Drown the Devil

Prologue

Prologue

New Orleans.

The city was a veritable labyrinth of concrete and steel, its streets slick with rain and pulsating with the energy of a million souls. Yet for Alex, it was nothing but a prison. The pack of rogue werewolves had been closing in on him for days, their eyes aglow with a feral hunger as they relentlessly pursued him. He had always been aware that his life would be fraught with danger and darkness, but he never imagined it would culminate in such a dire predicament. The streets were deserted at this hour, the only sound the pounding of his own heart as he fled for dear life. He could hear the pack behind him, their snarls and howls growing louder with each passing second.

He pushed himself to the brink, his heart pounding in his chest as he careened around corners, dodged through alleys, and leapt over discarded trash. But the pack was relentless. They were faster, stronger, and they would not be denied their quarry. The glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon as he spotted the light of the nearest subway station in the distance. He redoubled his efforts, sprinting towards it with all the speed he could muster. He could feel the hot breath of the lead werewolf on the nape of his neck as he stumbled down the steps and onto the platform, his lungs burning with exertion.

The train was just pulling into the station and with a final burst of energy, he lunged for the door and pulled himself inside, slamming it shut just as the first werewolf reached it. He collapsed onto the floor, his body trembling with adrenaline as the train pulled away and he was finally, blessedly, safe. But the pack would not be deterred so easily. They would be waiting for him when he emerged. And Alex knew that this was only the beginning of the end. A never-ending cycle of running and hiding, a life on the run, forever looking over his shoulder, forever waiting for the next attack.

He knew that his life would never be the same again.

And at that moment, of all the many voices ringing in his head, his grandfather's took prominence—the very words he uttered with his dying breath.

“Drown the devil,” he’d said, the life force draining out of him. And that is what he kept repeating till the last atom of oxygen gave up on its duty.