Diary of a Wolf: A Gay Shifter Romance

by Hunter, Troy

  “Um, hello? My name is…”

  “We know who you are, Kenneth Oswin Adelbrecht. Born May twenty-eighth, 1819 to Frederick and Anora Adelbrecht.”

  I gasp in horror at their collective answer. “H-How did you…”

  “’Twas your eyes, Master. Your bright hazel eyes. It’s a common trademark of the Adelbrecht bloodline. We’ve been expecting you for some time.”

  I stare at them for a moment before nodding slowly, finally understanding what’s going on. “Did my great-uncle have the same eyes?” None of them respond to my question, instead looking at each other blankly. Ah, so it’s going to be that scenario. Great-nephew moves into the estate of a relative he’s never even heard of and, evidently, nobody else has heard of him either. Or they refuse to speak his name to me.

  That’s either the making of a disgraceful degenerate, or a feared tyrant.

  Which one is it? I’m sure I’ll discover eventually.

  “Young Norris, show Mister Adelbrecht around. I will take his suitcase to his quarters.”

  Missus Norris looks at me, sporting the same blank expression as her husband and son. “I will prepare dinner. I’m sure you must be starving.”

  She and Mister Norris wander off, leaving me with Young Norris. I force myself to blink, not wanting to give the wrong impression to those who appear to be my new servants.

  “Come, Master. Allow me to give you a grand tour of the castle.” I nod weakly and begin to follow him. However, before we’re able to leave the main hall, I hear a noise behind me. A noise I haven’t heard in a long time. A distinct panting from a creature I’m too familiar with. Accompanying this sound is the primal scent of oily, dampened yeast. A smell most commonly associated with dogs who’ve spent far too much time in water. I turn around to see such a being sitting near the front entrance.

  Returning my gaze is a large brown wolf.

  3

  The Endless Wood

  Eustace

  August 13, 1823

  I hardly slept last night. The roaring thunder of the storm jolted me awake each time I was close to dreaming. As each bolt struck the ground above my sinkhole, I dropped into a further state of hysteria. What if it struck the tree above me? What if I were to sleep through the tree’s inevitable descent? Would I be able to wake up in time to avoid my bones being crushed by its weight?

  My heart felt like it was trying to burst out of my chest. Each breath made my lungs ache. Even as the storm slowly began to perish, I couldn’t find the will to let my eyes close. I suppose I should’ve expected that to happen, given how the day went. Why would God allow me to enjoy a peaceful night’s rest when he wouldn’t even let me go to one house party without any trouble?

  At the crack of dawn, I surrendered to the passing of time and escaped my sinkhole. My stomach rumbled loudly as I finished my climb. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, yet I felt no desire to seek out food. I’d never been much of a hunter and I hadn’t the patience to search for berries, at least at that moment. “You aren’t equipped to fend off wild animals, Eustace,” I reminded myself. “Wait until you’re out of this forest, at least.”

  Thus, I began my journey north. I wasn’t entirely positive I was going to successfully make it all the way home. Truth be told, I’m still not very optimistic about it. I made the decision to travel north during the peak of my despair. I haven’t any idea what I’m expecting to find there. A father gravely disappointed in me, more than likely. Siblings too ashamed to even call me brother, certainly. All I know is that it’s far enough away from London that I can start over.

  I can pretend that London, school, music, and Ambrose Pemberton never happened.

  It was all just a cruel, unrealistic dream.

  The woods seemed to drag on. Either they were much further than I expected, or I was walking too slowly to make decent time. My clubfoot certainly made walking much more of a chore than it needed to be. A normal-footed man could probably make the journey to Sheffield in a few days, if he were a rare sort who never needed sleep. But I? I can’t see myself making it home that quickly. Even if I went an entire night just mindlessly walking through the land, it may still take me over a week to make it home. Possibly two weeks, if at all.

  It was around noon when my hunger pains began to grow in intensity. “Yes, yes, I know,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around my stomach. “Just a little while longer. Surely, we’ll be out of this forest soon,” I told myself with utmost confidence. At the time, a part of me just knew the woods had to end sooner or later.

  I held on to this belief as the hours passed me by. As the sun began to set, I adamantly refused to believe I was in a never-ending forest. Even now, as my fatigue leads me to taking refuge against the trunk of this birch tree, I maintain that I have to be close to leaving this trap. Surely, I must be.

  How many miles have I even walked today?

  Am I even remotely close to home?

  I just want to go home.

  Please just let me go home!

  * * *

  August 17, 1823

  My head ached, another night without any sleep. The recurring fantasy of eating cooked lamb made me salivate like a starving hound. The old mud that coated my body and clothes gave off a horrid smell. I couldn’t tell if I had a greater need for sleep, food, water, or a hot bath.

  It’s been a few days since I last penned anything in my diary. Considering the fact that I’m still in this goddamn forest, I doubt I have to justify my reasons. Indeed, I am still here. I’m still without any food. I’ve no friends to guide me through these woods, no gods to show me the light. And during these last couple of days, I feel like I’ve only had three or four hours of sleep.

  Am I even still alive?

  I was beginning to feel like I had died and was maneuvering through the different rings of Hell. If watching me trek aimlessly through an endless forest was the devil’s idea of entertainment, then I truly pitied him. Anyone who honestly enjoyed watching a worthless scoundrel such as myself struggle at even the simplest tasks needed to hire a priest to exorcise whatever demon was inhabiting their person. Or maybe I’m the one who needed to be exorcised, from whatever useless entity was unfortunate enough to possess my body, I’m not sure.

  No, Eustace.

  Don’t blame your failures on demon possession.

  After all, your decision to become a musician wasn’t spur of the moment.

  There’s no telling how many miles I’ve walked. Fifty? A hundred? Despite the constant movement of my feet, it never feels like I’m getting any closer to my destination.

  As sunset arrived tonight, I dropped to my knees and burst into tears. “Am I ever going to make it home?” I sobbed aloud, hunching over so my face was pressed against the ground. “Please, somebody, anybody! I beg of you, save me. Save me from this nightmare.”

  The tears seemed to stream down my face for at least half an hour.

  The confidence I’d had just a few days ago has vanished entirely.

  If I don’t receive a miracle soon, I am going to die in these woods.

  * * *

  August 21, 1823

  It’s finally happened, ladies and gentlemen.

  Today is the day Eustace Bertram has completely lost his mind.

  I thought I could do it. I believed I could manage the excruciating walk home. I actually thought for a moment I could sustain myself on nothing but fleeting hope. What are a hundred and fifty miles to a man with nothing left to live for? What is hunger to a pauper left with no time to memorize the rules of the wild hunt?

  I said I could make the journey.

  I said I could fast until leaving the forest.

  I said many things, my friends.

  But absolutely none of them were true.

  In the young hours of the morning, I spotted a wild hare. A pretty animal, he was. His fur matched the color of my hair, almost. The creature couldn’t have been very old, as he was very small. What was such a young fellow doing out this late?


  The sky was black. His parents had to have been worrying their ears off. Didn’t he know better than to wander off all by his lonesome when it was well past his bedtime? Especially when there’s an extraordinarily hungry man in the vicinity?

  Like my father, I’ve never had the heart to harm animals. At one point in time, I couldn’t imagine having to live with that sort of guilt for the rest of my life. Eating a baby rabbit? How barbaric! How could anyone live with themselves after harming such a delicate creature?

  I didn’t want to do it.

  Please believe me.

  I was ravenous. My stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself so I could stay alive. As each day passed, I could hear the singing angels at much higher volumes. I was about to die. The end of my life was drawing ever closer.

  So I threw a heavy rock at the poor creature, crushing his little body. It took him completely by surprise. He didn’t even have a chance to fight back. The dear animal was only barely breathing when I approached him with the intent of biting into one of his hind legs.

  It was the vilest thing I ever tasted.

  The taste of blood made me gag as it coated my tongue.

  But God did I need it.

  I believe I dissociated as I gnawed into the raw meat of that hare. I wouldn’t call it an out-of-body experience, but I lost control of my actions. My body was on autopilot, tearing into this innocent animal while I could only watch in horror. I’ll never forget the horrid smell of the body, nor will I forget the foul taste of ultra-rare meat.

  And the sounds the hare made as he died.

  Oh, dear lord, the sounds!

  What kind of monster have my shortcomings changed me into?

  It shouldn’t shock anyone to know that God was watching this heinous act of primal desperation. Was he pleased with my actions? Of course he wasn’t. If anything, he thought it was just as irredeemable as I did. Human beings are supposed to be above the simplistic means of brutish savagery. As a species, we’ve adapted over the centuries. We have technology, art, and religious doctrine that must be adhered to. And yet there I was, treating a poor rabbit no better than a wild animal would.

  I’m a man, not a beast.

  For the act of moral treason, I had to be punished.

  As such, the distant clap of thunder sent chills down my spine.

  My active consciousness returned as I heard the first symptoms of a raging storm. I shivered hard upon dropping the haunch I’d been biting into. Nausea grabbed a hold of my throat and strangled it. “God help me.” I backed away from the hare’s corpse, heart closing up on itself when more thunder struck in the distance. “I-I’m so sorry,”

  My hands ferociously shook as I tried to wipe away the blood around my mouth. The metallic flavor of the unsavory fluid buried itself deep in my taste buds. The urge to spit up everything I’d just eaten was so strong my vision blurred. “I’m…I’m so sorry, little one.”

  I knew the creature couldn’t hear me. Even if he could, my words wouldn’t mean anything to him. Buyer’s remorse comes from the ignorance of hindsight, after all. All the hare cared for now was if he’d see an afterlife in which he could frolic in a lush green meadow, surrounded by freshly grown vegetables.

  I dropped to my knees and vomited the contents of my stomach, the sickness finally overwhelming me. You’d think such an act would bring a sense of relief. Perhaps my body’s refusal to accept such an unholy feast would coincide with my disapproval of the entire situation. Sadly, no sense of relief was shining upon me. Only more unforgivable shame.

  The roaring thunder was getting closer, sapping more of my peace of mind.

  As I finished relieving myself of my nausea, I got back to my feet and started running through the forest.

  My face felt the first pangs of rain shortly after I began my attempt to escape the storm. My breathing came in quick heaves, each breath louder than the last. Once the rain began to pour, I found myself moving much faster than my clubfoot was able to handle. I unceremoniously tripped when another round of thunder crashed close by.

  Was this how I was going to die?

  Under God’s electric fury?

  “Get up, Eustace. Get up.” I pulled myself back to my feet, trying to find a better pace. What was still fast, but manageable without tripping my own limb? What would assure me the greatest amount of safety in the end? “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening…”

  Just as I thought all was lost, His Holiness smiled down upon me. Within the distance appeared a limestone castle. Tall, mysterious, and utterly frightening. Finally, an escape from the dreadful forest. At long last.

  “Oh, thank the heavens,” I cried. “His eternal grace finally shines upon me.” In no time, I sprinted forth and crashed through the metal entrance gates. Normally, castle owners keep the entrance padlocked so no intruders can break in and steal anything valuable. This castle, however, was unlocked. “Interesting,” I thought to myself. “Either the owner is careless or they’re deceased.”

  As morbid as it sounded, I was hoping the latter was the case.

  For if the owner was deceased, that meant the castle had no owner.

  No owner meant shelter for yours truly.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, I proceeded to the front door. Another round of thunder popped in the distance, startling me even more. Trying to keep my excitement in tow, my shaky hand caressed the leafy engravings in the oak door. Readying myself for the unknown, I pushed it open. Like the gate, the door wasn’t locked. However, something else was waiting for me on the other side; rather, someone else.

  Gasping in surprise, I fell over backwards at the quickly emerging figure before me.

  Yellow eyes, tall stature.

  If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve said that I opened the portal to hell itself.

  4

  A Gathering of Two Wolves

  Kenneth

  Present Day Stagwood Grove, Winter 1874

  A growl escapes my throat at the sight of the beastly intruder. Who is this being? Why did he feel the need to enter my home, my lair? I’m beginning to feel ripped off by my great-uncle. When I received my letter regarding an empty estate, Stagwood Grove, I assumed that would mean I would be moving into a castle completely devoid of life other than myself. What do I get? Three meat vessels and a squatter trying to take his place in a den he has no business standing in.

  I find myself dropping down to all fours, fingernails digging into the floor. My teeth bare themselves to the trespasser. He hunches over, either to challenge my authority or submit to my will. As saliva begins leaking from my mouth, I can feel an ache in my teeth, one that demands to overcome my mouth in exchange for strengthened gums and sharp fangs.

  “Ah, my apologies. Pay no mind to the dog, Master. He’s harmless.”

  I turn to face the servant, snorting loudly as I feel my transformation preparing to take over.

  “Take your leave, Young Norris. This is a matter amongst the mightier breed.”

  “I’m no stranger to the lycan, Master,” the younger husk states matter of factly. “I served one for many years, after all. This creature is far too skittish to ever be a threat to you, sir.”

  As he said this, a meek whimper caught my ear. I turned back to see the brown wolf backing into the twin doors, anxious to escape our altercation. Young Norris quickly steps toward the doors and opens them for the defeated canine.

  The intruder sprints outside, which brings a satisfied grin to my lips.

  Enter my domain uninvited again and see what happens, mangy mutt.

  “Shall we begin the tour, Master?”

  * * *

  Much to my relief, the general layout of the estate is fairly simple to memorize. There are three stories. Each floor with its own washroom and bedroom. On the first floor are the kitchens, which border the large dining room. At the other end of the main hall is what appears to have once been Elias’ private study. “This would be the ideal place to conduct
your research,” Young Norris suggests. Out of all the rooms in this estate, the study is the most likely place I imagine might have some hidden compartments that may contain some of Elias’ old research. When I make the suggestion to my tour guide, he simply pretends like I said nothing at all.

  The second floor houses a large library, which appears to have anywhere from several hundred to a few thousand books stored within it. It’s a room I imagine I will be spending much of my time in. Alongside the library is a gallery comprised of various sculptures and paintings. This fascinates me, as I never knew of any Adelbrecht in our bloodline who was a patron of the arts. No, we’ve mainly been known to be scientists, soldiers, and politicians, sometimes all the above, depending on the ancestor’s connection to the Great Wolf himself.

  Interesting, indeed.

  The final room Young Norris shows me is the observatory on the third floor. Staying true to the Adelbrecht way, Elias left behind piles upon piles of charts and reports that seem, on the surface, to regard planetary alignments and star formations. This new sliver of information intrigues me, as astronomical studies have connections to both science and the dark arts. In the minds of genius occultists, perhaps there could be a directly comorbid relationship between the two?

  What mad scheme were you onto, Great-Uncle?

  Once we’re outside the castle, Young Norris shows me an abandoned barn, accompanied by what looks to have once been a field for growing crops. “The soil isn’t very nutritious this time of year,” he points out. “But you’re free to grow whatever you wish once the weather warms up. Or perhaps you’d rather my father take care of the crops? It’s up to you, Master.”

  I nod and examine the area for a moment. Another building off in the distance catches my eye. While I can’t see it very well, the shape is unmistakable.

  A chapel, towering a good ten feet over the barn. It appears to be made of metal, as I can see some rather large rust marks on the rooftop.