Hair of the Wolf Read Free Page A

out, shinning despite the dark. Despite the shifting of her body, she still only stood 5'6". Finally the claws were out. “I remember your smell. Decay. Death. Milk and honey. Sweet rot.”
    “Good,” the Vampire idly flicked at the blood. It was a surprise to run into Tabitha here on the streets of New York. This wolf pup was one that was marked for torture. “You should remember me. And I must say, I’m pleased at how much control you are showing over the change. I haven’t seen one as young as you with that much finesse in my four hundred years. I’ve only heard rumors of one; a thousand years ago. Good for you youngling!”
    “Bitch. Kill you.”
    “Now, now. When I slaughtered your family in front of you, it wasn’t so that you could throw your life away this early. Mature some. Learn. Refine your skills, my pet.”
    The werewolf launched herself at the vampire.
    ***
    Loki the Coyote
    Morning fog gathered around the God, obscuring him. Pain and disillusionment flavored the air, the reek of a young man disenfranchised with his lot in life.
    The alley … Loki whispered to the fog.
    Glancing furtively around, the boy paused, trying to pierce the depths of the waiting corridor.
    There was a resonance between this alley here in London and the alley in New York. That bitch Lilith was controlling New York, only she wasn’t. She forced Loki to use his powers, draining his essence, while she sat and watched. He grinned. She was awesome.
    Focusing on a memory, Loki stretched his fingers out. The ghost of a pearl appeared in his palm, coalescing from the fog. He blew gently on it. Candescent lights flared in the pearl in response to his breath, and the stone dissipated into dust drifting down the alley.
    Loki couldn’t return the Angel’s memories in full without alerting Lilith, and he was sure she was at least partially right. The Angel’s corruption, the madness, would be purged with his memories being stolen. But he needed the roots of who he was.
    Loki smiled softly as the dust vanished. The fog pulsed and shadows peeled away. The pearl, fully formed, drifted through the air until it settled gently in Loki’s outstretched palm.
    ***
    Skid
    Skid stood in the mouth of the alley that ran behind the Westminster Chapel. His languid gaze casually strolled both ways, trying to pierce the damp fog that shrouded the London nightlife around him. He couldn’t see any cozzers patrolling the area, not that Old Bill was all that bright; if he couldn’t see them, then they couldn’t see him. He grinned.
    A manky trollop quickly walked past him, speeding her pace near the mouth of the alley, wrapped in a thick fake fur coat with her shoulders slumped. She gave the impression that she was ragged and beaten, and didn’t care enough to show her wares on this cold night.
    Her jaded and tired eyes quickly looked him up and down—sizing him up as she passed. But she saw only a fourteen-year-old scrote wearing torn jeans, a ripped shirt, and a frayed gray trench. To top it all off was a mop of unruly black hair that made him look like he had just been jolted by a live battery. He was definitely not a punter to her, at least not for a few more years.
    Then she looked back to the pavement before her feet, not wanting to stare too long—afraid of baiting him into attacking her.
    He thought about rolling her for a moment, but shrugged the idea off. Juicing the street walkers always pissed off the pimps, and they were real trouble. Those guys where colder than ice and they would as soon slit your throat as look at you. Besides, she had obviously been at her job for far too long and was losing what looks she may have once had. The hag probably wouldn’t have much dough on her anyway.
    The slags were always fairly broke—but they stayed alive because there was always some guy who couldn’t afford to buy anything better. Skid laughed quietly to himself, thinking about how dulled the streets made the world seem, especially at