Excerpt - Rayce

Matik Masters Series, Book One

J.C. Wells

Chapter 1

The moon was at its peak tonight, its full face blanketing the forests in a beautiful cascade of blue hues, a perfect backdrop for any wolf to take a run on all fours. As a werewolf, Rayce Matik should be out there chasing game and howling with his brothers in a quartet of eerie cries, but his father had called the pack to gather. Anger boiling his blood like molten lava, Rayce had conceded to the call, storming through the halls of the Matik Mansion with one destination in mind – the great hall.

Rayce knew what the meeting was about. For years, the Matik and the Belarus packs had been at war, fighting over rights for land. Recently, his father had been devising up ideas on how to end the war. With his growing age, he feared that he would die before his family finally found peace with the other pack.

Being the oldest among his siblings, Rayce knew that whatever plan his father came up with most likely would include him. He was the coming successor for the Pack Master after all and at two-hundred years old, he was ready  to  take  his  father’s  place.

When Rayce entered the great hall, he stopped short. Members of both packs were gathered in the luxurious hall, the Matiks on the left, the Belarus on the right. It was easy to tell the packs apart. Besides obviously growing

up with his family, all Matik pack members had glossy black hair. The Belarus pack members all carried various shades of blonde hair. Lower level packs—packs consisting of fewer pack members—that lived in the same forest always knew exactly which pack member they came in contact with when running through the forest. The Belarus pack members tended to be of smaller builds while in wolf form while the Matik pack members tended to be  much  larger.    If  that  weren’t  enough,  each  Belarus  wolf  had  distinct   white-colored paws while those in the Matik pack carried a diamond-shaped white patch of fur on their chests.

Rayce’s  father  sat  in  the  large,  high  backed  chair  on  his  raised  throne  at  the   far end of the Italian designed hall. With statues of former Pack Masters lining the walls along with red and gold tapestries, vases, and pillars, it was like taking a step into the Vatican. No matter where one looked, there was some type of artwork that paid homage to their race, whether it be a painting of a wolf howling or a vase depicting a pack of wolves running through the forest. The most impressive piece in the room was the cathedral ceiling, arched above the throne with a mural of angels and demons, reaching their hands out to a pack of black wolves that stood in the center, howling at a large moon that was blanketed by clouds.

When Rayce’s  father,  Merdain,  noticed  that  Rayce  had  just  entered  through   the grand, double-oak  doors,  he  waved  a  hand  in  his  direction.    “I  give  you   my  eldest  son  and  coming  heir,  Rayce  Matik.” 

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