CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: NEW ALLIANCE
To rid themselves of outsider influence, both literally and figuratively, the Varcolac burned Lavario’s finery. As Lavario’s stuff burned, Garvey remembered dying.
He was under a branch right as it fell, toppling his skull with a loud, crackling thump. Dazed, he’d stared up at the sky with the type of resignation he’d felt since being brought to Lavario, part of the first bloodservant cohort. He knew he was going to die with a title like that, the tales of destiny they tried to sell be damned. But he never expected it to be so soon, not after he’d made it through all those terror-filled nights to emerge out the other side with a lover instead of a master.
Life didn’t flash before his eyes as everyone said it would, just a series of regrets. He’d spent his entire existence strolling through small moment—a collection of kisses, hand holding, and walks in the rain that he promised himself would add up to something meaningful in the end.
Tonight, his promise to himself came true. Those small moments burned. The bed where they first made love, the dresser Lavario protected until, one night, Garvey’s socks made their way inside a drawer, the curtains they picked out together, the books they’d read, the chairs they’d sat on. Lavario had kept everything from their life together. Except him.
It was fitting, Garvey told himself, to force this on Lavario the way he’d forced a new life on him. Forever a walking cautionary tale. His very name was shorthand for a colossal fuckup committed by a powerful wolf. He could forgive that. Sometimes Garvey admitted to himself that he’d forgiven it a long time ago. Occasionally, on the right day, he’d even admit he loved Lavario. Right now, he’d at least admit he was glad Lavario was alive. But he couldn’t forgive the end to their tale. Not yet. Lavario, his lover, too proud to be a Moondog. Too special to live outside the great packs with his creation.
“It wasn’t always bad between you two,” Kijo said.
It jolted him out of his memories. Mazgan had asked him to stand behind Kijo. Place of honor for all your hard work, he’d said with that self-satisfied sly smile of his. He didn’t think Garvey knew that placing him next to the triumphant daughter would twist the knife as deep as it could go. Everything Lavario had ever lost in one location.
Garvey shook his head. He wasn’t going to talk about their relationship with Kijo. “He gave up everything for you.”
“We need to talk after this.”
Garvey could only imagine what she wanted to say to her least favorite relative. “I’ll look forward to that.”
He was dying again. The lover looked down at him. Tears the master never would have cried mixed with the blood on his head. He could only tell the difference as they fell.
* * *
“What’s the scheme?” Kijo came right to the point, as she normally did.
Since everything had changed, Garvey did his best to act as though nothing had changed. He kept his tone and mannerisms light, mockingly cheerful. “Hold up a tick, let me go get my white cat and swivel chair.”
She probably didn’t understand the reference, but she understood the tone well enough. She clamped her glare on him. Those eyes of hers were death thoughts. Lingering on them made him uneasy. You didn’t know or want to know what was beyond. Troubled, Garvey relented and looked away.
“Whatever it is he promised you, you’re not going to get it. He will betray you.”
“Probably,” Garvey responded. He didn’t bother lying.
“I can make promises, too.”
Unexpected. Inconvenient. Garvey twisted around on the uncomfortable chair not-so-graciously provided for him. Her entire room was an affront to good taste now that Garvey could get a look at it. He’d never been here before. Grays, browns, shades of gray and brown. And what was a maybe an ashtray. Even the chair she sat in looked like something a child made. He wondered how she’d feel if he told her about Mazgan’s apartment with its Lavario-level frills and Boo Hag folly. He’d test those waters later. Right now he had to think of a response.
Garvey’s options for dealing with her were limited. Refusing to share information could only end badly for him. Out of respect for Lavario, she’d always kept her hands anchored to her sides. Those protections no longer existed for obvious reasons. Challenging him and killing him were options now that would effectively make his schemes and plans a moot point. Kijo was the type of wolf to do exactly that without much prompting. It was better to fess up while he could. Unfortunately, he’d have to be mostly honest with her.
Garvey bolted a smile to his face and began an exchange that he hoped would end with him intact. “Good news, sis. You don’t need me to tell you anything. Mazgan will do that. He thinks you two will rule over the new world order together as lovers. He is going to save your pack from a life in second place.”
“He is not my lover,” she said with disgust, crossing her legs. “The plan is to kill the guardians?”
The idiot actually told her that? He suppressed an eye roll and a sigh. “Among other things.”
“And what’s your role in all of this?”
“Promises first.”
Her lip curled, exposing teeth. A low growl rumbled in her throat. Eyes, now golden with a dark circle of black in the center, narrowed. For a moment, Garvey thought he’d made the last mistake of his life. Kijo was not the type to fuck around with anyone’s nonsense on a good day, and today had not been a good day. He was ready to make a run for it, hoping he could perhaps get to Mazgan before she finished him off, when she relaxed and spoke to him in an emotionless voice. “What did he offer you?”
Surprised, and with confidence building, Garvey leaned back in his chair. His darling sister had a plan of some sort, and she thought she needed him for it. Best of all, the circumstances clawed at her. “He’d make me true wolf.”
Something like pity rippled across her features. “That is impossible, Garvey. No one can do that for you.”
He knew it was true—had known it all along—but he did his best to work his features into something resembling crestfallen disappointment. Being a true wolf was never his goal. He wanted his pack safe. And yeah, revenge. Suspicious as he was of Kijo’s motivations, he had to concede that she was at least being honest with him, a courtesy Mazgan never extended. “What will you offer me, then?”
“Lavario.” Garvey was about to start his objection when she cut him off. “I will make him a False Moon. And I won’t kill you.”
“Moondog,” Garvey corrected her.
She raised the tips of her fingernails from the chair in a dismissive gesture. “Moondog, as you say. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
As far as deals went, it fell under the good enough category. Truthfully, the won’t-kill clause was the best part of it. He’d like to prompt her for an extended warranty. He gave her a quick nod of the head and said a few words he hoped conveyed how happy he was with her offer.
“Good. Tell me the plan. Tell me your role in it.”
Quickly as he could, knowing her patience for exposition waned after a few minutes, Garvey gave her a rundown—the botched extraction of Tovin, the subsequent fallout, the release of vampires, and the destruction of the Boo Hag system of bloodservant distribution. Afterward, a world Mazgan envisioned where guardians no longer existed and werewolves did as they pleased, took as they pleased, killed as they pleased. Ruling through force, the Varcolac way.
Kijo said nothing for a very long time. Muscles in her cheek and eyelids spasmed as she struggled to maintain the outward appearance of calm. Garvey never understood why she bothered. Anyone in her presence felt the anger beneath the surface. It was a near constant rolling wave of energy. Finally, after what seemed like forever as Garvey twisted around on the hard chair, she spoke again. “And that is why you’re here? There is a portal here?”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
Those black eyes turned golden. “That fool!”
“Would you like me to stall?” Garvey came in afterward, every
so sweetly.
She was in a bind. Garvey knew it. She knew Garvey knew it. Eventually, she caved with a sneer and a forceful wave of her hand. “For now, do as planned. Only,” she amended, “be less discreet. Leave. I’ll be in contact.”
For an instant, Garvey almost felt bad for poor Mazgan, who was most likely giddy levels of happy right now as visions of his life with Kijo danced around in his empty head. Kijo had promised to make Lavario a Moondog. To deliver, she’d either have to cozy up to Mazgan—who had refused to exile Lavario, preferring full view of the constant humiliation—or take his place. Garvey was already betting on the track his pony would take.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: WHAT THEY GOT TO KEEP
Submissives walked by to ogle them, pausing to jeer at Lavario in a way he normally would have responded to with a quick show of violence, a love tap to remind them of their rank. Today, they were here to remind him of his. After the fight with Kijo, he’d gone from beta to omega, from a wolf who made important decisions to a wolf who guarded over the redundancies, chauffeured, and did menial tasks. Forbidden to challenge to reclaim any lost ground, Lavario could only sit in his cage while his packmates taunted him.
Square one. Lavario’s least favorite of all the squares.
“This is insufferable,” he said after being ordered to sweep.
“At least you have your fancy robe. That’s something.” Amber plucked at the edges of it as she trailed behind him. She’d recovered some of her former impudence once she realized horrible death wasn’t immediate. She did keep her voice to a whisper, lobbing her taunts in a muted hiss to the side or back of his head.
“I got to keep you as well.” Lucky him. “And this.” He gestured to her and to the elaborate chair that looked so out of place amongst the filth. He swatted her hand away from his robe. It was a trial to keep it clean. He didn’t need her pawing at it.
“Lucky you.” He had to smile at her parrot of his thoughts. “So what now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Now that the other guy is gone, we should think of a plan.”
Lavario chuckled with no real humor. Dip—the other guy—was out today. Hunting or doing whatever it is the stupid creature did in its spare time. The girl was bold again. “If you wished to plot, there was no need to wait for our companion’s absence.”
“Then why haven’t we been plotting?”
She was looking down at him again, her fists on her hips. Lavario was growing somewhat fond of her outrage, the endearing and ever-present crease between her eyebrows. But less fond of her young, optimistic belief in half-formed plots and schemes. There were no what-could-go-wrong moments of self-realization where she winked at her reflection. He loved it in her and hated it in her.
“Because there is no point. I cannot advance in rank.”
“So, you’re just going to push around dirt,” she stopped to criticize his sweeping, “and then sit around on your fancy chair wearing your fancy robe?”
Lavario raised an eyebrow, now far less refined in structure. He was naturally very hirsute, as were most of his kind. Keeping himself groomed to standard was a fuss in which he could no longer indulge. Left to its own devices, his hair had a sense of manifest destiny, stretching east to west across his body. He worried over whether or not arching his eyebrow was more comical than derisive at this point. “I am accepting my situation. It is not going to change anytime soon.”
“Whatever you say, archmage butthurt.” Amber kicked at the plates that littered the cell floor. Dip brought them their food but never bothered to clean up afterward. Stomping and flinging the plates didn’t seem to actually serve to calm her down. She was more frenzied than ever before. She whirled on him. “Do you know what I think?”
The answer to that question was always the same. He had long since stopped asking what and simply responded. “That I am the worst werewolf ever.”
She tilted a thumb-gun at him again. Got it.
His patience snapped. He tossed the broom to the side where it landed with a clap, rattle, clank. “You were living a similar life when I was the pack’s second. By choice. Pretend that you’re not being forced to wear that horrible sweatshirt or eat this terrible food. Pretend I offered you a comfortable bed and you spat in my face and slept on the floor. Pretend I offered you things much better, but you decided to reject each one because I’m a soulless killer whom you will never forgive.”
Instead of a response, she picked up one of the plate shards and heaved it at him. She tossed as many of the broken fragments as she could before collapsing into a corner of the cell to weep. Lavario remained silent, allowing his companion to grieve. Dirt on her face had turned to mud and the jinxed sweatshirt became a makeshift tissue before she was finished. “Why don’t you just kill me? I push you and push you and push you, and you just sit there with that smug expression on your face.”
Lavario disrobed, transformed, and felt the same thrill he always felt as he became wolf, the same joy as whatever being before him gazed on with a mixture of fear, reverence, envy, and loathing. “Tell me again you want to die.” She gasped when he spoke. “Tell me to kill you, and it will be done.”
He did his best not to loom menacingly although he was too tall, too furry, too toothy to do much else. Fear, confusion, horror: her emotions were so different from the persona she presented, the one of a brave woman who could challenge the monster without fear or hesitation. Maybe one day. “I don’t want to live like this.” She whispered it, her eyes wide.
“Command me to end your life, then.”
He sat down beside her, hating the thought of the filth on the floor touching him, and extended his paw. All she had to do was reach out, and he’d pull her to him. Quick and as painless as anyone could ever want. He offered her death on this dirty floor, swaddled in her filthy clothes.
Her lip trembled as she looked at the invitation. It wasn’t what she wanted—Lavario could feel it inside of her, the I-want-to-live undersong of her entire being, so out of sync with everything she’d tried to cultivate—but she reached at out for him, too proud to back down from her folly. Tips of fingers brushed his before she withdrew. One more look at him and she shrugged off all assumed mannerisms and let herself be afraid.
Knees to her chin, eyes puffy and swollen from crying, she gulped out, “I don’t want to die like this either.” She looked directly at him, not something many people did when he was in wolf form. “I’m so scared.”
“I know.” He pulled her to him, using a little more force when she hiccupped before contact. “And I know that I am a monster to you. And I know I do not deserve your forgiveness.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his paw while her mucus coiled through his perfect black fur. Grief gumbo. He heard her call it that before—something her mother had called it. Lavario did his best to not to notice the dirt, the goo, the mess. This was not the way a guardian was meant to live.
“What’s up with this?” Amber picked up the picture of Tovin, which fell to the ground when he took off his robe. Another thing he got to keep. Lucky, lucky him. “You keeping this around is kind of creepy, stalker wolf.”
Were there any other types of wolves other than stalker wolves? Lavario didn’t think so. “It is a missed opportunity at the moment.”
“An opportunity for what exactly?”
“To feel happiness again, however briefly.”
For once, she didn’t say anything. Hatred was there, percolating brain to heart. Pity and compassion worked their way through, too. Upon mixing, both turned to guilt. To honor the memory of those she lost, she didn’t want to feel complex emotions toward their killer. He rubbed the ridge of her brow with his thumb, careful with his claw. She’d be a fine hypocrite yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: WHAT THEY DIDN’T GET TO KEEP
A muted scream from an unknown source woke Lavario. It wasn’t Amber, so he paid it little mind. Always tormented by their horrible living conditions, the redundancies moaned and wailed through the night. The
y were the humans the Vercolac kept in case they needed another. By now Lavario could grit his teeth and sleep through their torment. Another scream. And another. At this point, his companion should be on edge—her brain waves an onslaught—but none of her emotions came to him. She had to be too far away, dead, or sleeping peacefully through the commotion.
Lavario’s eyes swooped open. His other senses took over when he only saw broken plates scattered the floor of the cell, no Amber. Ears rotated. Rats skittered around him, the redundancies a few cells over moaned, but he didn’t hear the sound of Amber’s voice. He inhaled deeply, catching her scent. And Mazgan’s. Despite the fact he knew that the Alpha Guardian wanted him to get angry at this point, a low growl escaped from his throat and he felt his hackles rise, claws extend, and ears flatten so that the tips overlapped on the back of his skull. Success. He was livid.
Not totally knowing what he was going to do, Lavario flung open the gate to his cell and marched toward the scent of his young companion.
“Lavario,” Amber’s voice, tight and strained, cut through the fog of anger.
Mazgan held her by the arm, twisting her entire body upward so that she had to stand on her tiptoes. Her sweatshirt was gone, tossed to the floor beside her. Her short, curly hair was matted down with sweat. Blood seeped out of welts where claws penetrated her flesh. She must have been standing there for a bit now. Some of the blood was dry, new branches veined from the wounds, trickling down to her elbow where the blood pooled and dripped to the floor below. Her undershirt was soaked.
Mazgan beamed. “Welcome. I was about to show your young slave what she has to look forward to.” He twisted her arm again. The woman gritted her teeth but made no sound. “Dip tells me you two had a moment last night.”
He felt his hackles rise even farther. Of course Mazgan would put an end to any peace between him and his servant. Her emotions were bound up with his. Her peace was his peace.
The Worst Werewolf Page 15