Chapter 4
FOUR
NIK
I have to tilt my head to fit through the cabin door, then walk down the metal steps to solid ground.
The two pilots stand off to the side, each carrying the same nervous grin.
It’s easy to notice the fear hiding behind those forced smiles.
Not difficult to pick out when I grew up watching the staff around the Vostik compound look at me like a monster.
Cooks and maids would flee from any room I entered years before my first transformation.
It didn’t matter I was only six years old at the time and as human as they were.
No, I had the curse, and eventually, I would become the same beast that signed their paychecks.
“I hope the flight wasn’t too bumpy, Mr. Vostik,” the pilot with four golden stripes on his shoulders says, removing the flight cap and bringing it to his belt line.
Orenski, his nametag reads. Captain Orenski keeps a firm posture, though I feel each thud of his heartbeat pumping double-time.
It must be painful to strain your cheeks that much to smile, when in reality all you want to do is scramble back on the jet and fly as far away from this restricted airfield as possible.
I nod, doing my best not to snarl at the two of them for what they said during the fourteen-hour flight. Sure, they stopped complaining when the wire transfer went through halfway to our destination, but that didn’t stop them from speaking their mind about the cargo they were carrying. Me.
It would seem my father added another hangar to the far end right before the tree line, this one larger than the rest. A bigger plane?
More sacrifices flown here for his celebratory hunts, I assume.
We’ve always transported our captives by cargo ships, loading the unconscious into large metal crates, the way clothes, food, and goods are transported across the Atlantic.
Pay off a dock worker to add a new shipment to the manifest. Then, the pack has enough food to last until the next hunt.
There has always been a clerical problem with that, though.
The seas are unpredictable. Untimely. I’ve been on the unfortunate end of enough phone calls to know when our cargo is late.
And if the pack has to go hungry? Well, it’s just another shortcoming added to my stain on the Vostik family name.
Why wait weeks when you can have your crop here in hours?
I’ve truly underestimated the things being done behind my back.
What my own flesh and blood has kept from me.
“There—there was supposed to be a car waiting for you, sir,” Captain Orenski says. “I’m not sure if we’re early?”
We’re not. We’re right on time.
I heard their heartbeats the second we landed.
Knew they were waiting in the shadows of the hangar we parked in front of.
Five of them. Five wolves step into the sunlight, each as unrecognizable as the private airport I myself haven’t been back to since I left for LA.
The last time I saw my father and swore I’d never come back to this little slice of hell he calls his sanctuary.
The wolves form a line in front of me, each pair of glowing eyes filled with noticeable disgust.
My father has been busy. He hasn’t just been keeping the members of the pack alive but cursing new ones as well. This is why Viktor isn’t holding back anymore. Why he started taking anyone that came into Volk without my say so. It isn’t our pack Vlad Vostik needs to feed anymore.
It isn’t a pack at all. He’s created an army.
“Don’t look so shocked, Nikolai,” the largest one of the group says and takes a step forward. “Did you really think we wouldn’t be waiting for you the second you stepped foot here, traitor?”
A small, unintended laugh breaks from me, and I match his glare with a smirk. “We were counting on it.”
An arrow splits the air near my face on a collision course for the one brave enough to stand against me. His reward? Well, Dimitri’s silver-tipped arrow finds home in his chest at the spot we wolves are most frightened of.
The heart.
His body hurls back and slams into the pavement.
He writhes against the hard cement while fighting off the fire sure to be igniting silver in each extremity, pumping waves of toxic minerals from his torso to his feet.
There’s nothing he can do now. It’s lodged too far to pull out and heal.
He’s dying, and the wolves around him can only do the same thing I do.
Watch.
Why does the human get to have all the fun?
my wolf asks, adding an extra beat to my already spiking heart rate.
I glance toward Dimitri, crossbow in hand and another arrow readied.
He can take out the rest of them with ease.
Four more arrows is all it would cost. But Dimitri doesn’t.
He stands tall and gives me an approving nod.
About time, my wolf scoffs.
I don’t respond. I do little else than drop the guards I’ve kept in place.
Pain is the first sensation. Pain and an immediate stretch of my mind and body I can’t explain.
Two separate minds agreeing on one simple thing.
None of them will leave this hangar alive.
I take a deep breath, welcoming the agonizing burn that sets in when sharp cracks appear on my forearms.
“He’s turning!” one screams and sprints toward me.
Dark brown fur pokes through each fissure, filling the blackened void of my body splitting in two.
Pain swells as I twist and contort to the beast taking over, growing larger and more monstrous by the second.
The clothes I spent the past fourteen hours in shred off my body, landing in small pieces of fabric near my feet.
My hands morph into deadly claws, each lethal nail gleaming off the sunlight shining down to the tarmac.
A deafening crack disrupts the silence as the bones in my legs, my arms, my spine, shifts uncomfortably.
Skin melts off of me in ribbons while blood leaves a tremendous red sheen over me taking my true monstrous form.
I slash upward, my large, clawed hand landing at his sternum and ripping out things better left unseen.
Blood spews from the gaping hole in his throat, painting my fur a darker shade of crimson than before.
Three more move in from each angle, teeth barred and eyes a disturbing shade of black.
They’re strong. Fast. Worst of all, they aren’t just trying to stop me.
This isn’t a detention. It’s a kill box.
I duck the sharp claws of one, only for another wolf to appear off my right.
Before he can strike, I sink my teeth into his shoulder, ripping a sizeable chunk of flesh into my mouth.
It splats to the ground and paints the cement a delicious shade of red.
These men work for my father. The same man that made the stupid fucking mistake of taking the one person keeping this animal grounded.
And now? Well, I’m butchering his men for sport.
And despite the humanity I’ve tried so desperately to keep my whole life, for the first time, I am fucking enjoying it.
The wolf’s eyes widen in horror when I thrust my hand forward and rip through his chest until my claws break free on the other side. It only takes an instant to see them turn a different color. A dim, almost lifeless gray.
Two more, my wolf says and I agree, taking stock of the ones still circling around us to find any sort of weakness before they can attack. Unfortunately, these new additions to the Vostik pack didn’t count on something, the same thing my own father or Viktor didn’t expect.
We are one, the voice in my head says in a low, stern huff.
The crank of a drawstring slamming forward is the first noise I hear, followed by the sharp whistle disrupting the still air.
The arrowhead gleams off the sunlight, the silver almost too painful to look at.
He doesn’t notice. No, the wolf is too focused on me to catch a glimpse of certain death spiraling his way.
He howls when the arrow lands true. The sound, regardless of how hungry I am for his execution, pierces my ears at an unsettling octave.
I stalk toward the last surviving member of this kill squad. He’s young. A slim build. Free of the scars a wolf might gain with age. Not even old enough to buy a drink in what remains of Club Volk back in LA.
A kid, I think and my wolf snarls in agreeance.
My father is adding teenagers to the pack.
Building an army with whoever can survive the bite.
He doesn’t sprint for the woods like I expect him to.
He doesn’t whimper the way a dog might cower.
No. Surprisingly enough, he drops to his knees, lowers his head, and exposes his neck for my judgment.
I stand above him, my hot breath blowing the strands of black hair dangling in his face to the side. He winces, awaiting the inevitable crunch of our jaws collapsing around his throat.
Leaving him alive is a mistake, my wolf states plainly. No mercy. No remorse in his harsh tone. He won’t be a pup forever.
I am not my father. The fur sheds off my body, landing in small piles near my shifting feet.
Each leg snaps in place, keeping me upright as my fingers and arms return to their normal state.
I’m transforming, and despite my wolf growling at my defiance, I put up my guards and let the human form take over.
It’s painful. Excruciating. Fire engulfs each extremity, burning at a temperature hot enough to melt steel.
This mercy is going to get us both killed, the wolf says, each syllable as rough as the pavement sanding the skin of my padded feet.
The kid peers upward, two large, frightened eyes meeting mine.
I hunch forward, closing the distance between us. “Tell my father, I am coming for her. And no one, not the pack, not Viktor, not even an alpha, is going to fucking stop me.”