by Ruby Loren
She shook her head and braced herself for the walk through the bar to the car she’d hired to get her through the night. She tried to stick close to Lewis, who was carrying his bass drum, and kept a tight grip on her bass in case she had cause to use it as a weapon.
“Oops, forgot my sticks,” Lewis announced and doubled back, leaving January with no choice but to continue. She couldn’t show her unease under all of the watchful eyes.
To her, they seemed like an immovable wall of animals dressed in cocktail dresses. She could see the wild in their eyes. An owl in a silver satin swing dress, a bear in braces… she knew them all from the night of the full moon. Her pulse rose as she stepped off the stage and walked straight at the wall of people. Were they just going to stay there and let her break like water on a rock?
Something unexpected happened. The crowd of shifters rippled and parted, like the sea before Moses - just as they had for the leopard.
January hesitated and then walked forwards again, her body stiff with tension, expecting them to form lines again and swallow her up. She reached the halfway point and still nothing happened. Her gaze flicked left and right, as curiosity got the better of her.
Most had their eyes fixed on the floor, but a few met hers and she saw the glimmer of what might have been respect. She was so surprised, she almost stopped to ask a crow shifter if this wasn’t some twisted joke. Had running away really been so brave, or did they fear her and the mystery which shrouded the murders of the wolves? Her eyes found those of a cat shifter – the small, domestic kind – and she didn’t see fear there, just a kind of wonder.
Apparently running away had been a big deal after all.
Despite the support of the shifters, January was still glad when she reached the door at the end of the bar and the cool night breeze blew on her face. Spending a night around so many other shifters all packed into one place was making her feel almost as wired-up as the full moon did.
Something made her turn around. Her eyes met another pair across the room, so bright a blue, they were actually glowing. Luke had seen everything. By his side, stood his permanent shadow, Ryan, his arms folded across his chest and his face hidden in darkness.
She turned back and walked out of the building, telling herself she’d never return. It was lucky that Lewis had agreed to take her bass amp (her hired car was too small). She had nothing left in the building. There was the money for the gig, which still needed to be collected, but she hoped Mike and the others would just think she’d forgotten. She chewed her lip and quickly composed a text to explain her sudden disappearance – just in case.
Friend in hospital. Had to dash, sorry!
She wondered if Luke would actually pay the band after that little show of rebellion. She wondered what he would do to the shifters. It even crossed her mind that Luke might decide to keep her band members hostage, but hopefully he wasn’t driven to such extreme measures yet. From what she’d seen, he would be more subtle in his method of payback.
She could rest assured that there would be retribution. There was no way Luke was letting this go. She’d seen that much in his eyes.
Her little car drove silently through the night and January missed her red Mercedes. She’d had it picked up from the hospital car park the next day, but the mechanic had only confirmed her initial diagnosis of it being a write-off. It was with a heavy heart that she’d had it scrapped. Perhaps tomorrow she would go and look for a new car. She needed something to look forward to.
The tunnels of trees didn’t seem so threatening now that she knew there was unrest among the ranks of the pack. It seemed obvious with hindsight. Had she really thought they could be happy with the way things were being run? But then, there was so much that remained beyond her. Where had the cats come from? She suddenly wondered, and knew that was as good a place to start as any.
The explanation text she’d sent had reminded her of Trace, the deer shifter she’d hit. She’d called the hospital earlier that day and persuaded them that she was the girl’s sister. They’d told her that she was stable and recovering remarkably well, although they had no idea what had happened to her. She’d then been asked to come in because her sister was also suffering from amnesia. January had felt hopeful when she’d heard that. Perhaps Trace had heard her other suggestion too. She’d cut the nurse off mid-sentence and had screened all calls since then.
The gravel on the driveway crunched as the pale blue Fiat 500 turned into the parking place, which had once belonged to the Mercedes. January liked the little hire car, but it really wasn’t the same. It wasn’t her.
She had the strangest feeling that this place was already starting to become her home. She glanced up at the bright moon – just starting to wane over the eaves of the old, stone farmhouse.
It was nice being out of the city. She knew in her heart that she was a country girl, but Paris had been necessary. Paris had been an initiation.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the note written in black marker on a bathroom wall in a London nightclub, all those years ago. She blinked and turned her key in the door. No time to dwell on the past when there was so much going wrong in the present.
A shiver ran down her spine when she walked into the dark interior. Her hand fumbled for the light switch. Okay, maybe I’m not as familiar with this place as I thought. After a few moments she struck gold, but when she flicked the switch, nothing happened. That was the downside of living out in the sticks.
She sighed and thought it was colder in here than it was outside. Stone walls didn’t promote warm and fuzzy temperatures.
She should have listened to the shiver running down her spine. It was her instinct telling her that something was wrong.
It was only the faint scent of the sea, alien and unusual, when she walked into her bedroom that stopped her from jumping straight into bed. That and the slightly open window, which always remained shut. She thought the person responsible had probably taken a chance and had hoped it would keep his scent from her.
He’d guessed wrong.
7
“Why are you in my bed, Gregory?” January was too drained to even summon up anger. At least for now. She was bottling up the last dregs of her energy for a potential explosion later.
The vampire smiled and the faint light of the moon reflected off his sharp teeth, making them shine in the dark. He was no doubt the reason the electricity was off too.
“I thought I’d pay you a visit and make sure you were alright. The cats didn’t get their claws out, did they?” He raised an eyebrow and January realised her eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light.
“I was thinking about paying you a visit too and taking along a stake for company.”
Gregory smiled at the snarky response. “Used a stake to kill before, have you?” His eyes narrowed and January was elated that he’d taken the bait.
“You’ve been following the news.”
He definitely knew almost every single detail of what had happened that night. She was certain that it had been him she’d seen hiding in the shadows, watching her when she’d made her naked run to the car.
But that didn’t explain why he was currently in her bed.
“Why are you here and… how are you here? I do not give you permission to be here,” she said experimentally, but nothing happened.
Gregory’s smile widened at January’s confusion. “You’re renting this property, aren’t you?”
“From a guy named Bobby Michelson. I even met him!” January heard the first crackles of anger creep into her voice.
“I go by many names…” Gregory began mysteriously, but stopped being mysterious when January made a fist so fast her knuckles cracked. “It’s an alias of mine that my daytime man uses. I own this property. Tough luck.”
January shrugged, mentally vowing to start hunting for a different property to rent the next morning.
“I should warn you, I own most of the property around here,” Gregory said, reading her thoughts.
“I’ll find a place you don’t own.”
“I’ll just buy it and you’ll be back to square one,” he said with a shrug.
January felt like asking him what he’d do if the owner didn’t want to sell, but she thought she knew the answer. The combination of glamour and apparently endless finances was a winning one. Sure, she could afford to buy her own place, but this was not a permanent situation.
“Let’s just save the bother and stay with things as they are,” he said.
January kept quiet - for now. She was not going to have a vampire dropping round for tea whenever he felt like it. There would be a way to stop him from entering. She just had to find it.
“You still haven’t explained why you’re in my bed.”
“Oh, I was hoping you’d get in without looking,” he said with a grin.
January felt a feeling of want deep down inside her. She ignored it. “Well, you can get out now,” she said and then had to turn away when he threw back the covers and she realised he was naked. Oh hell - she’d seen everything.
Even worse, she was very tempted to see it all again.
“Why are you naked? Where are your clothes?” She kept her back turned and didn’t hear him come up behind her.
“I thought we could have some fun,” he whispered in her ear.
She flinched but didn’t jump. “Did you ‘have fun’ with my sister when she was working as the pack’s envoy? I don’t seem to recall you mentioning that during our conversation.” She turned and fixed him with her gaze, making sure she didn’t look down.
He shrugged and kept his stormy eyes fixed on her face. “I assumed the pack leader would tell all as soon as you came around to his point of view.” His eyes narrowed and January knew he was talking about the strange, special powers that Luke Bingley possessed.
“I must have been mistaken,” Gregory confessed, thoughtfully.
“Do you know where my sister is, because I’d appreciate the truth from you this time.”
“I’ve never lied to you,” he said, his forehead creasing.
A lock of his waving blonde hair fell down, softening his face.
“Everyone says they don’t tell lies, but then no one tells the whole truth either - which is just as bad.”
He raised an eyebrow, but January kept quiet. She knew full well that she was just as guilty as anyone else, but this wasn’t the time for a confession.
“I don’t know where your sister is,” Gregory said after a pause. “That is the truth.”
January felt her spirits fall. She’d been so sure that one of the leaders would know something. However, it would be foolish to blindly trust what they were saying.
“What happened at the bar tonight?” He asked. His eyes lit up and January finally hit on the real reason for his visit.
“Nothing. My band played and Luke introduced himself. I told him I didn’t kill the wolves and he told me he doesn’t know where my sister is.” She shrugged. “That’s about it.”
Gregory closed the narrow space between them. “There’s nothing more to tell? You’re not missing any… details?”
January briefly wondered if he could possibly already have found out about the small act of what may or may not have been shifter defiance. She bit her tongue and kept her face thoughtful, as if trying to remember some small detail. Even if she had been fully convinced of the shifters’ feelings, that was information Gregory Drax would be sure to use to his advantage.
She stayed silent.
He gave her a strange, half-sad smile, and January figured that he knew she was keeping something back. Don’t you dare feel guilty. He’s hanging on to far more secrets of his own, she thought, darkly.
“You’d better find some clothes,” she said, turning away and walking over to the crumpled duvet, wondering if she really wanted to spend the night in a bed that smelled of him. It would feel like he was right there beside her.
“Or we could do something else…” He was close to her again, his lips cool against her neck. She turned to face him, and his hands circled her waist, pulling her closer as gold threads of energy wrapped around her.
“You know that doesn’t work on me,” she said, with an almost apologetic smile. It would be nice to have an excuse, her treacherous brain thought.
“Yes, why is that the case?”
She’d really walked into that one.
January looked down, wondering if she should pull away. This strange embrace was really confusing her. “Quirk of genetics, I suppose. Perhaps it’s the same gene responsible for my pale-as-death look,” she said and couldn’t keep the bitterness from creeping into her voice.
“I think you’re lucky. In my time, we’d have called you a snow child and considered you a great rarity. Hair as fair as yours couldn’t be faked back then. I still don’t think it can be done these days. Nothing matches it…” He removed a hand from her waist, as if to touch one of her curling tendrils, but his hand dropped short.
For the first time, January thought there might be some part of Gregory - however well concealed - that actually liked her. Or her hair, anyway…
“You can tell me anything. I’ll protect you from them.”
January frowned at the ‘trust in me’ tone. “I can protect myself just fine, thanks. In case you’ve forgotten, you were the one who served me up on a platter for them in the first place.” She pulled away and felt empty inside when his hands slipped from her waist. It’s the right decision. He’s just using you.
Gregory sighed. “Is there no one you trust?”
“Only myself,” she responded and let the silence stretch out between them like a barrier. He hadn’t left as she’d expected him to.
“Then let me take the first step in getting you to trust me,” he said and suddenly she had her back against the wall and his hands were on her hips again.
Her eyes flashed with the knowledge that he could have killed her in that moment. He probably could have killed her a hundred times by now. You’re getting rusty, her inner voice accused, but she told it to shut up and kissed Gregory Drax, feeling the instant gratification as his body responded.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I saved you from Sylvester’s advances.”
She tried to find the truth in his eyes but all she could see was excitement. That’s good enough for me, she thought and finally decided to stop worrying – just for tonight - as Gregory laid her down on the bed and their bodies melded together.
“Are you ready?” He whispered and she felt the shivers run down her body as his hands brought her to life.
“Yes,” she replied, and his teeth flashed in the darkness.
8
When January woke up the next morning, he was already gone. She felt a vague pang of loss, before realising how stupid that was. He was just a vampire.
She blinked with tired eyes and finally registered what it was that had drawn her out of her Sunday morning lie-in. Her phone was practically jumping along her wooden bedroom floor. The vibrations had freed it from the pocket of the smart leather jacket she’d worn for the gig the previous night. She crawled out of bed, wincing at the feel of the cold floorboards, and went to pick up the phone. Her eyes registered the time on the screen and the name of the caller.
“Mike, it is way too early on Sunday morning to be awake.”
“What happened last night? Is your friend okay?”
January hesitated, wondering what he was talking about, before she remembered her text. “Yes, sorry about that. It was a friend from Paris who’d come over for a holiday. She’d fallen and was in need of an interpreter at the hospital.” January pulled a face. Way too much information. Fortunately, Mike did not have the same supernatural power of lie detection that shifters and vamps seemed to possess.
“Is she okay?”
“Yes, fine, thank you. She’s going home later today because she wants to be with her family.” I may as well lay the imaginary friend to rest, she thought. It saved problems later.
“W
ell, I’ve got your money from last night. I’ll drop it into the tearoom today, if you’re working?”
She confirmed she was, suddenly glad that Mike had woken her up. She had a lot to do this morning before her shift started.
“I have news, too! You know, I think you’re what we’ve needed all along – the band, I mean.”
January gritted her teeth as he rambled. This was leading to something.
“We’ve been given a residency at The Bingley Bar, playing there every two weeks. Then, out of the blue, The Witch’s Wand called and offered us the same deal. Crazy, huh?”
January couldn’t speak.
“Now I know what you’re thinking and it’s okay. I checked, and both venues are happy with it - even though they’re pretty close to each other. I actually warned them about it, but they seemed certain that their clientele was completely different. So, I said yes! They must really love us.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” she said, weakly, and hung up, wondering how Gregory had managed to pull that off so fast. Perhaps he had spies among the shifter ranks. Why had that not occurred to her before? Or maybe he’d planned it as soon as he’d found out about the gig and her band.
Anyway, it wasn’t the gigs at The Witch’s Wand that worried her. Having to check in at The Bingley Bar every two weeks was going to be unbearable. It was actually worse than seeing that smug leopard’s face once a month at full moon. She couldn’t understand why no one had snapped and slipped some poison into one of his over-priced cocktails. It would serve him right for being so intolerable.
She left her bedroom to get in the shower, refusing to linger any longer on sheets that smelt of last night and the memory of Gregory Drax.