The Werewolf Chronicles Book 2

Screams pierced the night.

Grotesque and violent.

Shrill, dark mistresses danced fanatically around a raging fire, their lacy, white gowns refracting the flames with ghostly pallor against the black night.

Energy swelled on the thick Amazonian air, as the sisters of the Boa Morte Coven made sacrifice to their foremothers.

The past was a powerful thing.

The lone citadel of true omnipotence.

Just as the world began as a minuscule concentration of cosmic might, so too did its magic.

But time eroded and diluted it.

The unwise debased the pure potency of what was, weakening our progeny, leaving them to sustain themselves on the dying embers of a power that once commanded nations.

But, on this night, that spark was rekindled.

And our kind began its return to strength and dominance.

Coarse, chapped lips pressed against my dizzy head.

They revived me from a deep, delicious sleep.

My body felt light and airy as if it was sailing across the silken sheets.

As my eyes flickered open, Ekon’s sharp, leathery face greeted me.

It wore a peaceful expression that only a short time ago would’ve seemed foreign to his grave face.

“Good morning,” he said, his gruff baritone cooled to a velvety whisper.

I smiled sleepily back up at him.

“Did you rest well?” he asked, stroking my hair.

“Like the dead. But then, you wore me out.”

A sly expression crept across his face. “Way better than any sleeping pill though, right?”

I couldn’t deny that.

Somehow, night after night, the love we made kept feeling better and better, each torrid tête-à-tête testing everything I thought I knew about pleasure.

But since Ekon and I had really started to settle into our new relationship, my mate’s sexual appetite had been downright insatiable.

Don’t get me wrong.

The sex was fantastic! Earth-shattering!

But the frequency with which Ekon pursued it was almost addictive. No time of day was off-limits, no physical state was prohibitive.

If I hadn’t known him so well it would’ve alarmed me. But a profound connection to another person was something that he really hadn’t had before he’d met me.

Sex was really just his vessel for further exploration into those feelings that had so long eluded him.

His primary desire was always to please me in new and exciting ways.

It was great, but sometimes I felt bad that I wasn’t doing enough to satisfy him in return, even though he always assured me otherwise.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Famished,” I yawned.

“How does an omelet sound?”

“Damn. You’re a mind-reader. Or at least a stomach-reader,” I laughed.

Ekon smiled sweetly, “Good! Because it’s waiting downstairs for you.”

“Awww,” I pulled his face in for a tender kiss, “You’re the best.”

Another massive yawn escaped my lips. “I feel like I could stay in this bed all day! I don’t want to move.”

“Your wish is my command, my Luna,” Ekon smiled.

Before I knew it, my mate had cradled me in his strong arms and was carrying me downstairs to an elaborately set table.

“What service!” I laughed, as he sat me down in my chair. The smell of feta cheese and sautéed onions wafted pleasantly beneath my nostrils.

“Only the best for you my dear.” Ekon kissed me on the cheek.

As I sank my teeth into the fluffy omelet, I marveled to myself just how soft this grizzled old warrior had become. Breakfasts at the old compound used to consist of tasteless bowls of oatmeal and hastily fried bacon.

But now, every morning it was omelet, or Eggs Benedict, or freshly-made bagels and lox. Ekon relished my enjoyment of this royal treatment, which was admittedly very sweet, albeit occasionally off-putting.

His behavior had the tendency to cross the line between romantic doting and obsessive pandering. It was as if he thought that treating me like a princess was necessary to keep me happy and belonging to him.

“Oh my fucking God!” Ekon exclaimed as he turned on the large flat-screen TV mounted on the dining room wall.

I looked up from my steaming breakfast platter.

An aerial view of a snow-blanketed city revealed a three-block radius flooded with medical personnel, scrambling to get to wounded bodies sprawled across the asphalt.

The lower-third of the screen read in strong, bold print: “DETROIT: GUERILLA TERRORISTS KILL 45 AND WOUND 234”

The dumbstruck newscaster gravely reported:

“The FBI has not identified any primary suspects in the overnight attack. While Detroit authorities suggest that the haphazard nature of the attack points to local gangs, the investigation has turned up only inconclusive evidence thus far.

“Eyewitness accounts from survivors suggest that the attackers used vicious fighting dogs to ambush passersby. Neither the Wayne County Coroner nor local hospitals have released information supporting or denying these claims. Turning now to the victims of this trag-”

Ekon flipped off the television and slowly turned towards me, a look of horror on his face.

We both knew who was behind this massacre.

Our silent dismay was interrupted by the loud ring of Ekon’s cell phone.

He removed the phone from the pocket of his silky blue robe and showed me the screen.

It was King Dmitri.

“His Excellency will be with you presently, Alpha Ekon,” an elegant sentry said.

Bambi and I stood next to each other outside the towering wooden doors to King Dmitri’s throne room.

The air of the musty old palace was stifling.

The creaks of the stone walls settling into the snowy soil reverberated down the hall.

My mate clung tightly to my arm, as we silently awaited ingress.

There are a few select moments in life in which the affliction of blindness has merit.

Visiting King Dmitri’s castle had always been one of those rare instances.

Before my sight was taken from me, being summoned to this Gothic aberration filled me with dread.

It was never for pleasant reasons, such as balls or banquets, but rather for war, crisis, and chaos. My immediate presence hadn’t been requested since the Great War.

“You okay?” Bambi whispered apprehensively.

“We’ll see,” I sighed.

CREAK!

The sound of the ancient hinges on the throne room door grated on my senses as they opened.

“His Royal Highness, King Dmitri, will see you,” the snobby sentinel announced.

“Well don’t just stand there, Alpha, double time!” King Dmitri called gruffly from across the room.

Bambi and I hastily made our way to be seated.

As we approached the table, two familiar voices greeted me tersely.

“Good Morning, Alpha Ekon.”

“Hello, Alpha.”

It was my newfound allies, Alpha Leonardo Salvatore and Alpha Hunter Blackwood (who, despite his good deeds, had maintained the moniker of “Cunt Sniffer”).

Strangely enough, the presence of these two former foes provided some solace as I entered the vacuous Throne Room.

But even though they had been crucial to the recent defeat of Matthias and Devina, it didn’t mean that I didn’t feel reserved skepticism about the nature of our new consortium.

If anything, their willingness to associate amplified my doubts along with my assurances.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Alpha, but we just got off the phone with the president,” King Dmitri said sternly.

“Of the United States?” Bambi inquired ingenuously. This world was still new to her.

“Yes,” the old monarch huffed. “This is not a good state of affairs for us, Ekon. Not at all. We are being held responsible for the Detroit attacks.”

“But Your Majesty, Luna Bambi and I saw the reports. It was clearly the work of the Rogues.”

“Goddammit, Alpha! You think we all don’t know that?!” the King yelled.

“You know what American bureaucrats are like. They don’t give a damn who’s behind it. The CIA traced the attack to werewolves and now the whole bloody government is trying to keep the public in the dark about it.”

Leonardo chimed in with his legal analysis:

“The terms defined in the Lupine Compromises of 1804 legally recognize werewolves as a collective race, not as individual packs. If just one of our kind breaches the treaty, the government has full license to repossess our lands and pursue legal ramifications, including exile and even execution.”

“With all the conspiracy theories floating around on social media, it’s a wonder they are even giving us the chance to clean up this mess,” Hunter added.

God. All this legalese had me craving a drink.

I hadn’t touched a drop of booze in weeks.

Which was saying something, seeing as I used to imbibe pretty heavily on any given day.

Bambi had been on my back to cut it out.

Said that it made me half the wolf I was.

I wasn’t too fond of anybody telling me what to do.

But through it all, she’d proven to have my best interests at heart.

So I continued to fight the thirst and suppress my craving by focusing on the issue at hand.

“What do they want us to do?” I asked.

“Locate and quietly terminate the wolves responsible for the onslaught, in a week’s time,” King Dmitri responded direly. “If we cannot dole out justice by then, the FBI will take the wolf hunt into its own hands.”

“That is why I have collected all of you here,” the King explained.

“Do we have a plan?” I inquired.

“As you know, the Supernatural Parliament is in session. Given all of your recent success in thwarting Matthias, I thought you all might make a compelling plea to the assembly to offer us emergency aid in tracking down and apprehending the Rogues.”

“You really think that bunch of stuffed shirts is gonna help a bunch of Yankee werewolves?” Hunter protested.

“It takes that parliament ten years to decide if they want cream and sugar in their coffee, much less hunt down a band of marauding malcontents. Not to mention that, since the Great War, werewolves aren’t exactly the most popular of magical beings.”

“I hate to admit it, but you raise a good point,” Leonardo added thoughtfully, “if a significant fraction of the mystic population was subjected to a human government, it would set an international legal precedent that could spell trouble for all supernaturals. We could use this fact to leverage aid.”

“If you two want to abandon your packs to go to Austria, that’s your business,” I interjected, “but I’m not about to leave Jedrek Pack defenseless. We took Matthias down before, and I’ll be damned if we can’t do it again.”

“As I recall, Alpha Ekon, you had some help,” Bambi rebutted. I could feel her and the other Alpha’s eyes searing my hide.

She was right.

I couldn’t have done it without the assistance of the other packs. But I still didn’t feel right about leaving my wolves with the scent of blood so fresh on the air.

“Alpha Ekon,” Bambi stood to address me, “King Dmitri speaks wisely. Right now, what’s best for all werewolves is what’s best for our pack. The only chance we stand of putting a swift end to Matthias is using help wherever we can get it.”

The room was silent as they awaited my response.

I wish I could’ve argued.

But she was right.

And even if I wasn’t sold on completely trusting Leonardo and Hunter, I had to trust Bambi.

She, if anyone, had the pack’s best interests at heart.

“Very well,” I sighed, “I’ll be a part of this delegation. Under the condition that Luna Bambi is also made a member.”

Leonardo chuckled, “By all means. From the looks of things, she’s already quite the diplomat.”

“Very well, it’s settled. Gentlemen… and esteemed Luna… pack your bags. You leave for Austria tomorrow,” Dmitri said.

Bambi leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek.

Now I really needed a drink.