Hannah Pole - Song Of The Wolf

She was too goddamn cheery for his liking.

Swiftly grabbing at some leftover pizza from the counter, he stuffed it into his mouth and chewed. It was a mechanical motion; he didn’t even taste the stuff. But Julian was right. If he was too weak to fight, he would be no good whatsoever to Alison. He grabbed a bottle of vodka to wash the pizza down with. The spirit had a healthy sting to it that briefly flared warmth through his stomach. Keeping the bottle with him, he walked out of the kitchen and into the mansion’s car park.

“Hey, Dax.” Tamriel’s husky tone hit his ears as he began to walk towards his beat-up old car.

“Hey, Tam,” he grunted.

“Need some company, my friend?” Leyth, who had obviously finished cleaning up his mess and returned home, stepped forward.

“Nah. Just going for a drive.”

“Sure.” Tamriel stuck her head in his line of vision, her bright green eyes narrowing as they met his. Her red-streaked black hair flowed out behind her in the wind. “Look, if you find anything call me.”

“Will do,” Dax grunted, half turning away from her.

“I mean it.” She bullied her way back in front of him.

“Yup.” He turned back towards the car but not before he caught her rolling her eyes at him, as she turned to leave.

OK so yes, she was a strong female, and yeah they had infiltrated the Council’s headquarters together when the Circle had taken over and tortured Leyth to literally within an inch of his life.

And yes. He respected the hell out of her.

But it irritated the hell out of him that she was no longer bothered by him, she wasn’t scared of his anger and she wasn’t offended by his shortness.

It was annoying.

Even so, he couldn’t hide the smallest of grins as he looked back at the two of them walking off into the woods, hand in hand. They were truly made for each other.

Leyth was one damn lucky wolf.

Dax cracked the door of his beat-up old Ford and slid into the leather seat. The car smelled of age and blood but he didn’t give a crap.

He whipped out his phone and sent a quick text to Jake. Dax knew that he would be with his brother Jones; those two Djinn were practically joined at the hip. He rolled his eyes at the thought of them; they were the most bitchy drama queens on this side of the Kingdom.

And some of the strangest looking creatures in the world.

The Ford’s old engine started on the first try. Dax shoved it into reverse and sped out of pack land and onto the road into Folkestone.

The drive didn’t take long; he wasn’t exactly worried about breaking the speed limit at the moment, some things were just more important.

He raced through the streets of the town and up towards the part of the beach known as the Warren.

As the golf course that stood above it came into view, he slowed down, scanning the area. Absolutely nothing. Fantastic.

He slid the car into park and hefted the door open, climbing out.

The wind blasted him as soon as he stepped into the cold but he barely felt it, the wolf half of his soul was already heating his core, wanting out.

Dax made quick work of stripping off his jeans and jacket, shoving them into the back seat of his car. It was sheltered enough here for passing cars not to see him and hell, it was nearly midnight, no one in their right mind would be out walking at this hour. He grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a quick swig, before splashing some of the liquid over the worst of his wounds.

Today’s fighting had been pretty brutal. He’d found a Circle base and had raided the damn thing before backup got there. Then Leyth had sent him packing. He scowled at the thought.

He hissed as the liquid sloshed over an ugly gash on his side. It probably needed stitches but hell that would take time. And knowing Doc, he would probably order Dax to take time out of the field to heal. Maker only knew that wasn’t going to happen. Nope, vodka-disinfectant and natural healing would have to do for now.

Slamming the car doors shut and locking them, Dax slipped the rucksack that contained his knives, phone and laptop onto his back and jogged into the wooded area, naked as the day he was born. The ground was icy beneath his feet, but the heat at his core was so strong it licked through his flesh, making the frost around him melt quickly.

In these cold months he found himself more thankful than ever for his heritage, for the other half of his soul. The media would call him a ‘werewolf’ but anyone who knew a wolf would know that the nickname was frankly offensive. No, they were wolves, through and through. Dax couldn’t help but snort at the Hollywood version of his kind, though he could see where they got the impression. If you were a true wolf, you were born a wolf, none of this ‘oh I was bitten by a wolf and now I can turn into one’. That was ridiculous! His kind had been gifted the ability to shift into a full-blown, huge, very natural-looking wolf. When a pup went through their change at around the age of twenty-three, they released the power stored at their core. The pup ‘met’ their wolf for the first time and accepted the wolf. As a result they were given the ability to shift at will, to manipulate their body, to restructure the very skin on their back and transform it into that of the wolf.

This half-man half-wolf version the media had decided on was, however, not entirely untrue. The Circle’s Magi were powerful magical beings that had chosen the dark path. Their blood magic was the strongest kind of magic known to any race. They could take over a tomb’s body and force it to do their bidding. A Magi could even use the tomb’s abilities, though because they weren’t born into that race, they had a particularly skewed idea on how to control it. As a result, if the tomb was born a shifter, when they joined the Circle and had their soul bound they lost the ability to shift. The only time they could make the change was if one of the Circle’s Magi willed it. And when they took over the tomb’s body and attempted to shift said tomb into an alternate form, they just couldn’t do it properly, they ended up changing the body into a half-man half-beast abomination, exactly the way the media portrays ‘werewolves’.

Dax grimaced; he couldn’t stand the idea of losing his wolf, not being able to call to him whenever he needed to. He’d rather die. And he had no doubt that every member of his pack would feel the same. Julian, his Alpha and ruler of the pack, had once said ‘A life without your wolf is a life not worth living.’

And he was absolutely right.

Though these thoughts just made his heart break for Alison. Because by binding her soul, the High Lord also bound the soul of her wolf, the other half of her. And now she was without the very thing that made her who she was.

He couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible that must be, how devastating.

He needed to find her.

Adjusting the straps on his rucksack, Dax prepared to shift. As soon as he was certain he was out of sight of inquisitive eyes, he called to his wolf, which leapt to the surface with ease. He’d done this a thousand times, changing from human to wolf was as natural to him as breathing. Nevertheless as the change began, he still felt his stomach do an awkward flip flop; nerves were something you could never get rid of.

Especially now that he was making the change with a rucksack on his shoulders. Generally if you change with any items of clothing on, they get ripped to shreds as your body bends and breaks but Dax had trained himself over and over again. He’d just about got it down.

Dax took a deep breath as the heat at the very center of him thundered its way through his flesh, wrapping around him, shielding him from the worst of the pain. He dropped to his knees, bracing his hands against the cold ground and let his wolf take over. The heat tingled its way to the very tips of his fingers; a shudder ran through him as he felt the change begin to take place.