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Canis faelad, wolf soldier. Brothers of the pack. Bound by blood and the full moon’s silver light. Enter the beasts, behold the power, harness the strength. Canis faelad, wolf soldier.
He drew the water back into the cask, held it up so the moonlight embraced it, and set about offering each of his four closest, fiercest men a drink. When the moon reached its zenith in the black curtain of the night sky, he’d have the champions he needed.
****
Reardon rolled to his back, a sharp rock jutting into his spine. He shifted to sitting and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A glance around the darkness found his men sleeping on the forest floor as he had been. His keen vision could make out their shadowy forms scattered about, and his exceptional hearing detected those that were in pain. He heard each quiet moan on inhales, each strained groan on exhales. Clenching his teeth, he peered up at the full moon, the great white eye staring down at him.
Judging.
Disapproving.
Chastising.
“I had no choice,” he whispered.
Still the moon drilled her light straight into him.
Reardon grunted and lowered back to the ground. He shifted to his side, aiming to catch a few more hours of sleep, but an agonized cry ripped through the night, and he launched to his feet. Sure the Spanish king’s enemies were upon them, he drew his sword and scanned the area with his enhanced sight.
No opponents crashed through the brush.
Another wail of pain rose up, followed by another, another.
When the forest immediately surrounding him was full of strangled screams, Reardon knew what was happening.
“Forgive me, brothers.” He’d made the right decision though. It was the only way his army could continue its reign of success. This was the power boost they needed. The four men in charge just below him would recognize that simple fact. They’d thank him for what he’d done to them. Their loyalty would increase tenfold.
I will be even more powerful as a leader with these warrior werewolves carrying out my orders. My glory will know no bounds.
“What is happening?” Kole asked from Reardon’s left. His voice was more a raspy growl than human.
“My body hurts… everywhere.” Shawn was on all fours, his breathing labored.
Jaemus stumbled to his feet, his arms wrapped around his mid-section as if trying to hold himself together. His brother’s golden brown eyes met Reardon’s with instant understanding.
Of course Jaemus would know.
Reardon’s brother was only a year younger and knew of the ceremony—the rite of passage all Seventh Sons born under the December full moon underwent. Jaemus had been lucky not to be that son, but the look in his golden brown eyes now told Reardon his brother knew his luck had run out.
“What have you done, Reardon?” Jaemus took a few unsteady steps toward Reardon then fell to his knees, cradling his head in his hands. “What have you done?”
Reardon sheathed his sword. “As leader of this army, I did what needed to be done.”
“You’ve damned all four of us.” Jaemus pitched forward, his forearms pressing to the ground as he writhed in pain.
“What is he talking about, Reardon?” Kole supported himself on a nearby tree, his hands clawing into the rough bark and his teeth clenched.
“Don’t be afraid, lads.” Reardon knew he had to take control quickly, or after their first change these men would be tearing each other apart. They had to save that fight for the Spanish king’s enemies so they could collect their payment and be on their way to their next contract. “Relax yourselves. Let the change happen.”
“Change?” Erik swiped his hand across his sweaty forehead, his skin a dull shade of gray. “What change?”
“I’ve given you four a rare ability—an ability that will make us unbeatable.” Yes, he’d given them a… a gift. Only he’d never considered being able to transform into a wolf a gift. It was unnatural. A man should be a man. A wolf, a wolf. The two should never have been able to coexist within one body.
And now he’d passed this on to his most trusted soldiers. His loyal comrades. His brethren—the only brethren he knew. All in the name of wealth and glory.
More tormented cries rose up, filling the night, tearing at Reardon’s soul. The noise was too much to take. He cupped his hands over his sensitive ears, trying desperately to muffle the tortured sounds, but they echoed in his head just the same. His first shift had been the epitome of suffering, but that was nothing compared to watching his faithful men twist in agony, cry out in pain as their bones cracked and reformed. Faces elongated, backs arched, hands and feet became massive paws with sharp claws. Bright white, razor-sharp teeth glowed in the moonlight and eyes flared like candle flames.
By the time the metamorphosis was complete, a pack of four large, muscular wolves stood before Reardon. The rest of the army—still human—looked on in shocked silence, almost as if they were waiting to be torn to shreds.
