Lupo (The Immortals Book 8)

by La Porta, Monica

The werewolf hunched and lowered his head, showing respect, then trotted away in haste, crossing the throng of inmates lining up toward the entrance. Soon, Lupo couldn’t see Rico and his army any longer, and the guard who had ignored his calls finally decided it was safe to approach.

  “What happened to him?” the guard, a were-bobcat asked, his voice tremulous, and his eyes darting toward the spot where Rico had been a moment before.

  “He was stabbed with a pencil dipped in curare. He needs immediate assistance.” Lupo kept Paride upright with ease.

  Despite the puma was tall and muscular, he wasn’t heavy. Paride had been losing weight, and his cheekbones were showing.

  “He looks fine to me.” The guard raised his shoulders and opened his arms to the side. “He’s probably high on something. You don’t want me to report him, do you?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Lupo roared.

  “It won’t work with me.” The guard stepped back and to the side, prodding him to walk.

  Lupo cursed the magik that made the man immune to his alpha power. “You have to help him.”

  “Here are my colleagues.” The guard pointed at the four uniforms jogging toward them. “Do you want your friend to spend a week in the pit? In his condition, he won’t make it.” He gave Lupo a pointed look, the meaning in his veiled threat clear.

  His mind worked overtime trying to find a solution, and Lupo wanted to let his wolf out and bite the idiot. Magik wouldn’t save the man from his wolf’s fangs and claws, but attacking him wouldn’t save Paride either. As he imagined all the damage he could do to the guard, he calmed down his wolf and said, “If anything happens to him, I swear I’ll hunt you down, and I’ll make you suffer.”

  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed a big gulp. “You can’t touch me. I’m a guard.” He pointed at his colleagues. “Stop threatening me or I’ll say your friend passed out on cheap V, and he’ll probably die in the pit.”

  “Make sure he passes the night in the infirmary,” Lupo whispered before the cavalry, all were-panthers, closed the gap.

  “What’s the commotion?” one of the newcomers asked from far away, swinging the truncheon in an ample arch.

  “Just an inmate who exercised too much and got dehydrated,” the guard answered.

  Lupo couldn’t help but smile. The man wasn’t as stupid as he had thought.

  “You—” A second were-panther pointed at Lupo. “Take him to the infirmary.”

  Lupo nodded and cradled Paride in his arms to better carry him, then followed the were-bobcat into the prison proper and upstairs. Once in the infirmary, he was ordered by the doctor in charge to leave Paride on one of the beds, then he was escorted down to the dungeon.

  No longer than a few minutes had passed since he had been locked up in his cell, when soft steps disturbed the ominous silence.

  As if he had no worries in the world, the same werewolf who had confronted him in the courtyard walked under the hallway arch and stopped by his cell.

  “Rico sends his most sincere thanks for helping transport the puma in the infirmary, where he wanted the cub to be in the first place,” the man said, then gave him a mock military salute, and left.

  Rage made Lupo blind for a moment, but when the dark blotches cleared his vision, he grabbed the bedframe and ripped it from the floor, unhinging the bolts keeping the legs anchored down.

  “Noooooo!” he screamed until blood coated his throat.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nobody came to check what all the ruckus was about.

  In his altered state, after destroying the bed, Lupo proceeded to punch the wall for several minutes, breaking the skin on his knuckles. Witnessing his rage, Lupo’s wolf remained quiet in his corner, not daring add to his human’s bloodlust.

  His screams resonated through the archway and must have reached as far as the upper level. Yet, Lupo was left alone. Not one of the many guards patrolling the dungeon came, as if Rico was the one in charge of Regina Coeli, not Mr. Lantini.

  After he drove the last punch through the tuff brick he had been aiming at, imagining it was the Red’s face, Lupo raised both hands and took notice of the damage he had inflicted on himself. Where his skin wasn’t broken and bleeding, the wall’s rough surface had embedded its pattern on the back of his hands. He didn’t acknowledge the sting riding through his arms, but focused his thoughts on his hatred for Rico, fueling his rage anew.

  Nothing but those coated silver bars prevented him from running upstairs and saving Paride. The image of what Rico might be doing to him played in his mind, and it made him sick. The anguish and despair was too much to bear, eclipsing the physical pain, and Lupo stepped forward and grabbed the bars, without thinking of the consequences.

  The hurt was immediate, and he wished it had knocked him unconscious.

  At the beginning of his sentence, Lupo had once brushed the bars. A dare, just to test how painful it could be to try to open the gate. It stung him bad enough to inculcate in Lupo a sane respect for whomever had come out with the idea of bars of wood coated in silver. Therefore, when Rico had handled the gate, Lupo thought he knew how much that stunt cost the werewolf.

  He had no idea.

  Fire radiated from his fingertips to the end of the hair on his head. An electric shock paralyzed him on the spot, his hands still connected to the metal. His teeth rattled in his mouth and he cut his tongue. His skin sizzled and burned, its barbecue scent wafting in waves and making him gag.

  With great effort, Lupo tried to pry his hands open, but his muscles were driven by spasms. The smell of cooked blood was added to the mix and his stomach lurched. He commanded his body to fall backward, and for a moment he lay at an angle, away from the bars, but still attached to them. When his fingers slipped away, digit by digit, the tendons in his hands snapped, and he howled.

  I help. Let me. His wolf begged.

  “Please,” Lupo whispered as he let go of himself and shifted into the wolf.

  In the astral plane, Lupo’s body healed at a speed not possible in the human realm, and a few heartbeats later the pain dimmed. The wolf paced in the cell a moment longer, giving Lupo the time to be whole again, but the tick-tack of reinforced boot heels sent him into a frenzy.

  Lupo shifted back as the were-bobcat guard emerged from the hallway’s shadows. “You are nothing but scum. I’ll kill you before you have time to spend the money Rico gave you.”

  “I didn’t do it for the money.” Keys in his hand, the guard reached for the lock. “I did it because I’d like to live another day.” He opened the gate, then stepped to the side. “The coast is clear. Hurry. I’ll wait for you.”

  Uncaring if it was another trap, Lupo crossed the gate and shifted, letting his wolf lead him along the hallway, up the stairs, and to the infirmary and Paride. The wolf’s nose sensed guards milling around, but nobody came forward to stop him in his mad run throughout Regina Coeli.

  Before the wolf even entered the infirmary, he recoiled at the strong smell of medicines and disinfectant, but Lupo pushed his wolf through the last few meters and he barreled through the panes of the glass and metal door.

  “What the—” Rico said, from atop Paride who lay on the same bed Lupo had left him on.

  Paride’s eyes were open and filled with tears. His mouth formed an o, but not a sound escaped from it.

  Standing by the side and witnesses to the atrocity were two werewolves. One of them was the werewolf who had visited Lupo.

  “What are you waiting for?” Rico yelled at his goons.

  The werewolves turned toward Rico, then exchanged a look between themselves, uncertainty clear on their expressions and fear tinging their scents.

  “Send him away!” Rico shouted louder, dismounting from the bed.

  Lupo’s wolf didn’t wait for the two men to obey their orders. He jumped on the closer of the two and went for his jugular. The wolf bit down on the soft flesh, then jerked his head, but took care not to kill the man, who fell to the floor
like discarded clothes. A moment later, Lupo’s wolf attacked the second thug. The man ran toward the door, but he wasn’t a match for the wolf’s speed and was tackled halfway through the infirmary and slammed down.

  “Please, don’t—” the man pleaded as a wet stain blossomed on his jumper. A loud growl was all the answer he got before being bitten.

  “We can talk about this. If the puma is so important to you, you can have him—” Rico said when Lupo’s wolf turned to face him. “My employers will still make you pay.” Despite his threatening words, Rico cornered himself as Lupo’s wolf advanced.

  His big paws softly thumped on the marble floor as his claws made a rhythmic tick-tick. Through his wolf, Lupo enjoyed the look of terror altering Rico’s features, and how his smell gave away how big a coward he was.

  Kill? The wolf asked.

  Maim him. He doesn’t deserve to die, Lupo answered, showing his wolf the exact spot to attack. So he won’t be a threat to anyone else.

  “No!” Rico must have understood the wolf’s intentions, because he lowered his hands toward his groin, as if he had a chance to stop the strong jaw from making a fast work of limbs, clothes, and what lay beneath.

  Chapter Twelve

  Among bloodcurdling cries, Lupo shifted back to check on Paride, who lay on his stomach, his jumper ripped open on his back, exposing him. Long, red marks marred his back and legs.

  Uncaring for his own nakedness, Lupo grabbed a sheet to cover Paride instead.

  “Thank you,” the puma whispered, but remained still.

  On the floor, Rico lay curled up on his side, screaming obscenities as blood pooled underneath him.

  Lupo ignored him. “Are you okay?” he asked Paride, unable to formulate the complete question.

  Rico’s jumper was half open when Lupo’s wolf attacked him, and Lupo was afraid he had arrived too late to save Paride.

  “He didn’t have time,” Paride answered.

  Relief flooded Lupo. “Thank the Great Wolf.”

  “No, thank you.” A fat tear escaped Paride’s eyelash and he blinked it away. He hadn’t moved a muscle yet.

  “Did he drug you again?” Lupo asked.

  For a moment, Rico fell silent, and from far away, hurried steps and loud voices reached the infirmary. As much as he exercised his sense of smell, whoever was coming wasn’t close enough, and Lupo wasn’t able to determine how many people were coming because Rico had started screaming again.

  “Yes, but I’m regaining feeling in my legs.” Paride slowly readjusted the position of his head and frowned. “You must leave now.”

  Lupo hesitated.

  “I’ll be fine.” Paride’s eyes went to the three men on the floor.

  Rico was the only one conscious, but in no shape to do Paride harm, and his shouting had abated.

  “Go.” Paride’s voice was louder, and he pointed his chin toward a wooden door opposite the main entrance. “Take the servants’ stairs.”

  Lupo wasn’t familiar with Regina Coeli’s layout, but the newcomers would be entering the infirmary any moment. With a nod to Paride, he ran to the door and disappeared into a narrow space. Once the wooden surface closed behind him, he was left in darkness. His wolf eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and barefooted he navigated the cold hallway, his hands on the rough tuff walls, looking for a switch he couldn’t find.

  Sounds associated with a flurry of activities in the infirmary reached him when he was about to descend the first flight of stairs, and he hurried down. Nobody followed him, but he didn’t relax.

  In places, he had to lower his head and move sideways, because the corridors leading to the secondary stairs had been built when people weren’t as big and tall as Lupo. Another remnant from the prison’s Renaissance origins as a nunnery for the daughters of the rich and powerful, the servants’ stairwells and hallways ran alongside the fortress-like structure, revealing a secret world inside an already secluded one.

  Past and present wardens must have deemed the centuries old labyrinth useful, because otherwise the stairwells would have been filled with concrete to fortify the prison’s walls. Whatever the reason, Lupo was thankful for the escape route.

  Once in a while, a sliver of light passed under doors, and gave Lupo a sense of where he was. Counting down floors, he stopped four flights below the infirmary, then pushed yet another wooden door that screeched and opposed resistance.

  One good shove of his shoulder and he entered the dungeon. He looked around at the hallway that stretched for several meters until it merged with a central hall. The servants’ stairs opened at the farthest point from his cell, and he would have to cross the entire floor and pass before the guards’ office. The room had one of those doors with a big glass window to check outside without having to leave the workstation. Weighing his options, he decided stealthiness and speed were his best options, and shifted, giving his wolf freedom to run as fast as he could on his soft paws.

  His fur bristled when the voices from the guards’ office became louder and the door was pushed ajar, but he cleared the passage before it was opened all the way, and he had already disappeared behind the corner as a man stepped out.

  From there, the wolf slipped into the dimly lit hallway and reached his cell, where the were-bobcat was waiting for him, sitting on his cot.

  “I see you did some housekeeping,” Lupo commented upon shifting.

  A new bed replaced the one he had destroyed earlier, and the cell had been wiped clean of all the debris his fury had left behind.

  “Put this on.” The guard threw a fresh jumper at him and Lupo caught it mid-fly.

  Lupo wore the uniform, then leaned against the wall. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Because you come from a powerful family.” The guard stood and exited the cell.

  “What about Rico? Aren’t you worried he will know you let me out?”

  “I don’t think you’ll tell.” He locked the gate. “And I was counting on you to put him in his place.” He mock-saluted him and left.

  Lupo walked to the bed and lowered himself down, headache building up and anger simmering again. He had taken great care not to be discovered by the guards, but he shouldn’t have bothered. It had not been a coincidence that he had not encountered a soul on his way to the infirmary. The bobcat and his colleagues had used him to settle a score with Rico.

  But Paride was safe, and that was the only thing that counted.

  ****

  Life at Regina Coeli became refreshingly dull after that night.

  Rico was transferred to the Tiberina Island Hospital, and he remained in critical condition for several days. He had lost lots of blood, and only his shifter nature kept him alive after being emasculated. News of Rico reached the prison, and Lupo was pleased to know that the relief efforts had been too slow and the surgeon wasn’t able to reattach the severed parts of the organ. His wolf had done a number on the rapist, and Lupo was proud of him.

  A halfhearted investigation led by the bobcat guard and two of his colleagues concluded that an internal brawl had led to Rico’s injuries, but Lupo was never charged for the attack because no one made his name. Not even Rico, whose reasons for keeping his mouth shut remained a mystery. Eventually, when he was discharged from the hospital, he was moved to another correctional center, and his goons found another bully to follow.

  Overnight, Lupo had acquired a name for himself. Nobody wanted to cross him. As a result, the guards and the other inmates left him alone, and if it weren’t for Paride who sought him out, Lupo would have spent the rest of his sentence in complete solitude.

  Several weeks after Rico’s accident, Lupo received a surprise visit.

  Like every afternoon, the were-bobcat, who had become his personal guard, came to escort him to the visitation room, but instead of his parents or Raphael, Lupo found Rock waiting for him.

  “Big brother,” Lupo waved at him, but didn’t sit and remained by the door.

  “Not anymore,” Rock said, relaxing into hi
s chair.

  “What do you want?”

  “Nice to see you too.” Rock laughed.

  Lupo leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know I’m happy to see you, but since you never bothered to visit before, I am to assume you are here on Tancredi’s orders.”

  “It wouldn’t have been wise to show my face around here, and yes, Tancredi sent me.”

  “What does he want then?”

  “He sends his regards.”

  “And?”

  “And he wishes you well.”

  Tired of the joke, Lupo knocked on the door to be sent back to his cell.

  “Wait,” Rock said to the guard who had peeked inside. “We aren’t done yet.” He gave Lupo a pointed look, and tilted his head over his shoulders and toward the corner, where a camera was recording the session.

  “Give me a few minutes.” Lupo waved the guard away, then walked to the table and placed both hands down. “Talk.”

  “Soon, you’ll be free. What are your plans?” Rock said aloud, and at the same time, with his hands in front of him, he used sign language.

  Lupo didn’t get the first part of the sentence, because Rock’s hands were fast and his knowledge of the language rusty, but he got the sense of it from the rest.

  Tancredi is not the only one after you. Watch your back when you are out of here.

  The camera was pointed on Lupo, and he forced himself to react as natural as possible. “I’ll work with my father,” he answered.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Rock then silently added, Rico was ordered by Tancredi to make your life hell, but not to kill you. Someone else wants that privilege and they have paid Tancredi a sum he couldn’t refuse to keep you alive.

  Lupo thought he had misread at first and was about to ask what Rock was talking about, but Rock tilted his head again, reminding him of the camera. “Looking forward to it,” he said instead.

  Rock stood and pushed his chair aside. “It was nice to see you.” I wanted to come before, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry. Take care.

  Without warning, the guard opened the door. “Time’s up. His father’s here.”