The Last Werewolf (Vidar #1) | ONC2021 Grand Winner

Blood of the Lonely Wolf

"Kira!" Vidar tried to shout. Instead, he howled in desperation.

She gave a cackling laugh that wasn't hers. Too manly, too vile. "Oh, it's Kira you want to talk to. Sweet little Kira who just wanted to be wanted. Loved, admired, for the first time since so long."

"Who are you?" yelled Mo. The Ifrit was mid-transformation, smoke wafting around him as his body grew slender. A pair of horns formed on his forehead. His wings spread.

With a twirl of her hand, Kira reversed Mo's transition. He fell to his knees, coughing and spluttering.

Vidar ran, Isegrim racing alongside him. He knew she had been possessed. Whatever creature it was, he had to stop it.

She stretched her arm, an invisible force yanking both of them back. Vidar yelped as he landed, smacking first on Isegrim, then to the ground.

"I know it's been a while," the deep voice said as Vidar scrambled up. Isegrim darted off, hiding behind the closest tree, whimpering. "But you're still that large, unwieldy dimwit you were so many centuries ago. Just a little furrier. I guess, inadvertently, that's my fault too."

A ghastly shade stepped out of Kira's body and grew, his features darkening and sharpening. Fiery red hair and a mischief grin. A thick silver chain coiled around his neck. A snake pendant on his bare chest. "Hello, brother."

"Loki," Vidar growled as Kira collapsed. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing she didn't consent to."

"Liar!"

The trickster god stretched out his hand and helped Kira up. "Oh, little brother, why would I lie when the truth is a better deception?"

Vidar bared his fangs. That damned silver tongue. Forget giving him a good whack on the head; he would rip Loki to shreds, even if he ended in Helheim because of it. 

Yet as Vidar attempted to charge, his muscles didn't budge. He groaned, trying again. No luck—his paws were glued to the ground.

In a panic, he looked at Mo, who was in the same situation. What was going on?

"You have to forgive my oaf of a brother, sweetheart," Loki said to Kira. "He says nothing until his head explodes. You, humans, have this expression 'still waters run deep', but in Asgard, we say a god of Silence lashes out when provoked."

Kira shivered. Her expression one of sorrow or fear—Vidar couldn't tell.

"I could have helped you," he said, realising too late that she would only hear some pathetic whining. He was an oaf, a clumsy, helpless oaf.

"Help you did, brother," Loki said. "What marvels humans are up to these days. A box that you cannot live without, that tracks your every movement. One look on her... what-do-you-call-it... fown, and sweet Kira knew where you were. Or, in this case, where your two-wheeled vehicle was."

"I'm sorry," Kira mouthed behind Loki's back.

Mo groaned. "Wolfie, you promised to return that phone."

"I tried." Vidar barked. This was neither the time nor the place to have that discussion.

"Yeah, what an unexpected twist this morning," Loki said. "You keeping the box was such a vital part of the plan. Except, I wasn't worried. Social skills were never your strong suit." He glanced at Kira. "Go on. One last task, and I'll grant your wish—you'll be free as a bird."

Kira reached for her yellow backpack, the googly eyes turning round and round as she took out three objects. A long silver hair, a charred claw that could only belong to Reynaert, and an empty phial.