Wolf's Bane: Book Three of the Demimonde

by Unknown

  That voice.

  I did the only sensible thing and promptly fainted.

  "Sophie?"

  Was I dreaming?

  How long since I'd heard that voice, the deep rumble of bass I felt as well as heard. Lately, I had only heard it in dreams. So, dreaming. I must be.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the oblivion of unconsciousness slip away as alertness crept in. I covered my eyes with my hands, trying desperately to hold on to that sweet dream that allowed him to whisper my name. Once more. Just once more before I woke and had to go back to living without him.

  "Is she okay?" The Philly twang was unmistakable.

  Kevin? Why the hell would I dream about him? Unless…

  I suddenly couldn't feel my hands and feet. Afraid to open my eyes now. Absolutely terrified.

  I felt the muscle, the strong arms cradling me and I unraveled my barriers, just the tiniest bit.

  Marek. Whole and pure, strong and restored, bright and concerned. His power caressed to me like a spring wind, warm and wonderful. Tears brewed and slid out of my still-pinched shut eyes. My breath hitched.

  Oh, my God. Him.

  He shifted to a more comfortable position and rocked me to his chest. His heart, strong as a lion, beat against my skin. The tremor echoed through me.

  "Open your eyes." Marek's voice held a playful tone. Concern faded rapidly into simple joy.

  "I can't," I whispered.

  "Why not?" His scent, sandalwood and leather, surrounded me in a glow of warmth and remembrance and promise.

  "Because." I whimpered and my throat fisted again. "If you're a dream, you'll just disappear."

  Close to my ear, soft puffs of breath warm against my cheek. "I promise. Not a dream."

  I drew a shaky breath and pouted, trying to hold it until it steadied. I didn't want to cry. I wanted to be happy. I was afraid I would only be disappointed.

  "Sophie, my dearest..." Fingers trailed along the side of my face and he gently smoothed my hair back, tugging my hands away from my eyes. "I am real."

  I cracked my eyes and looked up into his face, still so handsome, even without the fierce stubbornness. So much younger, looking so rejuvenated, and his power, his soul—

  "I am whole." He laughed in happy disbelief. "I'm whole again. You did it, Sophia. You saved me."

  His eyes were bright with his power and his joy. I slid my arms around his neck and he lifted me in an easy movement, holding me against him a moment. He lifted and spun me in a happy circle before letting me to my feet, embracing me once more, his face buried in my hair. "You saved me."

  Within the hour, nearly every Demivamp I knew had gathered in Marek's office. It was an anti-funeral party, and I had trouble keeping my barriers up. The joy and the happiness were like a tsunami.

  I wanted to roll with those feelings. I was afraid, though. Afraid to feel too much happy. Happy had been so alien for far too long.

  Kevin had been on the phone with Rodrian when I went into the bathroom. He figured I needed a ride home. Rodrian was already on his way when I discovered Marek.

  Rodrian arrived somber and grave since Kevin had warned him that I'd shown up with a falcon and it hadn't survived. He must have sensed that strange, familiar power because he sprinted up the stairs.

  He was confused. I felt that a mile away. He knew his brother's power.

  Rodrian burst into Marek's office, eyes wild. "Sophie? What's going on?"

  Then he saw him.

  Marek practically launched to his feet to embrace his brother, a wrap of arms. Rodrian pulled away to search his brother's face, mouth agape.

  Marek laughed, enjoying his brother's befuddlement.

  Rodrian looked at me once, awe and joy in his face. But there was still a brief flash of something I decided to let slip. I couldn't bear to think of it right then.

  Joy and pain.

  It faded as quickly as it had appeared, and he reached out to me, pulling me into the middle of their embrace. One big happy family. At last.

  "Hey, you." The sweet bass notes of his throaty murmur sent shivers down my neck.

  I turned away from the kitchenette counter, seeking him. I needed to see him. I wanted to touch him. It was the only way to be sure he was real.

  Every moment seemed so fragile, as if I were trapped in a crystal ball of a dream. After being apart for so long, after the torture of watching him in a form I couldn't reach—this miracle seemed so fragile. Anything could shatter it.

  "Hi." I dipped my head and hid beneath my bangs, suddenly shy. It was new all over again. The discovery. The infatuation. Not just because we'd been apart but because, somehow, his soul had been renewed.

  Wiped clean. Completely indulgenced, like a special blessing from the Pope. His ordeal had been a miracle in the truest sense of the word, because when he found his form again, there wasn't a trace of evolution to be found.

  It was like he'd been cured, cancer free. Full hit points. The grimness, the desolation, the desperation was gone as well. He was completely brand new.

  New—and, different. I hadn't thought about the subtle change too hard. I was still getting used to him simply being.

  I sort of missed the grumpy. He obliged by acting stern and forbidding but the amused glint in his green eyes always gave it away. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was stoned.

  "You're up early." He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest.

  "Habit. Very bad habit. I forgot how to stay in bed."

  His smile grew smoky, secretive, making my belly flip-flop. "It would be a pleasure to remind you."

  I smiled behind my bangs again, feeling my cheeks warm. Blushing bride syndrome. "Want some? I made a fresh pot."

  At his nod I poured a second cup, watching the stream of dark amber. Such a pretty color. The taste was bright and earthy, like sunlight in a forest, a sweet fruity hint of possibility that surprised you after you swallowed, disappearing quickly. It made you drink again. I found Nirvana in a ceramic mug, after so long a Purgatory of generic tea bags. I'd never miss coffee again.

  "What's this?" Marek, who always had been a tea drinker, made an appreciative face at his own cup. "It's wonderful."

  I sat across from him at the snack bar. Sure, I had a little guilt and conflict but they mingled well within my Paradise regained. The shadows made me whole. It was who I had become and I was, for once, happy to be me.

  "Darjeeling." I decided to tell him the truth, even if it was as vague as a tea leaf fortune. "I learned to love this stuff."

  The afternoon sky was ceilingless, an open bowl of blue cobalt that grew deeper as my gaze turned upward. White clusters of clouds, their billows soft enough to lie upon, scattered across the heavens, capturing the golden glow of the sunshine.

  Although it seemed like my work was never done at The Mag, I decided that skipping out on a half-day wouldn't make much of a difference to the column. I worked through lunch to send out the market subs so I could face the weekend with a clear conscience.

  Traffic was light as I drove to University Heights, and I slid the Cavalier into a parking spot that seemed to be waiting just for me, directly across the street from the University Museum. Hoisting my purse, I grabbed an envelope from the dash and strolled into the stately brick courtyard. Sunshine glittered from the dancing water of the fountain, radiated from the basking cobblestones of the walkway. Summer had come early.

  After a springtime of temperate indecision and weather that couldn't make up its mind, the afternoon spoke of auspicious optimism. The season was a goodness that sank all the way to the bone, renewing my spirit and reminding me how good it was to be alive.

  Truly alive.

  And, despite being the type of day that demanded every window be opened and every person run outside to play, it wasn't enough to keep me from hurrying across the stones toward the door, envelope in hand. It had been an invitation.

  I flipped over the envelope and tugged out the folded card, tilting it over m
y open hand. Out slid a plastic badge, burgundy and white, emblazoned with the Museum logo and the words LIFE MEMBER. I received the gift today, tucked into a vase of roses that had been placed on my desk, waiting for my arrival at work. The card had not been signed, but it did not need to be.

  There was only one person who would have sent it.

  I flashed the card as the admissions clerk, who waved a brochure at me. I glanced at it as I walked through the atrium, climbing the staircase that lead to Old Egypt. NEW EXHIBIT OPENS. The date was a few days off. I wondered if I'd get a sneak peek at the work in progress. Blood hummed in my ears, my heart fluttering at the thought of what secrets I'd discover in that old kingdom.

  The great hall that housed the temple exhibit hadn't been altered much since the last time I had visited. Breathing deep the dry air and its dusty fragrance, I scanned the room, noting each great column and each shadow that danced around them.

  Stepping deeper into the room, I passed the stelae and the sculptures in their glass cases, approaching the centermost of the carved columns. Ceiling lights dropped down rays of yellow illumination, reminding me of the sunlight outside. I smiled, feeling like sunlight followed me wherever I went. Even when I travelled to dimly lit temples, seeking the deepest shadows.

  My unspoken thoughts gave animation to the shadowy stillness, and a beautiful darkness stepped out from behind the column. Surprise gripped my breath and held it.

  His hair, pulled back into a blunt tail, was black as night, his skin white as the constant moon. Long sideburns trimmed his sculpted face, drew my eye along his strong jaw, to the cleft chin, upward to those perfect lips. But when the dark lashes lifted, eyes seeking me, those eyes shimmered with an emerald glow that made me forget all else, save him.

  Marek stowed his leather journal inside his breast pocket and leaned against the column. His posture was relaxed, one hand in his pocket, the other at his side. His lips parted, a hungry anticipation playing upon his mouth. He'd been waiting.

  My captive breath released, I walked across the tiled floor, the click of my heels the only sound. A few steps from the tall shadow, I paused. I'd been waiting, too.

  His free hand lifted, holding a single rose. Marek raised it to his mouth, rolling the flower against his lips. The deep scarlet petals caught the light, a sanguine glow, and he extended the rose toward me. I heard the swift intake of breath the split second before I heard his voice. "Happy birthday, love."

  That voice, still so deep and smooth as the day we'd first truly met, here in this room, on this very spot. I didn't celebrate birthdays back then, not back when I merely existed. Back then, a birthday was a line of data, a simple fact of having been born.

  Now I lived. We both did.

  I closed the distance between us, gathering the blossom up to my cheek. His hands slid around me, palming my arms before splaying fingers across my back. His embrace was all-encompassing, the heat of his body as penetrating as the sunshine itself. He was heat and light, and as I reached upwards to catch his spill of kisses, I basked in the glow of his power.

  "Marek," I whispered. "You remembered."

  "I remember everything," he said, the bass notes more rumble than words. He pushed my hair from my shoulder, revealing my throat, and brushed his fingertips against my nape. "There is nothing I wish to forget."

  Shivers tumbled down my neck, tingles that dripped a steady stream across my skin. His touch, his voice, his power. My paradise, thusly defined.

  He released me, reluctance playing in his lingering touch. Only his gaze held me, a breathy pressure of green gem light. His eyes rarely went out these days, I noticed, his Demivampire light impossible to dim for the sake of public appearance. He'd taken to wearing black polarized lenses to obscure the light, to hide it from human passersby. I was one of the privileged few.

  He noticed the rapture with which I beheld him and he smiled, a deep spread of pleasure. I was one of the privileged few who got to see that smile, who was permitted to see a side of him that been hidden away for so long.

  "Come," he said. With a tilt of his shoulders, he bowed and gestured to the side room, a bright white light beckoning to us through a boxy arch. "The new exhibit awaits. I wanted you to be the first to see."

  I linked my arm with his and we strolled into the next room. New exhibit? The thought was a bit disappointing, since traditionally the next room had housed the Isis Collection. The goddess had always occupied a special place in my old soul, and I'd be sorry to see it go.

  However, Marek's power trilled along the edges of my shields, rippling and eager. It was hard to remain disappointed when he felt like that.

  "Are you a curator now?" I teased, giving his arm a squeeze. Mmm. Muscle. I grinned. Well, it was my birthday, after all. I squeezed again, spoiling myself.

  "I exert an amount of…influence." He paused at the door before we could turn the corner. "Close your eyes."

  He stepped behind me and covered my eyes with one of his hands, steering me forward with the other. The ceremony of it made me laugh.

  When he removed his hand, however, the laughter died in my throat, replaced with a staggering sense of astonishment.

  The Isis Collection hadn't been removed. It had been embellished.

  A cartouche-inspired sign hung from the center of the display. ISIS AND HORUS. A smaller sign beneath read Wisdom of the Mother, Strength of the Son. Now, the great painting of Isis, previously the center of the exhibit, was mirrored by an equally ornate image of Horus. Throughout the room, statues and carvings depicted the falcon-headed deity in all aspects of his reign.

  "And Rodrian?" I ran my eyes over every little detail, feeling I could lose myself in this room and never be lost again. "Did he have something to do with this?"

  I felt the sudden turbulence in Marek's power, like a stone dropped into a stream. A disruption of his lightness. It was more than a cloud upon the face of the sun. It was a total eclipse.

  This was the toughest part of being a Sophia. Knowing that something troubled Marek, darkened his very heart, and having to be strong enough to wait for him to confide in me. Some things couldn't be oracled away. They had to be entrusted.

  His brow flinched and he swallowed with visible effort. "No, love. He's still away on business."

  Marek could fake a nothing-is-wrong tone all he liked. I knew better. Rodrian's sudden departure wasn't something Marek was ready to talk about. All he'd say was they had words. Words that made islands out of men.

  And I was pretty sure my name had been one of those words.

  I didn't push the issue, even though he wasn't the only one who felt the pang of Rode's absence. Perhaps he wasn't my mate, but Rodrian had become as near to me as my shadow and his absence was unnatural. Unnerving. And I was unwilling to pretend I wasn't as hurt as his brother.

  I stifled a sigh and put on my strong face. When Marek was ready, I'd be ready. Right now, I could do only one thing. I should be content with living in the moment, and this was pretty wonderful as far as my moments usually went.

  I drifted to the wall where a local artist's work paid homage to the god. The Eyes of Horus, read the brass placard on the wall near the frame. One eye was the sun, the other, the moon. I reached backward for Marek, who laced his fingers with mine and leaned down, his mouth at my ear.

  "Look closely."

  I turned my head and stepped closer, stopping a foot away from the frame. It wasn't until the light reflected across the surface that I saw what he'd meant me to see: the brushstrokes weren't simply the result of spreading paint on canvas. They created a pattern that could only be seen from up close.

  The brushstrokes spelled out my name. My title. My destiny.

  SOPHIA.

  I turned back to him, hiding my mouth behind my fingers. I couldn't get the words to come. My speechlessness earned a deep chuckle.

  "Sophia. The Greek word for wisdom." He walked backward a few paces, opening his arms wide. "All this is for you. What you've done, what I know you
will do. What we will do. Together."

  I laughed and ran to him, allowing him to sweep me up in his arms. He spun me gently, and for a moment, all the universe revolved around us.

  Together. I couldn't imagine a more perfect destiny, or a better way to surrender to it. After years of losing and wanting and struggling and surviving, I knew one thing.

  It was time for us to live.

  Together.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I'd like to say a huge thank you to the Inner Sanctum of beta readers—Hal, Mickey, and Jennifer. They've read just about every version of every book, investing their time and their energy into these stories. All my love to you guys…you've stuck with me since the very beginning and I plan on dragging you with me to the bloody end.

  Huge hugs to the Demimonde, without whose support this series would never have gotten off the ground. Every time I sit down to write, each of you are there in the back of my head, cheering me on. I wrote Bleeding Hearts for me—but I created the series for you, because you kept asking that wonderful question, the six most beautiful words a writer ever wants to hear: "When's the next book coming out?"

  And, because art imitates life, I want to thank everyone who has inspired my writing in one way or another. Many of you know who you are. (Some of you don't. It's probably better that way.)

  Thank you, all.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ash Krafton is a speculative fiction author from the Pennsylvania coal region. If she's not writing, it's probably because she's distracted by all the cool junk on her desk or by the stacks of books that have grown up around it.

  She writes novels, short fiction, and poetry for mostly adult audiences. (She's mostly an adult.). Some of those novel titles include:

  The Books of the Demimonde: urban fantasy trilogy