by C. D. Gorri
Thomas Family Farms was owned and operated by a bunch of young Werewolves from the South. They were strictly organic farmers and their produce was top quality. So far, he was thrilled with the product. Summer Bite spent the past four years aging in barrels and was finally ready for sale!
The honey was also organic and locally acquired right there in New Jersey. It gave an appropriate sweetness to the liquor that made the taste buds sing. It reminded Mason of the summertime.
Well, one particular summer, when the taste of honey on his lips had been sweet and full of promise. But it had been taken away from him. Sweetness replaced with a sharp pain in his chest. Hence the name, Summer Bite .
He must be getting sentimental in his old age. Though at thirty-one, he was hardly old. Especially for a Werewolf. The resulting liquor was citrusy and youthful, light and sweet, but with rich undertones that even the staunchest whiskey drinker could appreciate. It was perfect for the season.
“Ms. Freemont, as I’ve told you before, Bite , is a sophisticated liquor. This is artisan crafted whiskey, not a six-pack of strawberry-kiwi wine coolers! I will not have my brand associated with that garbage you just showed me. Tell them to try again or we’ll find another ad agency.”
“I did that already, Mr. Lane. I even asked around for a few rival agencies to come up with some story boards and-”
“ And?! ”
“And they’re worse.” Ms. Freemont averted her eyes when delivering the news to him, as a Werewolf herself, she knew better than to confront a more dominant Wolf such as Mason.
He admired her candor. She didn’t cower, she told him news he didn’t want to hear and got away with it by simply affording him the respect due his position. She was bright, well educated, and she was doing a great job.
She wasn’t bad on the eyes either, but he had no interest in that direction. He was glad he’d promoted her. He didn’t regret the decision yet, but this ad was subpar and she knew it.
“I’ll sit down with the director myself tomorrow morning, sir, and see if we can’t do better.”
“Thank you, Ms. Freemont.”
She left his office quietly. Mason lifted the newly bottled and wax sealed Summer Bite in his hand. The logo was the same as the original, Bite. The single word Bite was large and in bold, written in a 17 th century font, like handwriting, but the i was designed to look like a large fang.
It was edgy and smart. It catered to the times and if Mason got a kick out of the little double entendre, more the better. The word Summer was much smaller in comparison, but in the same gold font.
The label itself for this bottle was orange-hued, like the sunset. He approved the design wholeheartedly. He was amazed; however, that it was created, as all his labels were, by the same company who now gave him bikini bimbos on a beach for an ad campaign. Was this 1988? What the heck were they thinking? Mason shook his head.
The bottom line was all well and good, but he refused to cheapen the label he’d put his whole heart and soul into. No, he wanted something different. He opened the bottle and poured it into the crystal tumbler that sat on his desk.
He swirled the amber colored liquor around and inhaled the fragrance. Rose water, orange zest, lemon juice, rye, barley, and honey. He’d added the rose water later to balance the flavors. His heightened senses picked up on the fragrance and he frowned with his eyes closed. Abigail.
The dark-haired beauty left ten long years ago, but he still remembered the way she smelled and tasted. How she’d leapt into his arms from her bedroom window and gave him the most precious gift she had in the back seat of his pick-up truck on a rainy summer night.
He ached with the memories of how her cool skin felt against him. He could still hear the sound of her pants and moans in the close quarters with the patter of the rain surrounding them. He’d given her everything he’d had, but it hadn’t been good enough. She’d left him. She didn’t even come back when her father died six months ago.
When he’d bought Hector Vicente’s distillery after the man had a stroke some eight years ago, Mason had little money. With the backing of his Pack’s young Alpha, Rafe Maccon, he was able to stake his claim. The terms were made and the deal signed.
He owned eighty-percent of Vicente Spirits and the distillery outright. The other twenty percent was leased to him by Hector, whom he paid a yearly stipend to. It made it possible for him to live out the remainder of his life in relative comfort.
The man agreed that he would give back that twenty percent in his will after he passed away from the cancer that was slowly killing him. It was a brain tumor that had caused his stroke, and ever since he was diagnosed he’d lost the will to live.
Mason did what he could to comfort him, but the man had been bitter and angry. He’d often ramble about the family he’d lost and how his wife had tricked him. Like mother, like daughter.
Mason was not a particularly demonstrative person, but he made sure Hector had good care and things around him that gave him the most comfort. That had included a baby picture of Abigail. Even as a child she’d had striking black hair and soft green eyes. She always was a beauty.
“The company will be yours, Mason, but forgive me. Learn from my mistakes,” Hector had whispered to Mason on his death bed.
It had saddened Mason that his last words were about business. As it was, the cancer must’ve addled his mind long before the signs had been visible. Mason never checked the will, he’d had no right or reason too having taken the man at his word.
It was quite the shock when Hector’s lawyer informed him that he was not the benefactor of that last crucial twenty percent of the business. After all that time, Mason had been played by another member of the Vicente family.
After six months in escrow, Mason’s lawyers finally got back to him with an answer. The will would stand up in court. Mason had no chance in hell at fighting it. The only way to get full ownership and control of the company was to find the one person he never wanted to see again and get her to sign it over to him.
He’d cursed Hector and his own rotten luck when he’d discovered this. He couldn’t believe that everything he’d worked for was being threatened by her . He had to find her, he had to convince her to release her claim on Lane Liquors Corporation.
Mason Lane needed Abigail Vicente.
CHAPTER 2
Ten years. Ten long years. Oh well, there is no turning back now, Abigail, just keep driving.
Abigail Vicente turned around and looked at the back of her recently acquired mini-van. The tinted windows were closed. She was certain no one could see inside the backseat to her sleeping nine-year old son, Oliver. She’d do anything to keep him safe.
The drive from Canada to the Jersey Shore took about half a day. A plane had carried them from the small Alaskan town where she’d lived the past ten years to Ottawa. That’s where she’d bought the slightly used minivan from a small car lot.
She hated commercial airlines and there was no way she’d be able to stand being stuck on a train. So, she’d decided to get a vehicle and drive the rest of the way. That way they’d make their own schedule.
Poor Oliver was wiped out. He finally fell asleep a little while ago and was currently snoring softly. She glanced at her sweet boy in the rearview mirror and worried her lower lip with her teeth. Was she making a mistake?
Too late now , the words echoed in her mind as she pulled into the familiar driveway of the eight-bedroom house where she grew up. She’d almost forgotten how big and beautiful it was.
The ocean scented breeze drifted into her nostrils and she closed her eyes and let it seep into her bones. It’s fate , she decided. Fate sent her home.
She stepped out of the car and squinted at the sun. When she opened them, she realized that up close, the house looked terrible. Neglected and unloved.
The rose bushes that once surrounded the big, old manse were overgrown and completely wasted. The buds were half torn apart by the salt and the breeze. Tears stung her eyes as she pict
ured them how they’d once been. They’d need to be cut back soon, and some would have to be replaced.
The brick-face was also damaged in places and the windows were filthy. It was as if the place had been abandoned. In a way, she supposed it had been. Oh Daddy, I wish it could’ve been different.
She still had mixed feelings about the man who’d raised her. Her father had been strict, but loving in his own way. Her last night in this house had been a revelation, and not a good one. But he was gone now, and she wouldn’t waste her time with regrets.
She had Oliver to think about. It was going to take a lot of work to get the house back to its former splendor. She sighed and rolled her shoulders. Abigail wasn’t afraid of hard work.
Ten years, the voice of her past spoke in her mind’s eye, but she shook her head and walked silently forward . Yes , she acknowledged, it had been a long time since she’d stepped foot inside the place of her birth. She wondered if the ghosts of her past would still haunt her now that she was back?
She dug the key out from the hideaway rock where her father always kept a spare. Abigail listened as it clicked in place. She turned it until it unlocked and grit her teeth at the whine of the hinges when the door creaked open.
The smell of dust and stale air greeted her as she held they heavy mahogany door wide. Ugh , she hoped the central air still worked. It was early June, but the summer months could be brutally hot in New Jersey. Just like she remembered. Even in the rain.
She wondered if he would even see her. Would he make the trip, or would he send a lackey with her father’s papers and things? After all, she’d discovered her father’s death through a terse message sent from some estate lawyer to the email account she’d had in high school. Nothing from Mason himself.
She was embarrassed to say she still logged in sometimes to read the old emails they sent to each other. Once upon a time . The world had been different back then. Oh, Mason, will you ever forgive me?
Her heart ached when she thought of him now. Ten years and it was like yesterday. The pain and crushing despair she’d felt when her father had told her she was being sent away was still fresh in her mind and her heart.
Would she ever stop feeling the loss of Mason Lane? He must have moved on by now. Surely, he was married to the perfect wife and had three kids and a dog. A lab.
A man with so much to give would never remain alone. Not for a decade. Especially not after what she’d done to him. He was the only thing she ever regretted.
Not him, per se , but hurting him. She’d never intended to break his heart, but it was an impossible situation. She’d already known of her father’s plans the night she went to Mason, but she couldn’t have possibly imagined what the future had had in store for her. One thing remained true, her stubborn heart had never stopped loving him.
The image of him with a day’s worth of stubble on his chin, his hair mussed, his dark eyes bright with passion was forever engraved in her mind. Abigail felt the familiar pain squeeze inside of her chest whenever she’d pictured him.
It was her constant companion ever since she left. More so when she discovered she was pregnant with Mason’s child. Her son. Oliver.
He’d often asked about his father and Abby told him all the things she remembered about him. Which was everything . How could she ever forget the only man she’d ever loved? She’d often told Ollie that his father was handsome like him, and loyal, funny, and smart. Most of all, she told him that she’d loved him with her whole heart.
Not that Mason would believe her if she’d ever told him that. He probably wouldn’t even care that she’d returned home. It’s better this way. It was, truly.
That way Ollie would be protected from the same pain and fear she felt. Fear of rejection . It was no way for a child to live. She’d much rather he’d never meet his father, than have him face the same cruel disdain that her own father had felt towards her.
No , she would do anything to protect Ollie from that. Mason would never know that the precious boy who slept in the back of the old minivan was his. He’d never know what she was or why she was sent away the second her father had discovered what they’d done.
“You must leave here sooner than I thought! He will never let you go now that he’s had you, Abigail! Why did you do this to the both of you?”
“But I love him! Maybe I could tell him the truth? You said I could manage the hunger!”
“No! You can never tell him! You must go now, away from here. Leave Abigail, if you love Mason you must protect him! Make sure he never finds you! Here your mother left this phone number for you before she died. She never explained what would happen exactly, only that you would need to be trained.”
She left that night under a cloud of sadness that threatened to choke the life out of her. A commercial plane took her all the way Washington State. From there a she boarded a small charter flight to a tiny settlement just north of Sitka, Alaska where members of her mother’s clan met her on the runway. Their native language was still strange to her, but their name roughly translated to The White Hand .
Abigail Vicente was something she had only ever read about in fiction novels. She was a Dhampir . A half-Vampire. Her mother was one too. The genetic anomaly passed from parent to child.
Abigail was born a Dhampir. She couldn’t change the fact. Nowadays, she didn’t want to, but she recalled how desperately she wished for a different path back then. All the ifs and buts in the world could not change who and what she was, she understood that now.
The people she was sent to live with were like her. A clan of Dhampir warriors trained to kill rogue Vampires, mainly Hunter Vampires , who had lost all semblance of their humanity. Those rogues and Hunter Vamps were deadly creatures. Wickedly fast, inhumanly strong, and ravenously hungry for the one thing they desired above all. Blood . Human blood.
Dhampirs were the answer to their brutality. Trained in the art of war, they excelled in all areas of combat, but most especially with swords, knives, and axes. Anything with a blade really. After all, the quickest most efficient way to kill a Vampire was decapitation.
Abigail knew that now. She’d learned to fight with swords and knives. She excelled at several branches of martial arts. She was given the same skills handed down from one generation to the next over thousands of years.
The clan numbered in the hundreds, but she was surprised to discover there were thousands of clans like hers in the United States alone. That number climbed into the tens of thousands across the world.
Abigail had a lot to learn about the supernatural, but she’d always been a good student and a quick learner. Being a Dhampir meant that she was faster and stronger than ever before. She’d live longer too, by hundreds of years if she took care.
She was a creature unlike anything she’d ever heard about. It was not such a bad life, but still, her heart squeezed painfully in her chest whenever she thought of the girl she’d been before her transformation. With him. She could never tell him what she was, what their son would inevitably become. It was forbidden.
Where her father had sought to hide the knowledge of who she was, Abigail shared everything with Oliver. Of course, she had to learn her Dhampiric history from the clan as she knew nothing of her nature before arriving there. What she did learn, she shared with her son.
Dhampirs weren’t always so noble in their cause. They used to slaughter any and all Vampires that they came across. Guilty or not, entire clans of Vampires were wiped out. However, with the advent of modern technology and advances in civilization, their creed changed.
Not all Vampires were evil. That was simply a fact. Therefore, Dhampirs no longer practiced mass genocide among their brethren. There were treaties in place. Peace treaties and alliances made in the past hundred years or so to ensure the secret that they all shared, that of their supernatural existence, was kept safe. All out wars were no longer advisable.
Abigail learned a lot during her time in the frozen North. She became something of a diplomat att
ending meetings with Vampire Councils, as The White Hand did twice annually.
She’d listened carefully. She’d talked when spoken to, but mainly she’d observed. Her mind was quick and strong. She’d absorbed everything, offering alternative options and solutions to problems as they’d risen.
She was surprised she was taken seriously at first, but soon she discovered she was an asset to them. Her life in the outside world was unique and, therefore, valuable.
They’d been living away from modern normals for far too long to understand their ways. Abigail taught them what she knew about science and technology, and most of all, about what was socially acceptable. Things that would help them blend in when their travels took them close to humankind.
Abigail wanted Ollie to have the advantage of that knowledge. It was important to her that he understood the difference between right and wrong. So, she worked and she listened. And when it was time, she left.
Everything she did was for her son.
CHAPTER 3
Mason uncrossed his arms as he sat at his desk. It was eight o’clock. His employees were long gone, and he was left alone in the offices of Lane Liquors Corporation, with the exception of a stray guard or two. He should leave, but what did he have to go back to?
A cold empty condo on the beach. Sure, it had a nice view, but what was the point? He had no one to share it with. Besides, this time of year the beach was crawling with couples and families. Every time he saw one, it was like a knife in the gut.
He’d been alone most of his life. He turned up in Maccon City as a kid. After struggling with his first Change, he’d garnered the attention of an older Werewolf in the Pack. The guy had helped him get emancipated from the state and set him up at the little motel he’d lived at until his late twenties.
He was fine with all of that. Mason made his peace with his parents’ death a long time ago. But he cursed the day he took Abigail Vicente home in his pick-up truck. His blood still burned with anger at the thought of the woman who stole his heart and changed him forever.