The Lycan's Silver

Chapter 1: Silver

I smell everything in here; the stench of alcohol intertwined with gingivitis breath, stale cigarettes, body odors from bodies rubbing off against each other down below on the dancing stage, and far more nauseating, the smell of s*x. The drunken, shameless type.

A smile creeps up on my face. It's no wonder how I end up here every other night. There's nothing quite as cathartic as a first hand experience of human and lycan debauchery.

I sip on my cocktail, smacking my mouth to its tanginess. Across the room, all the way to the bar, a man is staring at me. I think he has been for a while. I'd imagine with the flashing blue lights and loud, disorienting music it would be hard for a human to see anybody, much less someone as far apart as we are, but that doesn't seem to bother him. And he is human, alright. He can't be anything more with a heartbeat that weak.

He's handsome, with long brown hair that falls on his shoulders, eyes that remind me of avocados and a neck tattoo of a dragon that extends down to his chest. Each time my eyes meet his, they flit away, only to train themselves again in my general direction. Of all the other idiots in this dump, he seems at least mildly interesting.

I gulp down the remainder of my drink and walk over to the bar, relishing the spike in his pulse in every step I take towards him. He doesn't look away this time, I'll give him credit. He tries to get up, but decides against it halfway. Instead he sits awkwardly, spreading his legs as wide apart as they would go. Presumably intending I stand in between them. I'm suddenly not so sure he's not as stupid as the rest of them.

“Howdy darling,” he says with a nod.

I tilt my head slightly to the left. “I don't think that quite came out how you intended it to.”

He frowns but sloppily tries to replace it with a smug face. “That don't matter baby. What brought you all the way here? You want to get down?”

“You're going to act like this isn't me granting your biggest wish?”

I hear his already thumping heartbeat spike.

“So you'll let me buy you a drink?” he blurts before his brain can remind him to be cool.

I glance down at my watch. It's about ten minutes till midnight. “I'll tell you what, I have about forty minutes before I have more important things to do,” I say, leaning in, my face inches away from his, “so how about we cut the s**t and get out of here. I'll even pretend if you're not fun enough.”

He swallows hard, his eyes trying to decide whether to hold mine, or look down my shirt. “Yes, we should do that,” he finally breathes.

“Great,” I beam, standing to my full height, “My place.”

±±±±

“I—I think I love you,” he whispers, his voice dreamy as he lies sprawled on his back.

I roll my eyes. I turn on the bed lights and slip off the bed, not bothering to get even my panties, heading towards the bathroom. I slip into the clawed bathtub. I can hear him already typing away on his phone, probably mouthing off about how I just made his night, I even hear a click from his camera shutter and I wonder if leaving my panties back in the room was a bad idea.

I sink into the bath, the hot, sweet-smelling water rising up to my chin. I look up at the ceiling, so high that the reasonably bright sconces do little to illuminate the exquisite paintings above.

My father used to say this was the only room he didn't have much of a say in its design. He'd left it all to my mother, and damn did it show. Blood-red walls, sink and bath, and a ceiling expertly painted with scenes of bloodied humans worshiping a fully transformed werewolf. Obscene, even for Mom.

I'm just considering having a maid bring up a glass of Pinot when my phone lights up. A message from Olaf. He's prepped and ready, my liege. I groan. Sometimes I wish he would be a little lax in his competence.

I step out of the bath, squeezing the water from my hair before putting on a kimono. In the bedroom, the moon filters into the large room in a silvery glow. My supposed distraction is still lying on the bed, beneath a huge portrait of my mother, typing away into his phone. The scene suddenly feels disrespectful.

He looks up at me, then puts down his phone and gestures for me to come to him. I almost throw up in my mouth. “Hi,” I say, forcing a smile, “What are you doin there?”

“You, in about two minutes” he says with a victorious smirk.

I eye him for a moment. “I've got somewhere to be. I'll send Gertrude up if you're hungry or need a bath, new clothes or anything else.”

His smirk withers away. “Wait, we're done? And who the f**k is Gertrude?”

I ignore him. “It was a pleasure meeting you…”

“Trevor. My name is Trevor.” he completes, his face morphing into a mask of embarrassed rage. I can tell he's about to do something incredibly stupid and I welcome him to.

“Yeah, whatever.” I shrug, turning to leave. I hear him scramble off the bed, a moment before his hand grabs my shoulder.

“You can't just do that. Bring me in this creepy ass room and just drop me cold turkey. Yeah, I got a little too excited, but we haven't even done anyt—”

“What? I'm supposed to hold your hand and show you how to f**k? I didn't even touch you yet. You wasted MY time!” I cut him off, my skin crawling from his hand on my shoulder. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have something I need to attend to.”

I try to shrug off his hand but his grip tightens, and he steps closer, so I can smell the alcohol soaking his teeth. “b***h, who the f**k do you think you are?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You're drunk, so I'll let it off this one time. Now go sit and maybe dress up.”

“You think you can just s**t on anyone because Daddy made money?”

I laugh. “Not anyone, just you. You thought this was finally a chance to fulfill your frat boy dreams at thirty years old, and like every IQ test you might've ever bothered to take, you flunked it.”

That does it. His teeth clenched and eyes wild, he tries to push me to the bed, but to his momentary surprise I don't budge. He then lets go of my shoulder, and raises his hand to hit me. My nails snap into six inch claws, and I swipe away his arm like I would a fly.

Hot, sticky blood sprays in short bursts, ruining my kimono. I lick the droplets that land on my lips. He staggers back, his face more surprised than hurt, then almost like he just realized what happens, his eyes widen, his mouth unhinges and he tries to scream.

I rush forward, grabbing his mouth before any sound can escape, my claws digging into his cheek and throat. “I'd let you scream, but whoever hears you through those doors or windows isn't coming to help you but to help me. However, I'm feeling selfish this morning.”

He dies slowly, his legs thrashing around, getting weaker with each moment. But his eyes never leave mine, holding a distrust in them. Like he never believed for a second that any of this had happened.

I'm deciding whether to have him for dinner or not when someone knocks. “Come in.”

Olaf walks in.“Rough night?” he asks, a blonde, raised eyebrow his only reaction after taking in the c*****e before him.

“What? Self defense,” I shrug in mock innocence.

“Right. Should I send for Gertrude?”

“Yes, please. You had something to show me?”

“Yes,” he answers, gesturing towards the door “if you'll come right this way, my lady.”

±±±±

The dungeons have always been my favorite place to visit in this castle. Chains and shackles, all caked with dried blood, hung on its walls, the permanent and almost physical smell of sweat, fear and uncertainty. Exhilarating.

Sitting on a metal chair with barbed armrests, tied down so tightly his back is basically climbing the chair, is a huge, brown breathing mass of fur. His fur is bloodied, with large gashes from where flesh was carved out. Stuck in his eyes, are his fangs which have been torn out from their roots. His breaths are heavy and distant in between. Illuminating him—the only electrified light source in the room— is a large spotlight, so bright it burns.

I turn to Olaf. “This was you?”

He bows graciously.

“Nice touch with the fang thing, blindfolds are overrated I agree.” He smiles when I pat him on the back. “So,” I drawl, turning my attention back to the tortured wolf, “what to do with you?”

It strains to position its head and the large pointy ears at the top of it's head to hear me better but says nothing.

I turn to Olaf again. “Did you get his tongue too?”

Olaf shakes his head.

“Ahh, so he's just being stubborn— or loyal. Not much difference when you're getting tortured, is there?” I tease, loud enough that my voice echoes.

Nothing. I hear Olaf's fangs begin to grow and he tries to walk over to it but I stop him, signaling for him to leave which he does, closing the heavy, steel doors behind him. “Olaf tells me you refused to tell him your name, or anything else really, so I think I'll call you Brown.”

He sighs but still doesn't say a word.

I begin to walk around him in a circle, careful not to get close enough for him to be able to pinpoint where my voice is coming. The dungeon was built with this ventriloquist effect in mind, echoing my voice, making it impossible to visualize where I'm speaking from.

“My father used to say that honesty was the most mercy the ruthless can afford, so I'll be pretty honest with you here, Brown. I do not intend you to leave here alive. But death can be easy, and then it can be cruel. I know you're prepared for both, but the information I really need to make your death a soft one isn't really betrayal is it?

He stirs, almost insulted at what I suggest. “Honesty huh,” he laughs coldly, “You know my father used to serve in your faction once.” he says, his voice strained and hoarse.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, till you had him executed for treason. The same treason your father committed, trying to hoard power. Difference is my pops did it to save the hundreds of his men you sacrificed to avenge YOUR father's treason.”

I laugh shrilly. “So your idea of revenge was eavesdropping for the Council?”

He scoffs. “I wouldn't expect you to understand. It's easy seeking revenge with alpha blood of the most pristine kind, and a horde of wolves ready to shred who you point them to. But I pledged my life to your ruin, no matter how minute my role may be. That is true revenge.”

“No, it's just pathetic.” I say.

“Perhaps, however, don't you think it is pathetic trying to convince a man willing to die, with such resolve for something you consider so insignificant, to betray his hatred?”

I’m silent for a bit. “Why did you transform when you were getting tortured? I mean it increases your expectancy but doesn't do much to numb the pain, and it's not like you could escape, so why lengthen your suffering?”

He smiles. “I wanted to ensure I stay alive long enough to meet you. Seeing it would have been fun, but hearing your vulnerability is good too. Little girl sending soldiers to their deaths to prove to everybody, herself included, that she's a threat, while she holes up in the castle my family amongst many others built her.”

The wind whistles in from a small window high up. I sigh. “You're tenacious, I like you. I'm sorry I killed your father for that. Maybe even sorry for what I'm about to do to you.”

“Don't be. I'm not”

±±±±

I walk out the dungeon, my kimono filthy at this point. I take a deep breath, retract my fangs and pick out a tooth out of my hair. Olaf is standing outside the door.

“Did he say anything?” he asks

I ignore him. “Summon the clans. We're all going to New York.”