The Wolven. Deborah LeBlanc
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found them, and the condition of their bodies when found. He also told August about his decision to hide the bodies so passersby wouldn’t stumble on them, and that he’d summoned Andy Saville to help with the transfer after dark.
Hearing it all again, Shauna’s anger sparked anew. She still couldn’t believe someone had actually killed the young weres. The emotions hammering her must have been minuscule in comparison to August’s, though. As he listened to Danyon, the elder’s eyes went from powder blue to cobalt. His lips drew into a thin, tight line. Shauna noticed his neck muscles ripple; then, like a wave in motion, that ripple traveled across his chin and up to his cheeks. He was fighting transformation.
Ever since Shauna was a child, she’d known August to be master over his human form and his werewolf identity. Not once had she ever seen his emotions overtake him and the transformation occur spontaneously. He had always been in control. It was understandable that August would be upset about the were deaths, but for the news to have this great an effect on him, there had to be more going on in his head than processing what he’d just heard.
Danyon leaned across the table. “I plan on examining the bodies more closely before they’re returned to their families. Something—”
“Have them taken to my lake house in LaPlace,” August said sharply. “I want to see them for myself. Do you remember how to get there?”
“Of course.”
“Wasn’t that house damaged during Hurricane Katrina?” Shauna asked.
“Yes, but it’s been renovated, and I had a large workshop built beside it. Forty by forty, plenty of fluorescent lighting. Andy can bring Nicole and Simon there. I’ll take care of notifying the families, as well. Although I’d be surprised if news hasn’t already reached them by now.” August turned to Danyon. “You were about to say more before I interrupted. Please continue.”
“Just that something occurred to me when I was on my way here.”
“Yes?”
“Well, Nicole and Simon had obvious wounds from being declawed and defanged, but I didn’t notice anything that specifically pointed to the cause of death. No gunshot wound or blunt force trauma. There was a lot of blood, but I don’t believe either of them bled out. The silver wire used on Nicole—and I suspect on Simon, as well—definitely did some damage. Burned right through fur, flesh and muscle. But as torturous as that sounds, I don’t believe that’s what caused Nicole’s death. Simon’s either. They may have been stabbed, but I won’t know that for sure until I examine the bodies. But, August, the bigger question is how is it possible that both remained in were-state after they died? I’ve never witnessed that before. Never even heard it was possible. Have you?”
August bowed his head, pushed away from the table and slowly got to his feet. He walked over to an occasional table that stood against a far wall beneath a six-foot painting of St. Louis Cathedral. On the table sat a crystal pitcher filled with ice water and surrounded by six crystal tumblers. August filled one of the tumblers with water, lifted it to his lips and drank slowly until it was drained.
Shauna had never seen August act this way, and it frightened her.
After setting the empty glass back on the occasional table, August turned toward them. His face had gone from grave to gray. “Yes, I have witnessed the phenomenon before.”
He walked back to the head of the conference table, but instead of sitting, he paced slowly back and forth, like a lecturer preparing to give a speech. When August finally spoke, his voice was low and distant, the voice of a man pulling up a memory that he would prefer not disinter. “I witnessed the kind of death you mentioned nearly six decades ago. I was in Romania at the time. A group of local weres had captured a rogue were—a wolven, as it happened—who’d been responsible for the mutilation and deaths of three human children. He was brought before the were-council, and it didn’t take long for them to pronouce him guilty and sentence him to death. I concurred with the council’s decision, of course, as did the magistrate who was serving at the time. But the magistrate wanted the rogue’s execution to be as severe as his crime.”
August took a deep breath, stopped pacing, and faced them. “He had the rogue bound in silver and steel, then beaten relentlessly while the silver burned through his flesh. Of course that intense pain created the emotional state that was needed to force his transformation. As soon as the transformation was complete, he was stripped of his claws and fangs.”
“I don’t understand,” Shauna said. “How did that serve as an execution? Did he bleed to death?”
“No. The manner of death was far worse. You see, there is a metaphysical power inherent to a werewolf’s claws and fangs. That power is so potent that when they are torn abruptly from the body, the were undergoes a molecular restructuring.”
“How so?” Danyon asked.
“The cells of the body begin to pressurize, which automatically seals the body in were-state,” August explained. “The cells continue to pressurize until the body mimics a pressure cooker, except without a release valve. Eventually the pressure becomes so great that the were’s heart literally bursts.”
Shauna slumped in her chair, overwhelmed by the thought of such a horrible death. She glanced over at Danyon. He was sitting ramrod straight, hands on the table, his fingers laced together and white-knuckled. The expression on his face looked treacherous, hard and cold.
“Believe me,” August continued, “even back then, I
was no innocent regarding death. I had seen far too many die in battle. But I will never forget the sounds of agony that came from that rogue. It was, and still is, indescribable. It affected everyone who was there, every council member. Even the magistrate.” August looked over at the portrait of the cathedral, kept his gaze there. “That wolven screamed … pleaded. He cried for mercy so loudly … I didn’t think any being had the vocal capacity to produce such volume. And it would change from howls to human screams to … something …”
August turned to them, his eyes dull with sadness and regret. “The look of terror on that rogue’s face … if ever a being looked death square in the face, he did. That look remained on his face even after his heart burst, as though even death itself gave him no relief.”
Shauna leaned forward, put a fist to her mouth and slowly shook her head. She couldn’t imagine Nicole and Simon suffering that way.
August returned to his chair. He looked utterly drained.
They sat in silence, everyone seemingly at a loss for words.
Shauna’s mind played reruns of Nicole and Ian at the shop. The two laughing—talking—holding hands. Nicole’s smile, how it flashed in her eyes and lit up her face.
“Why them, August?” Shauna asked quietly. “I didn’t know Simon very well, but Nicole … she wasn’t a threat to anyone. Why them?”
The elder shook his head. “Chances are it had little or nothing to do with whether or not they were threats. My guess is that Simon and Nicole were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Random killings? In that manner? Then it would have to be someone who knew about the molecular restructuring. Still, why would they choose that manner of death? There are easier ways to kill a were. Are we dealing with a lunatic? Somebody who gets his kicks from seeing others suffer?”
“I don’t think it’s a lunatic or someone killing for recreation,” August said. “The metaphysical power in the claws and fangs can affect others, as well. Not just the victim. Because of its potency, it only has to be ingested by another being, and he or she becomes empowered with the same traits as a werewolf. Not transformation, but strength, speed, agility, heightened senses, even sexual prowess.”
Shauna spotted Danyon throwing a glance her way.
Then he cleared his throat and asked, “How would someone ingest claws and fangs?”
“By pulverizing