by Mandy Rosko
The Legend Of The Werewolf
Mandy Rosko
Mike Carter is a psychic detective in a city that’s not supposed to exist, but he needs a break. When the woman he loves gets married to someone else, he decides to go back home to try and connect with his estranged family.
That’s put on hold when he has a terrifying vision and is attacked by a powerful sorcerer, who also happens to be a psychotic killer. When he thinks his number is up, a beautiful woman comes to his aid. She’s a werewolf, and she has every intention of kidnapping Mike and taking him back to her pack.
Anne believes she’s found the missing link in werewolf history in Mike, and she is such a believer in the legends that she’s not willing to let him leave. Mike wants to find out why he’s wanted for dead, and what the werewolf legend really means, and with Anne’s help, she’ll pull him into a world even he didn’t know existed.
The Legend of the Werewolf
Published by Mandy Rosko at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Mandy Rosko
Discover more books by Mandy Rosko at her website:
Rizzorosko.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ONE
A small bar somewhere in California
Mike Carter tilted his head back, swallowed his shot of whiskey. He contemplated getting back in his car, turning around and going home while he was still sober enough to drive.
He looked at the clock, then called to the bartender and ordered another. Fuck it, he'd get a room and sleep before getting on the road again. He kind of wanted to get drunk anyway, let the alcohol blur everything away.
Anything to put off the visit to his family.
Mike had taken some much needed vacation time and left Griffon City. He hadn’t planned to make the trip to California to visit his family until after the woman he loved had settled down with someone else.
He hoped Jackie was enjoying planning her wedding to McKane. The lucky fucking bastard.
Goddamn. Losing her stung. Though she’d promised to always be his friend and all that shit, he needed to make himself scarce for the wedding.
Watching Jackie prepare to have a family with vampire boy made Mike think about his own family. He hadn’t seen them in years. It was time to make peace. The problem was that they were the ones to kick him out.
But, he was tired of having nothing. He also wanted to see how his little brother was doing. Bud had been just a little kid when Mike left. Maybe he, at least, would be happy to see Mike return.
Now, with several depressing drinks inside him and maybe an hour or so left before he reached his destination, driving the day and a half back to his empty apartment seemed appealing.
Fuck. Courageous Officer Carter scared of facing the family that disowned him.
Mike tipped his hat up with the rim of his glass and rested his hot forehead against the cool sweat building there.
He really needed to relax. Perhaps, a little fun was in order. Mike lifted his head and scanned the bar.
The place was mostly empty against the slow country music playing in the background. It was a weeknight and most people had to work in the morning. However, that didn't stop the patrons who were in the bar from drinking.
Of the few women he saw, one who drank alone and appeared to be in her sixties and another who celebrated her twenty-first birthday with two of her girlfriends—though he doubted it was her first time having a drink—only one caught his eye.
Late twenties, slim with pale, blonde hair that had a slight curl to it, rose-pink lips and big, blue eyes. Nice.
The problem was that she already had the attention of two men focused solely on her.
Her thick hair framed her heart shaped face as she quietly spoke to her companions. Her voice was so low he couldn't catch what she said, her face and eyes were alight, as though she were having a passionate discussion.
Mike squinted for a better look. One of the men, who nodded along intently with what she said, could very well be related to her. A twin even, considering the hair color and shade of skin.
His pale hair was cut short and gelled to spike out at the top of his forehead. Though he and the woman were both sitting, he estimated that they were of the same height. And, while he wore a blue striped shirt compared to her white tank, they both sported jeans that were fading at the stress points.
The other man couldn't have been more different. The fact that he was sitting in this bar meant that he was of age, but barely.
Baggy, black jeans were accented with a metal chain around his waist. His spiked hair matched his blood-red T-shirt, which revealed a red, European-style, dragon tattoo on his arm.
As if sensing his eyes on her, the woman stopped talking and turned her head in movie-style slow motion, looking directly at him.
As his eyes met her blue ones, lust shot through him like lightning. Her mouth dropped at the shock of being watched. Then she smiled, revealing sexy white teeth.
He smiled back, mentally telling his cock to relax for a few more minutes.
This was looking promising already.
Both men turned to see where her attention had gone. The one with ruby red hair glared fire at him. The blond, who looked like he could be her brother, nudged his friend with his elbow. It worked and the riled up kid turned his attention back to the conversation they were having with the woman.
Mike caught sight of a crescent-moon birthmark on the blond man's right cheek. He froze.
Werewolf.
What was a werewolf doing in this bar?
Curious, Mike attempted to dip into their thoughts. Something he usually tried to avoid, but he had had enough alcohol to take care of ethical apprehension.
He couldn't get far into any of their heads. Figured.
The woman and the punk rocker kid may or may not be wolves, but they were definitely something. Rocker Kid and Twin Brother were also adamant that he stay the hell away from the woman. He could tell that much without seeing into their heads.
Hopes of hot, sweaty, fleshy sex shot to shit, Mike returned to his drink.
Bloodthirsty thoughts—like someone was hungry enough to kill and eat the corpse—slithered through Mike’s head. He leapt from his chair just as it exploded and fiery splinters showered around him.
The patrons screamed, shoving their chairs back with a screech as they swarmed to the exit, pushing against each other in an effort to squeeze out of the suddenly too small doors.
Mike rolled to his knees and lifted his head. Another ball of fire, much like the first, flew at him like a meteor.
He rolled to the side, hearing the crash before he saw the hole it blew into the counter behind him. Flaming wood chips flew into his face like burning matches. He shielded his eyes with his arm.
He took shelter behind one of the overturned tables, put his back to it. His hand went for his gun holster and found it missing.
Oh, yeah. Vacation. No weapons. Son of a bitch.
The laughing voice of his attacker made him grit his teeth. "You will not escape me this time."
This time? "Listen pal, I’m not sure what your problem
is, but I've never seen you before in my life." Which was true, in fact. He had yet to see what the guy looked like at all. He was too busy getting out of the way of heavy fire.
Mike lifted himself enough to gaze over the table. No sign of any patrons injured or otherwise. Maybe someone called the local law enforcement. Good.
He couldn't see his attacker. Bad.
He had to move. There weren't many places a man could hide in such a small place, but he stayed low as he made his way back to the bar.
The suspect was still out of sight. Mike strained his ears but detected no sounds of footsteps. He snatched his black Stetson from the floor and returned it to its rightful place on his head. The fact that it hadn't been burned in all the blasting was a miracle. It was his favorite hat.
The hairs of the back of his neck fizzed and stood on end.
"A thousand years and you still haven't changed."
Mike spun and launched his heavy fist at the ratty voice whispering into his ear, hitting only air.
He unclenched his hand and stared stupidly at the empty space.
Right. The guy had magic. Mike should've seen this coming, but the ability to appear and disappear like that wasn't common.
"You must be a pretty strong guy to do magic like that," Mike called out.
A long, pointed shard of wood from a bar stool sat on what was left of the bar. He picked it up and held it close, ready to use it if needed. "Must have a lot practice. Years of honing the craft."
He didn't believe for a second what this psychopath said about a thousand years. Even vampires didn’t live so long. Mike had come across a few crazies in his career, none of which have ever believed they were immortal.
"No matter how many times I kill you, you always return."
Mike spun again, holding the stake out to strike but this time the man stood well out of reach, not bothering to teleport himself anywhere.
Now that Mike could see him, he could say with complete certainty that he was not familiar with him.
The man was short, around five-five, with thinning, black hair that he gelled over his balding head. Loose-fitting, black robes hung over his body like something out of Harry Potter. He linked his long fingers together in front of him, staring calmly, as though the destruction lying around his feet didn’t exist.
Mike’s body remained tense, waiting for a fight. "Where did you come from?"
"As I expected, you remember nothing. You never do."
He glared and bared his teeth. "Who the hell are you? You're attacking a Griffon City cop. The law doesn't look kindly on that."
The suspect shrugged. "Only if we are in that particular city. It is to my understanding that men of the law who hail from cities that do not exist are not men of the law outside of them."
Shit.
The small man in black pulled a round, fist sized stone from the folds of his robe. It glowed in his hand and he stared at it lovingly. Mike knew it could only mean trouble.
"So many years have passed since she left us. I can still remember her face, but you cannot. You can never understand why we continue with this game."
Mike inched closer while the man in black spoke into the stone. If he could apprehend him, fine. If not, then at least he would be close enough to get some decent hits in.
"It's the full moon tonight. Perhaps, if I kill you while under the moon she will return. I've never tried that before."
She? Like a vortex that he was being sucked into, Mike was pulled against his will into a vision.
It was him. Or, at least, a man who looked a lot like him. The differences were noticeable though.
His hair was longer, reaching his shoulders, and the clothes were old and worn. Practically rags. Medieval. Tunic, hose and leather boots that were not properly sewn.
He stood in a clearing surrounded by trees in the moonlight. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stood before him. She glowed like a Goddess. Their hands clasped together, and the way they gazed into each other’s eyes made their feelings apparent.
It was the woman from the bar. The one who'd been sitting with the Punk Rocker kid and her Twin Brother.
Mike blinked and shook his head, freeing himself from the image. He'd figure out what it meant later.
Mike tucked the pointed end of his weapon away and lunged to tackle the man. A shadowy figure leaped at him mid-way to his target, catching him in the air and pushing him to the cement floor.
Mike punched desperately, missing his mark each time. Could he be that fast? He punched again, his hand sailing right through the head of the image like smoke. The shadowy figure actually was a shadow. Mike was fighting something he couldn’t touch.
Another shadow took the shape of a human, captured his wrist and wrestled the stake from his hand while another grabbed his ankles and held them securely to the floor.
Mike strained his muscles, fighting against them until his face burned with the effort. To no avail, they were too strong for him, holding him down like he was nothing. Quite an accomplishment considering his size and build.
"I am your Lord, Hadrian Vaughan. And you, you are my servant. Struggle all you like, it will not do you any good. These creatures can touch but cannot be touched, and they will only obey my command."
Mike hated the calm note in the man's voice, how he stared down at him impassively. He wanted to punch him just to see the reaction. "Then command for them to release me before I make you regret it. I am not your servant."
Hadrian sniffed loudly, waving a limp hand at his shadow soldiers. "Take him outside."
Mike was lifted in the air by his hands and feet. His violent struggles were like a child struggling against a parent for all the good they did. "Stop it! I'm not who you think I am!"
"You never are." Hadrian muttered as Mike was carried to the now vacant parking lot and set down in the center.
Please, God, let someone have phoned the cops.
His hands and feet were pressed into the asphalt. He groaned as rocks cut into his flesh and his circulation was cut off. Again, without meaning to, his thoughts wandered into the mind of his attacker turned kidnapper.
He saw Hadrian in the same black clothes with the same uncaring look on his pinched face holding the same round stone. However, the stone wasn’t glowing. He stood over a dying man.
Again, the man looked like Mike, but this version was different from the medieval one. He was tall with broad shoulders and shortly cropped, black hair. The tight breeches tucked into leather boots and waist coat suggested that the victim had either just come from a costume party or been killed in the regency era.
The man turned on his back and coughed blood, red speckles dotting his face. Mike forgot to breathe as he saw himself die.
"No!" Mike was yanked from his vision when the shadow hands left him. He shot to his feet, ready to fight but was blinded by a piercing light in his eyes.
"Come on!" A woman's voice screamed to him. Though red spots colored his eyes, he followed the sound of her voice. A hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. Through his leather jacket he felt small, feminine fingers, and though they were incredibly strong, he knew not to attack.
He forced his eyes to open wider. At first he could only make out a small black silhouette, then a curly head of blonde hair. As his vision returned, he recognized the woman from the bar.
She had a powerful, huge flashlight in her hand and was directing its beam at the shadow men.
They advanced, she hit them with the light and they retreated. Advance, light, retreat. Nifty trick.
"Who are you?" hHe demanded.
"Don't you sound grateful? I'm the one saving your ass!"
Mike's eyes searched for Hadrian.
“He killed me. I saw him kill me.” But no, it was impossible. The man in the vision was a look alike.
Mike was going to bring that weasel-faced warlock to justice for it.
“He killed you? What did you say?”
Mike ignored her. He hadn’t realized he
spoke out loud.
Hadrian struggled on his back, clawing, twisting and fighting against the jaws of a grey wolf. Too distracted by the teeth to use his magic.
The glowing orb was thrown from his hands in the struggle. Mike ran away from the safety of the girl with the powerful flashlight and snatched it up.
"Thanks, pal." He ducked as one of the shadows leaped for him. Hadrian screamed his rage, but Mike ignored him, too busy dodging the rest of the shadows until he made it back beside his rescuer.
An arrest would have to wait until he could figure out how to get beat those shadows.
"Are you crazy? What did you leave for?" sShe screamed, still fighting against the onslaught of shadow men who got back up as soon as she knocked them down.
He couldn't explain it but, if the stone in his hand had something to do with Hadrian's power to kill, he had to take it. "I went to get this."
He put the rock under her nose and she froze the second her eyes landed on it.
It still glowed in his hand. Looking to see what had her so transfixed, he saw the crescent moon engraved in the round orb.
One of the shadows slinked up to her side. She was so drawn to the stone that she didn't see it. He grabbed her arms and thrust her around so the beam of light hit the creature. The shadow disintegrated as though it had been melted with a laser.
Her chest heaved like she’d just ran a marathon. "Thanks," she breathed.
"Anytime."
The screech of tires drew them from the fighting as a red truck fishtailed through the small army of shadows, temporarily dissipating them. It stopped directly in front of Mike and his new best friend.
Before the driver flashed on the high beams, Mike caught sight of the red haired kid with the dragon tattoo.
He stuck his head out the window. "Get in!"
The woman ran to the truck and Mike obediently followed. He put it back in drive and yelled out the window again. "Westley! Get over here!"
