by Gaja J. Kos
The only reason that Enis had been able to spot Vaclav that night was because the Upir had been forced to turn off his skin-crawling vibe as he talked to Enis’s coworker.
Rose smirked. A carless mistake broke their case.
She caught the vampire’s scent before they reached the final hallway—the same odd vamp-but-not-vamp scent she had noticed at the traditionals' burrows.
Only now she knew who it belonged to. The Upir.
Smell that? Rose asked without turning around.
Six different voices flowed through her mind, all of them in agreement.
Vaclav was in the blood sector, just like Tomo told them he’d be.
Jürgen pulled out his phone, tapped on the application that would alert Katja of their progress, and hid the device behind a sad-looking Warneckii plant that supposedly decorated the dull hallway.
Tim, Mark, and Evelin shifted into full wolf form when Jürgen was done, fur flowing silently over their bodies as they lowered on all fours—their job was to secure the back while the twins, Zarja, and Rose carried out the first line of attack.
The latter all bore their lethally sharp claws and teeth out in the open, with Rose balancing a throwing knife in her hand. She had laced the blade with a coat of hawthorn resin Nathaniel had prepared for her; it wasn’t as lethal as the plant itself, but strong enough to pack a mean punch.
Besides, even without the poison, the knife would injure the Upir enough to prevent him from switching forms. Unlike werewolves who could shift freely while harmed, an Upir was trapped in the wounded body. And they had agreed a vampire was a far better choice of opponent than a warlock. Especially with hawthorn further impairing his abilities.
The pack made their stealthy approach towards the door, their augmented senses mapping out Vaclav’s position. Since they knew the layout of the room, the task wasn’t difficult. A combination of sound and scent in an area with limited obstacles held high accuracy, high enough for them to build their whole attack based solely on their calculations.
Rose signaled Jens, and the werewolf moved in front of her, silently stalking in a crouched position towards the door. The glass panels ended just over his head, the aluminum beneath them effectively hiding the werewolf from Vaclav’s sight.
Rose fingered her throwing knife, repositioning the blade in her hand.
She gave a short nod to Jens, and the werewolf drove his muscular body into the door, taking it off the hinges. He rolled down on the floor the split second before she appeared in the doorway, the blade already flying from her hand.
Vaclav stood in the exact location Rose had calculated beforehand.
The commotion caused him to turn towards the door, making himself an even easier target.
She had presumed as much.
Self-assured prick. Rose smirked, observing as her knife found home right on the edge of Vaclav’s heart.
A shot meant to maim. Not kill.
Not yet, at least.
Certain no harm would come to him at his own place of business, Vaclav remained frozen with shock for that minute moment the blade needed to sink between his ribs.
Fury rolled over his eyes, but Jürgen and Zarja had already covered the distance and threw themselves onto the vampire, their claws making contact with the Upir’s skin.
Unable to tap into his witch power while in vampire form, Vaclav was only slightly stronger than those traditionals the pack had fought at the factory. The three werewolves in wolf bodies secured the exit while Jürgen and Zarja kept the vamp pinned to the ground, their forces now joined by Jens and Rose.
Vaclav thrashed, snarling at the werewolves, but his fangs failed to make contact with either of them. Rose drew her sword, placing the tip against the Upir’s neck.
With Vaclav held down securely, they could wait.
The vampire hissed, spitting curse words at the weres as he tried to pry himself free—he failed to achieve anything of significance, except to cause a slight strain in Zarja’s muscles, since she was the primary recipient of his attempts.
Misogynistic moron, Evelin snarled in her mind, pushing the words through the bond.
Zarja growled in response, but it was a satisfied sound, accompanied by a feral grin of sharp teeth.
If the Upir believed she was the weakest of the three who were holding him down, he was in for a hell of a surprise.
She shifted more of her weight into her grip, the bones underneath cracking.
Vaclav looked at her, his eyes filled with murderous intent, with promises of violence. But Zarja merely growled at him, flashing her canines in a deranged smile.
In the commotion, the Upir failed to sense another approaching. But the pack hadn’t.
When the fury-ridden voice carried through the room, Vaclav was the only one who twitched in surprise.
“You motherfucking sonovabitch,” Katja hissed through her fangs, her eyes fixed firmly on the captive Upir.
Chapter 31
Vaclav tensed underneath Rose’s sword, a single, perfectly round droplet of blood appearing where the tip of the blade connected with the Upir’s skin. She cast him a warning glance, her small smirk almost daring him to continue.
Vaclav shuddered as if his whole body opposed the command, but went still nonetheless, his eyes closing.
Something stirred in the air as the Upir willed the tension to lift its weight from his limbs, magic seeping into every pore and crevice inside the room. It brushed against the werewolves, its vile essence stroking them with phantom claws.
Rose breathed deeply, fighting the bile that rose in her throat as those claws touched her neck, her cheeks—tasting her, savoring the final moments of their existence. She observed how the last remains of glamor faded from the vampire’s form as if they were carried away by some ethereal wind until she found herself staring at the ancient creature laid bare before her.
Katja had warned them this might happen, warned them of the Upir’s last line of defense. But despite the preparations, seeing the transformation firsthand, so close that not even the smallest shift in the vampire’s physique remained hidden, was unsettling.
The smooth lines of Vaclav’s aristocratic face flaked away, replaced by a more savage, primal beauty—the kind that had no place in this time, in this world where everything was muted, subjected to control and conforming to standards.
The Upirs, these ancient creatures, were created from raw sexuality, and everything in Vaclav’s physique was designed to support his true nature.
Even in this form, the polished vampire they had seen moments ago was still recognizable, the change not so dire as to reform the Upir completely. Yet looking at his inhumanly beauteous features stirred something within the beholder that dangerously resembled pain.
The Upir was sex incarnate—thrumming with potent, untamed magic that used to shape the world to its liking, but was shunned, forced into exile by lesser, gentler powers that strove to find balance. And prevent the world from cracking apart.
Rose understood why Vaclav turned to glamor; walking among people with his true face visible would cause riots. He was a creature designed to attract and destroy.
They would hunt him down. The werewolves. The Keepers. Perhaps even the gods. His chaotic blend of ancient vampiric magic would call to all, wild and bright like pyres lit and set loose in the darkness.
But the damage he would have done…
The Upir’s black eyes gazed from underneath his long, thick eyelashes, fixed without fail on Katja.
The vampire returned the stare, unfazed, violence rolling off her body in crushing waves. “You motherfucking sonovabitch.”
She stalked between the werewolves to where Rose was standing and kneeled by the restrained Upir. Her face was a deadly mask of fury as she seethed, “Was murdering twentyfour-fucking-hourlies worth your final death?”
The tone of her voice chilled the room, combatting the suffocating fragrance of the Upir’s allure. Any traces of the sweet chestnut-haired vampire Jürge
n had fallen in love with were gone as if they had never even existed—although, by the enamored way he was staring at her, the werewolf didn’t seem to mind the change.
“Those deaths had started something, child. Something bigger than my existence,” Vaclav hissed, showing the display of his teeth. A line of sharp, iron fangs gleamed in his mouth, yet, oddly, they didn’t undermine his savage beauty. “My race is lost. Destroyed by its own inability to conform, to wait. But my distant brethren… They were wiser.
“Containing their existence to the shadows, withstanding being hunted like animals. But now… Vampires must reach the glory they always should have bathed in, the glory that is their birthright—or live to be consumed by the new world order—”
Katja pressed her palm on the top of the blade that protruded from Vaclav’s rib cage. An expression of fear shot across his face, but he recovered, slipping once again into the mask that spoke of endless, all-consuming pleasure.
Rose cringed, seeking the calm support of her sword. It grounded her, reminding her of who she was. And acted as that one tether that would keep her from drowning in the ecstasy the wild waters of Vaclav’s magic offered.
“They will rise. They will persevere,” the Upir spat, blood welling in his mouth. “And I regret nothing.”
“Not even killing Lara’s husband?” Rose growled, putting more pressure on the pommel of her sword.
She could have sworn magic swirled in those black eyes as the Upir turned towards her.
“That’s on you,” Vaclav snarled at her through his iron teeth, their smooth surface now coated with a dripping layer of blood. “It’s all on you.”
The dagger sank deeper beneath the weight of Katja’s fingers, the expression on her face merciless. It was what the werewolves had offered her. A gift. A chance at retaliation for the pain her friend had suffered. For the lost lives of her brethren.
Katja ignored the muffled sound that got stuck in Vaclav’s throat.
“You poisoned the man who trusted you, the man who treated you like family—who was family,” she said in a hard, low voice. “You targeted your acquaintance while he was having a fun night out, spending the evening with his fucking beloved. The same man who then held the love of his fucking life in his fucking hands as he watched the life drain from his eyes.
“And you used your position to taint the blood that brought the final death to a teenager. That would have brought death to dozens more if the police hadn’t acted in time.”
Katja lowered her face to Vaclav’s, so close that she could likely smell the blood on his breath.
“It was all you,” she whispered, and drove the dagger sideways, tearing through the Upir’s heart.
Gurgling sounds filled the room as the final rush of blood spilled into Vaclav’s mouth. Katja’s gaze was cold, set upon the struggling Upir’s face, on the pain that widened his eyes as the promise of imminent death lingered in the air, drowning him with its sweet voice.
“We have never been the weaker brethren,” Katja hissed, citing Vaclav’s note. She angled her head to the side, allowing a menacing smile to form on her lips. “You will remember that.”
Without releasing another word, she straightened up and came to stand by Rose’s side. Katja nodded at Rose—a single, firm jerk of her head.
Rose fixed her grip on the pommel.
The blade swung into the air.
Its sleek, cool surface shone under the artificial lights, and Rose struck down, effortlessly cutting through the bone and sinew of Vaclav’s throat.
Chapter 32
Seven pitchers of beer, a discreet glass of wine, and a cup of tea were crammed on the surface of the rectangular wooden table. With their party now sporting two additional people—not to forget the occasional appearance of Frank during those times when he didn’t have to shuffle around the bar dealing with patrons—the pack had to temporarily move from their corner table to the one by the back wall.
It wasn’t ideal, but with their group gaining numbers, there was no alternative. At least until they managed to sweet-talk Frank into rearranging the bar for them.
Which Rose had firmly set on her agenda.
The pack had used the day to rest, to let Vaclav’s death sink in, relieving them from the stiff cages they had been locked in for the past few weeks.
Rose had spent the night, the morning, and most of the remaining afternoon hours curled next to Veles’s body, drifting between sleep and pleasure—only the occasional cigarette luring them out of bed.
But even those hardly left them separated for long.
Her dining table now bore memories that heated her cheeks, and claw marks that would be etched into the wood for eternity—uncontrolled traces of her passion, of the satisfaction drenching her flesh when Veles wrapped her in the smooth whorls of his energy that entered every pore of her body while he thrust into her from behind.
She forgot about Vaclav. Forgot about the raw magic that had touched her skin. And she had given herself wholly to the god.
She didn’t know how the rest of them had spent their day, but by the time they had met at Pri Sojenicah, their energies were replenished well enough for the cozy interior of the bar to buzz with their chatter and the bursts of laughter that accompanied it.
The atmosphere was a typical post-battle one, bristling with good vibes and released tension. But when Evelin—who had contacted the werewolves in the early afternoon, setting up their get-together—sprung the news on them the moment they had all sat down, the walls of Pri Sojenicah could barely contain the excitement.
The delicate, lethal were was cuddled up against Mark on the shorter end of the bench, finally allowing some of the happiness to surface. Despite her initial fears of having a child while the pack was still looked upon with wary eyes because of their status as The Dark Ones, Evelin looked forward to having another cub at home. And the pack—as well as Veles and Katja who had joined in the festivities—were nothing but supportive, silently letting her know they would aid in protecting the child.
“To another kick-ass Black one entering our world.” Jens lifted his pitcher, smiling widely at the cheerful couple while the rest of the group picked up their drinks. “Prost!”
A cascade of glasses colliding with the wooden surface circled around the table, followed by hearty gulps of beer and quite a few burps. Evelin’s news coupled with the fact that they had successfully hunted down Vaclav warmed the atmosphere and put them all in much more than just a good mood. It returned the sense of normalcy, igniting that spark of life inside them.
They had succeeded. And with Tomo covering for them, they could lay the matter to rest.
Although Veles was unable to see the Upir’s final moments since they had occurred with the creature in vampire—and not passably human—form, the god had confirmed that Vaclav’s warlock soul was now dwelling inside his realm. Permanently.
It gave the pack’s hunt an additional touch of finality.
“Will you two be having god-were babies now, too?” Frank snickered from behind Rose, taking a sip of his own beer as he stared at her with raised eyebrows.
“You’re impossible,” Rose growled back and shook her head, while Veles shot her an amused, playfully fanged smile.
“They’d be almost painfully good-looking, don’t you think?” the god jested, earning a sideways scowl from Rose. “But then again, I’m not too fond of having my activities with this scowling beauty interrupted.”
“So that’s a no?” Frank asked, a stupid grin plastered on his face. “Good. More friends for me, then.” He chuckled, throwing his arms around the couple.
A voice sounded from across the bar, catching the werewolf’s attention. Frank rolled his eyes in irritation, clasping Rose and Veles on the shoulder one last time, and stalked over to the patron, mumbling silent curses underneath his breath. Business as usual.
“Jürgen mentioned you two were remodeling the house,” Katja said from the bench where she and Jürgen huddled together, her gaz
e shifting between Mark and Evelin. “How’s it coming along?”
Mark’s black and silver beard was slightly longer than normal, less kept, but it made his smile all the more charming. “The second round of reinforcements on the basement will be done next week. After that, we have only some tweaks to finish here and there.”
His gaze wandered over to Evelin who couldn’t prevent the gentle tugging at the corners of her lips from spreading into a wide grin.
“Which means we can move in!” she exclaimed and placed a kiss on Mark’s rugged cheek.
Zarja lifted her pitcher, saluting the werewolves. “Which means moving in party!”
The twins agreed avidly and exploded into making plans as to which date would suit the two of them best. They had no doubts the party would be epic and wanted to give themselves enough days for recovery afterwards. And to mourn the obscene amount of money they would undoubtedly throw into acquiring enough booze to affect even their altered metabolism. Tim and Zarja threw in their contributions, occasionally accompanied by spells of Katja’s snickering.
“You all right?” Veles’s smooth voice caressed Rose’s ear before his lips found the pulse in her neck, brushing against it gently.
She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, allowing herself to be wrapped in the god’s delicate olive-scented power.
He smelled like home.
“Just thinking about something.” She exhaled, lifting her eyes to meet his deep, breathtaking gaze. “But that’s a subject for another night. I think I need to leave it brewing on the back burner for a little while longer.”
Her mind always found a way to ruin the party. But she was adamant to not let it taint this one. She deserved the peace. The easiness of a carefree evening.
“Rosalind,” Veles began, his voice hushed, seductive. His fingers found the line of her chin, lifting it with a light touch so that her head angled towards him. “Remember that back room we had our war meeting in the previous year?”