Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

  “The first one you’ve got,” Jürgen replied quickly, fighting to control each word.

  Even with the effort thrown in, Katja read the tension lingering beneath with ease—it was, after all, the urge they both shared. Fingers entwined in a bone-crunching grip, they were as impatient as Evelin’s cubs when seeking attention. A small part of Katja wondered how they had even managed to wait this long.

  The vampire placed her finger on an empty slot in the ledger. “We have one available space on the twenty-eighth at noon…”

  Katja exchanged a quick glance with Jürgen, nothing but joy swirling in those beautiful eyes of his. “We’ll take it.”

  “Excellent. I will need some sort of personal identification.”

  The pair pulled out their IDs and placed them on the desk. The vampire snatched them with well-manicured nails painted a deep green color and began imputing their information on the computer. Her fingers worked the keyboard with honed speed and skill, the clicks resonating through the otherwise silent room.

  “Have either of you been married before?” the woman asked, meeting their eyes even as she continued to type.

  “I’ve been a widow for about a century now,” Katja answered, surprised by the easiness with which the words left her mouth.

  The vampire offered a compassionate smile but said lightly, “Oh, so that certainly isn’t in the system.”

  Jürgen’s grip on Katja’s hand tightened, but she merely chuckled. “No, it certainly isn’t.”

  “Then I only need the names of your witnesses, and you’re all set.”

  Katja went motionless, and Jürgen issued a soft “Fuck” by her side. They were so set on keeping the ceremony personal that they had forgotten to pick out the two additional people who needed to be present. She shook her head, laughing.

  Reading their reactions, the vampire slightly shifted her pose. “Under normal circumstances, you could give us the names later, but since the date is set less than fourteen days from now, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she said, her fingers still resting on the keyboard.

  “No, it’s fine.” Katja waved her hand. “Please put Rosalind Markell down as my witness.”

  “I can hardly pick Veles. Doubt he’d show up on any computer,” Jürgen muttered as the taps of the keyboard sounded away, forcing Katja to hold back a laugh. He waited until the woman entered all pertinent information before adding, “Jens Freundenberger for mine, please.”

  “Excellent,” the vamp replied, hitting the keys once again. “If you have rings or any other items you wish to exchange, you may do so at the ceremony, but it is not a requirement. Other than that, I wish you a pleasant married life.”

  The pair grinned and thanked the woman. They propelled themselves out of the office and the always crowded city hall until they were standing under the beautiful blue skies. Katja’s heart was racing, Jürgen’s palm sweaty in her hand. But the were was all smiles when he looked at her, all affection and desire that was strong enough to make her forget about everything but her love for him.

  Her lover. Her friend. Her soulmate.

  Any storm fate threw at them, Katja knew they could weather.

  The Ascension

  Copyright © 2017 Gaja J. Kos

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This one is for you. My readers. My pack.

  Chapter 1

  A breeze fluttered through the square, the sharp freshness of alpine air filling Rorik’s nostrils. He inhaled deeply, sensing the strong rays of near-midday sun fall upon his skin like thousands of phantom caresses and feed the dragon buried inside. The time spent in human form meant little when it came to quenching the natural instincts and cravings of his alternate state.

  Nature called to him, its beautiful, untouched wilderness echoing what he carried locked within.

  He opened his eyes, gaze skimming across the vintage charm of Cortina d’Ampezzo. It wasn’t hard to imagine why the flight of Perelesnyks had decided to take up residence here.

  Seeking untainted, wild skies and bathing in sunlight was a fundamental part of every dragon’s nature. Cortina had it all in spades—and then some. Even if the only pleasure he, as well as the rest of his kin living here, could take was experiencing its potential through the veil of mock humanity.

  As far as he was aware of, at least.

  For centuries, he hadn’t seen his brethren, only heard whispers of their existence his courtesans brought to him from their clients’ lips. Perhaps others had had better luck throughout time, finding ways to switch forms unnoticed. Perhaps they managed to preserve a sliver of their former glory. Of the freedom that was nothing but a fading fragrance in his mind, destined to be swept away like so many civilizations lost.

  But maybe—he scanned the cafes and stores lining the square, then swept his gaze across the horizon—maybe the flight here truly had had better luck.

  The location was just far enough away from the Perelesnyks’ native Slavic countries to minimize the chance of anybody recognizing them for who they were purely by sight or a slight reading of the incubus energy, while giving them the opportunity to remain close to their homelands at the same time.

  Although history made sure wider Europe knew of the scaled threat coming from the sky, it was only the Slavs who still turned their faces towards the endless blue, scanning for that shadow of wing.

  He smirked, sucking in the scent of languid humanity and ease of life.

  Was he really surprised by the flight’s excellent choice of residence? Dragons had always been clever, and, judging by the charming, dark-haired waitress who was approaching him with swaying hips, the incubus side could thrive in this charming town just as well.

  Rorik flashed the thirty-something woman a dazzling smile, his fingers grazing the soft, tanned skin of her fingers lightly as he took the glass of scotch from her hand.

  “Grazie,” he purred, his grin only growing wider as the Italian beauty blushed under the heated weight of his gaze.

  She turned around, the sight from behind just as inviting. Rorik brought the glass to his lips, watching the waitress as she made her way past the predominantly empty tables and into the interior of the bar. A content sigh uncurled from his chest.

  She would definitely make for a magnificent way to spend the night and dispel the boredom of being on the lookout for any of his kin.

  Not that he minded lurking in bars—especially ones that offered such excellent scotch as the one he was rolling on his tongue now—things did get kind of dull after doing nothing but that for three days in a row. Besides, aside from his boredom, there was another slightly less favorable aspect to the expedition.

  Cortina wasn’t exactly the largest of places, and a solitary man, as good-looking as he might be—or perhaps because of it—had the tendency to attract unwanted attention by loitering in the town center from dawn till dusk. Sometimes even longer.

  Rorik cast a wanton glance at the darkened interior of the bar. Yes, he definitely needed to take his mind off things.

  He took another sip of his scotch, fully intent on walking straight in there and charming the apron off that waitress, when he felt it. A familiar coil of power, snaking through the air.

  Every muscle in his body tense, he placed the glass on the table, then tucked two bills beneath it. A hefty tip, but the dark-haired beauty more than deserved it.

  As he scanned the main square, that sense of familiarity rubbed against his skin, the dragon inside him bristling to life and steering him in the right direction. As always, he snuffed out the impulse to shift and instead tra
iled his gaze across the tanned figures lounging in the cafes, window shopping, or simply crossing the heart of the town. The sheer mass of people enjoying the day out in the sun was far from small, but Rorik spotted him immediately.

  Tall, gorgeous, with deep brown hair and a swagger that made it impossible not to watch the curve of his ass flex with the movement. Rorik arched an eyebrow.

  While Perelesnyks always were on the handsome side, thanks to their incubus DNA, he didn’t recall many of them playing to his tastes quite this well back when they’d still roamed the earth freely. Well, as freely as they could, what with all the terror pulsing from the villagers below. But, most surprising of all, there was something in the way the brown-haired man moved that told Rorik this Perelesnyk, unlike him, was more dragon than incubus.

  A good thing, in light of finding the proper motivation to get him and his flight to join the cause, but not quite as fabulous when it came to making the initial approach. He grimaced.

  Dragons were…conservative, by nature. Even the odd incubus traveled down that path from time to time, rooting their life in what should have been long forgotten traditions.

  Rorik sighed. This would be a long job.

  He could forget about the waitress. And he seriously needed to grab a change of clothes.

  These types of creatures preferred shredding to stripping. Such a shame.

  Scales of deep sea green appeared almost holographic under the artificial light of the massive cave that had been converted into an underground bunker, the dark walls only providing more contrast to the liquid spill of eye-catching, complementing colors. But as captivating as the display was, the sound of large, sharp talons scraping against the concrete crawled across Rorik’s eardrums, ruining the effect. He ground his teeth.

  Damn modernization.

  Dragon claws and man-made materials just didn’t mix.

  Still in human form, he turned towards the brown-haired eye candy and pursed his lips. It didn’t hurt to try just one more time.

  “Is this really necessary, Enyan?” He motioned to the huffing dragon that watched him with intense, yellow eyes. “I came here to talk, not break scales.”

  The Perelesnyk laughed, his unnervingly pleasant voice amplified by the acoustic shape of the cavern. “We value the old ways here, Rorik. They have kept us together throughout the centuries, and they have kept us alive. You are old enough to know that as one of our kin, you must earn the privilege to talk while within our territory.”

  “Fucking fantastic,” Rorik muttered, the sound met by another of Enyan’s laughs.

  Although he had sincerely hoped for a different outcome, a part of him had always known a display of power would be inevitable. After all, he had come here because they were a flight, not just solitary Perelesnyks scattered about Europe. But that also meant they adhered to bloody tradition. He let out a breath.

  The pack needed dragons, and they needed them soon. He certainly had no desire to scout out the rest of the lands all by his lonesome, picking up stragglers as they crossed paths. With Enyan’s flight on his side, a couple of them could stay in Ljubljana while the rest hunted together.

  It was as fine a plan as any. Except for the fighting part.

  Rorik raked his hand through his blond tresses, locking gazes with Enyan. “First blood?”

  The Perelesnyk dipped his chin.

  Without stalling, without as much as a breath in preparation, Rorik reached for the magic coiled deep inside him, thankful he had shifted that night in Zagreb to show Sander’s pretty wolf just what he was capable of. The transformation had eased some of the explosive eagerness, but even so, the energy was craving to be released, and all but ripped itself from his core.

  With clenched teeth, Rorik controlled the shift. Power surged through him like an electric storm, infusing every cell in his body until their very structure started to change, becoming something more. Something much, much deadlier.

  For a split second, he blacked out, as he always did when the pressure within his flesh became too much to bear, and when he opened his eyes again, his perspective of the world shifted, the curved ridges atop his head almost brushing against the ceiling.

  “Motherfucker,” Enyan said from below.

  Rorik flashed him his white, sharp teeth. He knew full well what the eye candy saw.

  The flowing deep red of his scales that gradually darkened; the strong, leathery wings he kept tucked close to his body for fear of destroying the chamber if he were to unleash their full width; and the obsidian talons, each one longer than a human’s forearm, slightly curved at the tip to cause maximum damage.

  He was fabulous, but that wasn’t what made the others hold their breaths.

  Taking his time, Rorik cocked his head to the side and peered down at the much, much smaller dragon crouched in front of him. Fire hissed through his nostrils, scorching the cement.

  The flight wanted a show of dominance.

  And that was precisely what they were going to get.

  Chapter 2

  Rose snarled and threw herself sideways, twisting to ease the impact as she crashed to the ground. The attacking thick mass of silken fur leaped just above her head, claws catching a few stray strands of her hair the fight had loosened from her braid.

  “Sonovabitch.” The severed strawberry-blonde curls fell on the patches of grass jutting out of the dark soil, but she didn’t have time to mourn her loss.

  Without her daggers, without her sword, being in human form put her at a disadvantage. She might have had her morphed hands and elongated teeth to fall back on, but those were only useful in very close combat. And they definitely didn’t make up for the agility she would have possessed as a wolf.

  Only Rose didn’t want to shift.

  Not yet.

  Not when there was still a chance this body—and what lay within it—could do the trick.

  As the shadow came at her again, she dropped into a roll, discarded pine needles prickling through her clothes, then lashed out with a booted foot. The kick connected with the attacking werewolf’s side, a faint whimper filtering through to her ears. A whimper that grew into a growl not a second later.

  “Ah, fuck,” she said softly as gleaming, lethal teeth grinned at her hungrily.

  She darted to the side, the werewolf already close on her heels—so close, in fact, that she could feel the warmth of his breath brushing against her bruised and bloodied back.

  Sighing to alleviate her frustration, Rose reached into her core with ethereal hands and scooped up the power that greeted her with bubbling eagerness. With each thud of her feet against the forest ground, more and more golden light spilled into her flesh, but it didn’t breach the barrier of her skin.

  The terrain angled slightly, the thickness of the pine trees and the uneven ground masking the elevation. From sight, at least. Rose gritted her teeth at the strain building up in her muscles, struggling to divide her attention equally between the werewolf in pursuit and the power expanding within her as she ran.

  Not the easiest of tasks.

  Sweat ran down her temples despite the shade, the soft touch of salt seeping into the air and speaking volumes of just how far she was pushing herself. But she didn’t dare stop.

  She didn’t dare loosen the hold she had on the energy tucked and waiting inside her.

  Her mind was starting to ache just as badly as her body. It would have been so liberating to let go, but Rose knew she couldn’t let her concentration slip now. Headache be damned.

  If she gave herself away, it would all be over.

  A massive larch soared up ahead, and Rose dug her claws into it at the same time she let her body fly through the air. Her palms burned and bled as they pressed into the rough bark, steering her around the trunk, but she made it. She made the turn.

  And, as she had hoped, the maneuver caught the were unprepared.

  He barely turned his muzzled head when Rose crashed into him, sending them both rolling down the hill. Small rocks and p
ebbles bit into her skin, adding even more bruises to the already disgustingly impressive collection she’d gathered over the past few hours. But even as nature left its imprints, Rose snarled, kicked, and clawed at her opponent, adamant to make the most of this small advantage she now had.

  They were still tumbling down the gentle decline of the slope, locked in their lethal embrace, when she finally released the hold she kept on her energy. Golden light spilled from her body, only it wasn’t the expanding field of dawn rushing from her now. Instead, a multitude of carefully constructed vines shot through the confines of her skin, piercing the air like arrows. They wrapped themselves around the werewolf’s legs and neck, containing him without burning through his flesh.

  As her brain child took form in front of her eyes, Rose pushed more and more vines towards her target. The energy obeyed her every command, not wavering even once until intricate, ethereal bounds that allowed no further movement enclosed the werewolf completely.

  He snarled at her one last time, teeth on display, then bowed his head in submission. The instant she acknowledged his defeat, dark fur rippled like a silken ocean on a moonlit night. Rose caught her breath in the seconds it took for the shift to release its subject, and as the last ripples of the change subsided, she found herself staring at a pair of bright blue eyes.

  Eyes that watched her with approval—and just a little annoyance thrown into the mix.

  “Well met, Rose. Well met.”

  She grinned and reeled in the energy, liberating Jens’s nude body from her power’s clutches. “Didn’t see it coming this time, did you?”

  “Fuck no.” The blond blew out a whizzing breath. “Not even a hint of gold this time.”

  Unable to hide her satisfactory smile, Rose pushed off the ground, then extended her slowly healing hand to Jens. He wouldn’t flinch from the blood. “Thanks for being my test bunny.”

  “Bunny?” A flash of canine teeth glistened in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. He arched an eyebrow, his teeth still on display, but grabbed hold of her nonetheless and hoisted himself on his feet.