Black Werewolves: Books 1–4

by Gaja J. Kos

  Unleashing himself on the crumbling remains could send a wrong message and stir unnecessary panic. He knew his fire wouldn’t harm those who were still fleeing from the destruction, but he couldn’t expect the police to take such a massive leap of faith.

  So he inhaled it all, his lungs cleaning out the air, while the barely noticeable flames burned away the cinders wishing to adhere to his nostrils.

  As the building finally collapsed in full, he did one last sweep around the perimeter, then moved on to the next. Briefly, he noticed Enyan carrying a group of humans to safety, the survivors huddled between the burnt-orange ridges on his back. He touched his mind with his, following the old channel belonging to his kind he had all but forgotten about.

  Are there more inside?

  No, the Perelesnyk answered as he lowered his massive body towards the road. These are the only ones who live.

  Not even two dozen.

  Rorik fumed, catching himself moments before his frustration would manifest in a blazing exhale of fire, then entered the same circular pattern of flight as he reached ground zero of the final building left to contain. The structure was gone, only rubble, dust, and the coiling taint of the Upirs lingering in its stead. He sensed no sign of life beneath the wreckage—and although he had known there was little chance of anyone surviving destruction of such a scale, the confirmation made his blood boil nonetheless.

  Such a useless, tragic waste of life.

  Thinking of humans as lesser, expendable beings wasn’t an unpopular opinion within the supernatural community, yet he had always liked the mortals. Adored them, actually.

  Yes, they could be irrational and, at times, governed by fear, especially when pushed out of their comfort zone. But their reactions were an expected response in light of the discrepancy of strength and the unfamiliarity of the beings they were facing. And while he would never forget the hunts the wider population had organized—the hunts that had forced him to lock up his dragon form, to give up a piece of himself—it had never stopped him from caring about humans, either.

  He thought of all those working at his brothel, the individuals who had never batted an eye at the wide variety of beings frequenting his establishment, but rather created long-lasting relationships with clients who, sometimes, had even turned into partnerships of sorts. Individuals who were his family, regardless of the species they belonged to.

  Holding on to the thought, he swirled around the smoking remains that had become the burial ground of innocence. Regret swept through him as he breathed in the traces of destruction.

  Regret he couldn’t do the same for the sorrow that lingered—and would remain a ghostly presence long after the site was cleared.

  Doing her best to ignore the reek of blood that seemed to have embedded itself into the very walls of the manor, Katja pulled out a chair for Evelin and plopped herself in the one set up by the desk. Adrenaline was still rushing through her veins, and she wasn’t quite certain whether to laugh or throw up.

  By all accounts, they should be dead, not trying to catch the latest news.

  Her hands refused to stop shaking as her fingers slid across the keyboard, but Katja focused on the task, determined not to dwell on just how lucky they had been to have had so many weapons handy.

  A laugh did escape her lips then.

  “What?” Evelin asked, peering up from the open box of medical supplies she cradled in her hands. A faint trickle of blood rolled down her freckled cheek, the other wounds already closing.

  “I was just thinking how grateful I am that Veles hoards weapons like the Freundenbergers do beer.” She shook her head. “In large fucking quantities.”

  Evelin chuckled, although the sound had an edge of hysteria to it. “We did get them quite good, didn’t we?”

  A smile tugged on Katja’s lips. Sincere, but not devoid of the bitterness the shards of memories pushed to the surface. While she agreed with Evelin, there was something about the glimpses of the past that resembled nightmares, not victory.

  She tried to stop the sudden flood of images, but in her worn state, her will had no hope of overpowering the onslaught of her subconscious. She saw the smoke bomb she sent rolling across the floor, keeping the vampires from overwhelming them immediately. The gunfire, on both sides. Fangs and blades cutting through the thinning gray mist.

  The fight had been close. So close, in fact, that failure had become a terrifying probability.

  Katja frowned, pushing the thought aside.

  The vampires were reduced to heaps of carrion, and the two of them were alive, even if somewhat battered.

  Intimate brush with death or not, she and Evelin deserved to celebrate. But it wasn’t only the awareness of how wrong things could have gone that spoiled her mood. What Jürgen had told her when he’d called…

  She loosened a breath, then turned her attention back to the computer, fingertips flying across the keyboard with expert skill. Her heart pounded in her ears as she pulled up a video, and Evelin swore softly as the image came to life.

  Two dragons were circling around the row of now entirely collapsed buildings, dispelling the ash and dust almost as if they were sucking everything in. Evelin’s hand touched her forearm lightly as the camera zoomed in on the action, showing that that was precisely what the Perelesnyks were doing.

  It was terrifying, yet beautiful at the same time.

  Their scales glistened even as layers of soot clung to them, cunning, ancient eyes scanning the air. Majestic. They were majestic.

  A force of nature, built to withstand the test of time.

  It was only when the shot split up that Katja found herself able to breathe again. She caught a glimpse of Tomo commanding people in the background while ambulances were tending to those few lucky individuals who had survived the blast. After a few seconds, the visual switched again, the feed of the Perelesnyks playing in the upper left corner while a young man, covered in blood and dust, appeared on the main frame.

  “It—it saved us,” he rasped, voice heavy with shock. But also gratitude. “It took us on its back and brought us down before the building collapsed.”

  The feed switched to a blurred cell phone recording of a sun-kissed dragon flying away from the crumbling structure, the residents holding on to the ridges decorating his back as he swiftly but gently whisked them away to safety.

  “This is it, huh?” Evelin asked, her tone soft.

  Katja leaned back in her chair, meeting the werewolf’s emerald gaze. “You mean the attack or the Perelesnyks?”

  “Both.”

  She didn’t comment. Words were unnecessary when it was so painfully clear that the fragile state of the world had just taken a turn for the worse. She looked at the screen, at the two Perelesnyks who circled around one last time before they took to the skies and became nothing but small, shimmering blotches that faded in the distance. She bit her lip.

  Humankind had glimpsed through the veil today. And she had a suspicion they would see a whole lot more, if they wished to survive.

  Just when she wanted to shut off the feed, the image shifted again. Her fingers froze on the mouse.

  The shot wasn’t one of the bomb site, but of a sparsely decorated office.

  “We cannot give any official comment as of yet,” the man in uniform said, his gaze pinned on the camera, “but we promise you that we will find the person or persons responsible for the attack our city and its citizens have suffered—”

  Katja didn’t hear the rest of his bullshit, not as her mind went red with fury. With bloodcraze.

  Tater.

  Plastic and metal crunched under her fingers, and she let out a long, seething breath.

  The bastard would pay for what he had done.

  They all would.

  Chapter 31

  Inquisitive gazes followed Tomo as he strode past his fellow officers across the floor and marched right up to the captain’s office. The smell of death and destruction still clung to his clothes, skin, and hair like a sic
kening perfume, reminding him of that piece of security his world had irrevocably lost. He should have gone home after the team had wrapped up at the bomb site in the early hours of morning, but this was something that couldn’t wait.

  He’d lost enough time as it was.

  Tater didn’t flinch when the door flew to the side and crashed against the wall, loud enough that there wasn’t a single man in the precinct who hadn’t heard it. But the captain merely stared at him, his gaze leveled, if slightly annoyed.

  “Officer Kralj.”

  “Cut the crap,” Tomo hissed. He strode up to the desk and slammed his palms against the polished wood. “I know it was you behind the attack.”

  Amusement flickered briefly across the captain’s regal face. His voice, however, was stern, revealing nothing of the twisted confidence and satisfaction Tomo had caught earlier. “I advise caution, officer. Accusations like that cannot and will not be taken lightly.”

  Tomo felt his anger rising. At the creature, at himself for not acting the instant Evelin disclosed Tater’s association with the rogue vamps.

  He pushed away from the desk, one hand hovering near his holstered gun. “You mean the truth, Milivoj?”

  With a chiding sigh, the captain stood, his movements unhurried as he skirted around the table and moved to the door. He closed it softly, then proceeded to shut the blinds on the wide rectangular window overlooking the bullpen—a barrier between them and any curious eyes.

  The irony of yet another divide was not lost on Tomo. His fingers twitched, but he reined in the impulse to cut the bastard down.

  “I understand that you’re tired, Kralj.” Tater walked over to the far wall, right where his framed decorations hung in all their mocking glory. “You worked damage control for sixteen hours straight. It’s enough to put any man on edge. But”—he sighed—“that does not excuse flinging blind accusations.” His gaze dipped down to the small calendar resting on his desk. “I will place you on paid leave until you recover and set up an appointment with the in-house psychologist—”

  “The fuck you will,” Tomo snarled and took a step closer. “I’m not leaving the precinct at your mercy. I know what you are, know who you’re working with, you sick, double-souled fuck.”

  A chilled smile spread across the captain’s face. “Oh, I don’t think you do, Kralj.”

  Even as the last word left Tater’s lips, the air around him began to shimmer. It brought a touch of something vile, something wrong that rubbed against Tomo’s skin, probing and grazing as if it wanted to slip beneath the surface. He sucked in a sharp breath as the man’s eyes changed, as he found himself staring into nothing but pools of endless black without a single trace of humanity left within them.

  Slowly, the change spread. It reshaped Tater’s face into one of haunting beauty, of perfection far stronger and purer than anything he’d ever seen. Yet those inhumanly sculptured features carried a kind of harrowing cruelty, revealing the predator resting beneath the alluring disguise. With every second he watched Tater transform into Milivoj, the vileness in the room grew. But despite Tomo’s entire skin crawling with its presence, the brush of chaotic magic failed to cause any more harm than that.

  Tucked beneath his shirt, the iron pendant was a warm, reassuring presence against his chest that wrapped him in magic and something else. Something ancient, surpassing and neutralizing the waves of chaos oozing from the Upir.

  Tomo smiled as the satisfaction on the bastard’s face faded. “Look who’s lacking knowledge now, asshole.”

  With a snarl, Milivoj lunged at him, but before his ghostly white hand could wrap around Tomo’s neck, the office door all but exploded inward. The Upir’s head snapped toward the origin of the noise, wrath morphing his beautiful features into an iron promise of death. Of obliteration.

  A menacing pulse of chaos shot from his flesh, the wave sweeping through the already thick air, but it failed to stop Rorik and Enyan who rushed past Tomo in a blur of preternatural speed. The two Perelesnyks lunged, capturing the creature’s arms and rendering him immobile, while Katja, Dragan, and Sebastian entered the room, then circled around their mark.

  Tomo stepped back to give them more space.

  When he had all but reached the shattered door, he cocked his head to the side and met the pitch black of Milivoj’s gaze, drinking in the outrage. The wrath.

  “This isn’t over,” the Upir hissed even as the three figures closed in and both Perelesnyks tightened their hold. His melodic voice carried a note of something foreign, an essence that sent chills crawling down Tomo’s spine despite the amulet’s protection beating against his skin as if the raw power were alive. “We are not done, human.”

  “No, we’re not done,” Tomo said calmly. “But you are.”

  Fury rolled over the Upir’s pitch-black eyes, creating a kaleidoscopic darkness on utter annihilation, yet Tomo saw it for what it was. Not even a threat, but an empty promise.

  He glanced at Katja and gave her a curt nod. “He’s all yours.”

  The vampire shot him a homicidal grin, then sank her fangs into the Upir’s neck the instant Dragan and Sebastian swept in from behind, ripping out flesh. Screams of pain and frustration permeated the air, but Tomo simply spun around and walked out the door, knowing that his battle had only just begun.

  Pri Sojenicah was brimming with supes. Not an unusual sight under the clear morning sky, yet to Rose it couldn’t feel more different.

  Werewolves took up every inch of the patio—some faces she knew, others she was seeing for the first time. Her own pack was perched on the large table behind her, even Evelin, who had refused to stay behind despite her still somewhat weakened state. Yet no one had argued with the emerald-eyed were when she insisted she would come. Not when all eight packs with territories in the capital and near vicinity were meeting for the first time in a century.

  Not when they were discussing a matter of such importance.

  While the majority of packs operated in a democratic way, times like this tended to bring up a spontaneous restructure, visible even to the naked eye. So Rose took in the seven newly elected leaders first, her gaze coming to rest on Tristan, the were in charge of the pack who had answered Tomo’s call the day before.

  Although the werewolves hadn’t fought, their readiness and willingness to do precisely that marked them as an ally. To what extent, she would learn soon enough.

  As Tristan gave her a curt dip of his chin, she swept her gaze across the weres the other six leaders had brought along. Judging from the number, she was relieved to find that each pack had only left one or two of their own behind to keep an eye on things. Precisely as she had suggested.

  It was a promising start, even if it didn’t guarantee the meeting wouldn’t go sour somewhere down the line. She straightened her spine, well aware that the longer she hesitated, the harder the words building up in her chest would be to expel.

  “I gather everyone knows what happened yesterday.” A series of less than pleased murmurs met her words, and she held up a hand. “But I don’t believe you know the full extent of it. The attack, though carried out by vampires, was orchestrated by beings far more ancient and far more powerful than that. I understand some of you keep close record of our legends”—Edgar, a brown were from the pack that had its base near Ig, nodded in agreement, as did Veronika from Koseze—“so I trust at least those of you who have heard of the Upirs before do.”

  The majority of the werewolves exploded with questions, but Veronika and Edgar, like their respective packs, only gazed at her in absolute silence. Rose waved her a hand, effectively stopping the avalanche of voices.

  “We can discuss the Upirs at length later, if you wish, but right now, all you need to know is that they’re infinitely more dangerous than any threat the weres as a whole have gone up against. I trust you can confirm the truth of my words”—she glanced at the two leaders knowledgeable in Slavic lore—“and the gravity of what the existence of such creatures in this day and age coul
d mean.”

  Both Edgar and Veronika nodded.

  “It’s true,” the blonde were confirmed, her gaze gliding across the gathered crowd. “Upirs are ancient. Born in a time when the very fabric of reality followed chaos, not the rules of nature as we do now.” She turned towards Rose, her green eyes inquisitive despite the hard edge. “How did you learn of their presence here?”

  Rose offered her a bitter smile. “Through death.”

  When Veronika only inclined her head in understanding—and acceptance—Rose looked at the rest of the weres again. “As I said, the pack will answer any and all questions you have, but we have a few things to share with you first. We’ve been trying to track down the Upirs for a while now. They were the ones who led the traditionals to attack the party warehouse this winter, a crime you undoubtedly remember. But that slaughter was nothing compared to what they want to achieve.

  “The Upirs taint vampiric minds with the idea of supernatural supremacy, the idea of humans being reduced to nothing more than their rightful meals. However, as disturbing as it is on its own, this play is only a smokescreen. In truth, it’s them who want to shape the world to their liking. Them who want to disrupt the balance and throw our reality into chaos once more.

  “I can’t say that I understand the depths of their thoughts and motivations—I don’t think any of us could—but I do know the Upirs’ actions will only get worse with time. Yesterday…” She sucked in a breath, controlling the energy within her that wanted to flair at the still burning memory of the devastation the Upirs had caused. “I don’t want to give them even the slightest chance of repeating what happened. If they want to fight, they should fight us, not drag civilian humans into it. Because this is a battle for power, whether we like it or not. And it’s one that has found supporters even among the Kresniks, and, I suspect, the Keepers.”

  She raised her hand to stop the explosion of questions, feeling their outrage grow. “Our own ascension to The Dark Ones”—she motioned to her pack—“was brought on by the first whispers of these changes. We were tasked to stop the festering of the lifelines of our world. But in order to do so, we must change the way our world operates first.”