The Frenzy Wolves Read online

  Medallion Press, Inc.

  Dedicated to Terry Wright, a great writer and one hell of an inspiration

  Published 2014 by Medallion Press, Inc.

  The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO

  is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.

  Copyright © 2014 by Gregory Lamberson

  Cover design by Patrick Reilly

  Edited by Lorie Popp Jones

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-60542-716-4

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to everyone at Medallion Press, from my editor, Lorie Jones, to freelance artists Tommy Castillo and Patrick Reilly for their wonderful covers, and, once again, to Chris “the cop” Aiello for his police expertise in all three of my Frenzy novels.

  “Two wolves fight inside me,” an old man said to his grandson. “One is Evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is Good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.”

  The grandson said, “Which wolf wins?”

  The old man said, “The one you feed.”

  —Cherokee legend

  Prologue

  Angus Domini watched his wife, Dawn, lying upon their bed with her knees raised, pushing with all her strength, her face contorted and beading with sweat, her swollen belly rising and falling in time with her tortured gasps. Blood glistened on the mat beneath her, and Dr. Edward Kurtz tended to her needs while the midwife, Jessica Collins, watched.

  Dawn had gone into labor four hours earlier, and Angus had summoned the caregivers to the house. Members of the Greater Pack of New York City did not go to hospitals to give birth; the risk of a newborn babe emerging from the womb in Wolf Form was too great. All Dawn’s checkups had been with Edward, who maintained a state-of-the-art facility in Queens.

  “Push, Dawn,” Edward said. “You can do it.”

  Dawn’s lips quivered, and the muscles in her throat bulged. Angus half expected her to Change.

  “Here comes one,” Edward said.

  A form wiggled free of Dawn’s bloody opening, covered with afterbirth. Edward held the child, and Jessica cleared wet discharge from the newborn’s eyes, nostrils, and mouth, permitting the babe to cry. Edward raised the infant for Angus and Dawn to see. “You have a son.”

  Dawn wept, and Angus’s chest swelled with pride. He had attended dozens of births, but this was his first child, his heir apparent.

  Gabriel, he thought. Dawn had chosen the name.

  The midwife produced a surgical scissor, and Angus cut the umbilical cord. Edward placed the baby—so tiny and delicate—in Angus’s hands. Angus moved closer to the bed and showed Gabriel to Dawn, who laughed through her tears. Jessica collected the baby and set him in a crib with a raised bottom.

  “You’re not done yet,” Edward said to Dawn.

  Angus took his wife’s hand. Six minutes later, a second infant wailed.

  “You have another son,” Edward said.

  Raphael, Angus thought as he cradled the baby.

  “They’re both beautiful,” Jessica said. “And healthy.”

  In the old days, when Wolves ran through the country in their true form, litters of four to six pups were common. But after the Europeans invaded the territory and the Wolves adopted human form to survive, litters of three became the norm. In the last hundred years, most females gave birth to a single pup, although some gave birth to twins. Angus had been a lone pup, and so had Dawn. When Edward informed them that Dawn carried triplets, they had been overjoyed and concerned at the same time: in many cases, twins and triplets were stillborn. Gabriel’s and Raphael’s survival was a triumph for the species. The odds of all three pups living were slim.

  Seven minutes later, a third newborn cried to the world.

  “Your daughter has arrived,” Edward said.

  Angus grinned. Angela. She was smaller than her brothers but no less vocal.

  Dawn sank into the bed, exhausted, and Angus held their daughter. He knew the pack would regard the pups as special, but his thoughts were not of starting a feral dynasty but keeping his offspring safe.

  Gabriel ran through the woods below the domed Adirondacks, followed by Raphael and Angela. He and Raphael had been Changing for a year now and Angela for nine months. Their parents had brought the three of them to the mountain retreat to experience running in the wild, and after a week, Gabriel felt as if he had undergone an even more radical change than transforming from a human into a Wolf: he felt he belonged in the wild. Fire consumed his senses; trees towered overhead; the aroma of pinecones filled his nostrils; his ears pinpointed birds hopping on tree branches and rabbits scampering along trails.

  At thirteen, the siblings were recognized as young adults by the elders in their pack, and now they sprinted on all fours between trees in the thick woods, chasing squirrels and nipping at each other’s hindquarters. Gabriel didn’t know how he could return to New York City; this was the life he desired. Running in Wolf Form, he forgot about everything that had mattered to him back home: video games, television, and music. The feeling of his heart beating in sync with nature soothed and exhilarated him. Another sensation tingled in the back of his mind: a desire to hunt, to kill, to taste raw meat. He knew if he stayed here, the urge to prey upon a fellow animal would become impossible to resist, and if he returned to the family’s Manhattan domicile, the veneer of civilization would prevent him from ever being true to himself.

  Gabriel led the way into the sunlight and along the muddy embankment of a stream, then back into the shadowy woods. Beams of sunlight shot through the tree branches overhead, and leaves struck his snout as his paws kicked up dirt. Raphael, ever competitive, pulled beside him. Gabriel increased his speed, but Raphael passed him. Gabriel allowed his brother to have his moment of glory. They leapt over a fallen tree and ran down a gulley. Gabriel slowed in the gulley, but Raphael charged on at full speed, lengthening his lead. Angela panted behind Gabriel.

  Gabriel ran faster, keeping his brother in sight. Caution rose within him: they had reached the border of the property owned by the pack, and their father had warned them never to venture beyond their own territory in Wolf Shape. Angela yelped a warning, and he stopped, but Raphael continued running, shrinking from view. Angela caught up to Gabriel, and the two Wolves looked at each other. Gabriel knew his sister feared danger. They chased their brother.

  Raphael crossed the border, ignoring a No Trespassing notice posted on the thick trunk of a tree. When Gabriel reached the tree he stopped, tilted his head toward the sky, and issued a short howl, calling Raphael back, even though it would alert predators. Hunting season was six weeks away.

  Ignoring Gabriel’s plea, Raphael sprinted into a clearing and glanced back at his brother and sister, daring them to follow.

  Resisting the urge to do so, Gabriel dropped his hindquarters to the earth and waited. Angela stood beside him, panting.

  Raphael stared at Gabriel.

  Come on, Gabriel thought.

  A gunshot split the air, blowing a chunk of bark from a tree near Raphael’s head. Gabriel recoiled from the sound, which echoed through the woods. Raphael turned rigid, then took off in the
opposite direction. Before Gabriel could stop her, Angela bolted past him and ran after Raphael.

  Now Gabriel had to worry about both of them. A second shot rang out, tearing through bushes behind where Raphael had hesitated. Raphael disappeared from his view, and Angela followed the same path. Gabriel expected the unseen shooter to fire another shot, but he didn’t. Turning his head left, Gabriel headed in the direction the shots had come from, using bushes for cover. Thirty seconds later, he glimpsed their enemy: a burly Caucasian male wearing a baseball cap and a down vest over a red plaid shirt. The man held a scoped rifle and trotted after the Wolves.

  The man was a poacher, and he was on our property. What good did it do to obey Father’s orders if their enemies broke the law? Gabriel circled behind him and followed at a distance. The poacher entered the clearing and moved through the same bushes Raphael and Angela had. Gabriel kept trees between them, peeking around them to see the man intent on killing his brother and now his sister. He wondered if the land they had crossed onto belonged to the man or if he had trespassed like them.

  The poacher stopped at dense brush, set one boot on a boulder, and raised the stock of the rifle to his shoulder.

  Gabriel hesitated as the man lined up a shot. Wolves obeyed a rule never to kill humans. To disobey meant exposing the pack and their species to danger. But if he failed to act, the poacher might kill Raphael or Angela, and if that happened, a carcass would reveal the Wolves’ existence, and Gabriel would have no choice but to kill the man anyway.

  Seeing no alternative, Gabriel broke into a run. When he had cut the distance between himself and the poacher in half, the man spun in his direction. Gabriel skidded to a stop and froze, paralyzed with fear, looking at the barrel of the man’s rifle. One second that felt like thirty passed, and Gabriel braced for the impact of a bullet.

  A dark shape burst through the brush on the man’s right side. Angela clamped her fangs around the man’s shin just as he fired, and a round tore into the earth behind Gabriel. Another shape sprang from the bushes to the man’s left, slamming into his shoulder and toppling him over Angela. The man’s rifle flew from his hands. Raphael landed on the ground beside the man and bared his canines at him, a menacing growl rising from his throat.

  The blood drained from the man’s panic-stricken features, and he flopped onto his belly and groped for his rifle. Raphael bounded over him, landing between him and his weapon with a snarl that caused the man to go still. Seeing the bloodlust in Raphael’s eyes, Gabriel barked at his brother. Angela passed between the man and Raphael, separating them, then fastened her teeth on the rifle’s stock and dragged it away.

  Gabriel and Raphael locked eyes. Gabriel bared his own fangs and issued a deep warning. Raphael stayed his ground, then backed away from the poacher. Angela rejoined him and nudged him forward. The two Wolves padded away from the scene. Gabriel stared at the man, whose eyes revealed astonishment, and ran after them.

  Back in human form and dressed in jeans and T-shirts, the three teenagers stood on the back deck of the cabin, facing their father, who sat in a wooden chair. Angela cursed herself for allowing her brothers to get her into trouble once more.

  “Human rules are made to be broken,” their father said. “We live by pack rules. We live because of pack rules. Do you understand?”

  Gabriel nodded on Angela’s right, Raphael on her left. She nodded as well.

  “When you break our rules you endanger yourself, the other Wolves in our pack, and our entire species.” He stared at Gabriel. “Explain this violation.”

  Gabriel looked at Raphael.

  “I didn’t tell Raphael to speak; I told you to speak. You’re the oldest. One day you’ll lead the pack in my place. Tell me the truth.”

  Gabriel met his father’s gaze. “Raphael crossed the border. I called him back, but he ignored me. When the hunter shot his rifle he ran away, and Angela ran after him.”

  “I only wanted to protect him,” Angela said.

  Her father silenced her with a look.

  “I followed them for the same reason. When the man turned his gun on me, Raphael and Angela jumped him. They saved my life.”

  He regarded Angela, then Raphael. “You each broke my rule and made the decision to cross that boundary.”

  “It’s my fault,” Raphael said.

  “No, all of you are to blame.” He turned to Gabriel. “But I hold you responsible.”

  Gabriel’s voice grew shrill. “But Raphael—”

  “It’s time for you to take responsibility for the actions of your brother and sister. How can you lead the pack if you can’t lead your younger siblings?”

  Angela loved her father, but she felt herself burning with anger. Gabriel was older than her by minutes, not years. She had her own mind and knew how to make her own decisions. She considered herself responsible.

  Gabriel said nothing.

  Their father turned to Raphael. “If anything ever happens to Gabriel, you’re next in line to lead when I’m gone. You’re old enough now to put childish behavior behind you. Follow his example.”

  Raphael bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

  Their father rose. “I brought you up here to learn about yourselves, to discover how we once were. I think you’ve all learned an important lesson today. Go inside and do your homework. We’re going back to the city tomorrow.”

  Gabriel entered the cabin, followed by Raphael.

  Their father looked at Angela. “Yes, dear?”

  “Don’t I have to be responsible in case I have to lead the pack?”

  He got down on one knee and stroked her hair. “We all have to be responsible for each other; that’s what it means to belong to a pack. But your mother and I have other plans for you.”

  “To have pups,” Angela said with disappointment in her voice.

  “How else can we survive as a species?”

  “Can’t I have pups and lead the pack?”

  He smiled. “I’m not a king. I’m the alpha male. If I pass my mantle to a strong son, the others in the pack will respect that. But if I choose my daughter as my successor, other Wolves would doubt my judgment. Someone stronger than you would challenge you, and you would lose. Is leadership worth dying for?”

  “It isn’t fair.”

  “Nature dictates our roles, not human sentiment. If I could bear children I would, but that’s not how things work. Go inside now.”

  Angela went inside, but she still felt cheated.

  One

  Jonas Tudoro inhaled. Through the black fabric covering his head he discerned a lightbulb glowing in the ceiling. His hands had been zip tied behind his back, his ankles secured to the metal legs of the chair he sat upon. He did not know how long he had been sitting in the room, perhaps forty minutes, after spending hours in the sky. The hood had covered his head the entire trip.

  When the plane landed, his captors had moved him into what he decided was a troop transport truck because of the smell of wet canvas. As the truck growled across the tarmac, his mind told him they had landed on a military base. In what country, he did not know. The plane could have flown to Europe, or it could have remained in the air to confuse him and landed on a base in the States. It did not matter. The only thing that mattered was that he, Father Jonas Tudoro of the Catholic church, had been taken into custody by federal agents at JFK International Airport in Queens, New York, while attempting to escape the country. Now he sat like a common criminal—worse, like a terrorist. Or a caged animal.

  A key rattled in the metal door, which swung open with a loud squeak like a frightened rat. Tudoro heard footsteps. A shadow passed over the hood. A ring of keys landing on a metal table produced a sharp sound that made him wince. Fingertips grazed the crown of his head, and Velcro separated. The hood came loose, and Tudoro blinked in the dingy light. A man came into focus before him: Caucasian, muscular, short brown hair, dressed in a polo shirt and jeans.

  CIA, Tudoro thought. He had expected regular army.

  Th
e man, who had a square jaw and all-American good looks, stepped behind Tudoro and pushed the priest and his chair over to the metal table. He circled the table, his waist narrow and his back wide, and Tudoro saw the empty holster clipped to his belt. He must have turned his gun in as a precaution.

  The man pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat. “Good evening, Father.”

  “Is it? Evening, I mean.”

  “It is in the US. You slept on the plane.”

  “Were you on board too?”

  “No, I get airsick. I try to fly as little as possible. But I heard you slept well.”

  “Where are we?” The room was stuffy. Underground, maybe.

  The man offered a sympathetic smile. “Does it matter?”

  “I’d like to know.”

  “Our location’s classified.”

  “Doesn’t a prisoner have the right to know his prison and captors?”

  “Call me Jim.”

  “That isn’t your name.”

  “No.”

  “What am I being charged with?” Tudoro said.

  “You’re not being charged with any crime. You’re classified as an enemy combatant of the United States of America.”

  “I’ve committed no act against your country.”

  Jim smiled again. “You’ve withheld information vital to the safety of the United States, and the members of your cell went on quite a rampage in New York City.”

  “What do you mean by ‘cell’?”

  “Father, I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t lose sleep over it if I have to remove a few of your teeth and break all your fingers. When you were taken into custody at JFK, you were told we have the laptop used by the Brotherhood of Torquemada. We’ve identified all the members who were killed in Newark, and we can trace your movements around the globe in relation to theirs and to transactions made into their bank accounts. You were one of the ringleaders of this cell. Now they’re all dead, and your superior, Cardinal Delecarte, died in Rome last week. As far as we can tell, you’re the last man standing, and we have a lot of questions.”