Hunter of the Shadows Book 3

Enemy at the Door.

Chapter 4

Now…

Something black and wet is pressed up against the lens.

It snorts and snuffles, blurring the view for a second with warm, damp air, then it backs away to reveal a set of beautiful wide, glowing, blue-green eyes and a big red snout. The young wolf cocks his head adorably to one side, long pink tongue lolling out his wide, grinning mouth, licks his chops and gives out a soft woof.

Hi, he seems to say.

With another swift lick of the chops, the wolf sits back on his haunches, as though satisfied he has our attention. His tail thumps the floor with enthusiasm and his grin seems to widen.

Yeah, I know I'm beautiful. You don't have to keep on telling me.

The youngster flops down and rolls onto his back invitingly, waggling his rear from side to side, rubbing it against the carpet.

Now stop with the flattery and rub my belly!

"Sam!" Dean's voice can be heard, sounding a little echoey, like it's coming from the bathroom or something. "Quit messin' around and get ready for bed. I gotta journal entry to make and you're wearing down the damn battery again!"

Sam huffs in disappointment and rises slowly. One huge rear paw comes up to scratch at an ear, and he closes his eyes in sheer bliss.

Dean appears from the left, a towel slung low on his hips, his hair dripping water everywhere. When he spots the camera and the red wolf sitting in front of it, he rolls his eyes in amusement.

"You can't thought project to a camera, Sammy," he says, drying off with another towel.

Sam lets loose a tiny petulant growl and huffs again. If he were in human form, he'd be sitting in a sulk with his arms folded.

Dean shakes his head. "Ok, Wolf Body Language, then, but I'm telling ya, dude, it won't work. Humans can't read us like that."

Sam glances at the camera, appears to wink at the digital audience, then turns and nods his head in mock defeat.

"You know I'm right," Dean replies to his brotherson's apparent capitulation, and tenderly ruffles the thick fur by Sam's ears.

Dean is instantly forgiven for his smugness, and Sam grumbles deep in his throat, pushing his head into his fatherbrother's hand.

"So," still stroking Sam's soft fur, Dean settles on his bed, facing the camera. "I guess you guys wanna hear the rest? I'm warning you; it's about to get interesting…"

Then…

I kept on moving forward through the trees, getting further from the camp and sniffing the air. All I caught was the pungent scent of silver.

Dread, like thick, hot molasses, settled in my gut.

This was going to be bad.

Shadows flicked on by me as I dismissed them one by one from my search. Snow dusted trees, fallen logs, bushes, none of them contained a Sammy shaped figured.

But after another five minutes, a shadow loomed ahead that I couldn't just dismiss so easily. It was around the length of the impala and about as high. As I got closer, keeping silent, my paws treading lightly, it revealed itself as a manmade, wooden structure, and the smell of silver was terrifyingly strong here.

I stood stock still when I realised what it was.

It was a cage with wooden bars coated in hardened silver, and housing around twenty to thirty scared, young werewolves, all huddled together. At best guess, the youngest was no older than six, the oldest around my age. And they all looked dazed, bruised, beaten, and half starved.

Sammy? I called out, but got the distinct impression nothing was getting through.

No answer.

I had to be careful. Perhaps there were Type Ones in the cage, blocking my thought projections, though it was doubtful. Type One and Two do not get along, and to imprison them together would have resulted in blood shed, and death.

No. It meant a Type One was nearby, possibly guarding the captives.

Dammit!

It was time to change. There was no other way to help these kids.

Quietly and quickly as possible, I changed into human form and crouched by the cage, feeling unaccountably more naked and vulnerable than I had ever felt before in all my years as a werewolf.

"Hey!" I whispered softly to the nearest werewolf on the other side of the bars.

The kid, only around twelve or thirteen, turned his head and stared at me, eyes wide with fear and confusion. I slowly reached out through the bars, careful not to touch them, and rested my hand on the child's shoulder, the universal gesture of friendship and trust.

He flinched but didn't try to back away or shrug off my hand, which I wrongly assumed was a good sign.

"I'm gonna get you out, ok?" I reassured him as best I could, but he just carried on staring at me.

The reason he didn't back away? There wasn't enough room in the cage, the werewolves were so tightly packed in.

But the panicked kid sure found his voice.

"Nnnnnnnnnnn…"

It started out as a quiet protest, but soon rose into a high-pitched scream.

"!"

The other kids reacted instantly, the youngest joining in with the screaming, and the older ones throwing back their heads in a full-on howl.

"Ah shit!" I scrambled backwards, eyes looking right and left, frantically searching for the guard. But as it turned out, all that screaming worked to my advantage.

The scent of silver didn't stop at the cage, but carried on right past it. There were drag marks and footsteps on the forest floor, as though someone had been forced away from the cage, probably restrained in silver.

Using the cover of the commotion, the very one that I had caused, I followed the trail, hoping and praying it would lead me to Sammy.

I heard running footsteps, voices shouting angrily, the snap and whine of what sounded suspiciously like some kind of cattle prod, and the screaming and howling died away to soft whimpers of pain.

Next up, the guards set about the all important task of arguing bitterly with each other.

"What was it?"

"I don't know! A bear, maybe?"

"You think a bear would frighten a bunch of werewolves, dumbass?"

"Well, something sure set the brats off."

"I want a thorough search of the area…"

"Fine! You go right ahead!"

"That was an order, fuck-face!"

"Yeah? Well, I don't take orders from an asshole like you, cock-sucker…"

They were interrupted by a familiar, angry bellow, signifying the start of some serious ass-kicking, but I was already gone, heading further into the forest.

Chuckling lightly, I could only imagine the major eye-roll Sire might have indulged in before he attacked the two guards. He would have heard them arguing like an old married couple, and there's only so much of the ridiculous Sire will take, even from amateurs.

No doubt, they presented little challenge to a professional killer like Tobius Le Salle.

I moved onwards, following the trail, growing more and more worried with the ever present tang of silver on the night air, mingling with the scent of Sam's blood.

There was no telling how much damage had been done to him. Given his, let's face it, history of pretty shit luck with silver weapons; I began wondering just how much more the kid could take.

Turned out, a lot more.

Up ahead, in a small, dried up, frozen creek, Sam sat naked and silent on the forest floor, arms stretched tight behind him and chained around the base of a huge conifer, presumably by silver. His head hung down limply, matted hair hiding his face from me. He was covered in a thin layer of snow, but I could still see that his skin was mottled with bruises.

I could smell salty sweat, dirt, blood and silver, and some other kind of scent. Tobius and I had detected faint traces of it early on in our journey, but now it was stronger.

Much stronger, and it had a faint, metallic, sulphuric flavour to it.

Shit.

I sank to my knees beside him and gently grasped his chin, tilting his head up and brushing the snow off him for what little good it would do.

Smoothing back his mop of hair, I nearly dropped his chin again in shock.

Sam's eyes were open and glowing a strange, deep, dark purple, almost like a black light was shining in them. The black rims around his irises were thinned out, the strangely coloured pupils taking up nearly all space. Kind of like he'd been drugged, quite literally, up to the eyeballs…

Oh God… Sam… he didn't answer. Didn't even look at me. Sammy, can you hear me, dude?

Cradling his head in my hands, I stared deep into his eyes, and thought projected my ass off at him.

I got nothing back. Sam didn't even know I was here...

"Good evening," a Cockney accented voice remarked, casually, off to my left.

A match was struck, lighting up the guy's face very briefly, and a cloud of cigar smoke snaked around the clearing. He was dressed all in black, though his feet were bare.

"I can see those imbeciles covered their tracks well," he continued, with a hint of annoyed sarcasm. "Remind me never to use Type One's for my dirty work. Bloody useless, arrogant bastards, the lot of them."

He moved closer with a baffling confidence, and crouched down on the other side of Sam.

"Who the fuck are you, and what the hell have you done to my son?" I roared, rising back up and looming over the guy. "You tell me, right now, or I swear to God I'll…"

"Do what, exactly?" he just calmly shrugged, completely unafraid of me. "Dangle your wedding tackle in my face again? Speaking of, I'd put some clothes on if I were you. Wouldn't want to snag it on anything sharp now, eh? Name's Crowley, by the way."

He actually had the nerve to hold out a hand by way of introduction, as though we were going to be best buddies or something, but he quickly withdrew it when I snarled, showing off my lengthened incisors.

And yeah, it had crossed my mind to tear his damn arm right off.

"Not that it matters," he said, with another uncaring shrug. "I can always grow another one. Just bloody hurts, losing a limb." His sudden grin was as infuriating as his obvious ability to read me, and the bastard winked. "Bit like losing your kid, eh, Dean?"

"You sonofabitch!" I practically leapt at him, aiming to pin the fucker to the nearest tree and rip his balls off.

"Now, now, Dean," the guy, Crowley, sharply backed off a few steps but still didn't appear to be all that scared of me. "Don't do anything rash. I'm one of the few people who knows what Sam's been dosed with, and I can help him."

He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, head dipped out of respect, but only just.

My fists were clenched hard at my sides, but I stopped my advanced, growling low in my throat.

"You really should keep your pups under better control, Tobius," Crowley suddenly announced. "They don't seem to realise who they're trifling with."

He turned to grin right at me, and his eyes glowed bright green in the darkness.

Crowley was a Type Two. Just like us.

"Perhaps, you shouldn't give my pups any reason to need it, Crowley."

There was a rustle from nearby and Tobius appeared in human form, with a bedraggled and bloodied wolf loping along beside him.

"Dean, relax," he said, calmly. "Despite appearances, and his rather unorthodox attitude, Crowley is actually supposed to be one of the good guys."

When I hesitated, Tobius looked me right in the eye and nodded, a clear gesture to stand down, which I did willingly, happy to let him take over.

Though I was desperate to find out how these two knew each other, I had greater worries right then. Sire would fill me in later.

I rounded the tree, eyeing the cuffs on Sam's wrists. Ignoring the silver sizzling against my skin, I set about breaking Sam's bonds with my bare hands. We had no lock picks, but the silver cuffs weren't hardened and, in any case, they couldn't hold up against a worried and angry wolf trying to free his injured pup.

Sam rolled over bonelessly to the side before I could catch him. It worried me that he still hadn't made a sound, or a thought projection and, for a fleeting, irrational moment there, I wondered if he was in the process of turning into a Type One.

Swallowing down my fears, I tucked Sam into my arms, his head draped limply over the crook of my elbow, and stared into those lifeless, purple eyes.

Sammy, c'mon, dude. Talk to me…

So intent on Sam, I didn't hear what was said next, until Crowley laughed raucously.

"Oh, don't give me that 'holier-than-thou' bollocks, mate," his laughter petered out, and he pinned Sire with a chilly stare. "You seem to be forgetting something. You're not the only one who was affected when Lady Anna passed."

I tensed up on hearing that. Lady Anna was Sire's lost love, and mother to his dead daughter. He'd still never really told us the full story there, and now it seemed that Crowley had been involved.

Tobius' face suddenly seemed to be carved in stone: cold, hard and unforgiving. Only the slight gleam in his eyes gave away his emotional state. And Crowley noticed it, because his smile became a slight, sympathetic twist of the mouth.

"Thought that might hit a nerve," he said, sadly, took a puff of his cigar and blew out a smoke ring, raising an eyebrow. "You always did fall too easily. But for some village slut who spread her legs for…

He didn't get to finish because Tobius was lunging at him, changing in mid leap. His paws hit Crowley square in the chest, just as his human feet left the ground.

Morphing from nose to snout and back, snarling and spitting in the other non-lunar's face, Sire shook him furiously.

"Don't you ever talk about her like that again," Tobius growled angrily. "And you don't say her name in front of me. Ever, you understand?"

Another hard shake just made Crowley sigh.

"You really can't accept the truth about Anna, can you?" he pushed his face right up into Tobius' and tilted it to one side. "Even after all these long years, you still can't come to grasps with the fact that she turned you away because the guy she was actually betrothed to had more money and a bigger cock than you!"

Tobius let out an angry howl that even Crowley appeared to cringe away from.

"Your betrayal got her killed, you bastard!" Sire's eyes brimmed with tears, threatening to spill down his face, now pale with anger. "She was mine. She was my mate, mother of my child!"

Crowley went silent for a few seconds and, surprisingly, his expression softened.

"I know that's what you think, but you'll never learn to move on if you don't listen to the truth," Crowley leaned forward and placed a hand on Tobius' shoulder, squeezing gently. "I did it to protect you and the Pack. When Anna discovered she was pregnant, she eventually planned to tell her lord and husband that you raped her and left her with your bastard child. You know what that would have led to, brother. It was Anna and your child, and I know it was a terrible sacrifice to make. But could you have lived with the alternative on your conscience? The destruction of the entire Pack?" he shook his head. "I know you would rather have died than see that happen, brother."

Tobius shuddered, and dropped his gaze.

I blinked. Brother? Really?

Seriously? I thought it was just some kind of metaphor, but Tobius' saddened face turned my way, and I knew it wasn't. Especially when he nodded.

Yes. Even a burned out old wolf like me can still be a brother.

He cleared his throat quietly, and seemed to compose himself back into that typical British, 'stiff upper lip' guy with astonishing speed.

I was turned under circumstances remarkably similar to the way I turned you.

It certainly shed a different light on our new companion.

Correction, one of our new companions.

I'd forgotten about the other bloodied wolf, sitting patiently back on its haunches, watching the scene with an austere glare.

There was time for that later, but right now I had more important questions.

"So that makes you, what? My uncle?" I asked Crowley, impatiently. "Sam's great uncle?" Screw this. Not important. "What was he drugged with and what the hell were you doing here in the first place?"

Crowley spun around gracefully and gave a deep, flourishing bow.

"Indeed. Meet your Uncle Crowley," he grinned. "And if you behave yourself, and don't tell ya daddy, I'll give you a lollipop."

"Fuck off..." I responded.

"That's no way to talk to your…"

"Crowley," Sire growled a warning. "Just answer his questions, would you? If Sam is seriously ill then we need to know, and I'm also rather curious to know exactly what you're doing here."

Before Crowley could answer, the silent wolf padded forward and changed. He stood before us, eyes glowing bright blue, staring around him as though utterly bewildered by life in general. And when he spoke his voice sounded dull and emotionless.

"Crowley and I are senior field agents of the NLSU. Or, Non-Lunar Special operations Unit," he said, tonelessly. "We had a tip off about an illegal fight arena in the mountains, and acted accordingly."

I nearly laughed, but Tobius seemed to be taking all this real seriously.

This is a joke, right? I tried not to smirk. A Special Ops Unit?

And why not? The guy monotoned away in my head. Your Sire is the founding father. Long before that, he was Beta of the Canadian Pack, in fact. And would have taken Alpha but chose…

That's enough, Castiel. Tobius snapped. You're getting off track.

Sire glanced at me and knew that little slip hadn't gone unnoticed. Yeah, we had plenty to talk about once we got Sam to safety.

The other wolf wasn't fazed in the slightest by Sire's tone, but he did concede with a nod.

"Our task force serves primarily to protect the Canadian Pack, but also to protect humans from the growing numbers of Type One non-lunars."

My eyes widened. "Growing numbers? I thought they were supposed to be dying out!"

The new wolf regarded me with that strange stare.

"So did we," he replied, ominously.

Silence fell while we all watched each other, Sam still and silent in my arms.

Castiel tilted his head to the other side. "You must be Dean. It is an honour to meet you. I would be your… yes, I believe I am your Uncle Castiel."

"What?" This was getting too damn, fucking much. I turned to face Sire. "Just how many other brothers have you been hiding from us?"

Tobius just stared into the distance.

"One more. Marcus. But you'll meet him later," Castiel replied, still staring at me.

His gaze was a little unnerving but non-threatening, like a child assessing me as part of a school science project. If he hadn't seemed so straight laced, I could've sworn he was stoned.

"And now to answer your questions," Castiel continued, as though nothing was weird, strange, or ya know fucked up at all. "Sam has been drugged with a highly addictive sedative-style drug, called Sleepworm. Evidently, he put up too much of a fight for his captors to handle."

That's my boy, I gazed down at Sam, limp and lifeless in my arms. Even blind you gave them hell.

"Indeed," Castiel's gaze seemed to soften a little. Clearly he carried emotion but hid it well, most of the time.

I caught up just then. "What the hell is Sleepworm?" I barked, sharply.

"Sleepworm is a powerful combination of human drugs and herbs often used in black magic. It renders the victim senseless and addicted immediately, if the dosage is high enough. Your son," Castiel stared me straight in the eye "had several doses forced on him before he succumbed."

I was on the verge of a panic attack, I'm not afraid to admit.

"How does it work?" I asked, subtly deep breathing and trying to keep my voice from trembling with anger.

"No one knows for certain," Sire answered this time, sounding weary. "I, personally, have not come across Sleepworm before, but most non-lunars dating from the time of the Crusades have heard of it. No one's sure where it emerged from, but rumour suggested the Pope himself had it created under terms of absolute secrecy, to use against Saladin's troops."

Not surprisingly. The Catholic Church was against anything remotely pagan, but it wouldn't have been the first time a pope turned hypocrite just to win an argument. And it wouldn't be the last either.

"It's been adapted over the years to use against werewolves," Crowley added, quietly. "Though by whom, we just don't know."

"There's something else you should be aware of," said Castiel, solemnly. "A trigger word, if repeated often enough in the victim's ear as they're sliding under, can be used to wake them up. And when it does? Watch out."

"What the hell do you mean?" I growled, clutching Sam tighter to me.

"He means, your son will go from unconscious to apeshit in about a nanosecond," Crowley blew out a ring of cigar smoke, and eyed me worriedly. "'Cos this particular group of Type Ones use Sleepworm that's been spiked with a rage ritual. Makes sense, though eh?" he glanced at Castiel and nodded. "After all, these brutal bastards were running a fight club. Couldn't have their participants drugged up to the gills in the arena. Fast way to lose money, and an even faster way to lose your bollocks when your rich clients find out their evening's entertainment's gone down the crapper."

"Ok... so what can we do for him?" I demanded. "There has to be some kind of treatment, right?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, but I think we should walk as we talk. The sooner we get back to pack grounds and report to Marcus, the better."

I hefted Sam up and stood, carefully sniffing his hair and neck, checking for any further injury. To my relief, all his physical injuries were superficial, and looked worse than they actually were. He'd been beaten around the head a few times, and head wounds always bled like a bitch. But they would heal.

It was the drug that worried the shit out of me.

Sam looked pale, his breathing shallow and slow, and those eyes… they reminded me of Zombie eyes in The Walking Dead, but in purple.

Downright creepy on TV, but heartbreaking on Sammy.

Tobius gripped my shoulder.

"He'll be fine Dean. We just have to get hold of some more of the Sleepworm for Sam."

What? That sure wasn't on any agenda I knew of!

I backed away. Oh, you are sooo not giving him anymore of that shit!

Sire smiled sympathetically.

I don't like it either, but going cold turkey on Sleepworm is apparently not an option, especially with how much they've probably given him. It's terribly painful and dangerous. It might not kill him, but it could harm him in other ways.

I shifted from foot to foot, and looked down at Sam a few times, before asking the dreaded question.

How? I mean. What could withdrawal do to him?

Seizures. Lot's of terrible, violent seizures, said Tobius, gently. Which could lead to a complete alteration of his brain biochemistry…

I stopped him right there with a quietly whispered "…and brain damage. Right?"

Sire closed his eyes for a second.

I'm afraid so.

He looked at me again and moved forward, resting his hand on my shoulder once more.

Like I said, we don't know how it all works, and I suspect there could be some kind of pseudo-silver action to it. But I won't let it get that far, Dean. I promise.

I breathed out, long and slow. I know you won't.

Tobius nodded, a tight smile on his face, and I was reminded that our mountainside rescue hadn't exactly been a picnic for him either so far.

Reunions with long lost brothers aside, Crowley's claims about his beloved Anna must have caused one hell of a fissure in his heart for him to have come so close to crying like that.

Sire…

But he was already turning away and addressing Castiel.

I shrugged, taking the hint. He didn't want to talk about it and I wasn't offended in the slightest. A man's heartbreak is his own business.

Instead, I listened with one ear to the quiet conversation going on between the brothers.

"And I'm assuming you know who these rich, fight arena clients are?" asked Tobius, tightly.

Crowley looked surprisingly wary and uncomfortable at Sire's question, and Castiel's eyes darkened.

"Yes," he shot Crowley a look I couldn't decipher. "It was someone from within the Canadian Pack."

TBC

Had a real shitty night on call, so I could use some moral boosting.

I'm completely knackered, so instead of answering your reviews this time, I just posted this chapter.

I hope that's ok.