by Karen Lynch
The Beagle lay on a rug by the bed, and it lifted its head to look at me when I walked over to listen for sounds on the other side of the bathroom door. Water sloshed quietly, telling me Sara hadn’t taken off at least, though she was obviously in no hurry to talk either. If my headstrong mate thought I would get tired of waiting and leave, she was in for a disappointment. I wasn’t going anywhere.
I walked across the room, intending to go downstairs, but I was drawn to the bookcases instead. There was so much I didn’t know about Sara, and my curiosity got the better of me. Unlike her uncle’s collection of books about war, Sara’s was made up mainly of well-worn classics such as Brontë, Hemingway, Fielding, and Wilde. On the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases, I was surprised to discover an impressive collection of vinyl records from the sixties and seventies. I pulled out a Fleetwood Mac album and stared at it as if it would reveal the secrets of the girl I still knew so little about.
I put the album back on the shelf and turned to the stairs again when a book on the couch caught my eye. An artist’s sketchbook? Unable to resist, I picked it up and opened it to a drawing of a crow perched on what resembled the desk across the room. The detail in the sketch was incredible, from the shape of the feathers down to the intelligent gleam in the bird’s eyes. In the bottom right corner of the page were the initials S.G.
Enthralled by this other side of Sara, I forgot my intent to go downstairs and sat on the couch with the sketchbook on my lap. A few seconds later, a gray tabby jumped up to lie beside me, purring loudly as it began to wash behind its ears. I smiled as I turned to the next page where a drawing of the three-legged Beagle came alive on the page. After that it was Roland and Peter, her uncle, a bog creature, an imp in a ragged loincloth, a werewolf.
My hand hovered over the page when I uncovered an eerily accurate drawing of a troll, and I wondered where on Earth she had found a picture to draw from. There weren’t many books that could boast a true depiction of the fiercely reclusive creatures.
I turned the page, and my breath caught at the next drawing. It was me, emerging from the shadows with a sword in hand, and I knew immediately it was from the night we met. She had drawn me strong and lethal, but there was also a calm reassurance in my expression, as if she’d had no doubt I would save her from Eli. As if she’d had complete faith in me before we –
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
I looked up and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of Sara standing across the room, wrapped in a white towel that barely came to mid-thigh. Water glistened on her bare shoulders and arms, and her hair hung in wet curls around her face. Heat shot through me, and my body immediately responded to my beautiful mate.
Her voice rose. “Get out of my room and keep your hands off my things.”
“You took so long I thought you’d tried to run off again,” I drawled in an effort to hide my aroused state before it became embarrassing for us both. Not an easy feat with her standing there in all her half-naked glory.
An angry blush spread across her skin, and she clenched the top of the towel to her chest. “Well, as you can see, I am still here. Now do you mind leaving my room so I can get dressed?”
“Of course.” I knew I was invading her space, but she looked so adorably flustered that I couldn’t help but smile.
I stood, leaving the sketchbook open on the couch. “Your drawings are quite good. Has anyone ever told you that?”
She scowled at the mention of her work. “I don’t show them to anyone. They’re private.”
So many secrets. It was time to start unravelling the mystery that was Sara Grey. I’d almost forgotten the reason I was here tonight. I’d give her the privacy she wanted…for now. But we were going to talk at some point.
“I’ll see you downstairs shortly,” I said before I descended the stairs.
At the bottom, I took a deep breath and shook my head at how easily she affected me without even trying.
Rain battered the windows as I walked into the kitchen, and I felt the building shake from the gale force wind. I listened to the storm, relieved that Sara was safe here with me and not out in that weather.
It hit me then that, for the first time since we met, I wasn’t worrying about her safety. I smiled wryly because I knew it wouldn’t last. Best to enjoy it while I could.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I guessed Sara was probably hungry too. There were several restaurant magnets on the refrigerator door, so I assumed she liked them all. Pizza sounded good, so I pulled out my phone to see if they were still delivering.
Just as I was about to dial, another gust of wind hit the building. The lights flickered and went out, plunging the apartment into darkness. I went to the window and peered out, but there wasn’t a light to be seen. It looked like the whole waterfront was black, which meant the rest of the town could be without power as well.
Fetching a pillar candle I’d seen on a shelf in the living room, I lit it and set it on the kitchen counter. Then I checked the contents of the refrigerator to see what I could put together for dinner. Our choices were limited with no power, so it was good that I knew how to make a decent sandwich.
I heard her coming down the stairs as I assembled our meal.
“What are you doing?” she asked from the kitchen doorway.
“Dinner. I would have ordered in, but it looks like power is out all over town. So sandwiches it is. Hope you like roast beef.”
“Um, thanks… I do,” she replied, clearly confused by my actions.
I hid my grin. So this was what it took to put her off her guard. If I’d known it was this easy, I would have fed her weeks ago.
Schooling my expression, I laid the sandwiches on the table where she had already placed a bag of potato chips and two glasses of soda. She sat as I placed the candle between us then took the chair across from her.
It took me a minute to notice how quiet she was, and when I looked up, I caught her watching me shyly, her teeth tugging at her lower lip. Our eyes held each other’s for several seconds before she blushed and looked down at her plate.
I stared at her, a smile slowly curving my mouth. Maybe she wasn’t as unaffected by me as she let on. Pleased by the thought, I turned my attention to my own sandwich.
I let her enjoy her meal for a few minutes before I asked the question she had to be expecting. “You want to tell me where you disappeared to today, and why you came back smelling like you went for a swim in the bay?”
She stopped eating and met my gaze defiantly. “It was personal business I had to take care of…and I did go for a swim in the bay. Satisfied?”
“Not even close.” I hadn’t expected her to confide in me, but I wasn’t giving up. Whatever she was involved in might not be dangerous, but going off alone was. I wished I knew what she thought was so important she had to risk her safety for it.
As much as I wanted answers, the stiffness in her shoulders told me I would not be getting them tonight. Watching the candlelight play across her hair as she pretended to focus on her meal, I came to a decision. We were alone and not arguing for once, and it didn’t look like she was about to kick me out. Why not take this opportunity to get to know her better? I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the evening.
“Aren’t you going to yell at me or something?” she asked as I bit into my sandwich.
I hid my amusement. “Will it make you tell me what you were doing today?”
“No.”
A part of me was happy she refused to answer because it allowed me to say, “Then why don’t we just have a pleasant meal instead?”
She stared at me, but I pretended to ignore her, enjoying myself immensely. I’d thrown her off with my change of tactics, and she was trying to figure out what I was up to. Sara had secrets, but it was obvious she was no game player. I liked that about her. It was a refreshing change from most of the women I’d known over the years.
I thought about one girl in particul
ar with bittersweet fondness. Tristan’s little sister, Elena, had been beautiful and precocious, and a master at feminine games. She’d believed herself in love with me, even though I had only ever treated her as a sister, and she’d been persistent in her efforts to get my attention. Sara didn’t share many traits with Elena, but she had definitely inherited Elena’s tenaciousness.
“You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago,” I said. “She was stubborn to a fault, too.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you say it was Madeline, I’m going to throw my pickle at you.”
I thought about the girl who had been gone for many years. “Not Madeline, no. Her name was Elena, and she was actually Madeline’s aunt, though she died before Madeline was born.”
Sara’s scowl faltered. “Was she your girlfriend or something?”
I shook my head, still lost in the past. “No, Elena was like a sister to me. She was beautiful, but willful and very spoiled.”
“Are you calling me spoiled?”
Her indignant tone drew a chuckle from me, which only made her scowl. I fought not to laugh again because I suspected she really would throw her food at me.
“Okay, maybe not spoiled, but definitely obstinate.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” she muttered. “What happened to her?”
My humor faded. “She ignored the rules that were there to protect her and went off by herself alone. She was killed by vampires.”
I remembered that dark day as if it was yesterday. Elena’s friend Miriam had come to me in tears to tell me Elena had ridden out alone hours ago and wasn’t back. I alerted Tristan, and we rode out after her with every available warrior. We split into four groups to spread out the search, and it was my group that found Elena – or what the vampires had left of her.
The fire was still smoking when we got there, and several of the younger warriors had retched at the sight of the body the vampires had torn apart and tossed into the fire like garbage. Her body was charred, but I recognized pieces of Elena’s favorite blue riding habit and her mare tied to a nearby tree.
I couldn’t let Tristan see her like that, so I’d put out the fire and wrapped her body for transport back to the stronghold. To this day, I could still smell the burnt flesh and see the bloody bits of clothing scattered over the ground. I could still see the grief etched on Tristan’s face when I’d brought his beloved sister’s body home to him.
A look of horror replaced Sara’s chagrin. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“It was a long time ago.” I regretted bringing it up. The last thing I wanted was to upset Sara, who had lost her father to a vampire.
“So does Madeline have any family left?” she asked, surprising me.
“She still has some living relatives; her sire, for one.”
Sara made a face. “Sire? That sounds so…impersonal.”
I sat back in my chair and smiled at her. She’d grown up as a human, so it would take some time for her to get accustomed to our ways.
“It’s just a title. Mohiri families are as close as human families, maybe more so since we do not grow old and die naturally.”
“So you and your parents all look the same age? Don’t you find that weird?”
“We don’t think of age the same way mortals do. Humans see it as a way to mark one’s passage through life. Physically, we don’t age once we reach maturity.”
Her brow furrowed, and I wished I knew what she was thinking. “So, my grand…Madeline’s father is still alive,” she said slowly. “Does he know about me?”
I thought about Tristan, who called every other day to ask about his granddaughter. “Yes, and he is looking forward to meeting you.”
I could sense her withdrawing. “He will wait until you’re ready to meet him,” I told her.
“A patient Mohiri, who would have thought it?” she replied dryly.
“A Mohiri has all the patience in the world when something is worth waiting for,” I said as she picked up our plates and carried them to the sink.
She started washing a plate. “I guess it helps that you guys are immortal, huh?”
I moved to stand beside her, and I couldn’t resist leaning in close. “So are you.”
She jumped. “Don’t do that!” she sputtered, and I chuckled at the blush that rose in her cheeks.
I took the plate she was washing and dried it, deliberately standing so close to her that our arms touched. Since the night I’d met Sara, my Mori and I had been in turmoil. Being near her helped, but it was never enough. Touching her, breathing in her scent, soothed my restless demon and me as nothing else could.
I was drying the last dish when I felt a shiver go through her, making me notice how chilly it was in the apartment. My Mori regulated my body temperature, but Sara’s demon was too young to do that yet. Without power, it was going to get cold in here. Somehow, I didn’t think she would be open to letting me warm her with my body heat, as pleasurable as that sounded.
“The temperature is going to drop a lot tonight,” I said as she reached for her flashlight. “Does that fireplace in the living room work?”
“Yes, it’s gas.”
Perfect. I headed for the living room. “Go put on something warm, and I’ll start the fire.”
“So what, we’re going to sit by the fire and roast marshmallows now?”
I smiled at the picture that presented. “You have anything better to do?” I called over my shoulder.
In no time, I had a good blaze going in the fireplace. Her retort about roasting marshmallows prompted me to check the kitchen cupboards, and I smirked when I found an unopened bag in the pantry. I grabbed the bag and two long metal skewers from a drawer, and went back to the living room. Tossing the bag on the coffee table, I sat on the floor near the fireplace and stared at the flames as I waited for her to return.
“Where did you find marshmallows?”
The delight in her voice warmed me as no fire could. “Top shelf in the pantry. Want one?” I asked, already preparing one for her.
“Yes!”
I held the marshmallow over the flames until it turned brown, and then I passed the skewer to her. “Here.”
She smiled her thanks and blew on the glob of melted confection while I roasted one for myself. We sat in companionable silence for several minutes, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so relaxed and content.
When she finally spoke, her question wasn’t one I’d expected. “Have you always done this – hunting vampires? Do all Mohiri become warriors?”
“Most do, though we have some scholars and artisans,” I told her, pleased by her sudden interest. “Being a warrior is in our blood, what we are born to do. I have never wanted to do anything else.”
“What’s it like growing up there? Do you live in houses or on some kind of military base? Do you go to school or start training when you’re little?”
“We live in fortified compounds all over the world. The larger compounds look like private campuses, and the smaller ones are basically well-fortified estates. It is not safe for a Mohiri family to live outside a compound because they would be vulnerable to vampire attacks,” I said meaningfully. “Families live together, and the living quarters are large and comfortable. Children attend school until they are sixteen, and physical training begins when they reach puberty.”
She didn’t look convinced, and I wanted her to see that life with our people would be rich and fulfilling. “It’s a good life. There is a deep sense of belonging among the Mohiri, and everyone who comes to live with us is happier than they were living among humans.”
Sara grew silent and pensive, and I wondered what was going through her mind. When the phone in the kitchen rang suddenly, she rushed to answer it. Based on her side of the conversation, it was her uncle calling to check on her. I noticed she didn’t mention my presence when he expressed concern about the storm.
No sooner had she hung up from his call than the phone rang again. This time it was Roland, and bas
ed on her comments, he wasn’t happy she was alone with me.
She ended the call and came back to the living room. “Everyone’s checking up on me.”
“The werewolf cares for you,” I said, earning a glare from her.
“He’s my best friend, and he has a name, you know.”
I shrugged. “We don’t make a habit of being on a first name basis with weres, and I’m sure you know they feel the same about us. It’s just how it is.” It still amazed me how close she and the werewolves were, and how protective the pack was of her, even after discovering what she was.
Her chin lifted. “Well, I am Mohiri and I have loads of werewolf friends, so you’ll just have to get over it.”
Hearing her call herself Mohiri sent warmth radiating through me, and I didn’t realize I was smiling until she snapped, “What?”
“That’s the first time you’ve admitted what you are.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” she replied crossly. But her denial lacked the force it would have had a few weeks ago.
“It’s a start.” I smiled at her, and she looked like she was going to make a retort, but she fell silent. “What else would you like to know about the Mohiri?” I hoped her curiosity won out over her determination to have nothing to do with us.
She frowned like she was contemplating what question to ask. “Who is in charge of everything? Do you have a president or a king or something?”
“Not exactly.” I explained the Council and how they met every month to discuss important Mohiri business. When she asked if I wanted to join the Council someday, I couldn’t keep the scowl off my face. “Never. I have no time for bureaucracy and not enough patience to endure the long meetings. I am a warrior, and that is all I aspire to be.” Or it was.
“Didn’t you just say you guys have lots of patience?”
“When something is worth waiting for. I care very little for political matters.”
She gave me a knowing smile. “Something tells me that sentiment doesn’t make you popular with the folks in charge.”