The Grave Diggers Part 1 (Werewolves)

This story features Dena and Jolon's fathers and takes place five years before the events of 'Werewolves: Haven Rising.' 

It was storming again, wet torrents coming down in wind-swept sheets that drenched fur and left it slick, matted against skin and taught muscle. It was the kind of rain that blotted out the world with its fury—deafening and blinding all at once. A tempest of inconvenience. Freshly-turned earth transformed into a sucking, muddy mire pockmarked by small pools, their surfaces rippling with raindrops. It was a mess. 

Delsin loathed the rain. He always had. He hated how it blotted out the moon and drained his will to do anything but slink indoors and hide away until the sun came out again, how the downpour ran through the deserted city streets in small tributaries, collecting into streambeds that once were roads. Trenches that had been alive with passing trains became slot canyons prone to flash floods. Haven was like that after the war—a purgatory where once-proud werewolves waited to die, washed away like they'd never been.

Most of all, he hated how difficult it was to dig a proper grave when the gods saw fit to rip open the heavens and take an almighty piss all over him.

He hated that he deserved it.

The shovel landed with a wet thud several feet away, quivering with the power of Delsin's throw. He wouldn't get anything done like this, not even in wolf form. Sahale's body would have to wait.

He retreated back to relatively dry comfort beneath the medical building's low-hanging eaves and leaned back against the wall, lighting a cigarette. He'd found a whole mess of the things in a warehouse past old Fairhaven and taken to smoking them when he was stressed. He was stressed all the time now, and so he also smoked all the time, much to the distress of his wife and son. He hated how they cringed at his smell when he came home at the end of the day almost as much as he hated this gods-damned rain.

"It's a nasty business."

Delsin jerked back hard enough to crack his head against the wall; fortunately his lupine skull was thick or he might have actually hurt himself. The pungent smoke had masked Jaci's scent as he approached. "Rain," he grunted, holding out his hand and soaking the pads of his fingers as if to demonstrate. "Can't finish the grave like this."

"Colonel will only give you so much time, you know," Jaci said. "Best get it done." He pointed a second shovel toward the half-dug grave. "I came out to help."

"Pointless," Delsin said. He breathed out a giant plume of smoke. He'd gotten quite good at talking while smoking in wolf form. The trick was to keep the cigarette to one side, nestled between his teeth while speaking out the other half of his muzzle. "The gods don't want us anymore. Every burial gets interrupted somehow. They've forsaken us, and for good reason."

"You don't mean that," Jaci said. "That's the weather talking. You'll feel better once this is behind us and the moon comes out again." He frowned as Delsin puffed out another gray plume. "You know Tama hates that stuff, right?"

"She's not the wolf burying one of her old friends. She doesn't even know he's dead."

"Chain smoking won't change any of that."

"Won't hurt either." Delsin tapped his chest with his knuckles. "Wolf side keeps the lungs clean."

Jaci shook his head. "We don't know that for sure."

Delsin's beast raged unexpectedly. He snarled and spit the cigarette to the ground. It landed, extinguished by the rain with a dull sizzle. "Maybe that cocksucker, Williams, can study me next, then!" he roared. "Cut open my chest! Check for cancers and black lung!"

"Easy, now." 

"Or what?" Delsin asked. "The walls have ears?"

"Some of them do."

"Then I guess this gods-damned rain is good for something. Nobody's hearing shit over it!"

Jaci gave a half-hearted laugh. "See? You're already looking on the bright side."

They both leaned against the building for a minute, neither of them speaking as the rain pounded down insistently less than a foot away, demanding their undivided attention. Delsin soothed his beast with a fresh cigarette and the smoke lulled it back to sleep. Once he was sure it was down for good, he allowed himself to speak.

"Sorry," he grunted. "It's getting harder to keep myself in check."

"I know what you mean."

"I keep thinking about my pup." Delsin's paw shivered as he took the half-finished cigarette from his lips and tapped the ash off to the side. He told himself the shaking was because of the chill, but he knew it was his nerves getting the better of him. "One of these days, Jolon's going to find out about what's happening over here." he said. "So's your kid."

"I try not to think about Dena finding out about any of this," Jaci said.

"They'll hate us, you know."

Jaci shook his head. "Give them a little credit. They're smart kids. They'll know that we did this for them."

"And that's why they'll hate us."

Silence was Jaci's only reply. Maybe Delsin had gone too far mentioning his pup. The last thing he wanted was to lose him as a friend—he wasn't ready to dig another grave just yet.