Wolf's Cage

by Laura Taylor

  WOLF'S CAGE

  Laura Taylor

  Copyright 2016 Laura Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition

  Print edition also available via online retailers.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Linda Gee

  https://www.facebook.com/artbymeisarn/

  Cover images used under licence from Shutterstock.com

  ALSO BY LAURA TAYLOR

  THE HOUSE OF SIRIUS

  Book 1: Wolf’s Blood

  Coming soon

  Book 3: Wolf’s Choice

  DEDICATION

  To Fabien.

  For being both my greatest fan and my harshest critic. And for giving me Nikolai, who has become one of my favourite characters.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you Linda, for once again exceeding all my expectations and designing the dazzlingly beautiful cover art. I’m speechless.

  Thank you Ellen, for your insights into psychology, and for fixing the technological timelines. And the technology in general. And for loving Nikolai. Vodka solves everything.

  Thank you Narinder, for your exceptional knowledge of grammar, for noticing the little things, which can make such a difference, and for the fantastic coffee.

  CHAPTER ONE

  22 Years Ago

  Caroline Saunders opened the door to her rundown home and dumped her school bag by the door. She’d started secondary school this year and had homework to do, a science project that she was actually looking forward to. It was a study on the planets of the solar system, and there was a certain fascination to exploring a world far beyond the one she inhabited.

  But there was no point trying to do any work now. Her oldest brother, Troy, was fighting with her father again. Her other brother, Greg, was fifteen and was playing video games on the couch. Shit. She’d hoped he was out. Every time she tried to do homework when Greg was around, he teased and mocked her, and went out of his way to spoil her work. Last week she’d all but finished an essay on a novel for English and he’d ‘accidentally’ spilled orange juice all over it, leaving her to either rewrite the entire thing, or explain to her teacher why she hadn’t handed in her assignment. Again.

  Fucking teachers. She tried to get her work done, tried to learn, tried to pay attention, but it was an uphill battle all the way, with her mother drunk, her brothers constantly in trouble for shoplifting or getting into fights, and her father… well, the less said about him, the better.

  Her mother was an odd one, of course. She was only drunk half the time. The other half, she was wonderful, cheerful and affectionate, baking cookies for Caroline to take to school and generous with both hugs and praise.

  It was an entrenched routine, and one that Caroline had come to loathe. Her mother would get on an ‘up’ and would attack the mountains of garbage around their house with vigour, clean, cook, go shopping… and then she would invariably end up buying something that Caroline’s father deemed ‘excessive’. Though Caroline couldn’t figure out why buying steak for dinner or a small chocolate cake for pudding was such a crime, when her father blowing £100 on a horse race was perfectly okay.

  But then her father would get in a rage and smack her mother around, triggering a plunge into drinking and depression, and Caroline would be left to fend for herself for weeks, scraping together dry bread crusts and mouldy cheese to make a sandwich for lunch, getting picked on by the other kids when they saw her meagre fare, and then struggling to concentrate all afternoon when she was too hungry to focus on school.

  They were in the middle of a ‘down’ phase at the moment, her mother opening her first bottle at 7am and sitting like a glassy eyed shop mannequin for the rest of the day, not paying attention to anything other than when her bottle ran out and she had to go get a new one.

  Caroline was about to head for her room, plotting ways to avoid her family for the rest of the evening, when her father burst into the living room, no doubt having heard the door close when she arrived.

  “There you are, you little bitch,” he snarled at her. “I’m sorry I ever had you, you useless piece of shit. It’s your fault she’s gone! You and your damned complaining. Always whinging you’re hungry, you’re cold, you’re tired, you want a clean fucking shirt! Can’t just keep your mouth shut, can you?”

  What the fuck? “Who’s gone?” Caroline asked, heart beating fast as she tried to feign indifference. Whatever this was, it sounded bad…

  “Mum left,” Troy told her, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “This morning. Just packed her bags and walked the fuck out.”

  Caroline didn’t bother asking why. In truth, it could only ever have been a matter of time. Nor did she attempt to say that it wasn’t her fault. According to her father, everything was her fault.

  “What?” Her father snapped, stalking towards her. “Nothing to say? You don’t even care, do you, you little shit. Just thinking of yourself the whole time, fuck the rest of us. I’ll teach you some damned manners…”

  The first blow hurt the worst, a loud crack against her cheek that made it feel like her face was going to explode. The second one wasn’t as bad, Caroline already reeling from the first and less able to pay attention to it, and after that, she knew the blows were coming, which seemed to make them easier to bear. She shrank in against the wall, arms over her head to protect herself, and then, when he didn’t stop, she slowly sank down onto the floor, curling up in a ball as his fists kept coming.

  As Caroline lay on the floor, nose bleeding, head ringing, she didn’t bother feeling sorry for herself, wasted no time or effort in wishing she had been born to another life, a different family.

  No, the only thing in her mind was trying to remember which of the boys at school was the toughest, who won the most fights and elicited the most fear from the other students.

  Because first thing tomorrow morning, the instant she got to school… she was going to persuade one of them to teach her how to hit someone back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Present Day

  Noturatii Progress Report

  Date: April 7

  Author: Jacob Green

  Title: Chief of Operations – British Division

  Subject: Recent explosion in research laboratory

  Casualties:

  43 Security personnel

  11 Administration staff

  9 Scientists

  5 Level Four Assassins

  1 Satva Khuli

  Jacob paused as he typed the words, feeling a cold thrill go up his spine. The Satva Khuli was dead, the most highly trained, most lethal, most cold blooded killer the Noturatii had to offer. She’d been sent to defend their science lab from the shape shifter abominations.

  And now she was dead, killed by those vicious bastards. Though how they had done it, he couldn’t begin to guess.

  On 25th March, the Noturatii’s main scientific research centre in northern London came under attack by a concerted force of shape shifters. An exact count of the assailants was not possible due to the security feeds in and around the complex being taken out of operation, however we estimate the total number to have been around 35.

  Our security forces were unable to repel the attack in its early stages, largely due to logistical difficulties caused by narrow hallways and multiple security check points,
which limited staff movement and prevented a wide scale assault on the shifters.

  In anticipation of such an attack, I had previously requested, and been granted, attendance by a Satva Khuli.

  It has long been known that the shape shifters employ a brand of assassin of their own. Even though this was a known possibility, it was anticipated that the Khuli should possess sufficient skills and weaponry to repel a shifter assassin. I am startled and disappointed to find that this was not the case, and would urge management to investigate the current standards of Khuli training to avoid this kind of defeat in the future.

  Jacob gritted his teeth, hoping he wasn’t overstepping his bounds with that bold statement. The truth was, the training the Satva Khuli, literally the ‘Blood Tigers’, endured was already brutal to the point that only one in three children recruited for training lived to adulthood. Frankly, he had no idea why the woman sent to them hadn’t been able to fend off the shifter invasion. After the sirens had sounded and the attack had reached the lower levels of the lab, Jacob had cut and run, a planned escape through a series of little known tunnels, leaving his not insignificant security detail to take care of the problem.

  That the shifters had a member of their pack capable of killing a Khuli was a worrying prospect. God knew what sort of nefarious destruction they were planning next…

  In the course of the shifter attack, our Head of Science and Research, Phillip O’Brian, was killed. The shifters planted a large number of explosives throughout the laboratory complex, which were detonated after they exited the building, causing the total destruction of the complex including the warehouse facility above ground. Attempts were made to upload pertinent findings from our research to the central database, however it is believed that this process was interrupted before it could be completed. I am currently interviewing surviving science staff to determine the extent of information lost, and to implement plans for recovering recent advances made.

  Melissa Hunter, the sole surviving member of the science and research team, had been livid when she’d found out the extent of the damage. Normally a respectful, disciplined woman, she’d completely lost the plot when he’d told her exactly how much data they had lost. The team had been working on ground-breaking research, hoping to crack the secret of how the shape shifters converted humans into their particular brand of abomination – people capable of turning themselves into wolves. Months of planning had culminated in the capture of a shifter and the attempted conversion of three civilian women. At least one of the experiments was believed to have been successful, but the data from the last test subject had been lost, wiping out months of careful planning and research.

  Melissa wasn’t the only one who would be outraged by the loss. Jacob was trying to paint as rosy a picture as possible, implying that valuable data could be recovered. It was the second time his research team had been wiped out by the shifters and the second time priceless data had been lost. Headquarters was not going to be happy.

  But neither would they be happy about Jacob hiding any of the facts, so he gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue typing.

  The captive shifter being held in our cage facility was freed during the attack and is believed to have re-joined the shifter pack in the north of England. Surviving security personnel are being interviewed with regards to his escape, however further experiments will not be possible until a new test subject is acquired.

  Jack Miller, in particular, would be a gold mine of information. One of Jacob’s personal security guards, the man was observant, methodical, dedicated and had advanced combat skills, thanks to his time in the military. Now, if Jacob could just find the time to debrief him, given the thousand other tasks that needed seeing to in the wake of the lab explosion, he might actually learn something useful.

  On a more optimistic note, we have recently received hard confirmation that there are not one, but two shifter packs in England’s north. Two days ago, a turncoat from the more primitive of the two groups sold information to the Noturatii in exchange for the extermination of one particular shifter, a woman by the name of Dee Carman, who was the subject of the first successful experiment we completed in our labs. Please refer to report 5694B for details of her conversion and escape, and subsequent efforts to recapture her.

  I am putting a team together to begin investigating possible locations of the second pack, which is believed to be the more technologically advanced of the two, and the group responsible for the assault on the lab. I anticipate significant information to come to light within the next few weeks.

  In the meantime, we have transferred our science operations to the British headquarters in east London, and are currently compiling a list of equipment required to resume our research into the shifters’ physiology and possible ways to exterminate them.

  It was a bold attempt to paint a positive picture from ‘anticipated gains’, when all Jacob actually had to show for his efforts so far was a sketchy map of the shifters’ possible locations and a group of soldiers cooling their heels while he scrambled to fill the gaps left by the colossal losses from the lab explosion.

  Knowing there was little more he could do to improve the situation – the loss of the lab had been a disaster, and he and everyone else knew it – he hit send, hoping his superiors were in a good mood today.

  Deep in the heart of the Kielder Forest in the far north of England, Genna waited at the edge of the camp as the rustling sound of wolf feet came closer. The Grey Watch, the far more reclusive of the two shifter packs in England, lived hidden in the forest and shunned all contact with modern society, with a blanket ban on television, internet and mobile phones. But even they needed to venture out now and then for basic necessities, and the pack was gathered, waiting for Luna and Rience to return from their trip into town. They’d been to pick up flour, sugar, herbs and spices, milk powder… and far more interesting, the latest mail. Though letters were rare, they kept in contact with other Grey Watch packs from across Europe, messages still written by hand, in code, passing on vital information about the movements and activities of each pack and warnings about any unexpected developments from the Noturatii.

  Moments later, two wolves dashed into the clearing, Luna coming first, the older and larger of the two, followed by Rience, a large satchel strapped to each of their backs. Sempre, the alpha female, was waiting in the centre of the clearing, and they went straight to her, standing patiently while she unstrapped the bags.

  But then, instead of waiting for their leader to check the mail and announce any news-worthy snippets of information, Luna shifted immediately, diving into one of the bags without a word. She pulled out a small envelope, and then more surprisingly, a newspaper – such things were generally forbidden – and handed them both to Sempre with a bow, an apology for her impertinence. “It’s from Il Trosa,” she said simply, which made Sempre’s eyes widen, and she snatched the envelope out of Luna’s hand, ripping the thing open and reading quickly. Her expression went from concerned, to confused, to outraged, and she snatched up the newspaper next, a low growl rumbling from her throat as she read the front page.

  “Pack up the camp,” she announced, when she’d finished. “We’re moving.”

  On a normal day, almost everyone in the camp would be in wolf form. The Grey Watch shunned not only human society, but all links to their human past, their natural human bodies included, and their members were expected to spend upwards of ninety percent of their time in wolf form. But today, more than half the gathered shifters were already in human form, some of their rules having been temporarily set aside while they all recovered from a vicious battle from a few weeks ago.

  Dee Carman, a woman from Il Trosa, the other shifter pack in England, had sought refuge in their camp after being attacked by the Noturatii, and over the course of the evening, it had been revealed that she was no ordinary shifter. Rather, she was the reincarnation of Fenrae-Ul, the Destroyer Wolf, an ancient soul returned from the dead with the devastating ability to sep
arate the two halves of a shifter, returning them permanently to either human, or wolf form: the embodiment of a prophecy that predicted the end of their species.

  A battle had ensued, as Il Trosa sent their best warriors to retrieve her, and there was barely a member of the Grey Watch left uninjured after the fight. Two of them had been killed, with another having to be put down after Dee had used her destructive powers on the wolf, ripping the human half right out of her body.

  As a concession to the serious injuries everyone had sustained, they had been temporarily allowed to remain in human form while their wolf side healed. It was a far more comfortable state of being, as the pain inflicted upon the wolf forms didn’t affect the human side, and also a pragmatic solution, as it reduced the risk of infection, some of the wounds deep and easily contaminated.

  Now, with so many of their number in human form, the automatic questions and objections flowed readily, a chorus of ‘why?’ and ‘what’s going on?’ and ‘what did the letter say?’ filling the clearing.

  Looking thoroughly irate, and more than a little nervous, Sempre held up the letter. “Baron sends his regards,” she stated with no small amount of scorn. “And wishes to inform us that Il Trosa recently attacked a Noturatii base. He says they’re likely to retaliate and will probably come north, hunting us in the forest.” Then she held up the newspaper for them all to see. It showed the charred remains of a large building on the cover, along with the headline ‘Warehouse Blaze Causes Mass Evacuation’. “They broke into a warehouse, shot a hundred or more people and then blew the thing sky high. Front page news! So once again, we have to turn tail and run, because Il Trosa can’t keep their shit together for five fucking minutes. Pack your things. We’re moving to the northern camp. Today.”