Chapter 1 1
Chapter 1 – Caged
There’s an old Greek saying, “Thief knows thief and wolf knows wolf.”
Kazimir Volkov is both a thief and a wolf. I met Kazimir five years ago while attending a university in Germany. Living among the humans, pretending to be one of them. We found ourselves in the same metaphorical boat.
Kazimir is the fifth son of Alpha Ivan Volkov in Russia. His father is not just the Alpha of the most vicious pack in Russia, but the Pakhan of the Romanov Bratva. The Russian mafia. It’s one of the largest organized crime syndicate groups known to man. Kazimir is a born Bratva prince. Unfortunately for him, being born fifth means he will never be the Alpha of his pack or become Pakhan unless he kills his four older brothers.
It's rare for werewolves to be involved in the human crime world, but for a few, being a wolf gives them an advantage over humans. Werewolf shifters could easily dominate the most powerful humans. We have speed, strength, and rapid healing in our favor along with our animal instincts. We can hear, sense, and react faster than a human can comprehend. A lethal creature that blends in with humans.
My father, Alpha Eros Kappas, rules our pack in Greece, the Moon Warriors. I’d like to say our pack is the most vicious or largest in Greece, but that would be a lie. That honor belongs to the Theodorus bastard, the one they call The Beast of Greece. The Alpha of Olympus Blood Moon, rival to our pack. He not only killed his father at the age of sixteen but destroyed several other packs in Greece and killed their Alphas in the years after. He destabilized the shifter balance in Greece, which caused many to become rogue and weakened the remaining packs. I once dreamed of ripping that bastard limb from limb, destroying him, taking his pack from him. Now, I dream of destroying him and his pack.
After realizing my father was a mediocre Alpha, I no longer wanted to be the pack Alpha. Instead of building the pack up, my father let the pack down for his selfish gains. My father took the easy road. He didn’t care about the rest of the shifter world or becoming a strong pack leader. Instead, he decided to focus on exploiting human criminal activity. He’s now the underboss of the Greek mafia and focused on making money through weapons, drugs, gambling, extortion, prostitution, fraud, murder, you name it.
My mother was not my father’s destined mate. She was his chosen mate, which means offspring are more difficult to conceive. Unlike Kazimir, I was an only child. Most wolves believe the Moon Goddess creates the other half of your soul within a mate. The one who shares a special bond with you and completes you. I’ve slept with plenty of human women, whores, and she-wolves to know this is all bullshit. My mother must have realized it too because she killed herself when I was eight years old.
In his rage, my father often referred to me as his bastard. He trained me harder than any warrior before I came of age, though I’m not sure if it was to kill me or condition me. When he was displeased with my progress, he beat and whipped me, leaving a litter of scars on my body. Most werewolves in our world reached maturity at the age of eighteen. This is when the beast that lives within us is awakened. Our wolf becomes a part of us. On my sixteenth birthday my wolf, Haze, awakened. Most understood this as a mark of strength. Others feared I would become a killing machine like The Beast of Greece, who had killed his father three years earlier when he turned sixteen.
My father never treated me well and feared I would kill him. He wasn’t wrong. I considered it almost every night, but I had no interest in taking his place, in becoming the pack Alpha. Without an Alpha, the pack would have fallen apart completely. I was his only heir and because of that, he didn’t kill me. I left our pack, spending the next year with my Grandparents at their pack in northeastern Greece while I finished school.
I came to Germany five years ago at seventeen to attend the university and met Kazimir. He was a year my senior. Our wolves instantly recognized
each other for what we really were. There are very few people in this world I consider friends and Kazimir is one of them. I consider him my brother.
“Hades? Hades, are you listening?” Kazimir’s deep Russian accent broke me from my thoughts. “Ten minutes until fight time. I placed our bets.”
“Good. Who’s my unlucky opponent?” I inquired. The level of pain I inflicted during a fight usually depended on the criminal in the cage with me.
“Does it really matter? We both know you’re going to send him straight to hell.” Kazimir laughed.
“Even in the underworld, there are different levels of eternity. I like to make sure the right souls get to Tartarus,” I twisted a smile.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you enjoy this a little too much.
You’re the craziest fucker I’ve ever had the honor of knowing, Hades.”
He had no idea how true his words were. Every time I kill someone in the cage, it calms the beast inside of me. Every time I make someone pay, it feeds my blackened soul. It frees me a little more. The human underground of cage fighting is littered with the degenerates of the world. Criminals fresh from prison and those who belonged in prison. It attracts the sadistic, the vicious, and the psychopaths of the underworld.
“Crazy and genius are two sides of the same coin,” I smirked.
“And that is why I love your special brand of crazy. You’re fighting a man they call Icepick,” he told me.
I had no doubt why this man was called Icepick. The Russian underground fight clubs are some of the most brutal in the world. We’ve participated in fight rings from Asia, across Europe, and in Russia. Occasionally weapons managed to find their way into the fighting cage because, in Russia, it's either kill or be killed.
Kazimir and I spent our free time at the university training and studying martial arts including Muay Thai and Jiu-Jitsu. Being werewolves allowed us to master the arts quickly which led to us enjoying cage fighting. It also allowed us to continue training, though it was an unconventional form of training for wolves. Using the darknet, people around the world watched the fights and placed bets. Moscow fight club may have been merciless, but the fight purse was also worth it.
I stood in the musky-smelling locker room waiting for my fight, dressed in nothing but my black fight shorts. I preferred to let everyone see the scars and tattoos that covered my arms, torso, back, and left thigh. Haze stirred inside of me, ready for the fight and eager to rip someone to shreds. He was a feral beast with a bloodlust thirst. I often struggled to keep control over him, but tonight, he would get what he craves.
A bouncer entered the locker room and motioned with his head for me to follow him. It was time. My expression turned stone cold as I followed him through the dark hallway. The metallic taste of blood and sweat filled the air from previous fights and Haze was ecstatic, ready for a kill. The crowd parted as I made my way to the cage, curious eyes filled with excitement and fear regarded me. Fear was always present when they looked at me as I towered over them.
I scanned the large cement block building that was forged into a fighting arena. It was packed on all three levels with people from different walks of life. The floor level was standing room only with bodies pressed close together. The second level with the best view into the cage seemed to have seating. It was the elite section. Well-dressed men sat smoking cigars and drinking ice-cold vodka. Prostitutes were perched on their laps. The top level was also a mixture of people eager to see more carnage. These were the people who were hardened as a result of their harsh and poor upbringing in the bitter shadows of Moscow.
“AND NOW… STANDING AT SIX FOOT, FOUR INCHES TALL, WEIGHING IN AT TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY POUNDS, STRAIGHT FROM THE FLAMES OF HELL, THE RULER OF THE UNDERWORLD… HADES!”
The crowd went wild when the announcer called my name and Haze gave a snarl inside my head. While I do bear flame tattoos on my left arm and thigh, I always find it amusing when they mentioned the flames of hell. As if I was the devil. My lip curled on one side as I suppressed a chuckle. Perhaps I was.
I stepped into the square metal cage. The top was lined with bars to ensure no one tried to escape once the fight started. I assessed the man called Icepick. He was a few inches shorter than me and weighed over three hundred pounds. He was built like a lumberjack, but not carved in muscles like me. He wasn’t wearing fight shorts. He was wearing his regular street clothes and I knew he would be hiding an icepick, this was Russia after all.
He looked me over and his beady eyes fell to the scars on my chest, some covered by tattoos and others more visible. “Not so pretty without your shirt on,” he sneered.
Fuck, I wanted to beat him to a pulp and watch the miserable life drain from his eyes. I wanted to dish out pain and agony before I let him die. To rip his throat out with my teeth, but I knew I needed to play my role. Let the fight drag on for a few minutes as any human might. The cage door was locked, and Icepick rushed at me.
“He’s a dead man,” Haze growled in my head and my body thrummed with excitement.
I lifted my leg and delivered a forward kick to the center of my opponent's chest. The crowd roared when he staggered back. Instinct urged me to rush him and deliver blow after blow, but I waited for him to catch his breath before I delivered a sidekick to his upper thigh. He swung his meaty fist at me, and I quickly ducked and plowed my fist into his gut.
I circled him, waiting for him to attack again. The crowd was chanting something in Russian, but all I could focus on was the man before me. He rushed me again and I allowed him to slam me up against the cage as he delivered a jab to my side. I brought my elbow up and rammed it into his fucking face, breaking his nose and cheekbone. Blood poured out and he stumbled back to the opposite side of the cage.
I allowed my rage to radiate through my aura and smiled at him. His eyes held mine for a moment as panic and realization set in for him. I was the apex predator in the cage. He reached in his back pocket and charged at me with an icepick in his hand.
“That didn’t take him long,” Haze snickered.
I grabbed the arm holding the shiny metal pick and twisted it up at an unnatural angle. The sound of bones snapping mingled with his scream filled my ears. The pick fell to the mat and the crowd's chant grew louder.
“Smert! Smert! Smert!” They chanted over and over again. This was a Russian word I knew well. One Kazimir had taught me. Death. They were chanting for death.
I delivered a kick to his side, feeling his ribs break from the force of my blow. I lunged at him, fists flying. Punch after punch. Crunch after crunch. Striking without mercy as blood splattered everywhere working the crowd into a frenzy. When I finally released the bloody pulp, his limp body fell face first on the mat. I reached down, picked up the icepick, and studied it for a moment. Lifting the pick up to show the spectators, I turned in a slow circle.
“Smert! Smert!” They continued shouting and screaming.
Icepick's breathing was shallow as he teetered on the edge of death. My fingers gripped the wooden handle on the icepick tighter as I shoved it into the back of his bald head. The sadistic bastards in the crowd went wild and the cheering grew louder.
“And they call us animals,” Haze scoffed in my head.
The cage was unlocked and Kazimir rushed into the cage. He grabbed my arm and lifted it in victory. A well-dressed man, in his late fifties, sitting on the second floor locked eyes with me. Something most humans couldn’t manage without fear. His steely gray eyes bore into me as he raised his glass to me and pulled it to his mouth. He looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure why.
“Members of the brotherhood are here. They’ve recognized me.” Kazimir told me under his breath. The brotherhood also referred to the Bratva.
“All human?” I asked. I wasn’t sensing any other wolves in the building, but I wasn’t sure if Kazimir picked up any of our kind waiting outside.
“Human but connected with my father’s organization.” He said through his teeth as he smiled at the fanatical crowd.
“What about the suit at two o’clock?” I asked. Kazimir and I moved to the open door in the cage and stepped out as he casually glanced up at the man sitting at our two o’clock position. The man with the steely gray eyes.
“Shit!” He whispered under his breath. “You know him?”
“That’s fucking Belsky, Russia’s Minister of Finance.”