"I'm still going out. Need any trees uprooted or anything?"
"She's funny," Weldon said, pointing at me with his coffee cup.
Fat flakes of snow were falling when I stepped outside the door and it was cold, no doubt about that. I heard water running off in the distance and I figured there was a river nearby. I took off in that direction. The banks of the Red River (not to be confused with the Red River that separates Texas and Oklahoma, this was the Red River North) had some ice around the edges, but the middle was a strong flowing current when I found it. That's where I concentrated on turning to mist. I didn't freeze. Who knew? I floated over the tops of trees, saw the log home off in the distance and then the river, winding its way toward Canada. The night was still and cold while snowflakes continued to fall around me. Honestly, if there'd been a good supply of blood nearby, I might have considered settling there, it was so peaceful. Far off to the south, I could see the lights of Grand Forks. I didn't turn back to myself until I was around a hundred yards from the cabin, kicking the snow off my shoes before going inside. I'd only been gone about an hour or so.
"I don't suppose you'd consider making cookies or a pie or something?" Daryl looked a bit wistful.
"What do you have to cook with?" I asked. He'd get cookies if he had the right ingredients. He hadn't done anything (yet) to piss me off.
Daryl led me into the kitchen. At least it looked like it belonged in the twentieth century. Maybe not the twenty-first, but we were in the middle of nowhere. I found sugar, both white and brown, butter and flour. Somebody knew how to shop for groceries, here. Winkler? I think he'd have problems recognizing a loaf of bread.
"Do you have peanut butter?" I asked, digging through a cabinet.
"Yeah." Daryl found a large jar inside a cabinet.
"Do you like peanut butter cookies?"
"Yes." He was smiling.
"Good. We'll have that." Daryl sat down at the small table inside the kitchen and watched while I put his peanut butter cookies together. I heard Weldon inside a room not far away, talking on the phone. I didn't listen in.
Daryl was busy eating a plate full of peanut butter cookies when Weldon emerged. He grabbed a handful for himself and poured out a glass of milk to go with them. "I heard you won't cook for Winkler anymore," Weldon said.
"Well, Phil shot me in the back and then Winkler blackmailed me. Go figure," I said, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel. I'd just finished washing the dishes by hand. No dishwasher here, thank you very much.
"You don't have legitimate ID," Weldon reminded me.
"Even if I did still have my own license, the photograph doesn't look like me anymore. Not even a good facelift would accomplish what happened to me. Besides, the assholes who turned me stole my purse. What was I supposed to do? Go off to the police and say hi, I'm a new vampire. Can you please help get my purse back from the two vampires who killed me?"
"I have absolutely no advice for a new vampire," Weldon said. "Sorry. You haven't lost your talent in the kitchen, though." He stuffed another cookie in his mouth.
"That's me. Old stand in front of you and take bullets and then whip out a batch of cookies Lissa. What can I say? I'm multi-talented."
"That was Winkler on the phone earlier, asking how you were," Weldon informed me. "I asked him if he wanted to talk to you. He sounded like you might not be willing."
"He might be right," I said. "I'm going to go read, now. Let me know if you need something guarded or Bigfoot tracked." I went off to my room.
"For a leech, she's really pretty, dad," Daryl said. I heard him all the way through my bedroom door.
Chapter 9
People started arriving before dawn the following morning, driving vans, SUVs, trucks, RVs and rental cars. One vehicle had tires on it taller than I was. Eventually I stood in Weldon's front yard and watched all of them drive through, stopping in this spot or that and either hauling out a tent or going outside briefly to relieve themselves before climbing back into their van or whatever. Weldon came out a little while before sunrise with a cup of coffee in his hands to watch with me. "Must be some meeting," I said, as more vehicles drove past. It looked like most of Weldon's guests were male.
"It is," he nodded, sipping from his coffee cup. "Be ready to work when you get up later."
"Oh, sure. Do I have to watch all of them take a piss?"
"Not unless you want to, or I tell you to." He grinned at me.
"Well, have fun." I patted his arm and went inside so the sun wouldn't catch me again.
* * *
Winkler prepared me for the great outdoors before I left Corpus Christi. I was now the proud owner of hiking boots in a chocolate brown and I wore them now, along with jeans, a sweater, and my down jacket. The murmurs started as soon as Weldon, Daryl and I walked through the sea of tents. Campfires were going almost everywhere and people were eating, talking, laughing, grumbling, and as soon as I walked past them, whispering. About me. Somehow, the moment I came anywhere near them, they knew what I was. I heard everything from vamp to leech, and quite a few other derogatory terms that I didn't recognize. If I'd been able to flush, I would have. I suppose I no longer had the blood supply or the circulation to do it. Again, the missing FVM came to mind.
"Do they think I don't hear?" I asked Daryl, after hearing fucking vampire for perhaps the fiftieth time.
"They don't have enough experience around your kind," Daryl replied softly.
"They're not getting cookies," I snipped. Daryl chuckled.
There had to be at least five hundred people there, perhaps more, making the area surrounding Weldon's cabin extremely crowded. "Grand Master, I'm the Packmaster from Des Moines," a man came forward and offered his hand to Weldon.
"The one who took Corwin down?"
"Yes." Weldon took the man's hand and shook it.
"I liked Corwin, he was very effective," Weldon said. "See that you do justice to his Pack."
"Yes, Grand Master," the man almost bowed and got the hell out of the way. My head was spinning suddenly and my suspicions were confirmed when a huge wolf bounded past.
"Fuck," I muttered. Here I was, surrounded by something else that I'd thought myth—werewolves. And not only that, I was serving as bodyguard to the fucking Grand Master. How lucky was I? Winkler, Phil, Davis and Glen? All had to be werewolves, too. And Whitney. And Sam. And who knew who else? Was that what Gavin was? Is that how they could tell what I was? By the smell? "Jesus Christ," I said.
"What?" Daryl jerked to a halt beside me.
"Nothing. Winkler's a dead man," I said.
"Dad might object to that. Winkler's the Dallas Packmaster, you know. And Phil's his Second."
"They may both be dead," I retorted. "Your dad can object all he wants. Is Winkler coming, too?"
"No, he and dad had their meeting when we were in Corpus Christi," Daryl said. Weldon was greeting other werewolves and ignoring us. I was dutifully glancing around us, watching for anything suspicious while Daryl and I talked.
We walked through the whole, huge camp that night—Weldon talking to this one or that, seeing old friends and new faces. I continued to hear the comments regarding his vampire bodyguard, but I tuned them out after a while. What was I supposed to do? Challenge five hundred werewolves? No wonder Phil always smelled like a wet dog. That's exactly what he was. Winkler had a different smell to him, as did Davis and Glen, but I always thought it was the differences in people. Come to think of it, Gavin didn't smell like any of them. He just smelled good to me and I couldn't explain it.
Weldon settled down at a campfire after a while to have coffee and a sandwich with somebody while Daryl and I stood guard. The man Weldon was eating with looked old; he had gray in his hair while everyone else I'd seen looked younger. Except for this man, nobody looked more than forty.
"That's Thomas Williams," Daryl whispered to me after a while. "He's the oldest Packmaster we have. Dad figures he'll get challenged before next year's meet, so this is a goodbye meeting.
"
"Dear God," I muttered while scanning our surroundings. "How old is he?"
"Almost two hundred," Daryl said. "Usually they don't live past a hundred and fifty—as a Packmaster, anyway," he added. "We can live to around two-ten, two-fifteen, otherwise."
I didn't want to ask him what the life expectancy of a Grand Master was. No way. We made it back to the house about an hour before dawn. Weldon had called in some other security and now there were two new werewolves waiting beside the door. "This is Emmett and this is Kipp," Weldon introduced the two dark-haired werewolves. "From the Fargo Pack. They'll be extra daytime security."
"Don't call her a leech or you won't get cookies," Daryl offered.
"She makes good cookies," Weldon agreed.
Emmett and Kipp stayed outside, Weldon, Daryl and I went inside. "We'll be having a hunt in two days," Weldon informed me before I headed off to bed. "It's a way to blow off steam before the meetings begin. Daryl will be running with me, so you can stay here and bake cookies or do whatever you want," he grinned. "Emmett and Kipp will guard the house."
"Watch out, Bambi," I said dryly.
"Exactly," Weldon laughed.
Emmett and Kipp got chocolate chip cookies before we went out on patrol the following evening—somebody had made a run to the store. The kitchen was filled with all kinds of food and the fridge was stocked up, too. Weldon placed six cookies in a sandwich bag and took them with him. I'd made a double batch since I knew Weldon and Daryl could polish off a batch by themselves. Weldon stopped by a tent and handed the cookies off to a man there. Well, werewolf would be a better description.
"You learned to bake?" the werewolf teased Weldon as he accepted the bag. He had dark hair, brown eyes and an easy smile.
"Nope. Lissa here baked them. Don't worry, Daryl and I have already eaten a dozen apiece. They're safe."
"A vampire that knows how to bake and is willing to do so?" the man was smiling at me.
"Hey, I've only been vampire for less than three months. I've been baking cookies for thirty years." I probably shouldn't have opened my mouth, but I did.
"Lissa, this is Martin Walters, the Fresno Packmaster," Weldon introduced me. Martin Walters held out his hand first, so I took it and shook.
"Nice to meet you," I said. He bit into a cookie.
"These are good," he nodded at me. "Want to sit?" he turned to Weldon and pulled out a campstool for the Grand Master. Weldon sat.
Emmett and Kipp left us after a while. They needed to sleep—they'd been guarding all day. It was Daryl's and my turn, now. Another werewolf walked up, causing Daryl to growl low in his throat.
"Just passing by," the man held up his hands and went on his way.
"Look out for that one," Daryl told me as I watched the man walk away. I would. I had his scent, now.
"What's the deal?" I asked.
"That's Lester Briggs. He opposed dad when he and the Head of the Vampire Council hammered out the peace agreement between the Vamps and the Wolves. It's been in place for about twenty years, now. Before, it was all-out war. Some of the Wolves don't like the peace—they still want to kill you guys. The truth is, we were headed for extinction, vampires and werewolves. Our numbers are down to about a third of what they were before. The peace is going to allow everybody to rebuild the races."
"Holy cow," I said. "Was it really that bad?"
"Yeah. Trust me."
"Daryl, how old are you?" He looked to me like he was in his twenties.
"Forty-eight," He grinned.
"Geez Louise, you're older than I am, but not by much," I said.
"Dad told me you were forty-seven," Daryl said quietly. "Here comes Bart Orford, he's one of Lester's supporters and runs the Wichita Pack. Lester is the Santa Fe Packmaster."
"Did you say there's a Vampire Council?"
"Based in London, but they have eyes and ears everywhere," Daryl shivered a little. "And they have Enforcers and Assassins. If any vampire gets out of line or goes rogue, they don't last long."
Great. Something else to worry over. I made a mental note to ask Daryl later if he could tell me what constituted a rogue or what stepping out of line entailed. The terms Enforcer and Assassin weren't something that set my mind at ease, actually.
Weldon talked to Martin Walters for about an hour and had coffee and cookies with him before getting up to go pay other visits. Again, we walked until close to dawn and stopped many times, just like the night before. I noticed that we didn’t stop to talk to Lester Briggs or Bart Orford, although we passed both their RVs. I saw somebody in Lester's vehicle peeking out the window as we went by.
"You know, Daryl," I said when we'd walked maybe five minutes after passing the RVs, "I want to check something. Give me a minute, will you?" Weldon had found someone else to talk to, so Daryl just nodded. "I'll be right back," I said, taking off to the left and going through rows of tents. Daryl might fidget before I got back, but I wanted to make sure there wasn't any funny business going on. Finding a tree in a dark area, I went up it in a flash and turned to mist as quickly as I could. Someday I was going to have to time myself, just to see how long it took.
I misted to the two RVs, hovering around them and listening.
"They'll expect us to raise the question," I heard someone say.
"During the meeting," somebody else agreed.
"I think we've got enough support, don't you?"
"We will have."
That was the most I got and it was pretty inane, actually. I figured they wanted to raise the whole issue of the peace agreement and whether enough of the werewolves wanted it or not. I had no idea if this was a democracy or even something close. I also didn't figure Daryl or Weldon would be happy to answer my questions about werewolf politics. I misted back to the tree, turned to myself and went to find Daryl.
"Anything worthwhile?" Daryl asked when I got back. Weldon was still at the same spot, talking.
"They were just saying they intended to raise the question during the meeting and that they thought they were going to have enough support."
Daryl sniffed. "No way. At least two thirds of the Packmasters are on dad's side. The peace is stable. On the vamps' side as well."
"Good. We don't need war to break out again, just as I'm surrounded by five hundred werewolves."
Daryl grinned over that. "Who'd make cookies?" he asked.
"Not me, if they rip me to shreds," I replied with a shrug.
We made it to the house before dawn and Emmett and Kipp were yawning and having coffee when we walked up. Not wasting any time, I went straight to my bedroom, grabbed my pajamas and the robe Winkler had bought for me and went to get a shower before I passed out.
Emmett and Kipp were the only ones around when I got up the evening of the hunt. I'd had my blood already; it was impossible for me to finish off a pint. Usually I got about two-thirds of one down and put the rest back in the fridge. My skin was prickling for some reason when I walked into the living area and I couldn't really say why. "Have they started the hunt?" I asked Emmett, who'd come in to warm up, leaving Kipp alone outside for a couple of minutes.
"Not yet, they're probably out there disrobing and seeing who has the biggest dick," Emmett laughed. "These hunts are all about power. When a normal pack hunts on the full moon, we just dump our clothes as fast as possible and start running. When we force the change to hunt, it's all a show."
"You all get naked together?" I was blinking in astonishment at Emmett.
"Yeah. It's not a big deal if it's the full moon. We have to make the change and we're itching to do it. We don't even look at the females if there are any. I heard females are kind of scarce in the vamp community, too."
"Well, who knows about that?" I mumbled. "Do you know where they're going?"
"East of here is all I know. Me? I wouldn't want in on that for a truckload of money. Sometimes they get so involved in showing each other up that they come back injured. All of them want to be the one to bring down the deer or the
bear or whatever."
I was still blinking up at Emmett. "Okay," I said. "I think I'll go out for some air. Don't wait up."
"Just be careful," he said.
"Oh, I intend to," I replied, walking out the door.
Turning to mist a few minutes later, I sailed high over the treetops until I found the multitude of werewolves, all disrobing and placing their clothing into piles. I sure hoped they were going to be able to sort it all out later. Weldon and Daryl were there at the front and I didn't see a flabby body anywhere in the crowd. Looks like the wolves get plenty of exercise. They must have an outrageous metabolism, too, to be able to eat like they do.
I hovered around a stand of pines waiting for things to get started, trying to pick Lester and Bart out of the crowd. I couldn't really see them and after a while, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. The werewolves started to change and it went in a huge ripple. One minute there'd be a man standing there, the next a huge wolf. There was an ocean of black, gray and russet-colored fur across the clearing. Weldon, who was a huge black wolf, lifted his head and howled. The entire sea of werewolves took off at a run.
Weldon didn't know it, but I misted over him and Daryl that night as they ran at the head of what was likely the biggest pack ever. They scented something after a while and went after it, scrambling over rocks, around felled trees, forcing their way through snowdrifts and wading through small streams. They have stamina, that's for sure. Weldon and Daryl were ahead of the pack by several seconds when they shifted direction, veering away from a stand of trees and following whatever scent they'd picked up, I suppose. From my high vantage point, I saw about twenty others separate from the pack and cut across a second stand of trees in an effort to meet up with Weldon. At least that's what I thought they intended to do. I was very wrong.
Weldon was running all out, Daryl at his tail, when a large wolf from the breakaway group ran right into him, bowling him over. You know, sometimes I wonder why I don't have any good sense. More than likely, I should have just let things go. But I couldn't. Weldon hadn't mistreated me. In fact, he'd been pretty civil—nice, even. Call me an idiot—I was calling myself one. I dived downward at an angle and was almost fully turned by the time I hit the ground.
Blood Wager (Blood Destiny #1) Page 13