by Knight
“Witch,” I spit, and the words are a mix of a huff and a growl in my shifted form’s mouth. My nose ring jangles as I stomp my hoof, my torcs moving with me as well while I tower in the entrance of what looks like a ballroom. Wooden floors line the level with high ceilings above us and there, behind the witches in a cage of magic, are the outcasts and at the very front—Carmichael.
“My ancestors should have killed you when they had the chance. It’s a pity, but I will rectify their mistakes today,” she yells, her red hair floating in the breeze of the suffocating magic in the room.
I huff at her monologuing and charge. She didn’t expect that, none of them did. They all expected me to hesitate long enough for them to chain me. Not happening, not today, not ever again.
Tearing through their masses, breaking their protective circle, I roar as I rip them limb from limb. I lose all track of time, until nothing or no one stands alive around me. Just a circle of dead witches and their blood.
I snort, huffing at them. “Who’s dead now, bitch?” I spit and laughter starts up from the outcasts. The cage must have broken when the witches fell, because they are standing at the back of the room watching me. Most in thanks, some in disgust, but nearly all in fear.
Carmichael steps forward, clapping dramatically. “Bravo, my friend. I guess thanks is owed for the rescue? Come, I will find you some clothes and somewhere without body parts to change.” He steps over the red-haired witch’s head with a twist of his lips, and gestures for me to go first.
Inclining my head slightly, I walk side by side with the vamp as he leads me through his house, which is silent except for the whispering downstairs in the ballroom.
“Forgive them, most have never seen a minotaur in the flesh, you are the stuff of legends after all,” he adds.
I don’t feel the need to answer and he soon stops trying to speak to me. He leads me to an empty room and grabs some clothes from the dresser. “They might be tight but, well, you are massive and most here are not. The shower is through there. Go wash up and change, sleep if you need to, and we shall talk after.” He goes to leave and I force the words out, I still find it strange conversing after being alone this long.
“I am leaving again later, I have my mate to find.”
He nods, those eyes of his filled with amusement. “Of course, I will call the plane and make sure it is prepped.” He places his hand on the door before sighing. “She is a lucky woman, but maybe leave the dismembered bodies until after the first meeting, eh?” he jokes, before sweeping from the room.
Waiting until he is gone, I take the clothes to the bathroom and close the door behind me. I keep my swords with me, placing them on the rim of the bath as I flick on the water.
Steam starts to fill the room as I look into the lit up mirror above the basic white sink. My monster half reflects back. Scars crisscross my fur, most old, ancient even. Turning away, I force the change and stagger from shifting and killing so much in a short amount of time.
Dragging my tired body into the shower, I scrub all the blood away and get out, not bothering to linger. I will stay long enough to ensure they have their wards and protection back up again, and that the witches are truly gone. Then I am leaving, I have wasted enough time.
I need my mate.
Standing before the still lit fire, my naked skin bathed in blood and soot, I watch as the flames dance, entrancing me. The hunters’ bodies lie behind me and it hasn’t even been an hour since I killed them all. My dragon is sleeping soundly, happy after his little spree—for now, until he starts calling for his mate again. The reprieve is nice, allowing me to breathe and think through my next steps.
Clearly, the hunters are looking for me and that means I need to be careful. I do not want to lead them to my mate or expose myself to the world and the remaining dragons. It means I need to be smart about this. It is fair enough to say my cars here have probably already been compromised. Either with a tracking beacon or bug.
That means I need to find another form of transport, and flying is out for obvious reasons. Leaving the flames behind, I walk down my hall and back to my bedroom, heading straight into the welcoming pool. I don’t know when I will be back, so for tonight I will enjoy the feel of home, dispose of the bodies, and rest.
Tomorrow, I will leave again.
Submerging myself in the water, I let it wash away the blood and scent of death before staring out across the mountain, letting the cool air and nature soothe me. I sigh, knowing time is ticking away, so I slide from the water, leaving myself to air dry as I make my way back through the halls to the bodies.
Standing above them, I cross my arms while I think. Now, what to do with them? Before, I have tossed one or two off the side of the mountain. I have also burned one previously in the fireplace. One I let the helpers clean up, but this large amount?
It will require a cleaning crew. Sighing, I head over to the counter and the phone sitting there. I dial the one number I have that always puts me in contact with a member of the Sinclair family—the humans I trust—and I wait as it rings. I suppose it is in the middle of the night, but exhaustion is pulling at me now, making me irritable.
Eventually, someone picks up the other end as a tired sounding, heavily accented voice answers, “Yes?”
“Dragoliou Sinclair,” I address, speaking the words of our bond throughout the ages.
There is silence on the other end, then he responds, “Monsieur, how may I assist you? I am so sorry for my rude greeting. Are you back? Do you require food or supplies?” He speaks quickly now, with excitement in his voice. No doubt when this fell to him from his father or mother, he never expected to be called to service.
“I need a clean-up crew at the mountain estate in the morning, make it discreet, we have eyes. I also want a full sweep for tracking devices or bugs,” I demand, and I hear him scribbling on the other end, good. Hopefully he might get it right. The Sinclairs are nothing if not prompt and reliable.
“Anything else, sir?” he asks, eager to please.
“I am leaving for a while and I will need a car, clothes, and money sent to the mountain estate by morning. I shall also need the ring from West Bank. You have the key to the deposit box, yes?” I inquire, and there is a heavy pause.
“Of course sir, does this mean—I am sorry, that is rude,” he backpedals, making me smile even as I lean against the wall and my muscles scream at me.
“One thing you will learn, never feel the need to hold your tongue with me. Edgar didn’t, and that is why I trusted him above all else in the world,” I comment.
“Yes sir, thank you. I just wished to know if this meant you had finally found your mate? I have read the journals day after day and the only mention of the ring is between yourself and my great-great-great grandfather when you said it was a present, one only meant for your true mate. Your call,” he gushes, making my smile turn full-blown. He is intelligent, I shall give him that, and it is clear he knows the history.
“Yes, she called me from my slumber. I am seeking her tomorrow,” I reply.
“How amazing! I will include your family journals, presents, the call gifts, and everything you will need for your future mate.” He sounds distracted again, no doubt his brain is whirring as he makes plans, but it is good he thought of all of that because I certainly did not.
“Thank you...” I trail off, realising I never asked his name.
“Jean Paul, sir. You may call me whatever you want. I will program my number and any others I think you need into the cell, which will be with your belongings in your car at the estate by nine AM sharp. Anything else, sir?”
“That is all for now. I must rest, it has been a trying day. Goodnight, Jean Paul,” I conclude, as a yawn cracks my jaw.
“Goodnight, sir, and may I say it is good to have you back,” he comments, and I laugh as I hang up the phone.
It is good to be back.
Unlocking the door of my house, the only occupied one on the block, I internally kick myself. This is a bad fuc
king idea. I have never invited anyone here, it is my space. My safe zone. Not even the council knows about it.
It’s my retreat, my armory, and here is my mate exploring it with curious eyes, her fucking mate wandering behind her.
Of course I would get a mate, only for her to have another. She has barely looked at me since he turned up. I can feel the power flowing off of him from here and I know he’s concealing it as well, he isn’t even trying, he’s just that fucking old and powerful.
It isn’t hard to figure out who he is from the way he spoke of the creatures—a fucking god of old. One that they spoke of in myths, even at my birth, and we have the same mate.
I glare at her from my perch in the corner as she goes from room to room, not giving a fuck about my privacy as she explores everything, exposing every secret. It feels like she’s ripping me open and examining me, causing me to take in my house with fresh eyes, so I look around to try and see what she sees.
It’s not cramped or cluttered, it’s not even dark. There are no shadows here, I don’t need them. Photographs, which were taken over my long life, fill the wall in the living room, all in greyscale.
Two black, pincushioned sofas take up the rest of the room with a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall, and a mantelpiece with a fireplace underneath it. Steel-plated blinds hang on the window with blackout curtains behind them for privacy.
The kitchen is modern and I handmade the table, counters, and doors myself over the years—each has little hand carvings in them, depicting my life and my story. Just something to leave behind in case I never come back.
My armory is down here with a safe door on it, which is standing open. A huge, silver table lies in the middle with a gun already displayed. Just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean I don’t have them. All the three walls are covered in every weapon you could imagine, from both past and present. Some I stole, some I bought, and some were passed down. All are mine now.
She touches them reverently, like they speak my secrets to her. Frowning, I follow her up the stairs as she goes. All of us trooping behind as she explores the spare bathroom, which is sparse and utilitarian, before she reaches my bedroom.
I suck in a breath and she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, before looking back at me for permission. I don’t know why, but I nod. She smiles and swings the door open and creeps inside.
My bed, made with black satin sheets, is unmade and I almost blush. My furniture all matches—more handmade pieces I’d made over the years, an old hobby from my childhood that I took up when I couldn’t sleep. If she had looked hard enough downstairs she would have found the basement door. Down there is a home gym and my woodworking center. I even have a firing range.
My bedroom is sparse as well, and the only personal touches are the little ornaments lining the corner bookcase, which I carved whenever I finished a mission. A matching black, pincushioned recliner sits next to it underneath the window, showing me the rain splashing down on the city.
She runs her finger above all of them, counting, and when she eyes me they are full of sadness. Why, I am not sure. Before I can get angry or snipe, she leaves the room and swings open the other door on the floor that leads up to the empty bedroom.
I’m not sure why I got this two-bedroom house, it just...felt right, and with her ass sashaying up the stairs at the moment, maybe now I can admit I got it for a reason, I just didn’t know it then.
The room opens up and runs the full length of the house. An old, unused, four-poster bed, upon a raised dais, sits in the middle of the room and the carved headboard I made rests in the archway. Two windows sit on either side. One with a seat and cushions. This room also has a fire, the chimney connecting to the one from downstairs, with a huge rug in front of it. Bits and bobs that I couldn’t store anywhere else cover one corner of the room, draped in a protective cloth.
She tilts her head back with her mouth parted, and my heart thumps and my cock hardens. I keep trying not to look at her...or smell her. She’s fucking beautiful and powerful, I can’t forget that. More so than I thought, she proved herself in that alley and it only twisted me up inside. I have never wanted another person so badly—the man’s blood on her mouth incited images of my cock ramming there, with the blood of her enemies still in her mouth. I am fucking sick, but it seems like she is also.
As if sensing my thoughts, her eyes move to me and she grins that naughty fucking smile as her eyes dance. Her eyes had been black in the alley, the deep black of the night I hide in. It had sent shivers of desire through me while my chest filled with the feeling of rightness and home.
Breaking our stare, I follow her gaze to see that she was staring at the exposed wood beams of the high, arched roof.
That’s when I realise no one has spoken since we arrived and I wince. I am not good at this interacting shit. Never have been. I’m a loner and I like it that way, but she makes me want to speak. To ask her anything and everything just to hear that fucking sensual voice again.
Shit, say something, anything.
“You can stay here for the night,” I comment, and she raises her eyebrows.
Wow, good going.
“I’m going to make food.” Okay, again not what I was going for. That stupid god is looking at me like I’m an idiot.
Blowing out a breath, I scratch my arm like I always do when I am nervous, a bad habit I haven’t had in years. “Would you like some?” I force out.
I might not be fully down with this mate bullshit, but it doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to turn her away, and whenever I hurt her, it’s like hurting myself. Doesn’t mean I will stop being an asshole though, she will just have to fucking deal with it.
“Love some,” she replies, and I turn without another word and flee downstairs, the smell of her on me chases after me, mocking me.
Fucking skinwalker.
With Griffin storming off, I turn back to Nos. He watches me, his face completely blank.
“Are you mad?” I ask.
He shakes his head, leaning against the window.
“Are you...hungry?” I purr, sauntering until I can place my hand on his chest.
He grins now. “For you, Little Monster, always for you.”
I smile and a giggle tumbles out. He’s fucking crazy. Sighing, I keep eye contact as I stroke his chest. “Are you bothered about Griffin being my mate?”
He sighs as well before covering my hand, his eyes turning distant. “At first, I was. Mainly because I am selfish and I want you all to myself, but I can see he fulfills something in you, something I can’t. I also know your call wouldn’t do what it isn’t supposed to. There is a reason for everything, Little Monster. There is a reason for Griffin, why he was brought to you, why you are mated. The world doesn’t revolve without them, I just wish I knew what it was.”
I nod and he smiles at me, those lush lips curling up. “Are you bothered about Griffin being your mate?” he inquires, parroting my question back to me.
“Well, he’s not exactly a fucking ray of sunshine...but no. Something in me is drawn to him and I think underneath all that surly there is something real, and I have a feeling by the end of this, we are going to need him.”
He wraps his arms around me, bringing me in for a hug, his chin resting on my head. I love how big he is, I could hide in his arms forever, my own perfect hideaway. Safe.
“What do you mean? I still don’t know what happened,” he growls, his chest rumbling with it.
“It’s a long story, I promise I’ll tell you, but I learned that the human crime ring, the very one Griffin is hunting, is selling women. Not just any women, but women like me. Women with powers. They are torturing people, and when their powers come out to save them, they sell them to these people called The Others, who the man I killed thinks are like us as well,” I finish off, stroking his arm as he hums.
“Then you are right, we need him. I am good, I am powerful, but I haven’t really been a part of this city and life for a long time. It is clear h
e has been and he is a skilled fighter. He knows what we are up against.”
Looking up, I grin at his words. “We?”
He arches his eyebrow at me, kissing my forehead as he lays his against mine, creating our own little world. “We, Little Monster. Wherever that takes us, always we. From now on we do everything together. You want to kill your husband and you want the people who hurt you to pay. You want to hunt these bastards selling supernatural creatures. I will follow you through it all. We,” he concludes, and I grin before leaning up and kissing him hard.
How did I get so fucking lucky? Maybe my death was a good thing, it brought me to him after all.
I kicked off my shoes and left them upstairs as I make my way to the kitchen. Griffin’s house is a surprise. I expected the armoury, but what I didn’t expect was the photos and all the handmade carvings everywhere. I’m really intrigued, but the closed off look on his face lets me know he won’t answer any questions I throw his way. So instead, I sit at the table, running my fingers over the wood and watching as he moves around the kitchen. Nos follows me in and picks me up, before dropping me in his lap. Grinning, I still watch Griffin, wanting to learn more about my angel, or fallen as Nos said, mate.
I could be doing things, I could be hunting Tim and his men, hell, even The Others or Victor, but right now I don’t want to be anywhere but where I am with my mates. Tomorrow, it can all wait until tomorrow.
“What are we having?” I ask.
His shoulders tense as he keeps moving, banging down a pan onto the stove and grabbing ingredients from the fridge. “Stir fry,” he replies, the words sharp and short.
I tilt my head and watch as he starts chopping the veg, his movements quick and refined. It’s obvious he knows his way around the kitchen. It must get lonely though, always cooking for yourself, living with yourself, hunting...by yourself.
“So, you work for the council? What do they do?” I inquire, leaning back into Nos’ arms.