The Legend of the Werewolf (2 page)

"As I expected, you remember nothing.
You never do."

He glared and bared his teeth. "Who the
hell are you? You're attacking a Griffon City cop. The law doesn't
look kindly on that."

The suspect shrugged. "Only if we are in
that particular city. It is to my understanding that men of the law
who hail from cities that do not exist are not men of the law
outside of them."

Shit
.

The small man in black pulled a round,
fist sized stone from the folds of his robe. It glowed in his hand
and he stared at it lovingly. Mike knew it could only mean
trouble.

"So many years have passed since she
left us. I can still remember her face, but you cannot. You can
never understand why we continue with this game."

Mike inched closer while the man in black
spoke into the stone. If he could apprehend him, fine. If not, then
at least he would be close enough to get some decent hits
in.

"It's the full moon tonight. Perhaps, if I
kill you while under the moon she will return. I've never tried
that before."

She?
Like a vortex that he was being
sucked into, Mike was pulled against his will into a
vision.

It was him. Or, at least, a man
who looked a lot like him. The differences were noticeable
though.

His hair was longer,
reaching his shoulders, and the clothes were old and worn.
Practically rags. Medieval. Tunic, hose and leather boots that were
not properly sewn.

He stood in a clearing
surrounded by trees in the moonlight. The most beautiful woman he’d
ever seen stood before him. She glowed like a Goddess. Their hands
clasped together, and the way they gazed into each other’s eyes
made their feelings apparent.

It was the woman from the bar.
The one who'd been sitting with the Punk Rocker kid and her Twin
Brother.

Mike blinked and shook his head, freeing
himself from the image. He'd figure out what it meant
later.

Mike tucked the pointed end of his weapon
away and lunged to tackle the man. A shadowy figure leaped at him
mid-way to his target, catching him in the air and pushing him to
the cement floor.

Mike punched desperately,
missing his mark each time. Could he be that fast? He punched
again, his hand sailing right through the head of the image like
smoke. The shadowy figure actually
was
a shadow. Mike was fighting something he couldn’t
touch.

Another shadow took the shape of a
human, captured his wrist and wrestled the stake from his hand
while another grabbed his ankles and held them securely to the
floor.

Mike strained his muscles, fighting
against them until his face burned with the effort. To no avail,
they were too strong for him, holding him down like he was nothing.
Quite an accomplishment considering his size and build.

"I am your Lord, Hadrian Vaughan. And you,
you are my servant. Struggle all you like, it will not do you any
good. These creatures can touch but cannot be touched, and they
will only obey my command."

Mike hated the calm note in the man's
voice, how he stared down at him impassively. He wanted to punch
him just to see the reaction. "Then command for them to release me
before I make you regret it. I am not your servant."

Hadrian sniffed loudly, waving a limp
hand at his shadow soldiers. "Take him outside."

Mike was lifted in the air by his hands
and feet. His violent struggles were like a child struggling
against a parent for all the good they did. "Stop it! I'm not who
you think I am!"

"You never are." Hadrian muttered as Mike
was carried to the now vacant parking lot and set down in the
center.

Please, God, let someone have
phoned the cops.

His hands and feet were pressed into
the asphalt. He groaned as rocks cut into his flesh and his
circulation was cut off. Again, without meaning to, his thoughts
wandered into the mind of his attacker turned kidnapper.

He saw Hadrian in the same
black clothes with the same uncaring look on his pinched face
holding the same round stone. However, the stone wasn’t glowing. He
stood over a dying man.

Again, the man looked like
Mike, but this version was different from the medieval one. He was
tall with broad shoulders and shortly cropped, black hair. The
tight breeches tucked into leather boots and waist coat suggested
that the victim had either just come from a costume party or been
killed in the regency era.

The man turned on his back and
coughed blood, red speckles dotting his face. Mike forgot to
breathe as he saw himself die.

"No!" Mike was yanked from his vision
when the shadow hands left him. He shot to his feet, ready to fight
but was blinded by a piercing light in his eyes.

"Come on!" A woman's voice screamed to
him. Though red spots colored his eyes, he followed the sound of
her voice. A hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. Through his
leather jacket he felt small, feminine fingers, and though they
were incredibly strong, he knew not to attack.

He forced his eyes to open wider. At first
he could only make out a small black silhouette, then a curly head
of blonde hair. As his vision returned, he recognized the woman
from the bar.

She had a powerful, huge flashlight in
her hand and was directing its beam at the shadow men.

They advanced, she hit them with the light
and they retreated. Advance, light, retreat. Nifty
trick.

"Who are you?" hHe demanded.

"Don't you sound grateful? I'm the one
saving your ass!"

Mike's eyes searched for
Hadrian.

“
He killed me. I saw him kill
me.” But no, it was impossible. The man in the vision was a look
alike.

Mike was going to bring that
weasel-faced warlock to justice for it.

“He killed you? What did you
say?”

Mike ignored her. He hadn’t realized he
spoke out loud.

Hadrian struggled on his back, clawing,
twisting and fighting against the jaws of a grey wolf. Too
distracted by the teeth to use his magic.

The glowing orb was thrown from his
hands in the struggle. Mike ran away from the safety of the girl
with the powerful flashlight and snatched it up.

"Thanks, pal." He ducked as one of the
shadows leaped for him. Hadrian screamed his rage, but Mike ignored
him, too busy dodging the rest of the shadows until he made it back
beside his rescuer.

An arrest would have to wait until he
could figure out how to get beat those shadows.

"Are you crazy? What did you leave for?"
sShe screamed, still fighting against the onslaught of shadow men
who got back up as soon as she knocked them down.

He couldn't explain it but, if the stone
in his hand had something to do with Hadrian's power to kill, he
had to take it. "I went to get this."

He put the rock under her nose and she
froze the second her eyes landed on it.

It still glowed in his hand. Looking to
see what had her so transfixed, he saw the crescent moon engraved
in the round orb.

One of the shadows slinked up to her side.
She was so drawn to the stone that she didn't see it. He grabbed
her arms and thrust her around so the beam of light hit the
creature. The shadow disintegrated as though it had been melted
with a laser.

Her chest heaved like she’d just ran a
marathon. "Thanks," she breathed.

"Anytime."

The screech of tires drew them from the
fighting as a red truck fishtailed through the small army of
shadows, temporarily dissipating them. It stopped directly in front
of Mike and his new best friend.

Before the driver flashed on the high
beams, Mike caught sight of the red haired kid with the dragon
tattoo.

He stuck his head out the window. "Get
in!"

The woman ran to the truck and Mike
obediently followed. He put it back in drive and yelled out the
window again. "Westley! Get over here!"

He started to drive before the silver wolf
jumped from his victim. He managed to run fast enough that he
jumped into the back of the truck before they turned the
corner.

The red-head checked behind him to make
sure the wolf named Westley was securely in place before hitting
the gas, shooting them well over the speed limit. "We need to get
out of here. Who was that guy?" As if remembering that Mike was in
the truck with them, he stared at him. "And who are
you?"

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I
don't even know who that was." He searched for the moon rock again
to show him, ask if they knew what it was since they were obviously
paranormal and one was definitely a werewolf. But he didn't have
it.

Where did …?

He looked up as the woman smashed the
rock into his head. A flash of white blinded him before it was
replaced with black.

He wasnhadn’t entirely passed out when she
said,: "I think I know who they are. Take us home."

"Whatever you say,
princess."

TWO

"Annie, it was incredibly stupid for
you to bring him here."

She stared at her feet, tried to avoid the
heat in her pack master's rising voice and the humiliation of
hearing him use her little-girl name. "I know."

"He's not even part of this
pack!"

She cringed, feeling the vibrations of his
stomping feet against the hardwood floor as he paced back and forth
like a wild animal.

Gordon had never been known for his
patience. However, after she came back to the ranch with an
unconscious human and a story to tell, she couldn’t blame
him.

"She was only trying to help. Maybe
you're being too hard on her."

Relief like cool water over a hot burn
washed over her when her grandfather's voice came to her
rescue.

Gordon whipped his grey head around to
throw his anger at him. "Stay out of this, Bill. She endangered the
entire pack bringing him here, including my son."

Him
being the stranger she, Westley, and
Chris rescued from the bar.

She still didn't know what prompted her to
go back for him. A warlock with that kind of power was nothing to
mess with, but the second that strange man in black robes walked
into the bar, his eyes honed in on the depressing looking figure
drinking by himself.

The human had looked at her, perked up,
and smiled in a way that made her forget that she had nothing to
smile about. Maybe that was why she went back.

The hovering man in black didn’t move
on, take a seat and order a drink as patrons were prone to do. He
stared at the man as though he’d just found his worst enemy. The
man who borrowed money without paying it back, slept with his wife
and burned down his house all in one night.

The lone wolf was in danger. He had to be.
Anne’s hunch proved correct when the warlock sent an explosive ball
of fire at his back before she could shout a warning.

The man in the cowboy hat must have
Jedi reflexes to have been able to get out of the way of something
like that so fast.

Or just the luckiest son of a bitch on
the planet.

He wasn't wearing his hat now. Anne held
it in front of her like a shield while Gordon grilled her. The
source of his anger lying on the old, brown couch on the other side
of the cabin under a faded knit blanket, unconscious and unaware of
the argument.

Westley stepped forward. "Dad, it's not
her fault. If I wanted, I could've ordered her not to go
back."

"Then you damn well should have."
Gordon hissed, turning his attention back to her.

"This is beyond disappointing. That you
could find it in you to interfere with something like this over a
fairy tale. You don't even know what he was being attacked for. For
all you know, he's dangerous." He slammed the stone with the
crescent moon engraving onto the rickety coffee table.

Anne cringed and stared at the rock,
searching for any cracks. There were none she could see.

The stone stopped glowing but that didn't
make it any less valuable. Listening to him talk down to her and
then slamming the stone like a worthless children’s toy, sent her
anger off like a screaming tea kettle.

"Does this mean the wedding's
off?"

Gordon’s face puffed out and turned
red. His eyes glared and became insane. Anne refused to be stared
down.

Still, it was an odd sight. Like an
older version of Westley glaring daggers at her. It didn't look
right.

He pointed a large finger in her face.
"Don't tempt me."

She opened her mouth to argue that it
was exactly what she wanted to do, but the sight of her grandpa out
of the corner of her eye stopped her.

He wasn't sending her any signals to
stop, just standing there waiting for her to make her
decision.