Two Mates for a Magistrate (9 page)

Wolfram got out of bed and cast aside his apprehension. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t leave his men to die at the hands of the feral.

“Where are you going?” Dietrich asked.

“After him, of course,” Wolfram answered calmly as he dressed.

He could tell his mates would protest.

Just like he’d guessed, Fritz frowned at him. “Do you even know where he is?”

Wolfram didn’t want to lie, so he said nothing. He preferred to keep Joseph’s location a secret from Fritz. The human had no business being involved in this. If Sebastian and Marcus were correct, Joseph wanted Fritz, and Wolfram would die before he allowed that to happen.

He turned toward his second mate. “Dietrich, you stay with Fritz.

It’s not safe for him to be alone.”

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“I’m not a fucking damsel in distress,” Fritz fumed. “I can take care of myself.”

Wolfram didn’t doubt his mate’s words were true in normal circumstances. A man with Fritz’s build would have no trouble dealing with usual troublemakers. Even so, in the world of the spirit wolves, Fritz remained vulnerable. “I know that, but you’re not a wolf, Fritz. You can’t win against them.”

Fritz gritted his teeth and looked away. Wolfram shared another look with Dietrich and then left the room. Dietrich followed him up to the exit of the apartment. “Take care of yourself,” he said.

“You, too, Dietrich. Always stay at Fritz’s side.”

Dietrich nodded wordlessly and after one final embrace, Wolfram slipped outside and into the night. He retrieved his cell phone and speed-dialed Klaus. He knew his reinforcements shouldn’t be too far behind, but the delay concerned him. Could something have happened to the guards Klaus was supposed to send?

“My Lord, you’re all right,” Klaus said in place of a greeting. “I was so worried when I didn’t receive word from the men.”

“They never got here, Klaus,” Wolfram replied. “Something’s amiss. There’s a feral hunting us, and he has Sebastian and Marcus.”

The decision in his voice must have tipped Klaus off. “My Lord…

You can’t be planning to face him alone. It’s too—”

Wolfram interrupted Klaus before the man could say anything else. He’d taken this decision, ignoring Grant Hart’s offer for help. He could do this. He was the Magistrate, and his people relied on him.

“I’ll be fine. Look into the location of the men.”

He snapped his phone shut and put it in his jacket. His thoughts already on the battle to come, he headed toward the cathedral.

* * * *

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As Dietrich led Wolfram out, Fritz fumed to himself. His mates were dreaming if they thought they could keep him sheltered here in the apartment while Wolfram went out to face Joseph on his own.

Fritz knew Joseph didn’t play fair. The man surrounded himself with all sorts of dubious individuals and used them for his own purposes. When Fritz first figured out Joseph’s nature, he’d broken things off. Joseph hadn’t taken rejection lightly, and the ensuing fight gave Fritz a measure of what Joseph could do. Sure, Wolfram would be a match for Joseph’s strength, but God only knew how many others the feral would bring into this.

But this time, werewolf or not, Joseph would not win. Fritz wouldn’t allow it. He pulled on a pair of jeans and then opened his wardrobe. The very last drawer held a hidden box, something Fritz didn’t even look at any more. Fritz retrieved the box and removed the lid.

The weapon was old now, but it looked just like the day when Fritz received it as an heirloom. His grandfather left it to him, a relic dating from Nazi Germany and World War Two. Fritz didn’t like weapons much, but he couldn’t have grown up as a Bauer and not know how to use a gun.

Technically speaking, he shouldn’t have kept it. He didn’t have a license for it, but he’d never once thought he’d have to resort to it.

After all, the MP 40 had been meant for war zones, not the small town of Trier where few things ever happened. However, he needed it now.

A war was taking place, yes, between the spirit wolves and the ferals.

Fritz had chosen his side, and he would fight using this weapon, redeeming it from its sins.

Ammo for the submachine gun wasn’t exactly difficult to find, and Fritz had kept bullets close in hand, just in case. Taking a deep breath, he retrieved it from its case. It was said that guns were a coward’s weapon, but sometimes, one just needed to even the odds somehow. If he couldn’t help Wolfram with his fists, he’d do so with bullets.

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He cleaned the gun thoroughly, ensuring it would be safe for use.

Dietrich reentered the room just as Fritz readied himself to load it.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Preparing for battle, of course,” Fritz replied. “I trust you’ll be able to find Wolfram.”

Dietrich nodded, but glowered at him. “It’s not safe for you.”

Fritz snorted. “I’m a grown man. I’m not going to cower behind you.” He finished loading the gun and pointed it at his mate. He didn’t intend to shoot, of course, but he just wanted to show he meant business. “Now, are you going to help, or do intend to make things difficult?”

Dietrich sighed. “Okay. We’re going after Wolfram. But you stay behind me and don’t do anything rash, all right? I’m not even sure that thing will help.”

“It’s a machine gun,” Wolfram pointed out. “Of course it will help.”

“Spirit wolves aren’t as vulnerable to guns as humans,” Dietrich explained. “I may not know much about us, but I have been shot before. It was unpleasant, but not so dangerous.”

Fritz gaped at his mate, but quickly recovered. “Even if it doesn’t kill them, it’ll slow them down.” Or so he told himself. He needed to trust their chance because otherwise, he’d lose his nerve.

“So you think Joseph has others with him?” his mate asked.

“I’m sure of it. Joseph doesn’t know the meaning of fair play.”

Dietrich looked glum and hesitant. Clearly, he didn’t want to draw Fritz into an unstable, dangerous situation, but neither could they leave Wolfram alone.

Fritz offered him a smile he did not feel. “Come on. We can’t be late for the party.” He didn’t say it outright, but he pleaded with Dietrich to push his doubt aside. Fritz was part of this, too. After all, Joseph had been his boyfriend once.

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In the end, Dietrich didn’t protest further. They finished dressing and left Fritz’s apartment. Fritz followed after Dietrich in silence, the gun a comforting weight in his pocket.

Trier’s largest churches loomed ahead. Dietrich nodded toward them. “Wolfram is that way,” he whispered.

As they approached the imposing structures, a weird sensation trickled over Fritz’s spine. He felt as if they were being watched, and the eerie silence seemed heavy, filled with a sort of ghostly tension.

There was no one around, a fact that surprised Fritz. Even in the dead of night, Trier remained in many ways a tourist attraction, and there were always young people around on the streets, perhaps not very numerous, but in significant numbers nevertheless. The emptiness now characterizing the main Trier streets reminded him of a cemetery, not of a beautiful German town.

The door to the Dom St. Peter was cracked open. Many times, Fritz had come here to find solace and comfort, but now, it seemed dark and hostile. Still, he knew his mate would be somewhere in the church, and he wouldn’t allow fear to deter him from his quest.

Dietrich growled lowly in his throat, reminding him to remain on alert at all times.

Together, they snuck inside, knowing stealth was most likely wasted on the occasion. Fritz would bet money Joseph already sensed their presence. Even a year back, during their relationship, the man had always known Fritz’s location and plans. Joseph’s paranormal nature explained it all. But in spite of this knowledge, something told Fritz to move forward, strengthening his conviction and resolve. Fritz shared a look with Dietrich and offered him a small smile. They could do this.

Taking a deep breath, Fritz advanced through the church. At first, everything remained deathly still, but then a loud howl sounded. The body of a black wolf came crashing through the wooden banister above the altar, sending splinters of the beautiful craftsmanship flying all over the place. Strikingly, the wolf landed on four paws, much like
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a feline would have. Another animal appeared, also black, but somehow different. Fritz immediately made the difference between the two. The first beast—Wolfram—was noble and beautiful, its fur glossy and shining. The second wolf irradiated evil, the same dark fur that looked so amazing on Wolfram turning into something entirely different. It almost seemed like Joseph created a black hole in the middle of Trier, sucking the life out of everything.

Obviously sure of his advantage, Joseph turned back into human form. “Well, well. Looks like we have company. So nice of you to visit, my dear Fritz. And look who we have here. Long time no see, Dietrich.”

For the first time, Fritz acknowledged the shock coming from Dietrich. When he spoke, the one word he uttered shocked Fritz beyond belief. “Father?”

Father? What the fuck? For a few moments, Fritz thought he’d heard wrong. Then, Joseph smiled, although Fritz detected a dark intent behind the falsely pleasant expression. “Hello, son. I’ve been waiting for you to join us for quite a while now.”

Fritz didn’t know what to say or do. Things like this didn’t happen in real life. Judging by Dietrich’s reaction and what he’d told them earlier, his father should be dead, not running around attacking innocent people.

Dietrich recovered faster than Fritz. “What the fuck is going on?

What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh come now, don’t pretend.” Joseph chuckled. “You understand perfectly. I admit I never expected you to withstand the wolf for so long. Aarika taught you well. I should have killed her when I had the chance.”

Dietrich snarled viciously. “She was right. You did die. You’re not my father. You’re a monster.”

“Oh, yes, the monster who fucked your mate. How does it feel to know that?”

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The insult shed a bucket of cold water over Fritz. He sneered at Joseph. “Go fuck yourself. I only ever paid you any attention because you looked like Dietrich.” It was, in fact, the truth. Fritz never understood what drew him to Joseph in the first place, but he now realized that, in many ways, Dietrich looked like his father. He’d have never made the connection because they were so different in general, but Dietrich inherited several of Joseph’s physical traits.

Oddly, the jab seemed to annoy Joseph. His expression twisted, becoming from amused to furious in one single second. “You human whore. I’ll make you pay for that.”

Before Joseph could make good on his threat, Wolfram shot forward once again. Joseph shifted and their bodies collided in midair.

For a few moments, Fritz remained motionless, in shock. When four more ferals appeared, he snapped out of it and retrieved his gun.

Dietrich melted into his wolf form as well and attacked the approaching beasts. Fritz stuck to the back of the church and unleashed a rain of bullets over the ferals, careful not to hurt his mate in the process.

He realized two things as he did so. First of all, Dietrich had been right about human weapons not having too much of an effect on shape shifters. Secondly, the ferals did slow down, just like Fritz had hoped, but their attention turned to Fritz. He found himself in the unpleasant situation of being hunted by several of the animals.

The gun wouldn’t hold them back forever, he realized. He needed something else. What could he use against werewolves? Silver! It always worked in the movies. Perhaps it could work now. He didn’t have anything to lose anyway.

The cathedral held a beautiful museum of religious relics housed in a small room built onto the south side. Usually, it would be held under tight security, but as far as he could tell, the museum entrance didn’t have any guards now. Decision made, he ran toward the museum entrance. Unfortunately, the wolves didn’t give him time to
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make it out. One of them lunged at him, and its weight landed on Fritz, sending him crashing to the ground.

Fritz managed to push back its assault. It snapped its jaws at him, its foul breath surrounding Fritz. Adrenaline coursed through him and he stuck his gun straight into its mouth and shot. The wolf recoiled and went limp. Apparently, bullets didn’t need to be silver after all when they reached the brain. Who knew?

Fritz pushed the heavy corpse aside, grimacing at the blood that now covered his clothing and stuck to his skin. His every muscle ached, but he got up and stole a look around, only to see the other two wolves circling around him.

A more distant growl drew his attention and he stole a look toward his mates. Another wolf emerged from the upper end of the cathedral. At first, Fritz didn’t know if it was hostile or not, but then, the animal attacked one of his foes, howling fiercely. Fritz spotted wounds gracing the wolf’s side and figured out it must be either Marcus or Sebastian, but he didn’t have time to worry about others.

As the two beasts fought, the last wolf attacked Fritz. Fritz tried to shoot it, but he found in dismay he’d run out of bullets. The wolf fell on top of him this time, making them crash into a heavy, wooden bench. Pain coursed through Fritz, but he somehow managed to hit the wolf across the snout with the barrel of the gun. It hesitated briefly, but didn’t cease its relentless assault. It tried to tear into Fritz's neck, but Fritz held it off, sticking the weapon between its snapping jaws. Unfortunately, the creature was stronger than him. Finally, the gun flew out of Fritz’s hand. The next thing he knew, fangs tore into the flesh of his shoulder, missing the vulnerable vein of his throat by mere inches. Fritz tried to pry the wolf off, but it was too heavy, and his vision began to dim. Agony radiated from his wound and into his body, the venom of the feral polluting him, showering him with a rush of infernal heat.