Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

  Knowing he couldn’t last in such a state for long, he did the one thing that was rightfully his. The one thing that might ease the werewolf’s life, even when there was no place left in it for him…

  He ruled.

  Ileana had snorted at the thought, and the only reason he indulged her behavior was for that silent promise of discretion written in the lines of her face. The seasoned werewolf may never truly be on his side, but she would rather swallow her own dislike for him than gamble with Rose’s safety.

  Although, perhaps, Ileana’s motivations were slightly more selfish than that.

  By keeping his role a secret, she was effectively nurturing the distance between him and her daughter.

  The god had had to bite back the remarks that sizzled on the tip of his tongue. After all, distance was the very reason why he hadn’t wanted Rose to learn about his involvement in the first place.

  Or, perhaps, he had been selfish, too.

  He closed his eyes, releasing another breath. He needed to stop losing energy over fruitless internal monologs. What he had told Ileana was the truth, and he intended to uphold it.

  The motions came easier to him now, less draining. In a way, it was almost as if a part of himself was slowly unlocking, stretching phantom limbs that had been crouched for too long. A slight headache throbbed in his temples, but the god paid it no heed.

  The pain would pass. His strength would replenish. And Rose would be spared the bloodshed.

  A slight humming alerted him that he was getting closer. The ethereal pouch where the werewolf reigned was inaccessible to everybody but her, yet for this, Veles didn’t need to reach into another realm.

  All spirits belonged to him, but vampiric souls were linked to his own. Each and every one of them was like a living skin cell of the god’s body. He merely had to scrape off those he wished to be rid of.

  He exhaled again, locking on the frequency of the vibrations.

  It was finding the cells that was hard.

  Envisioning his goal, he slipped into that odd, meditative state of mind Morana had called Duševje, the olive flames slowly building a burning halo within him. Although the sensation was similar to letting the embers loose, to allow them to pass through the barrier his skin presented, they would stay hidden—with their potency remaining as strong as if he gave them the freedom of a full display.

  Proximity to his marks eased the search; those souls always hummed the loudest, and all Veles had to do was pick out the correct ones. It wasn’t until his visit with Morana that he began to understand why the process had been so difficult for Rose. In this particular state, he merely had one species to pick from, and even that caused sweat to break out on his brow. The werewolf, on the other hand, had to go through the process twice. First to select the species, since none had such a specific connection with her, then to identify the correct individuals.

  With all the knowledge he had now, he was surprised Rose had gotten that far by herself.

  He had given her pointers, but those were based on his experience in the underworld. The souls in his care were…different somehow—their state transformed as they touched the boundary between realms, and their core liberated from the dust of life.

  Recognizing the markers of those who were still tethered to the world of the living was infinitely harder.

  He locked on the frequency, validating it was indeed the right one. The image of the vampire flashed in front of his eyes like an overly exposed photograph, saturated with nothing but two or three solid colors. A vine of his power formed a net around it, and he exhaled, achieving the alpha state of Duševje.

  Once more, and he would be done.

  Though he had no true aversion to it, the god wanted to avoid having physical confrontation. Everything was an opportunity to hone his skill, and that meant he needed next to perfect concentration. While capturing all the souls at once took precious time, it was still faster than snatching one before moving on to the other. If the vampires weren’t shocked enough by the sudden death of their comrade, the possibility of them switching to predatory mode was high.

  The warehouse had been difficult enough to manage. He had succeeded in casting a net around more spirits than ever before, but even that hadn’t been sufficient in relation to their sheer number. The god had been forced to use the soul-stealing as an entry point, then barge in and engage the rest of them physically. The cool adrenaline that had pumped through his veins fed his energy, allowing him to take one or two more through Duševje while combatting the others at the same time. However, he had been unable to replicate that particular course of action ever since. He needed the process of using Duševje to become as natural as wielding every other part of his energy.

  As much as a physical confrontation might have been appealing—especially when he thought of how badly he had handled the situation with Rose this winter—he had his priorities.

  A solid plan was vital. The populated streets of New York only backed up his resolve.

  He didn’t want to leave anything to chance, even if there were only two vampires stalking through the alleys, parallel to Rose’s path.

  Olive energy snaked around the dense air, its vines knitting together as they formed a net.

  With one final exhale, he willed his power to contract, merging the two entities together.

  “Your father and I were both young and without guidance,” Morana said. Her velvet cloak billowed behind her as she strode down the snow-covered archway and towards the most secluded part of the castle. “Svarog had fragmented his energy for our creation and destroyed himself in the process. Instinctively, we knew what our roles were, but you know well enough yourself that things are never quite as simple.”

  Behind her, Veles sneered in agreement. He followed the goddess through a wide gate and down the hallway that connected the courtyard to the northern chambers.

  “I have taken many souls by mistake as I learned how to recognize those whose time had truly come—those that were calling for me to extend my hand and guide them gently towards Velin’s gates. And your father, although he was much stronger than I had ever been, quicker in controlling his power, as well, had taken some that should have been mine. Although each lord of the underworld possesses this capability, the task is first and foremost mine.

  “I think you, like your father before you, have been given this strength as a fail-safe in case something were to happen to me.” She laughed, the gentle sound carrying a bitter undertone. “I don’t know what would happen if that final link between my realm and the earth was lost… Would a part of my power continue to fulfill its mission without me, or would the task fall into your hands? Luckily, I have no intention of letting it happen.”

  The goddess gave him a look that spoke of just how painfully aware she was that there was little she could do to back up her words.

  Yet Veles didn’t doubt that Morana was fighting. Perhaps that was the reason behind the bleakness and exhaustion he had seen in the throne room. As if she was using every ounce of her energy to keep the realm tethered where it was.

  “I always knew I could take souls if I wanted to. Have threatened quite a few individuals with that particular power.” He smiled, knowing Morana wouldn’t share her personal struggles as easily. “But I have never truly understood how.”

  Morana stopped as a robust, white wood door came into her line of sight on the right, and turned around to face him. Shadows of ancient memories rushed across her face, reminding the god that despite her banishment, Morana had seen far more than he could have imagined. After all, she had been present almost from the very start.

  Her voice flowed to his ears, gentle but clear. “Perhaps you should be grateful Velin never taught you the darker depths of your power.”

  The god crossed his hands behind his back, his expression blank. “I have done my fair share of destructive mistakes.”

  Morana snorted, and a hint of life returned to her features. A hint of arrogance, as well. “The villagers? Y
ou haven’t destroyed them, Vee, you transformed them.”

  “I still took their lives, even if their souls continued to live on in a different form.”

  Morana placed her hand on the crystal handle, fixing the god with her pale blue eyes. “That was not soul-stealing, dear. And if the village incident is something you think of as grave, perhaps you should reconsider fulfilling the reason for your visit here…”

  Save for his olive gaze darkening, Veles didn't let the expression on his face change. Sharp tips of his fangs kissed the air as he hissed, “Do not baby me, Morana. I come on my terms. I will not cower from my power any longer.”

  “As you wish.” The goddess shrugged, such a casual gesture that it rendered the god speechless. She pushed past the door into the wide chamber that lay beyond it.

  She led him to the carpeted center of the room, motioning to a sky-blue loveseat opposite the one she nestled in herself.

  “Teaching you like this won’t be easy,” she began once he sat down, one arm flung over the top of the backrest. “The closer you are to the person whose soul you wish to take, the easier it is to bring the spirit into focus.” A gentle, almost sad smile tugged at her lips. “It’s why so many tales exist of people who witnessed death…”

  “You walked among the people,” the god added softly, the temper that had surfaced mere moments ago now gone.

  “Not willingly.” She huffed and smoothed the skirt of her gown. “I wasn’t the caretaker of souls like Velin. Nor was I the mother of fertility and femininity Mokoš was to the people. I was…the thief of their beloveds. The reaper of joy. If there had been any other way, I would have remained, gladly and happily, in my realm or in one of the dwellings the pantheon shared.”

  He shifted in his seat. “Proximity made it possible for you to hone your strength, your talents.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “If I hadn’t learned how to differentiate between souls, and if I hadn’t developed the skill to remove from Earth those whose time hadn’t yet come but were a danger to others, I would have diminished the people’s numbers to an extent I wasn’t comfortable with. They may have hated me for it—perhaps still do, although I’m fairly certain it’s not the image of me”—she motioned to her body—“that’s filling their minds. But I cared for them, Vee. Taking innocents simply because my skill was lacking… I couldn’t do it. So I gave up my safety for theirs.”

  “They hunted you.”

  “Whenever they could. The rest, the majority, they feared me. They would hide in their little shabby burrows, cradle their children as I walked past them. I have put terror in their hearts and tales on their lips. But I learned.”

  “And so will I,” he added, his tone somewhat lighter.

  The smile that captured her lips was genuine now, almost sly. “It will be my pleasure seeing the sultry lord of the underworld sweat.”

  Embers danced in his eyes, his fangs fully on display. “If I remember correctly, you were doing the sweating last time, Em.”

  She met his gaze. And his challenge. “That was more like sweating over a hot dish, love. This time, not even your silver tongue will convince me to do all the work.”

  He opened his mouth with a comeback already lingering on the brim of his lips. But instead, he remained silent.

  It was the first time since he had seen the goddess in the throne room that she finally looked like herself. The teasing, wise, adorable Death he had come to know after his ascension.

  He allowed the laughter to spill from him, warming the too-quiet space until it brimmed with life.

  And oddly, as he observed the color return to her cheeks—as he noticed a spark of something vivid, something pure and powerful in the goddess’ eyes—he felt a shard of something unusual thrumming in his chest.

  He felt hope.

  For the first time since he had lost Rose, the god didn’t feel alone.

  Chapter 19

  Rose was stretched out on the narrow bed in the hotel room she shared with Serafina. Outside, the outlines of New York were slowly submerging into shadows, yet the hum of traffic remained the same. The room wasn’t impressive, more on the bland and small side than anything else, but the two windows offered a priceless view. One on each wall of the hotel’s corner, they overlooked the east and south side, respectively.

  Her gaze trailed the sharp lines of the city, making her yearn for the anonymity the very essence of New York promised. But there was no megalopolis left on Earth that could grant her that wish. Not permanently.

  She closed her eyes, the bond of The Dark Ones coming alive within her. She let her thoughts travel down its vines, gently feeling them out. There were no images of her pack’s whereabouts seeping through, yet she felt them all, alive and ever-present. They may have agreed to withhold contact, but with the change of plans, she needed to alert the pack that she would be coming home sooner than expected.

  A small part of her mind crooned that the weres would just as easily accept the news of her arrival in person. Reaching out to them was excessive.

  She sighed.

  Fine. Perhaps she was looking for an excuse to hear their voices. And at the very least it wouldn’t be over something as trivial as her car…

  She focused on one of the tendrils, the ethereal pull turning into a rap at the barrier the other were had set up. Somehow, whenever she had to talk to the group, she always chose the same individual to speak to. Perhaps it was their past, the lingering fondness that had lasted even through the hardest of times. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

  But she, like so many times before, found herself reaching down the same vine of the bond.

  Zarja? she asked, sensing the opaque wall dissipate into transparency.

  A mumbling hello greeted her from the other side.

  Rose bit her lip. She hadn’t thought about the time difference. Even with the additional six hours taken into account, it was still unusually early for Zarja to already be asleep.

  Did I wake you?

  A husky chuckle. Never saw that happening, did you?

  She allowed a lazy smile to spread across her face. Did that girl of yours get you all tired?

  She still didn’t know who exactly Zarja was seeing, but it had been going on since winter. The were had said it was more of an on-and-off thing, but lately, the switch had moved back to on.

  Fuck, I wish. Zarja exhaled. We’ve found a new nest. I’ve been tracking one of its residents for the whole fucking day.

  Twentyfourhourlies? Rose asked, her mind kicking into high gear.

  Silence stretched between them, and through the bond, she could hear the deep breaths meant to soothe the tension that had begun sizzling in the werewolf.

  Worse.

  Rose tensed. The trip to New York wasn’t only a pleasantry. She had wanted to probe Ileana’s knowledge of the supernatural underground communities set up in Ljubljana and, well, in whichever place her mother knew about. The vamps in Tignes had been a harsh wake-up call.

  The problem wasn’t local any longer. Hadn’t been for a while now.

  But the information she had received after putting the bits and pieces together, joining Ileana and Serafina’s knowledge, was more than she had been prepared for. It was more than the pack had dared to presume.

  Who did you track, Zarja? Rose pressed, not wanting to reveal what she knew just yet. She didn’t want to spook anybody in case things back home weren’t as grave as she pictured in her mind.

  A long sigh flowed through the bond. Upir.

  Shit. Rose exhaled. Her claws snapped out and retracted in regular, intense intervals.

  A vicious snarl tore itself from her lips. A bloody Upir. She should never have separated herself from the pack. At least not in a way that meant no communication between them unless it was urgent. They were efficient only if they worked together, sharing every detail that might aid the cause. And what she was sitting on could hardly be called a footnote in the larger scheme of things. However, it had been them that had
agreed unanimously on the bloody no-contact rule. Her seclusion had to be absolute for her to work on cleansing her energy of Veles’ influence.

  Thankfully, that part had worked.

  Maintaining a regular exercise routine every day, along with being in the presence of someone as grounded as Serafina had pushed the olive-tinted embers out of Rose’s system until nothing but golden light remained. She was still uncertain whether this new state would last if she had to exercise larger amounts of power; however, stepping into the ethereal pouch of earth-tethered souls was as safe as it could get.

  She had even dared to transport some into the underworld the previous night, though the discomfort she felt at the task had nothing to do with the fears concerning her power.

  It was feeling confident enough in her abilities that led her to book a flight home for her and Serafina. There was no safe place for her, no spot to where she could retreat and lie low. And after what Ileana had told her, after what she had experienced through the whispers of Mokoš, she wanted to discuss the new information with the pack. In person.

  She snarled into the air. She should have contacted the weres earlier, should have known that the bastards wouldn’t miraculously rest.

  The Upir and Vaclav were connected, Zarja continued after moments of long silence. I’m sure of it now. I found the same kind of stationery Vaclav had used in the trashcans behind the apartment where she and her charming friends have set up base. I was trying to figure out if the line ends there… Or if there’s a whole Chernobog-damned society of them hidden among us.

  Rose already knew the answer to that, but she found a question seeping through her lips instead. What did you find?

  Another pause. The silence even deathlier than before.

  The blood in her veins chilled as a single word traveled through the bond.

  She had learned the pack would have to deal with more than a single Upir. She had puzzled together that the group of the two-souled creatures living in Ljubljana was fulfilling Vaclav’s madness, keeping the fearful and aggressive twentyfourhourlies organized, and was dead set on linking them with the traditionals. Not to mention the disturbing fact that they had ties with some of the higher circles.