Consumed

Chapter 8

Kalin relaxed in the newest Kurjan encampment and surveyed the waiting werewolves. Experienced, strangely calm, the twenty killer beasts sat on stumps or rocks in the forest, eating raw meat. Of course, he’d injected the meat with massive amounts of horse tranquilizer, but still. The monsters had gained some self-control during the last decade. Unfortunately, unlike human converts, the shifter-turned-werewolf couldn’t be enslaved completely—there was no binding spell with silver and slavery. But with food and pain ... they’d obey.

Dusk had fallen, and the moon would soon rise, normally sending the beasts into a frenzy. The tranquilizer would control them until the night of the full moon ... then he’d let them free. Free to hunt and kill, once he sent them in the right direction.

His second in command jogged up, red hair framing a stark white face with amethyst eyes. No wonder people saw the Kurjans as monsters. They were. Of course, Kalin could almost pass for human if he applied facial makeup and wore contacts over his odd green eyes. His black hair was tipped with red—the opposite to most Kurjans—and was easily altered. Even his skin was just pale, not the frightening white paste color of others. “What?”

“The sedative is working. They traveled nearly a hundred miles today without mishap, sir.” Milton flashed sharp yellowed fangs. “I’ll miss Seattle. The weather agreed with me.”

Kalin returned the grin. “Someday we won’t fear the sun. My uncle Erik is closer than ever to creating a cure.” Erik was actually Kalin’s second cousin, but the term uncle brought a closeness to Kalin’s ascent to the throne that he liked. Erik, a brilliant scientist, had created Virus-27, and he’d create an inoculation against the sun someday. “Think of the women in bikinis we’ll someday hunt.”

Milton threw back his head and laughed. “Yes, sir.”

The acknowledgment of seniority had Kalin’s chest swelling. Milton was at least five hundred years old, yet Kalin, in his midtwenties, led all troops. His entire life had been filled with fighting, killing, and planning. Someday, when he killed Erik’s brother, Franco, he’d lead all Kurjans. For now, Franco ruled from a remote area of Nova Scotia, leaving the military troops to Kalin.

He gave a curt nod to Milton, irritation sweeping that he had to look up. He’d only reached a height of six feet, six inches tall, which was short. For a Kurjan. He’d still top or meet eye-to-eye with most vampires and shifters.

The breeze picked up, scattering pine needles across his boots. The moon tipped over the far mountains, brightening the scene.

As one, the beasts stopped eating and stilled. Snouts switching, they closed their eyes and lifted their heads. Bliss crossed their furry features. A melodic keening came from them collectively as they worshipped, the sound reminiscent of whale song.

A chill swept across Kalin’s neck. Creepy. Every night the same routine. He cleared his throat. “How would you boys like a treat tonight?”

Slowly, languidly, they lowered their heads, opening their yellow eyes. The tallest one stood and shook out his dark coat. He’d taken to standing on two feet, a position most werewolves who’d survived the virus more than seven or eight years preferred. Somewhere, somehow, he’d become the unofficial leader of the group. Kalin had dubbed him Jack. The monster did have a hobby much like Jack the Ripper’s.

Speaking of which ... “Why don’t you release our friend?”

Milton nodded, jogging over to a horse trailer and jumping inside. Chains rattled, and he yanked a vampire out. Well, what used to be a vampire. The man stumbled, his gaunt body swimming in the dirty, shredded clothing.

Kalin rubbed his chin. “I think I’m about done with you.” Had been for about three months, actually. But torture was so much fun.

A desperate hope lit the vamp’s metallic purple eyes. “I’ve told you everything I know about the Kayrs family.”

Which had been just about enough to determine their current location. “You’re a lowly soldier from a different country. You don’t know the Kayrs family.” But his information had checked out.

“I knew enough.” He coughed out the words, his throat no doubt dry.

How long had it been since Kalin allowed him food? He shrugged. No matter. “Give him to Jack.”

The vampire’s eyes widened in his thin face. Bruises still mottled his white skin from the beating the day before. “No.” Bruised knuckles grabbed at his chains, yanking away from Milton.

“Yes.” Kalin took two steps, wrapping his hand around the vamp’s throat. “Catch, Jack.” He lifted the prisoner, throwing him one-handed across the clearing.

The vamp landed with a hard thump, denting the dry earth.

The animals leapt for a fresh kill.

His high-pitched scream pierced the peaceful night. Growls and yelps mingled with cries of pain as the beasts ripped limbs from the body ... digging in with teeth sharp enough to score granite.

Milton cleared his throat. “Do you really think they’ll be able to kill the vampire soldiers?”

Kalin nodded. “Sure. They’ll kill a few. The Realm forces are weak ... seriously depleted from the last ten years of war. As depleted as our troops, and they don’t have werewolf soldiers fighting their front line like we do. Plus, I just need the vampires busy so I can finally kill Talen Kayrs.”

The bastard had killed Kalin’s father a decade ago because of a woman. Kalin shook his head. “Such a waste. Two powerful men fighting over a female.” Rumor had it the female had given birth to Talen’s son a few years back. Kalin should take out the son, too.

He focused on the feeding frenzy.

Blood.

The scent permeated the fresh air, elongating Kalin’s teeth. He inhaled deep. How the hell did the vamp have any blood left after all the beatings? Kalin’s stomach rumbled, hunger speeding his heart rate.

Male blood didn’t appeal to his palate ... how long had it been since he’d hunted a woman? Too long. Most women didn’t provide much challenge, though a shifter he’d found in Atlanta had fought like a warrior. Now, she had been an enjoyable kill. “I might leave you in charge for some time tonight.”

The skin around Milton’s mouth pinched. “Of course.” His voice held no inflection, yet disapproval had his chin lifting.

Too fucking bad. While no doubt Franco had hoped Kalin would give up his nighttime hobby as he aged ... he hadn’t. There had been a moment a decade ago when he’d faced doorways into different futures; he’d chosen one. With a fresh kill of a human girl he’d actually liked. “If you tell my uncle, I’ll stake you to the ground an hour before sunrise.” There was no question Milton reported back to Franco. They were morons if they thought he remained unaware of such an allegiance.

“Of course.” Milton frowned, his gaze on the pile of werewolves. “I would appreciate if you didn’t take my son with you this time.”

Milton’s eighteen-year-old son had an even greater thirst to kill than Kalin. “Roy is a natural.” The kid needed training in the thrill of the hunt ... not just the easy kill. Where was the finesse in just killing a woman? The fear—the fight—the futility at the ending. Now those moments created a worthy pursuit.

There was a time years ago when Kalin had studied death, philosophy, and fate. Anything to harness the urges that rode him so hard.

After much time, he concluded his animalistic nature required the hunt. The pursuit of other beings. Well, women. And it didn’t take a psychologist to understand his anger at the mother who’d abandoned him in death. She’d deserted him on purpose because she couldn’t handle being a mate to his father.

Most Kurjan mates didn’t last long.

So Kalin’s need to hunt worthy women and take them down probably had some logic behind it. Not that he truly cared. The pursuit was what mattered.

A pursuit worthy of a predator, not a lowly animal like the werewolves. Of course, the original goal of Virus-27 had had nothing to do with turning shifters into werewolves. The first stroke of the virus was to impact human vampire mates. Mates were special and far between. The new class of werewolves was an unexpected side benefit of the bug.

Wait—what was this?

Jack shoved away from the pack and rose to his full height, finishing swallowing the vampire’s cranium with a loud gulp. Blood stained his teeth, matting his fur a motley red. His eyes glowed an eerie jaundiced yellow in the waning light.

Kalin settled his stance. “We’re going to need the electric prods.”

As one, the devouring beasts stood, turning to face him, death in their eyes.

All former shifters, all former soldiers, they could fight better than any other wild animal. But animals they were ... and they needed a master.

A young Kurjan soldier hustled up, handing them both tweaked prods. The altered devices emitted enough electricity to shock a werewolf into unconsciousness. Kalin leaned on his, smiling when Jack eyed the weapon. “Don’t worry, my friend. You’ll kill soon. All you want.”

Jack lifted his feral gaze to meet Kalin’s directly.

He swept a large hairy hand out, a guttural snort coming from down deep. As one, the remaining werewolves stood down, heads bowed.

Kalin eyed the monster. Very interesting. “I’m the master here, Jack.”

The beast smiled.