Lupo (The Immortals Book 8)

by La Porta, Monica

  Monica La Porta

  Lupo

  Book Eight of The Immortals

  Copyrights and More Information

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Monica La Porta

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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  click here or scan the QR code with your smartphone or mobile device.

  Dedication

  To Roberto.

  Chapter One

  Lying on his elbow, Lupo raised his eyes from the motorcycle magazine he was reading. A faint noise had diverted his attention from the picture of a red Suzuki. His thumb slid over the small flashlight he held over the glossy page and shut it off, leaving him in the darkness. A moment later, his eyes adjusted, and the whiff of an animal scent invaded his space and disturbed his wolf’s nap. Tilting his chin up, he sniffed an intruder.

  A werewolf skulked deeper into Regina Coeli’s bowels. With sure steps, the inmate navigated the maze of subterranean tunnels that constituted the lower level of the paranormal prison. The shifter’s acrid stench, a mix of V and alcohol, wafted closer to Lupo. His nostrils flared when he sensed the man’s aggression broadcasted as loud as his unwashed scent. At the prospect of another fight, Lupo’s hand closed around the publication, mangling the paper and staining ink on his fingers.

  Lowering the magazine to the hard mattress, Lupo sat up and leaned against the wall of his cell. The dampness from the tuff bricks coated his bare skin, and the coarse unevenness of the surface poked his back. He waited.

  Dim lights illuminated the arch opening into the narrow hallway, and shadows danced on the cobblestones. The ever-present draft of the dungeons transported scents and sounds from far away, but the werewolf’s rage was near and getting stronger.

  The clock on the wall signaled the hour with a clank of its rusty hand. Midnight. The time when the diurnal shift switched places with the nocturnal, and the vampire guards patrolled the corridors. Until dawn, Regina Coeli would be in their hands, and in these few hours, people settled scores under the undead’s disinterest.

  A long, tremulous shadow preceded heavy steps softened by thin soles. A large shape stopped under the arch, the werewolf’s face hidden in the darkness. His scent reeked with the special brand of craziness V induced that gave the user megalomania. The werewolf took a step forward and his face was revealed. Red-eyed and disheveled, Rico, a member of the Reds, stared at him with a manic expression.

  Lupo had thought the shifter’s smell was familiar, but the sight of the Red still surprised him.

  Until now, his fathers’ influence had kept Tancredi’s thugs at bay. His former alpha, the head of the cruelest street gang in Rome, had promised him retribution for leaving the Reds, and Lupo had been waiting months for him to deliver.

  “Little brother,” Rico snarled. Imprisonment hadn’t improved the burly shifter’s appearance. The man, slightly shorter than Lupo, was built like a tank, and his temper was legendary. Back at the Reds’, he had not only terrorized his harem girls, but it was rumored he killed a brother for disrespecting him.

  “I see you got new tatts and scars.” Lupo pointed his chin at Rico’s face, crisscrossed by a fresh, long red cut bisecting its right side. “I heard it’s all the rage on the upper levels.”

  Shifter inmates cut themselves and filled the wounds with silver to keep them open, just to prove how tough they were. A Viking custom resurrected to intimidate enemies, it had gained proselytes among the kidnappers and murderers in Regina Coeli.

  Rico halted before Lupo’s cell, a few centimeters away from touching the wooden bars coated in silver. “I’m here to grace you with the same fetching design.”

  Lupo raised one eyebrow, while his hand tightened around the flashlight he hid behind him. “Is that right?”

  Rico flashed a smile that revealed pointed canines sharpened to appear like vampire fangs. “I think it would be a good look for you.” He moved closer and grabbed the bars with both hands. A sizzling sound accompanied the stink of burnt skin, but Rico didn’t blink as white smoke rose from his hands.

  Lupo shrugged at the senseless display of power fueled by the drug. “There are less painful methods to erase fingerprints from your paws.”

  Rico’s grin darkened, but he didn’t move his hands, now combusting with an orange glow.

  “Suit yourself.” Lupo shifted on his pallet to cover the work of his fingers as he removed the lid on the flashlight. Tilting the slim cylinder, he probed for the silver blade he had hidden inside.

  When the skin on Rico’s hands broke showing tendons and bones beneath, he removed them from the bars and brought them before his eyes. With a detachment attesting to his insanity, he stared at his palms, seemingly fascinated by the sight. “Look,” he said, turning his hands. “I’m healing already.”

  Although the full moon was in two days, Rico wasn’t an alpha, and his wolf powers wouldn’t have allowed for such miraculous healing. As far as Lupo knew, no amount of V could repair damage so extensive in a matter of seconds. In fact, as he watched, the werewolf’s wounded skin knitted itself back until nothing was left to repair.

  “Now comes the fun,” Rico announced, cracking his neck by tilting his head first on one shoulder, then on the other. His hand reached down to the waistband of his beige uniform pants, and a key emerged from a hand-sewn pocket in the fabric. He proceeded to insert the key into Lupo’s cell lock. “It pays to have friends in the right places.” Unafraid to burn his hand again, he carelessly handled the key.

  Lupo assessed if he could stop Rico from opening the gate, but if he touched the silver bars, he would burn and weaken himself for the fight that was about to happen. He tensed his body and waited for Rico to step inside his cell. As an alpha, Lupo was stronger and faster than the other wolf, who was a beta. Even if Rico’s strength was chemically enhanced, he could do little against Lupo.

  The moment the gate opened, Lupo attacked, the blade jutting out from between his knuckles.

  Instead of deflecting Lupo’s fist, Rico let out a roar and grabbed his arm. “Good dog,” he said, and plunged a needle into Lupo’s forearm.

  Cold liquid entered his vein. Disoriented, Lupo staggered as a paralyzing pain seized his body, radiating from his arm. He fell to his knees and tried to shift, but although he could feel his wolf fighting the lethargy, the animal’s strength faded, and then the wolf disappeared from Lupo’s mind.

  “Now—” Rico punched Lupo’s face, hurling him against the wall “—where were we, alpha?”

  Still conscious, but unable to react, Lupo collapsed to the floor and lay with his eyes wide open as Rico kicked him and broke his bones.

  Chapter Two

  Long after Rico left his cell, but still lying immobilized on the floor, Lupo prayed for his wolf to come back.

  He was thirteen when the stubborn animal had entered his life, and since then, not a single moment had gone by without the wolf making his presence known. He remembered the first time they had met as if it was but a moment earlier, and not a cold December five years ago.

  ****

  After perusing the content of the orphanage’s meager library, Lupo chose one of the few Silver Surfer comics he had read less than ten times, then walked toward the recreation room on the second floor.

  Looking forward to curling up in the cushioned bench by the bay window, his favorite reading spot, he ran upstairs. He usually hid beh
ind the heavy drapery and lost himself for hours in the superheroes’ stories he devoured like candies. And he especially liked the spot during this time of the year, because on Christmas the festive lights from the street cast a cheerful atmosphere inside.

  As he entered the room, he noted that the adults had finished decorating the window with garlands. The Christmas tree stood nearby all decked out, and at its feet were wrapped gifts with no tags. Lupo looked longingly at the tree, hoping in one of the boxes there was the Silver Surfer’s limited edition he had asked for.

  “Half-breed,” Carlo called him from the foosball table and gave the handle a jerk, sending the rod with the red rubber players swinging several times.

  The older boy taunted Lupo when the other kids were present, but he beat him when they were alone. This was the reason why Lupo preferred to spend as much time as possible in the recreation room, even when he wasn’t reading.

  At Cradle and Bites, the hierarchy between the shifter orphans was established early on, sometimes in the crib. Carlo and Lupo had been taken care of by the same nurse—Linda, a motherly woman in her mid-fifties—when they were toddlers, and Carlo was jealous of her attentions for Lupo. Once, he heard Linda mention to another nurse that Lupo reminded her of her lost son, and Carlo figured she would adopt him. After that, he stopped playing with Lupo and the tormenting began.

  “Half-breed can’t shift,” Carlo sing-songed.

  Some of the kids sneered.

  At thirteen, all of his peers had already reached shifter-puberty and their animals had manifested. Every full moon, Lupo remained in the dormitory with the younger kids, spending the night awake, wondering when his wolf would come for him. He had been placed in the werewolf nursery because it was known his mother was one, but his father’s identity was unknown, and that worried him.

  His birthday had come and gone, and he was one year older, but lonelier. No orphan wanted to be caught playing with a half-breed. Kids born from shifters of different races were the pariah of the paranormal world, because they could either be visited by both their parents’ animals, not at all, or in the worst case scenario they could shift into a deformed hybrid. Horror tales were told at night about these monsters. Adults called them chimeras. One of the signs that a shifter was a half-breed was delayed puberty.

  “Leave me alone.” Lupo was used to the animosity toward him, but it didn’t make the constant name-calling and general rudeness any easier to accept. Turning his back to Carlo, he strode to the bay window and sat on the worn cushion, drew the curtains together to cut the rest of the room out, then he opened the Silver Surfer and focused on the colorful images.

  “Cozy,” Carlo said.

  Lupo tensed as the boy opened the curtains and entered his safe haven, but didn’t raise his eyes from the comic.

  “What are you reading?” Carlo snatched the magazine from Lupo’s hand. “Miss Valeria will be so mad that you took such poor care of it.”

  At the mention of the rector, a flicker of fear ran through Lupo and he reached for the comic book, but Carlo was faster and juggled it between his hands.

  “The cover is already ruined.” Carlo pinched the magazine between his fingers, creasing the cover until the paper tore.

  “Give it back to me.” Lupo stretched on his toes to reach for the magazine, now dangling barely attached to the cover that Carlo was ripping apart.

  “Or what, half-breed?” Carlo sneered, and several kids laughed. “Are you going to let your wolf out?” He lowered the comic book, then raised it back up where Lupo couldn’t reach for it. “Right, you’re still without a wolf.” He made a mock sad face. “That sucks for you, with a name like yours.”

  Rage engulfed Lupo. He was tired of people making fun of the fact his name meant “wolf” in Latin. When Linda had explained it to him, Lupo had thought he had the coolest name. The other kids weren’t of the same opinion. “Give it to me.” He jumped and his fingers grazed the edge of the paper.

  Carlo raised the comic book higher over his head with one hand, and pushed Lupo away with his other. He didn’t shove hard, but Lupo fell to his butt, eliciting an uproar of laughter in the audience. Carlo cackled, holding his midsection.

  The embarrassment left Lupo seething, and tears welled up in his eyes, but he willed them away and stood. “Give me my Silver Surfer back.” Steadying his voice, he enunciated the words as he faced his tormentor.

  In the past, Carlo had left him alone after he reached his goal to humiliate him before the other orphans, who now stood just outside the bay window.

  “The half-breed is going to cry,” Marcello, one of the younger kids said, pointing a chubby finger at Lupo. The kid was usually another victim of Carlo’s taunting, but he might have considered siding with the bully a better option than fighting him.

  “His eyes are all red and puffy,” another kid chimed.

  It would be a full moon that night, and the children were restless, feeding on the angry energies emanating from both Carlo and Lupo.

  “Leave me alone,” Lupo growled low, surprising everyone in the room, himself included.

  “The kitten’s awake,” Carlo said, but uncertainty appeared on his face for a moment.

  “What was that, half-breed?” Marcello walked up to Lupo.

  Bouts of warmth and cold seized Lupo, making him shiver.

  “He’s going to piss himself.” Marcello stabbed Lupo’s chest with his finger.

  Lupo didn’t react. The boy was a victim like him, and he was also three years younger.

  “He’s too scared to defend himself.” Marcello hit him then, no more than an open-handed slap on the face, but it stung. “Half-breed is shaking like a kitten.” He raised his hand again.

  “Stop it.” The growl was louder in Lupo’s mouth.

  Both Marcello and Carlo stepped back and away from him.

  “Piss off.” Lupo couldn’t recognize his own voice, rumbling loud and deep in his chest. The room swayed. A long shiver ran through his spine, and his hair stood on end, all over his body. Drops of sweat coated his forehead, and he swatted them away as his sight unfocused for a moment, only to come back clear a heartbeat later.

  “Sleeping beauty, are you with us?” The sneering tone in Carlo’s voice sounded off, more scared than derisive. “The freak’s having a—”

  Whatever he said next was covered by a roar. Eyes wide in shock, Carlo kicked Lupo.

  Lupo’s hands went to the side of his leg, where the boy had hit him, but it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He blinked and shook his head. The scene before him shifted from black and white to colors, then to black and white again. Even the room’s proportions seemed askew, as if he were looking at things from a different angle. Smells hit him, too many of them to make any sense of the scents his nose couldn’t catalogue. Headache and stomachache came next, and he doubled over, pressing both hands over his belly.

  “Is he—?” Marcello asked.

  “Stay away.” Carlo threw the comic book in the air, then pushed Marcello toward Lupo, using him as a shield.

  The other kids scattered to the four corners, and one or two ran toward the door.

  Spasms forced Lupo to lower himself to the floor, where he threw up his breakfast. Heave after heave, he thought he had purged himself of all the food he had ingested in a week, but he kept vomiting and the pain didn’t abate. Every muscle in his body contracted, and hair sprouted from every pore in his skin. His teeth elongated in his mouth, his tongue got in the way, and he spat blood.

  “Half-breed’s shifting!” Marcello screamed.

  The kids who had stayed behind left in a hurry, shoving through the door. Carlo opened a passage elbowing everyone in his path, and Marcello followed him a step behind.

  “What’s all this ruckus about?” Miss Valeria’s voice echoed from the hallway.

  “The half-breed tried to kill me!” Carlo answered.

  “He’s changing into a monster!” Marcello added. “And he’s foaming at his mouth and b
reaking stuff—”

  Terrified, Lupo tried to stop the process, but his body didn’t answer his commands. After having hoped to shift for almost three years, now he didn’t want to anymore. What if Carlo was right and he was a half-breed? He knew nothing of his father. What if he wasn’t going to transform into a wolf, but something else?

  “Stop spouting nonsense, Marcello.” Miss Valeria entered the room. An alpha she-dragon, tall, big, and of Nordic descent, the rector was a formidable woman. Orphans and adults alike had a reverential fear of her which kept the orphanage running like clockwork.

  Lupo had always prided himself on being the only one who was not scared of the rector, but he didn’t want her to see him in the throes of his first change, and he felt like crying.

  Where was his father? The man who had abandoned him should have been the one helping him transition. First runs were a moment of special bonding between kids and their parents. A mother would explain the shift to her daughter, and a father would do the same for his son.

  “Don’t fight your wolf, Lupo.” Miss Valeria leaned over him, her usual scent of lilac—the rector loved the essence and used it lavishly—was laced with a more feral smell.

  “Please, go away,” he whispered, but his mouth was all teeth and it came out like an unintelligible rasp.

  “Listen to him, let him take control.” Miss Valeria caressed his head.

  “No!” He swung his hand and a furry, russet paw appeared instead.

  Hi.

  Lupo heard the word in his head, and looked up at Miss Valeria who smiled at him with a tenderness he hadn’t seen her ever bestow on anyone before.

  Friend.

  A lanky, dark-brown and tan wolf materialized in his mind. A full moon illuminated his fur.

  “He’s talking to you,” Miss Valeria explained.

  Run. Play. Friend.

  Are you my wolf? Lupo asked.

  Yes. Friend. Hi.

  Lupo exhaled his breath and let out a cry of relief. He wasn’t a half-breed. His animal wasn’t a chimera. “I’m a werewolf!”