New York, 2015
Prologue
Abraham wondered if he should call. Max had been leaving him voice mails every hour and some of them were so romantic and apologetic that they made Abraham wonder if he should call him back but the angry, shouting voice mails he received five seconds later reminded him why they had broken up. Why he had broken up with Max.
Shoving his phone deep into his pocket, Abraham trudged down the street, pushing his wet hair off his forehead as rain poured down onto the streets of New York. Passing a mundane bar, he snorted with exasperation as an attractive girl with short blonde hair called out to him, batting her long fake eyelashes. She was wasting her time. However, like most young werewolves, Abraham was quite attractive, his muscular body and his light brown hair blending nicely, his eyes a golden green colour, making them stand out in a crowd of mundanes. Max had been a vampire and Abraham had been a fool to even think that their relationship could work. A stupid fool, an idiot. Suddenly, he felt his phone vibrating somewhere inside his pocket. Abraham pulled it out to cancel the call when he stopped in his tracks. This new voicemail was different.
"Abraham, run before they get you, before he gets you. 'The. . . The Righteous Children' found us out. One of them's following you. Run before it's too late. Run before they kill you-" Max's voice was suddenly cut off, a loud gurgling sound and a loud thump followed before the phone went silent. Abraham's hand went to his heart as a loud pounding sound filled his ears, drowning out the world around him. Suddenly, he felt a chilling sensation, making him shudder. He was being watched.
Glancing behind him, Abraham saw a tall man, covered in a simple glamour, wearing tight black clothes and a floor-long cape with a hood that covered his face completely, leaning casually against the window of a shop, staring straight at him. Pulling his jacket's hood up, Abraham began to walk quickly down the dark street as panic pulsed through him, his eyes shining brighter than ever. Pushing past an old man, he glanced behind him again. The man was still following him, taking long, leisurely steps, as if he knew that he would kill him, no matter where he went. Changing into a run, Abraham sprinted down the street, his werewolf speed making it harder for the mundanes to see him, turning sharply down an alley, past someone's house and down to the very end where. . . Abraham stopped dead still as he desperately pounded his fists on the brick wall in front of him. All of a sudden, he froze, a cold creeping over him and chilling him right down to his veins. The sound of footsteps, loud and menacing, sounded down near the mouth of the alleyway. Turning on his heel, Abraham saw the dark man glaring at him. Glancing around wildly, he felt like a cornered animal as long claws grew out from his fingers, cutting into his palms as he scrunched them up into fists. The man was coming closer, and closer, slowly pulling out a silver sword that had been sheathed on his back, the hilt encrusted with diamonds.
This is the end, thought Abraham, backing up against the wall as the man directed the sword at him, shying away from the silver. "Who are you?" he yelled out suddenly, desperate to know something. The man, not moving his sword, slowly lifted up a hand, pulling his hood back. His face was a slender oval shape, the eyebrows thick and furrowed and lined with golden eyelashes, the chin covered in a thick golden beard. The only thing that shocked Abraham were his eyes. The outer side of the iris' was a very human, very dark blue colour but a thick line of red, like blazing fire, surrounded the inner edge, contrasting with the blue. "And they called unto Lot, and said unto him, Where are the men which came in to thee this night? Bring them out unto us, that we may know them. I am Sir Lancelot, Leader of The Immoral Grail. You have been found wrong in our eyes, for your sins against nature. Enjoy your afterlife, Werewolf," hissed Lancelot, thrusting his arm forward and piercing Abraham's stomach, the tip of his sword coming out through his spine. He tumbled to his knees, leaning against the wall as blood pulsed out of his body and spilled on the cobbled streets. For a moment, Abraham thought he saw Max standing in front of him, smiling down at him and ruffling his hair.
"Come with me Abraham, He's waiting for us."
Lancelot kicked aside Abraham's hand in disgust as he withdrew his sword from his body. Whipping out a knife, he quickly carved something into his palm. Pulling up his hood, he slowly turned and walked out of the alley, grinning cruelly. "Ego introducturus sum vos in hunc mundum uno gradu propius ad magistrum."