Support your local werewolf! Like our page. Find out books on line at Amazon, Barns and Noble and all fine book sellers!!! WE ENJOY YOUR COMMENTS! THE ANGRY MAN AND THE WEAVER: RE-IMAGINING THE ODYSSEY WENT TO THE PUBLISHER THIS WEEK! We are in a great mood! Below is a previously un posted chapter from our current novel The Lunar Wolf Chronicles: Marys Tale Chapter 28 Hunters Moon Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war! —Shakespeare, from Julius Caesar We spent the next week preparing for our assault of the Koker Building. We used a winch to load the giant backpack holding Hercules’s war club into the back of Van’s 4×4 Toyota truck. Van completed the demon-horn saber he had been making for me. It was almost identical to his but had a top guard that curved forward, and the bottom curved backward. It seemed to sing different tones when I swung it at various angles; I liked the way it felt in my hand. We kept them under the bed. There were scabbards built into the packs for the swords. At the size we would be, they would be more like large, thin knives than swords. We speculated that this would be all we needed. Our natural attributes and Van’s knowledge of sorcery would be our primary armaments. The remainder of the space inside would be saved for objects we might take from our enemies. We would put the pack with the swords and war club in the truck bed. We decided to drive to a wooded area a few miles from the target building. The truck would enter the woods, where we could hide it with a camouflage net; after the transformation we’d terminate the mercenaries and then breach the building. Van got some topographical maps and architectural blueprints for the building. We pored over them, planning our strategy. We went out on his Harleys and scouted out the area. I felt as if I were cheating because mine had an automatic transmission; I had never learned how to ride. We found that recent activity had disturbed the ground; brush was bent over, and tire tracks were obvious. It was easy for him to pick out the only place where an ambush was possible. Having been an expert tactician in many wars, this came as second nature to him. I marveled at how he could read the landscape from the maps or from our scouting and determine where men would go, hide, and attack from. He found a cache of fully automatic M-16s, rocket-propelled grenades, and metal ammunition boxes. He smiled when he discovered that these were filled with silver bullets. “These will be like water pistols to us,” he scoffed. They intended to lure him into clearing behind a copse of thick trees and then cut him off and form a “kill box.” However, they were expecting only Van, not both of us. I reasoned that turnabout is fair play. We continued to strategize. Van would enter their kill box and engage them. Once they were focused on him, I would attack from their rear. It was simple and would be brutally effective. We were much more concerned about the dark magician skulking in the building. I found myself anticipating it in the same way I had looked forward to Christmas morning when I was a child. I felt a thrill at facing these hired killers, and my mouth actually watered in anticipation. I was even enthusiastic about facing the necromancer and pitting my strength against his magic. On October 15, my body began to respond to the waxing moon. Van apprised me that the change would be unlike my first; it would not be gradual or painful. I would experience a “quickening” throughout the day, and then I would burst into my she-wolf when the moon rose. I found myself quivering with pleasure at the thought of moonrise at 7:25 p.m. As the day wore on, I noticed aggressiveness and irritability creeping over me. Although my senses had been growing more acute over the entire month, the world seemed to be intruding on me. I couldn’t go near the kitchen sink because the smell of the cleaners grated on me to the point that I wanted to smack them across the room. My vision became almost like a zoom lens, and I could focus on almost microscopic detail. About three in the afternoon I saw a jackrabbit in the woods and had to stifle the urge to chase it. I could see that Van was similarly affected, but he was better practiced in coping with it. At 6:00 p.m., we got into the truck, and Van eased the 4×4 onto the highway. Before he accelerated, we gave each other knowing smiles. “We used to smile like this before we got into mischief in Rome, didn’t we?” I asked. “Yes,” he answered. “We would sneak away from the guards and sometimes play tricks on my mother and Vincus, or make love in semi public places.” He accelerated in the opposite direction of Gainsburg. “We’ll be on the outskirts of Upton in a half hour. I’ll drive the truck into the woods, and we will hide it.” I felt a tinge of delighted anticipation in my stomach. A cool rush of air cascaded though the side windows, and I could detect the subtle lowering of the temperatures as the sun began to set. I could see the roses and pinks of the billowing clouds beginning to swathe the sun. Golden streams of light stretched out to hug the earth. I could discern the scents of different cars that had preceded us, as well as the scents of their individual occupants. The monotone of the highway’s melody was somehow comforting. The landscape became thick woodland, and I saw a sign that said “Upton 5 miles.” We came to an opening in the trees, and Van eased the Toyota off the road and concealed it in a small cluster of young birches. Moving like one person, we covered it with a camouflage net and attached loose branches to it. We disrobed and hugged under a blanket as we awaited Grandmother Moon. This would be the second time I had turned. I swallowed hard, full of anticipation. The moon peeked over the distant mountains and slowly turned from a semicircle into a globe. At the point where it cleared the horizon and darkness could be seen between it and the earth, I felt a hot current rushing up my back. A swelling and expansion became a sensation of soaring upward. I cried, “Yes!” and my shout turned into a howl. I found myself staring at my grisly colossus, who looked at me humorously. His rolling voice murmured, “You enjoyed that a little too much.” I laughed and quietly replied, “Your whispering sounds like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.” He chortled, and then a muzzle formed on his face. I imitated him. We then shouldered our behemoth backpacks. We caught the scent of twenty men of various races, metal, oil, and gunpowder about a mile north. Although the fighters whispered, we could distinguish every word as if they were just in front of us. Half were about fifteen yards in front of the others. Without a thought, we were drawn in that direction, and I felt as though I were ice skating. And then there was the exhilaration of the hunt. We slipped through the thicket, every sense at peaked readiness. We left no trace, not even the cracking of a leaf. Only after our passing did the keenest night birds pipe their warnings. It took mere seconds to cross a half mile just before the bottleneck. At this distance from a clearing in the woods, I held back... #horror #horrorbook #Wolfchronicles #lunarChronicles #werewolf #wolfman #horrorpunk #supernatural #paranormal #HistoricalFiction #curses #demons #possession #vikings #norsemen #newbooks #JimButcher #StevenKing #annrice #GreekGods #Hercules #AncientGreeks #ghosts #ghosthunters #ZakBaggans youtube/watch?v=YNieysjSZW4
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 23:29:01 +0000
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