Kiss of the Wolf

by Morgan Hawke

  Yaroslav shot a glare at Antonius and pushed Thorn back a step, away from the other man. “You may dress.” He released her and turned to face Antonius with his arms crossed. “And you may leave while she does so.”

  Antonius snorted. “Aren’t we being a little…overprotective?”

  “Where you are concerned?” Yaroslav pointed at the door. “No.”

  Thorn blinked. Was that actually jealousy?

  Yaroslav shot her a glare.

  Thorn bit back a smile.

  Yaroslav sighed and looked away. “Do you have a fear of great heights?”

  “Heights?” Thorn snorted. “I lived on a mountaintop. That’s about as high as you can get.”

  “Not quite.” He smiled tightly and then walked over to the bench to collect his pistol and sword. Then he lifted the carpetbag.

  Thorn followed him and picked up her fallen backpack.

  Yaroslav turned to drop a kiss on her brow. “I will wait for you outside.” He strode for the door and then walked out.

  At the very back corner of the vault, Thorn knelt and dug into her pack for her other dungarees.

  A small paper-wrapped package tumbled out onto the floor.

  Shit…. She’d forgotten her damned delivery. She shoved the package back into her pack and then looked over at the door. She needed to get past Yaroslav and Antonius and then leave the town at top speed. She definitely needed to change but not into clothes.

  Scowling, she dropped the oversize fur robe to the floor. Her body was still lined in blue light. Whatever was making those blue stripes appear on her skin was probably what was keeping her from changing shape. Crouching down, she closed her eyes and looked inward.

  The wolf within her awakened and shifted soul against soul, but far too closely. They were merged too tightly for one to ascend the other. Bound together, caged in one form—trapped….

  No! White-hot rage seared up her spine and flooded outward, fighting the prison that bound them into one body. She would not be trapped. The cage stretched, and the lines seared her skin. She fell to her clawed hands and snarled in defiance. This pain was nothing compared to their first awakening. Lightning crackled around them, leaving the dry burned stench of ozone.

  Thorn collapsed on the icy floor. Panting, she stared at her extended arm. She was human once again, and the stripes were gone. She was free. She shoved up onto her shaking knees and scrambled to get on her pack. Her human body could not bear this cold for more than a few minutes. Crouching up on her bare feet, she called on the wolf.

  She came in a rushing flood of fur and joy, the change from naked human to silver-furred wolf swift and comforting.

  Thorn stretched her long limbs and shook out her fur.

  The door slammed open, and the vampire filled the doorway. “Thorn!”

  She lunged forward, sleek, swift, and determined.

  Yaroslav grabbed for her.

  She ducked under his hands and slipped out the door into the falling snow.

  10

  Thorn burst through the doorway into the open amphitheater of mausoleum vaults. Snow blinded her eyes, and the sour scent of burning wood filled her nose, but there was no missing the more than a dozen black-robed men standing in groups. Where had they all come from?

  “What the hell is that? A dog?”

  “Whoa, it’s huge!”

  “That’s no dog; it’s a wolf!”

  Thorn darted past them, startled.

  “Don’t hurt her!” The voice was Yaroslav’s. “It is Thorn!”

  “What?” Antonius appeared right before her. He gasped. “Mother Night, she is white!” He twisted to grab for her and missed. “Catch that animal!”

  She dodged dark-clad bodies and grasping hands, her paws finding purchase atop the snow where their booted feet sank more than ankle deep. She had no time for any of them; she had a duty to fulfill.

  “The damned thing’s white! I can barely see it!”

  Antonius turned to glare at Yaroslav. “Damnit, Count, you didn’t tell me she could do this!”

  Yaroslav grinned under his hood. “She is a werewolf!”

  Antonius stopped to wave a hand. “I know, but you didn’t say she could become a real wolf!”

  “That’s the werewolf?”

  “Shouldn’t it be bigger?”

  Bigger? Thorn growled out of sheer reflex. She’d never met a wolf larger than she was; just how big was she supposed to be? She rushed for the stairs, the only exit out of the pit of mausoleums.

  “Don’t let her escape!”

  “She won’t get far!”

  Thorn lunged up the steps, and the falling snow darkened and dampened, sticking to her fur. Heat washed against her muzzle. At the top of the stairs, it was as bright as sunset and far too warm. All around, the fallen snow had melted into filthy puddles, and black, wet ash fell from the orange-stained sky in place of snow. A roaring filled her ears. The stench of burning wood was overpowering.

  Thorn rushed past the enormous church. The massive stone walls and every headstone in the graveyard were awash in angry orange light. She leaped atop the wall enclosing the churchyard.

  On every side, just beyond the ruined buildings, flames leaped higher than buildings, painting the sky with blood and ash. The world was on fire.

  She froze, horrified.

  “Thorn!”

  She jolted and turned to look back.

  Yaroslav shoved past gravestones, his long coat flapping open, the furred hem catching on the overgrown weeds and bushes. “You cannot leave that way. The town is ablaze!”

  Thorn laid her ears flat. She wasn’t about to let him trap her a second time. She turned away and leaped down, landing on the other side of the wall. Mud and half-melted dirty snow spattered up from her paws. She loped up the wet cobblestone street just a bit. There had to be a way through this. She couldn’t be that far from the town’s edge. She lifted her nose, but all she could smell was burning wood and heated brick.

  An unearthly, inhuman scream erupted.

  Thorn turned.

  From behind a pile of broken timbers, Max, deformed and filthy with mud, came rampaging for her, his claws out and his crooked teeth bared. “Stupid bitch!”

  She dodged, easing past him without even trying.

  He twisted to grab for her and skidded on the slick cobbles. “Give it back!”

  Her head lifted. Give what back?

  Yaroslav vaulted over the churchyard wall, landing in the mud. “Thorn!”

  Max whirled and spotted the vampire. He snarled in fury.

  Yaroslav stiffened and then bared his teeth and shouted out an incomprehensible stream of words.

  Max ran toward the vampire, his mouth wide with long teeth, and his fingers armed with claws as long as knives.

  Thorn’s heart stuttered in her chest. Max would kill him—and eat him. No! Red rage slammed into her heart and pounded in her skull. No! She rushed after the werewolf. Coming up behind him, she sank her teeth into his calf. The foul taste of his skin and blood filled her mouth. She bit down anyway, dug her paws into the slick muddy road, and pulled, yanking his leg out from under him.

  Max fell forward and slammed face-first onto the muddy stone street.

  Thorn jerked back with a sharp twist of her head, ripping her fangs free, tearing muscle and sinew in her wake.

  Max wailed and rolled onto his back, his hand claws raking for her head. “Kill you!”

  Thorn twisted up on her hind legs and grabbed his wrist with her teeth. She stared into his one human eye for a split second and then crunched down, shattering the bones in his wrist.

  Max howled and fell back, kicking out with his uninjured and clawed foot.

  Thorn leaped clear and circled. She didn’t want to risk his fangs in a grab for his throat. If she could get him on his stomach, she could get his neck from behind. She shook her muzzle, trying to clear his foul blood from her mouth.

  The sour-armpit stink of human fear boiled up from the fallen wer
ewolf. “Need it…back!” He reached over to his side with his uninjured hand and scrabbled at the waist of what was left of his breeches. His hand emerged with a heavy revolver.

  A gun? She snarled. She’d known he’d had one—there was no mistaking its reek—but using a gun was a human method. He was supposed to be a wolf; he should fight like one!

  “Thorn, get out of my way!”

  She lifted her head to look for Yaroslav. He strode from the churchyard wall with a pistol in his hand, pointed past her at Max.

  Behind her, the sound of a gunshot hammered in her ears.

  Something burned viciously across the top of her left shoulder. What…? She leaped away from the burn, but her left front leg wouldn’t move right. She overbalanced and nearly fell. Ferocious, biting pain erupted in her shoulder. The scent of burned fur and fresh blood washed over her. She snarled and looked over at Max. He’d shot her. You bastard!

  Max’s revolver smoked, and he was already sighting for a second shot. “Silver bitch!” He gasped for breath. “Silver bullets! Kill you! Take it back!”

  A second shot echoed in the fiery night.

  Max’s gun fell from his bloodied hand. He shrieked.

  “I, too, have silver!” Yaroslav stalked toward him, his fangs bared, his gun aimed at Max. “And I do not miss!”

  Antonius appeared at the churchyard wall with several men behind him. His mouth dropped open. “Two? There are two of them?”

  Muddied and bleeding, Max rolled onto his belly. He snarled, spitting foam, and reached for his gun lying on the wet cobblestones.

  The vampire’s gun barked loudly.

  The gun jumped away from the werewolf’s hand, landing in the mud.

  Max pushed upright and backed away. “Kill you! Eat you!”

  Yaroslav grinned, showing his teeth. “You think so?” Stepping closer, he aimed his gun carefully for Max’s head. “I think not!”

  “Count, don’t kill it!” Antonius vaulted over the wall. “We need it alive!” Four robed shadows came after him, carrying heavy chains.

  Yaroslav pulled back the hammer of his pistol and kept coming. “You may need this thing alive; I do not!”

  Thorn bolted to intercept Yaroslav. She couldn’t let Yaroslav get too close. Hamstrung or not, if Max was anything at all like her, he would recover from her bites very fast. Pain ate at her with every stride, and a rushing filled her ears. Her sight dimmed to a narrow tunnel until she couldn’t see. She slammed into Yaroslav’s body and yelped in surprise.

  Yaroslav caught her in his arms. “Thorn!”

  Exhaustion hammered at her, and her wolf sank back within, leaving a bleeding human body behind. She grabbed Yaroslav’s coat with both hands. “Keep away…from Max.”

  Yaroslav scooped her up into his arms. “Foolish child! Max is not my concern!” He rose to his feet and backed away from the downed werewolf.

  Antonius and his men rushed past Yaroslav and Thorn to surround Max.

  Limping badly, Max staggered back from the men. “I smell your stink!” His gaze darted around. “Vampires!”

  Sword out, Antonius stalked toward the werewolf and sneered. “We smell your stink, too, plague beast!”

  “Plague…beast?” Max kept moving back from them and laughed, an ugly sound. “Not today!” He turned and fled for the nearest burning alley.

  Antonius and his men chased after him.

  Yaroslav knelt in the street and shoved her hair out of the way to look at the wound on her shoulder. “Merely a graze; the bullet struck your pack. This is very good.” Holding Thorn against him with one arm, he struggled out of his coat and flung it around her shoulders over her pack. “For I plan to beat you for your foolishness!”

  Thorn’s mouth fell open. “Beat me?”

  The vampire buttoned his coat closed around her. “You could have died from the werewolf, a bullet, or the fire—take your pick!”

  Thorn grabbed for the vampire’s wrists. “You wouldn’t…!”

  He seized her by the arms and bared his teeth at her. “You will not sit for a week. This I so swear!” His fingers tightened on her arms, and he pulled her up onto her feet. “You will never put yourself in such danger again, do you hear me?”

  Thorn blinked up at him. “I hear you! I hear you!”

  “Good!” Yaroslav grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. “I only just found you; I have no wish to lose you so soon.”

  Wrapped in Yaroslav’s coat and enclosed in his arms, Thorn didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. He cared, he honestly cared for her. It was sweet and scary at the same time. Thorn shivered from something other than cold.

  Antonius came back with his men, empty-handed and snarling out a list of invectives in several languages. He stalked stiffly toward Yaroslav and Thorn, his face a mask of anger. “Fuck! That beast is the plague carrier.”

  Yaroslav tightened his arm around Thorn. “You are sure?”

  Antonius scowled. “That thing has been seen in every town with a major outbreak.” He turned and raised his arm, shouting to his men. “To the church; Master Kober will be here any time now!”

  Yaroslav leaned down and again scooped Thorn up into his arms.

  Surprised, Thorn threw her arms around his neck. “Hey!”

  Yaroslav glared at her and growled, showing his fangs. “For once, you will be silent and obedient. Is that understood?”

  Obedient? Thorn scowled and looked away. My ass! What the hell was he so pissed off about?

  Antonius led the way back toward the church at a flat-out run. He and his men vaulted over the low wall and then headed through the overgrown graveyard.

  Following close on Antonius’s heels, Yaroslav eased Thorn over the wall, setting her on the other side among the weeds.

  Thorn pushed through the snow-melt-soaked weeds on bare feet.

  The vampire jumped over the wall and scooped her back up into his arms.

  “Hey!” Thorn pushed at his shoulder. “I can walk, you know!”

  Yaroslav bared his teeth. “If I could trust you, perhaps I would let you do so.”

  Thorn’s mouth fell open. “Trust me…?” What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  The vampire strode between the gravestones carrying Thorn. “Did you or did you not run away?”

  Thorn growled, her fingers clenching in the silk of his blue shirt. “I told you I had to go!”

  Yaroslav scowled. “And I told you you could not!”

  “Hey!” Antonius turned and glared at the vampire and Thorn. “Quit fighting, you two, and get over here!”

  Yaroslav rolled his eyes and angled toward a small wooden door in the side of the church, held open by one of Antonius’s black-robed men.

  Arriving at the door, Antonius turned to look at Yaroslav. “Master Kober has arrived.” He glanced at Thorn and smiled tightly. “I hope she’s good with heights.” He didn’t wait for an answer but turned and headed into the narrow, incense-scented hallway.

  Arrived? Thorn frowned. How could anyone have arrived through that fire?

  Yaroslav carried Thorn into the oak-paneled hallway, following Antonius at a fast walk, passing several closed doors guarded by more of Antonius’s robed men. An open door at the end of the hallway led to a tightly spiraled upward stairwell with steps worn down with age and planked over for ease of climbing.

  Yaroslav marched up the staircase after Antonius, the rest of the men falling in behind. They reached a door and stepped out under the blood-tinted sky at the top of one of the square bell towers forming the corners of the church.

  Thorn frowned at the burning town all the way around them. A massive wall of flames consumed every building in view. The refuse littering the broad street had begun to burn, set alight by blowing embers. Only the churchyard remained unscathed, though it was clearly only a matter of time before the fire reached there, too.

  Where were they supposed to go from here?

  Yaroslav let Thorn slide down from his arms to stand on the damp rooftop
in the circle of his embrace. “Be good.” He looked up.

  Be good…? Thorn scowled. Right. Pressure began to deafen her, as if she were up in a higher elevation. She swallowed, and with a slight pop, a loud humming vibration filled her ears. What in hell…? She glanced around. All of them, Antonius and all his men, were looking straight up. She followed their gaze. Directly above them the sky seemed to shimmer and dance, as if she were seeing it through a sheet of rippling water. She clutched at Yaroslav’s sleeve. She’d never seen anything like it.

  Yaroslav leaned close to her ear and spoke loudly. “Are you well enough to climb?”

  “Climb?” Thorn turned to look at him. “To where?”

  Yaroslav pointed upward.

  Thorn looked up in time to see a rope and post ladder unrolling downward from the wavering sky. Two of Antonius’s men grabbed the ladder and braced it between them.

  Thorn blinked. “Where did that come from?”

  Antonius turned to face Yaroslav and Thorn, grinning. “Ready to go for a ride?” He waved them toward the ladder.

  “A ride?” Thorn stiffened. “In what?”

  “A dirigible balloon airship.” Antonius looked up. “Designed by Master Kober exclusively for the High Prince of the Penumbral Realm.”

  Thorn frowned. “Who’s that?”

  “Go.” Yaroslav urged her forward, past Antonius. “Someone you will meet very soon.”

  Thorn walked forward and looked up again. A balloon? She’d seen them before, during festivals and fairs. Humongous floating balls of air wrapped in bright silk with tiny boat-shaped baskets, or gondolas. However, other than the weirdly shifting heat waves, she saw only flame-tinted clouds and rising sparks. “There’s a balloon up there? Are you sure?”

  “It is there.” Yaroslav urged up the ladder. “Climb; I will follow you.”

  Thorn set her hands on the smooth wooden pegs of the ladder and then looked over her shoulder at the vampire. “Wait a minute; aren’t balloons supposed to be made of air and cloth? Won’t it catch on fire?”

  “The craft is under a protection enchantment. That is why you cannot see it, but you can feel it. Here.” Yaroslav tapped his temple and pushed her upward.

  “I see.” So it was the spell on the ship that was causing the weird altitude pressure in her ears. She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say….” More make-believe and fairy tales. Unfortunately she didn’t have much of a choice. To stay was to die. Thorn tugged the edges of Yaroslav’s overlong furred robe to the side to step up onto the ladder, and climbed.