The Accords Triptych (Book 1): Wolves Without Teeth

by Thomas, Ian

  And could he do the same?

  His hunger was different now. Not the ferocious hunger of the doorman. Rather, one of indulgence. Would that redhead taste like the Korean woman next to her? Or the Syrian man further back? Humorless musings of pursuits unfulfilled.

  McLachlan hated himself. He hated the stain and what it did to him. Not that he would act on these desires. While they might drive him crazy at the time, his resolve was stronger to never give in, never do what the demon wanted, never become a monster.

  “Either you’re very brave or very stupid,” a silky voice said from the across the room. All of the vampires had stopped their feeding to look at him.

  “Tell myself that on the daily,” he replied, stepping forward. His vampire features were not as pronounced as they had been downstairs. Eyes now appearing incredibly bloodshot as though he’d just blazed up, brow less hooded, and canines slightly longer. “Sorry to interrupt…I’m guessing breakfast?”

  “We don’t really conform to such mortal terms,” Carys slid closer to him, her movements fluid in the ink black sheath. Watchful of her, McLachlan cast a quick eye around the rest of the scene. He saw Violet, the punk Avril Lavigne wannabe fang-deep in some housewife-looking type. Unconscious on the floor lay Damon, blood smeared about his face. “There’s more to what we do than just feed.”

  “Yeah there’s killing too.” McLachlan quickly cursed himself for the challenge.

  “Huh.” she examined him closely. “You look like you could do with a taste. I can hear your craving from here.”

  He gestured casually to his face and lied, “just for show sorry. Had to find a way past your pitbull on the door. The stain comes in handy every now and then.”

  “I’m sure it does.” She was close to him now. “I wonder if I’d taste it? The stain. The demon. The constant repression.”

  “You say repression, I say holding onto my humanity. Potato, po-tart-oh.”

  “Then why’re you here?” she asked, her flirtation abandoned. “If not to feed, or be fed off, why would you risk Gracchus’ wrath? His protocols are precious to him.”

  Her tone caught McLachlan off guard. He knew very little about her. She seemed linked to Seth who he understood was close to Gracchus. Which meant both were highly ranked in the court. And yet her tone spoke of disrespect, putting McLachlan on edge. Again.

  “Maybe it’s better if I just speak to Gracchus.”

  “Would that you could, but he’s not here.”

  “Hence this little pierce-and-pour party, huh?”

  “None of them will die.”

  “Nor have any memory of being here either, I presume.”

  “Some,” she said, coyly. “And some chose to be here. Didn’t you know? Vampires are quite the ‘in’ thing at the moment. Works in our favor given your stifling accords.”

  “Sorry.” McLachlan looked around the room and saw her words were true. The vampires were struggling. They watched each other feed, careful to stop before the donor was too drained. He could see the fine line they trod to be satiated with what they had. How Damon had consumed so much without killing anyone was a mystery he didn’t need solved. The accords were holding, he realized, but at what cost. “Guess when it comes to wholesale slaughter, I’m a bit of a prude.”

  “See, I think if you gave into that stain of yours you might enjoy this life. All the pleasure, none of the pain.”

  “I just want to see Gracchus. When’s he back?”

  “This about the body at the wolf’s coffeeshop? Trail’s gotta be cold by now.”

  “Yeah,” he replied, uncomfortable. “Had a few things going on. Kinda fell off the radar.”

  “Seems to be a common theme with you and us vampires,” she said, her hatred for him surfacing. “All aggression and bluster when a body shows, then when it suits you, we’re an asset.”

  “You’re talking that bloodbath a couple of weeks back?” McLachlan’s discomfort increased.

  “Interesting how flexible those accords can be,” she replied.

  “We wrote it in that humans who posed a genuine threat to another life–”

  “Your life, wasn’t it?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he replied. “Yes, I was in immediate danger, but they were part of something bigger. Something that threatened. Everyone. The vampires, the wolves, the witches. All of us.”

  “Then maybe there’s a grey area,” she said. “And with the prison problem in this country we could be quite helpful in easing the burden on the tax-payer and culling numbers.”

  “Again we’re back to wholesale slaughter.”

  “And yet you deemed that bloodbath to be okay?” she asked. “Your word.”

  “Look, as much as discussing a vampiric solution to the prison-industrial complex is on my bucket list, I’m trying to protect Gracchus and your court.”

  “Like I said, he’s not here.” He could tell she liked the phrase ‘your court’. “He’s on a blood-bag run. This,” she gestured to the scene behind her, hesitantly, “is uncommon.”

  McLachlan was startled to see the care the vampires took with the humans now the feeding was finished. Vampire blood – renowned for its healing properties – was dripped on the bite marks, allowing them to heal. He could even see intimacy between one or two of their vampires and their human donors. Elsewhere, vampires used their power to coerce those who had been taken against their will, erasing the memory and letting them rest. McLachlan had problems with those acts as well, but had to allow them within the bounds of the accords. Tantamount to rape, Gracchus assured him the acts would be handled respectfully. With the body count of the Pack War rising, he had been desperate. The guilt of that decision eased by the tenderness of the vampires.

  “There was a second body,” he said finally. “Throat torn out. Much like the first. Very savage. Definitely doesn’t seem like someone under Gracchus’ fealty. That’s why I’m here. I want to protect him, you, this whole court.”

  “You are full of surprises.”

  “Just making the best of the bad situation we’re all in.” He didn’t want to start a huge philosophical discussion about their supernatural affiliation or affliction being a negative thing. Be it wolf, vampire, witch, siren, demon, or whatever else went bump in the night, McLachlan wouldn’t be swayed.

  “Can’t say as I’m shocked though. Your accords don’t favor the vampires. Yet I doubt it would be someone from this court,” she said, looking around. “As you can see we hold true to them.”

  “That I can see. And I appreciate it as well,” he replied. “That’s why I came. It’s possible some out there won’t see it that way at all. I respect Gracchus too much for there to be strife.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No, not at all,” he replied quickly. “We’re guessing a rogue blood. One unaffiliated with a court who may not know of the accords.”

  “It’s possible,” she said, suspecting there was more to the story. “I’ll make sure Gracchus knows.”

  “Promise?”

  “Do we need to pinky-swear on it?”

  “Just after the coin…”

  “I was bored.” She turned her back on him, slinking away to court. “Was there something else?”

  McLachlan stood there frustrated. He hated being helpless. But Gracchus resisted the modern world worse than any other supernatural. Not that McLachlan knew what a vampire of his age would do with a cellphone. Candy Crush?

  “No, enjoy…the rest of your evening,” he said and walked away.

  “How was bite club?” Eddie asked, having waited on the street outside. “Gracchus all good.”

  “He…” McLachlan paused, unsure of what to say. “He wasn’t there. Spoke with someone else.”

  “So no progress then?”

  “Maybe. Not sure. Still don’t think it’s a vamp from Gracchus’ court. They’re holding to the accords pretty well.”

  Eddie was silent. McLachlan appreciated it. There was little love lost between wolf and
fang, but something in his tone had signaled to Eddie that any slur would not be welcome.

  “Come on,” Eddie said at last. “Let’s go play good prospective suitors.”

  Easier said than done. Would he be able to shut his thoughts off to go and be a suitor for a few hours? At what cost, he mused as they headed downtown. A second innocent had died and he hadn’t even gotten to a second date. Before he knew it, he was unloading his concerns on Eddie. Usually Matteo was his confidante. But he was seeing him less and less of late.

  XV

  Dylan // 21:49

  Hey! Sorry about the scene at the funeral.

  Definitely not my best work.

  How’s it going?

  Miss me yet?

  Hayley stared at her phone uncomprehending. What fresh craziness was this?

  “She’s doing it again.”

  “What?” Rebecca looked from Rowan to Hayley.

  “The frown thing,” Rowan said, then leaned across to Hayley. “We get it. You don’t want to talk to us. Fine!”

  “What? No, nothing, sorry. Just a…” she struggled to find a plausible excuse, “…a work thing.”

  “Really?” Rebecca asked.

  “Yeah, no, it’s nothing.”

  “Speaking of not nothing,” Rowan said. “You and Eddie?”

  “Nothing to talk about,” Hayley replied, Dylan’s text forgotten for the moment. “It’s…”

  “Old-fashioned?” Rowan suggested.

  “Courtly?” Rebecca asked.

  “Deeply romantic?” Rowan continued. “And this is Eddie so those words don’t come easily.”

  “Let’s say uncharted territory.” Hayley stiffened, not entirely comfortable with such close scrutiny. “Yes, to the first two though. As for ‘deeply romantic’, I guess?”

  Rebecca screwed her face up and made a noise, “if you have to guess then possibly not.”

  “No, it is.” Hayley quick tried to clear up the matter. “Like it would be. It’s just, well there’re complications.”

  “You don’t strike me as the reticent type,” Rowan said.

  “I’m not.”

  “She’s not.”

  “Gonna jump in here are ya?” Hayley turned on Rebecca, frustration a little too close to the surface.

  “I’m lost.” Rowan looked from one to the other.

  “Okay, sorry,” Hayley began. “I’d totally be into Eddie ordinarily. It’s just there’s Sarah.”

  “Didn’t clear it up at all.”

  Rebecca sat up straight, put on her most vacant expression, and said in an airhead voice, “ex-boyfriends are just off-limits to friends. I mean, that’s just like the rules of feminism.”

  “I get it now,” Rowan said, completely unconvinced. “You get it’s the twenty-first century though, right?”

  “You don’t know Sarah, do you?” Rebecca took out her phone and handed it to Rowan.

  Sarah // 11:09

  Becca! I need U!

  Men suck & U no all about that.

  Call me!

  Sarah // 15:40

  I want 2 kill the bastard!

  Who does he think I am?

  No 1 dumps me!

  I’m not Hayley.

  Call me!!

  Sarah // 19:27

  I’m out of tissues & cant stop crying

  UR my BFF Becca!

  I need U

  & more tissues

  Call me!!!

  Sarah // 19:28

  When U pick up tissues,

  can U get more mint choc chunk

  & vodka!

  Sarah // 19:29

  & my dry cleaning?

  Pretty plez?

  Its under Wardlow

  Call me!!!!!!!!

  “Wow.” As Rowan read through the messages, her eyes grew wider and wider. “That’s…special.”

  “And that was just day one.”

  “And you got the same?” Rowan asked Hayley.

  “Pretty much. Only with more personal attacks on my character,” Hayley replied. “And questions as to why Bex hadn’t called her.”

  “What was I gonna say?” Rebecca asked defensively. “He came to his senses and found someone more human? There was a lot going on okay?”

  “Oh I know,” Hayley replied. “I wasn’t – you know–” She looked to Rowan, “this is what Sarah does. Worst person ever.”

  Rowan was about to question why the friendship still existed when a waiter appeared with a bucket of ice, three fluted glasses, and a bottle of champagne. The three women looked at each other and then at the waiter.

  “From the guy, uh gentleman at the bar.” The music covered the tremor in his voice.

  “Thanks,” Rowan said firmly, her smile at odds with her tone. “But we’re all good.”

  “It’s very expensive,” the waiter said.

  “And cheesy,” Rebecca said. “Actually which one is he? Kinda want to ask if this actually works for him.”

  “Uh, I was just–”

  “Holy shit!” Hayley said, looking up from her phone. “That’s a twenty-five hundred dollar bottle of Krug.”

  Anxiously the waiter set the tray down and slipped away. The women looked at each other stunned, then toward the bar where a handsome man raised a tumbler of whisky to them. Flashing them a warm smile he got off his stool and walked over. Olive skin, dark hair, green eyes, all wrapped up in a bespoke dark suit, white shirt open at the collar.

  “Rowan,” Hayley said. “You should totally go for it. You’re the single one here.”

  “About that…”

  “It’s cheesy, I know. I know.” He held up his hands as he approached, a self-conscious half smile gracing his features. “I guess I thought you might appreciate the irony.”

  Rebecca answered him with a laugh. “I do love good irony, and it’s a lovely gesture. Really it is.” She wasn’t sure where her boldness was coming from. Oh yeah, the amazing women flanking her. “Just we’re the only company we wanted this evening. Sorry.”

  His smile threatened to melt ice-caps. Rebecca could even feel the resolve of her two friends wilting.

  “That’s quite alright. I hope your evening is as lovely as you three.” He backed away, his smile eclipsing the cheesiness of the remark.

  Once he had left, Rebecca reached for her own drink again. “I could get quite used to shutting men down in bars. I feel like it’s my mutant power. Who’s next?”

  “Do we drink it?” Hayley asked. “Or do we ask Rowan what she meant when she said ‘about that dot-dot-dot’?”

  Rowan beamed. “Okay so this may or may not have been why I really wanted to hang out tonight.”

  “I feel a brag coming on,” Hayley said.

  “A humble one,” Rebecca added.

  “Of course, totally.” Hayley looked at Rowan expectantly. “Okay spill. Who is he?”

  “His name’s Michael. He’s a were…boy band member. And I think maybe this could be something?”

  “I don’t think I’ve met him,” Rebecca said, looking to Hayley who shrugged.

  Rowan went on to tell them about Michael. How he was actually 32 but had been sired – for which Hayley made her drink – when he was 22. To help them visualize, Rowan showed them a photo on her phone. He was shirtless and lying in her bed. Both women almost drooled.

  “We’ve always been kinda casual, but I’m thinking it might be more fun to take this seriously. Maybe?”

  “Wait, does it make you a cougar if he looks twenty-two but is actually thirty-two?”

  “Drink,” Rebecca said.

  “Cougar’s not supernatural.” Rowan took a drink, feeling exposed. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. And if anyone has to worry about that, it’s gonna be you. Eddie was sired when he was twenty-four. He’s just lived pretty hard is all.”

  “McLachlan said you were…married?” Rebecca asked.

  “Yeah,” Rowan said, tenderness in her eyes. “Daniel. He, uh, died in the Pack War.” No one questioned that she didn’t drink. “M
ichael’s no replacement. Daniel will always be the love of my life. So – I guess – I just don’t know if I want to make this a thing though.”

  “What’s the hesitation?” Hayley asked.

  “Well, there’s the age thing obviously. Then there’s the witch-werewolf thing,” she said, taking a sip. “And I guess to some extent the Matteo thing.”

  “Wait, why’s that a thing?” Hayley asked.

  Rowan didn’t reply.

  “It just is,” Rebecca said quickly, filling the silence.

  “Hey.” Rowan took a breath and broke free of the memories that loomed large. “Good song. Everybody up.”

  Taking her cue, they left the table, their drinks and the expensive bottle of champagne – still untouched – and headed to the dance floor. None of them knew the song, but they didn’t need to. The beat allowed the conversation to finish and, for a time, be forgotten.

  XVI

  Walking out of the club, Henry was content with the rebuff.

  After all he’d only wanted an introduction. Re-introduction more appropriately. He hadn’t seen Rowan in years. She seemed well. As for the other two. Humans. Not Wiccan.

  He slipped one hand onto the bouncer’s arm and the other into a warm handshake, a hundred dollar bill slipping into the larger man’s palm. Wishing the bouncer a good night, he strode past the line of barely legals waiting to get into the club. The bouncer would make a good recruit. His size an asset.

  Henry stopped about twenty feet from the end of the line – contemplating some company for the evening – when something on the night air caught his attention. He looked across the road to the triangular island where West Broadway intersected with 6th Avenue. A few trees littered the small tract of sidewalk, a bus shelter tucked amid them. Against the side of the shelter leaned a figure in a dark coat.

  There you are, he thought, continuing along the block. He crossed when he got to Canal and walked the short distance to 6th, circling behind the other man.

  “You get being a werewolf means you don’t have to be invited into places,” the man said.

  Ben turned sharply, his claws now tipping his fingers.