Wolf's Bane: Book Three of the Demimonde

by Unknown

  "Nope. I don't. I'm about as one-track as they get. Don't like to change, mind and species included."

  "And what if you have no choice?"

  I curled my lip, admitting that my stance wasn't the optimum. "I don't bend. Unfortunately, that means I break. And I have been broken before. And I don't learn. I accept my lot and move on."

  "This may be one more lot to accept."

  I toyed with a handful of kernels, considering. "Then…I guess I break."

  "It doesn't have to be that way. There are benefits."

  "Like. . ." I looked up into his eyes, sincerely hoping he had all the answers.

  "Being with me. Come now. You don't hate me nearly as much as you did when you got bitten."

  "But I don't like you nearly as much as I did before I was bitten."

  "You mean you liked me more before you actually met me?"

  "No, jackass. Backstage the night of the show. I liked you a lot that night."

  "You did?" He smiled. It was a nice smile. It was the smile he won me with, that very first night.

  I thought about how superficial our relationship had been before the Leni business started. I thought about the shallow connection I would have been satisfied making with him. It made me wonder exactly how honorable his intentions had been. "Not in a groupie way."

  "I understand that. But you did like me."

  I nodded. "Yeah. I did. You were easy to talk to. I admit I was a bit star struck at first. I mean, music video junkie here. You were everything I imagined you might be, and a bunch of great stuff more."

  The smile deepened. I never realized how full his lips were. "I am getting a swelled head."

  "Well, you shouldn't. You have more than enough negatives to balance you out into Completely Not My Type."

  His expression lengthened, lost its boyish cheer.

  I couldn't lie, even though at this moment, I might have done it, if only to save his feelings. "You're Were. It still isn't top of my list of qualities for a dream guy."

  "How did you feel when you stood to leave, when you smiled so wistfully and told me it was time to say goodbye? What were you thinking?"

  "That I…" I chewed my lip, remembering. "Okay. I didn't want to say goodbye. I would have liked another hour, another day maybe. I was thinking that if things could be different, maybe I'd let myself be happy. I haven't been happy in a long time, Dierk. I don't know if I could be. Now, it doesn't seem to matter. Happy might be over for me."

  He shook his head and looked away. "Happy was over for you when you lost Thurzo."

  I exhaled, harder than I meant to. Just that thought was enough to take my breath away, so far away I worried every time that it would never return. "Yeah. It was. I've had moments since then. I have friends. I have Rode. But Marek left me hollow, and no matter how happy I get now, it doesn't fill the hollow. It never fills. All the happy keeps leaking out. It takes so much effort to fill it."

  "You are trying to fill it with substitutes, that's why. You cannot replace a loss like that. Loss reshapes us and teaches us to fill ourselves with something new. If we resist, we feel as you do. Hollow. Empty."

  "Loss reshapes us." I nodded. "I like that. Wish I thought of it."

  "Take the words. They are yours. It is no bad thing to be inspired by another. Our best work is inspired by others."

  Dropping my head, I rested my forehead against his chest. "I wish you wouldn't be so likeable. I don't want to like you."

  "But you do." He placed a gentle hand on my head. "You just don't want to bend."

  "No. I don't."

  He stroked my hair lightly, a pleasant tickle on my scalp. "This doesn't have to break you. You are stronger than that."

  "Why do people keep telling me that?" I rolled away and sat up, drawing my knees to my chest. "I'm not."

  He sat up as well and reached out to cup my calf in his hand. "You are. You are very strong. I've seen you in action."

  "Then why does it hurt?"

  "Pain is not a voluntary thing. We don't choose to hurt. The world, the circumstances hurt us. It is the definition of victim. Strength of heart and strength of will is shown by our willingness to continue despite the pain. Pain should not be the victor. We should always strive to have the last word."

  "Okay." I took a deep breath and held it, wondering if I were strong enough to know the answer to the next question. I had to ask. "What if…you decide you don't want me?"

  "What?" He laughed as if I were a silly girl and scooted closer to for me, drawing me against him. The touch comforted despite my misgivings.

  "What if I Turn and you take me home and you get tired of my smart ass remarks or something else and you don't want me? I'll have nowhere to go; I'll have lost all my friends. I don't know German so I won't even be able to call a cab."

  "Do you truly worry that I won't want you?" He lifted my chin. "Do you want me?"

  I didn't answer. Not because I wanted to say no, but because I was afraid to say anything else.

  I don't know what he thought at my silence, but he didn't seem angry. Instead he wore his half-smile and used his default pleasant voice. "You shouldn't worry. I will mate for life. That's a promise, an oath, a vow, a contract. I mate for life, and I will value my mate all the days of my life, and I will make my mate's happiness my first priority because my mate will come before all others, der König or not. And if need be, I will die for my mate. On my honor as der König, as ein Wolf, and as a simple man."

  Then, with a gentle but perfect touch of his lips upon mine, he kissed me.

  And the funny thing was, I let him.

  Waxing gibbous | moon 99% visible

  Early morning. I didn't often sleep past sunrise anymore. Especially not after spending the night with someone. We hadn't done anything I'd regret later; we simply talked until we were too tired to talk anymore. Sleeping next to him felt natural and safe, and, God help me, I didn't regret that, either.

  I rolled over to face him. Boy, was Dierk a sound sleeper. He didn't even stir when I moved.

  I ran my index finger along his jaw, back and forth in lazy strokes, noting the difference between the rough stubble of overnight growth and the soft fullness of his trim goatee. Trailing my fingers down his thick muscular neck and full chin, all the time chasing vague thoughts.

  I let my finger wander toward the edge of his bottom lip, while letting my mind wander back to the kiss we shared.

  He'd approached me with such—not demand, per se. It wasn't a bossy kiss. He simply had declared that he would be mine and I would be his and that kiss was a completion of the oath. A sealing of the pact. That was as close to getting his honor in writing as it would get.

  When he bent his head toward mine, it was because it must be so. Not bossy, not possessive, not a rough seizure of what he decided would be his. It was simply the right thing to do at the right time.

  And yet, it wasn't a boring, stately, proper old peck on the cheek. I felt my face warm and was glad he still slept because I wanted to duck my head to hide a grin.

  The kiss started off chastely enough, a meeting of lips, an intimacy we had yet to share. His lips were so soft, so warm—and I was surprised, for some reason. Had I assumed it would feel like dog lips? I didn't know, I never had really thought about it so I couldn't be sure why I'd been so surprised but I was pleased, and I smiled against his kiss.

  He'd noticed, and smiled in return. He chuckled softly, just a little. Was he surprised, and pleased, too? He kissed me again, treating me to his lower lip, a bit more mouth that time, the kiss sliding deeper when he brushed my lip with the tip of his tongue.

  By then, I'd been ready, and more than willing. So easy to get lost in that kiss because I had been slowly getting lost in him.

  He slid his arm around me, pulling me closer, and we lay heartbeat to heartbeat. We beat in time with each other and I began to thin my barriers without thinking. Once more, I was treated to the sense of his power, seeping into me like darkness seeped into the sky a
t twilight. The wind, the scents, the pull of the moon—I felt them, I enjoyed the rush of it because he was only a heartbeat away. I wasn't alone. I was partnered. I was half of a whole.

  Connected by a kiss, an embrace, a whisper of power, a promise. There was no other thought than being half of that whole. I did more than allow that kiss. I delighted in the sensory explosion it caused and encouraged more.

  And I remember the guiltlessness of it all. If anyone would beat themselves up for feeling like a treacherous adulterer, it would be me. Considering it had been sometime since I'd been in church, all those years of a proper Irish Catholic upbringing would have been there at the door, waiting for the slightest hint of an invitation.

  Yet, there was none. That kiss had been immutably decreed. It was expected. It was owed. And it was long overdue.

  Pulling my fingers away, I scolded myself, although I didn't put much scold in it. Perfectly plausible I could lounge here with him, toying with his facial hair as if I had the right to do so.

  I realized then that I'd more or less accepted my fate. Although I didn't want to grow fur or a tail every month I knew I didn't have any choice. It had been taken from me the moment that zap of electricity passed between us. The last few weeks I've done nothing but fight and scream as if I could change anything.

  I turned my hand, looking at the scars from Stohl's teeth. For the first time, I didn't get bent out of shape over them. In twenty-four hours the moon would reach full. If I turned, I'd lose a part of my freewill forever.

  But I'd gain a king.

  I thumbed the edge of his jaw, the patch of beard under his lip, the stubble and the beard. His heartbeat beneath my cheek, strong lopes of life as he slumbered. He shifted around in his sleep, tipping into a more comfortable position and tugging my arm more securely under his.

  As far as prisons went, this one wasn't as bad as it could have been.

  Later that morning, I went to work, wondering if it would be the last time I sat at my desk, the last time I flopped down in Barb's red chair and laughed at her frown lines, the last time I'd open a letter that began with the words "Dear Sophia."

  I looked around my office. It wasn't big, or even moderate—I had a desk, a filing cabinet, a triangular shelf filled with photo frames, an antiquated olive green love seat-sized couch of sorts, and just enough room to maneuver without getting bruises. But there was a window, and a door, and it was my kingdom.

  And this may very well be the last day I step foot in it.

  What would happen here if I Turned tomorrow? I highly doubted Dierk would allow me to give two weeks' notice. Doubtlessly, he'd pick up my furry ass and toss me onto a plane and I would just vanish from this world. No goodbyes—not to Barb, not to Rodrian, not to my Wolfram or my DV.

  Sophie Galen, the Sophia of the North American Demivampire, would vanish.

  I strode solemnly to my chair and sat down at my computer, setting down the thermos of tea Dierk had made for me before I left. I would make this day count. I would leave my mark and I would never forget this final day.

  Reaching to open the bottom desk drawer, I saw my mug wasn't there.

  I sat, hands folded, seething with an indescribable rage that boiled below my skin. All I wanted for this day was a perfect snapshot, a postcard to remember my life by. But no. I sat, and waited for Jasmine, who, by ten o'clock, didn't show.

  Whatever. That might have been a good thing. Wouldn't do to get fired for assaulting a coworker on my last day.

  When it appeared that my full frontal obliteration wasn't going to happen, I decided to head to the break room for a pack of crackers from the vending machine.

  Good thing I did. My cat mug was in the sink, half-full of flat soda.

  Take the blessings where they lay, I told myself. But it was on, now. If I was here come Monday, it was war.

  At four o'clock, I closed the door to my office, mug tucked in my purse instead of the bottom drawer. I also had spent the last few minutes rearranging my picture frames, taking out a few of the photos and slipping them into my bag. I had to be choosy—wasn't like I could walk out with a box. I made a lot of sacrifices and had to leave a lot in there.

  Well. Maybe I'd be back on Monday, deliriously glad I hadn't destroyed my carefully-constructed feng shui. That was something to look forward to.

  Barb was still at work when I walked by her office. I rapped on the glass and waved, like I usually did. She waved back.

  Goodbye.

  That was all. It couldn't possibly mean anything more than it did.

  Swallowing down the urge to call out, I put one foot in front of the other and headed for the elevator, anticipating the sight of Dierk in the lobby.

  Instead I was treated to Caen, who stood imperiously, arms crossed, watching the doors slide open. He frowned upon seeing me, and presumably my unrestrained expression of—well, more than disappointment, but falling short of yelling "You've got to be effing kidding me."

  No mistaking that he was waiting for me, and that the feeling was mutual. Still. He was Rodrian's man and I had to accept him as part of Rode's world. Caen would never sully himself by standing amongst the plebeians of Balaton's workforce so no doubt he was here for me. I looked at him, saying nothing, waiting for him to explain.

  I tried not to grimace. Over the years, I'd come to equate the man with the all-encompassing definition of unpleasant.

  Once the majority of people had exited, he graced me with a glance. "I am to take you to Rodrian. My car is outside."

  He turned immediately and strode for the doors. I more or less shrugged and followed him to the sidewalk. "Does Dierk know? He said he would pick me up and take me home himself."

  "Rodrian's orders." He opened the back door of a black sedan and pointed.

  I don't know if it was the word "orders" or the way he said it. Regardless, I didn't like being bossed around, not by someone who had never seemed to hold my best interests as his highest priority.

  "Tell him I got my own ride." I scanned the sidewalk, still seeing no sign of Dierk. I reached into my purse for my cell phone and swiped the unlock screen. "After he calls me and tells me where to meet him."

  "Sophie." Caen huffed out a breath and put his hand over my phone, looking me full in the face. Actually made eye contact. "Rodrian is fearful another attempt will be made. Just get in."

  Eyes wide, I ducked my head and got in. Enough of the attempts. Sooner or later, one would succeed. It was statistically imminent.

  I slammed the door and he shot away from the curb like a rocket, throwing me against the door. Shaking my head and thinking all sorts of rude thoughts, I pulled my seatbelt across me. That's when I noticed a person in the front passenger seat.

  Dirty blonde curls, tousled against the headrest. She, too, swayed with the car's sudden movements, head lolling as if she were asleep. I sent out a tendril of inquisition to touch her, but she wasn't DV. She was empty.

  Not Were, not that kind of void. This was different. The emptiness felt contrived.

  And she felt—familiar.

  Caen rounded a corner and I had to hold onto the door to keep from rolling over. My purse slid over and off the seat, landing on the floor behind Caen's seat. My phone and wallet dumped out. "Geez, Caen. Take it easy, will you?"

  He lifted his chin to glance in the rear view, hooded eyes shifting slightly. "We must go with urgency."

  "Okay, then. Just don't wreck us. I don't know what attempt you are expecting, but the last thing I want to do is die in a crash with you." I tried to reach my things but they were beyond my grasp. "Who is she? She asleep?"

  "Don't worry about her. She's a little drowsy. We were busy."

  The way he said it made me sick. I'd never spent a second trying to imagine Caen and a blood date. He could never treat a person the way Rodrian treated me those times he'd tasted me. Caen was too callous, too indifferent to the feelings of others to be tender.

  Suddenly, I worried for her. That empty feeling—what if he'd done
it to her? "She looks weak. Is she okay?"

  "Sure, she is." With a final surge, Caen got onto the highway that led north out of Balaton. She drooped against her seatbelt. He reached over and pushed her back against the seat. "Right, honey? Hey, look alive there, Jasmine."

  "Who?" Unsnapping my seatbelt, I leaned over the seat and turned her face toward me. That's why she was familiar. I just didn't recognize the hair, free of its usual severity. "What are you doing with her? Jasmine! Are you all right?"

  She roused a little and looked up at me, a scowl spreading across her mouth. "I'm fine. Quit it."

  "Good," Caen said. "It's about time. How about taking care of our guest?"

  Jasmine turned around, looked me full in the face, and raised her hand.

  A wave of power thumped into me, stealing my breath like a blow to the stomach. I couldn't get my breath all the way back. I couldn't move my arms. I was constricted by an invisible fist. The lack of air made me dizzy.

  "Finally. She's speechless." He tromped on the gas and we sped along the highway. I couldn't focus on anything outside the window, not a sign or a familiar building.

  "Rode," I gasped. I couldn't even say his full name.

  "Sorry." Caen's mouth parted with predatorial glee, teeth gleaming. He sounded positively jovial. "I lied. We aren't going to see him. I have other plans."

  "Caen." Jasmine's voice trembled. "I need power. I can't sustain this spell much longer."

  Spell. I struggled to concentrate. Caen had a witch. But witches didn't cleave to the DV.

  "Can't…breathe," I mumbled. Then I let myself fall back against the seat, eyes closed, and clamped my barriers down.

  "She passed out," he said. "Loosen it."

  Immediately I felt the weight on my chest diminish. I still couldn't move my arms, but I could breathe. And I could think.

  I assessed the situation. Caen was an even bigger d-bag than I'd thought. He kidnapped me and said he had plans. He had a witch, whom he's using to control me with magic.

  The car slowed and swayed to the right. We were getting off the highway.