“He’s asked me to escort you.”
I paused midstride. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
I turned to head for my room so I could drop my university books off first. The butler stepped in the way.
“He insisted that I ensure you went straight to him.”
I gritted my teeth and drew in a slow, calming breath to hold back the words that wanted to fly loose. I always swore too much when I felt like things were out of my control.
Choose your battles.
I was out to win the war, and squabbling with the butler wasn’t worth the energy. If I fought him, the final encounter in the study would be worse. That was the battle I needed to focus on.
Moments later, I stood in the doorway of Father’s study. Years of training prevented me from entering the room. I clenched my teeth to prevent the words from spilling out. I was stronger than this. I was commanded to be here, so I should just enter the bloody room. My knuckles ached as I clenched the strap of my backpack.
“May I enter?” I almost choked on the words when they broke free.
It was a habit I swore I would break, yet here I was, running the same old script, again.
“You may enter,” came the deep reply from Father.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, the final whispers faded from my mind. The complete silence was like cool water running through me, cleansing, soothing, and calming. But Father’s powerful presence negated any relief as he sat glaring at me from behind his desk.
“You’re late. I told you to be home by 7:00 p.m.” He made a show of checking his watch. “It is currently 7:24 p.m.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, I have an assignment due tonight. I got held up at the library and lost track of time.”
Two truths stated together to create a false assumption. I’d already finished and submitted my assignment yesterday. Tonight, I was working in the university library and got held up putting the returns away. If I was going to be independent, I needed my own money. Father couldn’t know I had a job. It would not be allowed.
Luckily it didn’t matter what I said because Father ignored my excuse and indicated the chair beside me. “Sit.”
I sat with my backpack on my lap, like it would offer some sort of shield against the talk that was about to happen.
“We need to discuss your coming of age celebration. It’s two days away, and there is still a lot of preparation. Given your delicate nature, I didn’t want to stress you with last-minute instructions. You’ve had to deal with a lot of changes recently.” He held up his fingers to count them out. “A new city, a new residence, a new language, and despite my best advice, you also insisted on starting university. It’s an unnecessary challenge, and it’s a lot for you to adapt to all at once.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We don’t want a regression of your health, now do we?”
It was a rhetorical question. I didn’t answer. Instead, my mind flashed to a memory from earlier that evening, when I’d found myself huddled on the floor in a corner at the library, so overwhelmed by the voices shouting in my mind that I couldn’t think. I was lucky no one had discovered me. I couldn’t afford to lose my job.
And Father couldn’t know I’d gone off my meds. He couldn’t know I’d started hearing things again. The medication had turned me into a compliant zombie. I couldn’t function in that state. Not if I was to continue to fight for my independence.
Father continued to speak, oblivious to the memory that fought in my mind. “Now, as to next week’s celebration.” He stopped talking and shuffled the papers in front of him.
I had to wonder if his pause was for dramatic effect or if he was gathering his thoughts. I decided it was the former. Father liked to put on a show. He was all about ritual and appearances.
In two days, I turned twenty-one. This seemed a bigger deal to him than to me, but Father was very religious, and according to him, the coming of age celebration was an important sacrament I had to go through to officially enter adulthood.
I doubted adulthood would afford me any new freedoms, and just the thought of the upcoming day had bile rising in the back of my throat. A memory of the last ‘celebration’ flashed through my mind without permission. I clenched my hand tighter on the strap of my backpack as the memory of the branding burned my palms anew. With each symbol branded into my palms the voices grew stronger. With each brand, the creatures became more real. This was supposed to be the final ritual, and I dreaded it more than any of the others. The final ritual would involve a brand over my heart.
I’d been avoiding this discussion. Just the mention of the word ‘celebration’ or ‘ritual’ had me ready to vomit.
Maybe Father wasn’t the only one who could be dramatic.
Or maybe the hallucinations I’d had as a child tainted what should have been normal childhood experiences.
“I was told you were discussing Emma’s special day.” Mother glided into the room and sat on the chair beside me. “I came to check if you needed my assistance.”
Despite her smile, she was a shell of a woman. Her gray eyes were void of all emotion. The pristine makeup painted on her face completed her perfect mask. She was a beautiful, animated puppet. A feeling of impending doom grew in the pit of my stomach. Was this my future? An obedient woman, blindly following the orders of the patriarch?
“Your assistance is always valuable, Elizabeth.” Father inclined his head toward her. Their relationship had never been what I would call loving, but they had always shared a great deal of respect and cooperation.
“Now, to the ceremony.” He reshuffled the papers.
“Celebration.”
“I beg your pardon?” He froze, ice lacing his voice.
From under the hood of his eyebrows, his stare pinned me in place.
“You’ve been calling it a celebration up until now. When you just called it a ceremony, it made it sound like I’m getting married or something.”
My grip on my bag tightened as I met his gaze. It was petty, but it was a small defiance I couldn’t control.
His silent glare didn’t waver, and my confidence shattered.
He brought his attention back to the stack of papers and continued to speak as though I hadn’t just interrupted him. “It is the seventh and final holy sacrament, so, although it is a celebration, the primary component of the night will entail a ceremony or ritual. Though I would like to avoid the hysteria of the last one.” He gave me a pointed look. “You are still taking your medications, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Did my answer come a little too quickly?
Was my voice a little too high?
I was never any good at lying to him. I’d learned the easiest way to lie was to avoid opening my mouth. Lie by omission, that was the safest way to deal with Father.
“Hmm ...” He inspected me as though he sensed my lie, then stared off into space as he mumbled words under his breath.
I strained to make out his words but couldn’t. Instead, there was a noise that wasn’t quite right, like the legs of a giant beetle scuttling across a hard surface. It came from the doorway and grew louder as it made its way toward us from behind.
“You need your medications, Emma,” he murmured.
My breath caught as something moved in my peripheral vision. The form seemed solid, but when I tried to focus on it out of the corner of my eyes, it was nothing more than a black shadow against the timber paneled wall. My chest ached with the rapid beating of my heart.
I dare not look directly at it.
I dare not react.
Father was watching me. Waiting.
“Is everything okay, dear? You’ve gone very still, and you’re holding onto your bag like it might try and run away from you.”
I glanced up to my side, and ice washed through me … That thing was back. I swallowed the scream that wanted to tear from my throat. It was the creature I hadn’t seen since the last sacrament. The thing I hadn’t seen since Father had put me on medica
tion almost a year ago.
Shit in a basket.
I shook my head.
It wasn’t real.
Father was right. I was sick.
I saw things that didn’t exist.
It shifted.
“Feckin’ hell,” I muttered.
“Emma,” Mother tutted with concern. “Maybe we should review your dosage before the ceremony.”
Yeah, and maybe I shouldn’t have weaned myself off the medications in the first place.
I fiddled with the broken strap and continued to ignore the shadow above me as I mentally composed myself. I was sure I wasn’t fooling either of them, but I couldn’t continue to exist in the foggy, compliant world the drugs had stranded me in. Weaning off the meds was the right decision.
The shadow wasn’t real.
It moved closer to cling to the bookcase behind Father and peeked over his shoulder. I shifted my focus from Father’s cold, calculating stare and gazed into the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Cold gold eyes that held a beautiful promise I didn’t understand stared at me and wouldn’t go away. The shadows swirled and darkened around it. A faint smell of sulfur filled the air as it solidified, stepped off the wall, and stood behind Father.
Bile rose at the back of my throat and coated my tongue with bitterness. The darkened figure was the same as the one I saw last year. Like a grim reaper made of black smoke, its form swirled and wisped around only to reform and harden again and again in a pattern of bird-like staccato movements. Though it stood in the same spot, it was an enigma of continuous change. The only constant was its beautiful, enthralling eyes.
“Is everything all right, Emma?” Father’s distant voice echoed as I continued to stare at the thing before me.
I could barely nod an answer.
It wasn’t real.
I was fine.
From the swirling darkness, a clawed white hand emerged and rested on Father’s shoulder. He didn’t react.
I hugged my arms around my backpack, clinging to it as a scared child might cling to her teddy bear. Coldness burned into my chest, and I knew I was in danger.
I stood, the chair falling back. The clatter as it hit the ground was like a runner’s starting gun. I took off toward the doorway. I could feel that creature following me. It was in no rush. It knew I couldn’t get away.
“Emma,” Father’s voice boomed down the hallway, “come back here this instant.”
No. I had to escape. Panic seized me and took control of my body. I had to run.
My heart thundered as the creature, now clinging to the ceiling, skittered along behind me.
It was going to get me!
I ran blindly toward the entrance doors, but blocking my path was another of the dark specters. Golden eyes waited for me to arrive.
My feet changed direction without conscious thought. At the end of the hall, a tall full-length mirror reflected my panicked self as I ran straight for it. Instinct took over. I braced myself for impact as I ran into the mirror.
And screamed as I fell onto the cold stone pavers of the street outside.
Chapter 4
Kristof
* * *
I tugged at the magic threads that connected me to my wolf and felt him pull away with a growl. The stupid beast still refused to take control of our form and hunt the woman. For the first time in my life, we weren’t in accordance with each other. It wasn’t natural.
My lip curled as a low growl vibrated deep in my chest.
Blood Demon magic was at work.
I stared at the doors across the road and willed them to open.
Another growl reverberated within my chest. The cold night air bit at my toes, and I stomped my boots on the hard cobblestones to get the circulation back into my feet. Since I usually hunted in wolf form, I didn’t worry about cold weather. If I’d known I was going to be lurking in a narrow laneway stuck in human form, I would have picked a thicker jacket. The leather one just wasn’t cutting it—my butt was freezing. But I wasn’t leaving. I had to wait out the cold until she reappeared.
The darkened sandstone mansion loomed up into the night sky when a scream broke through the tomb-like silence. The cry came from down the street. I sprinted.
Kleider Bauer, a large fashion shop, was closed for the evening, its windows reflecting the rippling water and lights of Old Town from across the river. In front, a crumpled figure lay on the ground.
My boots pounded on the stones. As I neared, the breeze captured her scent, and I recognized the unique blend of sulfur and spring fields almost hidden under the stench of terror. It was her.
I skidded to a halt. She was oblivious to my presence. Her eyes were wild and blind as she scanned the street back and forth for some unseen threat. Both arms wrapped around the bag she clutched to her chest.
I hadn’t seen her leave her home, so how the hell did she end up dumped in the middle of an empty street nearly half a kilometer away?
“What happened?” I demanded as I squatted in front of her.
Her head whipped around, back and forth, looking at everything but me.
“Tell me what happened,” I ordered.
“It … it’s going to get me.”
“What is?”
“It’s not real. It can’t be real. Oh God. I’ve lost it. Father was right. I’m sick.”
The scent of her fear overrode everything else. I couldn’t smell anything but her terror. My wolf snarled and consumed me with the need to get her to safety.
“Get up,” I commanded as I grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her to her feet.
I scanned the area, but there was nothing. No danger. Years of hunting and my instincts knew we were safe, for the moment anyway. What had her so terrified?
“Look at me.” I cupped her face with both hands.
It was only as I gently stroked her cheeks with my thumbs that she seemed to become aware of my presence. Her wild golden eyes found mine and my heart shattered.
She was breathing way too fast and if she didn’t slow down, she was going to hyperventilate and pass out.
“You’re okay.” I nodded, trying to get her to agree with my statement.
Her whole body shook in disagreement.
“Breathe with me, nice and slow, okay.” I nodded again and made a show of taking in a slow deep breath.
This time she accepted my cue and nodded back, trying to match my breathing. She wasn’t doing a very good job, but at least she was responding.
“Good,” I encouraged. “That’s it, nice and slow. Now, what’s your name?”
She frowned. The question seemed to confuse her. Her gaze darted away, looking again for danger, but as my hands still cupped her face, I drew her attention back with another gentle caress of my thumb.
“Name?” I reminded her.
“E … Emma.”
Her whole body still shook, and I realized she was only wearing a light top and pants. It wasn’t only fear making her shiver. I shrugged off my leather jacket.
“Here, put this on, you’re freezing.”
She put the bag on the ground and obeyed my order without protest. That wasn’t good.
“I’m Kristof. Do you recognize me? I’m the guy you clumsily ran into in the alley.”
Her head snapped up. “I bloody did not! You ran into me.”
“Of course, my bad,” I agreed, relieved to see a bit of the spitfire I’d first met.
She glared at me as she pulled the lapels of my jacket tight across her chest, encasing her in my scent. My wolf was delighted right now, and I was confused. The stench of her terror had abated, but there was still an underlying smell of fear. She was putting on a brave face but seemed at a loss as to what to do next.
“Do you want me to walk you somewhere? Home, perhaps?” I asked.
She gasped and flicked her gaze around, looking for danger again. Her breathing picked up and I could hear her heart beat faster as she bent to pick up her backpack and clutched it to her chest.
&
nbsp; “No, I … I don’t know …” She stopped, took a slow deep breath, and continued in a much calmer voice. “I don’t want to go home right now.” She paused. “I ... don’t know where else to go.”
“We could just go for a walk.” I indicated the bridge leading to the lights across the river. “Maybe we could grab a coffee?”
And have a friendly little chat about what just happened.
She considered for a moment. “I don’t drink coffee.”
I gasped and clutched at my chest. “How could you not drink coffee? That’s not normal.”
She frowned. “Oh, it isn’t? Maybe I should start.” She gazed off in the direction I’d indicated.
So much I could do with that comment. I didn’t say a word; instead I fell into step beside her, walking as close as I could without touching her.
I kept my senses on high alert as we crossed the bridge. My car was parked on this side of the river, just outside the pedestrian zone. I wanted to get her closer to it. If she refused to give me answers, I would take her away and force answers out of her.
I couldn’t sense danger, but my hackles were up, and my wolf was uneasy.
Emma was deep in thought—she hadn’t spoken since we started our walk—but her heart rate had slowed down. I drew in her scent to reassure myself, again, that she was doing okay. The smell of sulfur had disappeared entirely. It was like, the longer she was beside me, the more it left her. Her scent was pure spring field now.
We crossed the bridge and had just entered under the archway of the short laneway that would lead us to the Alter Markt when my wolf halted me. Goosebumps ran down my spine as the hairs on the back of my neck raised. My wolf was preparing to shift.
We were being followed.
“What’s wrong? Why did you stop?” Emma whispered.
I turned and scanned up the stone buildings looming either side of us. The narrow laneway didn’t offer much room for movement and I cursed myself for not taking the longer, safer route. I’d been too focused on getting Emma someplace I could sit her down and find out what had happened. Rookie mistake.
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