Even though it wasn’t a matter of protection anymore, Julie still chose to hang out with Avani when her demanding toddlers allowed it.
“Well, it’s a hunt in wolf form, during a blood moon. They haven’t happened for centuries; I think they were banned.”
Avani’s eyes widened. What the hell?
Blood moons affected all beings, but shifters most of all. Ordinary shifters who were usually perfectly civil grew so wild they locked themselves up at home. During the last blood moon, the pack had used spells to bind themselves to the Wolvswoods, and the Institute had banned the students from going out at all. Most of the pack had ended up having an orgy outside, while others killed dozens of woodland creatures, overhunting them so much the deer population had barely recovered.
A proper hunt during the blood moon? No way.
Hunts happened outside of pack territory, on hunting grounds rented for them. They went for wild boars and other beasts before getting back home, exhausted, covered in sweat and blood.
These events could only happen with Knox’s approval—and while surrounded by many, many of his guards—to ensure that the pack didn’t end up going off track and killing anyone. The Immortal Wolf facilitated it because he knew their wolves needed the release.
“Did Knox okay that?”
Julie shrugged. “He must have. Draiden wouldn’t do it otherwise.”
While they had an alpha, the Immortal Wolf was technically king of all wolf shifters in the world. Other packs barely even heard of him; the Elder Pack was under his direct supervision. With good reason—they were the closest thing he had to descendants.
All of the people in the pack came from an ancestor turned by Knox himself at one point or another. Their bloodlines hadn’t been mixed with humans or other shifters. That made them purebloods.
Avani was the exception; she didn’t have a turned ancestor. She was the one who’d been turned. A first-generation wolf, changed into one of them by the Immortal Wolf himself. That made her wild; wilder than most of them.
Knox had changed her out of kindness and guilt. Mostly guilt. He’d been hunting a feral wolf to put him down, but arrived too late—the beast had ravaged a beach town in Florida, killing almost everyone.
Avani and her mother had survived by the skin of their teeth. They’d both been wounded so badly nothing could have saved them, except magic. He didn’t have a healer at hand, so instead, he bit them both. The process was risky. They could have died from it—as it was clear that they wouldn’t survive without help, he tried anyway.
Avani and her mom both made it. The advanced healing rate of werewolves helped with their wounds.
“The world has grown a lot more tolerant toward our race,” Knox had said. “You’ll be just fine.”
He’d returned to his castle, secret island, or wherever he lived. Avani assumed it was a castle. It definitely had a moat.
As soon as they were left alone, the trouble started.
Anne, Avani’s mom, couldn’t adapt. She didn’t go feral, exactly. She hadn’t attacked anyone, or hurt any human. Instead, she couldn’t control her shifts, and her outbursts of anger had frightened their family and their acquaintances. Before long, they were both shunned by their old friends. Anne decided to pack up and move somewhere new. That’s when the hunts started.
Not every town was fine with sups. Some hated them. And two lone, untrained werewolves, without the backing of a pack, were easy pickings for anti-shifters. As for getting accepted into a new pack, they’d tried, finding it hard without recommendations or contacts. Some had offered to keep them if Avani’s mom accepted being their pack whore, so they’d gotten the hell out immediately. Things got desperate enough for Anne to be tempted from time to time, Avani saw it in her mother’s eyes. One look at her daughter, and she’d always decided against it.
Her mom may not have handled being a wolf well at first, but she was strong all the same.
They were on the run for four years altogether. Avani tried to forget the last time shifter poachers caught them. They hunted them down in a forest, tricking them into running east, making them stumble at the bottom where a bear trap waited, littered with sharp stakes. Anne died instantly. Avani hadn’t been so lucky. Sometimes, she still woke up in the middle of the night, sharp phantom pain hitting her sides.
She would also have died in that pit if it hadn’t been for Knox. He’d found her, and this time, he didn’t pat her on the back and say that everything would be fine; he brought her here instead.
Backward, strange, intolerant, and sexist as this place was, it was her home. Or something close to it.
Avani’s eyes cut through the crowd, focusing on Draiden. The alpha was smiling, truly smiling, which was never a good thing. He was as cruel as he was cunning. When something made him happy, it generally meant there would be screams and blood.
Which, she guessed, was the point of a hunt.
Avani didn’t know why, but she had a bad feeling about all this. She liked hunting as much as any of them—more, perhaps. Running, circling prey, tearing flesh. It appeased the beastly part of her.
It would be a good thing, she told herself. But a part of her just didn’t believe it. Her instincts were screaming in protest, telling her to stand up and question how, why they’d hunt on a blood moon.
Only no one spoke up against the alpha.
Favors
"Fascinating," Alexius whispered, his scalpel gently pushing into a glob of flesh to see in between. He glanced at his apprentice. "Did you notice anything peculiar?"
Greer stood beside him, silent and focused. If he was honest with himself, the woman annoyed him sometimes. Working with someone so dedicated and goddamned perfect got on his nerves. She took weeks to learn skills that he'd honed over years, decades. But he tried not to resent her. She was a witch, the last of one of the most powerful bloodlines in the world. It was only natural that she surpassed a vampire in magic. His kind could use the elements, asserting their will over earth, water, fire, or air thanks to the drop of godly blood running in their veins; witches lived in symbiosis with magic. Greer's magic would surpass his one day, very soon.
She was dissecting the huntsman's heart, while Alexius worked on his brain.
She looked up, startled and confused. "Sorry?"
"Have you noted anything strange about the corpse?"
She nodded. "Well, it’s not that peculiar, I suppose…the subject has been dead for at least a day and a half, which means that he somehow walked to the hill without being alive. His blood started coagulating sometime between ten and two Sunday, I'd say."
Alexius bobbed his head in agreement.
"But we knew that," Greer continued, waving dismissively at her own analysis. "I just wonder how it's possible with Earthian magic. I thought that no one ever managed to crack necromancy."
"I wouldn't say no one." Alexius frowned, trying to remember a name he'd heard in passing.
He could focus, search through his memory. Vampires stored every single moment of their lives, recording what they heard and saw at any time, but Alexius had long ago learned to bury the information he considered unimportant. Names of strangers rarely made the cut.
"There's a necromancer alive right now—at least, she was, a few years back. The Wolf told me about her during his last visit to the Wolvswoods. She's the daughter of Hades."
"Hades, as in, ruler of the Underworld, currently stuck on another world?"
Alexius grinned. He knew how fascinated his apprentice was with the other worlds.
"That's right. She's his youngest—somewhere around your age. Knox said she can bring people back to life, as long as their soul hasn't left this world yet."
Now Greer dropped her scalpel, entirely engrossed by what he said, forgetting poor Easton.
"So, souls exist, for real?"
Alexius sighed. He should have known she'd switch to theology.
"I guess? In a way. What we know for a fact is that our mind leaves our body when we die; nothing disappears—that’s one of the elemental laws of physics. So whatever energy powers our consciousness gets released into the world. I haven't brought the subject up with anyone who could give me a straight answer, but my understanding is that the souls get funneled out of this world and poured into the Underworld after our death. From there, someone decides to recycle them, send them to Tartarus or Olympus. Our world is too populous for the souls of the deceased to share it with us, so the gods take care of them. Eventually, when they have too many souls in one place, they recycle them."
Greer grinned. "Reincarnation. You're talking about reincarnation."
Alexius really hated the way she simplified matters he wasn't even sure about. "Perhaps."
"Are there any new souls, then? If we get reincarnated after death…"
"Yes, many. Humans always breed new souls. Not sure who gets a second run of it—or who decides anything. You should ask Fin Varra. He's lived a lot longer than any of us, and has actually visited other worlds."
Greer snorted. "Right. You know Varra never speaks about death—let alone what lies after."
Alexius shrugged. "Not my problem. It's his area of expertise; convince him to talk about it if you're curious. I hate speaking about things I'm uncertain about. Now, back to our dead huntsman. Other than the blood, have you noticed anything else yet?"
Her focused returned to Easton; there was a frown on her pretty face. He'd implied she should have noticed something, and if there was one thing Greer hated, it was failing—at anything.
Suddenly, she lifted both hands over his heart, a few inches away from his open flesh, and closed her eyes. Alexius saw energy emanating from her palms. Clever girl. She was listening and watching with the senses she could always trust.
She dropped her hands and watched Alexius, confusion marring each of her features. "He's still…not quite dead. I've dealt with corpses that old before. I shouldn't feel this much energy coming from him."