by A. J. Colby
When Yakov removed the cork with a loud pop and splashed a generous amount into each glass, just the smell was enough to make my eyes sting. I watched the thick liquid slosh over the sides of the glass onto the tabletop. When the liquor didn’t eat a hole through the table, I picked up the shot glass, raising it in a toast to our host, and then gulped it down in one go, hoping it would help minimize what was sure to be a wretched taste.
Fire raced down my throat, burning up the oxygen in my lungs in an instant, leaving me gasping like a grounded fish and trying to pin Yakov with a ferocious glare. The tears streaming down my cheeks may have lessened the effect of my stare a little.
“Smooth,” I rasped in a hoarse whisper that brought a braying chuckle from Yakov.
Asshole.
I watched in irritation as he raised his glass in a salute and said, “Na zdraví!” before slamming it back in a single gulp. Offering me a refill, which I declined with a brief shake of my head, he chuckled again as he filled his glass and settled back in his seat.
“Ask your questions.”
“Someone has been attacking vamps and Cordova’s not happy about it.”
“I care not about the Shepherd and his dýchající mrtvoly... his breathing corpses.”
“I’m sure the feeling is mutual, but it looks like the work of a were, and besides Hank’s pack and the geriatrics, yours are the only other wolves in town.”
“The Blood Brothers did not do this,” he said with ironclad surety, and for some unknown reason I was inclined to believe him.
Still I had to ask, “You sure one of your boys didn’t get it in his head to stir up a little trouble?”
“The pack does not act without my permission,” Yakov said in a growling tone, a single long and greasy fingernail tapping out a sharp tattoo on the tabletop.
Behind me, Juliet snorted.
A surge of energy radiated from Yakov at the sound, smacking me in the chest like a fist. “You question my word, little wolf?”
“I just don’t think you can trust a bunch of deserters,” she replied, her words full of some accusation I didn’t understand.
The undercurrent of conversation that had resumed after Yakov invited me to sit came to a halt once more, the mood in the room taking on a hostile edge. There was something else going on, but I didn’t have the time to figure out what it was. Glancing at Juliet over my shoulder I mouthed, “What the fuck?” before turning my attention back to Yakov. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to cower under the weight of his gaze, the gleaming gold of his eyes making me quiver with the desire to flee.
Hank’s smack of energy during our meeting at The Vine had been a thinly veiled power play, a test of sorts, that I’d thankfully been able to fight off. The energy rolling off of Yakov, however, was another story. There was no subtlety, or ulterior motive behind the power that lapped at my skin like crackling flames. Yakov was the alpha here, his will was law, and woe to anyone who dared resist him. The wolf whimpered inside, caught between the urge to roll over and expose her vulnerable underbelly, and the desire to bare her teeth in a show of strength. Trying to soothe her warring desires with a soft mental touch, I turned my attention to the situation playing out before me.
“If you girls are done bickering about who has the biggest dick, can we get back to the matter at hand?” I asked with as much bravado as I could muster, relieved that my voice didn’t shake.
Yakov’s eyes lingered on Juliet for several heart pounding seconds before drifting back to me. He looked like he was deciding whether or not he would rip our throats out after he’d beaten us to a bloody pulp, or just beat us to a bloody pulp and dump our bodies in the street. And then with a slow blink, his eyes shifted back to dark blue and a wide grin split his face as he laughed in loud booming guffaws. The glasses danced on the table when a massive hand slapped the tabletop and he rocked back in his chair.
“I like you, Spirited One.”
“Great. You can buy me dinner after I’ve figured out who is attacking Cordova’s people.”
“Perhaps if you know why, you will know who.”
I wanted to tell Yakov that his answer wasn’t at all helpful, but realized that he might be right. The fact that I didn’t have any idea how to figure why the vamps were being attacked left me feeling just as frustrated as before.
“Now, we drink,” Yakov declared, oblivious to my internal conundrum.
“Again?” I asked, looking to Juliet for confirmation.
The grimace on her face was answer enough. “Afraid so.”
My stomach flip-flopped while I watched Yakov refill my glass, filling it to the brim. Mirroring him, I lifted my glass to my lips and tipped it back before I could chicken out.
“Na zdraví!”
Fire consumed my throat once again but was followed by an almost enjoyable warmth spreading through my chest. It still tasted like turpentine and devil spit, but the warm glow in my chest and numbness in my mind were kinda nice.
I felt myself melt into my chair as I watched Yakov fill my glass for a third time.
“Naz... dravl...” I slurred before Yakov could say a word, downing the fiery liquid. I braced myself for the burn of it gliding down my throat, but only felt a deepening of the warmth suffusing my limbs. Rolling the glass back and forth between my fingers I watched a stray drop of golden liquid shuddering on the lip of the glass before finally sliding down the side to pool on the scarred tabletop.
“I’ll have another, bartender,” I said, offering my glass to the maniac grinning at me across the table.
“I think that’s enough,” Juliet said, plucking the glass from my fingers and setting it on the table upside down.
“But I’m enjoying a drink with my new friend,” I replied. “We are friends now, aren’t we, Yakov?”
The shaggy man’s face split into a wide grin as he nodded. “Yes, friends.”
The flare of alarm that flickered across Juliet’s face should have been a clue that I didn’t want the fearsome pack master to consider me a friend, but my mind was too addled by the strong liquor to make sense of much of anything.
Curling a small, but strong, hand around my arm, she said, “Let’s get you out of here before you end up passed out under the table. Or worse.”
“I’m watching you, Yakov,” I warned, gesturing between myself and him, my loud hiccup undermining the threat behind my words.
“I’ll be watching you, too, Spirited One,” he replied in a rough chuckle, inclining his head in the briefest of nods.
“He’s not so bad really. A bit smelly... and ugly as sin. But he’s not a total asshole like I thought,” I said to Juliet as she steered me towards the door. The thunderous bark of laughter that rang out behind us made me think that maybe I hadn’t said the last in a whisper as I’d intended.
“You and your friend need some help?” Emmett asked with a wide grin when we approached the door. “I’d be more than happy to give you a hand.”
“You can keep your damn hands to yourself,” Juliet said in a grating growl.
“There used to be a time when you’d have begged to feel my hands anywhere,” he replied, his voice dipping into a sultry croon while his eyes sparkled with mischief.
“And there used to be a time when you had honor,” she spat back, baring her teeth in the beginnings of a snarl.
In the blink of an eye, Emmett’s expression shifted from flirtatious teasing to something far more sinister. “Watch it, little pup. The wolves here won’t put up with your smart mouth the way your brother does. He’d do well to teach you your proper place.”
I felt Juliet tense beside me, her slight frame trembling with barely repressed rage. Only my arm draped across her shoulders kept her from lunging at the smug were and wrapping her delicate looking hands around his neck.
“I think I might be sick,” I said, only half lying as I pulled her towards the door and the promise of fresh air.
“Drive safe, little pups,” Emmett called after us.<
br />
I had no doubt that Hank had been right about his sister being able to handle herself; I just wished he’d mentioned her fiery temper. Then again, I supposed I didn’t have much room to talk, considering my own proclivity to lash out first and ask questions later.
The cold air was like a smack in the face when we stepped out onto the street, and I felt much of the haziness in my mind evaporate in the watery blink of an eye, though the queasiness remained.
“Well, that was interesting,” I said, wincing when the door slammed shut behind us.
Juliet made a noncommittal sound in reply, her jaw still set in a stiff line and her eyes gleaming with a faraway look of anger. Approaching her car, I released my grip on the waif of a woman and slid down to rest my ass on the hood, the cold of the metal leeching through my jeans to chill my backside.
“God, that stuff’s lethal,” I groaned, smacking my numbed lips.
“I’m amazed you’re still standing,” she said, emerging from her anger long enough to flash me a rueful smile. “Normally one shot is enough for even the biggest of men.”
“What about Yakov? He looked like he could drink the stuff all day,” I said, squinting at my hand to make the double vision go away. At least the fire in my gut had died down to a low simmer and I didn’t feel like I might paint the sidewalk.
“He probably could,” she shrugged. “He’s practically been pickled by the stuff. Luckily, with our enhanced metabolisms the effects don’t last long.”
She was right—my drunkenness was already subsiding, leaving a dull throb behind my eyes in its wake. Rubbing a hand across my temples to ease the ache, I glanced up at Juliet, her eyes still bright with anger and her cheeks rosy.
“So... you and that Emmett guy know each other?” I asked, frowning when my words came out a little slurred. Evidently, the effects of the alcohol hadn’t completely worn off yet.
“He used to be Hank’s best friend and second.” The iciness in her voice almost made me pull my jacket tighter. So, there was more to her dislike of Emmett than simple desertion. Recalling his comment about his hands, I wondered if they had also shared a more intimate history. Either way, she didn’t look like it was a subject she wanted to discuss.
“What about the other one... Luka? Do you know him?” I asked.
Juliet’s irritation faded away, replaced by sadness, and a shadow of fear. Instead of answering, she just gave a short nod.
“What happened to him?”
“Yakov happened to him.” She seemed unwilling to say more until we were safely ensconced inside the car with the heat on full blast. “Luka used to be the pack master of the Blood Brothers, though they were the White Claw pack then. Then Yakov showed up with a few of his boys from the Czech Republic and started making trouble. It wasn’t anything Luka couldn’t handle at first, or so he thought. Yakov started bringing in drugs and girls, and promised that any wolf who joined his pack would have as much of either as they wanted. It didn’t take long for the neighborhood to go downhill after that.”
“His pack just abandoned him?”
Juliet gave a half-hearted shrug. “Luka was strong, but Yakov is stronger. Wolves will follow whoever is strongest. Luka lost the pack the minute he hesitated in killing Yakov when he first showed up.”
It was startling to hear Juliet speak in such a cold and ruthless manner, and I was reminded of how different I was from other weres.
“So what happened to the pack?”
“Some of the older weres joined us, some of them left the state, but most of the younger ones pledged to Yakov. They’re his boys now.”
“And Luka? What happened to him?” I asked, gesturing to my face.
“Luka eventually decided to call Yakov out. It didn’t turn out in his favor.”
“But the scars?” I prompted, curiosity demanding that I find out what would leave that kind of scarring on a were, even though I knew that the answer was sure to be something gruesome.
“There are rumors that Yakov had silver tips crafted for his claws, and that he wears them every time he fights. I’m not sure if it’s true, but he’s never lost a fight.”
“That’s...” I began to say, my words fading away as I struggled to express how sick and twisted I thought the whole thing was.
Silence descended on the car, both of us caught up in our own thoughts. I was busy trying to puzzle out which pack master was lying, and, judging from Juliet’s death grip on the steering wheel, she was still fuming about her run-in with Emmett. We didn’t speak again until Juliet pulled in front of my borrowed SUV.
“Thanks for going with me.”
“No problem,” she replied. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the information you were looking for though.”
Waving off her apology I said, “It’s fine. It’s not like I expected him to come out and admit that someone from his pack has been killing off vamps.”
“True. But what you are going to do?”
“No idea,” I said with a sigh as I ran a hand over my face, suddenly weary and craving a cup of coffee, or better yet, a handful of aspirin.
“You should come over for dinner,” she announced in a cheery voice, all traces of anger and sadness gone as if I’d imagined them.
Thinking of curling up in front of the fire with Loki I said, “I don’t know. I should probably head home.”
“Aw come on, it’ll be fun,” she said, gracing me with a wide smile that I couldn’t help but return. “Hank’s making chili and cornbread.”
I hesitated a moment longer, but after a moment, her smile, which looked a little forced around the edges, won me over. “Well... I do love cornbread.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I’M NOT SURE what I was expecting when I pulled in behind Juliet’s little red Miata, but whatever it was, the picturesque two-story Victorian was definitely not it. With a gabled roof, layered shingles, and a small veranda extending over the front step, it looked like something crafted of gingerbread and icing. The blanket of snow clinging to the roof and the strand of white glittering icicle lights outlining the peaks of the roof added to the fairytale look.
“Hank lives here?” I asked, climbing out of the SUV.
Pausing on the curb, Juliet gazed up at the house behind its black wrought iron fence, seeming to glow with pride. “Yup. It was our parent’s place. We grew up here. Hank moved back in when he became pack master.”
“So your dad was pack master too?”
“And Gramps before him. You really don’t know how any of this stuff works, do you?”
From anyone else, the question might have sounded like an insult, but there was only warmth and curiosity in Juliet’s open expression. With her head cocked to one side, she resembled a big, gentle husky waiting for a scratch behind the ears.
“I guess not,” I muttered in reply, falling into step behind her.
Salt crunched beneath my boots as I followed Juliet up the walk to the front door, a wreath of fresh pine boughs hanging on the dark red door, partially obscuring the beautiful frosted glass inset. Without stopping to knock or ring the bell, she pushed open the door as if she were entering her own home.
I suppose in some ways she is.
“Come on in.”
“Should I ah... take off my shoes?”
Unwinding her scarf, Juliet looped it over a hook on the wall by the door along with her bag and jacket.
“If you want,” she replied, shrugging narrow shoulders. “Hey, bro! I brought a friend for dinner,” she called out.
Seeing the mischievous glint in her eyes, I felt dread settle like a cold rock in the pit of my stomach.
“Wait, he doesn’t know I’m here?” I asked in a hissing whisper.
Without saying a word, Juliet turned and all but skipped down the hallway towards the back of the house and the mouthwatering aroma of simmering meat and freshly baked cornbread.
Floundering for a moment, stuck between turning tail like a cowardly pup and going deeper into the house to face the pac
k master, I shook my head and toed off my boots. “I’m so going to regret this.”
My sock-clad feet were almost silent on the bare wooden floor, but I knew without a doubt that both Hank and Juliet could hear my approach just as I could hear Hank popping the cap off a beer and asking his sister, “So, who’d you bring? Don’t tell me it’s another one of your hippy dippy yoga students. You’re the only vegetarian I’ll let in this house.”
“No, it’s not one of my students. And I’m vegan, remember?”
Their affectionate banter drew me down the hallway until I stood on the threshold of a brightly lit kitchen decked out in light woods, gleaming granite counters, and top of the line stainless steel appliances. I felt like I had stepped into an edition of Better Homes and Gardens, and—as happened so often these days—I felt completely out of place.
Hank lounged next to the stove, leaning against the edge of the counter with a beer bottle pressed to his lips. He looked comfortable and relaxed in a pair of faded jeans slung low on his hips, a forest green Henley that clung to his chest and abdomen in all the right ways, and scuffed work boots. My mouth went dry at the sight of him while my mind raced with several lascivious ideas of what else he could do with those oh-so kissable lips.
I wonder if he comes as part of the “welcome to the pack” package.
Spotting me standing dumbfounded in the doorway Juliet’s expression became devious, a wealth of mischief hidden behind her cornflower eyes.
I’m gonna have to watch myself around this one.
Following his sister’s gaze, Hank turned to look at me, pausing with his beer raised halfway to his pursed lips for another sip. Lips that glistened in the light, a single stray drop of amber liquid clinging to the swell of his lower lip before his tongue snaked out to capture it.