Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3

by Brian Ference

  An explosion rocked the middle of the room, throwing Demon Fire and ash towards the two werewolves. Dorian tried to scratch off the burning liquid as he dove for cover. Van Helsing appeared in the stairway with a three-bolt crossbow.

  Van Helsing hesitated as he stared at not one Vârcolac, but two. Shaking his head, he took aim at the grey Vârcolac and focused the full force of the curse upon it. Only three more Demon Fire bolts were contained in his crossbow.

  Dorian tried to rise to his feet, but he slipped on a pool of his own blood. In slow motion, he saw the man raise his weapon and aim at his heart. He tried to run, but his claws scraped uselessly across the stone floor, failing to find purchase. Those three exploding bolts would be the end of him for sure.

  Van Helsing put his hand on the release mechanism and smiled. He would rid this world of the two vile Vârcolacs. Never again would these fiends kill another child’s parents. The bolt sprayed high into the stone ceiling as the black werewolf crashed into his side. Liquid Demon Fire rained from above, igniting in midair as it fell to the floor. The room became a raging inferno.

  The impact of the attack sent the repeating crossbow flying from his hand. Van Helsing rolled to his feet. He drew the Damascus-steel longsword at his back. He retracted the curse into a general circle of protection as he looked around wildly for the second Vârcolac. But the black werewolf had charged straight through Van Helsing, panicked by the threat of fire and was now bounding on four legs up the staircase towards the long tunnel. He could not let it escape! Van Helsing charged after the creature.

  Dorian rolled across the floor in agony as the Demon Fire scorched his hair and skin. Wave upon wave of flame sunk deep into his flesh. It would have consumed him fully had it not been for the last effects of the healing power. The rejuvenation pushed the fire away with a thick layer of healed skin. Blistered and blackened, Dorian slowly pushed himself up. Intense hunger ripped through his body. He needed to feed. He could smell the scent of warm blood coming from the cell in front of him.

  Lucious’ arm was broken but he was otherwise uninjured. He ran to the side of his mistress while the werewolves were still fighting. He was relieved to find her still alive. The ancient fortuneteller was nowhere to be seen. He had been slowly dragging the unconscious Lady Helena over to the cell door when the outer room burst into flame.

  He raised his black dirk as a charred werewolf staggered from the flames. It was a devil come to life—come for his soul. “Awa' Wulver, by God ah command ye tae hell.“

  Dorian’s muzzle salivated, as he smelled the blood pulsing through the Scotsman’s veins. He almost fell upon the man, but something made him stop. An image of Shen appeared in his mind. He was finally free of the demon inside him. Even though he was still a monster, he did not have to act like one.

  Dorian moved to the side of the doorway and coaxed his parched throat to sound out one gargled, but clear word. “Go.”

  The room outside was on fire, but Lucious knew about a second, hidden passageway that he could access from the next cell over. If he waited any longer it too would fill with fire and they would both be dead anyways. Eyeing the wolf carefully, he sheathed his dirk and hurriedly dragged Lady Helena out of the cell into the adjacent one. He pushed on the back wall and exposed the hidden doorway.

  Dorian waited until the Scotsman had dragged Lady Helena through a hidden passage. Then he fell upon the still warm body of Lord Crawley. He fed on the corpse until his body began to heal and new grey hairs started sprouting from his skin. By that time, the fire had filled the outer room entirely and now blocked him from following the Scotsman into the next cell. Dorian could smell the fresh air wafting through the bars separating the two cells. He placed his hands on the iron that divided the two cells and strained to bend them. The fire was approaching the edge of his cell and the air was quickly filling with flame. Smoke billowed towards the ceiling, burning his eyes. The bars slowly began to bend, but not enough to allow his large shoulders to squeeze through.

  The rippling fire triggered an animalistic panic in him. Dorian cried out in frustration. His mind fought back for control over his fear. The bars were too strong. But perhaps the ceiling was not. He thrust his hands higher and braced his feet as widely as he could. He pulled with every ounce of strength. His arms burned and his veins flared. With a crash, the ceiling collapsed on him, sending the iron bars into ruin. Dorian shook his head, thrusting stone and dust from his eyes.

  The fire rushed into his cell. He heaved the stones off his body and dove through the large opening he had made. The ceiling in the next cell gave way as he jumped forward. The hidden passage was just narrow enough for him to crawl through as the Demon Fire followed, burning his paws.

  II

  B

  OOK 2 EPILOGUE

  Detective Inspector Gerald Clarke was carefully examining the remnants of the fire that had burned Lady Helena’s estate to the ground. They had found the charred bones and blackened officer’s sword of Lord Crawley. It made it a potential murder investigation. Lady Helena and her gardener Lucious were missing with no other bodies yet found.

  Only the shell of the home remained. Witnesses had sworn that the devil had been at work here. How else could fire spread so quickly across stone? Inspector Clarke knew of only one substance on earth that could do such a thing. Demon Fire. There was only one man who knew how to make it. Van Helsing. But the monster hunter had not shown his face since the fire.

  Constable Cunningham called out from the small cell where he was digging. “Inspector, I’ve found somethin’.”

  Inspector Clarke hurried over to see what his associate had found. A smooth piece of soot had hardened against the wall. It seemed a lighter color than everything else—almost as if illuminated from behind. He removed his pen and broke a hole in the crust. Fresh air flowed in through the perforation. Pushing his face close, he peered into the hole. A long tunnel ran away from the building and ended in a circle of daylight. His eyes scanned the edges and sides of the tunnel until they settled on a piece of singed grey fur. The light gleamed off something shiny further down the tunnel, which looked like a woman’s earring.

  Cunningham shuffled his feet. “What do you see, sir?”

  The Inspector stood slowly and wiped some soot off his coat. “I doubt you will find any more remains in this room, Constable. It seems that there were survivors after all.”

  Dorian watched the sunrise from his hiding place high up in an oak tree. He had transformed back into a man sometime just before morning. He panted, his teeth still flecked with blood from the fight with the black werewolf. He had lost the battle against the ferocious creature. He was no longer joined to it, but he still felt the curse of the Vârcolac burning in his blood: that he was bound to turn into a gray werewolf under the foul light of every full moon.

  He wondered if Shuvani Ingraham had somehow survived. If he could only find her, she might be able to help stop the transformation.

  * * *

  Lucious had taken his injured mistress to a small apartment she often used to entertain visiting gentlemen. Too afraid to call a doctor, he had bandaged her neck as best he could before venturing out to find some antiseptic.

  Lady Helena was having a delicious dream. She was reliving her time at the North London Collegiate School for Women. She was young again and just returning to her apartment to see her first love, Joel Guyet. She opened the door to his art studio and gasped. Joel was naked with some young harlot. Not this again! Instead of throwing them out as she remembered doing, she stepped in and locked the door behind her.

  Helena approached the sofa where the strumpet was attempting to cover herself. “Joel, you have been a very naughty boy.”

  Joel was slow to think of an excuse. “Calm down Helena, let’s discuss this.”

  Helena reached out with her hand to touch his face. “My sweet Joel. I loved you so much. But I won’t let you hurt me again.”

  Her hand locked onto his throat like a vise. Joel pulle
d on her wrist with both arms but was unable to free himself. His face began turning red and he made a faint gurgling sound. The terrified girl tried to break her hold on him but Helena backhanded her and she fell away crying.

  Helena pulled Joel’s face close to hers and whispered to him as their eyes locked. “I won’t let you leave me.” She placed a kiss gently on his forehead and then moved her mouth near his ear. How she had loved to nibble and lick Joel’s ear. She loosened her hold on Joel’s neck and gave his ear one final nibble. Her mouth came away bloody and Joel began wheezing in a choked scream.

  Helena looked at the boy in annoyance. “Oh, do be silent.” She bit deeply into his throat and tore the soft flesh away.

  His whore began screaming and tried to scurry away. Helena sunk her nails into the girl’s leg and dragged her across the sofa.

  Helena stood and lifted the girl upside-down by her legs and into the air. She yelled at the girl with a fury she had never known before. “You’ll pay for taking him from me!”

  She used her fingernails to slit open the girl’s slender waist just above her navel. Helena pulled out her entrails and began devouring them as the strumpet watched in horror.

  Lady Helena pulled up the covers in her bed and rolled to her side. Eyes still closed, she moved her hand to rip off the bandage and feel the bite marks on her neck. They had stopped bleeding and had closed completely. She smiled. Her skin hadn’t felt so smooth and supple in years.

  —Continued NOW in Book 2 - Purgatory of the Werewolf:

  I

  B

  OOK 3 PROLOGUE

  Shuvani Ingraham regained consciousness just as the grey Vârcolac tackled the black one, saving her life. As the two creatures fought, she delicately touched her hand to the top of her head. It came back wet with blood. The edges of her vision blurred, and a small black spot swam across the surface of her eye. She had to escape before her injuries prevented her from doing so.

  Drawing a line with the blood across her forehead, she clutched at an iron nail in her pocket and muttered a spell of protection.

  Prin sânge și fier și voință,

  Setați acest formular în afara pericolului,

  Lasă lumina și umbra să alunece,

  Ascunde această formă din vedere.

  By blood and iron and will,

  Set this form outside the danger,

  Let light and shadow slip,

  Conceal this form from sight.

  A deep exhaustion fell on her. The spell had worked. The two werewolves collided with each other and fell to the ground, destroying everything around them. They began to roll across the floor, a clawing and biting mass of fury that blocked her only escape. I’m trapped. What good was moving unseen if there was nowhere to go?

  She called upon her remaining strength to use her gift of sight and find another way out. There! A hidden tunnel in the next cell.

  She crawled across the ground towards the threshold but then paused. There were still three, no…two other people left in the room. Should she try and save Lady Helena? An explosion rocked the outside room and liquid fire rained from the ceiling. There was no time to help her. Besides, her manservant Lucious was stirring. She had a sudden premonition that the two would make it out of the building alive. She saw how the Scotsman pushed on the back wall to expose the hidden passage. Why had she thought there was someone else in the room?

  Shuvani scrambled into the next cell and placed her hand on the specific stone she had seen in the vision. The wall slid back and she dragged herself into the tunnel, closing it behind her. She was barely halfway through the tunnel when she fell, slamming into the ground and losing an earring. The air began to heat up around her. She wasn’t sure which hurt more, the black bruises forming on her knees or the loss of the jewelry that had been in her family for ten generations. She couldn’t search for it now.

  Shuvani moved forward on her hands and knees until she was out of the tunnel. It opened up behind a large blackthorn bush spotted with white five-petal flowers. She pulled her body to the side until she reached a thick rhubarb plant with denser leaves. Crawling inside, she sucked in ragged breaths as the last of her energy and the concealment spell flickered out.

  A moment later, she looked on as Lucious carried out a badly injured Lady Helena. Shuvani thought the woman was strong enough to survive the werewolf bite on her neck. They moved away before she could muster the energy to call out.

  Seconds later, a singed grey Vârcolac shot out of the tunnel and ran off in the opposite direction towards the trees. Was Dorian still inside that creature? She closed her eyes and tried to remember what had happened before she had blacked out. Her spell had failed to separate Dorian entirely from the Vârcolac. Instead of ending the evil, she had created a black and grey version of it. The black Vârcolac had crawled out of the painting as it burned—but that wasn’t all that had emerged from the canvas.

  She suddenly felt a familiar presence and opened her eyes. No one was there. Then the black speck swam across her eye again. She looked in the space beyond sight. A shadowy form floated over her body, its figure swirling and blotchy. It was there and yet wasn’t. She rallied what power she had left, preparing to fight. “Name yourself, Mulé.”

  The undead spirit spoke in her mind. “Droboy tume, Bibio. It is good to see you, Aunt.”

  Shuvani answered as tradition demanded. “Nais tuke. Thank you.” She squinted at the faceless figure. “Aunt you call me? Do I know you, Mulé?”

  The ghost came closer, the changing cloud stabilizing. “I was once Sage Holdsworth.”

  Shuvani knew it to be the truth and shuddered. “But how are you here?”

  Sage’s voice spoke in her mind once more. “When the Vârcolac killed me, my spirit became trapped in my own painting. I was unable to find rest and unable to escape.”

  Shuvani cringed at the thought of such a prison for the soul. “Poor girl. I would help you find your peace if I could, but I fear I am soon to join you.”

  The family jawline and soft nose seemed to solidify in the wispy figure. “There is work yet to do. I brought this curse into the world and I need your help to end it.”

  Shuvani shook her head sadly. “I tried to stop it, but I fear I have only made things worse. I failed you.”

  Sage’s outline hardened, growing increasingly corporeal. “There is still a way. My remains lie undisturbed nearby where the Vârcolac buried them. Your body will not live much longer. Apart we are weak, but together we will be strong.”

  Shuvani coughed in pain and anger. “Fool girl! The mixing of bodies and spirits is strazhno—too dangerous.”

  Sage floated close enough to kiss, her brown eyes taking shape. “You have to choose.”

  Shuvani felt herself slipping away. But she would not allow her bloodline to be shamed by giving up. Nor could she allow this evil to continue in the world unchecked. Looking into Sage’s brown eyes, she blinked her agreement.

  Sage’s corpse disintegrated beneath the earth. The bone fragments and hair moved together into a ball that then began burrowing through the ground. It traveled like a mole, eventually arriving beneath Shuvani Ingraham and fusing with her dying body. Together their two spirits combined to form into something new. A bright light pulsed inside the rhubarb plant.

  Shuvani Sage opened her new eyes and stared at the sky above. She was human again, but no longer herself. Her body was strange, yet familiar. She imagined she now looked like a young cousin that the two dead women shared in common. She would not rest until she undid all the damage she had caused.

  CHAPTER 1.

  L

  ADY HELENA

  Lady Helena smiled as she applied a light dusting of rouge to her cheeks. They had not looked so firm and soft in years. Her regal face was bright and smooth again. Her obsidian hair was lustrous, and even her breasts seemed perkier.

  She saw Lucious MacIllian gawking at her in the reflection of the dark, mahogany-framed mirror. “Well, don’t just stand there. Tell
me how I look.”

  The surprised Scotsman’s mouth gaped open as he struggled for words. “Y-yer bonny, o’coorse, mah Lady. Prettier even than th’ day whin we foremaist met.”

  She basked in his praise for a moment before turning back to her manservant. “How sweet of you to say so. But be honest, do I look too young?”

  Lucious scratched at the pockmarks under his long sideburns. “A dinnae ken. Sin th’ werewolf bite, yer ten, mibbie fifteen years younger?”

  She paused from applying the alkanet root-tinted lip balm to her beautiful lips and set them into a pout. “Hmm, that is a bit too young to cover up with paint and paste. Perhaps we won’t be going to the theatre tonight, after all.”

  Lucious removed his woolen cap and looked at her with imploring eyes. “We cuid leave Englain ‘n’ go…awa’, back tae Scootlund, mibbe. Ah kin finally repay ye fur freeing me fae jail.”

  “No!” She smashed her fist into the mirror, creating a spider web of broken glass. She pulled a thin, clear shard from her hand and watched with fascination as the flow of blood slowly lessened and then stopped. The cut healed without so much as a scar.

  She turned to favor him with a smile. “Forgive my outburst. You’ve more than repaid your debt by carrying me from the fire, and by serving me faithfully for all these years.”

  She crushed the shard of glass in the palm of her hand. “It is I who am now in your debt. And I swear to you that I will one day repay that debt. But for now, we will remain here in England. We will stay in hiding, until the rumor of my death becomes old news. I will think of a way to retake control of my business empire again. I have spent my whole life building it. I will not give it up now.”