The Legend of the Werewolf

The Legend Of The
Werewolf

Mandy Rosko

Mike Carter is a psychic detective in a
city that’s not supposed to exist, but he needs a break. When the
woman he loves gets married to someone else, he decides to go back
home to try and connect with his estranged family.

That’s put on hold when he has a
terrifying vision and is attacked by a powerful sorcerer, who also
happens
to be
a psychotic killer. When he thinks his number is up, a beautiful
woman comes to his aid. She’s a werewolf, and she has every
intention of kidnapping Mike and taking him back to her
pack.

Anne believes she’s found the missing link
in werewolf history in Mike, and she is such a believer in the
legends that she’s not willing to let him leave. Mike wants to find
out why he’s wanted for dead, and what the werewolf legend really
means, and with Anne’s help, she’ll pull him into a world even he
didn’t know existed.

The Legend of the Werewolf

Published by Mandy Rosko at
Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Mandy Rosko

Discover more books by Mandy Rosko at
her website:

Rizzorosko.com

Smashwords Edition, License
Notes

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This is a work of fiction. All of the
characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are
either products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Thank you for your support.

ONE

A small bar somewhere in
California

Mike Carter tilted his head back,
swallowed his shot of whiskey. He contemplated getting back in his
car, turning around and going home while he was still sober enough
to drive.

He looked at the clock, then called to the
bartender and ordered another. Fuck it, he'd get a room and sleep
before getting on the road again. He kind of wanted to get drunk
anyway, let the alcohol blur everything away.

Anything to put off the visit to his
family.

Mike had taken some much needed
vacation time and left Griffon City. He hadn’t planned to make the
trip to California to visit his family until after the woman he
loved had settled down with someone else.

He hoped Jackie was enjoying planning
her wedding to McKane. The lucky fucking bastard.

Goddamn. Losing her stung. Though she’d
promised to always be his friend and all that shit, he needed to
make himself scarce for the wedding.

Watching Jackie prepare to have
a family with vampire boy made Mike think about his own family. He
hadn’t seen them in years. It was time to make peace. The problem
was that
they
were the ones to kick him out.

But
, he was tired of having nothing. He also
wanted to see how his little brother was doing. Bud had been just a
little kid when Mike left. Maybe he, at least, would be happy to
see Mike return.

Now, with several depressing drinks
inside him and maybe an hour or so left before he reached his
destination, driving the day and a half back to his empty apartment
seemed appealing.

Fuck. Courageous Officer Carter scared
of facing the family that disowned him.

Mike tipped his hat up with the rim of his
glass and rested his hot forehead against the cool sweat building
there.

He
really
needed to relax. Perhaps, a little fun was
in order. Mike lifted his head and scanned the bar.

The place was mostly empty against the
slow country music playing in the background. It was a weeknight
and most people had to work in the morning. However, that didn't
stop the patrons who were in the bar from drinking.

Of the few women he saw, one who
drank alone and appeared to be in her sixties and another who
celeb
rated
her twenty-first birthday with two of her girlfriends—though he
doubted it was her first time having a drink—only one caught his
eye.

Late twenties, slim with pale, blonde hair
that had a slight curl to it, rose-pink lips and big, blue eyes.
Nice.

The problem was that she already had
the attention of two men focused solely on her.

Her thick hair framed her heart shaped
face as she quietly spoke to her companions. Her voice was so low
he couldn't catch what she said, her face and eyes were alight, as
though she were having a passionate discussion.

Mike squinted for a better look. One of
the men, who nodded along intently with what she said, could very
well be related to her. A twin even, considering the hair color and
shade of skin.

His pale hair was cut short and gelled to
spike out at the top of his forehead. Though he and the woman were
both sitting, he estimated that they were of the same height. And,
while he wore a blue striped shirt compared to her white tank, they
both sported jeans that were fading at the stress
points.

The other man couldn't have been more
different. The fact that he was sitting in this bar meant that he
was of age, but barely.

Baggy, black jeans were accented with a
metal chain around his waist. His spiked hair matched his blood-red
T-shirt, which revealed a red, European-style, dragon tattoo on his
arm.

As if sensing his eyes on her, the woman
stopped talking and turned her head in movie-style slow motion,
looking directly at him.

As his
eyes met her blue ones, lust shot
through him like lightning. Her mouth dropped at the shock of being
watched. Then she smiled, revealing sexy white teeth.

He smiled back, mentally telling his cock
to relax for a few more minutes.

This was looking promising
already.

Both men turned to see where her attention
had gone. The one with ruby red hair glared fire at him. The blond,
who looked like he could be her brother, nudged his friend with his
elbow. It worked and the riled up kid turned his attention back to
the conversation they were having with the woman.

Mike caught sight of a crescent-moon
birthmark on the blond man's right cheek. He froze.

Werewolf.

What was a werewolf doing in this
bar?

Curious, Mike attempted to dip into their
thoughts. Something he usually tried to avoid, but he had had
enough alcohol to take care of ethical apprehension.

He couldn't get far into any of their
heads. Figured.

The woman and the punk rocker
kid may or may not be wolves, but they were definitely
something
. Rocker Kid and Twin Brother were also adamant that he
stay the hell away from the woman. He could tell that much without
seeing into their heads.

Hopes of hot, sweaty, fleshy sex shot
to shit, Mike returned to his drink.

Bloodthirsty
thought
s—like
someone was hungry enough to kill and eat the corpse—slithered
through Mike’s head. He leapt from his chair just as it exploded
and fiery splinters showered around him.

The patrons screamed, shoving their chairs
back with a screech as they swarmed to the exit, pushing against
each other in an effort to squeeze out of the suddenly too small
doors.

Mike rolled to his knees and lifted his
head. Another ball of fire, much like the first, flew at him like a
meteor.

He rolled to the side, hearing the crash
before he saw the hole it blew into the counter behind him. Flaming
wood chips flew into his face like burning matches. He shielded his
eyes with his arm.

He took shelter behind one of the
overturned tables, put his back to it. His hand went for his gun
holster and found it missing.

Oh, yeah. Vacation. No
weapons.
Son
of a bitch
.

The laughing voice of his attacker made
him grit his teeth. "You will not escape me this time."

This time?
"Listen pal, I’m not sure what
your problem is, but I've never seen you before in my life." Which
was true, in fact. He had yet to see what the guy looked like at
all. He was too busy getting out of the way of heavy
fire.

Mike lifted himself enough to gaze over
the table. No sign of any patrons injured or otherwise. Maybe
someone called the local law enforcement. Good.

He couldn't see his attacker.
Bad.

He had to move. There weren't many
places a man could hide in such a small place, but he stayed low as
he made his way back to the bar.

The suspect was still out of sight.
Mike strained his ears but detected no sounds of footsteps. He
snatched his black Stetson from the floor and returned it to its
rightful place on his head. The fact that it hadn't been burned in
all the blasting was a miracle. It was his favorite hat.

The hairs of the back of his neck
fizzed and stood on end.

"A thousand years and you still haven't
changed."

Mike spun and launched his heavy fist at
the ratty voice whispering into his ear, hitting only
air.

He unclenched his hand and stared
stupidly at the empty space.

Right. The guy had magic. Mike
should've seen this coming, but the ability to appear and disappear
like that wasn't common.

"You must be a pretty strong guy
to do magic like that," Mike called
out.

A long, pointed shard of wood from a bar
stool sat on what was left of the bar. He picked it up and held it
close, ready to use it if needed. "Must have a lot practice. Years
of honing the craft."

He didn't believe for a second what this
psychopath said about a thousand years. Even vampires didn’t live
so long. Mike had come across a few crazies in his career, none of
which have ever believed they were immortal.

"No matter how many times I kill you,
you always return."

Mike spun again, holding the
stake out to strike but this time the man stood well out of
reach
, not
bothering to teleport himself anywhere.

Now that Mike could see
him
, he could
say with complete certainty that he was not familiar with
him.

The man was short, around
five-five, with thinning, black hair that he gelled over his
balding head. Loose-fitting, black robes hung over his body like
something out of
Harry Potter
. He linked his long fingers together in front of him,
staring calmly, as though the destruction lying around his feet
didn’t exist.

Mike’s body remained tense, waiting for
a fight. "Where did you come from?"