📎A/N.  Here we are again :)  For those of you on holiday, I hope you are enjoying yourselves.  

Thanks for reading and don't forget to vote and comment.

Also, for those of you who have not yet read my other story Masked... if you are enjoying Buried you may also wish to check out my other completed story :)  or at least recommend it to a friend :)

Have a wonderful day and smile at a stranger.  You may just make their day :)

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He was getting restless; or, at least the voice in his head was. Ambrose pulled his errant thoughts to focus back on the conversation with Junior. His Lieutenant had phoned to provide him with a deal gone incredibly wrong, as well as to voice his concern about Elijah's extracurricular activities. Activities that could expose them.

"And you are sure you saw Zublouwski?" questioned Ambrose, still not believing what he had just heard.

"Positive," came Junior's reply, "he was being hustled into his car by his minders when we arrived at the docks."

Ambrose considered the ramifications. The Russians had stepped out of bounds one to many times. He was ready to rip them limb-from-limb ... and then carry out the same justice to every member of their family.

"And you told those sons of bitch's that you had the payment as agreed?"

Junior sighed in frustration. "We had the gold bullion for the deal. But they refused to complete the transaction."

Ambrose screamed down the phone. "You have got to be fucking kidding me! We had a deal."

His temper escalated out of control.  As he stood, he grabbed the top of his desk and proceeded to tip the massive and expensive antique desk on its end. With the sudden and violent action, what had been sitting on his desk was now scattered across his office.

He was livid. Beyond livid. He had brokered a deal with the Mexicans to supply him with over four tonnes of Ecstasy. The drugs had a street value of over four hundred million dollars. The distribution chain had taken months of careful planning to set up. It had disappeared in the blink of an eye, without any warning.

"Those fucking Russians got in my way again" he growled. This time, the voice in his head became more demanding. More feral and primal. It wanted out. Now. It shared his rage.

Ambrose left the destroyed office and headed out through the French doors that exited to the back of the house, and made a b-line for the trees. As he passed the pool house a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Going somewhere?"

Ambrose held his tongue from lashing out at Elijah. Choosing to provide a curt, "For a run," instead.

In the short time since Ambrose's first turn, he was becoming less and less tolerant of the Werewolf. Elijah had a tendency to make himself too at home. Too prone to walking the thin line between what was reasonable and outright stupid.

The head of the New England Mafia was slowly, but surely, learning the benefits of his new life. He was more active; stronger and faster. He did not require as much sleep as before. His eyesight was sharper, he no longer needed to wear reading glasses. To his delight, his hearing was acuter. Every part of him felt alive and young. He had not felt this vibrant and energised in years.

One of the other significant changes that was somewhat unsettling was that his libido was constantly on overdrive. Most nights, he had found himself in one of the cities bars, pulling some strange woman out into the back alley, throwing her up against the wall, and rutting her as if he were a hormonal teenager. Something he had not been in many years.

On more than one occasion mid-coitus, he had realised that Elijah was lurking in the shadows. Doing nothing more than watching with a smirk plastered across his face.

His new way of life needed getting used to. In fact, he had not thought he would live through his first turn.

At the height of the agony, he had begged Elijah to kill him. The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced or wanted to again. The final twenty-four hours, before his Wolf emerged was excruciating. By the time it was over, his voice was hoarse and raw.

In the days leading up to his conversion, he was convinced he was going insane. He kept on hearing a voice. At first, it appeared far off somewhere in the distance. As time went by, it moved closer and closer until it seemed that it was whispering in his ear. Convinced he was having a psychotic break he confronted the only person who would know what was going on.

His new found 'partner' Elijah, was of no help throughout the ordeal. The only advice he had received was, 'You'll get over it' and, 'It's normal'.

There was nothing 'normal' about what had transpired to put his life on such a paradigm shift, that it was beyond all recognition. He was thankful that it was over for Briana, Frank and himself at least. The others that Elijah had targeted were still at the beginning of their bumpy road.

"You have got to stop being so public with your extracurricular activities," snapped Ambrose a couple of hours later, once his wolf had relinquished his body back to him.

Truth be told, the run had settled his otherwise turbulent mind. Before his turn, Ambrose would not have entertained the thought of challenging the madman's actions. His new found powerful body had also brought with it the courage, and the balls, to speak his mind to the bringer of their bad tidings.

Grabbing a towel to wipe the blood from his face, he waited impatiently for the other man to speak. His wolf was sated after their jaunt into the nearby woods. A large rabbit was too much to pass up, and they had spent time chasing the creature around until they got bored and decided they were a bit peckish.

"What are you on about?" Elijah asked, not looking up from sharpening his ever present knife. His voice came out disinterested, indicating that he had no desire to extend this conversation any further than he had to.

Ambrose closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Counting to five before he spoke. "You know exactly what I mean,"- he glanced at the Werewolf, irritation pouring off him – "I am running an organisation that can only exist because we are not seen or heard. You are reaping the rewards, not to mention living a lifestyle, which can on be maintained if we are beyond approach. I said nothing when you so publicly killed those students. But this new fuck up is a little too public for me to tolerate."

Elijah's eyes snapped to the new Werewolf. One of them cocked as he considered Ambrose's outburst. The only sound was that of their heartbeats and even shallow breathing.

Enhanced hearing was another advantage of the change.

Ambrose was at a loss when Elijah burst out laughing. Crossing his arms across his chest he waited for his maker to calm down enough to explain himself.

"I suppose you are referring to that misfortunate accident on the freeway?"

A wolf had somehow managed to cause havoc on a major freeway. Three dozen vehicles and a tanker had been involved. The driver of the truck, attempting to avoid the Wolf, had jack-knifed - sending it plunging over a bridge, and into oncoming traffic below. Eleven people had been sent to their fiery deaths, in the resulting explosion. In the ensuing chaos, the Wolf had proceeded to attack motorists that were attempting to flee their vehicles. Again, as with the previous Wolf attack, it was all captured in glorious Technicolor - and within fifteen minutes had gone viral.

"No," Ambrose responded sarcastically, "I'm referring to Grumpy Cat's new video – of course, I am talking about the free-fucking-way."

"Well, if you were looking at the videos on that youthingy, you would have noticed that those wolves were not me," Elijah responded smugly.

"What do you mean that it was not you?"

"Just that. They are my gifts."

"Gifts"

"Is there an echo in here?" growled Elijah as slammed his blade on the table. "I told you that there were others I have bitten."

Ambrose was dumbstruck. "Exactly how many 'others' have you changed?" he demanded, once his voice returned.

Elijah shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "A few."

"And you just left them to fend for themselves, with no knowledge what was happening to them?"

"So?" smiled Elijah, "It was fun to watch."

"Why would you do that? They could expose us?" cried Ambrose, disbelief reflected in each word out of his mouth.

A vicious snarl burst from somewhere within Elijah as he jerked and swung his body to face Ambrose. A look of pure hate washed off him in waves; his teeth barred, his eyes inflamed in abject rage and hostility. The Werewolf took a menacing step towards Ambrose; fists clenched at his side. "Because I can," he spat, "and because I now say who lives and who dies. This is my time. I am sick of others telling me what I can and can't do. First my pack, then those bastards that call themselves the Alliance. All they are concerned with is their rules, and making everyone else bow down to them. I thought that Elise was going to be different - but that bitch turned out like the rest of them. Always thinking she was the only one who had a say." Elijah was now manic, pacing back and forth as he continued his rant. "Well, now I am going to show them. I am Alpha now. I am building my own Pack, and you will not question my command. My time has come - and I am going to make an army of Werewolves that will reign over the Alliance, Elise and those weak Humans."

Ambrose remained standing in a state of shock long after Elijah had left the room. The ramifications of the inferno that was about to be released in the form of the madman was so far reaching that he was struggling to comprehend it fully. It was one thing to have a need for dominance. It was a complete different set of circumstances to want to control the entire world.

From a previous conversation with Elijah, Ambrose knew that the man had a long history of being able to align himself with those that enjoyed death as much as he did. After his escape from England in the late 1800s - where he had spent some time with his trusty knife - going by the name of 'Jack', he had travelled across Europe. During this time, he had managed to become involved with the SS, as well as the Gestapo in Nazi Germany. His love of killing was allowed to run free for nearly twenty years, as he moved unimpeded from Concentration Camp to Concentration Camp.

Misery loves company, and it was during this time that Elijah had recognised a fellow Werewolf in the form of Elise. The Sandulf Alpha was working with the Nazi's in their reallocation of Artwork across Europe.

He could not allow this to happen. There was too much at risk - not to mention, he needed to deal with that traitorous Mexican Cartel.

He just needed to work out how to keep Elijah under control until there were enough of them turned to deal with the madman.

At that point, the army would be his to control, and his alone.

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A/N.  OMG!!! I think perhaps Elijah has turned the wrong person.  It just may be Ambrose will turn out to be a little more dangerous than Elijah!!!

I wonder how he make the Cartel pay??

... and another of Elijah's 'victims' is on the loose.

Don't forget to vote if you enjoyed this chapter. :-)

If you are looking for something good to read, check out The Devil's Daughter by @Froggie27 .  It's a fantastic story by a wonderful young lady - I am not going to hold the fact she is Australian against her .... we all can't be perfect ;-) LOL

Next chapter should be up before the weekend.

See you then.  Have a wonderful week

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