The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  He continued his hike down the trail. As he got closer, the two people resolved into two men, but not normal hikers. They had no packs, no walking sticks, not even hiking clothes. One guy looked like a Hollywood version of either a petty mobster or disco king. He had on a maroon, open-necked long-sleeved shirt, and a gold chain around his neck, glinting in the sun. His slacks were dark grey, and even from a distance, Aiden could tell that he was wearing alligator or some sort of exotic leather shoes. His black curly hair and mustache completed the look. He was carefully placing his feet as he came up the trail, probably not wanting to scuff his shoes.

  The other guy was in jeans and a white T-shirt, a white cowboy hat shading his face. At least he had on some sort of athletic shoes, which while not great for hiking, were probably better than if he’d worn cowboy boots.

  These two were as different from each other as they could be, and neither looked like a hiker, but this was outside of Vegas, and the city was known for its quirky residents and visitors.

  Hey, buddy, the 80’s called and want their medallion back, Aiden thought as they came closer and he saw the huge pendant hanging on the gold chain of Mr. Disco. This is the desert, and maybe you need to button up that shirt before the sun burns you to a crisp.

  Aiden almost smiled as he pictured the guy, chest sunburnt to hell, crying in his hotel room. Of course, in all that red, there would be a perfect white circle where the medallion had blocked the sun.

  Aiden moved to the right side of the trail as they met up, giving them room to pass.

  “How’re you doing?” he asked pleasantly.

  Both men stopped and looked at him.

  “So, what do we have here?” Mr. Disco asked in a sneering tone.

  Aiden was taken aback. What’s their problem?

  “Just a hiker,” he said after a moment. “Just going home now.”

  He moved off the trail to pass the two men. Mr. Disco side-stepped to his right to block him. Not wanting to initiate anything, Aiden stopped, two feet from the guy.

  “Just a hiker?” he said, turning to the other man. “Grant, he says he’s just a hiker.

  “So, ‘just a hiker,’ who gave you permission to be here?” he asked, turning back to Aiden.

  “What do you mean? This is public land,” Aiden responded more than a bit confused.

  “Public land? Well, maybe from a technical perspective, but we control this land, and we determine who is allowed on it. So, from a practical perspective, you are trespassing.”

  Aiden stared at the man, wondering from what planet he had come. He started to respond, but just closed his mouth, put his head down, and tried to step around the man. As he came abreast of the man, the guy gave him a short open-handed shot to the shoulder, staggering Aiden back a step.

  Aiden was more shocked than anything else. He squared himself as the cowboy, Grant was what the other guy had called him, took a step to the edge of the path, even with him.

  Aiden found his voice. “Look, this is public land. Anyone can be here. Right now, I’m going to step around you and leave, so you can have it all to yourself.”

  As he took one step, the man quickly matched him, then shoved him with both hands hard in the chest, knocking Aiden down. It wasn’t a particularly hard hit, but it caught him off balance.

  “You’ve been using our land without permission. I think you owe us for the use, say 500 dollars? Yes, that sounds about right to me.”

  Aiden slowly got up. Five hundred bucks? To thugs?

  It wasn’t going to happen. He sized the man up. The guy was maybe in his mid-thirties. Taller than Aiden by two or three inches, he probably also outweighed him by 20 pounds. Looking at the two of them, most people would put money on the other guy in a fight, but then again, most people didn’t know that Aiden was a werewolf. Even as a human, he was much stronger than he appeared.

  There were two of them, though. The cowboy was pretty big, broad across the chest and with large biceps. He hadn’t said a word, and while he had positioned himself, he hadn’t taken any action. Aiden considered rushing Mr. Disco, then pushing beyond and down the trail, hoping the cowboy would let well enough alone.

  “So there, soldier-boy, are you going to pay up?” the man said with a sneer.

  “Oh, yeah, sure. Here let me get it,” Aiden said as he gathered himself and rushed the man.

  He was just going to bowl the man over.

  One short jab from the man to Aiden’s chin stopped him in his tracks, dropping him to his knees. Aiden’s mind clouded over as he tried to get his bearings.

  “If that’s the best they train our soldiers, then pity our country,” the man said. “So, now that that little charade is over, are you going to pay now?”

  Aiden looked up at the man. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that sneer off his face. The guy had gotten in a lucky shot. Strong and fit or not, he couldn’t just go in like a berserker.

  He slowly got back up, using the time to clear his head. Carefully, he dropped his pack.

  “Oh, our baby soldier wants to play. What’s a matter, baby got a boo-boo?” the man said in a mocking tone as if talking to an infant.

  “Nice shot there, but now I’m going to teach you a lesson,” Aiden said with full confidence.

  He took two steps forward, fists cocked. Without hesitating, he threw a solid right hook at the man’s chin. Only, the chin wasn’t there. With a slight turn, the man’s chin moved barely out of reach. With the hook swinging Aiden around, the man threw another short jab, this one knocking Aiden face-first into the sand. Without the extra toughness that being a werewolf gave him, he knew he would have been knocked out cold by the blow. As it was, he lay there, trying to gather his wits. This guy was tough. No wonder the cowboy didn’t seem to feel he needed to get involved.

  For a moment, Aiden considered offering the 50 or 60 bucks he had in his pocket and just getting out of there. But then, he got angry. Just who the hell did they think they were?

  “I think this pussy is about ready to cry,” he heard the man say.

  Aiden played a little possum, acting more dazed than he was. The man probably expected him to be out cold, so he should believe the act. He knew all he had to do was connect once on the guy, and he would have to go down. Just one shot.

  He staggered to his knees, then into a crouch, putting his hands down to steady himself for effect. Just one shot! From the corner of his eyes, he saw the guy turn to the cowboy.

  “This is pathetic. What a waste of a y-chromosome,” he was saying as Aiden launched himself upwards.

  The man spun back, inhumanly fast, but not quite fast enough. Aiden’s right fist caught him flush alongside the jaw. Mr. Disco staggered, but didn’t fall down.

  “Ah, our kitten’s got claws, I see,” he said, rubbing his jaw.

  Without warning, he stepped in and punched Aiden first in the stomach, then alongside the head several times, two times while Aiden was in the process of falling to the ground

  “Come on, soldier-boy. Get up you worthless piece of shit,” he said, slapping Aiden lightly along both sides of his head.

  Aiden was truly dazed. The guy just didn’t seem that tough, but he was handling Aiden as if he was a toddler.

  “Get up! Be a man, at least. An incompetent, foolish man, but at least a man.”

  Aiden tried to get to his hands and knees, but the man stepped on his butt, driving him back down on his belly. Aiden entire consciousness was focused on getting up, nothing else mattered. But each time he got up, the foot drove him back down. Finally, he gave up.

  “That’s what I thought. You don’t deserve the gift. You are a worthless worm, scum,” the man said, more matter-of-factly than angry.

  That hit Aiden hard, especially the tone. Despite his recent popularity with his fellow Marines, despite Claire, Teri, and even Chloe, he was a fraud, and he knew it. If he hadn’t been stupid enough to get bit, he would still be the zero he’d always been. This guy knew it, and the tone in his voice showe
d Aiden wasn’t even worth getting angry over. He really was worthless.

  And that made Aiden angry. He had to show this smug son of a bitch that he was worth something. He had to make him see.

  The man had switched from forcing Aiden down with his foot to smacking him on the butt with an acacia branch he’d picked up. He wasn’t even bothering to hit him hard. He was just making a statement.

  “Look at this scum, Grant. You think he deserves to live? He’s letting me disrespect him like this. No real man would allow himself to be treated like this.”

  Aiden’s anger grew. If the guy only knew how close he was to a violent death. Aiden had it in him, in his varg self, to tear the man limb from limb. The more he thought about it, the more attractive that was to him.

  Hozan had warned him about revealing himself. Even practicing shifting as he had done today was something he was supposed to avoid. But Hozan wasn’t here to “feel” him shift, as he supposedly could. And Hozan was not on the ground, being brutalized by this sadistic fuck. He had said something about Aiden not deserving to live, and that was a threat, right? Hozan would understand.

  Aiden tried to push the thoughts of the cowboy out of his mind. He hadn’t done anything directly, but then again, he hadn’t stepped in to stop it. If Aiden shifted, he would have to silence the cowboy, too, and that gave him pause.

  If he did shift, though, what would happen? The two men would stare, shocked, before running. And if they talked? No one would believe them. Who would?

  Aiden continued to try and work through this while Mr. Disco sat whacking him on the butt with the branch.

  “I wonder how proud his mother’s going to be when they find his wasted corpse out here, tear marks staining his baby cheeks?” the man asked the cowboy.

  Aiden jerked his head up at that. Did they know his mother? Would they hurt her? It didn’t make any sense, but that was enough to put Aiden over the edge. Threaten him? Threaten his mother? With a roar, Aiden pushed back and shifted. He stood over the man, shirt in tatters, boots splitting at the seams. He lifted his head and howled out his warrior cry.

  The man just stared at him, then to Aiden’s surprise, merely made a dismissive gesture. Aiden had only intended to scare the men off. But to receive this sort of response, well, that was unbelievable. Aiden had to punish the man, make him pay.

  Before he realized it, Aiden was rushing the man. In varg form, his shoulder was constructed differently, and he couldn’t punch straight out as when in his human body. But he could do a modified roundhouse swing that packed an enormous amount of power in it. He hadn’t had much practice in it; well, none, to be accurate, but he instinctively knew how to do it.

  As his arm swung forward, the man stood there, not moving. Aiden was going to knock his head clean off his shoulders. At the last second, though, the man ducked, and as Aiden’s body followed through, the man . . . shifted. Now behind Aiden, his opponent’s arms encircled him, bringing an enormous pressure, cracking ribs. Aiden struggled in agony, kicking back, trying to dislodge him.

  Immense pain flared in his shoulder as the other varg bit, crushing bones. The werewolf pushed Aiden away, then stood there. Aiden stared at him, his yellowish fur a contrast to Aiden’s brown. He stood a good four or five inches over Aiden, and his muscles bulged.

  “I told you, Grant. This half-breed kreuzung has no discipline. He’s a mistake, and he’s a danger to us all. He needs to be eliminated.”

  It all became clear to Aiden. This werewolf was sent by the Council, and he was going to kill him. Aiden had to fight for his very life.

  His shoulder was ruined, and it would take some time for it to heal, but he still had his teeth. He launched himself at his adversary, hoping to tear out his throat. Instead, the werewolf reached out and grabbed Aiden by the throat and lifted him bodily off the ground. Aiden thrashed, using his good arm to hit down on the werewolf’s arms, but nothing was breaking the grip.

  “I’m of the blood, you mongrel. You think you can fight me with your puny efforts?

  Anger was beginning to show in his face, but in his voice, there was something else. Excitement? Joy? Aiden knew he was getting off on this. He was enjoying carrying out the Council’s orders.

  Just before Aiden passed out for lack of oxygen, he was dropped. As he gasped for air, hammer blows rained on him, breaking ribs, possibly his back. He endured the pain as he tried to recover his breath. One arm was jerked up, and Aiden cried out as it was brought down over the werewolf’s knee, breaking it. He was jerked over, and he saw what was coming, the clasped hands being brought down on his stomach with a terrible force. He knew his organs had ruptured. He knew he could heal, but this werewolf was not going to give him the chance.

  As Aiden struggled feebly, he thought of his mom, of Claire. They would wonder where he’d gone, what had happened to him. The desert would swallow up his body, though, hiding the secret. That ignited a flame in him, but it did no good. The hurricane pounding his body snuffed it out.

  Aiden was barely conscious when the beating stopped. He opened his eyes and stared up at the varg, whose exertions beating him had him gasping for air.

  “And now, my little half-breed, the game is over. Your pathetic life will end, just like it should have in Iraq or Afghanistan, wherever it was when you were bit. You simply are not worthy.”

  Aiden could only stare as the jaws opened and move to tear out his throat.

  “OK, I think that’s enough, Paul,” the cowboy said, breaking his silence.

  “What?” the varg said, pausing to look up at him.

  “You heard me. You’ve done enough,” he said, moving to stand next to the other werewolf.

  “I haven’t done enough. He still lives.”

  “And he’ll continue to live, at least until the Council decrees otherwise.”

  “You heard our instructions. If he posed a threat to the tribe, we were to eliminate him,” Aiden’s tormentor argued.

  “True, but where’s the threat?”

  “You saw him. He shifted just because he was threatened.”

  “Well, I’d say you pretty much forced him into that.”

  Aiden was too beat up to garner much emotion as he listened to the two argue. In the back of his mind, he knew his life was at stake. But somehow, it didn’t make that much difference.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mr. Disco argued back. “If it wasn’t me but some street punks, you don’t think he’ll shift then, too?”

  The cowboy looked down at Aiden as if thinking. “No, I don’t think he will.”

  “Since when did you turn into a kreuzung lover, Grant? You getting soft?”

  “No, I’m not getting soft. But I’m not going to kill anyone without specific orders. If the Council gives us the word, I’m on it. But even then, if I do it, it will be quick and painless,” he said, the scorn he had for Paul’s methods obvious to Aiden despite Aiden’s muddled state of mind.

  “Oh, give me a fucking break,” Paul said before shifting back to human.

  His shirt, which had seemed so ludicrous with half the buttons open, was none the worse for wear. He looked around for his shoes.

  “So what do we do with the mongrel now? Kiss him and make him better?” he asked.

  “He’ll be OK in a couple of hours. Just leave him here. I think he got the message, don’t you?”

  “I think you’re wrong, but we’ll do it your way,” Mr. Disco said as he started back down the path. He never looked back.

  The cowboy stared at Aiden for a few moments before he, too, started back.

  Aiden finally let out a sigh of relief. He knew he had come that close to being killed. He adjusted himself, trying to get into a more comfortable position. His body had a lot of healing to do, and he didn’t have any food left in his backpack. He just hoped he would heal fast enough to get back and still make it to the Bellagio, all without letting his mother know anything was wrong.

  Chapter 30

  Someone was coming up in back of t
hem, someone with a purpose. Aiden spun around to confront him, but the man simply sidestepped him and continued on his way.

  “Easy there, big fella. You’re not in Fallujah now,” Claire said, taking his arm in hers and squeezing it against her chest.

  Aiden let out a breath and said, “Sorry about that. You know how it is.”

  If Claire wanted to think he was jumpy, like the PTSD[42] sufferers, looking for mujahideen in back of every bush, so be it. He didn’t think she would believe he was looking for werewolves out on the Council’s orders.

  He was physically healed from the beating he’d taken two nights before. Mentally, though, that was another story. After the euphoria that had accompanied his transformation, the feeling of invulnerability, he’d been dragged back down where he had to acknowledge his mortality and how precarious his situation really was.

  He’d arrived in San Antonio early the evening before, happy to see Claire at the airport. She’d driven him to her home in an area called Stone Oak where her family had a BBQ prepared. The house was pretty amazing. The great room off the kitchen was probably bigger than his mom’s entire apartment back in Vegas. Her father was some sort of engineer with Boeing, and that obviously paid pretty well.

  Claire’s family seemed nice if very outgoing. Aiden mostly stayed quiet as they controlled the conversation, only answering direct questions. Claire did most of the bragging on him, telling them about his Silver Star nomination, something that seemed to impress both her dad and her brother. Her brother, Siles, was married, his wife a bouncy blonde girl that Aiden just knew had to have been a head cheerleader and probably homecoming queen. They had two kids, a baby who slept most of the time, and a three-year old boy who must have been on a sugar high. The kid just wouldn’t stop running around.