Captured By The Warriors

by Daniella Wright

  Without thinking, I reached out a hand and lightly caressed his velvet muzzle. He flinched in surprise, and then watched as I went over to the bed. I sat down on it. He curled up on the floor in between the bed and the door. Still very drunk, I fell asleep quickly.

  In the morning, I woke up to voices and the sound of cooking; clanking pots and a whisk. I smelled bacon and coffee. I sat up and stretched, groaning as I felt the hollow pang of a hangover headache. My stomach turned a little—I was nauseous from the tequila. The sunlight coming through the white curtains was already hot. My dress was wrinkled, and I tried to straighten it as best I could.

  When I opened the door, I encountered The Pack for the first time. Lounging on the sofa were two twin boys with straggly brown hair, about late teens, wrestling with each other. Sitting regally in the armchair that I’d occupied the night before was a woman in her early thirties who looked like a super model. Her back was straight, and she was reading a thick novel. Her wild, curly hair framed her picturesque face. She looked over the book at me with vivid blue eyes. She put the book down gracefully.

  “Hello, human,” she said. I felt automatically uncomfortable in the presence of the she-wolf. Owen came out of the kitchen wearing his white t-shirt and jeans.

  “Bianca, be nice,” he said.

  “You, are a Beta,” she spat at him, and then returned to her novel, Anna Karenina, I saw. “You have no power here.”

  “It’s my house,” Owen replied, throwing a pillow at the twins. “Knock it off, y’all.” Two more men came out of the kitchen; one had thick black curls and deep brown skin with a banded tattoo around his arm. He smiled easily at me. The other, I knew.

  “Hello, Pastor Rich,” I said to the copper haired priest. He had tried to usher me into his flock earlier that week, and I’d been politely dismissive.

  “Hello Vanessa. How are you?” He took my hand in his, pressing it.

  “Um. Hungover.” I felt extremely awkward in the presence of so many people, still over-dressed, and feeling horrible.

  “Breakfast and Advil await you in the kitchen,” Owen said. “Quick introductions—”

  “Evan,” one of the twins offered.

  “Peter,” the other said.

  “Bianca,” she said, not looking up from her book.

  “Sami,” the man with the black curls and tattoo replied with a warm smile, and gestured to the kitchen, where I was then plied with Advil, bacon, eggs, and toast. As I ate, I was filled in with the goings-on outside.

  “We have to get you out of Wimberley,” Pastor Rich said. Not that I had roots there, but I had just been getting on my feet. “You should stay low here with Owen for a couple of days. The Palmers are looking for the two of you. They don’t like leaving human witnesses, and the fact that Owen, a werewolf, rescued you, has them angry.”

  “We have a little agreement that they don’t hunt in town and we don’t bother them,” Sami whispered to me. I nodded my head.

  “I want to go get my things,” I said.

  “In a few days, maybe. But not only are the vamps looking for you, so are the authorities. Currently, you are technically endangered missing, along with Kelly and Ella. If they don’t know where you are, then the vamps don’t either,” for a man of God, Pastor Rich was shifty.

  “The vamps have easy access to any police resources,” Owen said. “They grease some palms fairly regularly.”

  “We’ll get you some fake ID’s and then get you safely out of Dodge in a few days,” Sami said. “I’m an artist at Driver’s Licenses.” I smiled. I liked Sami. We were going to be fast friends.

  “We’ll keep this place surrounded so the vamps don’t get in. You have nothing to worry about,” Pastor Rich said. I nodded. I realized that I felt safe, despite the fact that I was the only human in a house populated entirely by werewolves.

  Everyone was standing around the kitchen, eating off of mismatched plates, except for Bianca, who sipped a Red Bull. Owen was fiddling with his coffee pot, pulling mugs out of the cupboard by his head. He turned to me.

  “How do you take your coffee, Ness?”

  “Soy,” I said. And they all looked at each other before laughing. “What?”

  “Only humans are lactose intolerant,” one of the twins, I wasn’t sure which, said. “We forget sometimes.”

  “Goes for gluten, as well,” the other twin said.

  “Wolves have strong stomachs,” Owen supplied, pouring a copious amount of sugar into my coffee. “This is gonna be like jet fuel.”

  I accepted the cup offered to me, coughing and cringing as the most acrid and sweet thing I’d ever tasted filled my mouth. One of the twins howled with glee. I was so glad that my humanity was entertaining to them.

  After The Pack had left, Owen and I sat in the living room silently. We were both on the sofa, about a foot apart. I felt him, like a bolt of electricity, beside me. I was borrowing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. The clothing was thick with the smell of him, and I found that I enjoyed being wrapped in it.

  “You weren’t afraid of me, last night,” he said.

  “You’re a puppy,” I replied.

  “Awwww don’t say that,” he said, looking away. We were silent for a minute, feeling the short distance between us.

  “Hey,” he said, turning his whole body toward me.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “I told you what I was running from,” he seemed tentative, but genuinely curious. “What are you running away from? Why are you here?”

  “It’s stupid, really. I was in college. Getting my degree in Law,” I sighed. “My parents were so proud. Their alma mater.”

  “What school?”

  “Boston University.”

  “Ah. So you’re like, wicked smart?” he imitated the Bostonian accent poorly, dropping the “r” in smart. I shoved his arm lightly. “What happened?”

  “I didn’t want it. Any of it. The trust fund, the law degree, the plastic life they wanted for me… I was so tired.” I looked at him. “I wanted to be a chef. So I left and got a job as a baker in a coffee shop in Wimberley, Texas.”

  “You left all of your money?”

  “No. And that’s the problem. I emptied out my bank account before I left.”

  “Ah.”

  “I need to go back to my house.”

  “No.”

  “I have 20,000 dollars in my mattress.”

  “Shit,” he thought for a minute. “The vamps are definitely going to be watching that house. Even in daylight. They’ll have a crooked cop sitting on that.”

  “I can’t leave that money.”

  “You might have to.”

  Hitting an impasse, we read the random novels that Owen had. He didn’t own a television, which was annoying. I wanted to get news on the search for the girls, even if Owen insisted that the Palmers victims were never found. I wanted to know what the police knew about me. I wanted to know what they were putting about me on the news. I wondered if they’d contacted my parents in Boston. Owen dozed off while reading a beat-up paperback copy of Ender’s Game. I watched him sleep for a moment. The sun on his eyelashes made the tips blond. He looked exhausted, as though he were always being chased by something, even in his sleep. Quietly, I eased off of the sofa, and walked into the bedroom, taking his shirt and boxers off and sliding back into my dress. I slid open the bedroom window, which was only four feet off of the ground, and slipped out easily.

  The humidity was thick in the woods. I carried my heels and walked barefoot, praying that there were no snakes nearby. The sun was just beginning to go down, and I was almost back to town when Bianca stepped out from behind a birch.

  “What, pray tell, do you think you are doing?” She crossed her arms.

  “I’m going back to my house,” I replied, feeling stupid.

  “We’re all putting our asses on the line for you,” she replied. “And you are stepping right into it. Do you know how close you are to the Palmer’s property right no
w?”

  By now, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, making the shadows of the trees long. Owen came barreling through the forest in a panic. He relaxed when he saw that I was with Bianca.

  “Ness! What the hell—” He was suddenly hurled off of his feet by a pale fist. It was one of the Palmer brothers, still dressed in the same oxford from the night before. It was flecked with blood. His features were sharp, perfect. He smiled coldly, hungrily at me.

  “Vanessa,” he held out his hand. “Boudreaux Palmer. A pleasure.”

  I backed away from him as a sand-colored she-wolf burst out of the trees, biting at his throat. They began to grapple as Owen in wolf-form joined the fray. Cold hands reached around from behind me, covering my mouth and whisking me away. Fear pooled in my stomach as I fought against the hands that held me. The vampire holding me ran, as Owen realized that I was gone and began to take chase. But it was too late—we were out of the trees and rushing up toward a large white mansion fronted by white columns. The windows were ablaze with light from inside.

  I found myself seated on an antique couch with mahogany legs and upholstered in pale blue velvet. The whole room was exquisite—marble sculptures lined the powder-blue and gold fleur-de-lis papered walls. The furniture was all lustrous mahogany wood. The floors were polished to a dark gloss, and the carpets were plush oriental designs in pale pinks and yellows. The thick floral brocade curtains were thrown back to show the night sky. The moon was a deep yellow, nearly full; at least it would be in a night or so.

  My hands were tied, as were my ankles, in thick white silk cords. I pulled on it, testing, and it had a little give, but not enough. I wondered if The Pack would come for me, or if they considered me the Palmer’s territory, now. My heart went out to Owen, the betrayal and fear on his face when he saw me out in the forest.

  “It is so rare that we have guests,” the vampire talking to me was dressed in a suit. His hair was worn long, brushed back from his face. The other night, he’d worn a t-shirt. “Charleston Palmer,” he introduced himself. “It is so rare that we have guests that are not food.”

  “You’re not going to eat me?” He placed a hand on my face, caressing it.

  “You are so beautiful, Vanessa. You will make an exquisite vampire,” he said. “And your trust fund will add wonderfully to our slightly diminished resources.” At the shock that registered on my face, he grinned. “Yes. We have had our collective eye on you since you were a child. And imagine our delight when you delivered yourself right to us.”

  The other two vampires entered the room; both were dressed in evening wear. Boudreaux had bite marks and scratches, which healed as he entered. As his marble-white skin eased itself closed, he looked upon me coldly. The other, Napoleon, I assumed, looked at me with a blank stare. I felt as though I had come to the end, as though I were waiting for death to happen—a situation that I had never been in before. But I wasn’t going to die, I realized—I was about to become an immortal thrall to the Palmers.

  I looked at the Palmer Brothers—they could almost be identical, but with minor variations of their marble sculpture-esque faces. Charleston, with his long hair, and slim face, Napoleon with his close-cropped hair and high cheekbones, and Boudreaux with his wide chin and open forehead all stared back at me with the same yellow, predatory eyes.

  “Do promise not to run away,” Napoleon said as he began to loosen my bonds. “We can run quite as fast as the wolves do when we are not otherwise occupied with other prey.”

  “We must get you prepared for your party,” Charleston said, holding out a hand to me that I did not take as I stood shakily. He shrugged. “Follow me.”

  The other two remained in the sumptuous parlor room as Charleston led me down the hall, which was painted a deep maroon color with oil paintings depicting pastoral scenes in the Hudson River School style. He opened the door to a room off of the hallway, revealing a huge four-poster bed with a silky plush comforter, a large, walk-in closet filled with dresses in rich fabrics. There were no windows, I noticed immediately. The room was painted a royal blue, and had a painting of a coldly beautiful blonde woman in an intricate dress from the Regency era.

  “This will be your room,” Charleston said, walking over to the closet and pulling out a full-length ball gown in an emerald green. The silk cloth of it hissed as he whisked it over the bed. “This should suit you.” He went over to the dresser, and pulled out black lace lingerie, that would cover nothing. He walked around behind me, using his fingertips to ease the straps of my wrinkled, sweat-infused dress. I stiffened, feeling deeply uncomfortable with this, but it seemed that I had no choice.

  “Don’t—” I started.

  “Oh, are you shy?” Charleston asked, mockingly. He brushed my hair back over my shoulder, and whispered as his lips brushed my neck, “Soon you shan’t be.” He slowly peeled my dress off of me, letting his fingertips brush my skin as they followed my skin from my shoulders, down my ribcage, and over my hips. My skin was chilled—I felt repulsed as goosebumps raised where he touched me. I was standing in my black bra and panties, arms crossed over my chest. He let me go, and I walked stiffly into the en-suite bathroom with the gown.

  “Be sure to shower,” he called. “You smell a little of dog.”

  He was sitting on the bed when I came out in the gown, which hugged my figure tightly. I felt like I could barely move. My hair was still wet, dripping down my shoulders, but I didn’t care—I wasn’t going to make too much effort for the Palmers.

  “Ah,” he said approvingly, “You look lovely.” He stood up, and then walked behind me, twisting my wet hair into a simple bun.

  “I don’t have shoes,” I said.

  “You won’t need them,” he replied evenly. “We won’t be going out until after you’re Undead.” He led me back down the hallway, where Boudreaux and Napoleon were lounging on the blue sofa that I had been tied up on earlier. They glanced at me approvingly. They were sipping a dark red liquid from champagne flutes and a decanter on the mahogany table in front of them. Boudreaux noted my sudden reaction to the liquid.

  “Do not worry,” he said, raising his glass. “It is not vintage Ella.”

  “Do have a seat,” Napoleon said, gesturing toward a velvet-upholstered chair that matched the couch. “We are so excited to have you join the Palmer family.” I had no response to this. Napoleon seemed to be the most approachable of the three, while Boudreaux seemed to be the muscle, and Charleston the brains. Good cop, bad cop, worst cop, I thought to myself. Charleston sat down in the chair next to mine, and poured himself a glass of the red liquid.

  “I forgot my manners,” he said. “Certainly we are celebrating your last night as a human, and your entrance into our family. That calls for champagne.” He went to the sideboard by the door, and pulled out a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, which he poured into a glass for me. I took the delicate glass with a slightly trembling hand.

  “I remember when you were a little girl,” Charleston began. When I gasped, he nodded. “Yes, we chose you a long time ago. You looked like an absolute doll in the carriage ride through Boston Common.”

  I suddenly remembered vaguely—a pale carriage driver with a white horse drawing it around Christmastime, my au pair distracted by his debonair manner. I recalled feeling entranced by all of the white Christmas lights decking the trees on Boston Common, a fizz of excitement while I wore my special dark green dress, my hair tucked up under a knitted white beret. I wondered which of three Palmers it had been, my memory too vague and their features too similar for me to know with certainty.

  “And then you grew up splendidly. We couldn’t have been more impressed.” Napoleon said. I sat there, feeling exhausted and afraid in the most beautiful dress I’d ever worn. I took a sip of champagne, hoping that it would steady me, but it went straight to my head. I realized that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning—almost a full twenty-four hours ago by then.

  “We have been a trio for far too long,” Charleston said, sipping
his drink. “We were changed three hundred and seventy-five years ago.”

  “In the colonies,” Napoleon added, reminiscing. “There was so much bloodshed in the early years. We had several other members of the family over the years, but it has, so far, not worked out very well.”

  “We had to destroy them,” Charleston said. “When they proved to be disappointments.”

  “It will be nice to have female company,” Boudreaux was undressing me with his eyes. “Perhaps—”

  At that moment, there was a crash downstairs. It sounded like something had been hurled through a plate glass window. I hoped that it was The Pack, coming for me, and that Owen hadn’t come by himself.

  The Palmers stood, forming an arc in front of the open door. It was not long before the wolf that I knew to be Owen stood in the doorway, along with a sleek, black furred wolf with golden eyes that I guessed was Sami. They growled, and immediately flung themselves at the vamps.

  Wanting to help in some way, I smashed my champagne flute against the mahogany table, and advanced upon the vamps from behind, feeling highly inadequate. I looked around, hoping that the Palmers collected weapons, perhaps. No such luck, however. I supposed they hadn’t required a weapon in a few centuries, anyway.

  Charleston threw Owen against the wall as Sami tore Boudreaux’s throat out with his teeth. Boudreaux still stood, trying to choke Sami with his hands. One of the marble sculptures was knocked to the floor with a resounding crack. Meanwhile, Napoleon turned to find me standing behind him with the shards of my champagne flute.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” he said, disappointedly, as he picked me up easily, leaning in toward my neck. He forced my head back, baring my throat. His fangs descended, and I felt the tips scrape against the skin of my throat. Owen, noticing what was going on, howled, and from the hallway, two identical grayish brown wolves launched themselves upon Napoleon. They each pulled on a side of him, tearing him limb from limb in tag-team fashion. He screamed inhumanly as his arms popped out of their sockets. His legs followed soon after. Although it was my salvation, I still felt a little nauseous.