The Wolf: Wolf, #1

By Brigadier Wolf

When you stop believing in monsters they go away. But every story holds some truth in it, even monster stories. For centuries mankind has turned a blind eye to the beasts that walk alongside them. At the turn of the millenia something changed in both man and monster. As man became more powerful, more and more monsters became known to the world. In order to survive many monsters tried to hide in plain sight or became reclusive to humans.

Gatler an ex-Black Ops mercenary spent most of his life killing the hidden evils of the world for profit. Five years into his retirement a Black Ops company known as  Specter calls on the old lycan's help once again. Only this time he has something more important to protect; his daughter. Wanting nothing to do with Specter Gatler tracks down his old team to take on their hidden agenda and above all protect his family. There is a reason you don't mess with The Wolf.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NeoVerse
• Release date: Jul 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386523383

Book preview

The Wolf

Chapter: 01

Even with the balaclava on under my ballistic mask, the air from my lungs comes out in misty puffs. The streets are frostbitten and my body is wearing down. My eyes take note of the blood-splattered emergency evacuation sign. I think I've passed it three or four times now in the days I've been quarantined in this city. No, that's not right. The beast that's clawing up cars like a hot knife through butter is the one quarantined; we're just hired hunters.

The sound of a distant voice catches my numb ears. The blood in my veins starts to rush as I feel the adrenaline hit. It's not the sound of one of my teammates and it's not the sound of the beast. No, the voice is young; maybe only a few years old. Without thinking, I feel my feet move from a sluggish walk to a full sprint in the matter of seconds.

Mommy? The voice calls out in the distance.

I can see the child calling out. The only thing I can think of is: why, why is this girl here? All civilians were supposed to be evac-ed out. There is barely enough time for me to register the ground starting to shake below my feet. The wall of a nearby building explodes out in a burst of debris. My head tells my body to stop and focus on the threat, but all my feet do is keep moving forward. I can hear the frostbitten earth crunch beneath my feet.

No, that's not frost. It's dry summer grass, and it's coming from behind me.

I'm pulled from the flashback I didn't even realize I was caught in until an unwelcome scent floods my nostrils. I keep my gaze focused on the sight in front of me: several children running around the park, their parents watching them and talking. Occasionally, they glance in my direction, but I give it no notice. A few blinks clear the cloudiness away from my eyes. It's hard to keep my jaw from clenching, and the corded muscles in my neck pull at bone.

Though I don't look at him, I know by his footfall that he's stopped just behind the park bench I'm sitting on. He doesn't say anything to me, but I know Clayton's smell well, as he knows mine. The slip of fabric can be heard, and he holds a box just past my shoulder. With a deep breath, the smell of Montecristo Cuban cigars hits me like a hammer. I can't help but let out a dry laugh. Only a short bark, really. Must have cost you a fortune to get these. The sarcasm quickly turns to a light growl. I knew my lip had curled slightly, it was something the wolf in me did. I never could control my need to intimidate others. Don't tell me The Director is giving me these for all the missed birthdays.

Don't sound so put off. Clayton's voice is rather monotone. It was a trait of his that most people, myself included, wanted to knock clean off his face one way or another.

I'm retired. I give no room for argument- I didn't want anything to do with him or The Director.

You've seen the news, more and more people claiming to be attacked by monsters.

My involuntary snort cuts him off. It was the ideal time to put my foot down on the matter. Monsters like me, or those NeoHumans people are afraid of? I told you before I'm retired. Besides, I'm done with you people.

Clayton doesn’t seem to take the hint. We're not like that anymore- we understand the difference.

It was at this point that I can feel his gaze shift. With a sidelong glance, I notice he was still wearing those dumb mirrored aviators. Still, I can tell where his line of sight’s going. Following his eyes, I note how a young, green-eyed girl had caught his shades. The girl hesitates for no more than a second before she goes back to playing. We both saw it.

You've grown soft, with that human daughter of yours...

At this point, I stand and fully turn towards Clayton, getting as close as I can, eye to eye with the suit-and-tie goon. My growl is low so only the two of us can hear. No, is all I utter.

His brow raises just above the silver-rimmed shades, but he says nothing to me. I quickly put on my leather jacket and tuck the cigar box into the inside pocket. Gwen! I call out, not removing my eyes from Clayton's. We're leaving! I take a few steps back, allowing the bench to be the buffer between us. The green-eyed girl comes bouncing over to me, her red hair flowing behind her. I'm used to the looks the parents give me. We look nothing alike: her freckled brow, bright green, Scandinavian eyes, and red hair are in stark contrast to me.

Yet when Clayton gives me that look, it's all I can do not to growl at him like the animal in me wants to. She grabs hold of my hand. I barely register that I've got a slightly tighter than normal hold on her hand as well. She leads me to the black Camaro parked in the lot, and I know I'll have a lot of work to do when we get home. Namely, calling up the pack once again.

The pack, my pack, wasn't normal. It wasn't a family of wolves. We were ten highly-skilled professional killers, all of us nearly immortal, and a few who were actually immortal. At least, they were as far as I knew.... We ranged from crocodiles to dragons, and at the end of the day, retired or not, we'd all help each other out if we could. As we approach the car, all I could do was hope they weren't already busy with something else.

Opening the car door, I help Gwen into the back seat. Raising the back of the driver seat, she gets in and settles herself. I lean one arm against the edge of the Camaro's roof and help her buckle in. Ready to go?

She nods eagerly, Ready Daddy. I give her a light kiss on her brow. With a ruffle of her hair, I stand back up. Gripping the head rest, I move the seat back into place and chance a peek back up to the park. A frown forms on my lips as I see Clayton has managed to disappear. With a snort, I get into the car and start the engine, quickly buckling up and turning the radio to some classic rock.

The drive through the city of Ebon River was quiet, and it wasn't until we hit the outskirts that Gwen spoke up. Who was that man?

A very old client of sorts.

What does that mean?

It means that for a time, the family worked for... I pause for a moment to figure out how to explain Clayton to her. His boss hired us on to do some jobs, and he was basically our point of contact.

So are you going to work for him again?

With a sigh, I steal a peek at the back seat through the rear-view mirror. Gwen sat tapping her toes together, waiting for my answer. She was a smart girl- despite telling Clayton I was retired, she could tell that it was only half true. I didn't pick up as many jobs anymore myself, but the pack certainly did. However, there remained one client whom I could never refuse. Not that Clayton or The Director knew any of this.

No, Gwen, I have no intention of working for him or anyone associated with him. Being a skilled mercenary had its advantages. I could pick and choose my jobs and still get paid enough to live a cushy lifestyle in the mountains away from people, but close enough to a city where Gwen could get a good education and socialize. Propping my elbow on the edge of the door's window, I let a smile curl on my lips. We drive the rest of the way in relative silence. The silence was only broken when we occasionally sang along with a song on the radio.

It was both a pleasant surprise and also a bit concerning to see my sister’s white Dodge Challenger with red racing stripes in the driveway. She and her husband hadn't been living with me for a few years now. Not since we officially did the whole semi-retired thing. She also had the two pups, Benjamin and Damien. They would be about five now and no doubt a handful.

When I first met her back in the early 1900’s, I never would have pegged her for the mom type. She was strong willed and stubborn. Hell, she still was. If her old pack leader hadn’t forced her to allow me to become a lycan, she never would have gone through with the ritual. From that moment on, she’d thought it a good idea to babysit me. After all, only a fool would choose to become a monster- no one in their right mind would choose a cursed life.

So she did just that. For years now, she’s pretended to be my sister. Even helped me recruit her husband into the pack. Granted it was all about throwing the right curves at him. Travis was a lone wolf with a fox’s personality. He loved causing trouble and taking humans for suckers. That is, until he met my sister. He tried all the charm in the world to get her attention, and in the end, she was the one who ended up roping him in. Not just into the pack, but romantically as well. Low and behold, five years ago, she gave birth to the twins. Now, though, all I can say is, This can't be good.

Giving Gwen the house keys, I let her head inside before me while I chance a look into my sister's car. It was tidy as usual, yet I couldn't help but notice the car seats were missing. Maybe I wouldn't have to deal with the nephews, or my brother-in-law. A slight snort escapes my nose and I pat the hood of the car; cold. She'd been here a while, then, probably got here soon after Gwen and I had left for the day. Instead of heading through the front, I went into the garage. Since she’d been here for a while, I might as well prepare myself.

The house was constantly in a state of disarray. Tala would say there was a tornado that went through on a weekly basis. It never bothered me, though- I knew where everything was and that was all that mattered. More importantly, though, I could hide beers here where no one could steal them. It was a habit I didn't need anymore since it was only me and Gwen in the large, three-story house. The rest of the family was doing their own thing since retirement, more or less, but I still hid beer in the bottom half of one of the many tool boxes.

Pulling out a warm bottle, I pop the top with an old bottle opener. Like all the rest, the cap was stored in a small waste basket full of just bottle caps. With a heavy sigh, I drag my feet towards the house door. I'd filled the empty garage spots with various projects ranging from ATVs and motorcycles to classic cars and hot rods. I was a bit of a gear-head; If it had an engine, chances were I could fix it, build it, or modify it. My current project was an old Duesenberg. It had taken me years to find it and while not as nice as when I'd first gotten one, it was still worth it. I'd now have to find a place to store it and make room for when everyone was finally back home.

While I would never admit it to anyone openly... well, apart from my sister, I did miss having the family together. It was rather quiet with just two people in the mansion. Gripping the cold doorknob, I give it a harsh turn before popping it open with my shoulder. The wood had swelled a bit again in the humidity. Yet another project on the ever-growing to-do list.

So what brings you to my neck of the woods? I call out, unsure of exactly where my sister is at the moment.

I can't just drop in for a visit? I hear her voice call out faintly.

I frown slightly, kicking off my old boots by the door. The black leather was worn and faded and the outer steel on the toes was scratched all to hell. Years of wear and tear on the outside was worth the comfort of the combat soles on the inside. Thousands upon thousands of miles on them and they still carried me forward every day.

Judging by her voice, she must be upstairs, yet I know I can hear people talking in the living room. Taking a drink of my beer, I work my way to the staircase without really thinking about it. It's probably just her husband Travis talking to Gwen anyway.

Once on the second landing, I follow my nose, unsurprising to find her proper ass in her old room.