Crimson Tears of a Werewolf: Adventures of a Werewolf Hunter and Huntress

By Dragan Vujic

Buck and Billy Jo are initiated into the Brotherhood of the Silver Bullet. As part of a cohesive team, the werewolf hunters fight several brutal battles with their formidable foes. Both sides suffer heavy losses. The casualties of an ongoing confrontation mount up. Despite the fact that the brotherhood has access to advanced technology, this war with the werewolves must be fought with conventional weapons and silver bullets. In the interim, the secret organizations scientists work relentlessly to discover an effective cure for lycanthropy. Each new day brings a new ray of hope.

One sunny April morning, Buck and Billy Jo announce that they plan to depart for beautiful British Columbia. The couple has had its fill of killing the dark demons of the night. It is time for a fresh start somewhere else. Wishing his friends all the best, Steven Cervi, the commander of the elite unit, informs Buck and Billy Jo of recent werewolf activity in their former homeland. They are persuaded to join the brotherhood for one last duel to the death with the werewolves. An unexpected situation erupts. Catastrophic consequences follow. Buck Lanark experiences first hand the crimson tears of a werewolf.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 17, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469735603

Dragan Vujic

Dragan Vujic is a writer and an avid outdoorsman. He resides in rural southern Ontario, Canada where he enjoys a quiet, serene lifestyle. Dragan may be contacted at: [e-mail] or [e-mail].

Book preview

© 2001 by Dragan Vujic

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Authors Choice Press

an imprint of iUniverse.com

For information address:

iUniverse.com

5220 S 16th, Ste. 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-18473-1

ISBN: 978-1-4697-3560-3 (ebook)

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dedicated To my dear friends,

ean and Sandra Batton,

ho taught me the fine art of horsemanship.

Other novels by Dragan Vujic

Sword of Shepren

Only Silver Can Kill A Werewolf

Death Hunt For The Last Werewolf

CHAPTER ONE

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AMBUSH

An eerie howling shattered the serenity enveloping the early morning hours of the approaching day. Above, in a clear navy blue sky, a full moon brightly shone down upon the picturesque landscape of the Nottawa Valley. Late March ushered in a new season. Spring slowly, but steadily, vanquished winter on a daily basis. Patches of yellow and brown had erupted through the thinning blanket of snow. Soon, the countryside would be free of the colour of white, except for the isolated birches that were sporadically scattered throughout the vast wilderness region. Darkness resentfully witnessed light usurping an incrementally larger portion of the twenty-four hour cycle. Night’s sojourn gradually diminished due to the indomitable force persistently exerted by each expanding day.

A huge black wolf led a pack of cohorts, numbering in excess of three dozen. He appeared to be the strongest and the fastest. The horde desperately struggled to keep up. A distance of thirty yards separated the struggling pack from the lead beast. Panting, puffing and perspiring, the dark wolves thundered on. Padded paws uprooted snow and tossed it haphazardly, in many directions. Muscled bodies flowed in rhythm to a silent tune across the vacant fields and though the barren forests. The assembled creatures resembled a typical wolf pack. However, appearances are deceiving. These predators were far from ordinary timber wolves. Unnatural and sinister, this particular gang consisted solely of werewolves.

In the massive, hideous heads of the embodiments of evil, red eyes burned brighter than the very fires of hell. The entirely black bodies of the beasts were acutely accented against a patchy alabaster background. These aberrations exuded all the classical traits of true demons. They were indeed a satanic force to be reckoned with. A supernatural element was in play here.

Furtively glancing back at the pack, the lead werewolf continued without slowing his pace. Was he indeed their leader? Or was he the one being pursued? Were they all members of the same congregation? In appearance, every one of the dark beasts looked the same. No differences, no dissimilarities, no distinctions presented themselves. Diversity was non-existent. Onward, the assembly of werewolves dashed through the snow-covered countryside.

Suddenly, a renegade werewolf broke from the pack and attempted to challenge the implied authority of the self-acclaimed leader. Sheer determination powered the creature’s body as the challenger gained distance with every leap and bound. Shortly, the abomination decreased the range to twenty yards between itself and the one in front. Within another ten minutes, the length of separation space shortened to fifteen yards. Gradual, incremental increases became most evident. Only five yards remained between them as the werewolves entered another woodlot.

At the end of the forest, a wooden rail fence marked the boundary of someone else’s property. Thereafter, three hundred yards of snow swept field lay ahead of the horde, prior to another forest coming into existence. Unknown to the werewolves, a dozen heavily armed men lay concealed in the center of the rolling alabaster meadow. The werewolf hunters were hidden behind a knoll and were eagerly awaiting the approach of the abominations. Wearing winter white camouflage clothing, the hidden assassins could not be seen. Fortunately for the slayers, the frosty wind blew in their faces, thus preventing the advancing werewolves from catching their human scent. This was a key advantage.

Approximately fifty yards behind the sharpshooters and forty yards to their immediate right, an abandoned, dilapidated, one room shack barely stood. Silently, the wooden building bore witness to previous inhabitants of this harsh land. The owners had left a long time ago, but their vacant domicile remained. Perhaps, the werewolves had something to do with the departure of the former occupants.

All of the armed men wore communication headsets and conversed quietly with one another. They had planned this ambush and mass execution of werewolves several weeks ago. Every detail had been taken into account. Every foreseeable contingency had been examined. Strategies were formulated and field-tested. Everything had been rehearsed many times. In the evening hours of the previous day, the plan was implemented. The warriors against werewolves had arrived at their predetermined destination. Each individual had taken his or her assigned position. They bravely endured the severity of the penetrating cold inflicted by nature.

Currently, the shooters prepared to harvest the fruits of their labours. Patience wore thin. Nothing came into view. They stood fast. A harsh north wind blew cruel reminders of winter into their pale scarlet faces. Attentive eyes perused the alabaster environment. Then all of a sudden, movement was detected at the edge of the forest. Something was rapidly coming towards them. The perseverance of the werewolf hunters was about to be rewarded.

"Let the lead werewolf pass. Thereafter, slaughter all of the rest. Make every shot count. There can be no survivors. All must die, today. We cannot afford the luxury of allowing any of these werewolves to escape.

Kill them all—down to the last beast.", instructed an authoritative voice, which obviously belonged to the commander of the death squad.

As the werewolves neared the snake fence, the challenger finally caught up with the foremost creature. Exclusivity of the lead was forfeited. Neck and neck, the two werewolves raced for the field with the balance of the pack trailing thirty-five yards behind. Simultaneously, the duo in front sailed over the wooden rails and touched down onto the soft white meadow. Trampling virgin snow beneath their feet, the black beasts rushed forward. Only the werewolf on the right side knew what lay ahead. The other, along with the rest of the horde, was completely oblivious to the lurking peril. Onward they ran, each struggling desperately to out perform the other and thereby seize the coveted position of the leader of the pack. Neither succeeded to out pace the other. Their lead was equal.

Sir. There are two werewolves out in front. Which one shall we shoot?, questioned one of the executioners.

This situation presented an unusual predicament. The present scenario constituted a novel contingency that the termination team had not thought of and had not planned for. Having assumed unequivocally that their werewolf would definitely be the one in the lead, the members of the death squad were momentarily confused with respect to the appropriate course of action. Due to the similarity in appearance, the slayers could not recognize their decoy. No distinguishing features were visible. No tell signs revealed themselves. No hints were divulged. Terminating the wrong werewolf would amount to a grave tragedy. The shooters were not prepared to assume such a high risk. They waited for specific instructions from their commander.

Neither. Let them both pass. We’ll sort it out later. It will be daylight in less than an hour. Thereafter, when the abominations undergo metamorphosis and change back to their human forms, we shall know conclusively. Prior to that, let the woman choose. She may be able to tell them apart. In any event, the interim decision should be hers., came the requested and awaited reply.

The shooters had their orders and they knew what to do. Completely concealed from view, the snipers scoped and sighted their respective targets. Each individual anticipated slaying at least three lycanthropes. Excitement mounted. The thrill of the kill surged within every concealed assassin. Seconds seemed like hours. Unaware of the impending danger, the demonic horde neared. The black beasts came into range, crossing the hundred-yard mark that separated the hunters from the hunted. Impatiently the marksmen waited to hear the kill command.

A noticeable forty yards existed between the two werewolves competing for first place and their followers. Closer they came. The abominations were almost at the invisible line formed by the death squad. Then, the dashing duo crossed and penetrated the ranks of the armed guard. One of the foremost werewolves skidded to a halt. The other rapidly followed suit, despite its initial confusion. A long awaited command finally issued forth.

Fire!

A dozen guns spit fire and silver. Death filled the air. Men materialized out of the surrounding snow and commenced shooting. The entire pack was caught by surprise. These creatures of the night had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. The dark beasts found themselves out in open territory with no cover anywhere. Unable to reach their persecutors, the werewolves could only squirm and die. On this occasion, destiny ruled in favour of mankind. The werewolves had no hope whatsoever of surviving or escaping this ordeal.

KABOOM KABOOM CRACK KABOOM KABOOM CRACK CRACK BANG KABOOM KABOOM KABOOM

KABOOM BANG BANG BANG CRACK KABOOM KABOOM KABOOM KABOOM KABOOM KABOOM KABOOM BANG BANG CRACK KABOOM

Gunfire lasted for a mere twenty minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Gun smoke filled the crisp, cool air and intermingled with the twilight of the approaching dawn. A rain of silver bullets showered the advancing incarnates. Death eagerly followed in hot pursuit. The mighty force of the combined firepower of the shooters arrested the onslaught. Hyper velocity silver projectiles tore through tough bodies, sucking out blood, flesh and bone fragments in their wake. Crimson liquid smeared the alabaster background. One by one, the werewolves fell to their deaths. The grim reaper joyfully danced a merry waltz as he eagerly gathered a bountiful harvest. Lifeless cadavers littered the open field. Some of the corpses had already commenced to forfeit their wolfish features and regain their lost human traits.

The first two werewolves, that had passed unscathed through the ranks of the merciless terminators, witnessed the bloody massacre of their kindred. One werewolf silently rejoiced as he watched the werewolves systematically eliminated, while the other aberration internally grieved the deaths of his comrades. Neither of them has been in a position to render assistance to their respective friends. The bloody confrontation was now over.

Unseen and unheard, a lone female had emerged from the confines of the dilapidated shack. She stood quietly in ankle deep snow behind the sole survivors of the slaughtered pack. The lady was surprised to notice two werewolves behind the sniper line. She had only expected to see one.

Long blonde hair gracefully flowed over her sheepskin coat. Soft blue eyes shone from her beautiful oval visage. She had finely chiseled facial features. Faded blue jeans and beige Kodiak work boots covered the lower parts of her body beneath the sheepskin coat. Gloved hands clutched a Marlin thirty-thirty. Cocking the hammer back on her rifle, the lady called out.

Buck?

Alerted by the female voice, both werewolves instantly turned to view the person behind them. A distance of less than fifteen yards separated the beauty and the twin beasts. Billy Jo could not recognize Buck in his altered state. The two werewolves seemed to be identical in appearance. This was indeed a dilemma. Billy Jo did not know what to do. She was confused. No one had considered this possibility.

Without warning, the werewolf on Billy Jo’s right attacked the creature on her left. The abominations tumbled into the powdery snow. A ferocious battle ensued. Each beast clawed and bit at the other. The aberrations rolled through the white carpet of snow, entangled with one another. Then, they both became bipedal and continued their bitter struggle.

Repeatedly and in rapid succession, the clawed paws of each werewolf struck fiercely at the head and chest region of his adversary. Guttural growls emanating from the foul creatures sounded like they came from the labyrinths of the underworld. Savage red eyes flashed. Fanged maws searched and reached for fleshy targets. Massive heads darted back and forth. Each opponent stood his ground. Neither one had gained an advantage. Through all of this commotion, dawn subtly crept forward.

Three of the slayers continued to survey the previous war zone, while the other nine men encircled the arena where the current fight transpired. They watched in awe as the two werewolves fought to the death. There could only be one winner. The loser would die. These were the cruel rules of the wild.

Unable to tell them apart, the shooters dared not render assistance to either party. Fear of harming or slaying the wrong werewolf stayed any potential interference. Helpless to offer any form of aid, the onlookers hoped that their werewolf would emerge victorious. If he did not, they were prepared to shoot the other aberration. In a perfect world, good always triumphs over evil. However, recent times where less than perfect. Only daylight would reveal the true identities of the shape shifters.

Light of day was definitely on its way, but would it arrive prior to the completion of this sparring match? Another half hour had to expire prior to the emergence of the coming day. The murky transition between darkness and light stimulated changes in the misfortunate individuals afflicted with lycanthropy. Usually, at the final stroke of dusk, the infected person would change from a man to a werewolf. Conversely, a werewolf would once again become a man at the final stroke of dawn. Predominantly, this was the case, however, this was not always so.

Finally, one of the werewolves broke through the defenses of its adversary. Razor sharp claws viciously slashed and sliced through the throat of the less fortunate. Blood spurted forth. The loser fell to the snow covered ground, gasping for air. The fallen beast choked on its own blood and wheezed out its last breaths. Continuing to fight, the victor sank its fangs into the bleeding neck of the vanquished and slammed the fiend’s head into the snow.

Thereafter, the werebeast tore out a huge chunk of flesh and spat it out onto the alabaster carpet to all to see. The proffered piece of flesh served as a symbol of victory. There was only one survivor. Only one werewolf was left alive. Everyone else was dead. The ordeal was over. Only the strong survive, all others perish. Within fifteen minutes, the true identity of the winner would be revealed for everyone to see. As soon as the first rays of the rising sun touched the hide of the werewolf, the creature would take on a human appearance.

Having defeated and murdered its foe, the triumphant werewolf turned and glared at Billy Jo. Red eyes burned bright in a massive, black head. Blood dripped from the creature’s open mouth. A hairy chest expanded and contracted with the frequent and sporadic intake of air. Then, standing up on its hind legs, the abomination took one step towards the lady. Nine firearms instantly targeted the vital organs of the bipedal beast. Billy Jo also pointed her rifle at the aberration. No one knew for certain who the one before them was. They had no clues as to whether or not this dark demon was their werewolf. Everyone was agitated and fearful.

Buck? Is that you? How do we know? Prove it., spoke Billy Jo in a trembling voice.

She still aimed her weapon at the werewolf’s head. All nine members of the death squad kept their rifles pointed at the lycanthrope. Silence reigned for a few moments. Thereafter, the werewolf spoke in a relatively calm manner. However, the creature’s tone of voice sounded rather harsh.

Wait a little longer. Soon, it will be twilight. At the final stroke of dawn, I will become human. Then, you will be able to see for yourselves. Then, you will know conclusively who I am. But, until then, lower your weapons. You have nothing to fear from me

There was a general consensus to the incarnate’s apparently logical suggestion. Without a word, all those present nodded their heads in agreement. However, tension still mounted as the humans waited for the coming day. Minutes seemed to drag by at the pace of hours. Darkness appeared to gradually dissipate and hesitantly welcome its successor. Ever so slowly, light intensified in barely noticeable increments. The only one who remained calm throughout this strenuous ordeal was the werewolf. The lycanthrope confidently waited for daylight and eagerly anticipated regaining its true form. He did not feel threatened in the least. Dawn arrived and rapidly departed after a brief sojourn.

As the emerging sun peeked over the horizon, light rays rocketed forth and struck the werewolf, igniting transformation. Standing bipedal, the creature commenced to shrink in stature. Wolfish features mellowed and melted under the attack of the coming day. Human traits started to make their debut. Simultaneously, the massive head decreased in size, the ears took on the semblance of human hearing organs, the snout crumbled and separated into a mouth and nose.

Thereafter, the thick black hide vanished slowly and revealed human skin. Fingers and toes sprouted forth as the paws disintegrated. Fierce, flashing red eyes dimmed and mellowed. Compassionate blue replaced the savage crimson. Within seconds, the naked body of Buckingham Clayton Lanark stood in front of a relieved crowd. Finally, the creature’s true identity was revealed.

Oh, Buck. Thank God. Its you., exclaimed Billy Jo.

Releasing the cocked hammer on her rifle and dropping the weapon into the snow, she flew into his open arms.

Hi, sweetie., responded Buck.

In human form, the naked man embraced the woman whom he loved so much. He kissed her passionately. A few moments passed. Then, Buck turned and spoke to the other men in a joking manner.

Oh, ye of little faith. Did you really ever doubt who I was? Shame on you. I expected more from you guys. Hey, how about some warm clothes. I’m freezing my ass off out here. Although, I have gained a higher tolerance for the extreme elements of the weather, I still feel the cold.

Hey, you ain’t got much of an ass, buddy. But, we’ll get you some clothes anyway., someone shouted from the assembled gang of assassins.

Everyone laughed. Relaxation replaced tension. Someone left the group and hurried in the direction of the shack. Presumably, there were clothes therein for their friend. Buck returned his attention to Billy Jo. They continued kissing and hugging one another. Billy Jo’s love always kept Buck warm—even on the coldest of nights. The couple needed a little more time alone. This episode had given everyone quite a scare, especially Buck and Billy Jo. No one had anticipated such a bizarre twist of events. All present were glad that it was over and that everything had ended well on this particular occasion.

Hey, Buck. Here. Put on some clothes before you freeze to death. You’re already starting to turn blue. And, have someone look at those lacerations. Some of them appear rather serious., spoke Chris Carmichael, handing Buck a bundle of clothes with a set of work boots on top of the heap.

Neither Buck not Billy Jo had noticed the wounds that Buck had sustained during the werewolf fight until Chris had pointed them out. Then, both of them saw that Buck’s upper body had a several significantly deep gashes, which seemed to have stopped bleeding. About another half dozen minor scratches appeared in the abdomen and lower rib cage regions. The healing process had already commenced and the pain had vanished. Within a relatively short period of time Buck’s entire body would rejuvenate completely. It was a gift that came with the curse.

Thanks, Chris. I hadn’t noticed. I mean, how cold it was. Someone very special has been keeping me toasty warm. As for the cuts, don’t concern yourself. There is nothing to worry about. The lacerations have not been touched by silver; therefore they will heal by themselves. One of the advantages of being a werewolf is rapid rejuvenation. Which reminds me, Chris—speaking of rapid rejuvenation. Go and shoot a couple of silver bullets into the head of the werewolf that I killed. We don’t want any healing to take place in that creature., replied Buck, slowly releasing Billy Jo and accepting the proffered clothing.

I’ll do that right now., stated the donor.

After delivering the requested items of apparel, Chris turned and walked away. He drew his pistol and trekked towards the fallen werewolf, which still lay in shallow, crimson coloured snow. When the shooter arrived at his destination, he noticed that the abomination had already reverted back to human form. There was no evidence of any healing taking place, but Chris followed his instructions anyway. Pointing his handgun at the head of the human cadaver, Chris fired two rounds into the brain.

BANG BANG

In the meantime, Billy Jo grabbed the work boots and outer garments, allowing Buck to don a two-piece set of thermal underwear. Thereafter, Buck systematically put on an insulated flannel shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Standing on one foot, he brushed the snow off the other one and slipped on a wool sock and a warm boot. Buck followed the exact same procedure with respect to the other appendage. Chris returned, confirmed his volley of two death rounds and gave Buck a green parka, which the latter quickly got into and zipped up the front.

Billy Jo picked up her rifle and removed the snow from the barrel, the stock and the butt. After she finished cleaning the firearm, the lady came back, stood beside Buck and placed her right hand into his left hand. They calmly waited for the rest of the men to return from the battlefield of slaughtered werewolves. The werewolf harvest of the Brotherhood of the Silver Bullet had been a generous one. When the armed gunmen reassembled, it would be time to go home. Another successful werewolf hunt stood to their credit.

Within fifteen minutes, Steven Cervi, the commander of the werewolf termination team, walked up to the couple and spoke.

Well, Buck. Thanks to you, we executed another thirty-eight werewolves. All confirmed kills. Add the one that you eliminated and that makes thirty-nine. Okay. So let’s pack it up and go home. We are all done here.

Finding no logical reason to determine the identities of the slain, the shooters satisfied themselves, beyond any reasonable doubt, that each and every foul fiend was definitely dead. Thereafter, the assassins gathered their sparse belongings and proceeded due east across the snow covered meadow. Their vehicles were parked on the ploughed gravel road, approximately one hundred yards away. The werewolf pack had erupted from the north. Thus, the trucks, hidden from sight, were a safe distance perpendicular to the kill site.

Buck and Billy Jo followed the group. Steven Cervi accompanied the couple. Soon, everyone arrived at the edge of the rolling field and descended a steep incline to reach the roadway. Four black vehicles that strongly resembled Ford Broncos greeted the weary warriors. The men all divided into three teams of four, bid those not in their immediate group farewell and approached their respective modes of transportation. Buck and Billy Jo had a truck exclusively to themselves. Their vehicle was somewhat different from the rest. It had a special wolf cage, constructed of heavy gauge steel, in the back behind the front seats.

A group leader opened the rear door located on the back of the team’s truck. Each person placed his rifle or shotgun into a special metal case therein, which was subsequently locked. Thereafter, everyone removed his one-piece winter camouflage snowsuit and stowed it in the rear compartment. Although no one expected any altercations on the journey home, the men decided to remain in possession of their side arms. The holstered handguns tightly hugged the carrier’s waist. Then, the werewolf hunters donned dark green parkas, which served the dual purpose of keeping the wearer warm and simultaneously hiding the fully loaded pistol.

The members of the Brotherhood of the Silver Bullet always wore similar apparel. This gave them the appearance of a paramilitary organization. Currently, they were dressed in dark green parkas, navy blue wool shirts, blue jeans and beige work boots. Predominantly, the crew wore black outfits. Today had been a rare exception. Everyone was ready to leave. Each person took one last look around and entered his respective vehicle. Billy Jo opened the driver’s door and shoved her Marlin carbine behind the front seat. After that, she climbed in and started the engine. Buck entered through the passenger’s side. The trucks commenced to depart. Following the last black vehicle, Billy Jo drove, while Buck relaxed in the passenger’s chair. He reflected on some of the many events that had transpired in the past three months.

CHAPTER TWO

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SINCE CHRISTMAS

On a crisp, early Christmas morning, three months ago, an unusual event transpired. Buck, having been bitten by a werewolf, experienced his first transformation as he shape shifted from man to beast. A previously scattered pack of werewolves, that had miraculously regrouped, relentlessly pursued the slayers of their cohorts. Frightened, bewildered and genetically mutated, Buck raced frantically on all fours in order to reach the sanctuary of Clare Feron’s residence. Buck Lanark had indeed become a deplorable abomination.

Prior to becoming a werewolf himself, Buck had been a werewolf hunter. How ironic that he should become one of the very beasts that he had hunted and slaughtered without remorse. He absolutely hated werewolves. Before choosing the profession of werewolf hunter, Buckingham Clayton Lanark had been a prominent lawyer with a flourishing law practice. A strange twist of fate had altered Buck’s destiny. At this particular moment, his existence and that of the one whom he loved dearly were in jeopardy.

A race for life commenced. Time was of the utmost essence. Billy Jo rode on top of Buck with her legs tightly wrapped around his waist. Small hands clutched and hung onto tuffs of long, thick neck hair. Buck vividly recalled how hard he tried to attain safe haven and how the both of them almost perished that day. Painful memories of the past filtered through his mind.

Finally, the coveted house came into sight. Less than a hundred yards separated them from their sanctuary. Then, tragedy struck swiftly without warning. The lady riding the werewolf