Werewolf: Revenant Slayer

By Dragan Vujic

Fleeing from his ferocious and parasitic pack, Braden accidentally stumbles across a former werewolf slayer. A double-edged sword of opportunity and death presents itself. The loner attempts to convince his new acquaintance to assist him in terminating his unwanted clan. Contemplating available options, the retired lycanthrope hunter debates whether to engage in one last mission and help an outcast slaughter his own family or simply kill the abomination that stands before her. In any event, given the current unexpected circumstances, the lady knows that she cannot remain in the sanctuary provided by a sleepy backwoods village.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781532007156

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].

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Copyright © 2016 DRAGAN VUJIC.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-0714-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-0715-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016914921

iUniverse rev. date: 09/10/2016

Contents

Bar Brawl

Recollections

The Present

Time to Leave

Road To Nowhere

Armed

Nameless

Skirmish

Meanwhile

Long Day

Ambush

Preamble

Night Fight

Death Dance

Conclusion

Werewolf Books by Dragan Vujic

Only Silver Can Kill A Werewolf

Dark Shadow of the Werewolf

Death Hunt for the Last Werewolf

Crimson Tears of a Werewolf

Final Harvest of the Werewolf

Tender Kiss of a Russian Werewolf

Alternative Reality for a Werewolf Hunter

Werewolf Alliance

Werewolf Within

Werewolf Among Us

Werewolf: Bite of Damnation

Werewolf: Revenant Slayer

Bar Brawl

EXXODUS RESEMBLED A typical northern Ontario town. Sprawled across both sides of a less travelled highway known simply as Route 83, this back water village boasted a population of approximately fifteen hundred. Although there were numerous houses dispersed in small neighbourhoods near the main roadway, most of the residents lived on surrounding hundred acre farms. Along with a post office and a few other essential government services, Exxodus had a combination of commercial enterprises. There was usually only one offering of any specific business. However, the hamlet had two hotels and both seemed to be doing well financially. Since the town was located a mere thirty miles from the Quebec border, a notable Francophone congregation dwelled here. Thus, most of the inhabitants had learned to speak both French and English from early childhood.

Frank Barrett was the proud owner of one of the two drinking establishments, disclosing the appropriated appellation of Barrett’s Bar. The large overhead sign had a hunter green background with gold coloured letters. Within, the well worn wooden floor covered an area of roughly two thousand square feet. It was not a huge pub by any means, but the place had its own brand of charm and faithful clientele. The oak bar took up most of the north wall, leaving sufficient space for entrance into the back kitchen. Some roadhouse food was served on sporadic festive occasions. Currently, outside of the pickled eggs and pickled sausages, sharing one glass jar on the west end of the bar, there were no edibles at this late hour.

A well thought out scheme of the eight tables and thirty-two chairs left plenty of open floor space. The seating arrangements were far from crowded. Seven stately bar stools with swivel seats had been permanently affixed in front of the bar. Eleven foot ceilings and huge front windows added to the spacious appearance of the tavern. Although the plastered ceiling had been painted bone white, the walls had a beige tinge in them. Four deer heads were scattered along the walls. All of them displayed admirable racks which indicated that the bucks had been big and old. Consequently, the meat probably had not been that tasty.

After a painful and costly divorce, Frank’s younger brother, Gerry, had lost his house and the majority of his other valuable assets. Gerry asked Frank if he could hang the trophy buck heads in his brother’s bar temporarily. Frank consented. Temporary turned out to be permanent. Gerry had headed out west to Vancouver, British Columbia and had never returned. Thus, the deer heads had gathered considerable dust hanging in Barrett’s bar in excess of ten years. They were now considered to be part of the interior décor. Dimly lit, the bar provided a calm and comfortable place to drink and chat.

The owner spent very little time in his enterprise. Frank would usually come once a week in the late afternoon in order to scoop out the cash in the till and see what needed to be replenished. Subsequently, he would order what was required. However, he was never on hand when the supplies arrived. His staff was responsible for stocking the bar and putting everything in its proper place. At the moment, a rather pulchritudinous barmaid was tending the bar by herself. She was a pleasantly pretty lady in her early forties who had a very personable demeanor. All of the patrons liked her and this female was well suited for the service industry. Her long blonde hair appeared to have a natural curl and encircled her finely chiseled face which was accented with bright blue eyes.

Annabelle Hewitt was the name that the bar maid had used when she had arrived in this quaint little town four years ago. Frank had suspected that was not her real name and he was right. His suspicions were confirmed when the lady asked to be paid in cash at the end of each week. Despite his reservations and concerns, Frank hired the woman because something about her intrigued him. Annabelle proved to be hard working, trustworthy and clever. Everyone took a shine to her from the start. Over the years, she became affectionately referred to as Annie. Initially, some of the single local men asked her for a date. Hewitt made it very clear to all of her potential suitors that she was not interested. Her previous relationship had left deep, festering scars that had not healed yet. Prior to that, the woman had been wed. That marriage had been abruptly culminated and had left her devastated. Two major heart breaks in one life time were enough to sour her desire to seek male companionship. She was just not ready to commence dating at this time. Thus, although several of the young males still gave her covetous looks, no one ever made any romantic or suggestive gestures. Annabelle was readily accepted into the community and was loved by all in a plutonic sense. Typically, Annie had a jovial disposition and had something nice to say to all of her patrons.

Hewitt’s past was shrouded in mystery. Who was she? Where did she come from? Where did she grow up? What did she do before she became a bar maid? These were just some of the many questions that remained unanswered. Annabelle never spoke of her previous life and tactfully avoided the subject. She had become very adept at diverting conversation topics. A kind smile and a sincere interest usually had the patrons talking about themselves and highlighting their strengths and accomplishments.

Tonight, the lady was unusually quiet. A slender, yet well muscled stranger with dark brown hair and sad blue eyes sat at the bar, nursing a rye and coke. Although he was physically present, his mind seemed to be someplace far, far away.

Irrespective of the fact that Braden had tipped generously and displayed no indications of violence, his mere presence caused Annie to experience anxiety. There was an atypical trait that gave her cause for concern. His index finger was longer than his second finger. This was considered to be the definitive mark of a werewolf. However, only the initiated were cognizant of such subtle genetic mutations. Braden could have easily passed unnoticed among the ordinary people of the world. Only slayers and fellow werewolves would recognize him for who he truly was.

Annabelle Hewitt’s real name was Dakota Denfield and she had a history of violence involving the werewolves. In fact, at one time the lady was known as a formidable werewolf slayer. Dakota had fought side by side with Bryan Boyd – man that she eventually fell in love with. What commenced as a professional arrangement evolved into a fiery romantic relationship. They were so happy in each other’s arms. Those were the days that Bryan and Dakota thought would never end. Despite their deadly dangerous chosen professions, paradise seemed to surround the duo. However, all good things come to an end – a very tragic one in this situation.

On a particular skirmish, a horrific abomination succeeded in biting Bryan. Shortly thereafter, the one person whom Dakota had loved more than life itself mutated into an incarnate – something that she loathed the most. With a heavy heart, the lady hunted down and slew her former lover. That day, she also murdered a part of herself. Subsequently, Dakota severed contact with everyone and surreptitiously vanished. Her life changed dramatically. Over seven years had passed since then. She thought that she was safe in this tucked away little hamlet. Apparently, that did not seem to be the case. A foreseeable disturbance was about to explode and shatter her tranquility. Her quiet country life was about to be terminated.

A werewolf sat before her. Why was he here? Had she been discovered? Was he a scout or a sole assassin? Had he come for her? Was it a time for retribution? Did she have to pay for all the monsters that she had slain in the past? Disturbing thoughts circulated in Annie’s head. The closing hour was fast approaching. Some of the patrons were already on their last round. Soon she would be alone with this stranger – face to face. Outside, a full moon had made its debut in a dark navy blue sky. The lunar orb played peek-a-boo among the scudding gray clouds. This night brought peril with it. Annie sensed that something extremely disturbing was about to transpire. Her role in the impending scenario would be revealed within the next hour and a half.

Another half hour ticked by and the patrons gradually started to leave the drinking establishment – everyone bid Annie good night prior to departing. Acknowledging everybody’s farewell, the bar maid went over to pick up their empty glasses and straighten their chairs. She also wiped down the table top with the bar rag. With the exception of the stranger, only four clients remained. Allan Cunningham and his hired hand, Mike Carver, were finishing off their last beer. After sharing a few more seemingly profound thoughts, they would head back to the farm. As usual, Mike would spend the night in the spare room. Jenny and Jim were celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary. Thus, they would probably close the place down. The werewolf was likely to stay to the end as well.

Returning to the bar, Annie reminisced briefly on the wonderful times that she had experienced with Bryan. He was such a strong and handsome man. Now, Bryan was out of her life forever. One decision could have changed everything. She recalled the words that had haunted her incessantly over the years. Bryan had practically begged her to give up werewolf slaying and spend the rest of her life with him in some secluded place where no one would know them. He had offered her an opportunity to commence a new life with him away from the perils of hunting abominations. It would have been a fresh start. She had declined his proposal, stating that she had not yet had her fill of killing incarnates. Vengeance still burned bright in her desecrated heart for what the creatures had done to her former family. Time had only partially healed the festering wounds. Painful memories still lingered on. The negative overpowered the positive. Hatred had trumped love. And so, Bryan was dead and she was alone. Sorrow replaced elation. There was no one to blame except herself. Dakota had created her own misfortune.

Tears came to her eyes. That one fatal choice was her greatest regret. Subsequently, a horrible event destroyed everything that they once cherished the most. The offer to elope disintegrated and vanished for all eternity. Unfortunately, there was no rewind button on life. Thus, Dakota, currently known as Annie, would have to live with the consequences of her prior decisions. Uninvited, the pain and sorrow still lingered. Even the passing of time, the greatest healer of all, had not eased the hurt. Her recollections were interrupted by a loud, foreign voice making a request.

I’ll have one more round before last call., said the stranger, draining his glass and placing it on the bar.

Annie snapped out of her daze in time to catch the order. Allan and Mike waved to her as they made their way to the door. She did not hear what they said, but assumed that it was the typical good-bye phrase. An early autumn wind could be heard softly massaging dry leaves that had accumulated near the inside edges of the building as the front door opened and closed. Grabbing a fresh glass, the bar maid poured in a healthy one ounce shot of rye whiskey from an open bottle and roughly two ounces of coke from the bar shotgun. She placed the concoction in front of the itinerate individual before her. A forced smiled graced her pretty face, as she removed the empty glass.

Thanks. Keep the change., stated the stranger, slapping a five dollar bill on the bar and reaching for his drink.

This amounted to a considerable tip since the mixed drink was only three dollars and fifty cents.

I know who you are., blurted out Annie, instead of saying the usual thank-you for the gratuity.

Yeah? I haven’t seen you before, lady. I’m not from around here. You have no idea who I am. You must have me mistaken with someone else., replied the stranger, dismissing Annie’s comments and sipping away at his beverage.

Perhaps, I should have said that I know WHAT you are., persisted Annie with a piercing icy stare that not only gripped the stranger’s attention, but also sent shivers down his spine.

Like I said, you have me confused with someone else., responded the stranger, attempting to avert the lady’s gaze and taking another sip of his drink.

Oh, I’m not confused at all. Perhaps, you would care to explain why your index finger is longer than your second finger. The elongated index finger is a sure sign of a werewolf., continued Annie, placing her left hand on the bar and reaching for something in the pocket of her skirt with the right.

Now, she had the stranger’s full attention. Noticing that her fingers were the normal configuration for a human, the abomination drew the correct conclusion that she was not one of them. If she was not a werewolf herself, how did the lady know about the elongated index finger? What else did she know? There seemed to be only one other viable answer. The accuser had to be a slayer. They were the only ones that could recognize the skin changers in their human form. But that did not make any sense. Why was a slayer disguised as a bar maid? And why was she here when the moon was full? All slayers, without exception, hunted their prey under every full moon.

Maybe, it was best to leave this situation alone and depart quietly. After all, the stranger did not come here to cause any trouble. He just wanted to sulk. His once beautiful life had recently become very ugly. The present state of affairs seemed hopeless. Nothing could be done to restore the past. He had simply come here to ponder the prospects of an otherwise gloomy future. There was no point in arguing with this lady. After all, she had called it right. He was indeed a werewolf. The man knew what he had involuntarily become. He also was well aware that this situation was irreversible. Death seemed to be his sole salvation. At this specific moment, his best option dictated that he escape unscathed. Now was a good time to abscond.

Yeah? Werewolves? There are no such things. You’re crazy, lady. I’m out of here., remarked the stranger, quickly finishing his drink and setting the empty glass on the wooden bar.

As he rose from his stool to leave, the door opened and two more unfamiliar individuals entered the spacious room. The patron’s face expressed fear at the sight of the newcomers. In fact, his visage turned deathly white. They obviously all knew each other. Annie readily noticed that these fellows also had elongated first fingers. Currently, there were three werewolves on the premises. She wondered if any more waited outside. As the duo approached the bar, one of the men spoke.

Braden! There you are. You can run and you can hide, but we will always find you. After all, we are family. And families should stay together. Now, come with us. You have wandered and strayed long enough. It is time to come home. Amber misses you terribly. Come now, let us leave.

No. I’m not going anywhere with you. There is absolutely nothing to come back to. You have taken everything from me. I find your mere presence repulsive. I would sooner die than live among you. And that conniving slut, Amber, can go to hell!, retorted Braden, preparing to fight.

Death is not an option – not yet. But, you will return to the pack – either willingly or by force. And as for Amber, well she is your mate for life. You should have thought about that before you fornicated with her. Now, it is too late. You have sealed your own fate. Come. Let us leave quietly and not disturb these fine people any further., calmly stated the other of the two newcomers.

As soon as one of the entrants came close enough, Braden struck him in the face with his right fist. Clayton Bouchier, the assaulted individual, stumbled to his right side, but recovered quickly. John Dunn, the other lycanthrope, punched Braden in the chest, causing him to reel backwards. Upon rapidly regaining his balance, Braden kicked John in the groin, causing his opponent to buckle forward. A hard fist from Clayton struck his left jowl before he had a chance to follow up with a knee to John’s head. Braden avoided Clayton’s second punch and countered with an upper cut, catching Clayton beneath the chin.

As soon as the fight broke out, Jim and Jenny left their unfinished ales and made their way to safety – quickly exiting the tavern. Outside, they called 911 on their cell phone and reported the disturbance. Thereafter, they moved to the opposite side of the street in order to watch the situation from a secure distance. Unfortunately, the nearest O.P.P. (Ontario Provincial Police) station was located in the neighbouring town of Athens – roughly twenty miles north-west of Exxodus. It would take the police at least thirty minutes to get to the crime scene.

Meanwhile, the battle raged on inside the tavern. Braden fought valiantly in an effort to fend off his assailants. However, he appeared to be losing the skirmish. The man needed help. Otherwise, he would soon be subdued and taken against his will. Sometimes assistance comes from the strangest of sources. It certainly did in this case. Annie decided to take a hand in this fight. Braden managed to shove Clayton up against the bar and turned to face John. As soon as Clayton’s back hit the bar, Annie grabbed him by the hair with her left hand and jerked his head towards her. Suddenly, a sliver dagger appeared in her right hand and she swiftly slit the abomination’s throat. Pushing the bleeding, suffocating entity forward unto the floor, the lady stepped out from behind the refuge of the bar.

John had Braden on the floor and was punching him in the face. Braden desperately tried to block the blows. Regrettably, he failed to avoid the majority of strikes. Annie calmly walked up to the two individuals. She seized John by the hair and stabbed him in the neck. Blood spurted from the wound on the right side. The abomination reached up with his hand in an effort to stop the bleeding. Annie took this opportunity to ram the knife into his back beneath his left shoulder blade and through his heart. Thereafter, the slayer threw the dying lycanthrope to the right side and reached down for Braden. She gripped him by the front of his shirt and prepared to drive the dagger through his throat.

Wait! Wait! Don’t kill me! I want to live! I did not choose to become a monster of my own free will. No. I was beguiled and betrayed by the one that I loved and trusted. Amber, my former sweetheart, and her kind turned me into this hideous creature without my consent. The bitch bit me. I experienced strange sensations. After that, I was held captive and tortured. That is how I became a lycanthrope. That was my inception as a werewolf. It was an involuntary inception. I did not want this curse. Please spare me., pleaded Braden, raising both hands in a submissive manner.

Annie saw dark despair and sadness in the stranger’s eyes. However, an ember of humanity burned bright in the enveloping doom. He seemed to be devoid of the evil that she had seen in all of the werewolves that the slayer had terminated in her previous escapades. There also appeared to be sincerity in his tone of voice. Pity stayed her hand. Unlike Bryan, Braden had somehow managed to hold the parasite in abeyance. He currently exerted control over the microbe within instead of vice-versa. The microbe had not completely consumed his soul.

Perhaps, Baden could retain his humanity and subjugate the evil entity that dwelled within his body. On the other hand, in the course of several full moon cycles, the parasite could gain irrevocable control of the possessed and devour every last ounce of lingering humanity inside the host. Only time would reveal the true destiny of Braden Cohen. At the moment, Annie decided to give Braden the benefit of the doubt. Releasing her grasp on his shirt, Annie offered Braden her hand and helped the lycanthrope up to his feet. She still retained a firm grip on the silver dagger in her right hand. Trust would not be given freely. It had to be earned.

Okay. I believe you. You say that you are a victim of an involuntary inception as a child of the moon. Your curse is eternal. There is no cure. So, why are you here? Why Exxodus? There is nothing here for you., questioned Annie, eyeing Braden inquisitively.

"Just passing through. I was running away from these beasts.