Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

But he had chosen to leave her, and she had vowed not to disrespect his decision. Even when she could see the conflict that raged within him so vividly in those black-rimmed eyes. Even when she wanted to shake him until he passed out or gave her a single good reason why he had felt the need to retreat into solitude.

  They had faced everything together. Found solutions where one would run in circles until they went mad.

  It was the support that had made it all bearable.

  Sometimes, the very thing you needed to save yourself from drowning in the murky, chilled currents of life was another person standing by your side.

  Yet Veles had decided to cut her out of his.

  He had chosen to leave her to figure her own way out of the mess she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. The god had said the situation was something he had to deal with alone. It was his right, and she wouldn’t have resented him for it if she hadn’t been thrown into the same shitstorm. It wasn’t his issue. It was theirs.

  Veles had been the one who had made the mistake of not researching the link between his powers and the vamps. But it was Rose who had used the lethal blend of their energies, and plucked a kind, healthy twentyfourhourly from his life, effectively casting him straight into the underworld.

  The god should have known that there was no way to absolve her from responsibility, from the guilt that would never stop weighing down on her conscience.

  Veles had left without as much as even sparing a thought about what the separation might do her—a werewolf, thrown into the greedy, shady, lethal games of higher circles without the support of someone who understood the kind of power that was nestled in her core.

  Tears began to prickle at the back of her eyes. Treacherous, bloody tears.

  Because as furious as she was with the god, she still loved him.

  Slowly, she retracted her claws, the wounds on her palms already healing, and forced herself to say, “A Vedmak has been spotted in Ljubljana.”

  The darkness that seeped into the deep olive hue of Veles’ irises was lethal. He was still reserved, but this was the kind of alertness Rose knew.

  “When?”

  “Zarja saw an Upir meeting with him today.”

  The god arched an eyebrow, his gaze turning dangerous. “An Upir?”

  “There is a whole group of them, has been for a long time if I’m not mistaken. Ileana shared some information with me yesterday—nothing condemning from afar, but once I pieced everything together…” Rose shook her head, remembering the various names, the personal histories all too similar to Vaclav’s own, and the businesses that, although circumstantially, linked the individuals together. “They’re careful. They’re in it for the long run, and they know what they’re doing.”

  “And even the higher circles don’t know all of their identities,” Serafina offered, still looking slightly out of place in the small hotel room. “Until Rose combined her mother’s knowledge with mine, not a single one of us had seen them for who they are. One or two, yes, but not as many.”

  Rose nodded at the Koldunya before turning back to face the god. Seeing him standing in front of her still hurt, but with the Upirs and the Vedmaks in play, the need to get what she wanted somehow pushed her forward—kept her from breaking. “Fortunately, some of my mother’s other contacts were aware of a few specifics—nothing nearly substantial enough on its own, but it proved to be the connection that pulled it all together.”

  “They’re working with the vampires?” Veles asked, his voice cold and the words entwined with murderous intent.

  Rose dipped her chin. “It’s what I believe. Twentyfourhourlies and traditionals don’t mix. But if someone more powerful was keeping them in line…”

  “They would cooperate,” the god concluded, not truly putting in an effort to mask his distaste. “And the Vedmak?”

  She moved closer, the distance between them so small she could reach out and run her hand down the god’s toned arm. But she held her ground and met his eyes instead. “They know what I am. But they don’t know who I am. Yet.”

  Veles’ hand twitched. He kept it by his side, but she had already seen the intention, almost felt the caress that hadn’t happened.

  “You think he was scouting?” he asked.

  Her strawberry-blonde curls fell across her shoulders as she shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But yes. If they know what my power does, allying themselves with the vampires or, well, the Upirs, would be the next logical move.”

  The olive flames within Veles’ eyes burned in a wild display of fury. Instinctively, her power reacted—not because their energy was similar. Not any longer. She lulled the golden light back into a state of rest, the words that came out of her mouth surprisingly leveled. “Even if the Vedmak only went scouting to see if this threat the vampires fear is the abomination they’re searching for…”

  She didn’t have to finish the sentence to know Veles understood. The vampires have been aware of who she was since Dragan’s release from the hospital. And the Vedmaks would follow suit, if they hadn’t already. Between the two forces, there was nowhere left to hide.

  “The wielders of dark magic have been hard to monitor.” Serafina cut through the tension that stuffed the room. “I have shared every thread of my knowledge with Rose, but even the Kolduny, for the larger part, don’t know what our darker brethren are doing.”

  A tight nod from the god. “They are highly…elusive.”

  The last word was spat out as if something foul had touched Veles’ tongue, and it reminded Rose of what she had to do.

  A shudder ran down her spine.

  She swallowed past the lump of uneasiness stuck in her throat and took another step towards the god. The distance between them was nearly nonexistent. Painful. Veles turned his gaze on her, letting his eyes linger on her features, drinking in every minute detail.

  For the first time since he had entered the room, Rose felt like he truly saw her.

  And it didn’t make her request any easier.

  “Veles,” she began, the name leaving her lips like a caress she had held back for too long. “I need you to show me my father’s soul.”

  Chapter 21

  “Srček,” Veles said.

  Rose’s heart broke anew as the word seeped into her ears.

  The god paused, his jaw tight as he took in her reaction. “Rosalind…”

  “It will be fine, Veles,” she forced herself to say, ignoring the memories that single, damned word brought rushing to the surface. “My energy is my own. And if the olive flames return, which I doubt, I will deal with them. The transfer shouldn’t be as strong as it was the first time—if it even comes to it. I’ll avoid souls for those weeks it’ll take me to get back into shape, and that’s it.” She stopped, her hand involuntarily reaching for Veles’ cheek.

  Veles’ breath hitched—she could see it in the sudden expansion of his chest before his whole body went stiff.

  She hesitated at his response but didn’t back away. Instead, she brushed her fingers against the god’s warm skin, tracing a path down the strong line of his jaw. Veles shuddered beneath her touch, his lips half parted, and took a step closer. The raw power that rolled off him in waves saturated the nearly nonexistent distance between them, urging her to close it.

  He had made his decision, but it hadn’t erased their past. The affection lingered, electric and strong, and she didn’t feel like fighting it. Not this small acknowledgment of what they had been. Not at a time like this.

  “I’ll be fine, Veles,” she whispered, finally dropping her hand to her side, the phantom sensation of his warmth still resting on her fingertips.

  Eyes full of olive flames, he looked down at her. “I could…I could experience that for you.”

  She bit her lip as she held his gaze, then shook her head. “I need to see it for myself. If the fuckers are coming after me, I have to know what my father had been through. I need to understand how they work, not just reconstruct it from tales and information that
had been passed on so many times that I can’t even be certain if it’s correct. And I must see their faces, Veles. Because those just might be the exact same ones that wish to stand over me as I lie dying before them.”

  The god’s eyes flickered from her to Serafina, who had been standing idly by the far wall and back to Rose.

  “She stays,” Rose whispered in response to the question he didn’t have to ask. Or at least to one of the questions she had seen written in the chiseled lines of his face. Her fingers brushed gently against his in response to the other.

  He accepted the small caress, dropping his head down to his chest and exhaled. “You remember what it was like for me… Even if those hadn’t been my father’s memories, exactly…”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, she willed herself to remain firm. Of course, she remembered. Locked in Psoglav’s memories, she had felt how the fallen god had reveled in the idea of seeing the end of Velin’s reign, even if the lord’s downfall meant his own as well. She remembered the sick satisfaction rising within Psoglav—as if Velin’s death was the sole thing that mattered. Nestled in the fallen god, she had lived through it all. And Veles, as the keeper of the underworld, had experienced the same once Psoglav’s soul had crossed over.

  It had been…heartbreaking for Veles, for lack of a better word. There was no way to describe the raw, physical hurt she had witnessed haunting the god’s eyes. But he had known his father, had grown up in his care. All Rose had was a name—and still, it frightened her.

  She blew out a breath, the memories of Velin’s passing, as well as thoughts of Bogdan still swirling in the midnight blue of her irises as their gazes locked.

  The god brushed his thumb against the side of her hand, uncontainable energy pulsing with the gentle caress. “The offer still stands.”

  But she shook her head once more. It had to be her.

  She took a step back from the god and towards the bed, their fingers separating with one final, deeply craved touch. “I’m not backing away from this, Veles. The only question is—will you help me or not?”

  Moving past Serafina, Rose didn’t wait to hear the answer. Instead, she lay down on the mattress, waiting.

  She knew she was pushing the god, pushing herself, but there was no other way.

  It frustrated her that regardless of everything she had learned so far, she still felt so unprepared. Relying on myths and droplets of information didn’t suffice. Nor did reassuring herself that she had months, if not exactly years, to ready herself.

  If Vedmaks had come to Ljubljana, the time for pleasantries had long since passed.

  Seeing Bogdan’s final moments for herself was crucial. It would hurt, but when the alternative was the not exactly distant possibility of Vedmaks snatching her away with murderous intent—and her whole pack dying in the process—there wasn’t much to think about. Yet as certain as Rose was of her intended actions, a part of her she had tried to bury, but failed, wished that the god was by her side.

  Every inch of her body longed for his reassuring presence, longed for someone she could wade with through all of what was happening. As well as all that was yet to come.

  She closed her eyes.

  This one boon would be enough. It had to be enough.

  She heard the rustle of footsteps as Veles approached, read the silent answer they carried. The pounding of her heart increased, slight tremors returning to the deepest parts of her core and reverberating through her entire body. She opened her eyes, finding the god’s painfully beautiful face looking down at her.

  The concern lining his features was stark, a testimony of how much the situation pained him, but it didn’t matter. Those times were over. She wasn’t his any longer. Even if she still craved just one more caress.

  Serafina shuffled silently further against the wall in the background as Veles sat down on the mattress next to Rose. Memories flooded her mind, the bed a too gods-damned intimate location. It took her everything she had to pull herself together, to quiet the hurtful whispers of her loss.

  “I will help you, Rosalind. I will always help you.”

  She flinched at the words, phantom pressure building inside her chest. Words. They were just words. And nothing had changed.

  Allowing the sentence to become a mantra, she nestled her head on the pillow. Every bit of comfort was a welcomed addition.

  When Zarja had told her about the Vedmak, the thought of seeing her father’s final moments wasn’t the first time the idea had flickered to life within her mind. Rose had known for a while now that the events would inevitably lead to this decision. And she had been preparing herself for it ever since. Since before Veles had left.

  The god’s fingers grazed against her temples, brushing away a stray strand of hair. She observed the calm collectiveness settle itself on Veles’ features, felt his power thrumming inside him in preparation. The recollection of the first time the god had offered her a glimpse into the underworld, into who he was, hit her before she could stop it.

  She remembered his surprise when instead of turning away, she had come to him. Had stalked out on that sunlit porch, blind to the love that had begun stirring inside her, yet knowing, truly knowing with all her being that she wanted him. That she needed to touch and be touched.

  Before the tears broke what strength she had managed to gather, she released a long breath and loosened her shoulders. Veles’ fingers traveled in position on her temple, the shivers that now raced down her skin having nothing to do with the anticipation of seeing Bogdan’s death through his own eyes.

  A half smile, filled with sorrow and shadows of the past captured his lips. “I’ll be here the whole time.”

  The familiarity of the words crashed into her, and her reality disappeared.

  Rose didn’t know if it was Bogdan’s senses or hers, but they were on high alert. She had expected to find herself in a dungeon, but what she saw through the slightly narrowed eyes of her father certainly wasn’t the kind she had envisioned.

  The room was made of solid iron, every inch of air packed with suffocatingly strong magic. Bogdan’s body tried to fight against the invasion it represented, but the magic within him failed to rise to the surface. With a groan of frustration, Bogdan looked down, offering Rose a view of his torso, covered in something that resembled some kind of peculiar armor.

  Perfect, round, iron circles were linked to one another, covering his chest and abdomen, and by the odd sensation, she presumed the unusual chain mail continued on his back. Smaller circles of the same pattern formed cuffs that lay upon his wrists and ankles and were connected to iron knots on both sides of the wall.

  With another scream tearing from his lips, Bogdan tugged on the chains, but the knots remained in place. Just like the circles on his body kept grazing his skin, their surface cool despite the heat that seemed to linger in the room.

  She sensed the shapeshifting part of her father mending the broken bones and wounds that had been inflicted sometime in the past few days. It was similar to her own experience, yet substantially slower. She didn’t know if it was because Bogdan wasn’t a true shifter like her, or if the reason lay in the suffocating magic that stuffed her father’s cell.

  But it didn’t matter. Those were questions she could answer later. Reminding herself of her goal, she allowed herself to feel his pain. Only instead of anguish rolling over her like so many times before, she was met by a strong, determined will she felt from the Vedmak, set on not allowing himself to be overpowered by the injuries.

  Even at the final moments of his life, her father was determined not to break.

  Through him, she sensed the tendrils of exhaustion weighing down on his chained limbs. They lined every muscle, cold and burning at the same time. Pressing. Bogdan’s body was telling him to give in.

  And still, the man fought.

  A jingle of keys snapped their attention to the heavy iron door. It creaked as it opened, sunlight creeping into the candlelit room like a mocking whisper.

&nbs
p; Three cloaked figures appeared on the doorstep, and Bogdan laughed.

  Rose did her best not to be overwhelmed by the sound of her father’s voice, the sound she had never had to opportunity to hear, to know. The subtle nuances of the rich, defiant tone pressed into her memory, seeking their eternal rest there. She locked down the threads before it was too late, storing them away to always have something of her father’s to cradle—even if only in her mind.

  Fighting the desire to lose herself in his voice, she forced her own individuality down and melded with Bogdan’s soul, with the images, scents, and sounds it carried.

  Despite the chains that had begun to dig into his already bloodied wrists, Bogdan straightened his back and lifted his chin to face his captors.

  The cloaked man in the middle threw back his hood as he strode into the small square room, his ginger hair gaining a deep red hue as the candlelight fell upon it. He fixed Bogdan with his hazel eyes, the look cold and filled with strong, dripping scorn.

  Rose had never seen such a volume of emotions crammed into a single gaze. Even the vampires, calling out for her blood, seemed mild at best, compared to the Vedmak before her.

  “Brother,” the warlock said, the voice more cultivated than Rose would have believed possible from someone as rotten. “Your life is lost. But your soul may still be redeemed by our Dragon lord.”

  A deathly calm settled itself within Bogdan’s body, a sensation Rose herself knew all too well.

  “No.”

  The hazel-eyed man smirked, tilting his head to the side. The two figures still standing on the doorstep moved forward, passed the ginger Vedmak and walked straight to Rose’s father. The air around him heated as they fed more magic into it, its potency now clogging Bogdan’s lungs until he began to cough, spitting blood down on the iron floor. It glistened sinisterly in the flickering of the torches, but Bogdan continued to fight for each breath, even as he felt his body burning from the magical invasion.

  The two hooded Vedmaks hummed with power, their posture still, straight, though their heads remained lowered. An involuntary cry tore itself from Bogdan’s lips as his own magic revolted, and failed to pass the barriers of the iron circles. Their surface grew colder proportionally to the power Bogdan exhibited, frostbite now touching his exposed skin.