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Reardon was about to shift to defend himself against the newly turned wolves, but a moment later, in one unified motion, all four of them lowered their heads to the ground in a show of submission. Silence permeated the forest. No more cries of pain. No more questions. No more accusing glares. Just an allegiance as strong as any blood bond. The human soldiers, as if in a trance, bowed as well just behind the line of wolves.
One word flashed in Reardon’s mind.
One word erased the overwhelming guilt that had threatened to consume him only seconds ago.
One word united his new army.
Alpha.
They recognized him as the leader of this newly formed pack and something swelled in Reardon’s chest. All this time he’d been alone in his ability to shift. A man and yet not a man. Now part of his army was exactly like him.
A large silver-furred wolf was the first to raise its head and approach Reardon. The golden brown eyes were unmistakable.
“Jaemus.” Reardon reached out a tentative hand and breathed a sigh of relief when the wolf nosed his fingers.
His men were stillhismen despite the choice he’d made without their consent.
“We still have a contract to fulfill,” he said. “What say you?”
At their howls of agreement, Reardon partially shifted. His legs, arms, and torso were that of a man, but his head had become a wolf’s, with teeth thirsting for enemy blood. His fingernails had lengthened to deadly claws perfect for gutting a man.
Around him, Jaemus, Kole, Shawn, and Erik shifted in the same manner and picked up their swords and shields as did what remained of his human soldiers. One glance at them and Reardon knew they had become an invincible fighting force. The image of them alone was enough to send men running.
And men running made perfect prey for wolves.
With a roar, Reardon led his army out of the forest and to the river. They crossed easily in the dark night with their enhanced vision. Even the human soldiers appeared to be enhanced though they had not been changed by the rite. When they reached the enemy camp, most of the soldiers were asleep, their weapons close by.
But not close enough.
The descent upon the lambs was flawless. Brutal. Primal.
By the time dawn came, only one army was still standing.
****
“You’ve done well. I knew I could trust your skills.” The Spanish king accepted the sword of the slain enemy chief from Reardon with a grin of approval. “We never would have succeeded without your assistance.”
“It is our calling.” Reardon bowed his head, accepting the king’s praise. He and his men had left no survivors, so any reports of wolfmen attacking died on the battlefield. His own human soldiers hadn’t cared how they’d won. They just wanted their riches. Reardon’s secret weapon was still secret.
“Allow me to deliver the agreed upon compensation for your services.” The king motioned to ten servants nearby who scurried forth, pairs of them toting large, ornately decorated chests which they set at Reardon’s feet. The vessels themselves would fetch a high price regardless of the wealth they contained. “I hope you find this satisfactory.”
Reardon lowered to one knee as Jaemus, Kole, Shawn, and Erik moved in closer behind him. He lifted the lid of one of the chests, his eyes drinking in the sight of gold and jewels heaped high—their largest bounty yet. In all his thirty-eight years, Reardon had never seen so much treasure in one spot.
“Aye, this will do quite nicely,” he said to the king. “You know how to find us should you require our services in the future.”
“I do, and thank you.” It was the king’s turn to bow his head to Reardon and his four most trusted soldiers.
Each of the men easily hefted one of the chests—increased strength among their new abilities—and followed Reardon out of the palace. They doled out the earnings fairly then headed for the ships, the sweet shores of Ireland awaiting their homecoming. When the journey was complete, the first stop was at the nearest tavern where much of the riches were spent on food and drink.
Mostly drink.
The only problem, however, was the thirsts of the men who had been changed didn’t appear to lessen as the drinks were consumed. In fact, throats burned. Mouths remained parched even after jugs and jugs where tossed back. Kole and Shawn attempted to distract from their thirst by eating the juicy legs of lamb the tavern was famous for serving, but their hunger was insatiable.
Frustrated by this strange development, the four men grew agitated, belligerent, aggressive. The owner of the tavern, usually a friend happy to see Reardon’s army, suggested they leave. When the tavernkeeper’s request was met with saliva-ridden snarls, Reardon stood and took control.
“Lads, we have spent enough time here.” He scratched at his left ear where the tip was missing, sliced away in battle a few years ago. “Let us get some fresh air into our lungs.”
At the sound of his voice—their Alpha’s voice—the men abandoned their empty mugs and half-eaten meals and preceded him out of the tavern. Reardon sent the tavernkeeper an apologetic glance before stepping out into the warm night. He led the men to the shore where their ships still bobbed.
