Chapter 3: The missing corpse bride

Philippe and Buckie finally stepped out of the cabin to supervise the activities that had been going on.

Their men were so drunk and tired. They could barely move a muscle, try to understand and even recap what was going on and even what had happened.

The chief checked the cabins that turned out to be mostly empty and looked amongst the huddled up people for Veronica, but she was nowhere to be found.

"Where could that girl have gone? Did she overhear us?" Philippe had never been so worried about that girl. Not because he cared about her well-being, but because he didn't want to lose the money he had made.

"Where's my future wife Philippe?! Did you intend to dupe me?" Anger stirred within the captain, almost consuming him fully. He just paid for the girl and the next thing he knows, she's nowhere to be found.

"Where's Veronica Philippe?!" Buckie asked again. This time, he raised his voice, demanding for an answer, but Philippe remained quiet as he thought of where she could have gone.

"Pops!!!" Mark called out, stumbling to meet his father.

"Where's Veronica?" He asked. "I could've sworn she boarded this ship with us!"

"Uh…" Mark was fully intoxicated and could not make up half of what his father said.

Philippe grabbed his son's collar and shook him repeatedly, asking the same question repeatedly, until Mark blurted, "I killed the bitch. Haha. I was… it was me… I'm the one that killed her! Not that fatty. It was my kill. She's deep down in the river now… gone for good father. She's never coming back!" Mark's words were long, slowed and slurred. He'd interrupt his own speech with boisterous laughter and stop mid way.

The lad couldn't understand himself, but all he knew was that his mouth kept running, and he was saying something.

Buckie and Philippe turned to each other, their faces bearing mixed reactions. Philippe didn't know what to say. He was certain his son knew nothing about his plans to kill her, and he never expected him to act it out alone.

"Why?" Philippe asked his son, but he slumped to the ground and slept off without giving an answer.

Philippe's fear at that moment was losing the extra money he had gained, and it looked like it was becoming a reality. Buckie had lost interest in the deal and would definitely demand for his money back.

"No efforts on your end to mark up the deal. I want my money back and that's final. Thanks for wasting my time."

Philippe stuttered, "w-wait captain," He followed the much older man that marched angrily back to the cabin, trying to bargain "I have much more prettier women on my camp… please listen to me. That girl wasn't event worth half of what you paid."

"Just give me back my money, I'm not interested anymore. So, don't waste your breath and just hand over the satchel." Buckie shrugged, being as honest as he could be.

The middle aged man picked his pipe from the table and placed the stem on his lips before inhaling with no care at all.

Philippe was furious. He didn't want to let the money go. So, he wondered… would it be bad to kill the captain and blame it on a wolf attack, then loot all the gold and sliver Buckie had in his money box?

Philippe's desire for money had taken over the best of him. He unsheathed his sword, a wicked grin all over his face as he swung the blade across the captain's chest, and blood spilled abruptly.

***

Under the dense canopy of old forest trees, a pack of three werewolves gathered around a crackling fire, chattering loudly.

"Can't wait to kill some humans. It's been a while since I've had fun!" Raian Yves a burly wereman of above-average height, said feeling more virgorous than ever now that the sun was rising.

He had short, spiked Teutonic-gold hair with a small widow's peak and a stubby beard on his jutting chin from the days of being out in the wild.

His voice was as loud as a foghorn, disturbing one of his comrades that was balled up in the luxury of a tent, trying her best to sleep .

"Calm down Sir Yves. Don't get to carried away with your thirst for human blood. We have to wait for Lord lucilfer's command before we can move," Quin Malric, a quiet and elegant wereman stated in his low husky voice, sharpening his sword with the whetstone he carried along with him from the guard tower.

He was one of the top military personnels that possessed a latent, leonine power and always walked with purpose and authority. He was awarded and picked by Lucilfer himself to work as his right-hand man.

Quin tied his long curly hair into a bun, held out his numb hands to the orange flames that danced in the cold breeze as the place went quiet. Before the third member of their group, Gazob raised inquires about the lord's disappearance.

"My lord hasn't been back yet…" the bald Grazob said, his eyes closed and arms crossed.

"Do you doubt the lord?" Quin raised a brow. It wasn't the first time they were waiting for the humans to make foolish mistakes for a source of entertainment. So Grazob's question was enough to strike a nerve. Lord lucilfer was most likely blending in with nature, his everyday hobby.

"I do not doubt the lord. I just miss his presence. You do know I'm his biggest fan" Grazob winked, and the group rolled their eyes and continued to banter while they await full morning and their master to come back and lead the attack.