by Lily Luchesi
“What about exorcism?” Miranda asked.
“Of course, we have numerous exorcism spells here, all of them effective. However, when you’re in battle, who has time to stop and recite incantations? We’d have to immobilize them all first, and unless we can paint a giant Devil’s trap, you tell me how we can manage that?” She grinned.
“Does exorcism save the human?” Danny asked. “Because I’m really not up for killing innocent, possessed people.”
“Do you think I am?” Angelica asked, whirling around to face him. “I helped put laws in place that save humans from being eaten like cattle! Do you have any idea what a demon usually leaves behind once they vacate a body? Do you think everyone just wakes up and asks where they’ve been or what day it is? They’re slobbering lunatics. If they’re not outright insane, they’re depressed, suffer from chronic nightmares of the Pit, alcoholism, drug addiction, suicide, some of them go so crazy they start seeing demons everywhere and wind up slaughtering humans who have never seen a demon in their lives. You have no idea what it’s like, Danny. These humans are better off dead. They’re at peace then, in Heaven.”
“Can they only possess humans?” Miranda asked.
She shook her head sadly. “They can possess anything with a soul. Even vampires. Regardless of popular propaganda, we do have souls. The results after a demon is exorcised from a living paranormal creature are far worse than with humans. It’s…it’s frightening.”
Miranda gave Angelica a long, level look. “Why do I get the feeling that you are speaking from experience?”
She put down her sword and sighed. “Because I am.” She walked towards a bench and sat there, absently pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were rimmed red, not with bloodlust, but with sadness.
“Wanna talk about it?” Danny asked, sitting next to her.
Angelica held out her hand. “See for yourself.”
Danny took her hand, and immediately, she transported his mind into a time in Angelica’s past when she had been very young.
Chapter Eight
London, England
1832
Angelica had just turned eighteen. Her father was still a human, her mother was still a well-loved dignitary in the vampiric world and just as loved by humans. In 1832, it was a simpler time, especially for the paranormal communities. Werewolves and vampires lived peacefully. There was no reason for animosity, until a vampiric dignitary fell for a highborn werewolf.
It was then that Angelica first experienced love, a naïve kind of puppy love.
****
She was walking in the market at night, talking with people whom her mother knew, or her father worked with. She had been given a new dress for her birthday and wanted to show it off. It was black velvet with silver silk ribbons on the corset and silver shoes. Not real silver, of course, but beautiful nonetheless.
She was chatting with a female fruit vendor she knew well and sampling some new product when a deep male voice said, “Is that a bat I smell?”
Angelica, always a hot-tempered woman, whirled around, ready to give the impudent man a piece of her mind. However, she couldn’t say a word as she looked up into beautiful silver-grey eyes. He was a very tall man for this time, well muscled, with a strong jaw lightly covered in stubble, slicked blonde hair and dimples in his cheeks. He was wearing a black and silver soldier uniform, the uniform of the werewolves who went to war on human’s behalf.
“You do know that that’s a prejudicial?” she asked, giving a small smile.
“Yes, milady, but still, you do give off the scent of bats.” He bowed, deep and charming. “Quentin Michaels, at your service.”
She gave a small curtsey. “Angelica Cross.”
“Lord and Lady Cross’ daughter? It is truly my pleasure. No wonder we don’t see you often. You’re so beautiful, they’re afraid you’ll have the entire male population of the county after you.”
His smile made her toes curl. “Thank you, sir. And thank you for serving and protecting humankind.”
“Believe me, ‘twas nothing. Those bloody fools don’t even use silver weapons! I am happy to do my bit for the good of my home.” He boldly held his arm out. “May I offer milady an escort back home?”
“That would be lovely. And please, no need to call me lady. I am uncomfortable with the title, to be quite frank.” She took his arm, feeling his warmth through the thick shirt and jacket. Were creatures always had intense body heat, almost as if God had intended for them to offset vampires in that way. Vampires were always so cold, except when they had very recently fed.
It was a short walk to the vast home where Angelica grew up, and she felt that the way was far too short. She wanted more time with Mr. Michaels.
“May I presume upon our short acquaintance?” she asked him as they approached her door.
“You may, Miss Cross.”
“I would love to see you again. May we meet regularly, perhaps in the square or the market?” The request was very forward for a lady of that time, but she didn’t care. Meeting someone so handsome and who struck her fancy was rare for her, she wanted to appreciate the moment and seize it while she had the chance.
“I would like that very much,” he replied. “With the full moon coming, perhaps we could hunt together.”
Angelica stopped and said, “Hunt for what, exactly?”
“Game. Deer. You can drink animal blood, can’t you?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Angelica laughed with relief. “I had thought you meant humans. We’re civilized vampires and don’t hunt, you see. We have donors whom we pay to provide us with human blood.”
“And, with the exception of war, I have never killed a human,” he revealed.
Angelica graced him with a beautiful smile. “I am so glad you…well…you smelled me out, I suppose. I will see you soon.”
He bowed. “Until next time, the pleasure is mine.”
Angelica went into her house practically singing. She left her coat and shoes with the manservant as she always did and went right into the library, where her parents usually sat after her mother had had her breakfast and her father had had dinner.
“Hello,” she called gaily as she entered and took her chair at the fireplace. She had left a book there the previous evening she had been eager to return to.
“Well, someone looks happy. Was the market that lovely tonight?” her mother asked with a glint in her black eyes.
Angelica blushed. “Oh, Mother, Father, while I was ready to leave I ran into a werewolf officer. He was so charming and quite handsome. I wanted to ask if I had your permission to continue to meet with him, in public, of course.”
“What is his name, dear?” Vincent asked.
“Quentin Michaels.”
His eyebrows rose. “As in, General Michaels’ only son? The General is an outstanding man of action, and I have met with him several times over the years. A little rough, as all werewolves are, but I don’t think any harm could come of your being friends with his son.”
“If your father has personal knowledge of his family, I know it will be fine,” Veronica agreed warmly.
“They say his war record is outstanding,” Vincent continued. “I know a fellow who says he fought like he was off his chump, but it was certainly effective.”
“Crazy how, Father?”
“Brutal. More like an Irishman than an Englishman,” he explained. “Perhaps he is just that passionate when it comes to war. I’ve yet to meet him myself, but they call him a hero. Too bad most of the human community will never know how he and his kind helped them.”
She smiled to herself. It just made him seem more delightful to her because he was a hero. She now understood why her female acquaintances said there was appeal to a man in uniform, even if that man was, in fact, a werewolf.
Angelica was ecstatic, but had to remain calm, as a Lady should. She turned the topic away from her new friend and back to the fruits the vendors had sold her that
night. “Mother, I believe I am going to join Cook in the kitchen and help bake some pies. I bought blackberries, of course, but also some fresh rhubarb and milk to make fresh sweet whipping cream.”
Veronica laughed heartily. “I never understand why you love to cook so much, my daughter, but go ahead. Vincent, make sure the menservants are ready in case something begins to burn, eh?”
“Mother!” Angelica laughed and went off, dancing, to the large kitchens.
****
Armed with a parasol and a simple eggplant colored dress, Angelica went walking at the square two days later, hoping to see Quentin. Though they were just beginning to know each other, he was already so familiar in her mind that she called him by his Christian name. Without thinking too much about it, she had packed a lunch for two of rare roast beef sandwiches on bread she had helped Cook bake the previous day, fresh vegetables, and pieces of strawberry rhubarb pie.
She spotted him immediately, sitting on a bench near the fountain of a dancing angel that she’d always thought was beautiful.
“Hello,” she said, curtseying.
Quentin’s grey eyes widened, as if happy to see her. “Miss Cross. Hello.” He jumped up and bowed hurriedly before offering her a seat on the bench. “Forgive me, but how is it that you’re walking about in the day with only a parasol to cover you?”
“You don’t know? You’ve not heard the talk?” she asked, surprised. The entire paranormal community talked about how rash it was for Veronica to have had a child with a human male.
“To be blunt, I don’t give much of a damn about gossip, so whatever is up with you, I wouldn’t know. I’m much more interested about rumors of war rather than rumors of vampires.”
He leaned back, very relaxed in an unbuttoned double-breasted coat, white shirt, black trousers and a noticeable lack of cravat. Most men would be loathe to be seen in such a state, but he didn’t seem to care. She liked that about him, as she also didn’t particularly like modern fashion and how constricting it was. No wonder he scoffed at a cravat, just as she scoffed at corsets.
“You see, my father is a human. Vincent Cross. I am a half-breed. Vampire and human blood runs equally in my veins. I can go out in daylight as long as I have my parasol. I also must eat normal food, or else I will die from malnutrition, just like a human.”
“But you need blood to live as well, and you can utilize your vampiric power?” he asked, obviously interested.
She nodded. “To an extent.”
“How intriguing,” he said. “You really are a rara avis, aren’t you?”
Oh, that smile! Those dimples! Angelica felt her face grow hot and wished the blush would vanish already. This is embarrassing!
“More like a rara mytosis, eh?” She winked, and he laughed, a full laugh. Feeling a little unsettled, she lifted the picnic basket and said, “I was hoping to see you here, so I brought dinner.”
“How kind of you, Miss Cross. Allow me to run across to that shop and bring some wine,” he said, standing and walking across the road to a wine shoppe.
Angelica felt little shame at watching his form as he walked away. She had never before noticed how sexy a man—or wolf—could be from behind. She noticed other young women watching him also and smiled smugly to herself that he was with her.
He came back with a bottle and two glasses and poured it for them, balancing them on the wood between them.
As she took out the food she said, “If the pie kills us both, my apologies. I like to try my hand at baking, and this was my effort at dessert.”
“I’m sure it will be delicious,” he said. And it was.
Shifters, whether wolves or kittens, were known for voracious appetites, and he seemed to enjoy every bite of what she’d made.
Danny got a wave of affection from Quinten: He did love a woman who knew her way around a kitchen. And she was strikingly lovely. As he watched, she took a sip of the wine he’d bought, her soft lips puckering on the glass. He wanted to kiss them, though he knew that that would be highly inappropriate. But she was beauty personified and a joy to look at. His father wasn’t against interspecies relationships, but he had always been warned that vampires could be cruel. He didn’t detect cruelty in Angelica. He saw only light. Perhaps that was her human side.
“Do you plan on reenlisting if a war comes again?” she asked.
“Most likely, yes. My father is the general of the Were Corps, and it is expected of me, his only child, to follow in his footsteps. What are your plans for the future?” he asked.
“Well, I actually want to be a diplomat or politician,” she revealed. “To make human-paranormal relations common. To make us not have to hide in the shadows, and to make humans see that we don’t want to eat them all. I have so many plans, including enlisting mortal blood donors and hospitals to give hearts to werewolves and blood to vampires. We would no longer have to even touch a human for nutrition, and your kind can get the proper nutrition instead of deer hearts and chicken livers.”
“You could change the world with a vision like that,” he commented. “I admire your foresight, but, then again, a century or two isn’t long for you, huh?”
“Well, I don’t know if I’m immortal or not,” she admitted. “There are precious few half-bloods and no records. I hope I have a lot of time to exact change, and maybe by the year 2000, I’ll have made a huge impact on the world.”
“You’re an admirable person, Miss Cross,” he said, pulling her closer. No one would usually call Angelica small because she was a very robust young lady, but compared with his werewolf size, she was tiny.
Angelica looked up, meeting his bright eyes. “This isn’t proper,” she murmured, leaning her head towards him.
“I know it’s not,” he replied, his voice a low growl in his chest. “I know you’re some kind of vampiric dignitary, but I don’t care. A hunter could come and kill us both. I live in the now, always have.” He bent his head lower, his soft lips barely touching hers. With his free hand, he touched her soft cheek, her neck, and finally let his hand settle in her long, dark locks.
His stubble tickled her cheeks and chin, but the kiss—her first kiss—was delightful. He kept pressure light against her lips, but she pressed harder, wanting more of him than he was already giving. She felt his tongue push against the opening of her lips, and she parted them, granting him access in a way that was inappropriate for a public place.
He finally pulled away, as if needing breath. “Wow.”
Angelica was flushed and her fangs were out. That only happened at three different times in a vamp’s life: when they were hungry, when they were angry, and especially, when they were aroused. She couldn’t bite him in public, though, or possibly ever. She didn’t know what were blood would do to a vampire, but she intended to find out.
His face was still close to hers, and she felt his breath “Tomorrow night is the full moon. Meet me at the edge of the woods. Hunt with me.”
That offer, made seriously and in such a short time, meant a lot. He didn’t know if Angelica knew, but when a wolf invited someone—especially someone of a different species—to hunt with them and not with a pack, it meant a lot. It meant he was serious about her.
“I will be there,” she said, slowly disentangling herself from his grasp. “But for now, I must be going. Mother is having guests for tea.”
“Vampires do tea?”
“Blood in fancy cups,” she clarified, grinning.
He laughed again.
Quentin had been touted as a wild boy in his youth who had a sarcastic comment at the ready, so Angelica was not surprised when he said, “What do they talk about? ‘You know, I tasted Martin’s blood from down the road. Do you know he is really type A’?”
Angelica threw her head back and gave a lively laugh. “Funny man. Sad thing, you’re quite close.” She picked up the basket and waved goodbye, still giggling.
He waved back and watched her walk away.
****
The next evening, Angeli
ca wore clothing the entire community, her parents included, would crucify her for: a pair of her father’s pants, which she’d sewn to fit her smaller frame, and a black men’s jacket. She had to wear her fancy boots because she had nothing else that would fit, but the clothes were so no one would miss them when she got them filthy while hunting with a werewolf. She couldn’t hunt in a dress, could she?
She left the house before her parents could see her and ran at top vamp speed to the edge of the forest.
“You’re earlier than I expected,” Quentin said, moving from the shadows of the trees. He, too, was wearing inappropriate clothing for the time, but clothes that would allow his wolf form to shift easier than tight trousers and too many layers on top.
“I wasn’t sure when the moon rose,” she said.
”I wonder, if men saw you the way you’re dressed now, would they make it appropriate for women to wear trousers?”
In private, neither of them need be so self-conscious as he dipped his head low and kissed her lips, rougher than he had before and quite literally sweeping her off of her feet.
When he put her down, she noticed his eyes were wider, the pupils narrower. It was almost the full moon, when were-creatures couldn’t help but turn. While they could turn at will, they were helpless when the full moon came. They needed to change, or else they would have heart attacks and die. Once they’d exhausted themselves hunting, they could change back to their human forms.
Angelica had watched a few werewolves fight and knew a few other were-creatures. Her mother had once employed a few were-cats and horses. But she had never seen any of them change. Always a curious person, she watched silently as Quentin changed from a tall, handsome man into a large, imposing wolf.
Real wolves are distinguishable from shifters because of their size, fur color, and eye color. Werewolves were bigger than real wolves, their fur often matches their natural human hair color and their eyes were often colors not found on a natural wolf, like Quentin’s grey. The fur on the wolf was soft, dirty blonde, just like his. The transformation itself, however, was a little shocking to witness.