Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3

by Brian Ference

  They passed down a narrow residential lane dotted with small gardens and the occasional flower bush. She wondered if he was going to see his whore. An absent-minded swish of her tail sent a potted plant to its demise. The crash caught James’ attention and he halted, eyes darting wildly.

  He turned; ready to face the cutpurse eager to take advantage of a drunk. “Now...look here...I haven’t got any money--” he cut off as the werewolf rose up on two feet.

  Luna tried her vocal chords. “RRRJJJaaammmesss.”

  The man squawked like a chicken, flailing his arms as he tried to take flight. “Help! Constable, there’s a bear after me!”

  Luna embraced the instinct to chase the fleeing man as he ran down the street, searching for a non-existent savior. Running on her hind legs proved awkward, so she fell to all fours, closing the gap in a few strides. Her claws struck, slicing into the back of his left knee. The patella destroyed, his leg buckled and he fell in a bloody heap, blubbering like an infant.

  Luna crawled on top of him, straddling the man as he had done to her so many times before. His eyes were screwed shut, unwilling to witness his death.

  Luna’s breath was hot against his face, a line of drool falling to caress his cheek. “JJJaaammmesss. Llloook at me.”

  James began to thrash, clamping his eyes shut tighter as he lashed out with his fists. Luna pinned his hands to the ground with ease. “James, it’s Helena, wooon’t yooou ooopen yooourrr eyes?”

  “Helena? What?” One eyelid slid halfway open.

  Luna loosened her grip slightly. “Did yooou think yooou could betrrray me and live?” She wondered at the sound of her voice filtered through a wolf’s jowl and larynx.

  James froze, his other eye opening to dart between her teeth and claws. “But, but you’re dead. It was in the paper.”

  Luna gave a toothy grin. “Liesss.”

  His gaze flicked side to side, desperately searching for some escape. “A demon. You’ve come back as a demon to punish me!”

  She licked his forehead slowly. “Yooou’ve been a bad boooy.”

  Resuming his struggle, James began weeping. “Please, don’t. I...I didn’t mean to cut you out from the deal. Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry. You can have all the profits. I swear—”

  Turning her head sideways, she spread her jaws and crunched down into James’ face. Hot blood boiled into her muzzle as the man screamed. A slice across his throat with her claws turned his cries into wet gasps. She gorged herself on his body until her hunger was sated.

  An old woman looked on in horror from a nearby window as Luna cleaned her paws and fur till they were pristine.

  She turned back to the hollowed-out corpse. “I will cooonsssideeer yooour apooolooogy.”

  CHAPTER 11.

  W

  ESTMINSTER

  The great bellows, denied fuel for so long, now blazed with a torrent of fuel. The blood of the deer stoked his body with vigor, igniting the grey werewolf’s powerful limbs. Dorian crashed through the forest, heedless of his path in the need to be away from the woman who smelled just like his long dead friend. That couldn’t have been her.

  He leaped over a firethorn hedge, the scratches the barbs made on his belly healing instantly. Sage is dead. He ran onward, convinced what he had seen had been some side effect of the bloodlust. A daydream brought on by relishing once more in the kill. Exiting the tree line, he loped into a clearing. He was just about to scratch that pesky itch behind his left ear when his wet nose detected another familiar scent. Foul and musky, it could only be the territorial marking of the black werewolf.

  Running to the base of a nearby beech tree, he inhaled the smell deeply. Still fresh! The black werewolf was close. Dorian doused the tree with urine, covering his enemy’s stench. He followed the trail to a second damp spot heading into town. Growling low in his throat, he remembered bleeding out in the street. The failure of his last encounter still stung. But this time he was in his werewolf form and stronger from the hunt. He would destroy the black werewolf once and for all.

  Tracking the creature into the city, Dorian realized it was becoming a challenge to avoid the many people. The sooty fog that lay over the metropolis helped, but even at the late hour, the area seethed with people as he approached downtown. Dorian moved across the rooftops where he could, sticking to the alleyways when he could not.

  Cutting through St. James’s Park, glad for the cover it provided, he caught sight of a whore too busy negotiating her fee with a glassy-eyed Irishman to note his passage. He caught a whiff of an unusually tangy aroma and felt his arousal between his hairy legs. Strange. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Dorian picked up the black werewolf’s scent once more and resumed his pursuit. A single paw print lay in the mud beside the small lake. The print was too large to belong to any dog. He was close.

  There was no further sign in the park, so he headed towards the War Office, giving a wide berth to the Horse Guards. He traced the smell for several yards before pausing to look ahead. Scotland Yard lay a stone’s throw ahead. Surely the creature wouldn’t go there. The patrolling constables grew thicker in numbers, making it difficult to pass. But at this late hour, their eyelids grew heavy and their eyes began to blur. The few he failed to avoid dismissed the dark shape as a fantasy or some trick of the lamppost.

  Turning down Whitehall Street, he padded silently towards Westminster Palace. Too many people. He turned at Derby Gate. Leaving the boulevard, he entered a back alley. He froze as a dustman right in front of him bent over to his unending task. Moving on to the next bin, the man was thankfully too deep in his own thoughts to turn around. Dorian slipped behind him and deeper into the alley.

  A contingent of the Queen’s Guard marched by on the street he had just left. Panic began to rise in Dorian’s wolf blood, setting his hairs on end. Someone would see him. Big Ben loomed in the distance as Dorian continued to track the black werewolf’s scent. The chimes rang out in a warbling crash that sounded like thunder to his wolfish ears. He grimaced at the deafening tones, focusing on his breathing and thankful for only three gongs.

  As the bells faded, he glanced in the darkness ahead. A large black shadow shook itself. Big Ben’s cry had stunned the black werewolf as well. Dorian hurtled towards his enemy, unable to bring his claws to bear as he crashed headlong into the creature. It yelped in response as it slammed into the wall. Dorian jumped back, landing erect on two legs. Fully extending his claws, he prepared to press the attack.

  Rather than attacking, the other werewolf sat on its hindquarters, lowering its head submissively. It was smaller than Dorian remembered…and browner.

  Instead of red eyes, a somehow familiar pair of mischievous green eyes regarded him silently. “Is that any way to treat a lady?” The telepathic thoughts shimmied delicately into his mind.

  Dorian fell to all fours in surprise. He noted the softer features and gentle curves in front of him. A female? The scent of tangy pheromones hardened his wolfhood, confirming it.

  “Who are you?” Dorian sent the thought harshly, struggling to control his rising excitement.

  A smirk formed on the pink-lipped muzzle, affirming his failure. “You can call me Luna.”

  Dorian was doubtful. “You smell familiar.”

  The brown werewolf approached cautiously. She took in his scent, drawing close enough for their soft noses to touch.

  The sensation sent a pulse of pleasure through his muzzle, the female’s pheromones overwhelming everything. She was in heat.

  Luna broke the contact to circle him slowly. “Dorian, is it?” Her tail lifted ever so slightly, causing Dorian to go rigid as she displayed her sex.

  Three seconds passed as he struggled to think. “How do you know me?” He focused on her green eyes. They reminded him of an old friend.

  Dorian pounced, forcing the female werewolf to the ground with a snarl. “Lady Helena! You betrayed me, tried to kill me!” He placed his open jaws over her neck.

  She bared her teeth
but didn’t fight back, allowing him the dominant position behind her. “My dear Mr. Gray, you have it all wrong.” She bent her back half upwards slowly, wary of Dorian’s teeth around her throat. “I tried to help you…wanted to cure you.” Her green eyes blinked submissively.

  He loosened his hold ever so slightly. “You never wanted to help me. I see that now.”

  “I was old and afraid. I wanted the same gift you had of youthful vitality.” She bounced her exposed sex against his engorged member. “I never dreamed things would turn out so…deliciously.”

  Eyes glazing over, Dorian almost took her then. Suddenly, his promise to Shen echoed in his mind. “I swear that one day I will come back to you. You will hold my heart until I do.” He pushed her away.

  “My, you have changed.” She rolled onto her back, seductively showing her belly.

  “Never mind that now.” Dorian struggled to look away from her delicately furred breasts. “I tracked the black werewolf here. If you wanted to help me once, then help me to destroy it.”

  “An alliance?” Returning to a sitting position, she contemplated the thought. “That would make us partners, wouldn’t it?” The wolfish grin reappeared.

  “More like allies,” Dorian sent back in response.

  Luna nodded her agreement and together they found the scent trail and continued tracking the black werewolf. They followed it to Westminster Bridge Station, where a sleeping beggar or stranded passenger who missed their evening train would make easy prey for the creature. They descended the stone steps to the District Railway sub-surface platforms. The winding passage opened up to a huge chamber with two tracks running in opposite directions.

  Huge timber beams braced the ceiling above the railway tracks. The platform was raised just high enough for passengers to board the steam-operated trains and sheltered by a faded green awning. A huge concrete wall ran the length of the room. During the day, thousands of passengers passed through here, but now it contained only an eerie emptiness. The abandoned carts of the street vendors sat silently in the corner. They moved past the vacant ticket desk towards the edge of the platform. Stones crunched under their paws as they dropped down to the tracks. Listening carefully to make sure no train was approaching they entered the concrete re-inforced tunnel.

  Dorian took the lead, with Luna following behind. Once inside the tube, their noses immediately detected the pungent smell of urine. The smell of decaying flesh and dried blood wove in like an aromatic tapestry. They had found its lair.

  The creature dropped down from the ceiling. Through the connection they shared, Dorian felt the black werewolf’s rage a moment before it attacked. He had enough forewarning to roll away, suffering only minor lacerations from the creature’s claws.

  Luna gave a ferocious howl and leaped onto its back. Her fangs sunk deep into its back and neck as she carved out bloody chunks. The wolf’s momentary surprise from facing two foes wore off and the black werewolf roared. Lifting Luna with it, the creature stood on two legs.

  It grabbed Luna’s head and shoulders and threw her off and into the tunnel wall. An audible crack signaled the breaking of her bones and she crumpled to the floor with a whimper, leaving a bloody smear.

  Dorian attacked from behind, locking the creature in a reverse grappler’s hold.

  The black werewolf thrashed wildly, its deadly claws leaving bloody streaks on Dorian’s legs and sides. “Mmmaaasssttteeerr. Yooou will nooot caggge mmmeee agaaaiiin.”

  Now that Dorian’s healing power was at its full strength, he clamped down all the harder and rode through the pain. The black werewolf began throwing shaggy elbows, each so powerful they threatened to collapse his rib cage. Dorian bit down on the back of the creature’s throat, seeking to close off its airway and drag it to the ground.

  The black werewolf gave a growling yelp. Its muscular neck proved too thick to close off. It pushed backwards with powerful hind legs, slamming Dorian into the back wall. The concrete crumbled, but he refused to release his hold. Instead, he pivoted, smashing the head of the creature into the wall and temporarily stunning it.

  “It is time I ended you.” Dorian sent the words through his mind. He smashed its head again and again into the concrete, collapsing the creature’s temple and eye socket into a bloody mess. Dorian tried the move again, aiming to smash the black werewolf’s brain matter to a pulp—he failed as the creature’s paws banged into the wall instead, bracing itself and giving it time for the skull to repair itself.

  “Hold it still,” came the thought from Luna. She was back on her feet and furious.

  The black werewolf’s remaining eye widened in surprise as it comprehended the telepathic command. It could do little as Dorian turned them both to face Luna. Her claws shot out, disemboweling the creature. The organs tried to pull back into its body, but she only ripped them out further, finally severing a piece of lower intestine with her teeth.

  Howling in pain, the creature slashed at Luna, who remained safely out of reach thanks to Dorian. It was healing slower now, only a matter of time until it succumbed. Suddenly, the tunnel began to rumble as it filled with steam. Oh, no, the train!

  Each of the werewolves had only a few seconds to react as the steam engine hurtled straight at them. Luna abandoned her attack, leaping against the back wall of the tunnel and pressing her body flat. “Look out!”

  But Dorian maintained his hold on the black werewolf. “You will not escape again!” They were in the center of the track. This could be his best chance to destroy it. If he died as well, so be it.

  “Nooo!” Faced with certain death, the black werewolf threw its head, first backwards, then forward. The quick snap ripped its throat free from Dorian’s teeth. Hot blood splashed into Dorian’s eyes, covering his chest. Now slick with blood, the creature had little trouble slipping from his grasp. It fell forward on the ground, directly in the path of the oncoming train.

  The massive metal engine bore down on Dorian and his survival instinct took hold. He leaped backwards out of the train’s path. It still struck him, though only with a glancing blow that crumpled his left side, throwing him against the concrete wall. The steam engine and cars passed in moments and Dorian struggled to rise. Agony sizzled through his connection to the black werewolf. Was it dead?

  Dorian’s ribs were cracked and his leg bones were shattered. With a groan,he limped forward, expecting to see the lifeless shell of the black werewolf’s body. Instead, he saw only a severed leg and a pool of blood. It spread along the tracks in a trail following the path of the train. It should be crushed to death. Pain still pulsed through his connection to the creature. Was it somehow still alive, wedged beneath the train? How had it managed to hold on?

  There was no sign of Luna.

  CHAPTER 12.

  T

  RAIL OF BLOOD

  With a grim face, Inspector Clarke reviewed his notes for the official report:

  - Surveyed the damage to the 4:15 am Circle Line locomotive. Its route took it through Westminster, bound for Stratford, but the train never arrived.

  - At 4:35 am, an engineering team walked down the tunnel from Stratford Station, expecting a breakdown. A common enough occurrence.

  - What they found instead was a gruesome scene; the door to the engine room torn off and the driver savagely murdered. A runner was immediately sent back to summon Scotland Yard.

  - I was roused shortly after 5:10 am, per my standing instructions on news of any unusual deaths.

  - I arrived on the scene at 6:12 am. The engineers relayed that the main piston under the engine had cracked, bringing the train to a halt.

  - There were deep gashes on the chassis of the train, as if the attacker had been below it and had made his way up the side and into the cab. No human could make those type of marks in the metal.

  - Splattered in the driver’s blood, the control room showed all too clearly how the poor man had met his end. The driver was male and forty-two years of age. His decapitated body lay halfway in the boile
r room. The conductor (male/thirty-one years) had also been killed; his intestines pulled out and scattered across the wall.

  - All three passengers of the private car connected directly behind the boiler room (female/twenty-seven years, male/thirty eight years, male/forty-five years) lay dead, slain in a similar fashion. From there, the attacker had ripped out a hole in the metal ceiling and escaped to the top of the train.

  - The fifteen passengers in the remaining cars all claimed to have heard a heavy pounding across the roof of the train. The gas lamps had been extinguished when the train stopped, so no one could be sure, but there were several accounts of bears in the tunnel.

  - The surviving passengers were escorted out of the tunnel under armed guard.

  Satisfied with his summary, the Inspector closed his notebook. He and Constable Cunningham were just about to start down the dark void in the opposite direction when Van Helsing materialized out of the darkness.

  “Hold Constable,” said the Inspector, placing his hand over his man’s drawn pistol. “It is only our friend, Dr. Van Helsing.”

  Cunningham seemed relieved, though his face did not show it, remaining painted a ghostly white. “G’evening, Doctor. Glad you wasn’t one of them bears.”

  Van Helsing tipped his hat slightly. “Bears, you say?”

  A little color returned to Cunningham’s face. “Aye, the passengers saw three o’ them on the tracks.”