Neon White© Copyright 2016 By Wulf Francú Godgluck
This e-book is a work of fiction. Incidents, names, characters, nationalities, cultures and places are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Resemblances to actual locales or events, persons living or dead, nationalities, cultures or their languages are coincidental.
Cover Art by Wulf Francú Godgluck
[email protected]
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce and sell this E-book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Published by: Wulf Francu Godgluck. A Tooth, Claw and Horns Chronicle
Contact Author: [email protected]
A dedication of thanks.
To my beta group.
To my editor.
To those who inspire.
And to you.
Thank you.
For every one who wished they could change the events in the past and save what was once lost.
Index
Copyright
Glossary
WHEN THE MOON SHIVERS
INTERLUDE
IN DREAMS WE SLEEP
RAVENOUS IS THE BLACK NIGHT
SHADOWS OF OUR FORMER SELVES
THE MONOGAMY OF DEATH
About the Author
GLOSSARY
KRYPTO
- Creature or plant whose existence has been suggested, but not discovered or documented by the scientific community. E.g., Yeti, Chupacabra, mermaids or man-eating trees. Also a term demons and angels have given humans.
PARANORMAL
- General term designates experiences that lie outside the normal range of understanding or scientific explanation, or indicates phenomena understood to be outside of science's current ability to explain or measure. E.g., ghosts, telepaths, el Cucuy, nightwalkers, shadow, psychic, mediums, spontaneous human combustion not excluding witches and werewolf.
SUPERNATURAL
- That which is not subject to the laws of physics, or more figuratively, that which exists above and beyond nature. E.g., Vampire, Lycan, shape shifters, super humans, doppelganger, fairies, elves including the Nephilim.
PRETERNATURAL
- That which appears outside or beside the natural, from the purely divine power of the genuinely supernatural to violate the laws of nature. E.g., Gods, angels, and demons.
Four years ago, an event known as The Revelation brought religious conviction to their knees and made new followers of others.
The Chronicles focus on individuals finding themselves and facing this old new world.
WHEN THE MOON SHIVERS
Raven sneezed aloud. Every other person in the small coffee shop stared wide-eyed at him. Another followed, and yet another. Great. His nose was going to embarrass him once again. It didn’t help that before the violent sneezing, the tall, handsome man with long, blond hair and immense shoulders standing next to him couldn’t keep his eyes off Raven.
He turned, ready to exit when another sneeze rocked him so hard, he swore his head was being pulled from his neck. Whoever brought the dog into the coffee shop had screwed Raven’s chance to get a date and maybe a shag.
Okay, a date.
Fine, neither.
He was sure the guy only stared at his ridiculous oversized coat. It was Québec for bloody sake. Winter. He couldn’t care less what another person thought of how he dressed as long as he was comfortable and warm.
Raven met the harsh air outside and pulled his coat tighter, feeling his nose turn red. A hand placed on his shoulder made him spin around. The man’s wide frame threw a shadow over Raven. He had to strain his neck, looking up, and meeting the dark green eyes. “You all right, lad?” the man’s low bass voice rumbled. This close, his blond hair looked golden yet unnaturally flawless. Raven was tall, six foot two to be precise, but the behemoth was even taller.
Raven opened his mouth to speak, but another sneeze attack ripped through him.
“I’m fine, thanks,” he barely managed before his nose seized with a fit of sneezes.
Raven stepped away, ignoring the man. After two steps, ready to sneeze again, he froze when the man growled at him.
Growling. Seriously. Raven turned, approached him, and looked into his handsome face. There were no age lines grazing the man’s skin, yet he appeared to be in his late thirties.
“Listen here, chap,” he poked the man in the chest with his finger, “don’t growl at me, it’s rude.”
The man glowered back, his thick eyebrows joining in the middle, his lips pulling into a tight smile.
Four years ago, the growl might have frightened him. Hell, he might have ignored it as his imagination, but not now. Not after the big revelation.
The man stared, intrigued with Raven. Raven’s hand still stretch out, finger pointed at the man’s hard chest. The man caught Raven’s wrist and pulled it to his lips, closed his eyes, and grinned. Raven froze, spellbound, as the man’s mouth enclosed his finger and sucked it in. A warmth wrapped around Raven’s digit. A wet tongue teased his flesh, tasting the essence of his skin.
Raven shivered when the man purred. A low, flowing strum vibrating deep within the man’s massive chest. A loud popping sound, followed by a vibration against Raven’s throbbing heart, snapped him back to the reality of the street.
Two cars drove past and pedestrians walked by. No one raised an eyebrow at the gesture shared between Raven and this handsome stranger. His chest vibrated again, his finger now freed from the man’s hypnotic mouth.
“You going to answer, Detective?” the man asked while still holding Raven’s wrist and let go.
Raven stuttered in his actions. Reaching inside his coat, he retrieved the vibrating mobile phone.
“Detective White.” Raven turned his back to the man. “Yes, madam… please stay calm. I’ll be at the station in twenty.” He ended the call.
Raven spun around, but the man had vanished into the cold air. He glanced through the window of the coffee shop but spied no tall, blond amongst the customers. He did a one-eighty and searched his surroundings. Nothing. The man had disappeared.
He bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged. Already, he felt the tension settle into his muscles.
“Tough for my vacation,” Raven said to anyone that bothered to listen.
With a sigh, he banished the experience to his subconscious, started his five-minute walk to the station, and sneezed again.
Raven pulled his chair closer to the woman. Her hand shook as she brought the handkerchief to her face, dabbing at her tears.
“Madam, I’m sure your son ran off for the weekend. He hasn’t been absent for twenty-four hours. I can’t report him as missing.”
She glared at him from narrowed slits. “He left with a man, one of those things. Have you not heard a single word that I have said to you?"
Raven leaned back in his chair and looked at Madam Faler’von. The woman, he suspected was in her late forties, her son twenty-three. The clothing and jewelry she wore stated her rank among the upper class. She reminded him of his own mother. The situation a reminder of his own back-story. In all probability, her son ran off with the man, not able to live with the demands his mother made on him, what she wanted him to be or the life she wanted him to live. He recognized the signs, but he also acknowledged the mistakes the kid could make.
She referred to the man as one of those things. They had many names: monsters, freaks, demons, creatures. This was how most people who did not approve of their existence referred to the supers and para beings.
“You said he was supernatural, how? I mean, how do you kn
ow?”
She shifted in her chair, narrowed her eyes, and drew her lips back. Her face formed a bitter expression.
“He growled at me when I tried to stop them. He growled at me when I touched my own son! Let me tell you this, Detective,” she jabbed her finger onto the desk, “God has a special place in Hell for things like them.”
Okay, he growled. The man outside the coffee shop growled at Raven. There was a large number of supernatural species that growled. Now if he had hissed, that might have brought the list down considerably.
“What type of growl? I mean, possessive or warning—”
“A dog, Detective.”
“Okay, a Lycan,” Raven said, connecting it to the only supernatural that growled, sounding similar to a wolf. He doubted the woman could distinguish the difference between that of a domesticated canine and supernatural wolf.
“A werewolf?”
“Now, madam, there’s no mistaking the two.” With her face pinching in confusion, he continued. “They cannot be classes together, I can assure you your son is in no danger.” The woman wasn’t going to like his next words. “I believe your son might be the Lycan’s mate.”
Madam Faler’von slammed her hand on the desk. “My son is not a homosexual, Detective.” True disgust soured her words. “He will not partake in bestiality.”
Oh God. Raven brought his hand to his face as the woman kept raging about religion, sin, and other shit.
“It’s not bestiality, madam, it’s—”
“I want another detective on this case. You don’t comprehend the danger my son is in,” she said and stood, folding her arms across her chest. “Where may I speak to your superior?”
Raven leaned forward in his seat. “Two doors down, big office on your left.”
He didn’t bother stopping the woman, knowing she was wasting her time. He was the only enforcer on this side of town. He dealt with all super and para cases. The rest of the police force opted not to have any dealings with them all. It meant they had to go back to the academy for training as enforcers. Since no one volunteered four years ago, Raven got forced.
Wait a bloody minute, wait Raven. Replaying the morning’s events, he summoned back the sound of the man’s growl. It was definitely not wolf-like. Yet, why did he have such a violent allergic reaction? Lycans set off his allergies, as well as canines, but the man wasn’t a Lycan. The sounds he made were deeper…darker. They were preternatural, not supernatural or paranormal. Raven gulped at the realization.
Demon. His mind echoed the word, but then, which type? Their growl could not be used to identify a particular species. The species were too scattered to make this even a possibility. Only by appearance in true form, might he know. Still, he had a lot to learn. He actively attended classes as enforcer, for the supernatural and paranormal world was far vaster than anyone could even begin to imagine.
Madam Faler’von stepped into his office again. Looking up, he met her scowling face with a smile.
“Detective,” she said and folded her arms. “I expect you to look into this. This is my son we are talking about. I’ll be awaiting your call this afternoon, by tomorrow morning at the latest.” The woman turned up her nose and stormed out of his office.
Raven rolled his eyes and looked at the file in front of him. Madam Faler’von’s son was attractive. Spiky brown hair and green eyes. At twenty-three, his body lacked maturity, but Raven suspected that if the Lycan claimed the kid, his body would undergo a dramatic transformation.
He pulled out his phone and scanned through his contacts. Pelat’s name flashed before he could press call.
“’Sup, was about to call you.”
“Aah, Detective, you never fail to forget of me. I’m…delighted.” The demon smacked his lips. Raven was acquainted to the weird phrases of speech from Pelat. “Not much,” the demon said, “wanted to let you know some obnoxious little Hellhound got loose and is running around in your city.”
“Oh, um…Hellhound?” Raven’s speech slowed.
“Yes. Thought I warn you before some wandering teenager end up dead. They can be a bitch you know, the hounds they are.”
Raven stood, walked to the coffee machine, and switched it on.
“How does one go about…?” He leaned against the counter, trying to avoid his gaze from falling on his desk drowning in paperwork. He hated admin.
“Don’t look it in the eyes, Detective. Once you’ve seen it thrice, you’re dead by some untimely event. Some rock salt would kill it and send it back to Seventh Hell. Now then, what’s this you wanted to call for?”
“Niko Faler’von. The mother came in here ranting and raving. I believe the boy’s been taken as a Lycan mate. Spiky brown hair, green eyes, twenty-three years old. He was…” Raven scanned the description the mother gave of her son, “… last seen wearing a brown leather jacket, red shirt, and light blue jeans.”
“Yes. Bruce, the Chetlér pack’s beta, has the boy. Believe he wants him for a mate.”
Raven’s hunch was right, however. “Chetlér? Isn’t that the pack under the command of Freshán Chetlér?” Raven paused, too panicked to say much more.
He swallowed hard when Pelat replied with a short, “Yes. Best um…stay out of their business, Detective. Freshán is not good news. You keep well then.” Pelat ended the call.
Raven knew no super or para spoke lightly or without fear of Chetlér. A drop of sweat trickled down his scalp and slid down his neck. The sensation and knowledge of the demon sent a cold shiver along his spine.
He knew now exactly what demon he encountered outside the coffee shop and more alarmingly, who... Freshán Chetlér. But he also knew that wasn’t the demon's true name. Demons rarely gave their true titles, as whoever knew it could hold power over them.
Raven parked the car and stepped out onto a wet and somewhat frosted driveway. The mansion loomed with its heavy Victorian windows, the exterior riddled with moss and ivy branches, now naked from winter. Dense woodland surrounded the massive house. The evidence of early winter snow fresh on the tree branches. He noted on his drive up the steep hill that this was the only home around for freaking miles. If anything happened, he was on his own. The air here colder than down in the suburbs and silent. Not even an owl’s hoot was present. The yellow glow from the light inside called him to the warmth the striking house offered.
He double-checked his holster for his gun. Satisfied it was there, he retrieved his badge and climbed the steps. His movements felt slow, his legs heavy, aware of the cold seeping into them. At the top, he paused. A shiver ran down his spine, not from the cold, but from the sudden sensation as if someone had walked over his grave. He laughed rather pathetically at himself for thinking of the phrase, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he was nervous. Even worse, the trees groaned in the surrounding forest, the wind combing through, and rattled their branches, causing his heart rate to quicken and his chest to draw tight.
“God, get a hold of yourself man. You’re an Enforcer for bloody sake,” he scowled.
He stared at the black front door. Beautiful figures so intricately carved it seemed as if they were moving. The material of the door was unknown to him, not wood, but not quite stone or metal either, something of a mixture. Smooth like masonry, yet did not have the rough appearance of it. It looked as if a glaze covered it. He extended his hand toward it, noting it trembled. Heat seeped into his fingertips on touch and he yanked his hand away, spooked by the odd sensation, expecting it to be ice cold.
The door groaned, the noise causing his jaw to rattle. Raven shook it off as his imagination. Doors don’t groan, doors don’t breathe, he reminded himself and reached out again. This time he pressed his full hand on the door. The heat spread up his arm and made its presence known in his flesh. The door moved slowly and he noticed there was no doorknob.
The yellow glow of the house embraced his face, the tender heat begging him to go inside. Hesitant in his steps, he made his way into the foyer of the mansion. The door by its o
wn will closed slowly.
A staircase, the wood so aged it looked black, curled on both sides leading to the second, third, and fourth floors. A red carpet lined the stairs. An enormous chandelier of black crystal hung above, shining a bright light over the area. This was the only light in the foyer. The rest came from black and red candles hoisted against the walls on silver sconces with others standing on tables. He expected it to be darker, yet the gothic interior seemed to suit the home of a demon. He took a deep breath, letting the warm, rich waxed scented air fill his lungs and settle in his soul. Faint Gregorian chant music haunted the empty house like some unholy church. The music and chanting were old, eons old, and dark. The polyphonic texture shouting to Raven’s soul. His body soaked it in like a sponge. It leaked into his mind, and he drifted in the foggy glow till something growled from behind him. He turned too quickly, and a blur of silver, lunged at him, pinning him to the floor. His head hit the wooden floorboards with a loud thud. The Lycan’s snout was inches from his own nose. Lips drawn back, saliva dripped from its sharp teeth. Choppers that were intimately close to Raven’s exposed tender throat.
Raven closed his eyes holding his breath, awaiting the killing snap to sever his head from his body.
“Stand down, Lucas,” a voice came from the stairs. Raven didn’t want to open his eyes. The warm breath blowing over his throat was still too close.
“Lucas!” The voice sounded whisky smooth yet cruel. When cold air washed over Raven’s neck, he opened his eyes. His breath still caught in his throat.
“My apologies, Detective,” came the smoky voice.
Raven knew that voice. He recognized it from this morning.
Freshán’s hand appeared above his face and Raven stretched out his own. Soft fingers intertwined with his and pulled him in a strong grip to his feet. The man-demon was beautiful.
Neon White Season One: A Tooth, Claw and Horns Chronicle Page 1
