The Culler and Her Devil

Chapter 3— Warnings

The rain beat relentlessly against the timber roof but inside, the air was warm, smelling of pine smoke, dry cedar, and roasting meat.

I stood by the heavy oak table, the harsh light of the hanging lantern illuminating the small object resting in my palm.

It was a pendant forged in the shape of a hollow sun with a deep crimson stone set dead center. I had dug it out of the bloody mud at the Blackwood boundary, right before that little Culler b***h held a gun to my chest.

"Where did you get this, Kaelon?"

Dorian walked over from the hearth with two wooden mugs of dark beer in his hands. My older brother, Alpha of the Vargan pack, was every bit the leader our father had raised him to be.

"The Blackwood scene," I said, taking one of the mugs and setting it down without drinking. "Found it half-buried where the woman’s head lay. The human forensics team missed it.”

Dorian picked up the pendant, his thick fingers turning the heavy silver over. His golden eyes, so like mine, yet lacking the wild, bloodthirsty edge, narrowed in sharp recognition.

"It’s a Blood Prime crest."

I frowned, leaning my hands on the heavy table. "Blood Prime? What is that?"

"I'd know the forge work anywhere," Dorian said, setting the piece down. "Blood Primes are the carriers of the original ancestral bloodlines. Pure stock."

I should have attended those classes our parents forced us to take on our history; I didn’t know s**t about bloodlines.

“Why was she killed?”

"That’s what I’m going to find out," I snarled, my claws nicking the wood of the table. I had recognized her; she was from my pack; she had our scent. I did not care for my pack being hunted down like prey… not on my watch. “Whoever killed her is not a wolf,” I said. “We fight, and we tear flesh, and we kill for territory or pride, but we don't do this. The way she was killed reeks of human cruelty written. Serial slaughter is a human sickness, not ours."

Dorian sighed, leaning back against the timber frame. "You can't jump to conclusions, brother. Pack rivalries are tense right now.”

The heavy oak front door creaked open, cutting him off, and an old wolf stepped out of the torrential rain, pulling his heavy fur cloak over his shoulders. Elder Marcus.

"Elder Marcus," Dorian acknowledged, straightening his posture out of respect.

“You know you’re supposed to knock, don’t you?” I said, and his sharp eyes locked on me with disapproval. Then his eyes shifted to the pendant lying on the table between us. I took it from the table promptly.

He shook his head, letting out a low breath. "I knew the moment the news reached the territory that the dead woman was one of ours, you wouldn't stay in line."

"A wolf was mutilated on our border, Marcus," I said, my jaw tightening. "I'm not going to sit around sipping ale while some bastard turns our people into scraps."

"And that is precisely why I am here to stop you," Marcus replied sternly, looking from me to Dorian. "Listen to me, both of you. You are the Alpha, Dorian, but your brother is a spark looking for a dry forest. You cannot poke your nose into this investigation."

"Why?" I snapped, stepping into his space. "Because it's uncomfortable? Because it might disrupt the 'fragile peace' with the Directorate?"

"Because the humans are devious, Kaelon!" Marcus barked back, his old eyes flashing. "You know how the Directorate works and you know how those Cullers think. They see us as rabid animals waiting for an excuse to put a collar around our necks. If a serial killer is loose, do you honestly think the Directorate wants to solve it cleanly? No. They are looking for a wolf; a big, violent, mouthy wolf like you, to pin these deaths on so they can justify tighter regulations and expand their culling quotas!"

Dorian put a firm hand on my chest, holding me back before I could argue. "Marcus is right, Kaelon. If you get caught snooping around the human crime scenes, they won't look for the real killer. They'll just put you in chains."

I bared my fangs. "So we just do nothing? We let whoever did this walk away?"

"We protect our borders," Marcus said softly, his voice softening with paternal concern as he looked at me. "Your father was a brave warrior, Kaelon, but his fury often blinded him to the traps set by men in polished suits. Don't let your anger walk you straight into a Culler's cage."

Marcus turned and walked back toward the door, pulling his hood over his head. "Stay out of Noxen. That is an order from the Council."

The heavy door shut behind him, leaving only the sound of the rain.

“That’s bullshit, and everyone knows it.”

"Kaelon," Dorian said quietly, stepping up beside me. "Leave it alone." Dorian sat down, then nudged the mug of beer towards me. I said nothing as I sat too and took a swig of the beer, feeling pain in my chest.

My body had absorbed the pain from the thongs the culler had plunged in me, but there was still a faintness to the pain.

“Are you alright? You’ve been touching your chest.”

“Yeah.” If I told him that I had been in a fight with a culler, he would lose his s**t. I still didn’t understand why we, the obviously superior race, had to act like the humans were better. We could best them in everything, those weak creatures with nothing but weapons to keep their hearts still beating.

I drained the mug and dropped it on the table, images of the culler in my mind.

I closed my fingers tight around the cold pendant in my hands until the sharp edges bit deep into my palm. Stay out of Noxen?

Not a chance in hell.