as someone, something else. An occurrence that should be impossible.

  “It's the only possible explanation,” Rose said in a comforting voice. She hated seeing Mark so uncertain; he was usually the rock of their little group. Only something seriously grave had the ability to faze him. “Although I admit I have no idea how to actually explain the possibility of it.”

  They sat in silence until a grouchy voice loomed over them from the back. “I'm not cleaning that up.”

&nbs
p; The disgust on Frank's face may have been an act, but Rose knew there was some truth in his words nonetheless.

  “No need to fret. We'll be taking the wretched thing with us, anyway,” Jürgen replied, matching Frank's disgust.

  Rose shoved her seat to the left, making room for the irked bartender. He pulled a chair around from the other table with such ease, it seemed as if he were lifting a piece of paper, and joined the puzzled circle, a cigarette already between his fingers.

  “So fucking disturbing,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the severed head that seemed to serve as a morbid centerpiece. “Is that... pus?”

  “Actually, I don't think it's just pus,” Rose said. “Do you see the way the flesh peels away from the wound? Right there in the center? It looks like it's trapped between two green layers of… Okay, let's call it pus for the moment.”

  Mark leaned closer, his broad figure throwing a shadow across the table. “Fuck, you're right. The mark isn't like any branding I've seen. A blade would have left a single line.”

  “Claws. It was done with claws.”

  Rose nodded at Evelin. It appeared they were both following a similar line of thought.

  “Index and middle finger?” Evelin looked at Rose for confirmation.

  For the sake of science, Rose brought out her claws and tested them on the wooden fence that surrounded the northwest side of the terrace. She was left with two perfect lines drawn down the plank, one slightly deeper than the other. The gap between them was nearly identical to the one on the head.

  “I'm not cleaning—well, fixing that, either,” Frank growled, but was unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.