Wolf War: The Twilight of Humanity (Lycanthropic Book 3) Read online

  Wolf War

  Lycanthropic

  Book 3

  Steve Morris

  This novel is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, places, names or events is purely coincidental.

  Steve Morris asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Published by Landmark Media, a division of Landmark Internet Ltd.

  Copyright © 2018 by Steve Morris.

  All rights reserved.

  stevemorrisbooks.com

  Acknowledgements: Huge thanks are due to Margarita Morris, James Pailly and Josie Morris for their valuable comments and help in proof-reading this book.

  Table of contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  Chapter Ninety-Three

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Chapter Ninety-Seven

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  Chapter One Hundred

  Chapter One Hundred and One

  Chapter One Hundred and Two

  Chapter One Hundred and Three

  Chapter One Hundred and Four

  Chapter One Hundred and Five

  Chapter One Hundred and Six

  Chapter One Hundred and Seven

  Chapter One Hundred and Eight

  Chapter One Hundred and Nine

  Chapter One Hundred and Ten

  Chapter One Hundred and Eleven

  Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

  Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

  Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen

  Chapter One

  Holland Gardens, Kensington, London, waning moon

  Warg Daddy sneaked back into the house in Kensington just after dawn broke, hauling himself through an open window at the back. The night had been long, and full of killing and treachery, and the relentless storm that raged inside his skull had risen to a new peak of torment.

  The ungodly headaches had plagued him ever since becoming a werewolf. He’d tried every way he could think to ease them. Aspirin, ibuprofen and even morphine. None of them had helped in the slightest. His old friend beer should have come to his aid but it seemed that alcohol had deserted him in his hour of need. These days, beer and whisky just made him sick. Popping a pill, smoking a joint or snorting coke did nothing to quench the pain. Even the sweet ice-white rocks of crystal meth had no effect on werewolves.

  He couldn’t say he missed his narcotics too much. Being lycanthropic gave him a permanent high. His old friend and rival, Snakebite, had described the feeling best, not long before Warg Daddy had pumped a barrel full of lead into his skull. ‘Being a werewolf, man, it’s life lived in ultra-high definition, the volume turned to the max, all the brightness and contrast pushed up way too high. It hurts, man. That’s what I’m saying.’

  You couldn’t live that way too long, perhaps. Very quickly, you would simply burn out.

  For a brief period in the night, as the blood of his victims flowed from his claws and teeth, and his shotgun blasted his enemies and rivals into oblivion, Warg Daddy had forgotten the migraine that stalked him. But it had returned again as he’d walked home, the pain rising with every step, until he could hardly think. All he wanted now was to rest. The half-light of early morning already irritated his eyes, and he was grateful that the house lights were all switched off. Even wearing his blackest Ray-Bans, the jab of electric lights had come to feel like a spike driven into his skull.

  He was hoping to avoid Leanna, at least until after he’d snatched a few hours of sleep, but the self-styled queen of the werewolves was waiting for him as he crept quietly into the house, her cold eyes glinting like polished sapphires in the early morning gloom.

  ‘Warg Daddy,’ she said. ‘Welcome back. I’ve been expecting you.’

  When Warg Daddy had first met Leanna, she’d been one hot chick, for sure. Golden blonde hair, high cheekbones, and a nice line in hotpants that showed off her long legs to good effect. But ever since the mysterious acid attack that had burned off half her face, he could hardly bear to gaze upon her ruined looks. Even in the half light of the darkened house, the red welts and scars stood starkly on her once-beautiful skin. The prospect of having to look upon those angry red marks for the rest of his life was daunting. He felt disgust. He couldn’t help it.

  This morning she looked even worse than usual. Her golden hair was dirty and tangled. Her clothing was muddy and ripped, and beneath the torn fabric her slender body showed signs of scratches from long fingernails, or perhaps even claws. She stood hunched,
as if her back or chest had been battered. She had obviously been in a fight. But with who, or why, he couldn’t guess.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘You look terrible.’ He rubbed his bald head with his thumb, soothing away the relentless throbbing that filled his skull. ‘What happened to you?’

  But Leanna never answered questions, only asked them. ‘Where are the others?’ she asked. ‘Adam and Snakebite. I want to congratulate them on their victory.’

  Warg Daddy hesitated, his tongue temporarily tied as he pondered his reply. Last night’s battle had gone well, and under his leadership, together with Adam’s athletic prowess, and Snakebite’s military genius for planning, the Wolf Brothers had completely destroyed the isolation hospital where hundreds of werewolves were being held. They had butchered the soldiers, stolen their weapons, and freed the captive werewolves. The operation had unfolded exactly according to plan, except for one small detail.

  Warg Daddy felt his throat dry as he contemplated the only possible answer to Leanna’s question. ‘They’re not coming back,’ he said, keeping his voice as flat as possible. ‘Adam and Snakebite are both dead.’ He looked at her eyes, watching the glacial blue turn colder as the weight of that last word fell from his tongue.

  ‘What did you say?’ Leanna’s voice was tight, with icy control.

  ‘Dead. They’re both dead.’

  Her fury was even worse than he had feared. A scream escaped her red lips. Her fingers curled like claws, and she bared her teeth at him. Her voice cut the air like ice, each word knife-edged. ‘Tell me how.’

  Warg Daddy shifted uneasily. He’d had hours to prepare his story. And yet somehow he still didn’t know how he was going to explain this. How could he possibly hide the fact that he’d engineered the downfall of his two rivals himself? If Leanna ever discovered his treachery, he would be dead meat for sure. He might be physically larger and more powerful than her, but she possessed an inner steel that terrified him.

  And she could read him like a book. The best way to tell her a lie was to clothe it in as much truth as he dared. ‘Adam was the first to die,’ he told her. ‘Snakebite killed him. He shot him in the back.’

  Leanna’s head shook gently, the dirty blonde hair swaying from side to side. ‘Why would he do that?’ she demanded. She turned her questioning eyes on him again.

  Warg Daddy didn’t flinch from her gaze. To look away now would mean certain death. ‘Snakebite said Adam was becoming too greedy for power. He said the only way to stop him was to kill him. I think he may have been right about that.’

  Leanna stared at him, weighing his words. Her fingers clenched and unclenched viciously at her side.

  Warg Daddy stared back blandly. There was no reason for her to doubt him. It had happened just like he’d said. The only detail he’d left out was that he and Snakebite had planned Adam’s murder together. After all, there was only room for one Leader of the Pack, and Warg Daddy couldn’t tolerate an ambitious rival like Adam.

  Leanna seemed to believe him. ‘And Snakebite?’

  He felt her cold clear eyes boring into his skull, almost like a physical pain. It did nothing to ease the pounding in his head. He rubbed his scalp harder, but to little effect. The only way to ease the pain now was killing. Hunting for prey or gunning down his rivals was the best medicine. Watching Snakebite’s hot brains spill out across the freezing snow last night had helped to release some of the pressure inside his own skull. But now, under Leanna’s interrogation, it had returned with a vengeance.

  ‘I shot him myself.’ Warg Daddy hefted the combat shotgun in his hands. ‘Right between the eyes. Snakebite was dangerous. What choice did I have?’ Warg Daddy might not have been as smart as Snakebite, but even he had guessed Leanna’s secret plan to put Snakebite in his place.

  He waited while Leanna examined him, probing for the truth with her X-ray gaze. If she guessed it, she would kill him without blinking. She was utterly ruthless. He could see the urgent hunger in her eyes. It wasn’t just knowledge she lusted after, it was power. Leanna would never stop until all the power of the world was in her hands. Warg Daddy wondered if even that would be enough for her.

  He tightened his sweaty grip on the shotgun. A sudden idea seized him. Two of his rivals had already died tonight. Why not three?

  Leanna paced around him, her eyes blazing with anger. Was this the moment of discovery?

  He eased his finger around the trigger. A single blast would be enough. He recalled the look of surprise on Snakebite’s face as he’d aimed the weapon at him and pulled the trigger. After he’d emptied the twelve-gauge barrel at point blank range, there’d been no trace of surprise left on Snakebite’s face. His old friend and companion no longer had a face.

  ‘All right,’ said Leanna at last. ‘You have served me well, Warg Daddy.’ Her face relaxed and he knew that he had passed her test. He was safe again. For now, at least.

  ‘Yes,’ he growled, not looking her in the eye. Still he clutched the gun tightly. The combat shotgun was his new best friend, his all-time favourite weapon. He gripped it tighter, his finger curled around the trigger. A single shot and he could be free of Leanna’s control forever. The open road beckoned, and he pictured himself back on his bike, the engine throbbing hungrily as it devoured mile after mile. Adventure and freedom were his for the taking. He had only to pull that trigger and they could be his.

  She came to him and pressed one small hand against his giant chest. Perspiration beaded his skin. His jacket creaked as his muscles rippled nervously beneath its tight leather skin.

  She moved closer still, pushing her body up against his, letting her thick hair brush his skin. He shivered at her touch. She pressed her lips to his neck and he felt his resolve to escape her growing weak. Leanna reached out with her fingertips and began to touch him in that way she did. She unbuttoned his trousers. Very soon he was hard as a rock in her hand.

  Warg Daddy’s resolution crumbled to nothing. Damn the woman! She had a power over him, he couldn’t deny it. All thoughts of leaving her deserted him.

  She continued to work him with her fingers until he gasped.

  When it was over he pulled her hair and kissed her firmly on the lips, wrapping one strong arm around her slender waist. She returned his embrace with a passion that belied her cold eyes.

  He pulled away from her at last. ‘What next, then?’ he asked. He’d happily have crashed into bed now and spent the rest of the day asleep, but Leanna barely slept. She was always too busy with her plans and her schemes.

  ‘It’s time to marshal your forces, Warg Daddy,’ she said.

  The Leader of the Pack frowned. His forces were now significantly diminished. He’d lost Wombat when Leanna had ripped out his throat the night they’d first encountered her on Clapham Common. Two more of the Wolf Brothers had been lost to the fever during Stage One of the condition. Now Snakebite was dead at his own hands, and Adam gone too. He barely needed all his fingers to count his surviving followers, leaving his thumbs to spare. Marshalling the remaining Brothers would take an instant. He just had to kick them out of bed. ‘You want me to assemble them now?’ he queried. The poor bastards had probably only just gone to sleep after a long and bloody night.

  ‘Not the Wolf Brothers,’ said Leanna. ‘Let them rest. I’m talking about the werewolves that you freed from the hospital.’

  ‘But they all ran off,’ said Warg Daddy, scratching his head. ‘Dispersed. Scattered. I thought that was the plan.’

  ‘It was,’ agreed Leanna. ‘Now we bring them together again. We gather them into a fist. You and I are going to build an army, Warg Daddy. And then we’re going to win a war.’

  Chapter Two

  Richmond upon Thames, West London, waning moon

  Chris Crohn walked on through the night, his best friend Seth at his side, the girl with no name following closely behind. The winter wind whipped around them, drifting waves of snow across the road and stealing every last shred of heat from Chris’ skinny body. But he wa
lked on regardless, heading west out of London, away from danger, step by step toward safety.

  He walked in silence, too cold to speak, too shocked by his escape from the quarantine hospital to have anything worth saying. He had almost died this night, very nearly ripped to pieces by werewolves turning beneath the full moon as they fled the hospital. He had to get out of the city. Get far, far away.

  Seth’s eyes darted nervously about behind his heavy-rimmed glasses, his straggly brown hair plastered over his face. From time to time he flicked his head to one side, but the wet hair stayed stuck to his skin. The girl with no name stared into the distance yet seemed to see nothing. Her pale freckled face held no trace of expression or awareness. She was a ghost trailing them through the dark and empty streets.

  Fires still burned in places along the roadside, but they were tame campfires compared with the blazing inferno of the hospital building he and Seth had narrowly escaped from at the beginning of the night. They smoked and smouldered and Chris walked past them, barely pausing to glance. He had seen too many fires already.

  Chris had never done much walking before. Walking was a time-suck, an inefficient use of scarce resources, and he had almost completely managed to eliminate the need for it through smart lifestyle choices. At work, his computer chair was fitted with wheels, so he could slide around his office like a human cannonball, launching himself from desktop to filing cabinet to wall and back. If he needed to communicate with other people, he could message them with his phone. And since he lived on the same road as the school where he worked, he could get to his office in a matter of minutes. Efficiency was Chris’ watchword and he had honed it to a fine art.

  His elimination of wasteful activities had left him extremely unfit, however. In the modern world, that hadn’t seemed important. It wasn’t as if he needed to hunt for bison or flee from tigers in twenty-first century London. Walking and running were outmoded skills, like using carbon paper to make copies of documents, making calls from a pay phone, or formatting a five-and-a-quarter-inch floppy disk.

  But the world was changing fast. Civilization was beginning to unravel. Modernity would soon become a thing of the past, and advanced technology would be rendered obsolete. If Chris was going to survive and prosper he would need to embrace some new life hacks.