The End of the Wolf

This is a story I wrote a while ago, under another pen name. This is all there is at the moment, and you won't find any steam in this bit, but you can guess where it's heading. It's Urban Fantasy with some fairly unusual characters and background. I personally like it but it hasn't raised much interest on another website I publish on, maybe because it doesn't really match their teenage readers' taste.

I'm trying to decide which of my multiple books I should focus on (I suffer from a prolific imagination and a bad case of procrastination), so I'm putting it up here for some adult readers' opinion. Keep it or trash it?

Please let me know with your votes and comments.

Thanks!

***

Chapter 1

Dark, cold, and uncomfortable.

It could have been the names of some Fifty Shades character's triplets, but right now it was an accurate description of my hideout. This November night was freezing, the moon a sliver of pale gold that would not have pierced the darkness even if I hadn't shot the bulbs on the closest lampposts. One more reason for the City Council to be annoyed with me, as if they didn't have plenty already.

They'll get over it. I'd like to see those fat bastards do my job.

I chuckled silently, picturing the Mayor in my position, face down on a thick branch, tranquilizer gun in hand. The bulbs had to go. In my black Kevlar lined clothing I was nearly invisible to my prey, but the leaves were long gone. Any light, and I would be busted.

Calm down, he will hear your heart racing.

I breathed as slowly as I could, trying to reduce the stress. I was no beginner, but tonight was a solo operation. It was against regulations, I knew. There had been so many attacks lately that the State Hunters resources were stretched thin. The authorities had spread the rumor of illegally imported panthers escaping from their crates to reassure the public. They had issued a curfew, and summoned the Hunters in a panic. They wanted results, and they wanted them yesterday. Easier said than done.

This park was the playground of at least one of the beasts. A Lycan not doubt, a young one, like the others, teens just starting to change. It was weird. Furs were born like this, boys who received the gene from their father. A fourth generation Fur would sprout a five-o-clock shadow when angry and have enhanced senses, while a first generation was the monster of your nightmares, turning into a blood crazed creature every night. Still, they were normal people in daylight, and as soon as they understood their nature, most of them ensured they were locked in at sundown. The second generation was usually no trouble, as they had been warned by their sire.

So why was this happening? Why so many kids with no support?

Suddenly, I heard something. Footsteps crushing the dry leaves. I blessed the park employees for sleeping on the job and adjusted my night vision goggles, peering in the direction of the sound.

Crap, what is she doing here? The idiot is going to get herself killed!

A woman was trotting on the path, using her phone to see the ground. She kept glancing over her shoulder, obviously aware of the danger. I rolled my eyes. What was the point of the curfew if people kept wandering the streets? This was a serious inconvenience. She might end up blocking my line of fire, and her phone torch was blinding me.

Sighing, I focused on the space behind the human. There was something, a rustling of the bushes on the right. And there was no wind. I tightened my grip on the gun and made sure my Taser would slide easily out of my side pocket. A shape stepped out, stalking the unsuspecting prey. It was lithe and stealthy...

I mentally face palmed herself. What was wrong tonight? Why could things never run smoothly?

And what the heck is a Fang doing here?

My plans up in smoke, I dropped to the ground, unsheathing my katana with my free hand. A good thing I was ambidextrous. Firearms were no use against vampires, especially not tranquilizer darts. You couldn't kill or anesthetize something that wasn't alive, but chopping off their head would stop them.

The woman screamed at my sight and dazzled me with her phone. I let out an exasperated huff and hit the offending device, propelling it to the ground. Its owner dropped to her knees to pick it up, and I seized the opening, beheading an astonished vampire in one go.

Newly made and slow, I was in luck, somehow. An old one would have been trouble.

This was a night of surprises, I reckoned, ushering the terrified human up and forward on the path. The poor thing's brain was fighting to make sense of the events. Not that she had much of it in the first place. She was mumbling incoherently, her hands clasping the phone to her chest like a shield.

I pushed down my goggles and managed a reassuring smile. "Calm down, it was just a prank. You're fine, you should go home. I'm sorry for scaring you." My interlocutor nodded frantically and scrambled away. I watched her go, taking care to stand between her and the fast rotting corpse, blocking the view but unfortunately not the smell.

I scrunched up my nose. It stank to high heaven. Fangs appeared attractive when alive, or rather undead. They had the power of fascination, something close to hypnotism. My training allowed me to resist it and see the pale, sickly looking monsters lurking behind, all teeth and red eyed. Furs were part-time humans. Fangs were disgusting leeches.

I kicked the severed head, cleaned my blade and considered my options. With that awful stench, there was no point staying put. Lycans had an acute sense of smell, they wouldn't go near the area if they could avoid it. No way to ambush it now. This was the only spot, right in the center of the park, where I was sure the beast would pass. All the paths crossed here. If I went anywhere else, I would have to be very lucky to catch him.

I sheathed my sword and rubbed my neck. I was tempted to call it a night, yet I couldn't. Instead I decided to follow the woman, in case the beast gave chase. Worst case scenario, I would have saved a life.

I should have been more cautious. With the curfew, donors can't get to the blood bars, and the old leeches won't share their own. Newborns are hungry, they can't control it.

Things were so easy before the return of magic. Nowadays witches were powerful and Lycans and vampires protected by the UN. Unofficially. The public was kept blissfully unaware.

Hunters who had worked in the shadows for centuries now wore a police badge. Gone were the times when a good monster was a dead monster. Shoot first, talk later could have been a Hunter's motto. But with Furs manning special assault forces and Fangs helping research on blood diseases, the old times were no more. Lycans had to be taken alive and only rogue vampires could be killed, which was no use as another leech would be created to replace it. There was no shortage of rich volunteers with terminal illnesses.

I shivered. It had taken months of negotiation for this small victory, a regulation of the numbers of the Undead, based on a hundred donors per leech ratio. It was fairly disgusting. Healthy unemployed humans had to give their blood on a monthly basis to avail of any benefits. The blood bars had a front room masquerading as an official collection center, and a 'blood on tap' den below. All that in the name of 'medical progress' and 'greater good'. And still the greedy bastards kept trying to work around it.

I scoffed. Politicians were so naive. Leeches couldn't care less about the needs of the living. They had their own agenda.

I was already catching up with the woman. We were nearing the south end of the park. Soon the madcap would be out of danger. Maybe. Beasts had been known to attack in back alleys, but they avoided brightly lit areas. So the human should be fine if she could reach the main street unharmed. And hopefully she would have learned her lesson. Don't mess around with things that go bump in the dark.

Nearly there. I kept to the shadows, just out of the sandy trail. No need to give an extra fright to the poor soul. I squinted, surveying the surrounding darkness. Street lamps were lit in this part and I couldn't use my goggles.

Maybe I should break another few, just to see the councilors' faces.

I was sorely tempted. That would be priceless.

In the distance, the woman reached the gate. I smiled.

And then a huge form barreled into me.

***

Chapter 2

Claws ripped through the fabric outer layer and slid on the body armor below. It hurt and I'd still have welts, but my skin wasn't broken. I fell forward and rolled over a couple of times, trying to gain a bit of space. When I jumped back to my feet I noticed I had lost the gun. It lay prettily on the ground, right in front of the monster stomping its way towards me.

I yelled at it, hoping to delay it long enough to grab my Taser. Fat chance. If anything, it went faster. I jumped aside just in time to avoid being caught and was rewarded with yet another tear in my clothes. I went mad. I loved that jacket. So I tased the beast and plunged towards my gun. The shock would slow it down, not stop it.

It roared when I shot, nearly at point blank.

Sorry but not sorry buddy. Too bad it hurts. You attacked me first, get over it.

Stepping back, I watched its movements become clumsy. It wasn't long before it collapsed on the leaves. I mentally high-fived our chemist. The drug he concocted would take down an elephant in seconds. Not that the lying beast at my feet was anywhere near that size. It was a teen all right. I could bet that when he changed back we would find a skinny but handsome thirteen-ish year old. Under this form it was the size and strength of a grizzly bear.

I crouched and touched its neck, searching for a pulse. It was there, nice and strong. Good. I wouldn't want to kill a kid. The fur was soft despite its coarse look, surprisingly so on such a savage predator. It had strong muscles and a large maw equipped with long, sharp teeth. After seven years chasing Lycans, I was still baffled by the paradox of their nature. Two different beings seemed to cohabit in the same body, turning from one to the other on the flip of a switch. No painful process or cracking of bones as in the movies. The two forms were like the sides of a coin, indivisible but never visible together. The boy wouldn't remember anything in the morning when the monster would be back in.

I pulled out my phone and called the cleanup team. They would place the beast in containment until it turned back and could give them a name and address. Then the whole family would be relocated to an island under the care of the state. He would be given a mentor to learn how to deal with his beast and in exchange would spend ten years in Special Ops. These were the terms of the treaty for Lycans.

It was a good deal. It kept the human population safe and strengthened our army, and Furs were happy. They loved fighting, it was in their nature.

Thinking of it, it was strange, how it had been negotiated. Furs didn't know each other, they weren't social animals. They often lived isolated, in small families, away from humans. So how did they come together to strike a deal? It happened fifteen years ago, before I became a Hunter. Maybe the Original contacted them? Most hunters of my generation considered him a myth. No one had ever seen him, the first Lycan. A few of us believed that First Generation Furs were just a genetic aberration. I wasn't sure, and until now couldn't care less about it. But today was different. Too many, there were too many of them. And if they were all First Generation...

An ambulance was driving in, a camouflage for the cleanup team. Two burly guys swiftly lifted the Fur on a trolley, hiding it under a blanket. A couple of others went to collect the Fang's remains. I didn't know them, they must have been called in from another town. I signed the paperwork, shook the leader's hand and headed to my quarters. Time to sleep.

***

I was woken at dawn by the ringing of my phone. Darn thing. I fumbled to answer and then saw the message. Meeting at eleven a.m. According to the clock, it was in forty-five minutes. Rubbing my eyes, I stumbled out of my bunk bed and headed to the showers. I was never a morning person, and eleven a.m. is early morning in Hunters' standard time. We work at night, remember.

So here I was, barefoot and towel in hand, dragging my sorry arse to the ladies' washing rooms. Many others were zombying their way around. Apparently the meeting call was general.

I ignored them. A piece of advice, never, ever talk to me before I've had my coffee. Think Lycan on steroids. On a bad day. With a sore tooth. That's me off caffeine. So no one got my attention until I was sitting in the canteen, with a steamy mug of my favorite drug and a plate filled with calories. In fairness, there was no other way to describe the pile in front of me. Well, there was one, but it wasn't appetizing.

Two of my pals dropped on the nearby seats, Dan, another Hunter, and Susan, our resident white witch. The former was stifling a yawn and staring sadly at what they called food.

"Gosh, I hate service days!" he muttered, stabbing the strange mixture with his fork.

"Same here!" I added, disgusted. It had to be some sort of porridge. Should porridge be brown?

Susan giggled and whispered something in Latin, or maybe Greek. Whatever language is witch one. The horror in our plates turned into bacon and eggs, with a side of tomatoes. "It's just an illusion", she said, "but it will fool your taste buds too, so tuck in, it won't last long."

Sometimes, I love witches.

***

For a big meeting, it was a big meeting. Every single hunter on duty, including members of tactical support and cleaning units were there. I even saw the medical team in their lab coat, the only ones wearing uniforms at this ungodly hour. And all that for Nothing. Although I doubt that the Mayor would have approved of my new nickname for him. So let's say it described his speech, because this was the reason for cutting short our well-deserved rest: listening to an inflated moron's empty words.

I was furious, which seemed to reflect the general opinion. We, hunters, survive on our reflexes. Tiredness slows us down. Tonight many of us would be putting their lives at risk on a politician's whim. And he sure took his time. We had to endure a full hour of nothingness wrapped in military language.

So I wasn't surprised when the following debrief turned into a verbal fight. With nine male hunters shouting furiously at John Johnson, our Decurion, the small room reeked of testosterone. I sat, arms crossed, waiting for them to calm down. I had to give it to Johnson. Aside from being born to parents with a terrible lack of creativity --his name meant literally John, son of John-, he had a huge pair. Facing a bunch of angry hunters would take that.

You see, we are not humans. We are born of humans, but we are an atavism, the random resurgence of a genetic line dating back to the very dawn of humanity. In a time when men were still climbing trees, we were evolution's answer to Fangs and Furs. We were guardians and protectors, the last wall standing between the first people and certain death.

Hunters are faster, stronger and more aggressive, with sharper senses. That kid in your class who took down a much bigger bully and excelled at all sports? Hunter material. The archer who never misses the bullseye? Same. I started martial arts at three, and was a black belt at thirteen.

Guardians track us, recruit us at eighteen and put us straight into training. I was lucky enough to go to Uni, but most of us never went further than high school. Are we given a choice? No. It doesn't matter. We were born for this. So much so that, like our preys, we are mostly nocturnal. Daylight is for sleeping.

Which is why the boys were so upset. Our bosses should have known better than to allow a pompous official to wake us up to feed his ego. And they were expressing it, noisily, while I was fuming in silence. It wasn't Johnson's fault, they were wasting their time. And mine. Eventually, I stood up and banged my fist on the table. "Enough! I get it, you are mad at the Mayor. So am I. But he isn't here, so can we please get to the point? Breakfast was disgusting, I don't want to miss lunch."

This wasn't the best thing to say. They started complaining about the food, which, if I understand well, was the result of budget cuts by the council.

This time, it was Johnson's turn to hit the desk. If there was a law against furniture abuse, we both would be a risk of arrest. The wood cracked in protest and the men shut up, more out of surprise than fear.

"Enough! You all behave like fussy little girls, except Malone, and that's saying something. I don't want to hear another word from you unless work related. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" we all barked, out of reflex. Conditioning is hard to beat.

"Last night, we caught five Furs, and Malone here killed a Fang." He pointed at the map of the town, on the screen behind him. "The red dots show were we found them. Do you see a pattern?"

I stared blankly. Nope, no pattern. Five in one night was a huge number, yet they were spread at random, as much as I could tell. Dan pulled on my sleeve. "Come on, Gina, use that brain of yours."

I smacked his fingers. They always made fun of my 'superior mind' because I went to college. "At least I have a brain, jackass. Unlike you, I don't think with my d..."

"Yes Malone?"

"I was wondering, Sir, do we know what generation they are?"

Johnson cleared his throat. "All First, and all born between thirteen and fourteen years ago."

"Sir, that's impossible! It would mean..." Dan was under shock. So were the others. And I.

Johnson nodded. "Yep, the Original must have been in town nine months before that. None of the kids know their real father, the mums cannot remember him. Whoever that guy is, he can't keep it in his pants. And now, we get to herd his offspring."

"Who says he is gone? He might still be here..."

"Malone, you do think too much. We have tracked the Original for generations. He never stays long in the same place. We have no reason to believe he changed his ways."

"Yet he never left so many kids behind. Perhaps this time is different?"

Johnson shrugged. "Perhaps. We have no proof. We'll have to wait and see."

"But Sir, it's important. If he is here, we could catch him and stop the emergence of new Furs. It's a chance we can't miss."

"You really believe you are so bright, Malone? For centuries we have tried to capture the Originals. Tried and failed. We can't find them. We don't have the resources to chase shadows, especially when we would be acting on a hunch. Our duty is to protect the public. Speaking of which, here are your assignements..."

I glared at him. My idea wasn't stupid. There had never been such a cluster of First Generation kids before. What if he hadn't stopped? What if he was doing this on purpose? I had to find out, with or without Johnson's approval.

***

Chapter 3

After training, I went down to the holding cells to meet with last night's catch. Mine had turned into a handsome thirteen year old boy, dressed in a black T-shirt and assorted tracksuit bottoms. Of course, he turned back naked. We offered standard issue clothing, one size fit all, mainly because, thanks to their sire, they all shared the same tall, athletic frame. And yellowish brown eyes, currently staring at me with a mix of fear and confusion. The poor kid just woke up with a hell of a headache, locked in a concrete-and-steel box, after going to bed in his own room.

I stayed on the good side of the bars while waiting for him to process. He was clearly of Asian descent, on his mother's side no doubt. First gens always took their looks from their mums, they never gave any clue of their absentee father's appearance, aside from the aforementioned details. Not much to go by, considering we couldn't arrest every buff guy over six foot.