Part One: Alpha Legacy
Written by Brianna West
Mad Dog Nova
We’d tracked the snake across state lines and into abandoned land. Farther than we initially intended, but I wasn’t the type to play tag-team with another hunting pack. And without Bo’s superior nose, we would’ve suffered the fate of so many before us.
This devil incarnate evaded some of the best hunting groups in all of the Blood Claw.
Not ours.
Not this time.
I was the son of one of the strongest werewolves who’d ever fought in the Uprising. I was the bloodline of the great Mad Dog Jonathan. The same wolf who destroyed Dominic, second-hand and only brother to the Dark Brothers King.
The legacy of my father, who died in a stand-off with one of the worst Royal vampires to ever walk the earth, was something I took the utmost pride in. It was something that served as my strength and perseverance whenever I faced harsh conditions and difficult marks. No matter what, I’d do the Mad Dog name proud.
When I was named Alpha to my own pack of wolves, I chose the name Mad Dog. It was my legacy. My birthright. And for one hundred years, it was the name vampires all across the world uttered in both distaste and fear.
Every vampire knew that they were as good as dead once Mad Dog and his pack were out to claim their heads.
“Nova, forty klicks and we’ll be right on top of him,” Bo announced, nose to the ground and crouched with his sharp nails inches deep into the ground. The gruesome scar that separated my long-time friend’s face made him look far tougher than the pup was.
Bo was a real softie at heart.
We were minutes from dusk, and if we didn’t get to the elusive snake, he’d disappear into the night and leave us the same as all the previous hunting packs. Oh, we’d find him eventually, but I didn’t relish a long mission and neither did my packmates. So, we were working on borrowed time. Covering forty klicks of space would require full transformation.
“I’m going to eat his face,” Dan grumbled angrily, already tearing apart his lame 80s t-shirt to prepare for transformation.
The dude was a massive Michael Jackson nerd and even wore his signature Thriller jacket whenever he could. The poor guy preferred eyeliner and hair gel to actual fashion sense.
No matter how often Ric or Bo teased him about how ridiculous he looked, or how he’d been forced to replace his favorite jacket time and time again due to mission conditions or collateral damage in a fight, Dan insisted on continuing the sad trend of both jacket and hummed lyrics whenever he got the chance.
“I’m going to grab him by the throat, and then I’m going to eat his face,” Dan repeated with an eagerness befitting a five-year-old child. “Can’t wait to see his eyes go round as saucers when he realizes I’m going to do it while the bastard is still alive. Well, as alive as an undead motherfucker can be.”
Our mark was responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths across the greater part of Canada and North America. Worse still, the vampire had a penchant for the young ones and almost always tortured them before bleeding them dry.
I understood Dan’s desire for excruciating vengeance, but our objective was simply to annihilate our target, then return to Blood Claw base.
I grunted, already resigned to the crazy shit that came out of Dan’s mouth. Had to hand it to the wolf, he was imaginative with his torture aspirations.
“No one is eating anyone’s face.”
“Just a little nibble?”
“Why would you even want to nibble a vampire’s face? I’m confident that would leave a lasting taste of gross in your mouth,” Ricardo, better known as Light Foot, mumbled in disgusted dismay.
Unlike Danny-Boy, Ric actually knew how to dress to impress.
“I wouldn’t risk it, bro. Not even for a hundred bucks,” Light foot added, amber eyes beaming from under a think band of eyelashes.
Also unlike Dan, Ric bewitched every woman we came in contact with, and it often put me in the middle of their childish arguments over who got dibs. One of the many joys of being their so-called Alpha.
“Should’ve called you Pussy Foot, Ric. You’re all bark, no bite. Besides, what about two hundred? Bet you couldn’t get a nibble in before me,” Dan teased, already knowing his packmate was both money hungry and gambling addicted.
Light Foot took a second to think, his dark hair and caramel-colored skin glowing in the dying daylight. “Well, two hundred bucks is two hundred bucks, I suppose. I’ll take that bet, you sick motherfucker.”
Bo rolled his eyes in defeat. “Your lack of conviction is outright astounding, Light Foot.”
I growled low in my throat in warning. “Enough.”
With my eyes aimed at the sinking sun, I ended the childish banter with all the authority I owned. “We’re losing daylight. No face eating. No arguing. No dilly-dallying. Quietly. Quickly. Our objective is to take this vamp down, and to do it without incident.”
“Yes, Mad Dog!” they all hollered in unison, then beat their chests in respect.
The other three voiced a short, rallying howl before discarding their clothes to the floor and taking to their beast forms.
To be continued…
