Marked by the Wolf Box Set (Werewolf Romance)

by Mac Flynn

  "But we must try. Nothing can hurt from asking him," Mark insisted.

  His mother sighed, but gave a nod. "Very well, ask this favor of him, but I suggest you not waste too much time for him. Morgan is not a patient man, and he may decide soon that you will turn Danica over to him and take his anger out on her friend."

  "We'll be sure to hurry, but if Morgan's thugs to come calling could you stall them for us?" Mark pleaded.

  Mrs. Fuller smiled her impish smile. "I may be able to distract them," she agreed.

  Mark grinned and kissed her gently on the cheek. "What would I do without you?" he wondered.

  "Get yourself into more trouble, but off with you before Morgan makes the first move," she scolded.

  Chapter 14

  Mark led me from the library and he picked up a phone that sat in the entrance hall. He dialed a number and after a moment it was picked up. "Roger, we need you," he told the person on the other line. Then he hung up the phone and grabbed his coat off the coat rack.

  I glanced out the front windows at the warm sunshine. "I don't mean to sound stupid, but don't vampires sleep during the day?" I asked him.

  "Yes, but they can be awakened," Mark replied.

  "Waking a vampire up in the late morning doesn't sound like the best way to try to get the vampire to help us," I pointed out.

  "Perhaps not, but what choice do we have?" he countered.

  I couldn't argue with that and didn't have much time as Roger's yellow taxi drove up to the house. Mark led me outside and into the rear of the cab. "Take us to Hill Drive," he ordered the cabbie.

  Rather than step on the gas, Roger turned in his seat and raised an eyebrow as he looked to Mark. "Hill Drive?" he repeated.

  Mark frowned. "Hill Drive," he affirmed.

  "But Boss, isn't that-"

  "It is, and that's why we're going there," Mark told him.

  Roger shrugged and looked forward. "All right, Boss," he reluctantly agreed.

  We pulled out of the driveway and onto the fancy, gated community. As we drove toward our destination the beautiful streets first gave way to downtown office buildings, then high-rise apartments, and through the slums of abandoned houses and broken-windowed warehouses. I unconsciously slunk closer to Mark as we passed burnt cars and stoops full of men with dirty, leering faces.

  "Would a vampire really want to be around here?" I asked him.

  "No, but he lives where he must to remain in the city unnoticed by humans and the Foundation," Mark pointed out.

  Roger turned us onto Hill Drive, a section of the city I didn't know still existed. The neighborhood was wedged between the slums and the edge of the city limits. The block was a long row of Victorian mansions with spacious yards that held the skeletal remains of dead oaks and bushes. Leaves rotted over the brown weeds that made up the lawns and empty, broken swings swung above the ground. The houses had empty, broken windows that looked out on the desolate street like phantoms of a bygone era. Doors swung on their hinges and opened to show rotten wallpapered walls and mouse-infested furniture. Even in the daytime I wouldn't want to go exploring in any of these houses. I'd probably come out covered in dust and my head filled with enough nightmares to last even a werewolf lifetime.

  "If I was going to be looking for a vampire I'd start here," I quipped.

  Mark chuckled. "Yes, it is very creepy, but it keeps curious folk away and I believe it reminds him of his past life as a human," he explained.

  Roger parked the car in front of one of the most dilapidated of the houses. Dead lilac bushes blocked most of the view of the house from the road, but in the backyard past the house I could just glimpse a small, leaning shed. Mark helped me out and led us around to the driver's side door. "We may be back in a few minutes, so wait for us," he requested of Roger.

  "Sure thing," Roger promised, but I noticed as we left him he rolled up the windows and locked the doors.

  Mark led me up the weed-choked path toward the leaning porch. The door lay open and inside I glimpsed a long hallway. A chill breeze swept over us and I snuggled deeper into my fur coat. "Couldn't this vampire have picked a more cheerful place? Like an abandoned insane asylum?" I suggested.

  Mark chuckled. "I will have to suggest that to him," he quipped.

  "Um, don't tell him I said that. I don't want to make the wrong first impression in case he doesn't know I'm a werewolf and wants to make two impressions on my neck," I returned.

  "He'll know you're a werewolf. He can smell our blood from even this distance. If he were awake he'd know we were here," he told me.

  "How comforting," I mumbled. We made it to the porch, but rather than climb the rickety, broken steps up to the door Mark swung us around and guided me around the house toward the backyard. "He doesn't meet visitors at the front door?" I wondered.

  "He doesn't reside in the house. It would be too obvious a place to hide his coffin if vampire hunters or werewolves were to look for him," Mark explained.

  "Why are werewolves so set against vampires, anyway? Your mom made it sound like it was a big deal you were hiding him from the Foundation," I commented.

  "When the Foundation was first established many of the founding members had personal animosity toward vampires. They had fought with them over other territory and lost until they came to this city," he told me. "When they found there were only a few vampires they drove them out, but one of the founding members stumbled on an emaciated vampire, alone and huddled in an abandoned shack. He took pity on him and hid him in his own home."

  "So how'd your family find out about this vampire?" I asked him.

  "My father was the one who found him," Mark replied.

  My mouth dropped open. "So your dad was around when the Foundation was founded?" I guessed.

  "Yes, and the house behind us once belonged to my family." That straightforward and unhelpful answer was all I got before we reached the shed in the backyard. It leaned to one side and had a single broken window on the front. The door was slightly ajar and Mark stepped inside.

  I hurried after him. "So your dad is how come your family's so important in the Foundation?" I wondered.

  "Yes," Mark replied. He circled the room with his eyes on the floor boards.

  I unwillingly followed his gaze and saw nothing but rotten wood and dirt. "Is there a reason you brought us in here besides to admire the termite art?" I wondered.

  "There is," he answered. He knelt down in front of a particularly nasty-looking board and looped his finger into a knothole. Mark pulled the board up and revealed a wide hatch beneath that one. The revealed hatch had a handle, and Mark pulled open the entrance and a few more boards to show me a ladder that led into the ground.

  It was dark and quiet down the ladder, and even with my improved vision I could barely see more than five yards into the abyss. "Let me guess, the vampire we need to talk to is down there?" I inquired.

  "He is." Mark glanced up at me. "He isn't a danger to us, but he can be rather-well, eccentric. I would understand if you don't wish to see him, but he's our best chance of freeing your friend," he reminded me.

  I sighed and my shoulders slumped. "I suppose Johnny's worth it, so let's do this," I replied.

  Mark went first down into the darkness and I followed him. The ladder led down to the center of the earth, or what felt like the center. It was probably closer to forty yards than four thousand miles. When my feet hit the ground I found we were in a crudely carved circular room ten feet by ten feet. The walls were carved from the soft basalt stone by some flat tool, probably a chisel. Unless vampires really were as fast as the movies made them out to be then it must have taken decades to carve out. I dimly made out a few torches on the walls, and Mark lit one with a nearby box of matches found on a table beside the ladder.

  "This vampire must really like his privacy," I commented.

  "Yes, Mr. Smith is a very private vampire," Mark agreed.

  I snorted. "Mr. Smith? That doesn't sound very intimidating."

  "
No, it doesn't. That was the name he gave to my father because he had lived so long that he couldn't remember his original one," Mark told me.

  I cringed. "That's a long time to live."

  Mark led me to the wall opposite the ladder and I saw there were three tunnels. They were "Yes, but follow me. He may have dug more tunnels since I was last in here and we may have an interesting time finding his coffin," he replied.

  "I imagine he has a lot of free time," I mused.

  "Quite a bit," Mark agreed as he led me into the farthest left tunnel.

  It only took a half hour for me to realize Mark didn't know his way around the tunnels very well. My first clue was the familiar moss growing on the walls, and my second clue was us ending up at the beginning circular room with the ladder. "How long has it been since you were down here?" I wondered.

  "When my father died. I told him it happened," Mark replied.

  "So was he close to your dad?" I asked him.

  "As close as Smith could ever be to someone." Mark glanced between the other two tunnels and lifted his nose. He took in a deep sniff and coughed. "Damn him," he muttered through his hacking.

  "Damn who? What's wrong?" I inquired.

  "Smith put wolf's bane scent in one of the passages. It's strong odor clogs up our sinuses and makes us unable to track anything, much less anyone."

  I tilted my head back and sniffed the air. "But I don't smell anything other than mold."

  "You can't smell it unless you're tracking him and take a deep scent," he explained.

  I cringed. "So what do we do now? Wait until he wakes up?"

  "No, we have you lead the way," Mark replied.

  "Say what?" I returned.

  Mark pulled me ahead of him and stuffed the torch in my hand. "Take a deep breath through your nose," he commanded me.

  "But you said taking a deep scent means a nose full of wolf's bane," I reminded him.

  "You're inexperienced and so can't take as deep a scent as I. That means you may be able to find his scent without finding the wolf's bane," he pointed out.

  "I-I guess," I hesitantly agreed. I took a few tentative sniffs. The first sniff caught only the mold, but the second sniff picked up on something else. "Um, what does an old vampire smell like, anyway?"

  "Like an old book in an abandoned library," he replied.

  "Then I think I found our musty friend. A scent like that goes down the middle tunnel," I told him.

  "Good, then let's follow your nose along that trail and see where it leads."

  Chapter 15

  I led the way with my sniffer sniffing and the torch in my hand quivering. I wasn't afraid, I was cold. Yeah, that's it. . .

  Anyway, the musty trail led down the center chiseled tunnel and wound its way through the earth. None of the tunnels were straight, and there were dozens of side paths that tried to lead me from the trail. I focused all my attention on the scent and after a few minutes of walking the way ended at a small, round room. The ceiling was domed and on the wall to the left of the entrance arch was a small table. There was a bottle of something that I didn't dare sniff.

  What really caught my attention, though, was the box in the center of the room. It was coal-black and rectangular with a thin lid on the top. Mark took the torch from my hand and moved to kneel before what I guessed was the coffin. He gently rapped on the lid. "Mr. Smith?" he called out. No answer. "Mr. Smith, are you in there?"

  As I stood there my nose caught the musty scent, but it wasn't coming from the coffin. Instead it came from behind me. I turned and, per my brave fashion, screamed. Standing a foot behind me was a tall, thin, pale, frightening, terrifying, and all-other-scary-adjectives man with red eyes. His face was narrow, but not skinny, and he wore a black turtleneck with black pants and shoes. I thought the turtleneck was somewhat ironic. Smith appeared to be about fifty with grayish hair, but the age in his eyes told me he was bordering on Methuselah.

  I yelped and scrambled backwards to hide behind Mark, who stood and held the torch up to get a good look at Smith. Smith narrowed his eyes and glanced between Mark and me. "What do you want?" he asked us.

  "We need your help. My mate here, Danny, needs you to make someone lose their memory of the Foundation so he can return to his human life," Mark explained. I really wished he wouldn't have mentioned me in that sentence.

  "If it wouldn't be too much trouble," I spoke up.

  "It would," Smith replied. He moved to the table, and I noticed he had a profound limp. At the table he poured some of the contents of the bottle into a wine glass and drank it in one gulp. "Now leave."

  "Smith, I'm asking this as a favor to my family. At least here us out," Mark pleaded.

  The vampire sighed and strode past us to seat himself atop his coffin. "I'm listening," he told Mark.

  "The Foundation used this human to try to trap Danny because they considered her a ronin-"

  Smith waved his hand toward us. "Spare me the details of the Foundation. Where is the human kept?"

  "At the Foundation's main building," Mark replied.

  Smith glared at us. "And you expect me to walk in there and wipe the human's memory?" he growled.

  "No, but if we figured out a way to get you inside then-"

  "It's a fool's errand," Smith insisted as he stood to his feet. "You expect me to risk my life in the Foundation's building just to wipe a human's memory?

  "We'll create as little risk as we can," Mark promised.

  Smith scoffed. "Do you expect to distract dozens of werewolves with only the two of you?"

  "We have Roger," I spoke up.

  Smith raised an eyebrow. "Who is Roger?"

  "Our cabbie," I sheepishly replied.

  "Is he even a werewolf?" Smith asked me.

  "No, he is human," Mark answered for me.

  "Then you come to me with no plan and request that I sacrifice myself merely to save a human?" he questioned us.

  I cringed. "Um, yeah, but we're doing it for a good cause," I countered.

  Smith stood and his red eyes glowed like coals in the dark room. "Get out," he ordered us.

  It was at this point that I suspected Mark had been being generous when he said Smith was eccentric. This vampire was downright intimidating, and more than a little creepy considering we were in his lair.

  Mark glared back at Smith. "Is this how you repay my family's years of kindness?" he shot back.

  "What are those years if you wish for me to throw them away in a matter of minutes for one human and your new mate?" he countered.

  "New mate?" I spoke up. I whipped my head toward Mark and narrowed my eyes. "That better mean I'm the only one."

  "I have had no other. He merely smells the human lingering in your blood," Mark explained.

  "Enough!" Smith shouted. He pointed at the entrance. "Leave now!"

  "Very well," Mark muttered. He took my hand and pulled me toward the tunnel.

  I stumbled along and glanced back at the retreating room. Unblinking red eyes watched us. I turned away from the creepiness and to Mark. "So what are we supposed to do about Morgan and his goons if they come for us?"

  "Morgan?" I heard Smith's voice call from his room. In a moment I felt a cool wind pass by us and the light from Mark's torch fell on Smith standing in front of us. "What about Morgan?" Smith asked us.

  "He's the one holding Danny's friend," Mark explained.

  "Then I will help you," Smith replied.

  I tilted my head to one side and raised an eyebrow. "That's it? You're going to help us because Morgan's involved?"

  "Yes," was Smith's bland answer.

  "Do you mind telling us why?" I inquired.

  "Yes."

  "We're grateful for the help, regardless of the reason," Mark spoke up. "When can you be at my family's home?"

  "If your mate is willing to carry me in her heavy coat then I can leave with you now," Smith replied.

  "What?" I yelped. Smith answered my question by turning into a giant black bat that flappe
d in front of us. He swooped down toward my neck, and I shrieked and dove behind Mark. "Don't turn me into a werepire!" I pleaded.

  Mark choked on his spit. "I can assure you there's no such thing. He just wants inside your coat to protect himself from the sunlight," he explained.

  I frowned, but stepped in front of Mark. Johnny was going to owe me big if he would only remember all these favors I was doing for him. I opened one side of the coat and pointed at an interior pocket. "Hang from there, and no touching," I ordered him. Smith swooped down and attached his clawed feet to the pocket so he hung upside down. I gingerly closed the coat and winced when his cold body pressed against me. "Do you really have to be that cold?" I hissed.

  "He is a vampire," Mark reminded me.

  "Don't remind me that I have a vampire bat under my coat," I returned. Mark, having memorized the way to the room, led us out and I was glad when my head peeked over the dusty floor of the shed. I breathed deeply and choked on air when a certain bat's soft body rubbed against me. "Stop tickling me," I scolded him. A squeaking noise told me he couldn't communicate in English, but his tone told me he really didn't care what I said.

  We hurried out the shed and down to Roger who still waited on the street. The engine of the cab was running before we rounded the corner of the house and I swear I saw Roger tuck a gun beneath the seat as we approached. We slid into the back seat.

  "Find what you wanted?" Roger asked us.

  "Yes, now let's go back to home," Mark commanded him.

  "And step on it," I added.

  Roger got us back in record time and I hurried into the house. Mark took my hand and led me into the library. "Let me close the curtains and then he can come out," he explained. The curtains were duly shut tight and I gladly opened my coat.

  Smith flew out and popped into his human form atop the desk against the closed curtains to the left of the doorway. He took in the room for a moment before he looked to us. "You told me you wished for your friend to forget part of his memory. What information is he to forget?" Smith wondered.

  "Um, everything starting from when the Foundation talked to him. That should cover it," I told him.