Joseph M. Menalcan - Part One

Moving his gaze to the door, and letting the glass of scotch swing again over the arm of the sofa, Joseph could not help throwing a sinister glance in the direction of his friend. His sixth sense was on high alert, he knew something terribly annoying was waiting for him, but he avoided opening his mouth until he saw Kyle punch the wall and end the call. He had understood absolutely nothing of the matter, his right arm was not the type of too many words, but from his monosyllables and the string of curses it was clear that the pack was calling for them.

«Troubles?» he asked him, theatrically pulling a corner of the mouth and mimicking a smile far from mirroring his current mood - he hated being interrupted in the middle of the weekend, especially when it came to any event concerning the Menalcans. Not that he hated his pack, after all it was all he knew and the family Arianrhod had chosen for him, but if he could have stayed away from them he wouldn't have been sorry at all; although the blood of Alpha flowed through his veins, he did not wish to be involved in the sadistic power games that his father, brother, or any Fior-Ghlan wished to carry out. Everything he wanted was summed up in one word: freedom. Too bad it was an all too abstract concept given its duties.

The other grunted, approaching the coat rack next to the entrance. With each second of silence, Kyle's frown became more and more unnerving, so Joseph understood that it was not the usual skirmish, but rather a disaster.

«Arwen.»

The boy jumped, spilling part of the liquor: «What does that mean?»

His friend handed him the jacket. In his eyes the storm raged furiously, gray clouds that seemed to promise nothing but war: «That we are fucked» he growled then, urging him to get up and put it on.

Unfortunately, that phrase meant everything and nothing, particularly given their nature. Arwen was synonymous with mange, ruthless hunting, fighting and blood, but also with exalted half-breeds - his name could have hundreds of different meanings if not contextualized.

«More specific, Kyle.»«They raided the Villa, slaughtered a few brothers and took Fenrir's Dagger. Do you want to know more?»No.

In one click he was on his feet. His synapses began to pass information and thoughts from one side of the mind to the other at an incredible speed and, going beyond the doorstep, he found himself ready to fulfill his duties. In the words of his deputy there was everything he never wanted to hear, neither on the weekend, nor at any other moment of his life. What had happened was the worst-case scenario he could have imagined - and if from the headquarters had called them rather than the Alpha, it meant that neither he nor the first-born was near the mansion.

A guttural sound made its way from Joseph's throat, a sort of menacing growl that seemed to rumble along the corridor. He was furious, out of his mind, but above all agitated. If he wanted to avoid the aggravation of the situation he had to hurry. He had to reach Villa Menalcan before the chaos could spread and the gossips tell of that terrible crime. He had to make sure that he did not give his father a reason to work on him more than he should, even if he already doubted he could do it.

Douglas was not the type to remain impassive; in him there was a constant agitation of an anger whose origin was unknown, so he would have vented on his second heir all the frustration caused by that theft - because he had to blame someone, right? And, in the absence of Arwen Calhum to whom hatred converges, the youngest son would have been the perfect scapegoat - because closer, but also because he had always been the most reluctant to accept his role within the pack.

The chief clan would have insulted him for his negligence, perhaps he would have punished him physically for his lack of foresight in foreseeing an attack and, then, would have forced him to find a practical solution to obtain a bloody, impressive, indelible revenge and remedy the gaps that to tell the truth, they had very little to do with him. His father would have forced him to devise a way to hurt that pack so deeply that any wound was incurable - he would have mutilated them, in any sense.

One stride after another, the two werewolves made their way to the sedan parked on the urban avenue and, once on board, Kyle did not worry about any mileage limit or traffic regulations. They darted along the A7 without ever stopping, quickly grinding the kilometers that separated Edinburgh from the countryside around Carrington, where their Clan, centuries before, had established their residence.

Among them, as often happened, there were very few words; just some swear words, angry sentences and annoyed grunts. Neither of them would have expected to have to run to the Villa just after dawn, Joseph was sure of it, and the more time passed, the worse scenarios made their way through his thoughts. What would they find when they arrived? How much blood would stick under the soles of their shoes? Would they have come up with anything sensible before Douglas' outburst? He had no idea and, unfortunately, that awareness was a straight punch in the face of his pride - no Fior-Ghlan could accept being taken aback by filthy bastards.

**********

Douglas had always prided himself on the violence of his wolves. He had praised theit abilities in every way, pointing out that the true descendants of the god Fenrir and Arianrhod were invincible - pity that what Joseph was looking at testified the contrary. Ten of his confreres were piled up in a corner, torn to pieces by unknown fangs and claws, lifeless, and the corridors leading from the kitchens to the dining room were adorned with scarlet footprints and remains of flesh.

The survivors of that evening could be counted on the fingers of one hand and, if it had not been for Kyle and his demeanor, he would have beaten them to such an extent as to make them useless - but he needed them, they were the only ones who could provide a identikit of the attackers and prevent the Alpha from carrying out another murder: his.

Putting one foot in front of the other, the boy began to advance along the corridor. Wherever he looked, he seemed to see the footsteps of the enemies, their shadows, the stealthy shapes of their feral bodies. He could imagine them with annihilating ease, overlapping the memories of a distant past with those of the present. He seemed to hear the gasps coming out of the mouths full of saliva of the Neo-Ghlan who had gone so far, but above all that of him, of the werewolf that he had had the opportunity to meet only once, yet to remain etched in his memory forever.

Arwen's white coat had haunted his nightmares for a long time, just as those golden eyes, full of animal ferocity, had persecuted him every time he had crossed the path of another wolf; although that time he had got the better of the enemy, Joseph had remained deeply marked by their meeting, but he doubted it could be the same for him - after all most of the Menalcans shared with him dark hair and a pungent perfume.

However, despite his fantasies, the enemy Alpha had not participated in that attack. Or at least that was what he was told - and hardly, if he had been there, would he have gone unnoticed.

Suddenly, clearing his throat, Kyle brought him back to reality: «Among the dead there is one of them.»«Only one?» without turning, the boy raised a hand to his mouth, passing the forefinger on the lower lip and weighing the demeaning news. The aforementioned skill, Douglas' belief in having the most prepared, indomitable and aggressive werewolves among his men, was summed up with a single despondency - and this should have made them all think, from the first to the last.

He allowed himself a few moments, clenching the fist hidden in his jeans pocket, then started walking again.«Where is he?»«Where we found him, next to the entrance to the dining room. Do you want me to move him?» But the boy did not reply, only worrying about reaching the corpse before anyone could compromise it. He had to be the first to study it, move it, understand. He had to find something on him, a clue capable of illuminating the darkness in which he was groping - because unwillingly, he had to admit that he had no ideas on how to track down Arwen's Clan and take revenge.

With large strides he reached the corridor perpendicular to the one in which he was, the twelve square meters where the first clashes had taken place and, once he arrived halfway, he allowed himself the luxury of stopping the advance.

The Neo-Ghlan was there, naked and prone. The unnatural position of the limbs mutually recounted the violence of his death, the failed attempt to repel the attacks. On his back there were long reddish furrows, wounds from which the blood had just stopped flowing. He had been massacred without any mercy, his flesh had been repeatedly violated by the claws of the Menalcan, but the fact that he was the only half-blood to have perished in the clash could mean only one thing: it had to be the weak link of the group that had dared to violate the lands of the Clan, or their ram.

Joseph came even closer. The stench of death slowly became more nauseating, forcing him to distort the grimace but not to go backwards - because as annoying as it was, that stink also had something familiar and, he was sure, he would soon get used to it, managing to ignore it.Bending over, he began to examine the body more carefully. Under the fresh bruises, albeit with difficulty, he could see the wrinkled skin of a scar, the pale lines left by a previous confrontation with the wolves - and from what seemed to him, it must also have been the first.

Reaching out, he grabbed a strand of hair near the forehead and, levering, turned the face of the stranger towards himself, so that he could observe it better. The rigidity of rigor mortis forced him to be more brutal than he would have liked, even going so far as to make the bones of that neck creak. He could not say for sure if in making that gesture he had definitively broken it, and he did not even bother to find out: a more interesting detail forced him to concentrate elsewhere.

It was not the empty eyes turned backwards that interested him, nor the long crimson strip that ran down the neck from the nose; it wasn't even the lack of a few teeth in the oral cavity, but rather the whole. On that face, under the signs of the struggle, there was what remained of a young boy: too big to be called a child and not sufficiently grown to be considered a man - at a first look, the Fior-Ghlan thought, he must have ten years younger than he. And at that vision he gritted his teeth.

«A brat» he hissed, feeling anger mount.«Apparently...» like a shadow, Kyle had remained behind him, silent, waiting. He had followed him for every second from the moment they had crossed the threshold of the mansion and had not allowed himself to rage further on the situation. He could have pointed out all the negative sides of that demeaning defeat, so as to make him a participant in the multitude of errors made by their confreres, but instead he had collected the missing information, he had elaborated and exposed them with a few simple sentences, so that the patience of his best friend wasn't entirely lost - pity it wasn't the one of Joseph that had to worry him.«I wonder why.»«What do you mean?»Sighing, the Alpha's son returned to stare at the young man's back. He had recently become a werewolf, maybe a year, at most two: why had Arwen sent him in that massacre? Wouldn't it have been more logical to involve experienced wolves? Because no matter how strong or agile that guy could be, his death was synonymous with inexperience.«Their Alpha is a warlord, Kyle. Even a strategist... why did he choose to involve a neophyte?»The man came up to him. Standing next to friend, he began to look in his same direction, weighing the question.

Arwen Calhum had many flaws, as far as Joseph was concerned, but certainly no adjectives such as foolish, ignorant or incapable could be attributed to him. Regardless of his mestizo nature he was a real pack leader, so the sacrifice of that boy seemed to be a senseless move.

«I doubt he underestimate us, we are his most bitter enemies. We have killed dozens of his companions and he knows what we are capable of. Maybe he thought he was better than what he actually was.»The other shook his head: «No, that's not it.» In an involuntary movement, he touched his lip again with the fingers. His pupils kept pacing the wounds on the back of the Neo-Ghlan back and forth, seeking meaning in that departure.«When was their last attack?»«Six months ago, in Spain. They were on the trail of Gabriel.»«And how many have we shot down?»

A rustle indicated that Kyle had changed position. Knowing that guy, Joseph imagined him putting his hands in the suit pockets, bending his head back and trying to recall the necessary information - after all, they had been informed of what had happened only days later, when Douglas's eldest son had decided to cheer them up with yet another account of his achievements. Gabe's ego exceeded all expectations.

«Three, maybe four. If I'm not mistaken, the only survivor had been seriously injured, but nobody found the body.»«Over the past two years, instead?» Finally in the boy's mind the thoughts had begun to amalgamate according to an increasingly plausible logic and, with the answer that his friend would now give him, he would know if it was right or not.

«I have a good memory, Joseph, but not that much.» A sigh escaped him, followed by a few moments of silence: «A dozen wolves, I think.» One more or one less however, little changed. That number was enough to refute his suspicions - because even in the larger Clans twelve wolves meant a serious loss.

«Those like them don't reproduce like us. They cannot freely go around injuring people or impregnate humans, it goes against the Law... they need time, patience, pity that in war these are a luxuries.» He paused, brushing his lips. The Comhairle was uncompromising in this regard: the existence of werewolves had to remain secret, so as to preserve them from ignorance and human hatred, so a coupling between the two species was seen as a sin. In the same way, hurting and transforming someone extraneous to their world was lawful only accidentally, even if decreeing their randomness was very difficult. The Neo-Ghlans were errors, abominations, the ruin of legendary creatures - that was why they had to be eradicated. And because of those rules they were getting less and less, or at least that was what wolves like Douglas hoped for.

«They have no warriors» said Joseph finally, getting straight.«Carlyle however-» Kyle's reply was interrupted even before it was formulated.«Carlyle is part of the Comhairle, even though he stands as a half-blood champion. So, although his pupil is in trouble, he cannot transgress the Law. And Arwen has no other solution than to flank expert wolves with brats of this genre» to emphasize the phrase even more, with the tip of the shoe the boy allowed himself to hit one of the arms of the corpse, barely moving it. Defenseless and silent, that body seemed to him to be a bag - yet there had been life in him, even if at the moment it might have seemed quite the opposite.

«And it will be this need that will become his bane.»