Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

  She blinked.

  No, she hadn’t been imagining it.

  The nurse was throwing off her cardigan in wild, jerky movements; judging by the continuous thumps against the ground, the shirt underneath it must have come undone along with it.

  Rose blinked again.

  She could swear she’d caught a glimpse of a bra as the nurse finally fell out of sight.

  An amused giggle echoed from the corridor behind Rose, followed by a light fall of footsteps. Rose turned around in time to see Serafina approach, the witch’s eyes glistening with sincere tears the Koldunya simply hadn’t been able to hold back.

  She came to stand in front of Rose and the twins who waited patiently as the witch fumbled to get enough air into her lungs, her defined cheeks flushed with a charming, soft shade of red.

  “What did you do to her?” Jens asked, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and admiration.

  “She seemed so jaded.” Serafina snickered, a pair of perfect dimples appearing as she tried to wipe the smile from her face. “So I gave her mojo a spark and her defenses a day off.”

  Rose crossed her arms, grinning widely with her canine teeth on display. “You minx, you gave her sex cravings.”

  Serafina burst out with laughter, her hands shooting up to her mouth as if the gesture could hold the enchanting sound inside her body. “I would have sent her for some food, but she was so rude!”

  “Welcome to the city life.” Rose let out a false sigh, yet the let the faint golden shimmer of her eyes reveal her true mood.

  A mood Serafina picked up on immediately.

  “It’s not just any sex craving, you know,” the Koldunya added in a sweet voice, the hint of mischief confined to the corners of her eyes. “I merely fueled her fantasies. And, Jarilo, those were some fantasies... I almost envy her.”

  Rose lifted an eyebrow.

  “I hope the doctors have a load of restraints that won’t chafe too much...”

  Rose grinned. “You’re a gem.” She winked, placing a hand on the Koldunya’s shoulder before she stalked down the hallway, Jens and Jürgen following closely on her heels.

  Chapter 42

  Mark had told the pack what to expect, but the shock of seeing the thin vampire so weakened still caused a tight feeling in the werewolves’ guts. They peered through the glass panel on the door, the hallway silent except for the steady rise and fall of their breaths.

  Dragan was drifting in and out of consciousness, had been for the past few hours. It was a good sign for his recovery, but it did complicate the werewolves’ plans.

  The pack—not wanting to disturb the vampire—had wished only to sneak in and take photographs of his charts for Nathaniel to examine before they would risk bringing the human in. So they waited.

  Painfully long minutes stretched before Dragan’s fluttering eyes finally closed, and the combined rhythm of his heart and breaths told them the vampire was sound asleep.

  Rose exhaled and cracked her neck to lessen some of the tension.

  “Ready?” Mark asked her in a quiet voice.

  She nodded, her gaze fixed on the door in front of her.

  What she had seen… What she had felt still haunted her. But the vampire was alive, and she would walk into that room.

  She turned to the werewolves, a silent command written on her face.

  Although the pack had no doubts about Serafina’s ability, old habits were hard to part with. Zarja and Tim moved a few feet away to monitor the western part of the hallway while the twins moved back to guard the eastern entrance. When they reached their posts, Evelin leaned against the wall opposite Dragan’s room, and crossed her hands over the pronounced curve of her stomach.

  Mark and Rose slipped into the room, silently closing the door behind them.

  “Shit,” Rose said softly, her eyes trailing the outlines of the frail figure who lay huddled beneath the covers.

  Mark shot her a compassionate glance, his lips pulled into a tight line. Rose knew just how hard it was for the older were to be here. Even harder than it was for her.

  The sessions he kept with Dragan had formed a bond between the two men, and with Mark’s protective instincts as pronounced as they were, he took the vampire’s misfortune personally. And just like Rose, he had to be the one now standing inside this room. Had to be the one to prevent this from happening to anybody else.

  They stalked over to the foot of the bed, soundlessly removing the thick folder that was secured on the clipboard hanging from the steel bars. One by one, Rose began to photograph the pages, her mind set entirely on the task at hand as she tried her best to ignore the bedridden vampire.

  Neither of them looked at Dragan as they went through the motions of documenting his reports, so neither of them noticed the subtle shifts in the position of the vampire’s body. Or the fact that his watery, bloodshot eyes were now set on them through pale, narrow slits.

  “No,” the vampire breathed when the haze of sleep dissipated.

  He repeated the word, his skin losing even that small amount of color it had previously held.

  Both werewolves turned with supernatural speed, startled. The hand in which Mark held the folder dropped to his side, a fatherly expression softening the werewolf’s features as he faced the terrified vamp.

  “Dragan,” Mark spoke and angled his body towards the bed, his movements careful, considerate.

  But the vampire paid him no regard, hadn’t even noticed the were’s presence. Dragan’s gaze was fixed on Rose as if she was the center and sole object of his vision, the burning pressure of his stare rendering her speechless.

  The frail vampire broke into sobs, recoiling deeper into his pillow. “No, no, no, please, don’t... Please, no, no, please…”

  “Dragan, it’s Mark and Rose. You’re safe. We’ve come to help...” Mark said in his counselor’s voice, saturated with warmth that should have calmed anybody down.

  Yet the words had no effect on the vampire.

  His body broke into violent shivers, tears running in uncontrollable currents down his hollowed cheeks. But underneath the glassy surface of Dragan’s eyes, Rose saw terror.

  Brutal, unhinged terror.

  And as the pieces clicked together, as much as she wished it were different, Rose couldn’t shield herself from the realization.

  A dark pit gaped inside her, releasing a chill that seeped into her bones, a chill that snuffed the very light out of her.

  In those eyes, in the horror that widened Dragan’s pupils, she saw the truth.

  She was the cause of it.

  The cascade of cries and pleas drowned Mark’s words, diminishing them into irrelevant murmurs. Rose’s knuckles were white as she clutched her phone, the pressure beneath them sending small cracks to blossom across the screen.

  It was wrong. It was all wrong. She had been foolish to think—

  She hadn’t witnessed an attack. She hadn’t saved the vampire from some unknown evil.

  The final word Dragan managed to scream before the panic knocked out his system and sent him into a forceful, sweat-drenched sleep, echoed Rose’s own thoughts, harrowingly confirming what she had already known.

  Murderess.

  Chapter 43

  Rose stumbled out of the room, her superior speed propelling her into the bathroom at the edge of the sector. She noticed Evelin rush after her, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  Every fear she had once harbored but cast aside now erupted within her, ripping and clawing at everything Rose was.

  Everything she thought she was.

  She barely made it into the stall before her knees gave out and her stomach finally revolted.

  The guilt, the panic, the dread, it all flowed out of her in violent heaves.

  Footsteps sounded behind her, a rustle of worried voices, but nothing could reach her. Even the energy pushing down the bond failed to penetrate through the one word that ripped through her mind, the sheer volume of it deafening.
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  Murderess.

  She had been so naïve. She had let the thrill of exploring the vast range of her abilities mute the voice of reason.

  And dove blindly, so very, very blindly, into a minefield, knowing she, protected by this cursed power, would remain unscathed.

  But the others...

  Bile rose in her throat again, and she was unable to hold it down. Cold sweat broke on her forehead as she leaned over the toilet, darkness already lurking at the edges of her vision.

  Murderess.

  In the midst of her dry heaves, the tears finally began to fall.

  Weak.

  Vulnerable.

  Vile.

  The terror in Dragan’s eyes had reflected Rose’s true image.

  She curled up on the cold tiles, oblivious to the movements behind her in the narrow bathroom.

  No one with that much power can be purely good, Veles’s warning chimed in her mind. But she hadn’t thought it would be like this. Hadn’t imagined...

  She cried until no more tears came. And gratefully fell into the promise of oblivion the darkness offered.

  Chapter 44

  Rose woke to the pleasantly sharp smell of ginger tea and fresh bread rolls, the aroma carrying a sense of normality she knew was now lost. She wished the slumber had lasted longer. The comatose sleep offered an escape, a way for time to pass without the weight that rested on her chest and the endless whirlwind wreaking havoc on her mind.

  She wasn’t ready to face the truth.

  Not yet. Not ever.

  But cowering from it would do her no good.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes to gaze at her bedroom, the familiar walls she knew would be there, the space dipped in soft twilight.

  Only the bedside lamp was lit, casting rays of light and shadows across the lean figure positioned in a chair that had been pulled against the wardrobe.

  Odd.

  The chair belonged in the dining room.

  And the person sitting upon it belonged in her bed.

  “Veles,” Rose said and winced at just how hoarse her voice was.

  Without taking her eyes off the silent god, she reached toward the nightstand, her fingers wrapping around the warm cup. The strong taste of ginger wiped her mouth clean of any foul traces that had remained after her breakdown in the hospital, and she wished it could have offered the same kindness to her mind.

  A quiet sob escaped her lips before she managed to veer her thoughts away from the dangerous path. She cradled the cup of tea in her hands as if it were a lifeline, a deterrent for the raging emotions inside her, and waited for Veles’s voice to carry through the silence.

  But the god didn’t stir, his quiet presence undisturbed.

  Fighting her fears, the tendrils of anxiety that slithered down her spine, she swallowed, allowing herself a few deep breaths before beginning the conversation she wished they didn’t have to have. “Why sit over there?”

  “It’s better this way, Rosalind.”

  Veles’s voice was a seductive whisper, yet it lacked the intimacy she had come to know during their time together.

  She should have been worried, should have been alarmed by the hidden strain—but her body was spent, her thoughts running in the same circle they had been ever since she’d heard Dragan’s accusation.

  “Was I...” Her voice broke, and she fought back the tears that burned her eyes with the need for release.

  She needed to face the consequences, the harsh reality of what she had done, not fall apart again. She wouldn’t have mercy on herself—and neither should anyone else.

  Placing the mug back on the nightstand, she willed her body to subdue its reaction. Her voice was small, but managed to leave her lips without tremor. “Was I responsible for Damir as well?”

  Even through the dimmed lights, she could see the pain that filled the deep olive color of Veles’s eyes as he gazed at her. His body lost the casualness, the ease with which the god carried himself.

  And whether he wished it or not, it was answer enough.

  “Belobog save me,” she whispered, despite knowing that for someone like her, there would be no god forgiving enough to offer salvation. Only Morana could embrace her into the sisterhood of Death. Into the endless frozen wastes. Where she belonged.

  She dug her face into her palms, rubbing them obsessively across her skin.

  “Rosalind.”

  “Please don’t,” she replied, not wanting to hear the god’s sympathy. The undeserving kindness would have broken her. She let her hands fall down into her lap, a strength of unknown origin bringing her to meet Veles's gaze. “I was so thrilled when I found the key, so thrilled to see my power laid out before me, to be able to touch souls of other races—to form a bond with them. So fucking thrilled that I had been right...”

  Veles shifted in his seat, but said nothing. Like so many times before, he understood what she needed. And she was grateful he complied with her wishes as much as he wanted to do otherwise.

  “The question had been gnawing at me ever since you told me about the Upir’s ability to cross. But I didn’t know back then. I didn’t know what it was. Only that I was missing something. It hit me when Vaclav’s warlock spirit passed into the underworld. He was a creature of two souls. A single creature that encompassed different states of being. Just like I am a werewolf and a—a goddess of souls, according to you.” The word sounded wrong as it left her tongue, but it was the best way to get her point across. She pushed back the discomfort, exhaling through her nose.

  “He was, as much as I am, a single entity. The two halves permanently linked. Undividable. So if a part of him could pass into your realm, the other couldn’t have been left behind. And the other was a vampiric soul, Veles. A vampiric soul that had become your ward. Which meant that although you couldn’t sense them, they were there. They must have been there.

  “I don’t know why I haven’t voiced my suspicions to you and instead decided to test them on my own. We were running short on time, but it’s no excuse. I should have—I should have told you. But I didn’t… And since I cannot access the underworld without your invitation, there were no means for me to test my theory in your realm.

  “But I do have my own transitional pouch, full of souls waiting for centuries—perhaps even longer—to be released. And knowing that vampires have existed since the very beginnings of humanity, I figured there must have been some that had experienced the same fate as other souls that had fallen under my...reign. With the way vampires were hunted down before they entered society and were accepted as civil beings, the fear and hatred that they were executed in the past with… I figured I should be able to find them in the waiting room, the torment that had been inflicted on them, the unfulfilled vengeance and the resentment keeping them tethered to the world of the living. And I did.

  “The sheer number of souls should have been warning enough. But I hadn’t been able to determine exactly how many individuals there were, hadn’t been able to estimate just how many had their prolonged lives cut short by the attacks humankind, as well as other supernaturals, had brought upon them...

  “The excitement of even finding the spirits clouded my reasoning. It was too perfect to be true. I should have fucking known better.”

  Rose reached for her tea, drinking the hot beverage in slow, long gulps. Veles remained silent where he sat, but his eyes never left her. It pained him not to intervene; the strain that tugged at his sharp, chiseled features said as much.

  Yet he waited.

  She returned the cup to its place on the nightstand, weaving her fingers together in front of her body. It was easier once the words began to flow, but nothing could take away the crushing weight of what she had to say.

  “I knew, I knew somewhere deep inside my core, that Damir was one of the souls present. If Nathaniel’s examination gave nothing, if he failed to discover what...what killed him… I had to see for myself. Maybe there had been something in the vampire’s final thoughts that would point u
s in the right direction, a flash in his vision or a sensation that shouldn’t have been there… So I searched for him. I was willing to bond with every spirit that surrounded me until I found the one I needed.”

  Her voice trembled, but her midnight blue eyes remained cold. No shimmer of gold. She wouldn’t allow her power to surface. Not now. Not after everything.

  “Damir died on the fifteenth,” she began, shifting her body to face Veles. “Do you know what I had been doing that evening?”

  Veles’s face was a chillingly beautiful mask of pain as he answered, his words hushed. “You were carrying souls into my realm.”

  “That wall of dense air wasn’t the lost vampiric souls coming to me, wishing to fulfill the transition. They were the souls of all vampires, Veles. All of them,” Rose seethed, her fingers curling in the sheets. “I hadn’t been tuned to the differences in the spirits' structures back then, before...before I went searching for the vampires specifically. But my energy must have called to them nonetheless, enticing them to enter, to go home, to go to the person that had created them.”

  Veles said nothing; only the faint shimmer of a tear trailed down the line of his cheek. Rose closed her eyes, blonde curls swaying across her shoulder as she shook her head.

  “I cut the bond with Dragan just before the end. Hadn’t invited his spirit to cross,” Her words were barely a whisper now, yet they were saturated with guilt so profound, as if it were her heart cut open and lying in the small space between her and the silent god. “I propelled myself out of the ethereal pouch after seeing Dragan. Separating myself from the spirits that would otherwise adhere to my power.

  “But before, all those times before… I took the souls that night, Veles. I took them without inspecting every detail, believing they were only the ones that belonged to long gone werewolves.”

  She broke into quiet sobbing, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

  She groaned into the palms of her hands, her eyes glistening as she lifted her chin to look at the silent god.