by JK Cooper
“Bring it,” Sherman said.
Chou stretched out his forward leg and brought his cimeters into a fighting stance. The wolves tore forward. Sherman fired, taking one between the eyes. It fell with a muted thud. Chou aerialed into the fray, blades whirring. Claws tore across his back, but he spun and impaled the wolf’s rear leg with one blade, its back with the other, severing the spine. Two down.
Lucas fired wildly, missing his target. The wolf tackled him, jaws snapping. The boy cried out. Sherman filled the beast with silver rounds just before its jaws found his son’s face. The wolf collapsed on Lucas, heaving heavily. The breathing stopped as it returned to human form, the corpse’s tongue protruding, fat and swollen. Lucas skittered out from under it, a look of disgust on his face. Sherman and Chou circled the last wolf, the largest. Blood dripped from its fangs. This was Nicholas. The Alpha. The amber of its eyes glowed deeper than the rest.
Chou winced as he rolled his shoulders.
“We need him alive,” Sherman said. “He will have answers we need.”
Chou nodded. “I know.” He blinked erratically, as if trying to stay awake. The man was obviously in great pain from the wounds on his back. Nicholas did not hesitate, clearly sensing the weakness. The Alpha pounced on Chou too fast for Sherman to react. In less than three adrenaline-induced-heartbeats, Nicholas decapitated Chou and flung the head at Sherman. The wolf limped slightly from a new gash in its forward left leg. Chou had not gone quietly.
“Dad?”
Sherman heard his son’s airy voice. “Stay behind me. Aim over my shoulder. Be ready to do your duty if needed.”
Sherman beheld Nicholas’s blasphemous form in his red dot reflex sight. The wolf stood no more than ten feet from him, fangs bared, shoulders hunched, head lowered. Sherman’s grip on his K-Bar knife tightened. Slowly, he began lowering his M4 rifle.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Lucas hissed.
“Trust me.” And now, Lord, behold their threatenings: and grant unto Thy servants . . . boldness . . .
As soon as Sherman’s rifle fully lowered, Nicholas pounced. Sherman dropped flat on his back. From a vial secreted in the wristband on his right hand, a short needle emerged. Sherman thrust the tip into the beast with the heel of his hand as the beast flew over him. The vial instantly shot its contents into the wolf. Nicholas shook his head amid a snarl, then collapsed to his side.
Sherman rose and brushed the soil from his backside, nonchalantly. He activated the breaching charge left on the door by Rivera. A short burst of flames and a concussive boom saw the doors open.
“Grab the corpses and haul them inside,” Sherman said. “We’ll need to burn the bodies when we’re done. Fire cleanses.” He pointed the tip of his K-Bar at Nicholas. “I’ll get that.”
Sherman grabbed Nicholas—now in human form—by the hair at the crown of his head and hauled him into the warehouse as if no more than a slab of meat.
Sherman bound Nicholas to a metal chair. He stabbed and twisted the K-Bar blade into the Alpha’s thigh. The silver alloy that coated the blade would have prevented the wound from healing if he removed it, but he’d leave it there regardless for now. Nicholas grunted in pain, but did not allow a scream to escape his clenched jaw. Veins bulged at his temples amid sweat-matted hair, and he writhed against his bonds. The steel-twine cables cut deep into his wrists, but Sherman had no pity for the beast.
“Tell me what I need to know,” Sherman said in his deep southern drawl.
The warehouse was empty save for the naked corpses at the end of skids of blood. Nicholas’s pack. Sherman did not understand why these creatures shifted back to human form when killed. No hunter did. Even the Feral—those who could not shift back to their human form in life—shifted back in death.
Lucas stood next to him.
Nicholas’s eyes flashed with amber flecks as he jerked against his bonds.
“Lucas,” Sherman said.
Lucas stabbed a syringe into Nicholas’s neck and plunged five milligrams of sodium thiopental into the Alpha. The amber slivers died, receding back into the swampy brown of Nicholas’s irises.
“Where is she?” Sherman asked.
Nicholas turned his head aside.
Sherman sighed. “Come now. What possible loyalty could you have to her? Didn’t Grant steal Moriahna from you? That whelp they spawned should have been yours, isn’t that right?”
Nicholas growled.
“Now, now, dog, let’s not carry on with your idle threats,” Sherman said. “That fine by you?” He ejected the magazine from his Glock. “With all that sodium thiopental running through you, you’ll never shift. Funny, in a way, how it’s sometimes called ‘truth serum’. Keeps you in your true form, after all. Doesn’t quite wear off as fast for you as it does for . . . real people, does it? I wonder if that has any, say, symbolic meaning to our setting here.” Sherman smiled. “If my boy there gives you another ten milligrams, well . . . you may never shift again. That has to be a bit like being castrated for your kind, isn’t that right? Of course, it’s really just a form of exorcism. Casting out that demon from you.”
Nicholas spat in Sherman’s face. The hunter did not pause so much as to wipe the filth away.
“Now these,” Sherman said, showing Nicholas the top bullet in his magazine, “are 99.9% silver, hardened by a special forging process hunters have perfected over the centuries. Hollow points, of course, for more damage. We wouldn’t want the round to pass right through you, now would we?”
Sherman slapped the magazine into the Glock’s mag well. “Now, best I can figure, you’re not talking because you don’t trust me. Because I need you to trust me, Nicholas, I’m going to need to demonstrate my resolve. Remember, this is only so we can have a relationship of trust.”
Sherman pressed the end of the pistol’s barrel to Nicholas’s left hand, which rested palm down on the armchair. The Alpha squirmed against his steel bindings. A low whistle escaped Sherman’s lips.
“Now, I promise, Nicholas, that on the count of three, I’m going to shoot your hand. The damage to your . . . paw will be extensive. You will be maimed for the rest of your life.”
“What do you want?” Nicholas seethed. His voice sounded almost like a bark, a staccato rhythm, despite the seething. How appropriate.
“One.”
“Wait! I’ll tell you what you want to hear. Just ask.”
“Two.”
“Tell me what you want!”
“Why, Nicholas, I have already told you,” the hunter answered condescendingly. “I want you to trust me. Three.”
Sherman squeezed the trigger. The air cracked with the gunshot. Nicholas howled, and tears streamed from his eyes. The muscles in his neck went taut, drawing deep lines. He writhed desperately in the chair, rocking it back and forth. The hole in the center of his left hand pooled with dark blood. Around the wound’s epicenter, the skin turned purple and white.
Nicholas huffed with a cracked voice. “Do you know what we do with hunters?” Nicholas turned his head toward Lucas, a red cluster of burst capillaries spreading across the corner of his right eye. “We devour your entrails right before your—”
Sherman pressed the pistol against Nicholas’s wrist, just above the fresh wound. The Alpha instantly stilled.
“Now, Nick—can I call you Nick?—don’t go gettin’ worked up and all. You’ll need your strength, and you won’t be shifting.” Sherman drew close to Nicholas. “Nick, you trust me, isn’t that right?”
Nicholas turned his head to the side, his neck muscles still constricted. “Yes. Yes, I trust you.”
“That’s good. Makes me feel warm inside that we have achieved this level in our relationship so quickly.”
“Me, too,” Nicholas said, shaking.
“Whoa, is he panting?” Lucas asked with a sneer.
Sherman pursed his lips almost into a smile. “Yes, son, that’s what they do when they’ve been properly trained. Isn’t that right, Nicky boy?”
“Whatever you say,
” Nicholas answered. “Please, give me something for the pain.”
“Well, Nicky, that would be a waste, I’m afraid. Listen, I won’t lie to you. You’re in for more pain before the end.”
Nicholas whimpered. “Please . . .”
“I know, but the more you take it like a man, rather than a dog, the quicker it will be over. You still trust me, right?”
Nicholas started sobbing, tears and mucus spilling over his upper lip. Sherman pressed the pistol down harder.
“I’m going to put a bullet in your wrist. After that, I’m going to place the tip of my barrel against your elbow. At that point, I’ll have some questions for you, in which, I know, you will not disappoint.”
Sherman fired. Nicholas wailed.
“That’s it,” Sherman said, as if coaxing the sobbing man. He patted Nicholas on the shoulder. “That’s it. Let it out. You’re doing fine, just fine.”
The wrist had become a mangled mess.
“Hmm, that bleeding is going to be a problem,” Sherman said, his hand rubbing his chin. “You know where I keep that propane torch in the truck?”
Lucas nodded. “Yeah.”
“Wait, wait! I’ll talk. I’ll tell you.” Nicholas took a deep breath. Tears streamed down his eyes. “She’s a monster. . . . she’s not one of us.”
Sherman held up a hand for Lucas to stop.
Nicholas let out an involuntary sob.
“Now, who are we discussing, Nicky?”
“The girl you want. Shelby Brooks.” Suddenly Nicholas’s demeanor turned cold. Then wild. Blood and saliva seethed from his clenched teeth. He looked Sherman straight in the eye. “She’s a monster. A freak!”
“Well, isn’t that the kettle calling the pot black,” Sherman said. “Still, do tell.”
Nicholas whimpered. “The pain. Please.”
“Lucas, the torch—”
“Wait!” Nicholas howled. He breathed deeply several more times. “Wait.”
“Spit it out, dog!” Lucas said.
“She came to us to join our pack,” Nicholas began, panting. “They found us one night a couple months ago. Her father didn’t know Tobias was no longer the Alpha. Tobias had promised Grant safety among the pack for his past . . . amends. But I could not allow it! He stole Moriahna from me!”
“Did you know, Nick,” Sherman asked, “that she—Moriahna, I mean—was the target of the mission all those years ago? Hmm? See, we’ve traced the bloodlines for centuries, tracking offspring. Following your own kind’s . . . prophecies, as it were. And with the help of modern advances and understandings of genetics, we’ve been able to make several disturbing projections.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Nicholas huffed.
“Not important right now. But please, continue, and do skip ahead to the night of the encounter. Our time here is limited. You understand.”
“Will you spare me? I can help you.”
“The Lord is merciful, Nicky. It’s a trait I’m still trying to master, but for now it’s still one of my weaknesses. Let us see if you can tip the balances of justice and mercy to your favor.” Sherman raised his eyebrows and tapped his watch.
“I wanted revenge,” Nicholas said. “It was that simple. Kill Grant. Punish Shelby.”
“Punish . . . her, Nicky?”
Lucas wore a haughty grin. Nicholas looked down, as if ashamed.
“Well, it’s all right,” Sherman said. “I can’t say we don’t see eye-to-eye on that point.”
“I don’t know how she did it,” Nicholas said. “I . . . she got into my head. She’s still there! Pricking my brain. Kicking the inside of my skull. I feel it. Thudding. Pulsing. And when I close my eyes . . . I see . . .”
“What do you see?” Sherman whispered.
Nicholas shook, red saliva dangling from his chin. “The end. I see the end. She is an albatross, the disaster our Mystics have long foreseen.”
“You mean the Summer Omega legends,” Sherman said.
“She is calamity!” Nicholas shouted.
“What is he talking about?” Lucas asked.
“Lycan legends tell of a time when werewolves will challenge humanity—the children of God—for the world itself. Supposedly, a Summer Omega will be the forerunner of the prophecy coming true. Omegas are rare, but not so scarce that one could say they are anomalies. And, occasionally, a werewolf does manifest late in puberty instead of at eleven or twelve years old . . . blooming in the summer instead of spring, as it were. But a Summer Omega . . . well, I’m sure I’ve never heard of one in real life. But our own projections and models of the bloodlines—of Moriahna’s line—are . . . of interest. The Lycan prophecies on this date back all the way to the early A.D. centuries.”
“Calamity will follow her,” Nicholas said.
“You sound as if you believe it, Dad,” Lucas said.
Sherman saw the questioning squint in his son’s eye. “Lycan prophecies have been eerily accurate in the past, son. Remember, the Devil also has power. But we serve the greater light.”
“Wouldn’t they want that?” Lucas asked. “If they believe that garbage?”
“Not everything in the prophecy is necessarily good for the doggies, son. But who can say? Like most of these things, they’re esoteric and require study and the true Spirit to discern.”
“Please!” Nicholas said. “Let me help you. I can find her. She must perish.”
“So,” Sherman said, “instead of killing Grant and taking Shelby for yourself . . .” He again raised his eyebrows.
“They escaped.”
“Not good enough, Nicky.”
Nicholas swallowed and shut his eyes so tightly that his lids all but disappeared under his severe brow. “She killed the two with me as we charged them. I don’t know how to explain it. It built slowly in my head. The visions. The fear. The pain. Vasilis and Booker started whimpering, pawing at their heads. I couldn’t move. Paralyzed by pain and fear. Booker clawed at the pavement, rammed his snout into it. Vasilis howled in agony. I felt his agony. It matched my own. They died, bleeding from their ears and eyes. The nose. And I . . . I only survived because I’m an Alpha.” Nicholas’s bloodshot eyes looked up into Sherman’s. “She’s not one of us, I’m telling you. She’s a vile miscreant.”
Sherman smiled. “Yet another thing we agree upon. Now, you mentioned that you could find her.” Sherman poked Nicholas’s inner elbow with the barrel of his gun. The Alpha stiffened.
“I can track her.”
“Leave that to us. For now, I just need to know where she went.” He tapped Nicholas’s elbow with the gun again, gently this time. “And I know we still trust each other, yes?”
In the end, Sherman was convinced Nicholas told them all he knew. The Alpha managed to keep his elbow intact. The next dose of sodium thiopental from Lucas killed the wolf within him though, ensuring the pathetic man would remain a man. Or whatever his human form had devolved to in his wretched state.
Later, as Sherman turned off the exit that would lead them to Lansborough, he said, “Son, that’s one less finger the Devil has upon this world, one less threat to the children of God. You did well.”
“We should have killed him,” Lucas said.
“No, son. A wretch cursed to wander the land is a worse punishment than death. Remember the wise punishment of God upon Cain, to walk the earth as a cursed creature, hated by all for all time. In time, the Lord may see fit to use ol’Nicky for good.”
Sherman saw the pondering upon his son’s face.
“Are we going to let Shelby live?” Lucas asked.
Sherman rubbed his hand across his mustache. “No. No we’re not, nor her treacherous father. There’s no forgiveness for one of our own who spawns one of their kind.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Lucas’s mouth.
“I’m not sure what I’m more nervous about,” Shelby said as the Blazer drove parallel to the property’s outer wall. “Meeting an Alpha or entering that house.”
The ent
rance to the Copeland estate rested at the bottom of the only hill in the area. Lansborough made no exception to the famed flat landscape of Texas, so the fact that Copeland Manor was built on a hill with gentle slopes made the majesty even greater. The home presented itself like a small hotel, with grand pillars and stone balconies that ornamented every one of the several gables on the front elevation.
Large trees, all bordering the estate, swayed in the breeze. Oh, a row of willow trees! Shelby loved willows. Somehow they spoke kind reassurance to her. Two flagpoles were set in a single raised cement round base. The taller of the two poles hoisted the American flag, the shorter the Texas flag. Shelby felt suddenly quite underwhelming. Even if she had worn her best dress—one her mother had left her—she was sure she would still feel out of place here.
“Flaunt it, much?” Shelby said.
“This house doesn’t represent his demeanor,” Grant said. “You’ll see.”
She looked at her dad in his dark blue dinner jacket. “I didn’t even know you had a sports jacket,” she said.
“I spent twenty minutes vacuuming the dust off it.”
“Looks a little tight.” Shelby winked at him.
“Thanks for noticing. You look wonderful, by the way.”
“Just black jeans and my leather jacket.”
“Yeah, but they’re not your ripped jeans that somehow are all the rage right now,” Grant said. “And your hoodie took the night off, I see.”
Shelby turned the back of her head to her dad.
“What?” he asked.
“Such a guy,” Shelby sighed. “It took me an hour to do this five-strand braid. I think my hands nearly fell off.”
“It’s beautiful. When did I teach you how to do that?”
“Um, hello? YouTube.”
“Very country-girl of you. Trying to fit in already? You wearing cowboy boots, too?”
“Nope. Don’t push it. The leather jacket offsets the hair.”
Grant smiled. “You’ll be beautiful no matter what you do. It’s just natural.”
“I must get that from mom.”
Her dad shrugged. “No argument here.”
As they pulled up to the main gate, a guard came to the window, and Grant rolled it down. The old Blazer didn’t have “power” anything, which Shelby guessed was a good thing, if the EMP that would knock the entire nation back to the eighteenth century ever happened. Yeah, her dad had taught her to think like that. She found it endearing now.
