[Demonata 08] - Wolf Island

by Darren Shan - (ebook by Undead)

“It’s hopeless,” Prae mutters, but aims her gun too.

  Tell them to stop, the Kah-Gash says abruptly.

  “Stop!” I gasp. As they look at me questioningly, I hold up a hand for silence and concentrate on my mysterious inner voice.

  If they fire now, there will be chaos and you’ll all die. These beasts have become an organised pack. You must use that against them.

  “How?” I ask aloud.

  Fight them on their own terms.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The voice sighs contemptuously. Do I have to do everything for you? Before I can answer, it says curtly, Unleash the wolf.

  “Which one?” I frown.

  The one inside you, fool!

  “I don’t—”

  We haven’t time to argue. I said you’d need to obey me without question. They’re closing in. Unleash the wolf. Give it free rein. Trust me.

  I hesitate. The werewolf within my skin is something I fear completely. I’ve gone to great efforts to keep it imprisoned. In my nightmares it has often burst free and caused havoc, killing all around me. I’m determined not to let those dark dreams become reality. The Kah-Gash understands that. It helped me push the werewolf down deep when I didn’t know how to do it myself. So why is it telling me to release the beast now? Is this part of the Shadow’s plan? Will I play into the hands of the Demonata if I—

  Last chance, the Kah-Gash warns as the werewolves creep to within six or seven metres of us.

  Cursing silently, I reach inside with magic and tear at all the barriers which I’ve put in place over the last year, ripping them to shreds, pulling down the wall of safeguards which has protected me from my more beastly, bloodthirsty half. The wolf at my core is startled, suspecting a trap. Then, as I encourage it forward, it realises this is real and leaps to the surface, howling with delight.

  My temperature shoots up, my skin tightens, my bones seem to crack, snapping away from each other, thrusting upwards and outwards.

  I fall to the ground, crying out with pain. Vaguely aware of Meera shouting, trying to help, and Timas roaring, asking for orders to fire. I shake my head. My eyes are hardening. There’s blood in my mouth. I raise a trembling hand and stare at it. The nails lengthen while I watch, fingers curling inward, hairs sprouting from my knuckles. Then my sight flickers and blurs.

  My gums split, my teeth grow, my lips extend. I cough, lungs altering, heart pounding faster than it ever did before. Muscles rip and strain, then knot again. White noise fills my ears, threatens to deafen me, then fades, leaving me with a better sense of hearing than ever.

  “He’s turning into one of them!” Timas cries, open panic in his voice. I sense him levelling his gun at me.

  “No!” Meera shouts, grabbing the barrel of his rifle, jerking it sideways.

  Sight returns. Colours are different, not as keenly defined, but my field of vision has expanded and I can see more sharply, as if viewing the world through a magnifying glass. I spot Timas and Meera struggling. Prae Athim is gawping at me. The werewolves have stopped and are staring. Some paw the ground, eager to sink their fangs into us, but held in place out of fear of the dominant pack.

  Something howls, a cry of jubilation, triumph and violence. As the muscles in my throat constrict, I realise the howling comes from me. As that understanding sinks in, I get to my feet, arms flexing, and gaze down at my new body.

  My clothes are ripped and falling off my limbs. I’m naked, but I’m not bothered. What need have animals of clothes?

  I howl again with savage exultation. Then I look for the group leader. Finding him, I chuckle throatily and step forward. With a challenging grunt, I beckon him on.

  The werewolf snarls. I can smell his uncertainty. He’s not sure if I’m human or wolfen. I howl again, clearing matters up. His eyes narrow and, with a howl of his own, he charges. He’s huge, arms like trunks, but only slightly bigger than me. I plant my feet, twist and drive my shoulder into the werewolf’s chest.

  He’s knocked to the floor. Around him, the creatures wail and screech. As he rises, furious, I kick him hard in the side of his head. He falls again. I’m on him before he can rise a second time. Setting my teeth on his throat, I bite. Blood fills my mouth and I drink greedily. This is what the werewolf within me has been waiting for all its life. I could squat here and sup until the sun sets.

  But the other dominant werewolves have different ideas. Seeing its chance for glory, one darts forward and latches on to my arm. Sinks its fangs deep into my flesh. I break free of the dead werewolf with a muffled cry of pain, then wrench my arm away and head-butt the challenger. Its skull cracks and it drops.

  Another attacks, gibbering madly. I grab it by its crotch and throat, lift it up, hold it over my head, then toss it into the pack. Those it lands on go wild and tear it to pieces.

  A fourth werewolf steps forward, the largest yet, with the widest shoulders and longest fangs. A female. She looks edgy. If she was a true leader, she would have led from the beginning. I think she’s the strongest creature on the island, but she lacks courage. She’s only challenging me now because she thinks she has to, that I’ll work my way through the dominant members of the pack, one by one, to ensure complete command.

  I leap at the werewolf. She lashes out. I let her fist connect with the side of my head, then laugh. I throw a few punches, gnarled hands flying faster than they did when I was human. The challenger stumbles away from me, dazed. I grab her head, jerk it back, fasten my teeth on her throat… then growl.

  The werewolf whimpers. I growl again and the whimpering stops. I release her and shove her away—alive. The beast stands, head lowered, subjugated. I glare at the others in the dominant pack, then sweep my gaze over those they command. I roar a question, but not a single one answers.

  Returning to the body of the original leader, I lower my head and chew at his throat, leaving myself open to attack. When the werewolves hold their ground, I know there will be no more challenges. Standing again, I look around victoriously, taking it all in… the cowed werewolves, those I’ve killed, the shocked faces of the three humans. I fill with a sense of power and joy. Raising my head to the sky, I howl long and loud, and all around me the werewolves howl back in obedient, respectful response.

  They’re my pack now.

  THE TURNED WORM

  “Grubbs?” one of the women gasps, eyes filled with horror. “Is that you?”

  I crook my neck and stare at her. There’s no Grubbs here. Werewolves don’t need names. Tags like that are a human weakness. I think about killing her for daring to address me that way.

  “Grubbs?” she says again, taking a hesitant step towards me.

  A werewolf howls, warning her off. I roar at it angrily—I can protect myself. It lowers its head and whines. I fix my eyes on the woman. My stomach rumbles. The blood of the previous leader is like honey on my lips. But how much sweeter would the blood of a soft human be?

  “Meera!” the other woman snaps. “Don’t get too close. He might—”

  “Grubbs won’t hurt me,” the one called Meera says confidently.

  I snarl at her arrogance and raise a claw to rip off her face. No one has the right to make decisions for me. This woman’s made her last mistake. If I let her get away with it, the others will think they have leeway too. I have to kill her, for the good of the pack, to maintain order.

  “Don’t be silly,” Meera says, smiling weakly at my upraised hand. “You won’t hurt me. What would Dervish say if you did? You remember Dervish, don’t you?”

  I growl uncertainly, hand held above me like a hammer. Dervish. The one who guarded me when I needed guarding. Even the wildest beasts have respect for those who rear them. But Dervish isn’t here. He’s in trouble. He needs help. He’s…

  “Put down your guns,” Meera says, dropping hers and crossing her arms.

  “Are you sure about this?” the tall man asks.

  “What have we got to lose?”

  He shrugs and carefully la
ys down his weapon. The other woman gulps, but follows suit. All three stand shivering, unarmed, at my mercy. I feel the eyes of the pack on me. They have the scent of humans in their nostrils. Their mouths are wet with lust, as is mine. If I deny them their feed, my hold over them will crumble. A leader must do what’s right. Part of me wants to spare this trio, but mercy is a luxury I can’t afford. It’s time to block out the memories of my human past and…

  Don’t be an idiot, a voice says. My eyes flick around with fury, looking for the one who dares speak to me in such a manner. But then I realise the voice is coming from within. You’re a mix of human and werewolf, cemented by magic. You can make new rules.

  “But they’re hungry,” I reply silently. “I am too. We have to eat.”

  There’s plenty of food elsewhere, the voice says slyly and sends an image of the compound flashing through my brain.

  I grin wolfishly, then howl at the pack. They look dubious, so I howl again, fiercer than before, promising them the world, knowing they’ll turn on me if I fail to deliver. This time they roar excitedly in response. Those at the rear set off for the compound. Seconds later almost every werewolf on the cliff is streaking inland, eager to be among the first to the feast. Only several of the more advanced beasts hold their place at a commanding cry from me. These, the largest and smartest, will be my personal retinue. They’ll travel with me, to dispense my orders. In return, I’ll see that they enjoy the lion’s share of the spoils.

  I face the confused humans and growl softly, trying to communicate. Their expressions are blank—they can’t understand. Frowning, I remould the cords of my throat, allowing my face to melt back to something more like its original shape. My teeth retract and my lips soften. I have total control over this body. I realise now that I always did. I could have manipulated myself this way since birth if I hadn’t been so afraid of what I might turn into. I’m more than flesh and bone. I’m a spirit, a force, a power. I’m not shackled to any single form.

  “Grubbs?” Meera says, searching my eyes for traces of humanity.

  “You came this close to being eaten,” I mumble, eyeing her darkly.

  Meera’s face fills with relief. “You’re you!” she cries, throwing her arms around my broader, taller, twisted, hairier body.

  “What happened?” Prae asks, studying me with a mix of fascination and horror. “Did the werewolf explode within you?”

  “I unleashed it,” I explain shortly.

  “Are you human or werewolf?” Timas enquires politely.

  “Both.” I take a step back from Meera. Her eyes flicker down to my lower body and she raises an eyebrow. I don’t blush—werewolves know no shame—but I pick up my discarded trousers and tie them around my waist. “We don’t have much time,” I mutter. “We have to move fast.”

  “I take it we’re not jumping off the cliff now,” Meera comments wryly.

  “No.” I focus on Timas. “Can you get us back into the compound?”

  “Yes,” he says. “It will take a while, but—”

  “Work quickly,” I snap. “We’re hungry.” As the others stare at me, I turn from the sea and break into a trot, eager to feed.

  I feel more alive than ever. I’m sure I look awful, no better than any of the mutated werewolves I now command. But I don’t care. Looks have never mattered to me less. After all the stress of recent years, the struggle between human, wolf and Kah-Gash, I’ve finally found a happy balance. This is who I’m meant to be, not man, werewolf or magician—but this. A mix of all three, uniquely disfigured and warped. For the first time in my life I feel complete.

  Meera, Timas and Prae are nervous of me, and rightly so. If I turned on them, as I’m tempted to, they wouldn’t stand a chance. But I choose not to attack. These are my allies, and while I don’t feel like I need them anymore—except Timas, to get into the compound I honour our friendship. Besides, as the Kah-Gash pointed out, there are lots of others I can kill.

  The humans struggle to keep up, but I don’t make allowances. If they fall behind, they’ll have to fend for themselves. I control the werewolves, but I know instinctively that my hold over them is fragile. If I don’t maintain complete dominance, I’ll lose them.

  I can’t wait to get my teeth on Juni Swan’s throat.

  Revenge is what I’m focused on. I barely spare a thought for Dervish and the danger he might be in. All I care about is killing the she-fiend who betrayed us. When I’ve ripped her flesh from her bones and wallowed in her blood… then I can turn to other matters. Maybe. Unless I decide to stay here and become ruler of Wolf Island.

  The compound. Timas is hard at work on a security access screen. I smell the fear of the soldiers inside. They know we’re out here. Several of their finest technicians are united against Timas, playing cat and mouse games with him as if locking horns over a chess board. But he’s stripping away their defences, one by one. He’s better than they are. It’s just a matter of time before he outfoxes them.

  By concentrating on my senses of smell and hearing, I follow the movements of those nearest us. They’re lining the tight corridors, checking weapons, preparing to blast wildly at anything that comes through. They’re frustrated. If the designers had built slots into these walls, as they did in those at the sides, they could have mown us down. But an assault like this was never taken into account. The outer wall was meant to hold. The plan, if it fell, was to block off all other entrances to the compound, then escape by boats stored at the rear of the complex. After all, there was no way brainless werewolves could short-circuit the security systems.

  The soldiers could flee before we invade, and make a break for freedom. But they’ve been ordered to stand and fight. Juni doesn’t care about losses. It will probably amuse her to watch them die.

  She’s still there. She has a distinctive, rotting stench. She’s waiting for us deep within the compound. I don’t know why. Perhaps she thinks she can get the better of me. More fool her if she does.

  A couple of werewolves howl and others take up the cry. They’re growing impatient. They aren’t ready to mutiny yet, but they’re not far from it. Bending close to Timas, I growl, “A few more minutes. Then things get nasty.”

  “You can’t rush a job like this,” Timas replies calmly. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  “Go faster,” I snarl. “When they turn, I won’t be able to hold them. I’ll be the first they attack, but you won’t be far behind.”

  “Then we’d better hope time is on our side,” Timas chuckles, never looking up.

  “Leave him alone,” Meera snaps. “You’re distracting him.”

  “No he isn’t,” Timas says. “I can multitask.”

  “Do you think they know we’re here?” Prae asks, pressing an ear to the wall.

  I frown at such a ludicrous question, then remember that she doesn’t have the same sharp senses I do. “They know,” I tell her. “They’re waiting for us.”

  “Our forces will be cut down,” she says quietly, studying the werewolves. “It will be a massacre.”

  “Many will die,” I agree, “but not all. We’ll overwhelm them.”

  “But at such a cost…” Prae sighs. “Is it worth it? Maybe we should just take the boats and get out of here.”

  “They’d call in fresh troops,” Meera says. “They’d fire on the werewolves from the air and wipe them out—they couldn’t afford to leave them alive now that we know about Wolf Island. At least this way the beasts have a fair chance.”

  “I hate this,” Prae mutters. “It was never meant to end in a bloodbath. I wanted to save lives, not be responsible for wholesale slaughter.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have become a Lamb,” Meera says.

  Before Prae can respond, Timas whistles softly. “No more time for bickering. The gates of hell are about to open for business.”

  He presses a button. Panels slide apart. Werewolves howl and surge forward. A mass of guns discharge at the same time and the air turns red with blood.

 
THE SHAPE OF THINGS

  TO COME

  Dozens are slaughtered within seconds, torn to ragged, fleshy shreds by the frenzied fire of Juni Swan’s soldiers. But the stench of blood only drives the rest of us wilder. We push on without pause, leaping over the jerking bodies of the dead and dying, ignoring the peril, the bullets, the fallen. Not a single beast turns and runs.

  I’m among the pack, unable to restrain myself, risking all just to be one of the first to claim a human heart. It’s crazy. I should hold back and let them do my dirty work. But for a few mad moments I lose control. I press forward with the others, howling and bellowing, as much of a target as any other werewolf.

  Then we’re on the terrified soldiers, hacking at them, tearing guns from their hands, chowing down on their sweet, soft flesh and oh-so-chewable bones. Human screams are added to the cacophony of gunfire and howls. The line disintegrates beneath us. I’m past it before I know what’s happening, staring at an empty corridor. I have to stop, swivel and dive back into the fray to claim my victims and be part of the barbaric, bloody feast.

  I don’t know how much time passes. It could be seconds or minutes. All I’m aware of is the killing and feasting. My world becomes an endless pool of thick, salty blood, springy flesh, brittle bones, juicy inner organs. I butcher heartlessly, wolfishly. I don’t know how many. Bodies are tossed around and pulled apart like chicken wings at a party.

  When the bloodlust finally passes—when I’ve had my fill—my senses return. I spit out a mouthful of soggy flesh. I’m drenched in blood, my ears and head ringing with noise. I stare at my red, twisted hands and wait to feel disgust and shame. But nothing hits me. I’m neither appalled nor shocked. In this new form I have no delusions. I’m a killer. Whether a killer of demons, werewolves or humans… no matter. I’ve butchered with magic in the Demonata universe. Now I’ve murdered with my hands and teeth here. I feel no more for the people I’ve slaughtered than the demons I fried. To a beast like me, there’s no real difference.