Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

  The weres decided to dig into the photographs first, following up on their hunch that maybe Alex was the one vampire who had been targeted, the others nothing more than cover-ups.

  The theater hadn’t been able to give them a list of those who had been present at the event, but with the new material the pack now had, they’d at least gained the opportunity to recognize and then question the other guests.

  Since opening nights attracted a specific kind of crowd, there was a good chance the few individuals the pack hoped to identify could fill in the rest of the blanks. With a complete guest list—or as complete as they could make it on their own—the werewolves would be at an advantage.

  Even if the images wouldn’t exactly put the killer in front of their eyes, the possibility that one of the spectators might know or had seen something that could nudge them in the right direction was worth getting a backache from leaning over the spread photos and tracking everybody down.

  They worked in silence, throwing the photographs that were blurred beyond recognition on a special pile, and sorting the rest according to when they were taken. Nadia had been kind enough to supply them with enough coffee to get them through the morning, and Rose continued to cling to her cup like a lifeline as she scanned the various people captured at the theater.

  She tried not to grimace at the overly posed photos, focusing rather on the specifics of each face. Her memory was solid, but she nonetheless wished they had smells to go with the portrayed people.

  A face might slip her mind.

  A scent—never.

  They combed through almost half of the stack, but nothing had stood out so far.

  No familiar village-stars-pretending-to-be-big-ones that they were almost certain would seek out the opportunity to pose for the media.

  No shadowy figures lurking around the blood.

  Nothing.

  The irritation grew among the werewolves like a living thing, undulating beneath their skin. But the bond soaked it in, allowing it to spread through its channels. It offered the small consolation that at least they were in it together. And in that moment, the sensation was enough to keep the snarls contained.

  “I don’t know what makes it worse,” Evelin began, her expression drowsy. “The lack of clues or the appalling quality of the photographs...”

  Rose snickered, looking at the doe-eyed werewolf who truly had meant every word.

  “Someone actually pays these people for their crappy work...” she continued, oblivious to the laughter that now filled the room. “I mean, look at this… Who shoots people at this angle? The whole thing looks like a competition for Ljubljana’s greatest double chin…”

  With a sigh, Evelin uncurled her legs from underneath her body and lay down, pressing her back against the soft carpet. The shift in position caught Rafael’s attention; the cub sprung from the sofa where he had been resting, broke into a run, and pounced excitedly at Evelin’s head.

  “Rafael!”

  The cry only succeeded in making the cub happier, his tail wagging as he nuzzled at the werewolf’s face. Adorable growls and snarls vibrated from the pup, his body a perfect ball of fur, jumping from side to side.

  Evelin didn’t stand a chance.

  Laughing, Rose stalked over to the box of papers and pulled out the report on Pelican Foods. If she had to study one more badly lit photograph, she’d probably bash her head against the walls.

  Stalking prey through the woods was one thing… This detective stuff—no, Rose wasn’t made for this.

  But neither was anybody else present in the room.

  So she sat down cross-legged on the now empty sofa and skimmed through the pages.

  It was dull reading; Rose forced herself through the details about Pelican’s handling of blood and packaging process. Her eyes lost their focus more times that she could count, yet the task was somehow more appealing than trying to decipher the identities of the photographed spectators—the majority of them nearly oozing with self-importance, and more than half of them already blissfully drunk.

  She flipped another page, stopping at the company’s organizational chart.

  Rose went through the VPs and managers, all of them human and with stellar records—well, as stellar as a businessman could possibly be in times where corruption came as naturally as breathing.

  Just when she believed the file was nothing but another waste of time, she halted. She had reached the list of shareholders, her gaze lingering on a single name.

  Vaclav.

  A name of Polish origin. Tenth century, maybe even older. And no surname.

  All the alarms in Rose’s head exploded in thunderous ringing. It has been a long time since she believed in coincidences, and she wasn’t about to start now.

  “Guys,” she said, and the laugher in the room slowly died. Even Rafael sat down in his adorable, sloppy cub way, his attention fixed on Rose. “I think I’ve found us an old vamp...”

  The information on Vaclav was sparse. Every person left crumbles of their past behind. Newspapers, the internet, archives… But the lack of anything of value concerning Vaclav—as frustrating as it was—wasn’t wholly bad. In fact, it fueled the weres’ suspicion that the mysterious investor truly was one of the ancients.

  The police file on Pelican’s employees and shareholders didn’t even produce an address, only stated that Vaclav was the majority shareholder. Again, it fit the profile. The old ones tended to accumulate wealth in the long centuries of their existence.

  Evelin excused herself and stalked into the other room—Rafael following closely behind her—to ask Nikolai if he had ever come across the name. Her stepfather had had dealings with vampires before, and—if the police report was correct—Nikolai or one of his contacts might have crossed business paths with the influential vamp.

  On her way out, Evelin dipped her chin in reply to Tim’s silent question, confirming that Nikolai wouldn’t mind if the were did some digging on his laptop. Wordlessly, Tim sat down behind the heavy mahogany desk, his fingers already running over the cold keyboard.

  “I’ll call Katja,” Jürgen offered as he watched the exchange and pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his ripped jeans. “She started working on her list last night. She might already know something about our guy...”

  Jürgen turned to retreat to the hallway, but Zarja called him back, catching him mid step. While the rest of them were gathering information on Vaclav, she continued to work on the photographic evidence from the theater. Standing up, she faced Jürgen, flashing him a photo of two smiling people with their fingers wrapped around half-empty wine glasses.

  “Might as well ask her if she could set up a meeting with Perko,” Zarja said, her hazel eyes scanning the image of Lara’s uncle she held in her hands. “I believe I’ve just found a potential eyewitness...”

  Perko was with Katja when Jürgen called, and the man had agreed to meet with the pack in the evening at a low-key bar on the outskirts of the city center. He offered an apology for not realizing sooner that he had, in fact, seen the second victim at the theater.

  Caught up in helping his niece, the few hours he hadn’t been by her side due to a friend’s invitation to the play slipped his mind. Jürgen had told him no apology was necessary, but that any help he could throw their way was highly appreciated.

  After the phone call—which bore no fruits about Vaclav—the pack returned to the files, but were left empty-handed. And since neither Evelin’s nor Tim’s search about the vamp produced any results, Rose decided to head back to her apartment. To Veles.

  She hoped the god might know something fruitful. But even more so, she missed him.

  Joining the two seemed like a good idea.

  Although the god wasn’t linked to vampires, being as old as he was accumulated quite an impressive knowledge base. And if Vaclav had been around for centuries, there was a good chance that he had, at some point, come across Veles's radar.

  The streets were full, bristling with people runni
ng their everyday errands, yet the cautionary atmosphere lingered. Rose kept her senses opened for potential threats, but all she smelled was the subtle flow of fear among the pedestrians. She turned a corner, choosing to follow a less favored street that ran parallel to the main one.

  Without crowds to emit the various nuances of fear, it felt as if the crisp air was cleaner. There was even a hint of sunshine piercing through the relentless layer of clouds.

  As she made her way north, her nose picked up something that had no reason to exist on Ljubljana’s winter streets.

  Spring.

  The full-bodied, potent fragrances of blossoming trees, freshly cut grass, and a hint of soft rain. The kind that transforms nature into a vivid painting, full of bright colors and misty passages.

  Rose growled and traveled down an empty alley, waiting to see if the scent would disappear or follow. As she anticipated, the currents of spring continued to walk with her, their light, careless manner entwining with her loose curls.

  Abruptly, she turned around and scanned the street, her outstretched claws hidden in the fabric of her now slightly too-warm coat.

  A silhouette peeled itself away from behind a tree, the muscular bronze shoulders shimmering when a ray of sunlight hit them, illuminating every finely toned detail. Rose observed the self-assured smile resting on the Koldun’s face as he approached her—but after dating Veles for over half a year, a mere man’s ego wouldn’t be enough to make her budge.

  The bubble of spring that seemed to float around Sander pushed against her body, warming her skin where it made contact; the touch was intimate yet innocent at the same time. Just like the season of rebirth was.

  Rose fought the urge to unbutton her coat; she stood stoically while the spring atmosphere engulfed her, and waited for the Koldun to make his move.

  “Miška.” Sander smiled, his muscles bulging as he ran his fingers through his tight blond curls, casting them away from his forehead.

  “Sander.”

  He slithered closer, ignoring the hidden daggers in the tone of Rose’s voice, the ray of sunlight following his steps.

  At least now she knew where the hint of beautiful weather came from.

  Suddenly, Ljubljana’s gloomy overcast winters didn’t seem all that bad.

  The Koldun lifted his fingers to Rose’s face, tracing the tips down the line of her cheek. There was anticipation in his eyes, a challenge, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching.

  Instead, she fixed him with a cold stare.

  “Oh, come now.” He smiled, running his thumb just beneath the curve of her lips. “It’s not fitting to be this cold, not for someone with the blood of our goddess Mokoš running through her veins.”

  “So you know,” Rose answered dryly. “Satisfied?”

  “Miška.” Sander tilted his head, his lips dangerously close to her own. “If you care about my satisfaction, I can give you some pointers...”

  Sincere laughter spilled out of Rose; his insinuations were nothing more than a pale imitation of what Veles’s smutty mind was capable of producing.

  She pushed the Koldun away, shaking her head as she fought the giggles.

  “I’d say ‘in your dreams,’ but you’d probably take that as an invitation to spell your way inside my mind while I slept,” Rose said once she calmed down, eying the bronze figure in front of her from a distance. “Sweetheart, didn’t that Koldunya—Serafina, yes?—warn you that I belong to the lord of the underworld? The tall guy that will eventually have all eternity to play with your soul? Besides, she’s so much more my type than you are...”

  The way she phrased the last part made it true. Rose preferred the redheaded witch, but she couldn’t deny the beefcake in front of her wasn’t killer eye-candy either.

  Still, it was only a fact.

  And facts would do her little good if Sander became aware of them.

  Actually, these kind of facts were useless on their own just as well.

  “You lie, miškica.”

  Rose rolled her eyes and began walking in the opposite direction. She waited for the bubble of spring to explode, but the mild temperatures continued to embrace her skin. Sander followed her down the street like some bronze shadow, adamant to finish their conversation.

  “I like women,” Rose said without turning back. “So no, I do not lie.”

  Instantly, the Koldun’s hands were on her; he spun her around, hard enough for her to bump into the rock-hard muscles of Sander’s chest. She swallowed the power that wanted to surge at the very last moment before it rushed from her body and placed her clawed hands on the Koldun’s warm skin to keep at least a little distance between them.

  Sander fixed her with his bronze gaze. “You lie about who you are. Dark One. Heir of Mokoš. And—”

  “Everybody lies about who they are, Sander. It’s human nature.”

  “But you’re not human.”

  “Neither are you.”

  She turned to walk away again, but Sander’s hand wrapped around her wrist before she managed to take a step. This time, his grip would not yield.

  “What?” she snapped, baring the sharp lines of her canine teeth.

  A light breeze chose exactly that moment to play with the thick curls of Sander’s hair, ruffling them carelessly. Combined with the way his skin shimmered in the sunlight, the Koldun appeared almost ethereal.

  But the expression resting on his face was purely male—ruining the effect.

  “It’s not just the blood of Mokoš that makes you so... delicious.”

  Rose shot him a chilling smile. “I’m a Black were. The only delicious thing here is the snack you’d make, beefcake. And I haven’t had a proper hunt in a long, long time.”

  She turned without waiting for a response, and this time, there was no resistance from Sander. She walked down the empty street—no doubt the consequence of some ward the Koldun had set up to give them privacy—and felt her chest expand as she stepped over the barrier of perpetual spring.

  The chilly, smog-filled air had never felt so good.

  Chapter 26

  Veles’s eyes were filled with fire as he crushed the delicate forget-me-not between his fingers. Rose hadn’t seen any on Sander, but the Koldun must have stuck one in the soft bed of her curls while she wasn’t paying attention. Or maybe that damned spring breeze did.

  She wouldn’t put it past Sander to manipulate nature to the very point where it did his bidding.

  “I can smell the Koldun on you, Rosalind,” Veles hissed. “I do not care if he was yanking your chair. The bronze bastard touched you.”

  Rose wanted to argue, but something else clicked in her mind. And it was too loud to ignore—even if it had the potential to make things worse. “How do you know he’s a bronze bastard?”

  Such a specific trait. A remarkable trait. If you’ve seen the Koldun.

  A hesitant flicker disrupted the steady flame in Veles’s eyes, but the furious energy continued to pulse from his body.

  “We’ve met,” he said dryly.

  “Oh, god.” Rose grimaced and clicked her Zippo to light a very much needed cigarette. “You fucked some girlfriend of his, haven’t you?”

  Veles didn’t reply, merely stared at her with those flames still burning wildly. He looked like some lethal statue as he stood, unmoving, the glow from the chandelier pronouncing his sharp cheekbones and perfect features. He was—without a doubt—the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. But right now, even his painfully flawless looks couldn’t help him.

  “I’m getting shit from Sander because of some pissing contest between the two of you!”

  Rose had tried to blend in with the pack, tried to not attract attention to herself.

  Only to find a bloody burning mark already glued to her forehead just because she was dating the sultry god.

  Too cross to continue, she dragged on her cigarette, calming the rattled energy with steady breaths.

  Just when she thought Veles wouldn’t reply,
the self-assured tone of his voice washed over her skin in a sly caress.

  “I have no contest with the Koldun.”

  She sighed. Despite everything, Veles was still the lord of the underworld with a very specific reputation. And an ego that went with it. One couldn’t exist without the other.

  She should have known better.

  “Of course you don’t,” she finally said, but was unable to prevent a hint of humor from seeping into the dark mass of her anger. “But the beefcake sure as fuck does.”

  Veles arched an eyebrow. “Beefcake?”

  Rose snorted. Of course Veles would hear that part of her statement.

  “He’s ripped so hard that his arms can barely touch the sides of his body... What else am I supposed to call him?”

  Without warning, hearty laughter erupted from Veles; his fangs shot out, making the display even more endearing and dangerously inviting.

  Rose cursed under her breath.

  The god leaned against the white wall of her dining room, seeking some much needed support. His shoulders were shaking uncontrollably even as he ran his hand through the pitch black strands of his hair, pushing them away from his face. It was an achievement that he didn’t slide down to the floor.

  Rose narrowed her eyes. “You do know that this beefcake is set on finding out what I am, yes?”

  The shaking continued, but Veles managed to tone the laughter down to mere chuckles. “The beefcake couldn’t find out what you are if you blasted him with that racy energy of yours in his face.”

  “Don’t tempt me. I just might give it a shot.” She wasn’t thinking only about Sander, either.

  Before she knew it, her back was pressed to the floor, and the god was straddling her hips, his long limbs pressing against her thighs. He plucked the cigarette from her fingers, taking a long, unnervingly sensual drag.

  He exhaled and fixed her with his olive gaze. “No,” he said firmly.

  Rose tried to squeeze her way out from underneath him, but the muscles in his legs had a death grip on her. When it came to Veles’s strength, the line between impressive and infuriating was frightfully thin. She lifted her chin and allowed the golden filaments in her eyes to shimmer.