by S Mays
“Where is she? Where’s my mom?” he demanded.
Bilford lowered his paper, revealing Chewy in his lap, happily licking eggs from the elderly man’s plate. “We were unable to locate your mother. I’m sorry for your loss, my boy. Your kin and friends were notified. The service for your father is tomorrow night. The funeral is the following morning. Our mortician will remove any evidence of what happened.”
“Just like that, huh? How did you explain this away? Why were those things there?” Sverre started into a tirade but was cut off by Bilford.
“I understand your anger. We are investigating how this could have happened. This may have been retaliation for Rilus. They may have been sent to your school to retrieve you. We don’t know if they somehow followed you, or...” Bilford paused.
“Or what?” Sverre asked.
“Or if perhaps we have a leak,” Bilford stated, looking around the table.
“Well, let’s go get them. Right now!” Sverre shouted, slamming his hands on the table, leaning over to stare Bilford in the eye.
Bilford returned the look without blinking. “I know you want revenge, Sverre. But this is a highly organized operation with hundreds of lives at risk. You do not simply barge into a pack of werewolves and ‘get them.’ In addition to your parents, two agents were killed while investigating the Rilus site the other night. We could have a major situation on our hands, here. Until we’ve figured out what’s going on, we need to wait and gather intelligence. We have several teams out looking for your mother, and the local authorities are also searching. As far as they are concerned, it was a home invasion gone wrong.”
Sverre looked at everyone gathered, pulled out a chair, sat down, and ate in silence. He wanted to smash the table to bits.
Sverre remained in a daze as the visitation and funeral came and went. He was aware of relatives and the few friends he hadn’t spoken to in ages patting him on the back or hugging him repeatedly. He must have heard, “I’m so sorry,” a hundred times.
The image of his father peacefully arranged in the soft confines of the casket was in stark contrast to the horrified visage on his face when Sverre had initially found him. That image kept popping into his mind. If only he had stayed the night, he might have prevented this. If only he hadn’t met Jessica, this might never have happened. He kept running through scenarios, attempting to find a solution that could have saved his parents. He wanted to immediately avenge his father and find his mother.
He vowed that whoever had done this would pay, and he would use the Order’s resources to find them.
CHAPTER NINE
The werewolf scouts pounded through the underbrush at a dizzying pace. After long minutes, they finally emerged in the clearing that they called home.
Several dozen primitive shacks huddled together in the center of a clearing in the woods, making up a small village. Vast mountain walls reared up behind the village, forming a natural barrier of protection. Barefoot, half-clothed children played in the dirt or chased each other between the huts. Villagers carrying deer carcasses and other prey turned to greet the two returning warriors. Several men worked to patch roofs and mend walls. Young ones carried wood and water. Pots of stew simmered over open fires, while whole racks of meat smoked in homemade smokers, tended to by the elderly.
The scouts bounded up to the largest dwelling. Two large guards barred their path.
“Move, fools! We must see Varulf!” one of the scouts shouted.
“Watch your tone, stripling. I do not take orders from scouts!” one of the guards said, his voice dripping with condescension. He moved to the side in order to block the door more completely.
“Let them pass,” said a voice from inside the house.
“You’d best watch yourselves. I don’t see Rilus with you,” the guard said as the two passed. He snapped his jaws close to the cringing scout’s ear.
The shack was modest inside. Basic cloth curtains, an old mattress and frame and a wood stove made up most of the contents. Various skulls adorned the walls, ranging from large wildcats to an enormous wolf’s skull. Two figures rested in the darkness, juxtaposed in their differences. A menacing werewolf larger and stronger than all the others rested peacefully against the slender human form of his mate.
On the mattress lay Varulf, leader of clan Cen’Ful. His huge frame bulged with muscle. He had light brown fur with gray intruding around the edges in areas. Dozens of scars lined his tough hide, evidence of hundreds of battles. Stories of his legendary strength were whispered throughout the village.
Many recalled that before the village was built, he had cleared the area himself. Towering trees were felled and huge boulders smashed to bits with his bare hands. If there was anything more terrifying than his physical form, it was his temper. To anger Varulf was to risk your life. Yet the scene in the hut was one of a beauty who had tamed the beast. Varulf’s large head lay across the lap of a beautiful woman.
Her hair was as pitch-black as night. Eyes that gleamed an iridescent blue looked fondly upon the creature that she caressed. The woman’s skin was as pale and brilliant as the moon. She ran her tongue over ruby-red lips that the guards knew might have been from lipstick or from a recent meal. It seemed his weight would crush her smaller form, but the guards knew she was far stronger than her human form would lead one to believe. Tarja was the second strongest wolf in the clan. The scouts bowed their heads and came down upon one knee in the presence of their lord chief and his mistress.
“Report, Janir,” the immense werewolf commanded.
“He was not there,” the scout stated, his head remaining bowed. He knew the look of rage he would find glaring back at him and decided to not tempt fate with eye contact. He heard Varulf stand, each foot thudding to the ground singularly, the echo reverberating off the shack’s walls and floors. He felt the pack leader’s gaze burning into the back of his skull and held his breath.
“So, the anonymous tip was a lie. I thought as much,” Varulf said calmly. The scout softly exhaled. “What did you find, Janir?”
“There was a human there, freshly killed. The marks looked to be from…a wolf,” Janir said, looking at his fellow scout with a sideways glance.
The sound of the roar reverberated throughout the village. Every member paused in their activities. Some of the younger ones darted for the nearby brush or behind their parents.
“You are stating a wolf killed the humans?” Varulf growled as he stood over the two trembling before him.
“T-the wounds looked to be from claw and fang… There was a scent…” Janir stuttered.
“Was it Rilus? Does he further shame our clan?”
“I-I don’t know. We did detect his scent, but it was very faint. He must have left hours before we arrived.”
“So, the traitor remains on the loose. The last thing we need is a stray pack member drawing attention to us,” Varulf stated, stroking his chin.
“Do not act hastily, my love,” Tarja said, getting to her feet and wrapping a pure white fur-lined cloak around her shoulders. “We do not want to do something rash that may attract the attention of Order agents. There may be more afoot than a simple Wild One. We need to tread carefully.”
“There is more...” the scout started. He knew his next words could determine whether he lived or died, but to withhold information from the pack leader guaranteed death.
“What more could there possibly be, Janir? You failed to bring me Rilus on two occasions, and instead you bring news that a problem we thought resolved could be rekindled,” Tarja asked, annoyed.
Janir trembled as beads of sweat gathered on his scalp. He swallowed a large breath of air before replying, “I’m sorry. There were two humans at the house. We think they were agents of the Order. They saw us. Th-the man bested us before we could react. His strength was unbelievable.”
Varulf spun on his heel and glared at the two. Before Janir could move, there was a flash of pain and suddenly he was outside, fifty feet from the cabin. The two
guards quickly moved away from the door as the pack leader emerged into the light. “Janir, you have failed me for the last time.”
Janir attempted to move, but his body merely spasmed in response. He suspected his neck was broken. Whimpering in the dust, tears streamed down his cheeks. Given time, he could heal, but he suspected he was out of time. Varulf started to move toward him, but a pale, slender arm emerged from the darkness of the shack and rested upon his shoulder.
“Love, let him be. You have punished him in front of the pack. Janir is loyal. We have too few skilled wolves left in the pack as it is. Killing a healthy pack member will not help us. The news he brings is grave. If it was the Order and they discover us, we will need every warrior we have to defend the pack. Do not let rage guide your actions. There will be time enough to let the fury consume you in combat,” the soft voice whispered from the darkness.
“You...are correct,” Varulf stated, visibly attempting to rein in his rage. “See to him,” he said to no one in particular.
One of the young women ran over and pulled Janir from the dirt and into the shade of a tree as another brought some water. They knew the best thing they could do for his health was remove him from Varulf’s sight.
Varulf stormed back into the hut and sat on the edge of the mattress. The frame creaked under his immense weight despite the reinforcement of numerous cinder blocks under it.
Tarja leapt behind him and began to massage his neck. She realized if the tension was not eased quickly, disastrous consequences could result. “They will be coming for us now,” she stated. “We should begin packing tonight.”
“I will not run again. What use is it? They will know where we are. They have their satellites and mystics and other ways. The Master promised to keep us hidden, but with so many humans dead, they will not ignore us any longer. It may be days, it may be weeks, but they will come. Our best chance of survival is to fight. I am not prey; I am the hunter.”
She thought frantically as she kneaded muscles that were literally as strong as steel cables. She knew that if they were led to combat, it would be the end of the pack. A few might escape, but they would be hunted down eventually. It didn’t matter if they killed the first agents that came; more always followed. Their weapons grew more fearsome each time. In the past, they’d had nothing to fear. Swords and pitchforks were no match against the fury of fangs and claws. That was long ago. The Order specialized in eliminating their kind. “We could ask the Master for help,” she offered.
Varulf leapt to his feet and spun upon her, his muzzle and bared fangs inches from her face. “Him? You’ve seen that he can’t be trusted. I suspect this was his design from the start. To ask him for help would mean becoming a slave again. It is better that we all die!”
She had feared that this would be his reaction. It would take careful planning to lead Varulf and the pack in the direction she wanted them to go. The events had been set in motion. There was no turning back now.
Varulf rose and paced the room, his clawed fingers clenching and unclenching involuntarily. The thought of combat thrilled him, she knew. It set her heart pounding, too. It had been years since the pack had fought in unison. Her fangs and claws grew at the thought, and her eyes began to glow. She calmed herself and let the hunting instincts flow out of her.
No, it would take cunning to come out of this alive, not battle fury. She removed her cloak and lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. Varulf stopped his pacing and stared at her supple form stretched across the bed. The thoughts of battle had set his heart racing. She turned her head to regard him and knew the look upon his face. She shifted into her wolf form and motioned for him to join her. Strategy could wait.
CHAPTER TEN
Sverre slowly exhaled as he took aim. His breath condensed into a thick cloud in the cold morning air. He pulled the trigger and rocked back slightly as the gun’s bark echoed across the landscape. One thousand yards down the range, the bullet sailed through the target.
“That’s friggin’ amazin’,” Sam exclaimed, peering through binoculars. “Another damn bullseye!”
“He seems to be adept at most every weapon we give him,” Bilford stated, peering out from the house toward the firing range.
“Some of us have to work to be that good,” Jessica muttered, turning away.
Bilford chuckled before breaking into a light cough. “Don’t be so sour, my girl. You could give him a run for his money in most any contest.”
Jessica knew he was just humoring her. Still, it made her feel good that Sverre had made so much progress over the months under her and Sam’s tutelage. He had pushed himself daily, exhausting his trainers and sparring partners before himself most days. At night, he worked on his own in the gym. It was his time not spent in training that worried her.
He secluded himself and avoided contact with other members of the facility. She was sure there were several soldiers on the squad that Sverre could befriend if he gave them a chance, but he had shunned all attempts at friendship. Of course, any friends he’d had before joining were left behind after he had started his new life as an agent of the Order.
As far as the world was concerned, he had disappeared. He had also become cold and distant from her as well, although she had surmised that had to do with the fact that she’d become friends with Antonio. Sverre was the jealous type. He no longer tried to gain her favor, but she knew he still held affection for her.
Not that it mattered. They were there to serve a greater purpose, not entertain childish fancies. She worried about his long-term wellbeing. Even she had several acquaintances, as well as her grandfather, Sam and Hilda, although no one she would call a close friend. Sverre had no one now. More worrisome was that he didn’t seem to care.
It was as if he wasn’t planning on staying and was using the Order to hone himself for his vendetta. If he left the facility, it was to go back home to investigate the disappearance of his mother. He’d spent hundreds of hours traipsing through the woods surrounding his house, and dozens more searching through law enforcement reports. She’d tried to let him down gently, but he wouldn’t listen. Werewolves would not take a human prisoner. Just as Rilus had done with his prey, she would have been taken back to the pack’s den and devoured.
Jessica couldn’t figure out what the werewolves had been doing there in the first place. Revenge for killing Rilus made sense, but they were hundreds of miles away from where Rilus had been found. How had they tracked her and Sverre down so quickly? It was illogical.
“I’d like you to take Sverre out on a mission,” Bilford said.
“A mission? He’s still a recruit! He needs far more training before —” she started.
“No, not a real mission. Simply an investigation. Something to get him out of the compound and give him a break from training. You need to get out and stretch your legs as well. It’s been weeks since your last mission. I’d like you to take a small team to an abandoned asylum. There have been reports of unknown elevated activity, and one of the caretakers has been missing for several days.”
“You can’t be serious, Grandfather. A haunting? I haven’t done one of those in years,” Jessica complained.
“Yes, and as I recall, you thoroughly enjoyed it,” her grandfather pointed out, a smile inching up on his face.
She then smiled as well, because he was right. She did like wandering through the abandoned relics of history while spirits taunted her from the shadows. It was also their duty to help disruptive entities reach the afterlife if they became bothersome for the living. She didn’t have any aptitude for speaking to the spirits, but the unknown realm of the dead fascinated her.
“I’ll let him know you’ll be departing tonight.”
***
Close to midnight, a soundless helicopter swooped in low, landing outside the abandoned sanitarium. There were four of them: Sverre, Jessica, an elderly woman, and a technician. Jessica had explained that the unfamiliar young man was there to document the experienc
e with recording equipment and the medium would serve to communicate with any spirits, much like her grandfather did. There really wasn’t much for her or Sverre to do besides observe and help document with the recording gear they wore.
If not for the disappearance of the caretaker, she doubted they would have been there in the first place. She knew from past investigations that the most likely scenario was that he’d wandered off in a meth-fueled haze and died in the woods or run off with a mistress.
She glanced over at Sverre anxiously unpacking supplies and smiled. He’d beamed at the thought of investigating a haunting as soon as she’d told him. Apparently, it was an interest of his, probably fueled by a recent spate of television shows on the topic. It was the most spirited she’d seen him since the day before the night his family was attacked.
“Come on, guys, these ghosts aren’t going to bust themselves!” he said, hustling up the steps, carrying a large duffel bag in each hand.
“Young man, the spirits deserve our respect and assistance,” the medium said.
“Sverre is just joking, Maggy,” Jessica responded, giving Sverre a disapproving stare. “He knows what we’re here to do. “
“So, let’s do it!” Sverre shouted, bursting through the doors into the dimly lit sanitarium.
After an hour, they were set up. Each member was wirelessly transmitting back to the hub, where the technician monitored various screens and readouts.
“Now, we split up and methodically scour the building section by section. Gregory will monitor everything and let us know if any of his sensors trigger. He’s also launching some RSUs to cover areas that we can’t traverse,” Jessica explained for Sverre’s benefit. Everyone else had participated in dozens of similar operations.
“Remote Scouting Units?” Sverre asked.
“I’m glad you’ve at least read up on field tactics for haunting investigations,” Jessica chided him.
“Hey, I’ve been studying,” Sverre replied, walking up a set of steps. “I’m taking this wing.”
