Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

A chill crept inside Pri Sojenicah, drenching the welcoming interior in icy tension. Tim’s revelation closed their mouths with a clasp, leaving the pack and Sebastian to process the information in silence.

  And there was a whole lot to process.

  If what Tim’s words implied were true, the pack needed to face more than just solving murders.

  And this was exactly the kind of development they had wanted to avoid.

  Evelin huddled closer to Mark as the thought whizzed through the bond, but her eyes were focused, sharp; the emerald color within them screamed of contained lethalness.

  “Someone invited them to a slaughter?” she said in a tightly controlled voice, but failed to hide the murderous intent boiling behind it.

  “It appears so,” Tim confirmed. “The vamp only knew what the others had mentioned. And that wasn’t much. He blissfully accepted almost total ignorance in exchange for the promise of fresh human blood.”

  Any hope that the march of the twentyfourhourlies and the traditionals’ attack were a coincidence was gone. Barle or any of his supporters could have easily notified the pallid creatures.

  Yet Rose wasn’t convinced.

  The hesitation she’d smelled on them—even on Barle—spoke of a need for control. It was true that they had wanted to slaughter humans out of their own fear and the suffocating sense of injustice. But something she’d seen on their faces convinced Rose that they had also wanted to be the ones to stop the massacre at will.

  Inviting the traditionals to play…

  The twentyfourhourlies had thought of murder, yet they hadn’t been cruel. Or psychotic.

  But the person who pointed the traditionals in the direction of fresh human blood was a cold motherfucker.

  Rose voiced her suspicions, adding that anybody who might have overheard the civil vampires make plans could just as easily be the one who had sent those notes.

  “You can put the whole vamp community and their friends of all races in the suspect pool. Barle may not have had many sympathizers, but he made sure that nearly the whole bloody population of Ljubljana knew he was going to strike.” Zarja seethed. “Even Katja heard of that asshole’s uprising, but—like most of the community—she wrote it off as nothing but grief-stricken ramblings.”

  Jürgen cussed a blue streak, baring his sharp teeth. What Zarja had said was true. Anybody could have alerted the traditionals. And talking about it would get them nowhere.

  Slowly, his canines regained their human shape once more, and the werewolf turned his gaze to Sebastian. “Do you know where the vamps’ lairs are?”

  “Some,” the Kresnik answered dryly. “Rose’s bed partner might know more.”

  His eyes drilled into hers. The perfectly human energy that rolled off Sebastian was baiting her with a challenge.

  With his ageless life and more knowledge than the whole of mankind could hold together, he must have known about Veles’s role as the creator of the vampiric race. And by the way he phrased it, allowing that hint of something clandestine to slip into the tone of his voice, Sebastian must have guessed the pack weren’t filled in on that particular part of Slavic history.

  Rose suppressed the growl that thrashed violently inside her; it wanted to explode out of her mouth and strike at the conceited Kresnik, giving him what he deserved.

  But shecalmed her heartbeat, allowing a short but intense internal discussion to take place. And as she exhaled, the werewolf had her answer.

  Sharing some information might go a long way. And it didn’t even have to be about her consort’s part in the vampires' making.

  She wasn’t comfortable keeping secrets from the pack, but the information she decided to hold back was in no manner vital to the problem they were facing.

  And it most certainly wasn’t her secret to share.

  “Veles doesn’t keep tabs on vamps,” Rose said carefully, lining each word with subtext made for Sebastian’s ears only. “He’s linked to the ‘living-turned-dead’ world, not the…’not-quite-living-and-not-quite-dead.’”

  “He told you that?” Sebastian smirked. He crossed his arms, keeping an amused expression plastered on his face. It made Rose want to knock his teeth out.

  Asshole, she thought, being careful not to let anything slip through the bond.

  Although—judging by the glances the rest of the werewolves had been covertly shooting at the Kresnik—Rose figured the feeling might be mutual.

  “Vampires don’t exactly fall under his realm,” she added, relaxing her fisted fingers beneath the table.

  The Kresnik looked at her, and Rose kept looking right back. The flat tone of her words had left no room for debate.

  Locked in a staring competition with the teal-eyed, sun-kissed blond, the seconds of silence stretched into what appeared to be minutes.

  The pack shifted in their seats, trying to make their presence as small as possible.

  Rose felt a pang of regret for putting her friends in the ungrateful position of spectators, but she couldn’t back down. Sebastian had started this. And she wouldn’t yield to his bullying.

  Finally, the Kresnik shook his head, smiling.

  “You’re in way over your head, kid.” He laughed, a bitter, tired sound. “Did you have enough time to catch their scent?”

  “I memorized the two I faced,” Tim answered hastily, visibly relieved that the conversation had turned back to the problem at hand.

  “Yes,” the twins growled in unison, followed by a short nod from Rose.

  For the first time during the meeting, Sebastian looked pleased.

  And for the first time, Rose felt like they were on the same side. For now, at least.

  Sebastian cradled the cup of coffee in his large hands and took a careful sip. Everyone sensed the sudden shift in atmosphere. And when the Kresnik put down the mug, a genuine display of concern flashed across his face.

  “Good. I can give you the locations that I know are active. It’s not much, but it’ll be a good starting point for your search.

  “But you need to understand… Most of their lairs are densely populated, some housing even more than twenty vampires. I know your individual strengths have grown since becoming The Dark Ones. Nobody is denying that, and more than half of the supernatural community are afraid of what you may do with all that unopposed power.

  “But despite it all, I urge you to enter only those habitations that have been marked with the dead vampires’ scents.”

  The werewolves understood that walking blindly from lair to lair as they searched for those notes would get them into more fights than they were comfortable handling at this point.

  Although dispatching a few more traditionals wouldn’t cause the pack any lack of sleep, they knew how to pick their battles.

  This wasn’t one of them. Yet.

  A little caution could go a long way, and with their reputation already waltzing on a thin line, they didn’t need the extra attention.

  Besides, if the vampires responsible for the factory attack had lived together with others of their kind, they would have been facing more of them that night. Hunting down those who hadn’t been involved was a challenge for another time.

  If the weres were lucky, the search would lead them into empty nests. If not, hoping to avoid a bloodbath was futile. But they would be careful.

  A pair of strong hands came to rest on Rose’s shoulders, dissolving the tension that had settled in her tendons. She peered up to see Frank’s blue-green eyes looking down at her, a wicked expression shaping the lines of his face.

  “Need more wolf power?” He grinned in that typical Frank manner, all teeth and a gleam of childish mischief lurking in his eyes.

  Rose couldn’t help but to return the smile.

  “You sure you can handle vamps?” Mark asked, a fatherly tone slipping into his words.

  The hands on Rose’s shoulders lessened their grip. Frank patted her one more time before he peered down at Mark.

  “Oh, please.” The tall werewolf gro
wled. “Vampires are nothing. I’ve seen things, old man, that would have you running in the other direction.

  “Once, I hooked up with Likhoradka. The pale bitch turned off the glamor while we fucked and tried to possess my body. My. Fucking. Body. Did you ever have to rip into someone’s throat with your dick hanging out?”

  Rose snorted; she knew the story all too well. Partying one night at one of the local supernatural clubs, Frank had failed to see that the woman he had been dancing with for the past hour was, in truth, wrapped in a thick layer of glamor.

  A thick layer of glamor that a skilled were such as her friend should have had no trouble spotting and unveiling.

  Dim lights, Frank had said. Fucked up my vision.

  He bought her drinks, took her home...

  And more than just clothing came off. Rose snickered at the thought.

  With Frank’s many charms came also his occasional bad luck when choosing his partners for the night. Yet, Rose had to admit, the werewolf was fearless in saving his own—sometimes bare—ass. And the tales he lived to tell never failed to make her nearly choke on her own laughter.

  “You had sex with Chernobog’s creation?” Mark’s jaw dropped.

  To Rose’s surprise, there was a hint of admiration beneath the disgust. It wasn’t often that bar tales impressed Mark. But then again, with Frank, she had yet to meet a person who wasn’t impressed.

  She shrugged as if hooking up with the dark god’s child was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “You’d think someone descended from Chernobog himself would be better in bed. I’ll never forget her, that’s true, but she was such a lousy lay.”

  Masculine laughter erupted from the twins, followed by a round of high fives between them and a very pleased Frank. He pulled up a chair and squeezed into the crammed space between Jens and Rose.

  “So I can come?” Frank’s eyes gleamed with eagerness.

  “As long as you don’t come all over the vamps, it’s fine with me.” Zarja grinned, causing another round of laughter.

  Mark observed her with humorous disbelief, and Rose could have sworn she had seen the older were roll his eyes at the exchange.

  “Fine,” Mark finally said, releasing a husky laugh. “You can come if everybody agrees. But no one will be babysitting your ass out there.”

  “No need, old man.” Frank flashed his teeth. “I’m always vigilant about what comes near that particular place of my body.”

  News of the previous night’s events had spread, the massacred party making headlines.

  There hadn’t been an attack of this scale for over three decades. Even Mark had been too young at that time to remember the details of the slaughter that took place at some high-end corporate event.

  The grisly reports left the city center submerged in a leery—although still brimful—atmosphere.

  Despite the traditionals’ aversion to daylight, the people of Ljubljana were either on edge about the night that would follow or hesitant of just how willing the vampires truly were to not expose themselves to natural light. By the looks of it, at least word hadn’t gotten around about the failed twentyfourhourlies' march.

  Otherwise, the city would have drowned in fear, and there truly would have been nothing but a ghost town left behind.

  Rose wasn’t certain if she should consider that a blessing or a curse.

  “I still can’t believe we have to wait until tomorrow,” Zarja growled by her side.

  Rose glanced at the agitated werewolf; her shoulder-length brown hair danced in the icy wind currents, complemented by the gentle swaying of her black coat which kicked out with every step.

  If it weren’t for the ferocious expression on her face, Zarja would have been a magnetic sight on the winter boulevard.

  “I don’t like it either,” Rose agreed, golden energy coming to life within her core. “But we need to learn about as many locations as we can before heading in.”

  A snarl almost too loud for the packed street they were in tore itself from Zarja’s lips. Luckily, the passersby were too wrapped up in their own worries to pay the werewolf any attention.

  Rose was one of those who had initially opposed the idea of waiting. She understood the werewolf’s agitation all too well.

  But Sebastian needed the time to confirm the locations of the lairs he had known existed, as well as probe the minds of his kin for any additional ones. Besides, Jürgen offered that he could ask Katja if she or any of her vamp acquaintances knew where the traditional ones resided.

  The twentyfourhourlies were leery of their more conventional brethren and zealously harbored the intent to avoid them at any cost. They must have known about at least a few places to steer clear of.

  “So we just patrol the whole fucking town for another night?” Zarja’s eyes glistened with violence. “And then go into the vamps' lairs without getting any shuteye?”

  Rose didn’t answer. Her mind was racing between possibilities, not trusting either one that swept through her thoughts.

  But Zarja was right. They needed the night off.

  Although they planned to go in during the day, the traditionals wouldn’t be locked in some coffin, dead to the world. There was no such thing as a comatose vamp. Only very live and vigilant ones lurking in the darkness.

  And if they stumbled upon a crammed nest, the weres would need all the strength they could muster.

  With a headache beginning to throb in her temples, Rose cursed, finally settling for the option that would best serve their purpose. She didn’t like it, but there was no other way to assure the streets would be monitored and the pack well rested.

  “Rose?” Zarja asked, eying her with concern.

  Snapping out of her thoughts, Rose sensed the energy boiling just under her skin. Even without the alarm in Zarja’s voice, she knew her eyes had begun to emit the golden glow which grew in proportion with her irritation.

  And she was irritated.

  Gently, she coaxed the power back inside, storing it safely in the imaginary box that rested within the core of her body.

  Locking the fictional hinges, she blew out a long breath.

  She remained quiet when she pulled a cigarette from her nearly empty pack and stuck it between her lips. The sound of her Zippo echoed through the air, followed by the calming sensation as the smoke filled her lungs.

  Zarja waited for her to calm down with an almost atypical patience. Rose figured she must have been more than merely irked for the werewolf to act the way she did.

  Finally, as she exhaled, she turned towards the hazel-eyed were, the resolution inside her firm.

  “We’ll set up a personal alarm for any vamps with ill intent who dare to stalk through our city during the night.”

  “How?” Zarja asked cautiously, cocking her head to the side.

  Rose dragged on her cigarette and slowly released the smoke from her lips.

  “Sorcery,” she answered. “We’ll call on the Kolduny.”

  Chapter 21

  Rose stood in the spacious living room, staring at the mesmerizing vision of herself in thirty years. Veles lounged behind her back, casually sprawled across the leather couch, making himself more at home than Rose would have ever dared on a first visit.

  The god, however, didn’t seem to possess such reservations.

  Unless, of course, it wasn’t a first visit.

  Rose shook her head, pushing the thought away.

  Considering the god’s colorful past, it wouldn’t surprise her. But she knew Ileana.

  The lean, dark-haired god wasn’t her type. And Ileana wouldn’t have lied.

  Still, a person as esteemed as her mother could have had other dealings with Veles. Rose and the pack had just begun to dabble in the high circles of immortals. She had yet to learn the extent of their duties and games. But Ileana was already an old acquaintance to them.

  Through the glass wall, the outlines of New York stretched across the horizon, the pale winter sunlight drawing a halo around the sha
pely, fit figure who regarded Rose with her eyebrows drawn together into a pensive frown.

  “You’re certain there isn’t any other way?” Ileana crossed her arms, the toned muscles pushing against the thin fabric of her military green sweater.

  “I went through all of them in my head, over and over again. It’s the only viable solution,” Rose replied, knowing that her mother must have come to the same conclusion, but was compelled to ask anyway. “We can’t keep watch over Ljubljana. Not all the time. Not if we don’t want to burn ourselves out in the process.”

  Ileana sighed and pushed a thick strand of curls over her shoulder. The hair bounced back into its voluminous shape the moment it left the werewolf’s fingers, framing her lovely face. “They can’t see you for who you are, Rosie.”

  A stifled chuckle sounded from behind Rose. She cast a vine of energy backward, poking the snickering god in the tender spot between his ribs.

  It was bad enough that the pack knew the lord of the underworld preferred to call her Rosalind. Giving them her mother’s term of endearment was out of the question.

  With the resolution to fill the god’s mouth with a fist of golden power the instant he wanted to pass it on, she focused her full attention back to Ileana.

  “I won’t give them the opportunity,” Rose finally said, and meant it.

  Revealing the legacy her father had passed on to her to any kind of coven wasn’t something she took lightly.

  The Kolduny wouldn’t give her over to the Vedmaks—the wielders of light magic despised in equal measure as they feared their darker brethren. They would sooner start a war than share information. But they wouldn’t let her walk away either.

  Even those who were sworn to goodness possessed the capability to perform dark acts in the name of light.

  And Rose had no intention of being imprisoned or executed for what she was. The mystic, potent Vedmak blood that ran in her father’s veins should never have mixed with someone’s who wasn’t of their kin.

  Rose understood now more than ever the need to enforce that rule.

  An army of individuals such as herself could hold the fate of the entire world in their hands. And end it at their will.