Prison Asalus(outside), Sector 12, Earth

Cold winds blow through the trees creating an eerie whistle throughout the starless night.

Faint screaming can be heard from the distance, of those who cannot and will not be saved.

Prison Asalus.

The castle shadows itself over the dark clearing. It’s known for holding supernatural criminals or those who refuse to obey vampire authority. The eerie miniature English castle is where I resided for the last eighteen years of my life and it’s nothing I’d call pleasant in the long run.

It’s run by the former ambassador witch, Kava, who is my handler. The guards below her either consist of volunteers, war veterans, or parolees. I fit only one of those categories, though it’s more for my safety than anything else.

I squint my eyes through the dark, watching the trees sway in front of me and cold drifts of snow land on the frostbitten grass. The dark loom of the prison yards ahead is only a shadow against the full glow of the moon.

The guard besides me shuffles impatiently, sneaking glances at me from time to time. I take a moment to study him, mostly out of boredom.

He’s a head shorter than I am, wearing black, fur-filled armor that barely glistens in the moonlight. The leather piece on his chest and torso almost allows him to blend into his surroundings. If it weren’t for the shining, bristled, black fur glittering in the moon’s glow, or his glossy, dark helmet, he would’ve been undetected.

He turns to me, finally acknowledging me with confidence. His round helmet only shows his deep dark eyes, scrutinizing me. He wears a mask on his lower half of his face, preventing anyone from telling him apart from the rest of our ranks.

He finally speaks, “have you heard of the Undead Hound?”

I immediately respond with a no as I shake my head at the notion. The bristles of the very same armor we share scratching my neck.

“You know, I’ve had my suspicions,” says the man, his voice low.

I stare back unwavering. “Hm?” I blink at him waiting for him to continue.

“You smell like a wet, decaying dog, you know that?” Though his mask covers most of his face, I can see a crease between his eyes identifying the scrunched nose.

“And so?” I raise my brow at him in turn.

“Makes me wonder if the legends are true. I’m sure you heard of them. It’s all over Estonia.”

I shrug, feigning ignorance. “Of what? You’re being rather vague.”

He continues, “an undead dog. Half lycanthrope, half strigoi. An experiment made by The Council to combat the war with their fleabag enemies almost two decades ago. Ring any bells?”

“Yeah, the Grey Dog.” I reply dismissively. “What of it? You don’t expect me to be him, do you?” I chuckle in an attempt to hide my growing irritation.

He chuffs, “well, the smell fits.”

I subtly shake my head at him. “How would you know how I smell? A little pervy, don’t you agree?”

“Sure,” he gives off a short laugh. “But I can smell you even if I were two-hundred miles away. Us supernaturals have a really good sense of smell.” He taps at his nose for more emphasis.

The Grey Dog is a tale that’s eighteen years old. There are many variations of it. Some say it was a warrior within their ranks who slayed the werewolves. Others, an abomination made by the council for their own benefit. The truth is none of those. The truth is that it was a mistake that was used for their advantage only to turn on them.

“I haven’t taken a good bath since the bloody trials,” I sigh, trying to come up with an excuse. “You and I both know how we’ve been out here fending our own for routinely vigils for two days now. You don’t think an old man would get a little smelly.” I say it matter of factly though I mean it to come off as a question.

The man holds up his arms in defense. “I’m just saying.” He looks away from me to the looming shadows. He laughs softly, “eh? What’s your name then?”

I glare at him. “You know it’s against the code to speak our truths.”

There’s a code in place for any guardsman’s safety, since most who work here are criminals who earned their way out of the cells. This man should know the punishments for even daring to ask that question.

His eyes squint as he looks back at me. “Tracey.” He holds out his hand in a greeting gesture but I don’t take it. Instead, I turn away and look ahead. “Now, it’s only fair if you tell me yours.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

I shake my head. “You know how much trouble you’ll be in-“

“I know,” I see him wave his hand in dismissal from the corner of my eye. “They’ll have my head,” he laughs almost boastfully. “But who cares? They wanted us dead from the get go. This is just parole.”

“You really think that, don’t you?”

I smell the hint of fear in the air. I try not to let it raise my hackles and take a deep breath to calm down.

“Don’t worry, captain. It’s fine. Let me guess, old dog. I’ve heard a lot of rumors around the halls.” There’s a pause. “Gratier?”

I feel my skin crawl off my body. My flesh stretches in my hands and bones crack momentarily before I could have a second thought. I quickly took a few deep breaths in order to calm my nerves. I train my eyes on him, smelling the scent of fear stronger than before.

“D-did I,” he gulps and straightens himself abruptly. “Did I hit a nerve?” He looks at my hand that is pressed against my side.

Did he see it morph? I squint my eyes. Probably - from the acrid smell of fear in the air.

“No,” I blink, quickly realizing my stature to be crooked and straighten myself. “Just surprised you got it right.”

“So,” he blinks, his eyes wide. “You are the Undead Dog. What brings you all the way out here?”

I sigh, racking my brain for a proper answer, even considering ripping his skin off his body for breaking the code of anonymity. I could tell him what truly brought me here or threaten his life then kill him just to not deal with it later.

“Wolf, I can’t have another body to explain to the higher ups, so please try to keep things quiet.”

I grunt, remembering Kava's words. Though he did break the code, I can’t punish him here but also can’t trust him to tell anyone else the truth before they execute him either.

I grin.

To the hells, it would be fun to tease him. Tell him what really happened, then skin him here and eat his foul flesh. Not like I can digest real food anyway.

“What’s that look?”

I look down at him and frown. “I was not an experiment, but an accident,” I started.

“What do you mean?” The words seem to fumble from his mouth like trembling leaves.

I try my best not to grin at the stronger rush of fear evading the air and say, “My father, the right hand man of The Council, fell in love with a human. Though, unbeknownst to him, it was a lycanthrope-“

He interrupts me. “What? How? I thought Lycans were only large dogs. I’ve never heard of a humanoid one.”

“The gene of hers was recessive,” I state. “And Lycans descended from the old followers of Hell, so they were human first before they were cursed.”

Lycanthropes are typically large dogs. They’re born human but those who still have the curse running dominant in their veins turn into large, demonic dire wolves during their first full moon. They aren’t dangerous and mind their own. My mom merely avoided this gene and maybe was raised by her lycan parents before meeting my father. The gene passed onto me, making me a strigoi hybrid.

What’s a strigoi?

Strigois are half vampires, usually deriving from blood, but can stand in the sun and are less strong or stronger than their parents. They’re in the category of the living undead. People rotting but can still bleed red and radiate warmth. They are described as normal looking in human standards with a pale complexion.

“Anyway,” I sigh. “They found out after he was killed. My mother died during childbirth, trading her life for mine.”

The man nods, unease radiating off his stance.

“They brought her in during labor. She gave birth to me in the entrance and fell dead immediately. They quickly gathered her body, my father, and I and burned us where we stood.”

Tracey’s eyes widened. “So how did you survive? No creature could survive such a scalding.”

I smirk. “That’s what I’m lost at, too. They heard my cries seconds after the fire went out. They claimed I was a daemon sent from the Hells,” I chuckle and then grimace at the thought. The memory of them sending me out everyday to use me as bait just to come back every time, deforming every trip.

I clench my jaw and instinctively touch my neck under a layer of fur. Only burnt meat lay underneath. I can barely feel my finger rub against it. Despite this deformity, it is hot. Always hot. Always burning.

I shudder.

“And then?”

I blink at him, my vision blurry. “They burnt me again, and again, trying to get rid of me.”

My heart throbs almost painfully in my chest at the thought of murder after attempted murder on just an infant. Unfortunately, I’m a hypocrite for even thinking that way. The things I had to do to appease the people holding my leash always left me with a guilty conscience.

I take a deep breath, “once they couldn’t do that, they used me for their sick experiments. Then, they threw me out in the midst of war to be decoy.”

“The Council said you helped win the war, not to be a sacrificial lamb,” the guard argues. ”They said you were a great warrior that was the bane to the werewolves.”

Werewolves… the lesser version of Lycans. Only able to shift into a man-beast under the full moon, they were once humans so greedy for power they cursed their own bloodline. The Council found this as a threat and declared war on them. It was going on for centuries up until I was thrown in and quelled them, and eventually The Council. I’m sure there are some I missed but they should be a rare breed now.

I shook my head and explained, “that’s because I snapped, and murdered them all. Women. Children. Elderly…” I trail off.

I turn back to the looming shadow and close my eyes, taking in the screams. The curdling, bloody cries echoes in my head as I take a deep breath to empty them.

I open my eyes. “After the bloodshed, I turned on them. I killed them all,” I grit my teeth. “And in the end, it didn’t help the feeling of hunger. It didn’t feed me.”

“So, why are you here? What made you come here?” The shaking is still prominent in his voice.

I shrug. “Someone found me bleeding to death, and brought me back here,” I say plainly.

She did it to use you.

I flinch.

“Are you going to kill me now?” he chuckles nervously.

I look at him. “Well, Tracey, you did break the code, didn’t you? And, I would prefer you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

The sick stench of fear overwhelms me as I see the man’s smile fade. His body almost crumbles. “I promise I won’t tell a soul,” he begs. The upset tone in his voice is almost dizzying.

“Promise?”

“I promise!”

He nearly cries out these words yet, I only smile and say, “it’s unfortunate. I don’t believe you.”

I don’t give him a chance and grab him by his throat. I tear off my helmet showing my rotten face and unhinge my jaws around his head. I feel my bones pop and crack as blood sprays across the now thin snow and splatter onto the frightened man’s face. I close down before he could let out a choked scream.

Savory.

Sweet.

Delicious.

I don’t have time to dawdle on decency.

I’ve been waiting for this for so long.

My face feels hot, my skin feels stretched. Sticky blood everywhere. His and mine. Mingled.

My body burns.

It’s on fire!

My breath hitches in my throat.

I stop.

Everything pops back into place.

I can’t open my eyes.

Expected.

They tingle and I already know why.

“What did I say about eating my guards?”

Kava’s voice is all I need to hear.