The Lycan's Silver

Chapter 2: Collin

My hand forcing his head up so his face is looking skyward, I bite into his neck. A weak, gurgling sound comes from his throat. I bite harder, till I hear the snap of his spine. Almost immediately, his body goes limp, and his eyes widen, a single teardrop running down his face. A couple of seconds later, his eyes become frozen, as he stares into nothing. He's dead.

I unclasp my jaws from his throat, the metallic pang in my mouth unmistakably sour. I spit it out into my hanky. With this much drug impurities in his blood, he would have probably died if I hadn't killed him anyway.

Stooping, I search his pockets and I find a pair of tinted spectacles, two burner phones, and sure enough, a bottle of Fentanyl. Why did they do this to themselves?

I lift him up from the puddle of blood, sourced by the wound on his neck. Tearing off his shirt, I wrap it around the steadily bleeding injury. Convinced that he isn't going to bleed onto my shirt, I sling him over my shoulder.

Standing, I walk over to his toilet, his limp legs swinging front and back against my body. I throw the tickets and dump the remaining Fenty pills into the toilet, watching them swirl around in a mini whirlpool after I flush, before I stuff the prescription bottle and spectacles in my coat pocket.

Satisfied, I walk back to the living room. The pool of blood is beginning to congeal. I frown, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans. I could clean up the blood but it's a bother. Perhaps I'll just leave it. Without a body, the police have next to nothing. Their investigations would only be a series of speculations.

I walk around the now completely congealed puddle, careful not to get it on my shoes as I make my way to the balcony.

My gloved hands clasping the guardrails, I look down over the city. The moon shines brightly in the cloudless sky, casting a luxurious silver color on everything, disguising the filth and cruelty. Taking a deep breath, I leap over the guardrails.

*********

Back home, I can't help but notice a shirt strewn on the stair. That should’ve prepared me but I'm still surprised when I open the heavily soundproofed door to find my brother naked, shagging some lady. The air smells musty and there's an almost raging fire in the patio fireplace.“Seriously Roman?”

He looks back at me, sweaty and panting. “Collin!” he says. Turning back to the lady who's turned around to look at me, a smile similar to a hound's who's just caught the scent of prey, spreading across her face. Or at least what I imagine it probably looks like.“That's my elder brother, Collin. Say hi.”

“Hi,” she giggles.

As if finally noticing that I'm not smiling, he detaches himself from her, smacking her on the ass, “Go in the bedroom baby. Trust me you don't want to listen to his bickering,” he says with a laugh.

“You'll be in bed shortly?” she asks, grabbing some of her clothes strewn on the floor, her eyes still never leaving mine.

“Yeah” he says.

“Okay then” she says, finally breaking her eyes away from mine. Sauntering off, she climbs the stairs,her clothes slung over her shoulder.

We stand in silence until we hear her door to Roman's room slam shut.

Roman speaks first. “What you got there? Dinner?” He walks over to the fridge, and pours himself a glass of bright red wine. I know it's wine because I can smell the fruit and alcohol from here.

“Anderson loyalist. You know, the one that I specifically told you was YOUR responsibility to hunt down. Instead you're in here, with some w***e. Where do you even find them? And would you mind putting on some clothes?”

Gulping down the wine, he eyes me. “First off, she's not a w***e, she's my girlfriend,” he says.

I scoff. “Great, another girlfriend. Of course she is. Who is she? Which clan is she loyal to? I wouldn't be much surprised if you let an Anderson spy in here.”

“I bet you'd like that,” he says, rolling his eyes. He walks lazily to a pair of jeans on the floor. “No, she's a wolf. The Martell family.” Gesturing at the man slung over my shoulder, he snorts. “He smells dead. Why do you like dead meat again? It's disgusting.”

I ignore him. “I want her out of the house by tomorrow morning.”

He struggles into his pair of jeans. “Whatever Collin.”

“You're better than whatever this is, Roman.”

He's walking up the stairs, not bothering to turn back. “Yeah, f**k you too, Collin.”

“Has Freida said anything about the merger?”

“She has something but she wouldn't tell me. Said you should call her,” he yells from upstairs before his door opens and slams shut again.

I sigh deeply and head off into the garage. I dump the body, duck tape, and a shovel in my car trunk. I go back in to get a bath ready for when I get back. By the time I return back to the garage, his eyes are already letting out a black gunk, and his fangs and claws are beginning to emerge.

±±±±

The wind up here is cold and biting, chilling right through my coat. I sip from the coffee in my hand, appreciating the heat as it warms my insides.

I never wanted to come to New York. I hated the cold and its people, especially their obnoxious sense of curiosity.

I'd fought him, but my father had insisted. He promised it was a new beginning. A chance at dawn. He had a weirdly optimistic outlook on murdering thousands of humans and seizing their lands.

I hear her footsteps before she speaks. “You remember the meeting you're supposed to be in charge of right?”

I turn to face her. My mom used to say the only things I got from her were her hair and heart. Freida got everything else. The cheekbones so high they accentuated her siren eyes and left her cheeks looking sort of hollow, thin lips and straight, sandy hair that fell past her shoulders in a shower of autumn gold when she stood in the sun.

She's in a dark-green T-shirt and jeans, with a lit cigarette between her fingers. I give her a once-over.“Look who's talking?”

“Oh please. If I have to wear another skirt I'll kill myself. Especially when you've got me working on a Sunday now”

I shrug. “Roman was not drunk or high today so I thought I'd seize the moment. Not enough time to enjoy it.”

We both laugh. I can't help but notice the sadness in her eyes when she stops, and I know they're only a reflection of mine. “You know I wonder if he's forgotten about it,” she says with a sigh.

I sigh. “Nah, he reminds me that he hasn't every single day. He keeps trying to piss me off, so I can piss him off, so then he'll have an excuse to bring her up again.” I take a long sip of my coffee. “He's got a new girlfriend by the way.”

She groans. “How long did the last one last? A couple of months? Not even?”

“You remember her? With the weird eyes and black lipstick?” I ask with a smirk.

“That always smelt like bourbon? I think she was my least favorite.” She snickered.

We both laughed. I suddenly didn't want to go down to the meeting. I just wanted to order some Chinese food and stay up here with Freida, telling you-remember-when jokes.

“We should probably go downstairs before Linares starts a war,” she suggests, as if reading my mind.

±±±±

The room is a conference room for our family company, Silvest Coroft. An aerospace and energy company. Built solidly on the sturdy backs of exploitation and literal war crimes. I walk in, Freida right behind me. They're already arguing amongst themselves, although they all mutually postpone their grievances once they notice me. Roman is quiet though, his legs up on the plush armrest of the chair on the right of the head chair; my chair.

I walk briskly to my chair, my shoe clacking against the tiled floor in the pin drop silence. Freida doesn't even follow me to take her own seat until I sit and gesture for her to continue to her seat. Nobody speaks still after she sits. I protract the claw on just my index finger, and slice my palm open, letting some of my dark blood into an ornate, lead cup before the wound heals.

In turns, beginning from Roman, they all take sips of the blood until Frieda drains the last drop. With a wave of my hand the meeting commences.

“Reports have come about an increase in the Veil’s porosity. How are our sorcerers commencing on that particular issue?” I ask, referring to Bernard, the head sorcerer.

Of all the men on this table, he irked me the most, with his nose piercings and eyeshadow.

He c***s his head, staring off into the distance, before he speaks. “The Council's sorcerers have been doing their best but so have the humans. There are cameras on every inch of this city, ready to capture in the necessary lapses in The Veil.”

I narrow my eyes. “Necessary lapses?”

“Deceiving nature involves an especially taxing kind of sorcery. However, decades ago and beyond, we hadn't quite noticed it because we only had eyewitnesses to convince,” he explains, “Now with cameras even where the people aren't, we cannot possibly keep up. So we keep up the Veil in places where it's most needed, making it porous in other places where it isn't needed as much.”

“So basically we're rationing discretion,” Roman asks, before I can speak. I glare at him. From the corner of my eye, I see Freida pinch the bridge of her nose.

Bernard hesitates, not sure if he's supposed to answer Roman, but I wave him a go-ahead. “Yes, Councilman Romulus. And even with the ‘rationing’, it is still a struggle. One that I'm not sure how we can keep up for too long.”

“And how might you fix this? And in what way can the Council aid?” I ask. Roman shoots me a look.

“There isn't much but to limit our actions. Won't be hard to hide anything if there isn't much to hide.”

I clear my throat. “ Well,” I say, speaking to no one in particular, “I assume we all understood what Councillor Bernard said. Based on what I interpreted, I decree that henceforth, all lycan activities are to be minimalized. That is, there is to be none of your little clan squabbles and such. If any of you disagrees with my proposition, may he raise his hand.”

No hands are raised, but a lot of eyes flit to Roman, all doubtful.

“Good, Now onto more pressing matters,” I say, staring at the empty seat at the other end of the table, “Any thoughts on how our absentee should be handled?”

Linares, a woman who seems in her forties with a jagged scar stretching from the bridge of her nose to the corner of her lip, clears her throat. “Thank you for your benevolence,” she says, while the rest of the Council murmur in assent. “We all learned that the blood traitor, Silver Anderson, has arrived in New York, and yet, despite several warnings in our history of what nonchalance of that nature leads to, she still chose to be absent. I think she ought to receive the highest retribution this court can offer.”

The silence is tense, a silence I know is holding on only because we're all still yet trying to confirm her insinuation. “And what do you have in mind, Councilor Linare.”

Her eyes darken and I know what she's going to say before she does. “Her transgression deserves only death!”

Although anticipated, the uproar is surprising. But somehow I can only see it, not hear it. She wants to kill Silver Anderson? All these years, how has she learnt nothing?

Freida literally shakes me back into the pandemonium. “Are you ok?” she asks.

I nod. Roman, the supposed moderator of the council, and only one apart from myself and Freida still sitting, looks on with a barely concealed smirk on his face.

“Order,” I say, but my voice gets drowned out, so I add a deep, rattling growl the next time I say it. “Order!”

The noise slows to lull, and then silence. I turn to Linares, who's glowering at Bernard.

“What could you possibly hope to achieve with killing the head and only surviving true heir of the second most powerful clan?”

“She spat in all our faces. Just like her father before her. I think it is a blow on the respect of this council, but only of she goes unpunished.”

Bernard, who has been restless, interjects. “She is the second most powerful wolf alive, with more individual manpower than any of our clans. The only chance we have is with ALL our men put together, and even then, the war you're asking us to kickstart would not be without cost for us.

“Oh please.” Linare disagrees, “She knew the implications of what her actions might be. I understand that we're all trying to avoid the repetition of history, but she is not. And for that reason alone, I think we shouldn't be either.”

Bernard tries to give a retort but backs down when I raise an eyebrow. This is madness. A war only a few decades apart with a slight but very real chance our kind gets wiped out. What is she doing? No, I won't let this happen again. Not on my watch.

I heave my shoulders. “I understand your outrage, but I do not think we should risk our existence for our ego. So I propose we send an emissary to fi—”

“You need an emissary to tell if s**t has been smeared on you?” Linare sneers, “You're weak Collin. Your father would be calling for blood but here you are, drooling over your 'peace' because God forbid you retaliate against disrespect.”

My breath catches and the dull buzz in my ear becomes loud and raging. I feel my fangs slowly begin to emerge, so I bite my tongue to slow my rage. Any other one of them, besides maybe Roman and Freida, and I would have ripped their head off.

Freida, who's been quiet, stands. “ And what do you think your punishment should be for your disrespect, Councilor? I for one suggest I tear your tongue from its roots in your foul mouth and feed it to you.”

I raise my hand. “That won't be necessary,” I say, my eyes never leaving Linare's, “As long as Councilor Linares retracts that statement.”

We all sit in silence for a moment. The rest of the council sits, wide-eyed in suspense but Linare just stares at me, her face clouded in rage and indecision. After what seems to be a mental turf, the reasonable part wins out .“I apologize for my outburst and am willing to accept any punishments the Council deems necessary.”

“No punishments will be doled out, however I decree that I, Collin Silvestri will visit Silver Anderson with a purpose to deescalate whatever it is she is planning. If you have any misgivings about that, keep it to yourself.”

And with that, I get up and leave.