The Legend of the Werewolf

by Mandy Rosko

  “Just answer the question.”

  He opened his mouth, then blinked when part of his memory came up blank. "He said his name was Hadrian … something," he added reluctantly.

  She raised a delicate eyebrow at him. "Thought you were a cop?"

  Mike clenched his teeth. "I am."

  "Wouldn't knowing his last name be kind of important? Aren’t you trained to remember that kind of thing no matter what?"

  He couldn't believe her. He wanted to wrap his hands around her tiny, pretty neck and strangle her.

  "I'm sorry but having my skull bludgeoned with a rock makes a few things blurry. I'll remember it eventually." He wasn’t about to remind her that he’d been buzzed from his drinks as well.

  Annie nodded. If she was sorry for attacking him, she didn't look it. She tucked a strand of that thick, curly hair behind her ear.

  It would be so much easier to hate her if she wasn't so damn gorgeous. "You wouldn't be keeping me here if you didn't think I could do something for you. Does this guy owe you money? Did he wrong you or your pack? Threaten you?"

  Her face became hot. Bingo. He hit the nail on the head.

  He smirked, righted his legs and clasped his hands together. Leaning forward, he became a cop again. "Alright. What he do? I'll call a colleague of mine back home. If he's hurt anyone you can file a report and I'll find and arrest him."

  "It'd be a hard thing to do considering how far away from home you are. What would you do if another cop pulled you over and saw him in your back seat in handcuffs?"

  Damn. He hated how this kept coming up, more so that everyone had valid points.

  Outside of Griffon City, he wasn’t cop. In fact, his badge was as good as an accessory on a Halloween costume.

  It was one of the reasons the Shepard’s were so hard to catch. As hunters and killers of just about anything paranormal, they knew perfectly well to stay away from Griffon City and its police force contained there.

  Griffon City couldn’t be found on any map. Anyone on a road trip, anyone normal, always wound up driving right by it without realizing it. Technically, the city didn’t exist to normal people. And, if it didn’t exist, then neither did its laws.

  "I'll think of something," he hissed.

  “Don’t bother. Even if you were a real cop,” he bristled, she ignored it, “I doubt he’s still in our realm.”

  Now he blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “The Shadow Land. It’s where he goes since his monsters can’t come out in the daytime.”

  She couldn’t be serious.

  "That stone, the one he had with him? Do you know what that was?” She looked around, ignoring his are-you-crazy stare. “Crap, I think my Grandpa took it."

  Guess she was serious. "I remember what it looks like, and no, I've never seen anything like it. I was going to ask you and your friends what it was when you hit me in the head with it." He gingerly scratched the area, wincing at the tender lump he found there.

  Her face went red again and she ducked her head. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd agree to come if I asked."

  "Ask anyway." Life would’ve been so much easier if he just rented a room back at that bar and got her up there to bounce around on the mattress with him before that freak Hadrian made his entrance. Being kidnapped was a real mood killer.

  "Have you ever heard of the legend of the first werewolf?"

  "Does it have anything to do with why you're holding me against my will?"

  She nodded, running her tongue over her teeth. "Kind of, yes."

  He sighed. "Alright, yes." Working as a cop in a city filled with witches, warlocks and other creatures that supposedly didn't exist, meant he needed the basic knowledge of their histories and origins.

  He wasn't an expert, but he'd heard the story. "Some poor guy falls in love with the Moon Goddess. Since she could only come to earth on a full moon, an evil sorcerer decided to change him into a raging wolf on those nights so they could never be together."

  "It's like that, yeah," Annie said, clearing her throat. Her face became a deeper shade of red with every breath she took. "Anyway, uh, this might not make any sense to you, but I think that man who attacked you, Hadrian, did it because he thinks you’re Luna's lover."

  A half-laugh bubbled from his throat before he realized she wasn’t kidding. He stopped and stared at her, his mouth gaping open. "You're out of your mind."

  She glared, ocean blue eyes flashing. "If I'm right, it means he's the sorcerer from the story and you're the reincarnation of the world's first werewolf."

  THREE

  They were crazy, the whole lot of them. And he was leaving. Snatching his Stetson from the coffee table, Mike secured it on his head and made for the door.

  "Where are you going?" Annie grabbed his arm and spun him around.

  The force of her strength shocked him. Damn, he needed to stop seeing her as a small woman and recognize her as the powerful werewolf she is. Especially, if he had any intention of making it out of here.

  She said they were on her pack master's ranch. How many more werewolves were around him aside from the giant outside?

  He grabbed her hands and extracted them from his person, trying, but failing, to ignore how gentle and soft they felt against his calloused skin.

  Fuck. This wasn’t what he needed right now. "Listen, no offense or anything, but you're as crazy as that guy who attacked me if that's what you think. You and this entire pack. I'm leaving, and you're not going to stop me."

  Her eyes brightened like a neon blue sign. She bared her teeth at him.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

  "I'm not crazy and it's not a stupid story."

  "I never said—"

  "That's what over half the werewolf population believes, you know that? It's not just a story to them. It's the story of our existence. How we came into the world."

  "That's fine," he said, interrupting her rant. "But that doesn't mean I believe it. I'm not a werewolf."

  "You don't need to be!"

  A knock sounded on the wooden door behind them just before Brock's voice came through. "Princess? You alright?"

  "Fine,." sShe called, glaring at Mike. "Just arguing. I’ll call you when I need you."

  He raised a brow at the nickname, remembering before he passed out that the kid with the blood-red, spiked hair called her that as well.

  "That some kind of joke? Everyone here thinks you're a princess so you have to get what you want?"

  "Screw you. You have no idea what's going on here." She stopped, her cheeks coloring. "And that's not the point."

  "Then what is the point?"

  "You're insensitivity to an entire culture."

  "Well, when that culture decides to kidnap me, I draw the line on where I hand over my respect."

  Anne fisted her hands in her hair and made a half-screaming sound.

  Then, in an impressive show of self-control, she released her hair, collected herself and breathed easy. "You still don't get it. If you are who I think you are then your life is in danger. You should be thanking me. He's been hunting you for a millennia."

  Mike stopped himself from saying anything else. The memory of Hadrian's crazed monologue returning like a punch in the gut.

  His talk of always being the same. A thousand years. Then Mike’s visions; the sight of himself, wearing strange clothes.

  In one vision, he stood in front of a beautiful woman. The next was of him dying...

  “I’ve had visions, but—”

  She cut in. “What did you say? Visions?”

  There was no way this was possible. He shook his head. "There's been a mistake. I want to talk to your pack master."

  “Don’t backtrack. You said you were having visions.”

  He crossed his arms. He owed her no explanation about what went on in his head. “So what?”

  “I heard you muttering to yourself about dying back at the bar.” Her eyes grew round. “I bet they were memories.”

  Likely.
He usually did see memories when he had his visions. But were they his or Hadrian’s?

  Mike’s lips thinned. “I still want to see your pack master.”

  She nodded, crossing her arms. "Fine. We can talk to him later since he’s probably sleeping now."

  "Like I care." Mike slammed the door open and walked out.

  His eyes were immediately drawn to Brock, who stood leaning against the wall, knee bent so his bare foot was flat against the brick. He stared off into the purple and pink East, as though waiting for the sun, before making contact with Mike.

  The man smiled. Mike couldn’t tell if it was meant to be pleasant or threatening.

  Worn jeans and a loose, orange, plaid button shirt didn’t hide the guy’s ‘roid muscles.

  If Annie was so strong with her small size, this guy must be a tank.

  Annie stormed out with him. "You don't understand. I already woke him up and he was mad enough at me then. If you demand to see him after he just got back into bed, he'll come after me."

  Mike looked at her and saw the genuine panic in her eyes.

  Every pack had different laws when it came to their own specific group. Did he stumble into one of the more violent ones? "He wouldn't hurt you, would he?"

  Her face became pained. "No, but I've already made him mad today and I'd like to not do so again."

  "So, then, tell him you couldn't keep me away. Where is your pack master?" hHe asked Brock since he couldn’t get an answer from Annie.

  With a thick finger, he pointed straight ahead. "In the main house."

  Mike turned, and, sure enough, there it was. Hardly a little cabin like the one Mike had just exited, but a stylish two story house made from logs with hanging lanterns still glowing on the wraparound porch. Embarrassment suffocated him.

  Great work, officer. "Right, well, there're some lights on, so I guess I won't be waking him."

  "No, wait, please." Annie ran ahead of him, but he refused to stop so she was forced to walk backward just to face him.

  Brock trailed behind, seemingly unconcerned.

  He couldn't help but sympathize with her paranoia. Wolves were known to go so far as to treat their pack master's like Kings in some instances.

  There was a great amount of respect for the werewolf who could lead a pack towards peace and happiness without letting the general population know of them.

  Being rich enough to own a lot of land for privacy was one of the main causes for such peace.

  He wished his actions wouldn’t cause her such discomfort. But he couldn’t sit around and wait. "Calm down. I'm not going to start any trouble. I'll be polite, ask a few questions and then be on my way."

  "Might be for the best," Brock said.

  Mike looked behind him as the man shrugged his gigantic shoulders. "It will seem like a peace offering, show that both sides mean no harm."

  Mike smiled and faced Annie. "See? Even your friend here agrees with me."

  "Yeah, but—"

  “I’ll be in and out,” he assured her. He trotted up the stairs to the expensive cabin and knocked on the door.

  An unhappy voice inside yelled for him to enter.

  Mike shrugged and opened the door. The pack master likely thought the knocker was one of his own.

  "Oh God, oh God," Annie chanted as she entered the mudroom behind him. Brock remained outside.

  Mike was about to walk right in, searching for the pack master, until Annie grabbed him. "Take your shoes off!"

  "For the love of—" He rolled his eyes and kicked them off. He tossed them on the rack before entering the main area of the house.

  “Do me a favor,” Mike muttered, though Brock could still hear with those wolfy ears of his. He should’ve asked this when they were still alone. “Don’t tell anyone what I said back there. About my visions.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Annie.”

  “Fine,” she snapped.

  The mudroom led into the sitting room where two older men and one younger, the man with the crescent moon birthmark on his cheek, stood around a coffee table having an animated discussion.

  Had they heard his request to Annie? He tried dipping into their thoughts, but it was all fuzzy. Like a radio that couldn’t find a station. Not one human in the group.

  The older man, who looked like an aged version of the guy with the birthmark, turned. His blue eyes betrayed no surprise at seeing the stranger in his home, but they did travel up and down his body.

  Mike was being sized up for strength.

  "Awake, I see."

  The other two men turned, surprise on their faces at seeing him. Mike decided that his request to Annie wasn’t heard.

  Mike stepped forward and offered his hand. "I guess you're in charge here."

  He took Mike's hand and gave it a single, firm shake. Mike fought not to cringe against the sharpness shooting through his hand as the bones inside scraped together.

  Yeah, this guy wanted him to know who was in charge alright.

  "My name is Gordon Stone, this is my son, Westley." He pointed his hand towards the younger man with the birthmark.

  Westley barely made eye contact and sent him a limp wave. “Sorry about kidnapping you.”

  Mike didn’t reply.

  "I believe you’ve already met Antoinette Hart.”

  Mike turned to stare at her. Her full name was Antoinette? Made sense, he supposed. A princess name for a princess.

  “And, this, is Bill Mowbray," Gordon said, nodding to the oldest member of the group, the man wearing a night robe. "He's kind of our expert on the origin legend."

  "Mike Carter," Mike said, not willing to offer any more information about himself just yet.

  Annie didn’t reveal his visions. "Gordon, I'm so sorry, but he insisted on seeing you," she said instead.

  Gordon held up his hand for silence, then pointed to the glass coffee table.

  Mike trailed his gaze to where he was pointing. When he first got in the room, he thought it was one of those candles in an oval stone cup. Now that he actually looked, he saw it for what it really was.

  The moon stone. Glowing softly in the early dawn.

  The man wearing the housecoat picked it up. He held it lightly, as though afraid to get his fingerprints on it. "Started doing that shortly after I left."

  "What's it doing?" Mike asked.

  He shrugged. "If it really is the moon stone, then it's calling for its creator."

  Mike couldn't believe anyone was entertaining this idea. "Its creator? Luna?"

  "Correct."

  Annie peeked over his shoulder to look, then shot her gaze to Gordon. "Does this mean you believe it?"

  Gordon rolled his eyes impatiently and didn't answer.

  "If it's calling her then why doesn't she answer?" Mike asked. "If I really am the reincarnation of the first werewolf then she would come to me."

  Gordon half crossed his arms while scratching his chin. "What do you think, Bill?"

  The old man shifted his robe and sat down in one of the leather chairs. "Well, the story goes that Luna gave the stone to her lover so she could find him every full moon. But it was stolen from him when he was cursed.

  “One reason she does not appear now would be that the moon isn’t full yet. Another, is that you are not the reincarnation of our father wolf."

  Mike sighed, relief washing through him. "Then it's not me."

  "Grandpa, you believe in this more than anyone, why wouldn't you think it's him?" Annie faced him, her eyes demanding.

  This man was her grandfather? Made sense, he supposed. If Bill Mowbray was an expert then Annie would have grown up hearing about this legend. Believing in it more than anyone.

  Which put him in trouble if the wolves wanted to keep him here.

  "Why are you so eager to think that it’s me?" Mike couldn't keep the snarl from his voice.

  She glanced his way, pursed her lips as though wishing to speak, then returned her eyes to her grandfather.

  Mike m
ade a mental note to not push her in a room full of people. She probably wanted to yell out to everyone about his visions.

  The old man sighed and gave his explanation. "Most people accept the story that the warlock eventually found and killed his enemy out of spite. That the cursed lover was, then, reincarnated, and t.

  “To ensure that he could never come back to claim Luna, Hadrian searched out anyone who looked like the man he’d cursed, and then killed them."

  The old man shook his head, eyes lighting up with the passion of the story. Mike couldn't help his rising curiosity.

  "Another version claims that the spell used to turn him into a werewolf went wrong. That, along with changing into a wild animal every full moon, he also gained immortality. The warlock, unaware of this, thought that he eventually died of old age, and went on to kill anyone who looked like his enemy, over and over again anyway. I firmly believe in this version. I am just as firm in my belief that if you were the father of all werewolves, you would know it."

  Hearing there was a mad man out there who wanted him dead because he looked like someone wasn't much better than if Hadrian wanted him dead because he actually was the man he was looking for.

  Which story was true? He held back a groan. Christ. He was starting to believe them.

  "Do you know the man who attacked you?" Bill asked. "This could easily be a mistake, on his part as well as ours."

  "How do you mean?"

  Bill held out the softly glowing stone so that the crescent moon was visible. "Just because your attacker had this doesn't make him the warlock from the legend. He could've stolen it, inherited it, be insane enough to think he's the warlock when he's not. This could be a fake and it most likely is."

  Mike nodded, following his thoughts. "Alright, I get it, I get it. He said his name was Hadrian, I can't remember his last name." And it irked him to no end that he couldn't. He sent Annie a small glare, entirely blaming her.

  Bill's already pale face went whiter. "Vaughan?"

  Like a light clicking on, Mike realized that was the name. "You know it. You...oh, shit."

  The light clicked off. If the name was familiar then it meant that Hadrian was either who he said he was, or just knew his werewolf mythology better than the average wolf.