Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

  Rose waved a hand. “Fine, fine. My test wolf. Now stop flexing those muscles before you strain something. We can go for another round in the afternoon.” She nudged her head towards the mansion nestled in the protective embrace of the woods. “But right now, there are other needs calling. You sure know how to make a were hungry.”

  Jens loped over to the spare clothes he kept stashed at the foot of a nearby pine tree and quickly pulled on a pair of gray sweats and a loose cotton tee that, despite its size, couldn’t conceal all that hard muscle lying beneath.

  He flashed her a conspirator’s glance. “Wouldn’t want to start a riot.”

  Rose rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the laugh that spilled from her lips. Although the were had been just as tense as the rest of them since Pia’s funeral, when they started with the preparations, the regular training fights the two of them shared seemed to shave some of the edge off. Rose pursed her lips at the thought and wiped away a prickling bead of sweat.

  Maybe they should make play fights mandatory, squeeze them into the daily agenda. At least when it came to the werewolves.

  Although she had to admit she wouldn’t be surprised if the extended pack benefited from such an outlet, as well.

  While she was undoubtedly the only one who actually needed the extra hours to hone her skills, the rest of them needed something to relieve the pent-up anger and energy that only grew worse as days went by. A couple of well-placed blows just might do the trick, and with the vast lands Veles’s residence encompassed, they would be fools not to take advantage of the natural training grounds it offered.

  Determined to bring the issue up over lunch, Rose followed not only the narrow dirt trail back to the house, but the mouth-watering fragrance of barbecue that filled her nostrils and made her stomach release a mournful, pleading cry. She hadn’t been frank before. She wasn’t just hungry—she was starving.

  Rightfully so, after the three heavy-duty rounds she’d gone with Jens, and right now, she couldn’t deny her need for a nice, large pitcher of beer to cool her temperature.

  “You’re not the only one,” Jens muttered from the side, catching the thought she had allowed to seep through the bond. “Shame we won’t be able to drink it in peace.”

  Rose groaned as the voices Jens was referring to broke the calm of the woods. Bickering voices. She swore.

  “Can’t leave them alone for a few hours, huh?” The blond were huffed, but Rose only pulled her lips to the side in discontent, her appetite diminishing at a rapid pace.

  “Maybe you starting a riot wouldn’t have been all that bad,” she said dryly.

  “Yeah. I kind of doubt they would’ve even noticed…”

  Gaze focused on the residence, Rose could do nothing but let out a grumbling sigh. Truer words had never been spoken.

  Tim’s voice rose over the strong scent of barbecued meat, directed at no one in particular. “What? I’m not allowed to leave now?”

  “Tim,” Nathaniel warned, but Rose could see in the hard set of the were’s eyes that he hadn’t as much as heard his brother’s plea.

  She toweled the sweat off her face and leaned against the patio doors, mindful of her already healing injuries. The argument wasn’t a new one. But it was much more intense than any she had heard before.

  Her eyes wandered over to the new batch of bags piled up in the shade, and, in a way, she understood where Tim’s anger was coming from. Setting up base at Veles’s residence did feel like running away. But it wasn’t as if they had been left with many other options.

  Unless they wanted to throw caution to the wind.

  She sighed. They were already straggling behind whatever plans the Upirs and their twisted minds had set in motion. If the pack wanted to up their game, close in on the fuckers, they had to keep their activities as far away from prying eyes as possible. Besides, going through their days, constantly looking over their shoulders for the wispy fingers of danger and death wasn’t an environment in which they could thrive.

  Pia had taken down a Keeper, after all. And that wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

  After Evelin and Mark had driven their cubs to safety, Rafael to the circle and Til to the Freundenbergers, the pack called one of the grimmest meetings they’d ever held.

  No one had argued when Evelin said that even with the cubs hidden away, the threat was still far from neutralized. Just as no one had argued when she said it would be the pack the Keepers went after next.

  Demanding Rafael. Demanding retribution for the life Pia had taken.

  They were already on the Keepers’ radar for embarking on the true path of The Dark Ones, for marking themselves as the living embodiment of the old legends that spoke of blood and death.

  Finding someplace remote to plan their future actions had been a necessity. So the decision to vacate Ljubljana had been a unanimous one. But no one had been prepared for this phase of their plans to last quite this long.

  Rose groaned, her gaze slipping back to the irritated were. It was unusual, seeing Tim lose his signature cool, and a part of her couldn’t help but wonder just how dangerous things would get with each additional day they had to spend holed up here in the woods.

  Just how far they were from snapping.

  A hint of olive-tinted energy wrapped around her shoulders, the ethereal caresses soothing her turbulent thoughts. For a moment, she did nothing but accept the comfort. The intimacy she felt lately was miles away.

  Slowly, she shifted her weight, braced her shoulder against the door, and took in the stunning presence of the dark-haired god.

  Her love. Her consort.

  “Srček,” Veles said as he slid next to her, his arm curling around her waist and the tips of his fingers reaching just low enough to make her breath falter. “Jens said you did well today.”

  She perked up at his words—it was impossible not to, what with the way he was staring at her, olive eyes filled with admiration—and the Vidmars’ argument trickled down to a whisper.

  She gave Veles a small smile. “I did have an excellent teacher.”

  The faintest hint of fang touched his lower lip as he returned the expression. “If we didn’t have company, Rosalind, I would gladly show you a lot more in-depth techniques.”

  The seductive roll of his voice heated things low in her body, and, instinctively, she cuddled into the god’s embrace. The scent of power, familiar and pure, entranced her senses, and in that moment, she wished he would transport them somewhere high in the Alps, where there would be no whispers of war, no blood, no lurking promise of death.

  And definitely no bickering weres.

  Frustration washed over her, snuffing out the growing flames of desire, even as her body still reacted to Veles’s pleasurable proximity. She blew out a breath.

  She hated seeing the pack so rattled. Somehow, not even their unyielding humor had been enough to combat the daunting visions of what the future had in store for them. Or what the past had washed up on its barren, lethal shores.

  And although she was bitterly aware that it had been no one else but her who had put the first wedge between them, going after that snooping Vedmak in Ljubljana with only Veles and Serafina by her side, she still couldn’t help but wish that things would revert to the way they used to be. For the pack to be an unbreakable unit once more.

  She snorted mentally and lay her head on Veles’s shoulder. Who am I kidding?

  They weren’t just a pack of Black weres. Hadn’t been for a while. Perhaps it was childish to ever even consider there was a chance for them to escape their fates, to think that the Gamayun’s arrival on that hot August day hadn’t changed everything, hadn’t changed them… But still she held on to that sliver of hope like a drowning woman.

  “Rosalind?” Veles asked, his dark-rimmed eyes watching her with concern as she lifted her head.

  “It’s nothing. Nothing that you can help me with, anyway.” She offered him a soft smile. “How are the rest of them settling in?”


  He spared a glance towards the manor. A dash of annoyance flickered across his chiseled features, breaking up his impassive charade. “Loudly.”

  She buried her head in his chest, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “I know. And I’m sorry, I really am.”

  He tipped up her chin with a slender finger. “Don’t ever apologize to me, Rosalind. You are my consort. My companion through immortality. You may have rather loud friends, I cannot argue with that, but through you, they are also mine. Besides, Morana seems positively thrilled to have more people around. Although, as it appears, a certain individual’s company does please her somewhat more than the rest.”

  She gasped. “I knew I wasn’t imagining it!”

  Veles arched an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

  “That Morana has set her sights on Serafina?” Rose grinned. “Are you kidding me?”

  The god shrugged. “Forgive an old man for wanting to make sure.”

  “Don’t tell me the oh-so-sexy lord of the underworld lost some of his legendary arrogance.” She clicked her tongue, then leaned closer, batting her eyelashes. “What’s a were got to do to convince you that she’s yours?”

  Wild, beautiful olive flames burned in Veles’s eyes, the dark rims barely containing their power as he brought his lips to hers, not quite touching. “Oh, I’m certain I could think of a thing or two…”

  Just as Rose wanted to shoot back a remark, or simply kiss the flirt out of him, she saw—but even more so felt—Veles’s entire body go rigid with tension. The embers in his eyes turned from playful to lethal in less than a split second, coiled tongues of energy warming his sun-kissed skin. She followed his gaze to the shaded tree line on the western side, but failed to see anything but the serene forest greens. Failed to smell anything, too.

  Whatever it was, it was downwind and out of her reach. She shot Veles a questioning glance.

  “It appears the joys of company have not yet come to an end,” he said dryly and pushed off the wall. “Our dragon has just arrived. With your beloved beefcake in tow.”

  Chapter 3

  The sleek, cold snick-snick-snick of metal being sharpened cut through the tension not even the languid rays of early afternoon sun could dispel. Everyone was gathered in front of the mansion, the succulent smell of barbecue dwindling down to a longing whisper.

  Rose sat cross-legged on one of the spare tables that occupied the southern end of the patio, guiding her whetting stone down the length of the beautiful ancient blade in a steady rhythm. The presence of the sword of Mokoš in her hands, coupled with the almost sacred task of honing the blade, made her temper somewhat easier to control. But the others… They weren’t faring quite as well.

  The pack stood in a semi-circular formation with their backs turned to the woods, Morana, Katja, and Nathaniel lingering in the vicinity, while Serafina took up position a few steps ahead. Her stance was protective, guarded, but her eyes were intense as she monitored the three figures in the middle of the crowd.

  Two of them were tense to the point of breaking, and one didn’t seem concerned by the violent atmosphere at all.

  Yet even despite the Perelesnyk’s easy-going nature, he refused to speak first. Smart man, given there was a plenty pissed deity watching him with embers of pure power flickering in his eyes.

  Rose guided the stone down the blade. Again. And again.

  Only after what felt to her like minutes had passed did Veles’s smooth voice saturate the air. “How the fuck did you get here?”

  The blond, bronze-skinned Koldun opened his mouth, but Rorik beat him to it.

  “He rode me,” the Perelesnyk said with a dazzling smile, slightly angling his body so that he was the one in Veles’s direct line of sight, not Sander.

  A faint glimmer of surprise flickered across Veles’s face, yet the edge lining his words was nothing short of lethal. “You flew here?”

  “Sander extended his glamor,” Rorik explained, his poster-boy features turning ten shades more serious. “Nobody saw us. We made sure of that. Your location is perfectly safe.”

  Veles snorted. “Clearly not safe enough. You were supposed to meet with the pack in Ljubljana upon your return. Which, I must stress, is something you have failed to mention entirely.”

  A low growl sounded in the background as Veles kept chastising the incubus dragon. Rose peeled her gaze away from her consort and traced the sound to Mark. She frowned. The were’s brown eyes were dead set on the Koldun, his hands balled into tight fists by his side. By all accounts, he seemed like he was barely holding back the impulse to pounce.

  What is he—?

  Her thoughts died down as she noticed the brief, almost unremarkable exchange between Sander and Evelin. It was nothing more than a glance, really, yet the older were’s reaction started to make sense.

  Sander might be the one keeping Rafael safe, but Mark was far from pleased with Evelin’s choice of guardian. In truth, Rose kind of shared his sentiment—even if for entirely different, personal reasons. Because as the Koldun’s gaze slithered over to her perch on the table, she knew things between them were far from done.

  She sighed and slid her whetting stone down the length of the sword once more, drinking in the calming sound.

  This was one confrontation she didn’t want to have, yet, at the same time, knew was inevitable.

  The tips of her fingernails sharpened, scraping against the stone. With a cleansing breath, she reeled them back in and faced the truth she had been hoping to dodge.

  It didn’t matter that it was Sander who had set up the initial meeting with Rorik. It didn’t matter that it was him who had given the pack their only chance of actually coming out of the bloody mess that the world had turned into victorious.

  The bronze beefcake certainly felt no love for her, and even the looming promise of war wasn’t going to change that. Not on its own.

  “I asked Sander to take me to you,” Rorik intervened, clearly not too enthusiastic about the sizzling tension riding the atmosphere. “We used the amulet your dazzling green-eyed wolf carries around that pretty neck as a guide.”

  Veles arched an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t have waited until next week because…?”

  The grin that stretched on Rorik’s face was nothing short of brilliant. And completely at odds with the grim expressions the rest of the werewolves were wearing behind his back.

  He stood up straighter, his lean body exuding confidence and no small amount of satisfaction.

  “Because I have some good news I thought you might want to hear sooner rather than later. And because this sentimental sod”—he tipped his head at Sander, still brooding on his left—“wanted to give an update on the cub.”

  As soon as the last word left his lips, Evelin broke the line the pack held, her gaze searching Sander’s face. “Is Rafael all right?”

  “The boy is fine.”

  Rose blinked at the warmth of the Koldun’s tone, the sword all but forgotten in her hands. She had never heard him sound like anything but the pissy, self-absorbed, arrogant bastard that he was. Her gaze cut to Mark, noting the shadows that fell on his ruggedly handsome face, the tight set of his jaw…

  She had known the were too long to miss that he was fighting to keep it together to the best of his abilities—leashing that strong protective streak rooted deep within. But the tendrils of jealousy were eroding his nerves, and Rose couldn’t help but wonder how long the were could keep himself in check.

  Especially when the Koldun did so little to mask whatever inexplicable affection he harbored towards Evelin.

  Sander, however, completely ignored the violence pulsing from Mark, his gaze resting on Evelin. And Evelin only.

  “He’s fine but he has grown in power. The magic of the sacred circle works well with the one running in his veins”—a hint of a smile tugged on his lips—“and he is starting to master his shifts.”

  Stunned by his revelation, by the idea that a werewolf as young as Rafel could already control the process
of changing form, Rose forgot she was staring. The Koldun’s smile faded as their eyes met, the iciness immediately returning to his features. Only now it was coupled with a fair amount of hostility.

  Rose felt her energy react in response to the silent threat, but she refused to let it breach the surface. Refused to let the Koldun rattle her this way. She focused on the sword, the snick-snick-snick becoming a mantra, keeping her anger grounded.

  Again, it was Rorik who interfered, his voice overpowering the low sizzle of violence.“ The flight I tracked down in Cortina d’Ampezzo has arrived in Kranjska Gora. I wanted to check up with you on how many of them you want me to send to the capital before I organize the search further.”

  Veles crossed his hands, his attention on Evelin. “Your call, I believe.”

  As Evelin hashed out the details with Rorik, Sander stalked across the patio—right towards the table Rose claimed. His powerful frame rippled with muscle as he moved, his bronze skin almost ethereal in the gold-tinted streaks of the sun. She straightened her spine when the Koldun crossed the distance, but didn’t stop sharpening her sword.

  Instead, she continued with the task, not even flinching as Sander’s body blocked her view of the rest of the pack. But not Veles.

  The god’s eyes were flaming beacons as he stared at her, and even from where she was sitting, the pulse of his power was an unmistakable promise, speaking of death just waiting to happen. With a quiet exhale, Rose sliced her head to the side.

  She didn’t want his intervention.

  It would only postpone the inevitable, and things had been dragging on for long enough as it was. Still, that didn’t mean she had to be nice about it. A snarl rumbled in her chest when the Koldun stopped bare inches from the table.

  “What do you want?”

  “What I’ve always wanted, miška.” There was nothing but poison forming his words.

  Rose swallowed a grunt and met his hard gaze, hands resting on the sword.