by Lisa Daniels
“Brother, you must sit! Don't move around and don't be dumb. Are the others okay?”
Evo shook his head stubbornly. “I have to go back out. The others are fine. We had to put down a werewolf. He was... chasing the two we're bringing in now. He... bit some humans. Which I think you're aware of.” Her brother's light blue eyes slid over the human. “I have to go clean up. Check no one else saw.”
Before Frey could add to the matter, she heard the entrance door clang open again. She strode into the entrance to see four werewolves, with two new additions to the family.
One resembled a bloody rag, and lay unconscious in human form. Her green dress hung in tatters, and her skin mottled purple, red and black from whatever horrors inflicted upon it. Her puffed up face lolled to the side of another werewolf, also in human shape. He clung to the unconscious female as if she was the most precious thing in the world, and whispered into her ear. Emma and Horace flanked them, both sporting crimson muzzles, the thick liquid dripping onto the floor.
“I'm gonna need a cigarette,” Frey said.
Chapter Two
Yanus held vigil by his sister's bed, refusing to leave. It tore him up inside to see her as a shell of her former beauty, to have her lie in a small bed breathing pain, waiting for her werewolf healing to kick in and to swallow up the injuries that would kill a normal human twice over.
I'm so sorry, Luelle. I'm so sorry. He raised a shaky hand and stroked his sister's matted black hair, soul shriveling as he examined the extent of her injuries.
When his sister had gone all those years ago to be married to a Russian werewolf, he never imagined seeing her again like this. That cheerful little Armanev girl, a member of one of the proud noble families, reduced to a battered slip of a creature, a shadow of the laughter she had once been.
“You're safe now. You're safe. He'll never have you back.” He crooned the words to his sister, but she lay deep in unconsciousness, oblivious to his comfort. How many years had she endured, with that horror of a man, who had been all sweet smiles and promises to their family, exchanging children – only to then ensnare her in a domestic hell?
The black woman sauntered into the hotel room, tucking away a lighter into her pocket. Yanus examined her, detecting a strange odor emanating from her skin, a mix of honey and peaches. It also came with something else – the faint tang of rust under her skin, not quite wolf-like, but not quite human either.
Light brown irises stared from her face, accentuated by wide cheekbones, a gently sloping curve to her chin, and long eyelashes over hooded, lazy eyelids. The woman smiled, and dimples pinched in on either side of her mouth. For a moment, Yanus found himself distracted by the unexpected display of beauty.
“Hey,” she said, in a husky voice, folding her arms as she approached the bed and scrutinized his sister. “Welcome to the Springmoon Hotel. Anything you need, we'll try to help with. Though I suspect your sister just needs time, food and drink.”
“Thank you.” Yanus examined the girl with the peculiar smell for a little while longer. What was it about her? He knew she wasn't a werewolf. She didn't have the eyes, or the scent – but there was something different. He turned back to his sister, immensely annoyed and ashamed of his focus drifting onto the woman instead of his sister. After everything Luelle had gone through, she at least deserved his love and care.
“I'm Frey Radev.”
Radev. Have I heard that name before? “Yanus Armanev.”
He saw Frey's expression darken at the mention of his ancient family name. “Ah, yes. My father and mother thought highly of the Armanevs. Then again, my father used to go pretty crazy over anyone of noble heritage.”
Now Yanus thought he realized where the odd displacement of Frey's scent came from. “You were born to two werewolves?”
Frey smiled at this, but it was a thin, loveless curl of her lips. “Yes.”
“Oh.” She didn't need to say anything else. A history of resentment and discrimination lathered itself in the tone of her voice. “I had no idea that was even possible.”
“Neither did my parents.” Frey's fingers started twitching, a nervous habit Yanus often identified with smokers. Frey then studied Yanus for a long time, her eyes searching his body, lingering at his exposed collarbone. He felt as if he was standing in a spotlight, ready to talk to an audience of spectators, and his heart thudded a little faster.
“What happened to your sister?” Frey stopped clenching her fist and closed the distance, now crouching beside the bed. Yanus took this opportunity to scour Frey's simple white blouse and black pants with his eyes, and over the subtle hint of cleavage the frills of the blouse revealed. He shook himself out of the distraction with a low growl.
“I'm not sure. She escaped from Russia. Contacted our family to ask for asylum, that she was being chased by her husband. Our mother and father chose to ignore it, because she had a right to her husband, to provide him with children...” Yanus turned to his sister, insides broiling with fury, the kind that melted stone. He honestly wanted to find every last one of those disgusting Koroslav wolves and rip out the throat of their wives, husbands and children. Anyone who condoned an act like this didn't deserve the air they breathed. “They even contacted the husband to tell him where she was.”
Slices of memory rippled through. His baby sister, telling him about her adventures with her friends in the villages, and the human girl she loved. Danniven and Markus and Ordri knocking at his door, asking where Luelle had gone, because no one answered their knocks in the family home. Explaining to them her arranged marriage, and seeing the disappointment on their faces.
She had only been twelve. Far too young to understand love, and the tasks expected of her. Far too naïve to realize the brutality she would be exposed to, that would snatch all the freshness from her youthful body, and leave a beautiful person robbed of all her innocence.
Seeing her again, all those years later, with bruises and gashes upon her skin, stumbling into his arms and begging for him to save her, to take her somewhere safe, before her husband found her again had broken his heart. The rain fell on their clothes, disguising the tears upon her cheeks. It hurt to know how their parents had betrayed her, left her to the cruelty of her marriage because they believed that she likely deserved it.
“If she's run away, son, then he has every right to be angry at her for betraying his trust. You have to punish people when they do bad things, so they learn never to do it again.”
Out of spite, Yanus took out his phone and snapped a picture of his damaged sister, peeling back the covers so her entire fucked up body came into view.
Frey watched him, curious, as he attached the image to a text to his mother and father respectively.
This is what that bastard thinks is rightful treatment of your daughter. He beat and mutilated her. You think someone gets that much abuse because they deserve it?
You think it was her fault that she wanted to run away? You sold her to a monster.
You should be ashamed to be parents.
Frey let out a little gasp as he sent it off. “The werewolf that died in the village. Was that her husband?”
Yanus shook his head. He pictured the werewolf again, screaming at Yanus that he had no right to do this, to take away someone's wife. The disobedient slut after all wanted to avoid her due justice.
Calling her a slut. She's my little sister.
He recalled the bastard lunging at him – the dreadful, howling fight, the rip of fur and teeth snapping at one another's throats. The intervention from the employees of the Springmoon hotel, that strange werewolf sanctuary he had heard about snug at the base of Rila mountain. “Len Koroslav, a son from a previous marriage. We're going to be in for a shitstorm.”
Frey chewed her lip. “We can't keep her here indefinitely, then. Your lot are only a couple of mountains across. And it doesn't sound like they're the sort to break treaties.”
“No,” Yanus agreed. He pulled the covers back under his sister again,
and kissed her cheek, on a yellow, old bruise. “They're not. Thank you for taking us in.”
“No problem. It's what we do. What are your plans?”
Yanus shrugged helplessly, a spasm of fear squeezing his lungs. What would he do?
The Koroslavs would shriek for vengeance once they found out a favorite son had been killed on Bulgarian soil. The noble families would scramble to make peace, fearful of retribution. They might seek to return Luelle and kill Yanus for the blood debt. Worst – the other families might turn on the Armanevs, the same way they turned on the Lubanovs, where only two survivors remained – Nikolai and Danniven.
“We'll keep her here and hidden until she's healed up,” Frey said, hardness in her voice. She took out a cigarette and played with it idly between her fingers. “Set up a false message saying that you've fled the province, intending to make it over to Greece. That'll buy you some time for anyone who comes sniffing. Use it to decide what you will need to do.”
“Thank you,” Yanus said again, immensely grateful. He stared at the strange woman for a while longer, marveling at her beauty, deciding he found the dimples that formed on her cheeks endearing. He wanted to see her smile more. He resolved to find extra excuses to talk to her and drill more into whatever mind lurked behind those features. What thoughts did an impure woman have in a world of werewolves?
Not that he would be entitled to any power to court her more seriously. Being heir to the Armanev dynasty meant nothing if he assisted his sister. Being Mosra Armanev's favorite son meant nothing if he had killed another favorite son.
A slight pang of regret coursed through him. He had to stare at Luelle again, to remind himself that not all was lost.
His little sister lived.
And these Radevs, they had come out of the murk to save him from the fury of Len, blurred forms attacking the rabid werewolf, who had threatened to disturb the peace of Sapareva Sapareva Banya by biting homeless humans in the back alleys, infecting their blood, mind and soul with the vicious cravings of a werewolf, with none of the blessings.
Perhaps he could argue that point, and say the Koroslav had grievously broken laws.
Perhaps his parents would listen.
They never will, he thought, with a throb of realization. Pride is everything to them. Honor is their world.
Taking one last look at Luelle, the churning of his future still mired in Stygian darkness, he gestured to Frey's hand which contained the cigarette. “Come on. Let's get you your smoke. I'll come. There's not much else I can do for her.”
Frey nodded, relief relaxing the creases in her brow. “Sure.”
Yanus smiled, trying to banish the fears at the back of his mind, which threatened to consume him if he spent too long dwelling on the nightmares. He hated this world, honestly. Being chewed between duty and love often meant sacrificing one for the other.
Bulgaria was a place where dreams failed to become reality, and slowly choked the lives of those growing up. It should have become a land of dreams and opportunity, but too many people clung to the old ways, to the things that made others suffer.
It didn't help either that there were many places for monsters to hide.
Chapter Three
Once, Frey dreamed that she would grow up, and the powers that had been denied to her from birth would finally develop. That dream died with age, as did most when she learned how the world really worked. Another dream that vanished was the one where a handsome young werewolf from some obscure noble family would court her, and whisk her away from the pervasive influence of her father and mother.
Right now, she had no idea if her mother was even alive. After her father's death to something common and disgusting as a motorbike accident – he had collided with the car so forcefully that the whiplash severed his brain stem – her mother fell into deep melancholy, which saturated every aspect of the home they once lived in. Her mother turned to human behaviours as well, drinking more, spending evenings staring at family albums and weeping quietly. She neglected chores, often forgot to feed or wash herself, and slid into mental deterioration that no amount of coaxing or love could pull her out of.
Frey watched all this as she came back from school, as she began small time jobs in the mountain resorts, helping Bulgarians and foreigners alike experience the beauty of the mountains and the lakes. Her little brother didn't know how to cope with this black cloud over their home, so he spent more time with his friends after school, more time visiting the other clans.
Leaving for both of them had been a relief, covering the underlying guilt within. Starting their little business had been the best decision Frey ever made in her life.
Only then she could truly peel off the layers of her fractured life and grow as an individual.
Now, she sat smoking with Yanus Armanev outside, knowing somewhere out there her brother and colleagues worked to dispose of the mess created by the attack, to make sure the residents of the town woke up unaware and peaceful, and to eliminate the trace of Yanus and Luelle's trail as much as possible. She studied Yanus, noting the bulk of muscle on his biceps, tapering around his neck and chest in delicious curves. His ghostly emerald eyes had that exhilarating way of delving into a person's secrets – Frey wondered what things he gleaned from her by her mannerisms, her posture, her confident voice. So much could be revealed with so little. You just had to know where to look.
He interested her, admittedly. Past the handsome face, and the presence of his pheromones infusing the air around them, something else piqued at her mind. His concern for his sister reminded Frey of what she exhibited for her little brother. If it had been her brother, running borders to try and escape a life of torment, how would she react?
The only person who gets to hurt Evo in that way is me.
The conviction simmered within her. If anyone harmed her little brother to the extent that Luelle had suffered, dying would be the least of their concerns.
Frey knew she wasn't a nice person. She felt spite, bitterness and hatred as easily as affection, love and kindness. The one thing that kept her true and on the path was the fact she never lied to herself.
Ever.
“What's the worst thing you've ever done to your sister?” Frey asked, huffing out a plume of smoke into the early morning air. She waited for signs of her brother to return, and for any prying humans who might have ventured out of their homes in the cold – though many of them, thanks to the centuries of wolves that dominated this part of the world, still held belief that the devils danced at night.
They're not wrong. Yanus scratched at his chin, thoughtful and a little surprised at her direct question. The smell of mint emanated from his stark white skin, and she unconsciously moved closer to him, to keep mixing in that scent, taking care not to blow her fumes in his face. The burn of smoke in her lungs lay heavy, soothing her as it got sucked in and billowed out. She'd taken up smoking as a distraction back when she was twelve, having heard it could relax people when they felt stressed, and stress tended to be her primary emotion in those days.
She didn't like being reliant on her packs, though, and the way her mind burned if it went without for too long.
“Why do you ask?”
Frey leaned against the wall of the hotel entrance, rolling her cigarette between her fingers. “I love my little brother. I'd die for him. But I can tell you that he took a lot of shit from me growing up as well.”
At this, Yanus smiled, and it illuminated his face, making Frey think of the hidden stars above. Werewolf eyes always had that special quality about them, an iridescence that marked them as something more than human. Those pale green irises however really demanded Frey's attention. When she looked at him, she needed to see those eyes, the shape of the muscles in his cheek, the lines where he smiled and the faint presence of thin white scars on his forehead. Something trembled in her guts, adding extra to the scrutiny.
Absently, her mind started wondering what kind of body lay beneath those clothes, how his strength might feel
if he wrapped his arms around her tightly, with the promise of a pressure that could break bones.
“The worst thing I've ever done to my sister,” he said, causing Frey to lock away her wandering thoughts, “is probably when she was six, and she was having these reoccurring nightmares about faces staring at her from the window at night. The reason why she had those nightmares was because I was standing outside her window wearing a mask.”
“You scared your sister?” Frey said, grinning at the admission. “How bad were the nightmares?”
“She struggled to sleep at night. Became something of an insomniac for a few months.” Yanus watched as Frey lit another cigarette, wrinkling his nose. Self-conscious, Frey moved away.
“Sorry, I know the smoke bothers some people.”
“It's fine.” He flashed an amiable smile. “What's yours, then?”
Frey took a deep drag of her new cigarette. “I tried to kill my brother when he was a few months old.”
Yanus blinked rapidly, face frozen. Carefully, he said, “Why?”
“I hated him.” Frey closed her eyes, the fragments of memory highlighted in her brain. She had never forgotten the hate and rage her little body consumed itself with, but she used it now as kindling, a reminder of what she was capable of feeling, and capable of controlling. “My parents were deeply ashamed of me, having nothing special in my blood. When Evo was born, they adored him. All I saw was that I was ignored. Abandoned. And this squalling, perfect werewolf baby had stolen all the love I should have gotten.” Frey rubbed at her arm, and Yanus followed the motion, seeing dozens of criss-crossing thin white scars on her skin.
“Go on,” he said.
Frey looked into his pale green eyes, which seemed to glow in the darkness. He appeared utterly entranced by her. It made her feel important and confident. “So I went into his room with a knife, held it over him. Then he had to wake up and be all adorable, so I couldn't do it. I ended up putting all my efforts into making him love me.”