Like a drunk waking the morning after taking on a bottle too big for him, he felt both better and worse without the iron resting against his chest. Better because he could think without the warm fog in his head, the buzzing he’d ceased to notice. Worse because without the semi-madness the piece of metal had sent him into, he had nothing to distract him from the headache that threatened to spill him onto the floor in an undignified heap. His hands rose to press against his temples, trying to ease the throbbing that pounded with unforgiving violence against his skull.
“If it would help, I could pour you a drink?” the stranger offered.
“I don’t drink,” Mac mumbled. He took a deep breath, held it, then released it slowly before meeting the stranger’s eyes. “Who are you?”
“I am Kirill of Dacia.” He inclined his head slightly in a shadow of a formal greeting.
Mac stiffened, then winced as the headache punished him with a brain-numbing throb. “The vampire prince?”
One white-blond eyebrow rose. “If you prefer. Yes.”
The poker next to the fireplace was the closest weapon. Mac lowered his hands from his head, rubbed them together as if suddenly cold. He took a few slow, but steady steps toward the fireplace, palms facing the warm glow. His heart pounded harder, but this time it had nothing to do with his body’s attempts to recover from the iron exposure. “And what brings Your Highness to my humble abode?”
His voice came out blessedly calm, and the vampire showed no sign that he’d picked up on his intentions concerning the poker.
The vampire stepped back, yielding the fireplace to Mac. “I’ve come to make you an offer. I’m an admirer of your work, and I believe that together we could accomplish great things.”
Mac mentally mapped out the vampire’s position as he shifted closer to the poker leaning against the left side of the stone hearth. He tried to remember everything he knew about vampires, but his thoughts were still sluggish and he had no personal experience with the undead to draw on. “What kind of offer?”
“It has come to my attention that you may be interested in relocating. What with the woods around this charming home being infested with a certain sidhe, and now your own populace having somewhat lukewarm feelings about you—”
Mac snatched up the poker, swinging it around then thrusting toward the vampire's chest with all his strength. It met empty air. Growling as he tried to recover his balance, Mac pivoted in mid-motion searching the room for his target. He had to get his back to the wall, close off possible—
A hand closed around the poker, tore it from his clammy grip. His heart leapt into his throat as he clenched his empty hand into a fist, feeling the absence of the poker like a physical loss. Metal clattered against the floor as the weapon was hurled across the room, and it took Mac a few seconds of frantic searching to spot the vampire leaning against his work table.
At the sudden clamor, the silver wolf lifted an ear, one eye cracking open before rolling back. The ear relaxed as sleep dragged the wolf out of the fight before it could even commit to entering it.
Mac parted his lips to scream at the animals to wake and come to his defense, but before he could form the words, red eyes filled his vision. He sucked in a breath and stumbled a step back. They stood barely an arm’s length apart, Kirill’s eyes glowing softly as if they’d been carved from the fire’s embers, and try as he might he couldn't seem to look away.
“Listen to me, Mac Tyre,” Kirill said softly. “Look at me, and listen very carefully.”
The chaos writhing like a swarm of insects in Mac’s mind quieted. Soothing calm rolled over him like warm rays from the summer sun. It soaked into his muscles, loosening the knots there. His shoulders sagged, releasing the tension that had twisted his nerves into so many knots.
“You have a cunning mind, and the courage to go against forces that would seem insurmountable to lesser men,” Kirill said quietly, his voice soothing, but firm. “You have the potential within you to do great things, to be a force to be reckoned with.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you are losing that. This pathetic crusade you’ve waged against Robin Hood is beneath you, a petty squabble that grew beyond your control. You’ve let him make a fool of you, let him take away the very mind that allowed you to become a threat to him in the first place.” He took a step back, shook his head. “Wearing iron without respite. It is a wonder you can hold two thoughts together anymore.”
“I’m hearing no offer.” Mac’s voice was calm, and the difference between the voice passing his lips now and the one he’d used to curse the world on his mad dash through the forest shocked him. He stared at the vampire and the weight of the truth he’d spoken finally settled.
Kirill seemed to notice the moment the realization dawned. “Yes. You can see it now?”
Mac closed his eyes. Some part of his mind that had just woken up whispered its surprise that he wasn’t completely enthralled by the vampire, could still choose to close his eyes and block out that steady crimson stare. Careless, that’s what he’d been. But no more.
He took a deep breath, slowly pulling himself back together, settling his mind and looking at his situation reasonably, logically. He turned to face the fire as he opened his eyes, striding to take the seat by the fire and simultaneously looking away from the vampire’s gaze. He plucked at a few twigs and leaves still clinging stubbornly to his clothes, casting them into the fire without looking at his company. “What is your offer?”
“I want you to work for me.” There was satisfaction in Kirill’s voice now, a respect that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “I have a small group of individuals that I employ for a variety of tasks better kept out of the public eye.”
Mac studied a leaf he’d just pulled from the crease of his shirt. “Assassins?”
“Sometimes. But more often than that, they are my eyes and ears.” He slid around the sleeping wolves to stand near the fire opposite Mac. “You see, sheriff, like you, I believe that there is more to running a kingdom than keeping the human population in check. There are other creatures, creatures whose societies do not police their behavior as well as perhaps they should. Sometimes these creatures need to be punished and in some cases, they need to be…reasoned with. Some of them can be rehabilitated, recruited to do some good for the community they haunt.”
He stood before Mac, but didn’t try to make eye contact. “I want you to lead that group. You will perform duties much like you do here. You will send out spies, gather information, analyze it. You will identify threats, determine which of them can be recruited and which cannot. You will report to me and tell me which threats require immediate attention and which ones should be watched.”
Mac flicked the leaf into the fire then drummed his fingers against his thigh, staring into the flames. Part of him wanted to reject the vampire’s offer immediately, without consideration. This was his home, Scythia was his home. He had duties here, plans.
The memory of the mob that had sacked him on the road floated into his mind. Anger heated his blood and the headache pulsed with new life in his temples, stabbing at his brain. He concentrated on keeping his breaths even, on forcing his heart rate to slow. This was no time to let anger make his decisions for him.
“Then why are your people terrified of you? Look into their eyes and speak with them. See if they see you as the protector you fancy yourself to be.”
Robin was right. Damn his eyes, but he was right. He’d lost control, allowed his desire for revenge to consume him and in doing so had lost his way, lost the reputation that had made him valuable to his people. They were afraid of him now. Afraid enough that they’d obviously sided with Robin against him, had hid their faces and attacked him like forest rabble.
He could rebuild his reputation. It would take time, but he was a patient man. But did he want to?
“What kind of resources would I have as a member of this…team?”
“Your resources would be unlimited. As long as you were successful, I would supply you with w
hatever means you deemed necessary to do your job.”
The possibilities stretched before him, opening up a whole new world. A chance to fight for true justice, and to fight it on a level playing field. Well, as level as the playing field could get when it was human against monster.
“I accept your offer.” He looked at Kirill, but avoided his eyes. It was difficult to convey confidence while he was forced to stare at the vampire’s forehead, but caution was called for. At least until he’d had time to refresh his knowledge of the undead.
Kirill smiled, and there was a strange satisfaction there, as if he’d noticed Mac’s precaution and approved. Before Mac could decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing, the vampire spoke.
“There is one more thing.”
Suspicion seized his muscles, sent a sharp spike up the back of his neck into his head. Mac clenched his teeth, struggling to keep the pain from his face. “And what is that?”
Metal clinked against metal as Kirill removed something from his cloak, held it in front of Mac. Leather straps connecting smooth, curved iron tips.
“My claws.” Mac frowned and leaned forward before he could stop himself.
“Yes.” Kirill eyed the contraption with expression of a jeweler examining a competitor’s piece. “You miss being a wolf.”
Memories flooded over him, memories of running on four legs, of living in a world rich with scents. Prowling the forest like a shadowy guardian, isolating threats to his people and dealing with them with tooth and claw. The satisfaction in the primal simplicity of it, the power and confidence that came from proving himself in bloody physical combat. The unique gratification of eating his prey. “It was…efficient,” he said finally, his voice rough with yearning for that simpler time.
“What if I could give that back to you? Give you the best of both worlds so that you could be wolf or man at your discretion?”
“You can do that?” Mac met the vampire’s eyes before he could stop himself, needing to see if he was serious.
The eyes that had glittered with crimson minutes ago were once again a frosty blue, clear and perfectly serious. “I can. That is, with your permission?”
Mac tried to hold onto reason, to remain cautious and think through what the vampire had said, think through what his offer might mean. But he was already standing, already taking a step forward, eager to claim that offer before it could be snatched away from him. “Yes.”
Something clicked on the wooden floor beside him. A familiar sound. Claws on the worn planks. Mac pivoted in time to see a brown wolf disengage itself from the furry pile in front of the fire. His lips parted in surprise, then his jaw tightened as he realized how careless he’d been, how oblivious. How had he missed a third wolf?
The creature was beautiful, brown silky fur over a long, lean body. Like his wolves, this beast was larger than most, obviously something more than normal. Golden eyes stared at him and even though there was no tension in its body, no threat, there was something in those eyes that was not entirely friendly.
“It would be best if you try to relax,” the vampire suggested.
“Relax?”
Mac only took his eyes off the wolf for a second, but apparently that was all it took. Pain seized his arm, sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. Mac shouted in surprise and pain and pulled, trying to tear his arm away from the wolf gnawing on it with single-minded intensity. The beast released him, leapt back before he could even think of striking out with his booted foot. It lowered its body, baring bloody teeth at him in a snarl.
“Was that strictly necessary?” Kirill asked, his voice dry.
The wolf slanted those golden eyes to the vampire and snorted. The silver wolf shifted in its sleep and the brown wolf ceased its snarling, whirled away from Mac and Kirill to trot over to the other wolves. It licked the top of the silver wolf’s head like a mother caring for a pup, leaving a wild tuft of fur protruding between its ears. The wolf settled again, body growing slack with sleep. The brown wolf gave it one more lick then spared a glare for Mac before trotting out of the room in the direction of his bedroom.
“You’ll have to forgive Loupe.” Kirill drew a handkerchief from his cloak, stepped forward to offer it to Mac. “She is something of a protectress of wolves and I’m afraid she’s not terribly pleased with the state of your care for your four-legged friends there.”
Mac stared down at his arm where the wolf had bitten him, trying to reconcile what had just happened with what the vampire was saying. Blood trickled over his skin, soaking the torn material of his black shirt. He took the handkerchief the vampire offered and pressed it to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s talking about the fact that those wolves could have lost their legs thanks to the abominable care they received from the man in charge of their well-being.”
The woman’s voice was soft, but firm, the voice of a mother who doesn’t want to wake sleeping children, but also wants you to know she is not pleased. Mac narrowed his eyes at the woman standing in the doorway. Her blonde hair fell loose about her shoulders, framing a delicate face with bright green eyes. Those eyes caught the firelight and threw it back at him in glittering shards as she gave Mac a severe look then deliberately marched over to where the two wolves were sleeping. She lifted the skirts of her pale blue dress and knelt down, stroking their fur and murmuring to them. The wolves stirred faintly, but she hushed them, and tenderly checked the bandages over their wounds.
“Sheriff Mac Tyre, allow me to introduce Princess Loupe of Sanguennay.” Kirill gestured at Loupe. “Loupe, this is Sheriff Mac Tyre.”
“I know who he is, Kirill,” Loupe muttered. “We discussed this before he arrived.” She stood from her spot by the wolves and faced Kirill with her arms crossed. “Had I known before I agreed to this bargain how he treated his charges, I might have made a different decision.”
“You made the right decision,” Kirill assured her smoothly. “And fifty of your wolves will thank you for it. As agreed, you may begin relocating them to the dark forest at your convenience. Do try to keep them within the allotted area we discussed, as I cannot speak for their safety if they should wander too close to the mountains.”
The conversation didn’t seem to require his participation, so Mac concentrated on his arm and the pain…
He paused, frowned. But there was no pain. He lifted the handkerchief and studied the bite mark. The edges of the wound were already a shiny pink, and the bleeding had stopped. Moonlight shone through the window, and Mac stepped closer to the silver light without thinking.
His headache was gone. He felt…stronger.
“How do you feel, sheriff?” Kirill asked. His voice was even, just an edge of curiosity.
“Better,” Mac breathed. He looked away from his wound, looked at the woman he was now certain was the brown wolf that had bitten him.
Loupe dropped her arms to her sides and took a step closer to him. “Kirill says you were a wolf before. You remember the change?”
“I remember.”
“I can help you through it if you like,” she offered gently.
Mac closed his eyes, already reaching inside himself, searching. There. “No,” he whispered. “I am…all right.”
“Loupe is a loup garou,” Kirill told him, coming to stand next to Loupe. “A type of werewolf who can pass on the change through her bite. You are not what you once were, you will not change permanently to a wolf for a set period of time. You will be able to go back and forth between forms, but you must use caution.”
“Biting someone alone is not enough to infect them,” Loupe added. “You must intend to infect them. Loup garous are more magic than lycanthropes. There is much even I don’t understand yet.”
Mac laughed softly. The sound started out small, a chuckle that rose from somewhere inside him, caressed his insides as it rose to spill out his lips. Something came with that laugh, a spirit or form that hadn’t been there before. Mac welcomed it, embra
ced it. The spirit washed over him and as it rose, his muscles melted into something soft and malleable, his bones turned to liquid, flowed in different directions before they hardened and became stronger.
“Astounding,” Kirill said, a trace of awe in his tone.
Mac blinked, momentarily disoriented by the change in his perspective. He was no longer standing before Kirill as a man, but rather on all fours as a wolf. Black-furred legs met his eyes, his own body a strange sight. He raised his head, sniffed the air. The scents of the world exploded around him in a palette that put what he’d been used to in his human form to shame. The vampire before him was a mixture of stone, blood, and the crisp scent of snow. The fire crackled with the smoky tones of burning pine, a flicker of a heavier scent—the oak leaves and twigs he’d cast off his clothes. The wolves…
Mac padded over to where they lay in a pile. He could smell their wounds now, smell the faint traces of infection beneath the healing paste of the herbs. Shame weighed his body down and he lowered his body to the floor and curled up against Sienna’s side, offering warmth to the side of her that faced away from the fire.
“They’ll be fine.”
Loupe knelt beside him, and her voice was gentler now. Mac didn’t know if it was the fact that he was now a wolf, and thus qualified to be on her good side, or if she’d somehow sensed the change in him, sensed his regret. He rested his head on his paws, letting his thoughts settle.
Loupe stood and faced the vampire. “He doesn’t seem to require my help. If our business is concluded, I’ll be going home to my husband now.”
“The gargoyle will see you home,” Kirill responded politely. He cleared his throat. “It may behoove us both if you would bathe before seeing your husband to avoid carrying the scent of our meeting. I do not think he will be as pleased with our bargain as we were.”
“I will not,” Loupe snapped. “I have no intention of hiding this from him. We needed that land for the wolves, and I fail to see what harm could come from having another loup garou around.”
The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) Page 35