Blood Ties: The First (A Bane Pack Novel)

Merrick ran through dense woods, his Porsche long since abandoned. His fur was ruffled by the speed of his passage. He jumped over logs and creeks, ducked under low hanging branches and swerved to avoid the trunks of thick trees. It was effortless and exhilarating. Every time he let the wolf out, he felt true freedom. He felt the complete and utter abandonment of any kind of order or rules. He reveled in that freedom now and in the power that rushed along with it.

He let the instincts of the wolf take control, giving himself over to the heightened senses of his natural form. The sights. The sounds. The smells. All of them. They led him to where he wanted to go more accurately than a guided missile.

He raced on. Animals, big and small, fled from his presence. They knew to fear him at least. They knew when something far more dangerous and powerful than themselves was lurking around their territory. The thought struck him as mercilessly funny and if he could’ve laughed, he would have.

He ran for a long time and swallowed up twenty, then thirty miles, in less than an hour. He stopped abruptly when he came within half a mile of his goal. He padded silently the rest of the way. Soon after, he came to a sprawling mansion. Turrets and spires jutted off of it in grandiose splendor. A high, brick wall surrounded the property. The wall was formidable and a deterrent to most people.

But I’m not most people, he thought.

He stayed out of sight and watched the massive house. Lights were on in several of the windows. Shadows danced across them as people inside drifted around the rooms. He watched them all with a mixture of seething anger and hate. The only thing he could think about was ripping Conor’s throat out and feeling his blood splash against his muzzle and fur.

Merle was dead now, but he knew he hadn’t been the one to finish him. Conor probably did that himself, he thought. Naturally it would be him. The half-breed son of a bitch had always been a favorite of Merle’s. The old man acted like he was a son and a favorite son on top of all that. Merrick could see it now. The old man lying there dying and knowing what it would mean when he did. He could see one bloody hand holding a knife in the air, offering it to Conor. He saw the half-breed take it and plunge it unerringly into the old man’s heart. It was all there, in his mind, and it was so vivid, it was like he’d witnessed it himself.

Now it’s your turn, you miserable half-breed.

A very faint noise caught his attention. His body tensed reflexively, putting itself into that age old survivalist trick, flight or fight. He knew which it would come down to with him though. There was never any question.

He waited calmly to see what made the sound.

In a few seconds, a werewolf came into view. Its fur was brown, with dark, almost black, stripes that looked like those of a tiger’s. Its huge head swung slowly back and forth as it walked the perimeter of the house. Its ears flicked this way and that and its eyes roamed over anything and everything.

Merrick made sure to remain completely still. But despite his utter silence, the werewolf still halted.

It stopped only a couple of feet in front of where Merrick was hiding.

Merrick, however, felt no terror. He felt no fear. All he felt was anticipation.

The other werewolf paused awhile longer but then moved on.

Merrick crept out of his hiding spot and stalked the other wolf with easy, practiced motions. When it finally realized he was there, it was already too late. Merrick attacked just as it turned around, sinking his fangs deep into its throat. Blood spurted into his mouth and he gulped it down greedily.

Immediately, it filled him with a drug-like high.

He completely lost control. He ripped and tore. Blood and chunks of meat flew through the air and he snapped at them all. He gorged himself until nothing but gristle and bone was left. He backed away from his kill. The mangled remains had turned back into its human form. He shifted back too. Blood was smeared across his chin and throat. He bent down and looked into the dead, glazed eyes of a man in his mid-twenties.

“Patrick,” Merrick said. It was the only thing he could think of.

At one point, the two of them had been as close as brothers. Time and the different paths they decided to take had worn that friendship away. He didn’t feel a bit of guilt or remorse for killing him. The only thing he felt was the dizzying high the blood induced.

He grabbed Patrick’s remains and hoisted them over his head. He walked up to the wall until he was only a foot or so from it and threw the body over. Then he crouched down and jumped with all the power in his legs. He catapulted into the air, over the wall, and then landed on the neatly kept lawn of the mansion’s backyard. Bright floodlights instantly snapped on, illuminating his pale, blood spattered body. He stood in the lights for five or so minutes before he started moving again.

He didn’t run. He walked calmly to one of the mansion’s many doors and went inside. He was immediately assaulted by a loud alarm but it didn’t deter him. He went through the massive kitchen and into a wide hallway.

Two people stood at the end.

“Get out now, Merrick!” one of them shouted. He was an older man with graying hair and rough stubble over his jaw and chin.

“Now, now, Ian. That’s not very nice,” Merrick replied, smiling. “I’ve just come for what’s rightfully mine. You can fight and die if you want, but I will have it.”

Then he shifted again, the last of his words mutating into a rough growl. The two men in front of him shifted too, their massive bulks blocking the end of the hallway. All three met in a horrifying clash of snarls and growls. Claws lashed out and fangs snapped on whatever exposed areas they could find. It was a desperate battle, and the two of them were nearly powerful enough to overwhelm Merrick.

A line of pain blazed its way down his left flank and he howled in agony. Then he lashed out with a paw and batted one of them down the hall. He heard it crash into a wall. It didn’t get back up.

The other wolf came at him so fast it was little more than a blur. Merrick dodged out of the way. The other wolf, realizing its mistake, tried to get away, but it already left itself exposed. Merrick’s head snapped forward, jaws gaped wide, and clamped down on the other wolf’s neck. Again, the blood flew and he gulped it down, but he controlled the blood lust this time. He shook the wolf instead. He did so until its neck broke. After he heard the snapping sound of bones breaking, he released it. It collapsed to the blood-slick floor in a limp heap.

Merrick continued down the hall with calm indifference. He came to the wide staircase and followed it up to the second floor. Others got in his way, but they fell like the first two. Bodies were left behind him like garbage. He came to the end of the hall. The double doors in front of him were open.

A single figure stood just inside the room, hands held loosely at her sides. Merrick shifted back into his human form.

“Get out of my way, Deirdre,” he ordered, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t have to die tonight.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she responded, tears still streaming down her face.

She said it in a menacing, deadly voice.

Merrick laughed. It was heartless and only served to enrage Deirdre further. She shifted with a wild, savage scream. Merrick waited until her enormous wolf form was a second away from smashing into him. Then his hand whipped out, the fingernails lengthened into wicked claws. He caught the wolf in mid-air, stopping her cold. The claws of his extended hand dug into her thick fur and pierced the skin of her neck. Her blood welled up and flowed over his fingers, dripping onto the floor in a steady rhythm. He brought the wolf closer to his face, enough to where he could see her eyes but far enough away that the desperate snaps of her muzzle was in no danger of harming him.

“You should’ve listened, Deirdre,” Merrick whispered, a malicious grin stretching his lips. The wolf yelped loudly as he dug his fingers even deeper into her flesh.

“Let her go,” a voice said.

Merrick turned his head around and found Conor standing there, his face a weird melding of both wolf and human. His ears were long and pointed. Fangs jutted out of his mouth. Fur sprouted off his face in long tufts and continued down the length of his entire body. His hands were at his sides, fingers extended. Claws gleamed at their tips, even longer and sharper than Merrick’s.

“I said, let her go,” Conor growled.

Merrick laughed again, a cold merciless sound that grated against Conor‘s nerves. Then he tossed Deirdre-wolf down the hall, not bothering to see where she landed.

“There. I let her go,” he said sarcastically before he faced off against Conor.

The two of them stood silent and still for a couple of minutes. The tension was heavy in the air between them. Then Conor attacked. He ran full out, intending to crush Merrick into the wall behind him. Merrick didn’t wait around, though. He shifted and lunged forward with his huge muzzle, nearly chomping off Conor’s foot at the ankle as he went past. Conor hit the wall and rebounded, claws flashing. He felt a surge of satisfaction hit him as Merrick yelped in pain.

The battle intensified and became more frenzied, more desperate.

Conor left himself vulnerable to an attack and snarled in pain when Merrick’s jaws latched onto his left arm, the fangs sinking in deep. Merrick shook his giant head back and forth, whipping Conor all over the place. His arm was wrenched out of its socket. His skin started to rip and tear from the violence of Merrick’s attack. Then his bone broke with a loud snap.

Conor let out a howl of pain but he forced himself to ignore his injuries. He finally managed to plant his feet and get some measure of leverage. He yanked his arm out of Merrick’s mouth. The pain flared up more intensely but he savagely pushed it away. He had to protect Kendra.

Several strips of furred flesh hung from his raw, bleeding arm. He scooted back, giving himself some space, and cradled his damaged arm against his chest. Merrick stalked silently forward, his muzzle drenched in blood.

Conor stumbled away from the fight, his steps drunken and dizzy. The burning pain in his arm was distracting him. He saw the strips of his flesh flapping back and forth. He watched his blood drip onto the hardwood floors. He waited for it all to end. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was torn apart. He might’ve gotten the upper hand earlier that evening in the restaurant, but he’d taken Merrick by surprise then and took ruthless advantage of the fact. Now, he didn’t have that to help him.

And he was too weak.

His anger came surging forward. It was an old, familiar ally. The pain in his arm was replaced by a deep, pervasive itch. It was maddening but it was followed shortly after by his body starting to heal. He watched his flesh knit itself back together. He heard his bones pop and creak, shifting weirdly underneath his skin. In a few moments, his arm was whole again.

Merrick attacked over and over with ruthless savagery. Conor tried to beat him back and stop him but it was hopeless. Dozens of wounds opened up along his body. Blood flowed, spattering the walls and floors.

Eventually, Conor was beaten. He lay on the floor with his back against the wall, entirely human now. His head hung limply on his neck. He was too weak to even look Merrick in the eyes.

Merrick relished the moment for a minute. Then he crept forward and went in for the final blow.

| | | | |

Merrick stopped suddenly and shifted back into his human form. He was a slim, sandy haired man with grey eyes that were touched with the madness that burned inside him. His pale, naked form was drenched in blood but he stood there casually, a smile on his face. He looked down at Conor and his smile deepened.

“I guess I was wrong about you, Conor,” Merrick said. He bent down on his hands and knees, enjoying Conor’s weakness and helplessness. “I thought you would’ve leaped at the chance to kill the old man after you ran me off.”

“Shut up,” Conor said, wheezing. He was regenerating, but it was slow. His body was just too exhausted. “Just shut the hell up, you fucking maniac.”

“Maniac?” Merrick laughed. “That’s funny coming from you, Conor. But maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just finish you off. Look at you. You’re pathetic. I’d be doing you a favor.”

“Get it over with then. Kill me,” Conor spat. His voice was nothing more than a pained gasp. “But it won’t help. The others will come after you.”

“Enough!” Merrick yelled. His anger surged forward violently. He slapped Conor contemptuously across the face. “No one can stop me!” He reached out a hand and grabbed Conor by the throat. He picked him up and Conor struggled uselessly. “Especially not after I get what I came for.”

He turned to the seemingly empty room.

“Kendra! Be a dear and come on out,” he commanded.

His hand squeezed Conor’s throat. He waited for a moment, searching the shadows as he did. He sniffed the air. He listened deeply. He smelled her before he picked up the faint thumping of her heart.

“Kendra,” he said again, voice loud and mocking. “I know you’re here. Why don’t you make this easy on all of us and get out here.” He squeezed even harder on Conor’s throat, the nails of his hand sinking into his neck. Conor yelled out in pain. “Let’s go. I don’t have all day.”

“Stay there!” Conor managed to say, his voice hoarse and strangled.

The hand squeezed even harder. Conor fought against it, but he was too weak to do anything more than slap pitifully against the hand that held him. His legs jerked and kicked back and forth.