Where Wolves Run: A Novella of Horror Read Online Free Page A

“Now that is not a nice thing to say. And after I just bought you a drink?”His voice was slippery, hissing like a snake. Even in human form, the creature had fangs.
    Konrad’s blood boiled. Joren’s casual dismissal of his crime sizzled like fat in a skillet. If only he had fangs and claws, Konrad would have torn Joren to shreds.
    “You will be damned for what you did,” he said, the words spitting through clenched teeth. He opened his coat, showing off his dagger. “Your time has come.”
    The yellow of Joren’s eyes burned like torches. He stared at Konrad with all the heat and intensity of an inferno. He fell silent. His humor left him.
    Konrad froze. The tension between them rose with the anger welling inside him. Every gram of his being yearned to stab Joren, right then, right there. He had yet to find the courage to draw his blade. His fingers coiled around the hilt of his dagger. His courage would come sooner than later.
    “There will be no trouble in here,” the bartender said. “You both should leave.”
    Konrad broke from Joren’s hypnotic gaze. He had not noticed the bartender approach.
    Joren’s smug grin returned. He flashed it at the bartender and downed his beer.
    Konrad’s beer remained untouched. He scoffed at Joren and headed for the door, hoping the man-beast would take the bait. If Father followed through with his part in their risky scheme, maybe, just maybe, Konrad would not end up food for mongrels.
    Joren followed. Konrad heard his boots clomping upon the floor behind him. He stepped into the brisk night air, a brutal killer trailing at his heels.
    “Here is the first and last lesson I will ever teach you,” Joren began. “Never turn your back to someone you accuse—”
    His words were cut off by the sound of metal against bone. Konrad turned in time to see Joren falling to the ground, unconscious before he hit the dirt. Father stood over him, a shovel ringing like a tuning fork in his hands.
    “Help me lift him,” he said. Konrad hurried over. The street was empty, but the night was young. Passers-by were likely. They had to get Joren into the cart quickly.
    Father ran to the cart and threw the shovel into it. He hustled back to Konrad, who had lifted Joren to a sitting position. They raised the unconscious man to his feet. Father slung him over his shoulder, carried him to the cart, and dumped him in with all the delicacy the beasts had shown Konrad’s mother.
    They covered Joren with the blanket. Konrad hopped in beside him, while his father untied Vulkan. Without another word, they stole away from the inn.

 
    6.
     
    Father drove poor Vulkan as fast as he could over the uneven terrain between Rattenberg and home. The cart creaked and jolted over every bump, threatening to break apart. But it held fast, and they made it home without incident.
    As it turned out, they had little time to spare. A moan resonated through the blanket. The man beneath it stirred.
    “Quickly,” Father said, as he came around to the back of the cart. “We must bind him before he wakes.”
    Konrad jumped out. He and his father each grabbed one of Joren’s arms and yanked him from the cart. They dragged him into the house, his boots carving lines in the dirt.
    “What?” Joren muttered, dazed and drooling. His hat was missing. Blood matted his hair, only partially concealing the shovel-made gash.
    They pulled Joren next to the table. Father released his arm. Joren’s face smashed into the floor. Another moan trickled from his throat, and he started to cough. Konrad propped him against a table leg, while Father circled the board, making sure all clasps were open.
    When he finished, Father helped Konrad roll Joren onto the table. They pushed him into its center. Joren’s eyes were open now, glossy and rolling. His moans grew louder.
    “I will secure his neck first,” Father said. He lifted Joren’s head, positioned it over the open arms of the clasp and dropped it between them. Joren’s head