“Uh-huh.” Charity dipped her finger into the steaming brew. Heat bit her skin. The expected sensory result was welcome. At least hot things in this place steamed. Her world and theirs had one thing in common.
“We’re known as shape shifters. We have magic that allows us to change into an animal form,” Roger continued. “We use our animal form, and the inherent magical properties therein, to help police the human world from magical species—like vampires, for example, or corrupt mages. We’re supernatural police, if you will. Our goal is to keep the secret of magic from the non-magical. Does this make sense?”
“Mmm. Mhm…” Charity tapped the table. It felt and sounded like real wood.
“This is Devon, whom you’ve met previously, I think. He’s the sub-alpha of the Forest Clan, but we call him an alpha for the sake of simplicity.”
“Sure, yeah. Simplicity.” Charity nodded and tapped her chair—also like real wood.
“Primarily, Devon’s team is responsible for taking out all newly formed vampires in his area,” Roger said.
“She must know all this, sir,” Devon said, obviously trying to keep his aggravation at bay. “She repeatedly ignored my warnings about going into the house with those creatures. She played innocent well, I grant you, but her timetable isn’t believable.” He ticked off a finger. “She disappears when the elixir is being consumed, somehow without alerting them.” He ticked off another finger. “She returns after they are engaged in creating the new vampires.” A third finger. “She alerts the whole house right before we strike.” He dropped his hand. “This has to be part of Vlad’s plan. There’s no way she could’ve snuck around his people, or escaped him, for that matter. It’s not possible. She must have been on their side all along.”
Charity’s hand stopped mid-reach, the material of the mug forgotten. “Are you serious?” she asked, rather calmly given the circumstances. “You not only want me to buy in to all this…insanity, but you think I’m somehow a part of those freaks’ circus? Have you completely lost your mind? None of this can be real…” She blinked at the guys in front of her, then the castle around her, then the gold filaments lazily drifting past the castle windows.
“Vampires are also shifters, in a way,” Roger said, still somehow patient. “They have two forms—a human form, which tends to be more beautiful and faster and stronger than the average human, and a creature form that is stronger and faster still. Someone I know calls that their ‘swamp creature’ form. I’m sure you can see why. You met them in their human form at the beginning of the night, and their swamp creature form toward the end. They were as real as you or me. As real as the chair under your butt, and the table under your arms.”
“That’s all still questionable,” Charity mumbled, tapping the mug. It felt like ceramic.
Charity shook her head and held up her hand. “Seriously, am I in a coma or something?”
“The sooner you admit to your ruse, the faster we can move on,” Devon growled.
“Why? You seem pretty convinced by your little theories,” she spat.
“Enough,” Roger said quietly, nearly under his breath, but Charity’s small hairs stood on end and her skin prickled, as if danger were running directly at her with a grin and red glowing eyes.
Devon’s ordinarily lush lips pressed into a tight white line.
And that was why Roger was an alpha over a large area. He was intensely scary. That made sense.
“Charity, why don’t you walk us through how you got to the party?” Roger said, back to good-natured, as if he hadn’t just scared the room silent.
Charity wasn’t fooled. She still had unpleasant shivers and an insane urge to flee.
Calming herself, she explained how Sam had peer-pressured her into going to that party. Thunder clouds peeked through Roger’s calm eyes when she got to the part about Devon’s goon threatening to kill her. Cocky McCockerson at least had the sense to appear mollified. Finally, her words tapered away as one horrific thought slammed into her.
“What happened to Samantha? And Donnie?”
“While not everyone who was invited to the turning party was actually meant to be turned—some were there for food supply, and thanks to you and us, they’ll mostly be fine and will remember little—Samantha and Donnie were not so fortunate. We believe they were turned.”
“No.” Charity furrowed her brow and shifted in her seat. “No, that can’t be…”
Roger and Devon shared a look that stopped Charity’s heart. Neither commented.
Anger pulsed through her. “If you knew what would happen, why did you let them go to the party?” Charity asked, her voice rising in pitch. “Devon and his friends were just hanging out in the road. They warned us, sure, but it was vague at best. Why didn’t they block the road off? Get more specific?”
“You don’t believe us now, after you’ve seen them,” Devon said. “Do you really think you would’ve turned back if I’d told you not to go because you’d be turned into a vampire?”
“So you let those things kill innocent people? Change them into those, those creatures?”
“We wanted to take out the vampires before they could distribute the drink, but there wasn’t time,” Roger said, compassion sparking in his eyes. He felt for the lost, she could see it. It eased the tightness in her middle, if only a little. “We only found out about the party hours before it started. I couldn’t organize a big enough crew on such short notice, something Vlad, the elder vampire who organized all this, surely knew. We had to go for plan B and try to take out the host when they were at their weakest. You see, when an established vampire gives blood to a new vamp, they have to give it in large quantities. It severely weakens them. Slows them. Unfortunately, by then it was too late for the humans to be saved.”
Unease churned Charity’s gut. That incredibly handsome man had pressured her to drink the punch for a reason. If not for her past, she would’ve taken him up on it. She’d wanted to. She’d barely turned away.
What if she hadn’t? What if she’d stayed?
Images rolled through her mind, of bodies writhing in the dark, of terrible creatures chasing her through the house.
She shivered. “Why them, specifically?” she asked quietly, bile rising in her throat.
“I can’t say exactly,” Roger replied. “It varies, the people they choose. Some are wealthy and some poor, some have outstanding business connections and some have nothing at all. This particular situation was intended as a statement, I believe. To Devon and myself.”
Devon’s head snapped Roger’s way. He hadn’t known this information.
“Recently, I was forced to work side by side with Vlad to eradicate a larger evil,” Roger told Charity. “The effort was led by a woman that Vlad is respectfully at odds with. This woman is maybe the only person—or creature—that makes him nervous, as far as I can tell. He keeps his distance from her and her natural dual-mage friends.” Fire glinted in Roger’s gaze. “He is making a statement that I will not garner the same respect from him. Given that my crew ran into vampires who, based on their strength and speed, had clearly not participated in the turning, I suspect this was an elaborate plan to strike a blow to my forces. To bring me down.” Roger’s smile froze Charity’s blood. “But Vlad did not realize another wild card was in his midst.”
A sickening feeling gnawed at Charity’s guts. She shook her head.
Roger nodded. “He did not foresee you throwing a stick in his bicycle spokes. He was completely disorganized when we descended, his plans frayed. He had no choice but to run rather than fight, and in so doing, he lost a few of his own.”
“Wait…” Devon’s voice drifted away. He seemed to be struggling with the destruction of his theory. His gaze darted from Charity to Roger, then back.
“I have one question, however,” Roger went on as though they were all on the same page. “Without knowing why you were there, why didn’t you drink the punch?”
She ran her hand over her face, hoping it would help
her addled brain. “I don’t drink.”
“Why not?” Devon pushed.
Charity shrugged, uncomfortable. “Walt, my…dad…” The words were like a knife in her gut. “He was an abusive alcoholic. I never want to turn out like him. I heard alcoholism runs in the genes.”
Devon leaned back in his chair.
Roger nodded with a sympathetic expression. “I’m sorry to hear that, although it saved your life in this instance. And who are your parents, if I may ask? Are they magical?”
Manic laughter bubbled out of Charity before she could clamp a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. No, Walt is not magical, unless you count his ability to clear a room with a fart. He had his mouth on a bottle constantly. He didn’t work much, and when he did get a job, he got fired almost immediately. My mom had to support us. Her dad was a deadbeat—she dropped out of college to take care of him—and then she married a guy just like him. I’ll never understand why. I don’t think she did, either. Anyway, she didn’t have the credentials for a good job, so she worked all the time. Very mundane situation—no magic from either of them.”
“And where are your parents now? Do they live near you?” Roger asked, and Charity could tell he had his kid gloves on. He was dialing down his scary power so she wouldn’t bolt. She appreciated it, but if the outside world weren’t orange and filled with gold dust and blue people, she would’ve run long before now.
“Walt lives in a bad part of Chicago,” she said. “He’s mooching off the state.”
“And your mother?”
Charity shrugged, picking at the table edge. “She took off when I was sixteen. Left a note, apologizing. It pleaded with me to graduate college and make something of myself. To turn out better than she did.” Charity shrugged again, pain wobbling within her like kernels of popcorn, ready to explode. She hated thinking about it. It was the only thing that could really make her cry anymore. The only thing that could spear down through the thick crust she’d built up since that day.
“Wait,” Devon said. “Your mother left you with an alcoholic father? Just…left? Did you have anyone to take care of you?”
“I was sixteen. I’d had plenty of experience taking care of myself by then. And I had John.”
“Who’s John?” Roger asked.
“He was my boyfriend. He had two normal parents that trusted him. Still poor, but they had enough. They treated me like a stray, but I didn’t care because I got hot meals and a warm house. I pretended to go home after they fed me, but really I climbed through John’s window after they went to bed. Going home with Walt drunk… It wasn’t the best place for me.”
“And where’s John now?” Devon leaned forward and put his elbows on the table.
“Texas. We parted ways after high school. I came here and he went there. It didn’t make sense to stay together long distance.”
“His decision?” Devon asked knowingly.
Charity narrowed her eyes at him, remembering the things she’d overheard about him. He certainly wouldn’t do long distance, if any of those things were true. Or a second date.
A familiar pain tightened her throat. The split with John had shattered her heart, but it had been for the best. He’d needed to get out on his own and live his life, and her path lay in a different direction.
She took a deep breath and struggled out of the pain. She’d promised herself, after her mother had left, that she wouldn’t let bitterness eat away at her. That she would embrace life, hang-ups and all. Sometimes it was a struggle, but she’d always pushed through before, and she didn’t intend to stop now. No matter how hard the road got, or what stood in her way—including whatever this was—she would keep going until she realized her dreams, one way or another.
She sighed. Easier said than done.
“And you haven’t heard from your mother?” Roger’s voice dripped sympathy, thawing her a little more toward him.
Charity shook her head, so close to tears that she was fidgeting frantically to stop them. “She walked away and never looked back. I don’t blame her—Walt is big, dumb, strong, and mean. She didn’t have it easy. Sometimes the bruises looked like permanent marker. I had somewhere to go. She…well, she left to save her life. I can’t begrudge her, or any woman, that.” She wiped away a stray tear and bent her head so her hair would cover some of the pain on her face.
“But she walked away from her daughter.” Anger slashed through Devon’s previously controlled expression. “Why didn’t she take you with her?”
“That isn’t our business,” Roger chided softly. “I’m sure this is a tender subject.”
Charity shrugged.
“And that’s why you’re in college? For her?” Devon made it sound like an accusation.
Charity was about to tell him where he could shove his judgments, but Roger got there first.
Only Roger didn’t need words.
One look had the air turning brittle with unspeakable menace. Devon jerked ramrod straight, as if he’d received a verbal command.
Charity hunched, nerves dancing like skeletons.
“I slipped into some dark days after that, I’ll admit it,” she said. “It was a dark year, but I’m a fighter. Always have been, both physically and emotionally. I’m smart on my feet, have martial arts training, and push through life’s crap. She knew that. After a while, I made peace with it.” She wasn’t sure if her babbling was a defense against Devon’s words, or merely a way to keep herself from sprinting out the door like a rabbit from a fox. Either way, the words kept burbling out. “I hope she’s doing well. I hope she found a guy that treats her well. Or maybe no one at all. Maybe she’ll be happier with only one mouth to feed. With only one person to look after, finally. I hope I see her again, though. Someday.”
Devon’s fists clenched. “No way are you this magnanimous. Your mom walked out on you, and you’re happy for her? I call bullshit!”
“Just because you chose not to forgive, doesn’t mean others need to make the same choice,” Roger replied in the same soft tone.
Devon’s eyes hardened, but it didn’t hide the raw, aching pain hidden beneath the anger. She knew that look—she’d worn it consistently for that dark year. Probably still did, from time to time.
She wasn’t the only one with a past.
Charity dropped her head. “Anyway, she got out a few years before I did. Now I’m here—at school, I mean, not here. With the orange-ness and blue people and… Speaking of here, when can I go home? How do I even…get home…”
“We’ll come back to that,” Roger said, getting up. “How about you get a tour, eat some breakfast, and settle in a little bit. When all of this”—Roger waved his hand around the kitchen, implicating the great wide world outside the walls—“sinks in a little, we’ll come up with a plan. Sound good?”
Charity gave him a vague smile, because saying no to a man like Roger wasn’t something she could stomach at the moment, but no, that didn’t sound good. Tour be damned—she’d find the quickest way out of here and take it. She hadn’t been on the vampires’ chosen list—her mind still stuttered at the idea that those fabled creatures were real—which meant she wasn’t in danger. She could hitch a ride out of here, no problem.
But as she sat idle, thinking, little bits of information stitched themselves together. The handsome man outside of her classroom. The watchers, stalking her and Sam out to the street. The laugh.
Roger thought she was an unplanned wild card, but could he be wrong? While she hadn’t gotten an invite, she’d been approved as a sub for Jessica. Was she now a hunted woman?
Chapter Twelve
Roger glanced down at Devon. “Send two people with her. Then meet me in my office.”
“Yes, sir.” Devon stood with grim determination. He watched Roger’s back disappear through a door leading deeper into the castle before turning back to Charity.
He took a deep breath to keep a leash on his temper. Despite what Roger had said, he had a hard time believing Charity hadn’t had a deeper
purpose in that house. How could a girl who oozed magic not realize she had any? Granted, last night he’d only smelled her—this throbbing electric pulse she gave off was something new—but her magic was too potent to have just started to mature. Much too potent. And even if she hadn’t known about it, no random girl off the street, whether she had fighting training or not, could get past an elder vampire.
She’d taken on a whole house of vampires! It wasn’t just luck and raw power that had gotten her out of there alive. Nor did he believe the vamps had spent the night around her without realizing she was special. Not with that smell. Not with the strange, ethereal quality of her skin, which seemed to glow from within. She was keeping something to herself, he knew it.
Or maybe you’re pissed that she’s in Roger’s favor for some reason, and you walked away nearly empty-handed…
He gritted his teeth and worked on another steadying breath. Last night had been his big chance to prove himself to the best alpha in the world. Probably his only chance, and he was lucky to have even gotten one. All that work for nothing. He’d botched it. He’d only gotten three newbies of nine.
All because he’d needed to guard one girl.
Sure, Roger seemed to think she’d saved them rather than screwed them, but Devon couldn’t help feeling like a failure.
He stared down at the girl’s heart-shaped face and dainty features. Her eyes were almost the same brownish-red as her hair. Her beauty was offset by the firm set to her jaw, the attack readiness of her pose, and the defiant sparkle to her eyes. Her magic poked and prodded him, goading him to violence, drawing out his raw aggression. Her silent challenge was clear, as it had been since she’d woken up. But being that she wasn’t pack, he wasn’t allowed to establish the pecking order.
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