by M. D. Massey
“I ain’t sleeping with you, if that’s what you want. I ain’t nobody’s slave.”
“We’ve met before,” I said, ignoring her remarks. “Although you wouldn’t remember it.”
Clara chortled, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. “No surprise. You don’t seem very memorable to me. Don’t know why everybody’s afraid of you, either. Me? I don’t see it.”
“That’s kind of the point. The less intimidating I look, the scarier it is when the boogeyman comes out.” I glanced at her guards, addressing a slight Middle-Eastern female who I knew to be in charge. “Qistina, I’m about to take her off your hands. You good with that?”
The female vamp gave me a put-upon look, all rolled eyes and pouty lips. “You’d be doing us a favor, druid. She’s as uncouth as they come, and foul-mouthed besides. You two should get along great.”
“Ha, ha,” I replied. “Remember, I know where you live.”
Qistina chuckled. “Planning a daytime visit? I’ll tell you in advance, you’re not my type.”
Clara cackled. “She’s sure got you pegged.”
I glared at the little vamp. “Shut it or you’re riding in the trunk.”
She stuck her tongue out at me in reply. I walked up to Qistina, nodding at the back of the club. “I didn’t see Mateo here today. Is everything alright between them?”
Qistina’s face went blank. “I don’t gossip about my coven master’s personal life. But I can tell you that Mateo is out of town, visiting family.”
I nodded, wondering if her reticence indicated trouble in paradise. “Gotcha.” I motioned at Clara to stand. “C’mon, cupcake. I’m putting you to work.”
“Y’all ain’t turning me out, neither!” she protested. “I still got rights.”
The female lieutenant was in Clara’s face in an instant, grabbing her by her jacket and lifting her off her seat. “First off, no one is ‘turning you out.’ And as for your rights, you gave them up when you encroached on my master’s territory. Personally, I wouldn’t think twice about staking you out in a field before sun-up and finding a shady spot to watch you fry. Believe me, most of the coven feels the same. I suggest you play nice with the druid, because he’s the only friend you have right now.”
Clara, plucky little shit that she was, had the nerve to peel Qistina’s hands off her jacket. Rather, she tried to with little success. After a few seconds of struggling against the older vamp's grip, she demurred.
“Alright, fine. I’ll go with the ginger. But I ain’t sleeping with him.”
Qistina dropped Clara back in her seat. “Pfft. I’d say you’re not his type, either. And besides, if you did his werewolf girlfriend would eat your face off.”
The little redneck vampire remained unperturbed. “Is she cute? Cuz’ I might consider a threesome, if she was.”
With a disapproving shake of her head, Luther’s lieutenant stalked off, motioning for the other vamp to follow. She addressed me over her shoulder as they filed toward the kitchen. “Have fun looking after her, McCool. Better you than me.”
As soon as the other vamps were gone, Clara was on her feet. “Well, Sheriff Woody, it’s been fun. But I’m outta’ here.”
Clara sprinted toward the door, faster than any human could move. I expected her to rabbit as soon as she got the chance, so I’d prepared for that eventuality. Being young, she was slow for a vampire, so I had plenty of time to trigger the spell.
Alright, Clara—let’s set the tone for our relationship.
Since I’d bonded with the Oak and become Master of the Grove, certain abilities had become second nature to me. Natural materials now obeyed my will, allowing me to shape and mold them into whatever forms I needed at any given time. With time and effort I could do it with stone and metal—and to some extent, water and ice. But wood and plant fibers responded more readily to my commands than any other substance.
I gestured in the air as I spoke a single word to release the spell. “Cumaisc.”
Instantly, the wooden heels on Clara’s boots melded with the wood floor planks beneath her feet, sending her sprawling. As she fell, one of her ankles snapped loudly, and the splintered bones pierced her skin as her body continued its forward momentum while her foot remained in place. She landed in a crumpled heap, screaming and cussing up a storm.
Qistina and the other vamps immediately responded to the commotion. Once they saw what had happened they looked on with grins plastered across their faces. The lieutenant clucked her tongue at the little punk-a-billy vampire.
“Told you not to screw with him. Maybe next time, you’ll listen to your betters.”
“Fuck you, Princess Jasmine!” Clara replied as she writhed on the floor in pain. “Gah, this fucking hurts!”
Qistina crossed her arms. “Looks like it would.” She turned to me. “I can send a unit or two of blood along with you, to help her heal.”
I cocked my head, pretending that I was contemplating Qistina’s suggestion. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’ve had basic first aid training. I can probably set this myself and splint it well enough so it’ll mend back together. Doubtful that leg will work right afterward, though.”
“Oh, you motherfucker!” Clara spat. “I swear, once you patch me up, I’ll kill your faggoty hipster ass.”
“See, that’s just hurtful,” I said sarcastically. “And really, Clara, using sexual preference pejoratively—what is this, 1975?”
“In my one hundred and twenty years, I can’t recall a more abrasive personality,” Qistina observed. “I say let her suffer.”
“I could—or she could agree to behave and get that blood you mentioned.” I squatted down next to the little punk rock vampire. “Clara, do you promise to do what I say from here on out?”
Clara continued cussing like a tweaker with Tourette’s syndrome. I looked at Qistina, scratching my head. “My, but she’s stubborn.”
“Stupid too,” the coven lieutenant replied.
“Alrighty then—guess we’ll just leave her here for a while.” I started to stand, but Clara latched one of her elfin hands around my wrist, pulling me back down.
“Give. Me. The. Fucking. Blood,” she growled through clenched teeth. “Now.”
I grabbed her jacket sleeve, whispering in Gaelic and releasing just the slightest amount of power as I pulled her hand away. “And then you’ll be a good girl and do as I ask?”
“Yes!” she hissed.
I nodded to Qistina, who signaled her subordinate to fetch the blood. My eyes swept back to Clara’s with a look of mock sympathy. “See, sunshine? That wasn’t so hard.”
“Fuck off, Rick Astley,” she snarled. “And don’t call me sunshine.”
A few minutes after Clara had been fed, her leg had healed enough for her to walk. I bid goodbye to Qistina, who was more than happy to wash her hands of the little foul-mouthed vamp. Without checking to see if my charge followed, I whistled a tune as I headed across the parking lot to my Gremlin. Soon, Clara was limping along beside me.
“You owe me a new pair of boots, asshole. I just got those at the Salvation Army store a week ago. You fucking ruined them.”
“You’re on your own for that, cupcake. I’m not exactly rolling in cash.” I opened the driver’s door to the Gremlin, pausing to address her over the roof. “Hop in.”
She looked my ride over and gave an intentionally callous laugh. “This is what you drive? What a crap-wagon. Druid-ing must not pay for shit.”
I shrugged. “It’s old, but clean. And it has a few tricks up its sleeve.”
“If you say so.” Clara plopped into the passenger seat, wincing in pain. She hid it well, but her leg hadn’t fully healed yet. Her eyes widened as she looked at my dash. “Ho-lee shee-it—is that a cassette player?”
“Yup. Put your seatbelt on.”
I shut my door and cranked the engine over, taking a moment to enjoy the throaty sound of the big block V-8 and custom exhaust. Then I slammed my Dead Kennedy’s cassette in the deck, popped the car in gear, and
peeled out of the parking lot. We were miles down the road, enjoying Jello Biafra’s raucous vocals on “Kill The Poor,” before Clara spoke again.
“At least your music doesn’t suck. Fucked up lyrics, though.”
“It’s sarcasm. They aren’t really saying we should kill poor people.”
“Oh.” She squirmed around in her seat, pulling on the frayed edges of her denim skirt. “So, if you don’t want to fuck me, why’d ya’ save me?”
I thought about it for a minute. “Guilty conscience.”
“Huh? You a perv or sumthin’?”
I chuckled, despite myself. “Hardly. No, for a time I was forced to do some very nasty things to survive. Let’s just say I’m trying to make up for it now and leave it at that.”
“If you say so. Still don’t tell me why you saved me. I can’t do nuthin’, not like Fabrice and Jūn. At least they could fight. Me? I’m the weakest one everywhere I go.”
“Maybe that’s why I need you, Clara. The weak are often overlooked.”
I pulled into the clubhouse parking lot, selecting a space that was way the hell on the other side of the lot and far away from the door. After I shut off the engine, I checked my gear to make sure I had a few weapons handy—never could be too careful around the clubhouse—and set a few wards on the car. Once I was set, I snapped my fingers to get Clara’s attention.
“Listen up. This is not somewhere you want to fuck around.” I took a deep whiff of air. “Smell that?”
She crinkled her nose. “Smells like wet dog, stale beer, and ass.”
“Bingo. This is the Austin Pack’s clubhouse and they do not like vampires around here. Especially vamps they don’t know. So, stay put.”
“But what if I need to pee or something?” she asked, batting her baby brown eyes at me.
“Vampires don’t need to pee,” I said, slamming my door shut. I leaned over, resting my arms on the window frame. “And don’t even think about bailing. I’ve set the wards, and there’s enough magic on this thing to fry you into a pile of ash if you so much as adjust the sideview mirror. Last thing I need is for my car to smell like burned baby vamp.”
Clara remained silent as she scowled and flipped me off with both barrels.
“And shut those windows, before they catch your scent!” I stage-whispered over my shoulder as I headed for the club’s entrance.
The little vamp ignored my warning until I was halfway across the parking lot. I was almost to the front door of the club when I heard the squeaky sound of the Druidmobile’s windows being rolled up. Despite the fact that she was a major pain in the ass, I couldn’t help but laugh at her stubbornness.
You rebellious little shit. It’d serve you right if you got eaten by a werewolf.
Guerra gave me a nod as I walked in, foregoing our usual banter. That was to be expected after what had happened to Fallyn. While not everyone in the Pack blamed me for it, her dad certainly did. Samson had made it clear that, while I hadn’t been booted completely, I wasn’t exactly welcome around the clubhouse. With no one left to challenge his authority, the Pack followed their alpha’s lead to a “T” these days.
The place was nearly empty, so I crossed the barroom floor without incident. Mitzi, the barkeep, was the only one who acknowledged me, and that was with a quick wave and a look that said I was crazy for showing up here. As I headed for Samson’s office, she gave a rueful shake of her head and went back to polishing bar glasses.
The door to his office was open and I could hear the click of pool balls from halfway across the bar. I slipped inside without a word, watching as Sledge and Samson finished a game. After the alpha pocketed the eight ball he tossed his stick on the felt, crossing his arms and leaning against the table as he turned to face me. Sledge occupied himself by slowly racking up another game.
“She’s not here, I haven’t spoken to her, and I’m not delivering any messages for you. Now, go away.”
I ignored the gruff welcome, instead taking in the room with my gaze. “It’s a lot cleaner than I remember. Fixed the bullet holes in the back wall too, I see.”
Samson ran a rough, calloused hand down the side of his face, briefly resting his chin in that hand before tossing it up in the air. “Yeah, well—I’ve had a lot of time on my hands lately.”
My eyes locked on his for a moment. “I miss her too, Samson.”
He pushed off the pool table hard, moving it backward a few inches as he crossed the space between us in an instant. “I don’t give a shit, McCool,” he growled as he got up in my face. “I don’t care about your feelings, I don’t care how sorry you are, and I damned sure don’t care to play Friar-fucking Laurence between you and my daughter.”
I remained calm and kept my eyes on his chest to avoid pissing him off. It was always such a pain in the ass, keeping the peace with dominant werewolves. You couldn’t look them in the eye, because that was a challenge and it’d piss them off. But you also couldn’t look at their mouth, as keeping your eyes on their primary weapons was a sign of fear and weakness. And you weren’t supposed to look at their throat, since that might be seen as a sign of aggression. I hoped like hell I’d never meet a female alpha werewolf, because I wouldn’t know where the fuck I was supposed to look.
Veins were bulging out of Samson’s neck and forehead, and I could see his pulse in my peripheral vision. I wasn’t afraid of him and he knew it, but I saw no reason to antagonize him—especially not in front of his sergeant at arms. So, I waited for his pulse to slow a bit, then I responded.
“You’ve made your position quite clear where your daughter and I are concerned. But if you think I’m going to split town without letting her know where I’ve gone, you haven’t been paying attention.”
Samson replied in a low, menacing voice. “The only thing that’s keeping me from ripping your throat out right now is the fact that you didn’t hesitate to trade your life for hers.”
I considered his words, wondering how we’d gone from being grudging friends to near enemies in so short a time. It was something I’d have to remember, if I ever survived being hunted by the gods long enough to settle down and have a daughter of my own someday. Note to self: Nobody will ever be good enough for your daughter.
On the other hand, I was sick and tired of taking Samson’s shit. Sure, he was the local alpha and I owed him for helping me control my shifting abilities. And since I was Pack, he was also my alpha—but I’d never really fit in with the Pack. Maybe it was time to let him know I wasn’t going to whine and cower every time he growled like the rest of these whipped dogs.
Fuck it.
“Samson,” I said, locking eyes with him. “The only reason I haven’t taken you up on those threats is because I’d have to put you down—and I don’t want to run this fucking Pack.”
Sledge was there in the blink of an eye, grabbing his alpha to restrain him. The smaller, older werewolf was already changing, and as his joints popped and reset he slavered and snapped at me menacingly.
“I’ll fucking kill you, you little shit,” he growled. “I don’t care what the old man and that bitch have planned!”
“Man, you need to leave,” Sledge said, his eyes pleading with me. “Now.”
I looked back and forth at them both. “Fine. Sorry you had to get in the middle of our shit, Sledge.”
The bigger werewolf shook his head as he struggled to restrain his alpha. “He’s about through changing and I ain’t gonna’ be able to hold him once he’s done.”
“He doesn’t scare me,” I said, causing Samson to snarl louder and struggle harder.
“I get that, alright?” Sledge replied. “Look, I’ll tell her you were asking about her if you get the fuck out of here.”
“Deal.”
It took less than an instant to contact the Oak, and I instructed it to send me to the parking lot next to my car. Clara was busy looking in the rearview mirror when I opened the door, messing with her spiky pink hair. I grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her from the car.
“Where’d you come from—hey!” she protested.
“C’mon, we have to go.”
“Go where?”
A loud roar came from the clubhouse. Moments later, the front doors exploded outward as Samson crashed through them in his werewolf form. He scanned the parking lot, quickly zeroing in on us although it was pitch dark and we were a hundred yards away. He was bounding toward us in no time, leaping onto and over cars and trucks, setting off alarms, ruining several very nice paint jobs with his claws, and looking like he wanted to eat my liver while I watched.
“Oh. Fuck.” Clara said.
“Meh,” I replied. “Fair warning, this is going to be weird.”
“What—gettin’ eaten by a werewolf?” she asked.
“Huh? No, this.”
7
A split-second later, Clara and I stood in front of the office at the junkyard. The tiny vampire stumbled a bit before catching herself, then she started cussing and complaining about “freaky-ass wizard shit.” I ignored her and stalked into the office, leaving her alone out front. Inside, Finnegas and Maureen were drinking coffee and sharing a laugh.
The half-kelpie crinkled her nose as I shut the door behind me. “Why do I smell vampire? Ya’ keepin’ pets now?”
“No time to explain,” I said, addressing them both. “Things didn’t go so well at the clubhouse. Samson’ll be bounding up to the front gates looking for me in a few minutes, so it’s probably best that we’re gone when he gets here.”
Finnegas sighed. “Will he be able to get in?”
“You’ve seen my wards—what do you think?” I replied.
“Probably not, but we’d best not tempt fate. Once he smells that you’re not here, he’ll move on.”
Maureen set her coffee cup down on the counter, then she pushed up the sleeves on her flannel shirt. “Don’cha go worryin’ yer’ selves. I can handle the alpha just fine.”
“Don’t confront him, because it’ll only make it worse,” I countered. “Just let him pace around the fence for a while until he cools off. Eventually, he’ll get bored and head back to the clubhouse.”