The bandage tickled as he pulled it away and threw it in the waste-bin.
“There we go.” His voice seemed deeper as his gaze wandered down my body. “Your bruising has gone down.”
“That’s good,” I said idiotically.
He nodded and took hold of my hands. His gaze locked with mine.
“There are clean clothes in the wardrobe,” he said, pulling my hands away from the shirt. “You can help yourself to any of them.”
The material of the shirt brushed the tops of my thighs, covering me once more.
“Brendan?”
His focus dropped to my lips. “Hmm?”
“Thank you for getting me out.”
“No problem.” He turned abruptly, then walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
~ Brendan ~
My stomach growled as the smell of freshly cooked stew met my nose. I hadn’t eaten properly in the last couple of days, which wasn’t smart of me since I needed to recover, but with Heather out like a light and after she had been acting like a wild animal...my appetite became the least of my concerns. The dining room buzzed with the usual voices as I made my way down the large mahogany stairs. One glance through the archway showed me the familiar faces of each Pack member as they sat at the large round dining table. If the Pack sat waiting for Eve’s cooking, it meant one thing: a meeting.
I never understood why Carter thought it a good idea to hold a meeting whilst having dinner. Hot or sharp objects cluttered the table. But, as I soon discovered, if someone placed food in front of a Werewolf—even a pissed Werewolf—they would eat and put off a battle. Our metabolisms were high, which meant we ate a lot. So, Carter kept the serious situations under control by staging the meetings during a nice meal, and we all behaved so we didn’t insult our Alpha, or his daughter’s cooking.
My stomach urged me to take a trip into the kitchen and sneak a bowl of Eve’s delicious, homemade stew, but that would be rude, and would also mean that I needed to cut through the dining room. With the way I currently looked and felt, walking into a room where half the people—if not more—had a problem with me wouldn’t be the best idea.
I headed down the hallway to Carter’s study and knocked on the heavy door.
“Come in,” he called.
I pushed open the door and walked inside. Carter sat at his desk, his attention fixed on his computer screen. I walked to one of the moss green, leather chairs, then sat down, fighting the urge to just collapse.
The study was huge, every inch of wall lined with bookshelves, but then what else would a person expect from a house of this scale. This dwelling had been in his family for generations and had always been used as a safe house for the Pack. I looked to my right where sunlight flooded the room through a tall, single-paned window. The trees at the end of the garden swayed as the Scottish air ran through them.
Being in this room made me feel like a pupil in the headmaster’s office. The space held a certain dominating energy to it, because of the age, but also because Carter used it as his private space.
“Heather is awake.”
He looked up at me. “How is she?”
If I thought I could get away with lying, I would have. “She’s in the bath at the moment. She took a while to walk from the bed to the bathroom, even with me supporting her the whole way. She’s still in pain, and the ribs are not yet healed. Hopefully, the bath will help.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And, she tried to bite me.” I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face as if I could wipe away the exhaustion. “It’s my own fault, though. I tried to help her sit up and she got too close to my neck.”
Even though it didn’t really matter; when a Vampire—or in Heather’s case, an Infected—wanted blood, I highly doubted they would be picky about where to bite.
“Is this going to be a problem?”
I really hope not.
“I don’t know.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “She’s lived with this for her whole life, and although she openly admitted she can always smell blood, she has never tried to bite anyone. Now—”
“Her restraint has snapped,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s like she zones out and doesn’t realize what she is actually doing.”
“The predator takes over.” Carter folded his arms. “We all know how that feels.”
His dark eyes met mine.
“Yes.” I knew all too well. “She can fight it.”
“We need to help her learn how to restrain the cravings once more.”
I nodded. “She told me there are more humans at the facility. She said they’re Infecteds.”
“Does she know how many?”
“A hundred.”
Carter huffed a soft curse.
“She said that the Leech, Lance, wanted to make them like her.”
“A little impossible, since she’s born that way.” His jaw set as he finished the sentence. “Unless he has infected pregnant women?”
“I’m not sure. Heather didn’t tell him how she survives, which is why he starved her; he wanted to figure out her feeding habits. She hadn’t been fed her mixture for the duration of our stay. When they threw me in the room with her, she was ravenous.”
“You think she would have lasted longer if she had been fed?”
“I know she would’ve.” The next question hovered on the tip of my tongue, a question I had to ask for my own piece of mind. “Carter, did Sofia tell you this would happen?”
I left my gaze on the desk, could feel his eyes burning into my head. I had asked him the morning we had to find Luca if he’d known anything, which he had denied, but I knew he lied. Just like I knew that he was trying to find the right thing to say at this very moment.
I heard him move in his chair as a muffled oath left his mouth.
“Sofia didn’t tell me you would be taken to a facility, let alone be taken; she knew better than that. She knew that if she told me, I wouldn’t have sent you, and I would have collected—”
A knock sounded on the door. “Father, the food will be ready in five minutes.”
“Thank you, Eve.” Carter returned his attention to me. “What Sofia told me had nothing to do with what happened. If I had known, I would have stopped it, and Sofia didn’t want that. This is something she mapped out a long time ago. All we can do is go with the flow. You must follow the path.” He sighed. “Anything that she might have told me will not pass my lips until, and if, I need to mention it. That is the only favour she ever asked me, and I will honour it.”
His gaze fell to the small, wooden picture frame on his desk.
“Now, I need you to join us this afternoon. Since Heather is awake, I would like her to be present, as well.”
“I don’t think she’s in the right frame of mind for that.”
“And I don’t think Heather is so stupid that she would try and fight an entire Pack, Brendan.” Carter laughed lightly.
“You haven’t met her.” I forced myself to stand.
“You have time to get yourself cleaned up,” he said. “We won’t start until you are both present.”
I nodded, then made my way back upstairs.
Chapter Fifteen
~ Heather ~
The hot water soothed my aching muscles, but didn’t reach the chill deep in my gut. I had tried to bite Brendan...again. I wanted his blood. The surge of thirst that surfaced from our earlier contact disappeared—for now—and I felt okay, but would that be the end of all contact from this point onward? Would I want to bite and feed from every human—well, anything with a pulse – who came too close to me? Would I be able to control myself?
Man, if I thought being normal and trying to fit in was hard, the attempt just plummeted to completely impossible!
I slid down until I submerged my entire body.
I’m a new species of Vampire in a house full of Werewolves, and my self-control is messy, I’m so not going to be making a good first impression. At least if
I die, it will be quick....
Brendan’s face appeared above me. His eyes grew wide as he reached into the water and clamped his hands around my head. I gurgled; bubbles flurried around my face. He dragged my head up, out of the water. Fresh pain tore through my body as I kicked about, sending water all over his black T-shirt. He pulled me into a sitting position. I sucked in a sharp breath, then coughed my guts up. My heart hammered from the shock.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growled as his grip tightened on my skull.
“I’m taking a bath, you maniac.” I blinked water from my eyes. “What the hell did you think I was doing? Digging for clams?”
I lifted my knees toward my chest and wrapped my arms around them, concealing as much flesh as possible. Not that it mattered; he had probably caught glimpses of certain areas through the gaps in the suds floating on the water.
“I thought you were trying to kill—”
“Kill myself?” I laughed harshly. “Naked, and in a house full of Werewolves? Are you insane?” He threw a towel over my head.
“I just thought, considering our earlier conversation that—”
“I would drown myself in strawberry-scented bath water?” I asked, looking at him as he towelled my hair. His own hair was wet and slicked back, his chin now free of stubble, showing off his square jaw. “If I wanted to kill myself, firstly, I would not be naked, and secondly, I would choose something quicker than drowning.”
“Something heroic and tragic, I suppose, like a knife to the heart?” He grunted, his dulled eyes evaluating me.
“How Shakespearian of you, but I think something more along the lines of going up against a crazy Werewolf would work best.” I forced a sweet smile.
Lines creased at the corners of his mouth. “I thought you said something quick?”
“Does that mean you think I would win?”
“Possibly, with a crazy Werewolf, and if you had a shit lot of silver, then your chances might be good. But a sane Werewolf—”
I punched his arm, causing the lines to deepen as a smile spread.
“You hit like a girl.”
“Let me get out of here and put some clothes on, and I will show you how well I can hit,” I said, sounding more playful than I intended.
“I will take a rain check, Slayer.” He dropped the towel back over my head before adding, “For today.”
He stood up as I pulled off the towel.
“All your girly kicking has gone and soaked my clean T-shirt,” he said, looking at his wet top.
“That is your own fault for diving into the tub and startling me,” I replied. “Now go away, so I can get out.”
I caught sight of the shy grin that pulled at his mouth before he turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. I slowly pushed myself up, then wrapped the soft white towel tightly around myself and carefully climbed out of the bath. My legs still hurt slightly, but no pins and needles surfaced. I pulled the plug out of the drain, then walked to the bathroom door.
I stopped in the gap. Brendan stood at the foot of the bed where he pulled his black T-shirt over his head. His curved back muscles would give any sculpture a run for its money, but the scars that marked his smooth, golden skin were what caught my attention.
I walked over and placed my hand gently on the four lines of jagged, pink flesh striping the middle of his back.
“Why haven’t they healed?” I asked. His muscles tensed beneath my fingertips.
“The monkshood slowed down the process, which means they will scar instead of healing,” he said, throwing his top on the floor.
My eyes wandered up the length of his spine and across his broad shoulders to the four thinner lines running from his right shoulder blade upward. Old scars, trying hard to blend in with his tan, just like the one across his forehead and left eye. I pressed my fingertips to the lines and traced them.
Brendan turned around. The marks ended just below his collarbone. My gaze travelled down his sculptured chest to the dainty, gold solitaire diamond ring hanging on the braided leather chain around his neck. I gulped back the questions and looked at the two jagged pink scars on his abdomen from the silver daggers, joining an old, massive bite scar hugging his left side, just below his ribcage.
“Why didn’t they heal?” I asked, looking up into his tired eyes.
His jaw tensed. “Because they didn’t.”
He stepped away from me and grabbed a long-sleeved, navy shirt off the bed.
I clutched the towel tightly against my damp body. “But I thought—”
“They’re only scars.” He pulled on the shirt. “Carter wants you to join us for something to eat.”
“Okay.” I nodded, watching as he buttoned the shirt.
“I will wait in the hall for you,” he said, over his shoulder.
“Okay.” I followed him with my eyes as he walked to the door. “Brendan?” He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at me. “I’m sorry.”
For what, I had no idea, but I couldn’t hold in the words.
“Try not to be too long. Werewolves hate waiting for their food.” He closed the door behind himself.
I really hope that isn’t a sick joke of some kind.
I pulled on a pair of jeans at least a size too big for me, then threaded a man’s brown leather belt through the loops. If a Pack of Werewolves didn’t kill me, it would be because I had been strangled to death by another woman’s forest green polo neck. I hated things clinging to my neck, but that top had been the only one I could pull off wearing. Funnily enough, the underwear fit, and the idea that such a coincidence was due to Brendan made my stomach clench. Best not to think about the crazy Werewolf evaluating my knickers and bra, mainly because I didn’t know if the idea embarrassed me, or if I wanted to hurt him for seeing them, or if.... Do not go there.
I quickly towelled my hair, then braided it, using a comb and one of the hair ties I found in the bathroom. I pulled on a pair of plain black pumps from the wardrobe, then walked over to the bedroom door and opened it.
I stepped into the large hallway. Brendan leant against the wall. I looked at him, evaluating his mood. He seemed relaxed, simply waiting with his hands in his jeans pockets. The sleeves of the navy shirt stopped just past his elbows. He looked me over and pressed his mouth into a hard line, his smile creases threatening to give away his sudden amusement. How did he do that? Be one way, and in one frame of mind, then jump to another in a moment. Did he do that as part of a wall, to protect his true feelings? But I’d be hypocritical to pretend I knew nothing about building walls. It just bugged me that he knew why I had my walls. And sometime, in these last two weeks, he had managed to peek over. Come to think of it, I still didn’t actually know anything about him, despite our many short and stupid conversations. I hated to admit it, but that small fact actually worried me.
“Just one word.” I warned him.
“Sweet,” he said.
“What?”
“You said one word, so I said sweet, as in, you look sweet.” He chuckled as he pushed himself off the wall. “Are you ready?”
No. “Sure.”
I followed him as he headed left. We walked quietly, which gave me a chance to look at the rich interior. The dark, varnished mahogany floor matched the dark wallpaper. Old paintings hung on the wall between large windows with burgundy velvet curtains.
“Are we in a castle?” I stared up at the high, beamed ceiling.
“A manor house,” Brendan said as we reached an open stairway.
The mahogany banister framed the large square space overlooking the main hallway. I had to admit, the fact I couldn’t see any suits of armour kinda surprised me, as the place was huge and old. I glanced at the iron chandelier that hung above us.
“So your Alpha is rich?”
“This estate has been in his family for generations. Plus, he’s rather good with money, having worked as a taxman for most of his life.”
He would have to be, to keep a place like this
going; the manor looked like something from the set of a period drama.
We headed down the wide staircase. With each step, I became painfully aware of soft conversation in the room below.
Oh God, is this a good idea? Would Brendan chase me if I bolted?
As if sensing my sudden hesitation, Brendan placed his hand on my shoulder.
I looked at him.
“You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes, so that he couldn’t see how freaked out I really felt. “Believe me, Brendan, it isn’t them I’m worried about,” I said, walking down the remaining steps and taking a deep breath.
He bounded down beside me and headed into the room first. I couldn’t be frightened. My scent alone could provoke them, but I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t scared of being in a room with God knows how many Werewolves; being in close proximity to people with heartbeats, pumping fresh hot blood, made me want to shriek. I shuddered. Then I reminded myself that I’d wanted to bite Brendan only when he had literally been in front of my nose and mouth, so maybe I would be okay.
With one last deep breath, I walked forward, then stopped beside Brendan—more like froze momentarily, as seventeen sets of eyes pinned me to the spot.
The ceiling, as tall as the room I had woken up in, overlaid chocolate-shaded wood panelling on the walls and floor. Three tall windows on the right wall gave a view of the gravel drive, a grassy lawn, and a high wall. The sun poured into the room, spilling across the floor. The place smelled of bark and cut grass, fur, fresh cooked meat, and a variety of sweet and spicy scents.
A man stood up at the far side of the huge round dining table. His chocolate brown hair fell in a wave that ended just below his ears. He looked roughly the same height as Brendan, but his shoulders and chest were a hell of a lot broader.
“Brendan.” He nodded, then his dark eyes settled on me. “Heather, please join us.”
His thick Scottish accent rolled over me like a calm tidal wave. I walked forward—keeping my eyes on the people at the table—and sat down on one of the two empty chairs the man indicated. Brendan took the remaining seat on my left.
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