Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

  “Sonovabitch,” Zarja cursed when Mark filled the pack in.

  The were had called them immediately after Dragan had left his office, urging them to regroup at Nikolai’s place. Half an hour later, they were all sitting down on the carpet near the fireplace that burned as wildly as their anger.

  The pieces finally fit, yet they were no closer to finding Vaclav than they had been when the name had first popped up.

  Jürgen brought the files Katja had given him on the vampire, but the information was sparse—and for the most part, historic. Although she had included a list of other old vamps, Vaclav remained on top of their suspect pool.

  He was the only one who had been without a doubt in Ljubljana on the days the murders were committed based on the work logs. And his connection to Pelican Foods linked him directly to the third victim.

  If they could prove it truly had been Vaclav at the theater, influencing Simon from the background, and tricking him into delivering the poisoned blood…

  They would have enough for Tomo to bring him in—or for the pack to take him down.

  Rose read through the pages, muting out the discussions that filled the room. The first recorded mentions of Vaclav went back to the eleventh century; supposedly, he was one of the first vampires to run a trade which was blossoming in Czech lands at that time. He employed—or rather threatened—humans to deal with his day-to-day business, while he ran the operation from the shadows.

  All of it just after Vaclav had slaughtered a whole village, gorging on their blood; Katja’s footnote bore her speculation that he might have been newly turned at that point.

  Slowly, kills that could be attributed to him lessened. Rose doubted the vampire had changed his murderous ways; more likely Vaclav only became better at covering his tracks.

  Due to his vigilance or due to lacking reports, Vaclav had dropped off the radar several times and reemerged only for brief periods throughout the decades. The pattern lasted until the twenty-first century, when he finally reentered society for good. And by the time he did, the vampire had gained a fair amount of wealth, and continued to run his businesses.

  Once blood became merely one in the long line of drink bars and restaurants offered to its patrons, Vaclav bought enough shares in the newly opened Pelican Foods—the first business in Slovenia to cater to the vampiric population—and propelled himself to the top of Pelican’s pyramid where he stayed to this very day.

  If anything, he had only gained more influence in the company over the years.

  Rose frowned and reread the report, especially the paragraphs pertaining to more recent, surprisingly clean history. If the pack hadn’t found the invitations to slaughter, and if they hadn’t heard the Koldunya’s nearly prophetic words, she never would have pinned Vaclav for the murders.

  The ancient worked with humans on a regular basis, took care of the twentyfourhourly community by making Pelican Foods one of the main distributors of quality blood; nothing screamed traditional at her.

  But he was old.

  And he was linked to at least one crime scene.

  With Vaclav’s age and the strength he possessed, leading a double life would have been a laughing matter for the vampire. And if he truly had waited for centuries to strike at the human population in order to bring his brethren to their glory, a few twentyfourhourlies represented nothing but a few small, dismissible sacrifices to him.

  “No photos?” Rose asked once she reached the end of the report for a second time. The pages hadn’t contained a single image of the vampire in question.

  Jürgen shook his head. “Katja said it isn’t even such a rare occurrence. Most of the old ones take care not to have their faces permanently stored somewhere. They like to keep their identities hidden.”

  “And get away with murderous shit because of it,” Jens snarled.

  “Wait,” Rose intervened, shifting from her cross-legged position on the rug. “Didn’t the file on Pelican Foods say Vaclav inspects the blood himself before it leaves the factory?”

  Even before she voiced the final syllables of the sentence, Tim had already picked up the folder and begun skimming through its pages.

  For a time, nothing but the rustling of paper and the crackling fire softened the silence.

  Finally, Tim lifted his head, nodding silently in answer.

  Rose’s eyes shimmered with gold, the energy soaring through her flesh. “Someone from that company must have seen him at some point...”

  “I’m calling Tomo,” Evelin said without losing time, typing hurriedly on her cell phone.

  Chapter 28

  Rose woke up to the gentle caresses of Veles’s lips trailing down the line of her neck. She snuggled against the god, reveling in the warmth of his naked body. There was something unexplainable about feeling the exposed, honed torso, the length of his limbs, the intimacy that pulled her in a cocoon that was theirs and theirs only—and it made her forget about what waited beyond the walls of her bedroom.

  At least for a while.

  The snow outside continued to fall relentlessly, making her regret that of all days, this was the one Veles had otherworldly business to attend to. She would have gladly spent the whole day in bed, snuggling with the god, her mind and body shielded by the loving walls of their cocoon.

  The sigh that escaped his lips let Rose know he shared her sentiment. But just like she had to fulfill her duties to the pack, Veles needed to uphold his in the realm of souls. He pushed out of bed, the muscles on his lean body moving with grace as he walked over to the wardrobe and pulled on a pair of black pants, going commando as usual.

  As he got dressed, his eyes never left Rose, observing her as she lay relaxed under the covers, her curls arranged wildly across the pillow, speaking silent words of the night they had spent together. He buttoned his shirt and walked over, placing one final kiss on the soft swell of her lips.

  “I’ll be back by early afternoon,” he whispered, his tone gentle.

  The longing in his eyes stayed even as he straightened back up and put some distance between them, a final, unspoken proclamation of love.

  Then, without warning, the spot he had vacated became empty, and Rose was left alone in her apartment.

  She wrapped the covers around her, sinking into their comfort. Yet their embrace didn’t feel as warm.

  The pack had had another quiet night. The wards had been in place, and she began to wonder if maybe the vampires could sense them, if the tingle of magic made them wary about mounting an attack against humans under its guardianship. Slight irritation crept up on her, curling her fingers; she should have asked Katja when they had spoken. But her mind had been filled with thoughts of Vaclav, and she had been too eager, too glad to accept that the vampires weren’t prowling the nights to concern herself with the reason behind it.

  With effort, Rose forced her body to leave the sanctuary of the soft covers. She wrapped herself in a plush morning gown and stalked into the kitchen, the motions of her morning routine set on autopilot.

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee spread through the apartment, kicking her awake.

  Without Veles’s pulsing energy—more often sexual than not—and without the sound of his voice that seemed to glide across the walls and fill every forgotten corner, the apartment seemed eerily quiet. She put on some music like she used to when she had been living alone, making her breakfast in solitude a somewhat more pleasant experience.

  Just as she started to think that maybe a lazy morning with nothing to do but pamper herself wasn’t such a bad idea, her doorbell rang, ruining the moment before it had even properly begun.

  She didn’t need to open the door to know who was standing on the other side. With her fingers curled around the handle, she was immensely grateful she had refilled her cup of coffee minutes before.

  It calmed her nerves, and she had a feeling she might need the help.

  “Sebastian,” she said, ignoring the bad taste that burned in her mouth.

  The Kres
nik, with his radiant skin and sun-kissed hair, seemed out of place on Ljubljana’s winter streets. But on the other hand, the grim expression that weighed on his features fit right in. And mirrored Rose’s mood perfectly.

  “May I enter?”

  Rose nodded and stepped aside, observing Sebastian’s large figure as he made his way into her dining room. The sight was familiar; she had seen it so many times—knew the way Sebastian would flop his body into the chair he always took for himself, the wood groaning beneath the sudden addition of mass. And the false apologetic smile blossoming on his face when she’d glare at him for ruining her furniture bit by bit.

  Yet everything was different now.

  Rose slipped past him into the kitchen, needing a moment to shake the memory from her mind, and came out with a fresh cup of coffee. She handed it over to the Kresnik, willing the bitterness inside her chest to subside.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, but the words were polite.

  Something was bothering him, yet she didn’t pry. Their relationship wasn’t in a good enough state for them to offer each other consolation.

  Still, she realized that she cared. She couldn’t help it. She cared.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping on their coffees. Just when the impulse to ask what was wrong became almost too strong for Rose to ignore, Sebastian placed his mug on the table and fixed her with his green eyes, their unique pattern riddled with worry.

  “Ileana told me you went to see the Kolduny.”

  Rose began to explain, but Sebastian cut her off. “I understand you had no other choice.”

  The lack of aggression in his voice caught her by surprise—a hint of the Sebastian she had once known began seeping through, and it took her all the strength she had to not rush over and embrace the mountain of a man. Quietly, she reminded herself of the way he had treated her.

  She wouldn’t forget that, but she was willing to forgive.

  After a time.

  “I guess,” he continued, trailing off in mid sentence to circle his finger around the rim of the mug. “I guess I was worried and wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  Rose smiled at him, the expression sincere. “Thank you, Seb.”

  She saw the Kresnik’s demeanor change, his body gradually relaxing, until, finally, he returned the smile.

  Rose began talking.

  It was as if that little gesture unlocked something inside her, returning what she had perceived as lost.

  She told Sebastian about the pack’s visit with the Kolduny, the Kresnik’s face growing slightly darker at the mention of Sander’s attempts at stalking her. But when she conveyed how she had managed to shut him up by throwing her love for women in the beefcake’s face, Sebastian’s whole body shook with laughter.

  “Ouch, that must have been a blow to his ego.” He chuckled, observing her with that warmth only years of friendship could produce.

  Content, Rose lit a cigarette, and continued to fill in Sebastian on the progress the pack had made with the case. She asked him about Vaclav, but the Kresnik hadn’t known anything more than what the weres had already learned from Katja’s report. Which wasn’t all that much.

  “What makes you think a vamp is behind the murders?” he asked once Rose had finished with her recollection.

  “There was something in the way that Koldunya spoke of the killer. ‘Find the fomenter that walks the line between races, wishing to tip the scale...’ Combined with—” She stopped, taken aback by the sudden change in Sebastian’s features. The Kresnik’s eyes turned a deadly shade of teal, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “What?”

  “’The fomenter that walks the line between races’ isn’t a phrase, Rose. It’s a denomination.”

  She took a deep breath. “For whom?”

  Evelin rubbed her eyes, cradling a cup of green tea in her hands. She had been sitting behind Tomo’s desk since the early hours of the morning when the night workers of Pelican Foods finished their shift.

  Not wanting to take any chances, Tomo and his men intercepted the employees as they left the building and discreetly escorted them to the police station for questioning. Evelin was grateful the policeman had taken her warning about Vaclav seriously; not only was Tomo adamant about finding someone who had seen the vamp, but he swore to protect the workers as best he could.

  Herding a large enough group to the station to interview would grant them some anonymity in case prying eyes had spotted the intervention.

  At first, Evelin had observed the interrogations from behind the glass, listening to the same questions being asked, and noting every response. But when the seventh man, who had unequivocally been in the same room as Vaclav, said he remembered the event but not the vamp’s face, Evelin gave up.

  She felt tired, but even more so irritated by Vaclav’s expertise in the art of occultation, which clearly affected humans just as well as vamps—although in an entirely different manner.

  As she sat behind the clustered desk, observing the officers answer phones and file their paperwork, she felt a jolt of energy rush through her body.

  She knitted her eyebrows together, searching for the source. Everybody on the floor around her was human. And aside from Tomo, none of them were even sensitives.

  When the second jolt hit, Evelin became convinced that the energy wasn’t coming from outside.

  It was contained within her.

  And as she thought about the events of recent past, about the slightly unusual occurrences when it came to herself, it finally dawned upon her.

  The white mug with a large PD logo on it slipped from her fingers. The remaining tea splashed onto her pants before the cup crashed violently to the ground, shattering in all directions.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, rushing to the bathroom on the other side of the building, ignoring the questioning faces that had been attracted by the sound.

  She patted down her black jeans until they were passably dry and lifted her gaze to the mirror. The beginnings of dark circles were showing under her emerald eyes, and she knew she would need to be vigilant about getting enough rest. Even more so now.

  She turned her body to the side, observing the flat line of her stomach underneath the thin black sweater that snuggly hugged her form, accentuating every detail. Werewolf pregnancies lasted only twelve weeks, fourteen at the most; by tomorrow she might already be showing.

  “Evelin.” Tomo’s voice carried from the other side of the door, startling her.

  She growled at herself for allowing the news to throw her off guard; or maybe it had been the cub inside her that affected her sharpness, transforming the way her body was wired. If a human had been able to approach the door without her noticing, she would be useless in a pack fight.

  It would take some work, but she could do it.

  Slowly, she exhaled a long breath, her senses tuning back in, keener than before.

  Tomo’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction when she emerged from the bathroom and stopped in her tracks. The expression brightening his face could mean only one thing.

  He had caught a break.

  Pushing her problems aside, she followed him back to the small space adjacent to the interrogation room. A sinewy man in his late forties was sitting next to a young sketch artist whose hand was a blur of motion as it shaded areas of the face that had begun to form.

  “How is this possible? I figured Vaclav never left his workers’ memories intact...” Evelin said, not taking her eyes off the two men.

  A sly smile curved a single corner of Tomo’s lips upward. “Enis is not his worker.”

  Evelin turned towards the elderly policeman, eyebrows raised in question.

  “He’s from a different division; never worked with the vamp. But one day he went searching for his coworker who did,” Tomo explained, his voice laced heavily with content. “He went to the blood sector of the compound and peered through the door to see if Ivan was there. He was. But so was Vaclav. They appeared to be in the middle of a heated d
iscussion. Not wanting to interrupt, he left to smoke a cigarette before trying to reach Ivan again.”

  “And Vaclav never knew,” Evelin whispered more to herself than out loud.

  “Enis’s passion for tobacco combined with a wise decision to not barge in on the two of them has cracked our case.” Tomo laughed.

  Evelin looked at him wide-eyed, not yet able to comprehend that for once, luck had been on their side. She stalked over to the glass, observing as the worker gave a chain of directions to the sketch artist, reshaping the draft and filling in the details.

  Anticipation rose within her, that primal energy flushing her skin. Minutes stretched, each making the task to remain calm more difficult. Almost unbearable.

  When Enis finally nodded at the man beside him, Evelin rushed out of the room with Tomo tightly on her heels. They intercepted the sketch artist the moment he closed the door of the interrogation room behind him.

  “He’s certain,” the young man said, handing over the sketch to the policeman.

  Tomo took the paper, thanking the artist before the man walked down the corridor at a brisk pace, hurrying to his next appointment. Evelin shifted closer to Tomo and leaned over his shoulder to see the portrait the white sheet bore.

  A snarl tore itself from her lips, echoing in the empty hallway.

  Despite the age difference, the face was familiar. Too familiar.

  She lifted her eyes to Tomo’s face, her words urgent. “I need to speak with Jürgen.”

  Chapter 29

  The pack sat divided between the sofa and the two armchairs in a tastefully decorated living room, painted in unobtrusive pastels, very lightly accented with gold. The tall, wide windows and the high ceiling cast the illusion that the space was far greater than the standard-sized rooms typical for city dwellers. Yet it did nothing to ease the tension rippling through the air.

  Rose and Zarja stood in the back, both with their arms crossed in front of their chests, perfectly mirroring each other’s postures. The reassuring weight of the sword of Mokoš rested along Rose’s spine, providing her with painfully needed patience.