Ginger Storm: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (The Scarlet Dragon Saga Book 1)

by J. P. Rice

  Tyr laughed. “Aren’t we all. I still can’t get over how amazing you look. How amazing we look together.” He threw just enough flattery around to remind me that I was still desirable. Even though I was still committed to my husband, it felt good to be wanted by a sexy God.

  He said, “Tell you what. When are you going to see Octavius? I’ll meet you there to make sure he doesn’t try anything shady. And if you get there first, tread lightly about being there on behalf of Jonathan. That will make him highly suspicious.”

  How gentlemanly. It appeared Tyr had turned over a new leaf. I said, “I’m going to the house at five o’clock today. Do you really want to meet me there?”

  He nodded confidently, his firm chin rocking up and down. “Sure. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

  Chapter 7

  I navigated up the winding driveway to the Wolf House, my red Jeep Wrangler weaving through a maze of snow-dusted pine trees. I hooked a sharp right and the big log cabin appeared in front of me. The cabin rivaled Jonathan’s mansion in size but carried a rustic look. Tucked away in a little nook of Fox Chapel, the cabin housed almost all of Octavius’ pack. I parked off to the side of the house and got out. The stink of wet dog hung heavy in the thin winter air as I strolled toward the door.

  The alpha named Octavius was the Seventh Son of Lycaon, which meant he was one of the most powerful wolves in the world. Everyone in the Pittsburgh Wolf Pack came from Octavius of the Tainted Blood. I didn’t know his exact age. After a long period of bachelorhood, he had started a family one hundred and forty years ago. He had stolen his wife from a pack in France because he wanted his family to be pure werewolves, not a watered-down hybrid.

  The family had increased in size over the years and now had over a hundred members. They had bred incestuously and run into birth complications that had set them back, but they were a powerful force in Pittsburgh.

  Rumors had swirled for years that Octavius had thrown the babies with birth defects out to the wild. Well, the wild lost. And apparently the mutant wolves had formed a family of their own. They were like Bigfoot, though. Nobody had a clear picture or video, but plenty of people had reported werewolf sightings in the woods around Pittsburgh.

  Werewolves had a heightened sense of smell and night vision, faster speed, more strength and longer stamina. Basically, supercharged humans with an unquenchable thirst for killing. Once they achieved full body maturity, they remained ageless from the constant regeneration of their physical tissues.

  They were susceptible to enchanted weapons and some magic spells, especially those involving wolfsbane. Destruction of the heart or brain was the only way to kill them without magic, but that didn’t always work. Silver bullets and daggers were the best bet. However, an associate had told me that an assassin had shot Octavius in the heart with a silver bullet. Not sure whether I believed it or not.

  Octavius’ family ran an investment firm for supernaturals, which kept them rolling in the cash. As I walked up the stone steps, I noticed new additions on the cabin and several out-buildings I hadn’t seen before.

  A wolf in human form stood at attention near the arched front door. He was wearing a gray suit with a black tie and eyeballing me suspiciously as I approached. “Do you have an appointment, ma’am?” he asked, shuffling a few papers in his hands.

  I didn’t recognize the younger-looking man with a pencil mustache and a stenciled beard. He didn’t have the classic werewolf in human form look. And when I zeroed in on him, I noticed he had blue eyes. I’d only seen wolves with brown eyes before. “I’m here to see Octavius.”

  “I did not ask who you were here to see. I asked if you had an appointment.” He spoke properly, unlike most of the rugged wolves I’d dealt with before.

  And he was a smartass. Two could play that game. I climbed up two more steps and looked him in the eyes. “And I told you I’m here to see Octavius. You want me to come back and we can try this again. I don’t need an appointment. Now hustle your ass inside and tell Octavius that Gale is here to see him.”

  “I don’t like your attitude, ma’am. I am thinking maybe you should leave,” he said, deepening his voice.

  If I showed any sign of weakness with a wolf, he or she would exploit it to no end. I knew I sounded like a pompous asshole, but that was how you had to deal with lycanthropes. I gestured with my thumb toward the enormous door behind him. “Just go ask him. Stop wasting my time, you blue-eyed freak.”

  He clenched his fist, and I readied to dodge his punch. I was about to whoop this wolf’s ass right outside his own damn house. The guard drew his arm back, and the corners of my mouth curled up.

  The giant front door flung open and startled both of us. A lumberjack-sized wolf wearing a white suit and black bow tie a la James Bond emerged through the jamb. Then an eye-watering wave of his cologne and body odor hit me. He had the classic, burly, hirsute appearance you would expect from a werewolf with chest hair poking through his dress shirt.

  In human form, his shaggy beard rose high up his cheeks and stopped just below the puffy bags under his eyes. The wild brown mop on top of his head looked like he had just rolled out of bed, applied an overwhelming amount of cologne and thrown on the perfectly pressed suit. His dark eyes lit up and he smiled at me as he ran a black comb through his greasy hair.

  “Hello, Caesar. Been a while,” I said. Caesar was Octavius’ firstborn son and right-hand man.

  I patted his biceps because I didn’t hug wolves either. Nice and firm. He stated, “I was about to say the same. Several decades have fallen off the calendar since I’ve seen you. Glad you’re not dead. What brings you here?”

  “I came to talk to Octavius, but this derelict won’t let me in,” I said, pointing my finger an inch from the young guard’s face.

  Caesar tucked the comb in his chest pocket. He came down another step and stood in between the guard and me. He awkwardly put his hand on my cheek and turned my face toward the bouncer. “You see this face? If she ever shows up at the door, you let her right in.”

  The guard retorted in a snotty tone, “But Augustus told me...”

  Caesar cut him off, “No. Stop right there, Justinian. Mind your elder. No excuses. She’s an old friend. She gets right in. You’d be wise to stop with all the backtalk too. Don’t forget how lucky you are.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard pouted and turned away, acting busy with his papers.

  Caesar said, “That’s right. I’ll take her to see Octavius.”

  I passed the guard and said, “So how’d that work out for you, tough guy?” Unsurprisingly, he stewed silently and tore a piece of paper in half.

  Caesar and I went inside and exchanged numbers, which was fine with me. I preferred to deal with him rather than Octavius.

  As we walked down the rustic hardwood hallway, Caesar turned to me and said, “Be gentle around Octavius.” He stopped me, looked around and made sure we were alone. He whispered, “We all think he’s going mad. He can go off over nothing at all.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Please. I beg you. Don’t anger him.”

  I wasn’t trying to anger Octavius, but I also wouldn’t put on kid gloves for him. He was the alpha, for fook sake.

  Caesar warned, “He just sits in a room all day, taking meetings and growing irritated as the hours pass.”

  We approached a door on the right side and Caesar pounded on it with his giant fist. “Octavius. We have a special visitor here to see you.”

  The door creaked as Caesar pushed it open, revealing a dark and musty room. Caesar reached inside, and I heard a loud click. A dull yellow flash of electricity sparked in a wooden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It barely illuminated the room enough to see the alpha of the pack, sitting on a leather couch that had shredded claw tracks in several places.

  In the middle of the room, under the chandelier, was an old high school desk with the seat attached to the tabletop. Not exactly the high-profile meeting room you would expect from the outside of
the house. I was hip to Octavius’ negotiating tricks. He tried to make his guests uncomfortable, thus giving him the upper hand. He even had the interrogation light right above the desk. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t spook too easy.

  The leader didn’t stand up or even speak upon seeing me. He simply pointed to the desk with his hairy hoagie-shaped finger.

  I sat down as the door slammed shut. My head jerked to the left and Caesar was gone, leaving me alone with the most powerful werewolf in Pittsburgh. I could tell he wouldn’t start the conversation, so I said, “Hello, old friend.”

  He grunted and scratched his shoulder. I shifted around in the small desk trying to get a better look at him. Dressed in a tan suit, he appeared confused. Staring off into the abyss as if he was searching for something. Just enough electricity poured down from the chandelier to show that Octavius’ once flowing mane was now balding. He’d tried the comb over technique, but he was losing the battle badly.

  I’d bet his rage pills were causing the baldness. And I’d bet he stopped taking them. Being in a constant state of rage had likely aided in the madness everyone had warned me about. When werewolves started to lose their hair, it meant they were losing their powers. The alpha needed to maintain the respect of his pack, his allies and enemies alike. All three would try to exploit any sign of weakness.

  His dark eyes opened wide when he noticed me staring, and he smoothed his hand over the top of his scalp, pulling the few remaining wisps of dark brown hair across his head. He’d forgotten to mask his weakness and his face reddened as a look of terror ran through his eyes. Apparently, my unexpected visit had taken him by surprise.

  Octavius leaned over and searched frantically for something next to him, his arm diving into the cushions of the couch. The erratic motion nearly causing him to fall to the ground. He braced his other hand on the coffee table and straightened, still searching angrily for something.

  The wolf in human form started to shake uncontrollably and let out a few bassy grunts. Just as he seemed about to snap, he produced a black fedora from the cushions. He punched the inside of the flattened hat and it expanded back to its normal shape.

  Octavius groaned as he slid the fedora over his balding head. Long brown hair still grew below the bald ring on top of his head and hung to his shoulders. In this poorly lit room, his full beard and the hat covering the top of his head hid his secret well. I felt bad for him because he had to be scared shitless that he could lose his pack. He was in a horrible position, stuck inside a tightening vise grip.

  “You say a word about this and I’ll kill you myself,” he threatened predictably.

  I held up an open hand. “It goes without saying.”

  “What you doing here? The Spear?” he asked curtly, his voice hoarse.

  “I came to see you. How are you?” It never hurt to use a little flattery.

  Octavius grabbed a gold goblet off the coffee table in front of his couch and gulped it a few times. As he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, he said, “Cut the shit, June. I’ll save you a lot of trouble. I haven’t heard anything about Darabond.”

  He leaned forward and set the goblet down. The black fedora began to slide off his head and he scrambled to hold it in place. He spoke over his heavy breathing, “Look, we been friends, if you choose to call it that, for a long time. We don’t call each other on our birthdays. You don’t come to family parties. We’re associates. Nothing more. Nothing less. And that’s a beautiful thing. I help you out if I can and you do the same. So I ask you again. What are you doing here?”

  So much for flattery or pretending I had come to check on my husband. “I’m here on behalf of Jonathan.”

  Octavius jumped up from the leather couch, and within a heartbeat, he was standing in front of me, hovering over the desk, foamy slobber building up in the corners of his mouth. His chest heaved in and out with his panting. He tilted his head, his voice guttural, and asked, “Should I kill you right now, then?”

  His stank, stale onion breath almost knocked me out. I pushed myself back to avoid the smell and the legs of the desk shrieked harshly against the floor. “Relax. Sit down. I’m here as a peacemaker. An honest broker.”

  He didn’t sit down. In fact, he started to shift. The magic emanating from him smelled like burnt meat with a hint of gaminess. His body bulged, and the tan jacket’s seams gave way. A silver button from the collar of his shirt broke loose and shot past my head. He continued expanding as his suit frayed and tore, falling from his body in scraps.

  Hair grew over the top of his balding scalp and his face became elongated and took on the classic wolf look. He grew taller and wider until an eight-foot werewolf with the muscles of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger stood in front of me. I could smell his rotten breath from a few feet away as his chest pumped in and out, pushing the funk toward me in a steady stream.

  He lowered his tone, sounding like a man who had smoked fifty cigars a day for a thousand years straight, “June, you are a great many things and I’ve called you most of them. Peacemaker and honest broker are not on that list.”

  I got up from the desk and moved to the side to avoid his breath. “I’m changing my ways. Trying to mend fences now. Maybe it will put me in the good graces of the Gods.”

  As he walked back to his couch, he said, “You’re still pining away about that? You know the only thing better than being a God?”

  I closed one eye, wondering what he was getting at. “What’s that?”

  Octavius paused for a moment as he covered himself with a blanket and sat back down. “Killing a God. Maybe you should focus on that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh sure, I’ll just rush Clara Spiritus, magic blazing and lay waste to as many Gods as I can.”

  Octavius struggled to keep his expanded werewolf body covered with the blanket. “At least you’ll die with a smile on your face.”

  I got back to the point of my visit. “What do you want to end this little spat?”

  “Little spat?” He sat up straight and leaned forward, his eyes bugging out. “June, I believe you are mistaken. Those vampires executed three members of my pack. My pack. Every time one of them dies, part of me dies too. I’m supposed to protect them. If I can’t protect them, then I’m not the alpha. I’m nothing. An utter disgrace that deserves to be put to death is all.”

  Now I understood completely. It was all a protection issue. His own blood. His family didn’t feel safe with him as the patriarch. The prospect of losing that probably scared him much more than any vampire.

  I said, “If you squash this right now, I can make sure nobody else gets hurt. I might need some concessions, though.”

  He jumped up again, pointed at my face and exploded, “Concessions from me? Not a chance. He apologizes to me in front of every member of my pack and hands over two more of his men. An eye for an eye. That’s the only offer.”

  I explained, “You both are demanding things that are unreasonable.”

  Octavius held the blanket firmly over his shoulders. Pacing in front of the coffee table, he shook his head and said, “You haven’t been around here. Ask around. You’ll find out he’s taking you for a ride. You’re going to feel like a real fool.”

  I sat back down at the desk. “First of all, I’m not taking any sides. I’m friendly with both of you. I’m trying to keep peace in my city.”

  He stopped pacing for a moment and stared down at me. “It’s just...how should I put this? Really fucking suspicious. That’s all. You’re not exactly the superhero type.”

  “Right back at you.” I tried to brush off the slight. I loved Iron Man and he wasn’t the superhero type, until he was. In fact, he was a selfish asshole, just like me. Since this was going nowhere, I decided to broach a few other subjects. “So you haven’t heard a single thing about Darabond?”

  He groaned and sat back down. “Give up on him and find yourself a new man. Stop torturing yourself over this. It’s not worth it. Look what it’s done to you.”

 
I responded immediately, “That’s rich coming from you. I never started any senseless wars that would endanger my city.”

  He waved his pointer finger in front of his face. “I’m not starting anything either. I’m finishing a problem that someone else started.”

  What could I say that wouldn’t have this surly bastard getting his panties all wadded up? “Look. Forget about that. Have you heard anything about Lugh’s Spear?”

  Octavius smirked and titled his head to the side. “I’ve heard that you should stop chasing it. That everyone should stop chasing it for that matter. Give up on the spear and give up on your husband, June. You’ll live a much happier life.”

  Now a balding werewolf was throwing me life advice. It took every ounce of strength in my body not to make a Mr. Clean joke. “That doesn’t really answer the question. Have you heard anything?”

  He growled, “Same old chatter. Same old people saying the same things they did five years ago. Same things they said ten years ago. Twenty years ago.”

  “I get the picture.”

  “You’ve held it. Did you feel the power?” he asked, and I could see his eyes light up in the dim room.

  I told him, “I definitely felt something. When I grabbed it the first time, I felt a jolt. A shot of electricity. And when you look at it, your heart starts to pound and every drop of sweat comes to the surface. It almost has a presence. A gravity to it.”

  He mused, “I suppose that’s why many men have died in the quest for the Spear.”

  I reminded him, “Women too.”

  “Excuse me?” he asked, muddled.

  I informed him, “A lot of women have died on the quest too. Men always seem to forget about us.”

  A knock on the door startled me. As I turned, the door was opening toward us and the bouncer stuck his head inside. “Sir, your appointment is here.”