Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

“Srček, I'm fast. But that is a discussion for some other time. The more important fact is, someone is even faster.”

  Rose's stomach clenched; she didn't like the idea of the frighteningly fast and sadistically lethal mastermind of an opponent that her mind had drawn up.

  She decided to tackle the problem one question at a time. “You're certain there isn't any trail, any evidence left behind that might aid us?” She could read the answer from his tight expression before he began to speak.

  “The memory of the soul's passing is the only thing that carries any indication of what had transpired. And even that was well hidden, buried deep underneath the confusion.”

  “I saw them. I saw so many of them die. Maybe from their perspective...”

  Veles shook his head. “Like I said, the memory was hidden. I tried to reach into every one of the confused souls in that group, tried to bring out that mark of death they all should have been branded with... The one I showed you was the only one not blurred beyond recognition.”

  He paused, reaching for his glass of wine and emptying it in a single swallow. “This is wrong, Rosalind. Once I managed to get through to the werewolf's soul, I tried doing the same with the ones that had come to me before, the ones I had told you about when we first met. They were in even worse shape than the rest, the confusion dominating them so strongly, I wasn't even able to pick up on the species of their former corporeal forms…” The green embers in his eyes indicated his fury. “Rosalind, I can't tell to whom the souls had belonged.”

  Rose didn't know how to reply; however, she got the feeling that she probably couldn't even imagine the full extent of the graveness something like this represented. Whoever stood behind the murders had the ability to fundamentally change the nature of events that should have been inalterable.

  As if he could read her thoughts, he voiced the same conclusion that had been growing steadily at the back of her mind. “Someone wants to throne themselves as a deity.”

  She tightened her gown despite the summer heat, the idea that they may be right sending chills crawling down her body. “And if they overpower you...”

  “They control everything.”

  She searched for his hand, clasping it in her own. She remained motionless on the daybed, calculating their possible future steps that would give them at least a shot at containing the situation, if not stopping it completely.

  “Is there any way for you to find out what exactly they did to the souls? I guess the confusion must have come from the toxin; the dying werewolf you put me in, he seemed sane in his last minutes.” Rose wrinkled her forehead, searching for the right words to verbalize her murky thoughts. “I know you said violent deaths could cause confusion, but... No, let me tackle this in another way.”

  She took a sip of her wine, appreciating its full flavor and the sense of normality it brought. Veles's eyes never left her as she took the time to gather herself. “If violent deaths cause confusion–the werewolves we found slaughtered in their den suffered a far worse death than the one you showed me. It would make more sense for their souls to end up disoriented in your realm, yet they never even crossed over. The dying werewolf in the cave, as much as it was painful and terrifying... He was holding his ground. I don't know how to phrase it differently. I could sense he had been a warrior, he knew how to keep himself sane, or at least as sane as one can be in the duration of their passing.”

  “You think his death wouldn't qualify as violent enough?” he asked, the green of his eyes a shade darker.

  “I know I'm dabbling into immortal territory here, but I still think we shouldn't dismiss the possibility that the confusion didn't come as a consequence of a violent death, but rather as an intended result. Especially if somebody is targeting your rule.”

  She barely finished her sentence, a gasp escaping her as Veles pressed his lips against hers with inhuman speed. A welcomed feeling of warmth spread through her despite the chilling nature of their conversation.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, his mouth still lingering on hers. “I think I know what to search for now.”

  “Any chance of hinting me in on it?” she said when they parted, leaning back with her elbows pressed down on the daybed, the robe falling dismantled over the curves of her breasts.

  A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the fangs fully visible in the afternoon sun. “No.”

  Rose bumped his leg with her knee, scowling at him. He let out a healthy laugh, the dark olive flames speaking of a different kind of power rising within him.

  “So feisty,” he said, flashing her a very wide, and very fanged smile, before regaining some seriousness. “You'll be the first to know when I find something. I just have to be certain I'm headed in the right direction. Wouldn't do much good if I placed some piece-of-shit information into your head.”

  “Fine,” Rose sighed, knowing that was the best deal she could get from the god.

  “However, you do know all information comes with a price...”

  He ran his hand through his hair, the green in his eyes gleaming with eager invitation. Rose turned, and with a swift move maneuvered herself on top of the god, shooting him a crooked half smile. She lowered her lips, nibbling at his earlobe, which earned her a particularly deep moan from the luscious lord of the underworld. With her mouth still suckling on the sensitive flesh of his ear, she slid her hand down his body, halting at the top button of his pants.

  “Trust me,” she whispered, her hand sliding under the fabric, “when the time comes, I will have you screaming every word.”

  The flesh was weak, but he pushed further; his tendons blazed with pain, the old wounds threatened to open up, but he wouldn't stop. It had taken him time to regain control over the body, figuring out the more advanced motor functions, but he had been fast, faster than any of the others. Trained muscles have a memory, and he knew how to take advantage of it. Otherwise he wouldn't have been here so quickly. And he wouldn't have been as effectively lethal.

  The werewolf on the other side of the cave continued to pant, pacing up and down the enclosed space he had been cornered into. His fur was torn out in multiple places across his body, revealing the pink shade of flesh dipped in crimson. The same red flowed in streaks down the side of his face, most of it coming from the particularly nasty gash placed right where his right ear should be.

  The werewolf's head twitched, shaking off the blood that threatened to impair his vision; he bared his teeth towards the thick darkness that stretched on the other side of the cave. The injured werewolf could hear the steady rhythm of breaths coming from behind the black veil, only the faintest glimmer of eyes serving as an indication of where exactly the other stood. The were understood his death was inevitable, it would be foolish to trick himself into believing there could be any other outcome. But he could use his rage, his frustration of being reduced to nothing more than a cornered animal; he intended to die with the attacker's flesh caught between his teeth and with the vile, tainted blood flooding his mouth.

  The figure launched from the shadows, sharp pain piercing through the werewolf's sides as he felt claws sinking into his skin, digging deeper with unbarred hostility and tearing at his internal organs. He accumulated all the strength he had left, using his last moments of consciousness to sink his teeth into the firm neck in front of him, fulfilling his promise as he felt the metallic taste of blood spill across his mouth.

  Chapter 17

  Nathaniel sat in the shadows at Pri Sojenicah, a cold pitcher of beer in front of him. The hot weather had never agreed with him, and he was glad August was coming to an end; the one good thing was, he didn't need to see much of summer, holed up in his lab most of his days. He liked his job, but at times like this, a blessing would be an even more appropriate word for it.

  He sipped the cold beverage, looking forward to the approaching evening when he knew he could at least move around without ending up completely soaked in sweat. From the curses coming from the other end of the terrace, he c
ould tell Frank felt the same. The werewolf hadn't had a chance to stop and breathe ever since Nathaniel had arrived roughly ten minutes ago, the bar overflowing with patrons as it usually was on the verge between late afternoon and evening.

  Nathaniel should have found it unusual, sitting among dozens of supernatural beings who could rip his throat out before he had the chance to even comprehend what was happening, but oddly, he felt more at home in this particular setting than he would have if the patronage had been fully human. It wasn't merely that he knew most of the supes who liked to frequent Pri Sojenicah; a reasonable root for his ease being that he had, after all, been brought up by a were grandmother, along with his were brother.

  It may have been the seclusion of their country home that had made him more wary of humans than any other creatures he had come across, but it wasn't the only reason. He had seen the dark side of humanity in the years of working at the M.E.'s office, and even though there were rotten apples in the human as well as in the supernatural community, he had never seen such viciousness within the latter. At least not until the severed head had come his way.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” a voice came from behind, making him forget about the heat that had been preoccupying his thoughts as he absentmindedly studied the patronage.

  “Don't mention it.” Nathaniel smiled at her as she sat down next to him.

  “I wanted to talk to you before speaking with the rest of the pack.” Rose undid her hair, running her hand through it to relieve the tension that had built up on her scalp before twisting it in a loose bun. “It's not something that we can exactly act upon, but you know how it is. You can never be sure which information turns out to be relevant.”

  He nodded. “What do you need?”

  Rose waved at Frank, who seemed to be in bartender's limbo as he weaved between the tables; he nodded in acknowledgment, skillfully avoiding a nagging patron and stalking inside. Content that she would get her drink as soon as Frank took a breather, she turned her attention back towards Nathaniel.

  “How far have you come with the analysis of the toxin?”

  “Hard to say.” He let out a breath, his lips pulled into a straight line. “It's batshit crazy trying to analyze it; I can't exactly break it down into its components. It isn't just the fact that it's made from something that doesn't come from the human or the supernatural world, well, at least not the one known to me. The thing is, the bloody toxin has a life of its own. And I don't mean that figuratively. It's fucking alive, Rose.”

  To Rose's relief, Frank put a pitcher of beer in front of her at the exact time of Nathaniel's revelation. allowing her to ease the shock of her very loose suspicions being confirmed even from a scientific standpoint; the rich flavor of the German brew spilled in her mouth, caressing her senses with a soothing effect.

  “The venom is a living thing?” she asked and gulped down the beer.

  “Not like you and me, or any kind of living organism we had come across on Earth so far.” He blew out a large puff of air, narrowing his eyes. “I don't know how to explain it to you...”

  Rose reached out and placed her hand over his; his fingers uncurled under her touch, the tension in him lessening.

  “Just give me your impression.”

  He raised his gaze to Rose's eyes, nodding in answer. “It's alive, yes. However, it isn't exactly a living being, but more something along the line of an active component.”

  She squeezed his hand, raising her eyebrows in an effort to nudge him into explaining further before he lost the train of thought that seemed to be a very valid and a very sober one, even if he didn't perceive it as such.

  “I believe it needs a living being for it to become active. It overpowers the host—that much we know from the way it had the ability to force the White werewolves to shift. So yes, it has a life of its own. It even remains intact after the host dies, although I'm still not sure how that works. But the bottom line is, as soon as it comes in contact with a living body, it activates, and does what it damn well pleases.”

  Rose let go of his hand, positioning herself deep within the chair. Everything Nathaniel said made sense; it corroborated what she had smelled on the bodies of the White weres.

  “And do you think it's possible there could be a mutation or a variation of this toxin?” she asked.

  “From what I've seen so far, I wouldn't even dare to say no to anything. But in this case, it wouldn't be just speculation. From the way it behaves, the existence of another version of the toxin is possible, perhaps even highly likely.” He frowned. “I did only have the chance to examine the head of the White were. You mentioned the Banniks; even with them, there could already be a variation of it.”

  He had caught Rose unprepared by his speculation; she had nearly forgotten about the immortal prophetic creatures and because of that hadn't even considered the fact that there might be something fundamentally different in the venom that had been used on different species. Caught up in her own research and hypothesis, it almost slipped her mind that the toxin had versatile effects, depending on what caused the victims deep psychological anguish. She studied Nathaniel's expression, reading him just as well as if he had said his conclusion out loud.

  “But you nonetheless believe it's the same toxin, yes?”

  He gave her a solemn nod. “I think it knows what to target in a specific species. It knows how to adapt to cause the maximum amount of pain.”

  Rose caressed the half empty pitcher of beer in her hands, sipping it in regular intervals as they both lost themselves in a moment of silence, each of them trying to impose some order to the boiling thoughts.

  “So, in that case, it isn't exactly a variation of the toxin itself,” Rose said. ”It only manifests differently, depending on the... host.”

  She wasn't thrilled to be using that word, but from all that she had learned so far, she couldn't deny the victims did serve as nothing more than hosts for the venomous liquid that had stripped them of their lives.

  “That is correct, yes,” Nathaniel added, the strain in his voice indicating his own uneasiness at the way they had to approach the matter as if it were some kind of pure scientific research and not the aftermath of a carnage.

  Rose continued to sip her beer, unsure how to tackle the matter further. She shot Nathaniel a just-give-me-a-second look as she decided whether to ease him in or simply blurt it out. Settling for the latter, she placed the glass on the table and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the metal armrests of the chair. “The thing is, the toxin in the victims has a note of staleness within it. I had the chance to smell one while it was still rummaging through a living body. Instead of staleness, I smelled power. To be precise, the liveliness only power has the ability to carry.”

  “When did you–” Nathaniel intervened, but shook his head almost at the same instant. “Never mind, not relevant at this point unless I can see it firsthand.”

  “Do you think,” Rose continued after Nathaniel waved his hand, “the toxin changes once the person dies, that it loses the liveliness when the flesh loses its own... Or could it be we're dealing with a completely different one from the very start?”

  Nathaniel focused his eyes on the droplets of water condensed on the glass surface of his pitcher. He wiped them away with his thumb, drawing unrecognizable patterns. “I wish we had the chance to examine a living one.”

  Rose needed less than a second for the thought to cross her mind. She growled into the empty space in front of her. The too-large pile of events that had accumulated over the past week had kept her from considering every possible aspect. She cursed herself silently, although she knew she was being less than fair. Her mind would undoubtedly burn out if she forced herself to be on top of every single thing.

  She let go of the anger, her gaze fixed on Nathaniel, who had remained lost in his own thoughts as he drew swivels on the cold glass of the pitcher. “The cub?”

  It was more of a statement than a question. However, since she had been away for the
past couple of days, she couldn't be sure what had transpired in that time.

  “Evelin and Nadia won't let me near him.” His dissatisfaction was clear from the dry tone of his answer.

  “But he is the only one we know... He came in contact with the toxin and is still alive!” Rose liked Evelin, but the werewolf didn't rank particularly high on her favorite persons list at the moment.

  “They said he's too weak to undergo any examinations at this point,” Nathaniel added, his lips pulled into a tight, straight line.

  “Oh, come on, it's not like you would dissect him,” Rose snarled, her temper surprising even her. She couldn't help but to think about her excursion into the underworld; she could still feel all the sensations that had washed over the dying werewolf, the way that the toxin spread through his every cell, burning away what he had once been. She shook her head, snapping out of the memory. No, her temper was justified. They needed to know what the green liquid was. And more importantly, they needed to find its source.

  Nathaniel's eyes were grim when he looked at her. “I told them I would give them a week at the most.”

  “That's too long,” she whispered more to herself than out loud. She drank the remainder of her beer in a single breath. “They will at least allow me to smell the toxin. And if it proves to be the one I came across, we will examine him.”

  “Good luck.” There was nothing but sincerity in Nathaniel's voice.

  Rose wasn't exactly in a good mood as she entered her apartment and stripped off the few weapons she had taken out with her. It was too late to pay a visit to Evelin; as much as it frustrated her to not be able to act immediately, she knew she had a far better chance of the werewolf playing along if she didn't stomp into her home almost in the middle of the night, demanding her ward. She sat down in the dining room, lighting a cigarette to calm the crushing waves of anger.

  As her mind cleared, she could accept the fact that Evelin must have a reason for being so protective, but there wasn't room for excuses given the situation they were in. There had been too many werewolves dying in that cavern; even Veles had said so. The number of souls entering his realm was unusual, and that was without counting in the ones that had been unable to cross. She didn't delude herself; they were dealing with mass murder, and if they didn't figure out something soon, the body count would only get higher. The Banniks had reached the verge of extinction, and the White werewolves weren't far behind. How many more species would the venom take before they would even come close to finding whoever was behind it?