Love Bites (Crescent City Werewolves: The Short Stories)

Rip and Tear

The more Sybil researched into The Shadowslayer, the more convinced she became that the alpha-king had made a mistake in resurrecting him. Of course, one would never breathe that aloud; not unless one wished to join the pelts of betrayers that lined the royal rooms. The Loup Moreau Pack was different from the others. It was well-heeled. It was silent. It obeyed.

And yet, disloyal doubts grew in Sybil's mind by the day. She readjusted her spectacles now, peering at the dusty tome before her. Ares Shadowslayer, a wolf feared and worshipped in the dark days before Crescent City was even a gouge in the earth. She smoothed a page, hand clad in a glove to prevent the oils of her fingertips from staining the worn lambskin, and read a passage in a language that had died millennia ago.

In the first age, when the earth still burned with fire and the beast gods themselves were but sparks to be brought to life, The Shadowslayer walked. He smothered flames with the spilled blood of the Old Ones, hunting them in their underground dominions and revealing them to the light of the moon. Without mercy, his claws ran through these shadow dwellers, gouging out the hearts of the wretched and cracking the skulls of the debased. And when he was finished, his jaws opened wide to devour their unlit gods, who sat bloated with greed and vanity upon their obsidian thrones.

For in his rage, he was unyielding to sword or fang. Bloodlust brought to life, his hunger could never be sated. With each kill, his will grew stronger, pure despite the surrounding darkness as starfire is pure in the surrounding night.

Sybil sat back in her seat and blew out a sigh. This was someone who had destroyed gods. What chance did a mere king have at training him to a leash?

The door to the room opened and Royal Inspector Oliver appeared in view, his uniform so spotless that the brass buttons gleamed even in the dim lamps of the library. Sybil jumped up from her chair and sank into a curtsy, hoping guilt hadn't slid into her scent.

"It's time," he said, and gave her a curt signal to follow him.

She did, swallowing back fresh nerves.

Before this strange situation had morphed into being, she'd never so much as seen the royal inspector. She was only a lowly researcher in the magical branch of his division, and speaking to him seemed an offense to pack hierarchy in and of itself. It had taken her two weeks to ask for a magicked key to unlock the library cases that jealously guarded the rare books inside.

Inspector Oliver had fulfilled her request in the way of an indulgent master giving his whimpering wretch a pat instead of a kick. If nothing else, at least she was good at appearing too pathetic to even threaten. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been put through a submission ritual.

This fact gave her the courage to clear her throat as they walked out of the building and into the night. The alpha-king's mansion was just visible with its white columns and many lit windows. As they approached it, the royal inspector glanced at her. "Yes?"

"Sir, I'm not sure I can accomplish what you've tasked me to do. These written languages might be too recent. The Shadowslayer is very old."

"There's still a better chance he'll understand you over any of us."

"But... If I fail..." A memory flashed through her mind, a voice cracked with agony calling her name.

"Just keep quiet and do as you're told, and you won't get into trouble."

"Yes, sir." Sybil fidgeted with the books in her arms, although they were more for instinctive comfort than for reference material. She knew all she needed to, and ran through it while they reached the first of the tunnels that led deep underground.