Fangs

by Anna Katmore

  “I have to. It’s not like I have a choice,” she mumbles. But then she cuts a sideways glance at Trayan. “I agreed to go to Scotland with him.”

  “You’re leaving?” I blurt in shock.

  Rosemarie nods. “He pressured me about it the past couple of weeks. I hate to leave everything behind, but after last night, I believe it’s best if I learn how to control my wolf side in a place where I can’t jump at the throat of friends or family members.”

  “When?”

  She presses her lips together, so it’s Trayan who gives me an answer. “We booked a flight for tomorrow morning.”

  My hand flies to my chest. “So soon?”

  “The sooner she gets away from here, the better. It’ll only be for a couple of months.”

  I can understand that she doesn’t want to risk biting her aunt or anyone else here, but realizing that I won’t see her for the rest of the summer forms a lump in my throat. And once she comes back, I’ll have to go home to Norwich again to get through my A-levels. We won’t see each other until Christmas.

  “Hey, don’t look so sad.” Rosemarie takes my hand, tearing me out of my regret. A gleam of confidence enters her eyes. “I’ll make a stop at your place on my way home from Scotland when the summer is over.”

  Okay, that sounds like a good way to make up for it. I can show her around Norwich then. “Will this be the last time I see you before you leave?”

  “Are you going to be at the castle later,” she counters, and I nod. “Okay. We’ll head up there after we finish packing. I want to say sorry to Quentin, too. You know, for trying to kill him.” Her funny face when she grimaces makes me giggle.

  Then I frown, too. Did I really just laugh at her black humor? I squeeze my eyes shut. “Jeez, my life is so screwed.”

  Trayan strokes Saby’s head and smirks at me. “You’ll get used to it faster than you think.” In the next moment, he rises and holds out a hand to Rosemarie. “We really should get back now. There’s still a lot to prepare before the journey.”

  He helps her up, and I get to my feet, too, lifting Sabretooth with me. Rosemarie hugs me briefly and croaks into my ear, “See you later, Abby.”

  I nod, and a melancholic sigh escapes me as they leave through the front gate, heading off down the road.

  *

  I wait until the burning afternoon sun has moved farther to the west and twilight sets in before I get up from my spot under the apple tree and tell Nana that I’m going to see Quentin.

  “Don’t stay too long,” she begs me, obviously not happy letting me wander off into the unknown.

  “Don’t worry. The real danger is over,” I assure her, and she nods, patting my cheek.

  “Just don’t play any stupid vampire games up there,” she snickers. “You’ve had enough of his blood to last a month.”

  I roll my eyes. “Nana!”

  She pushes a small, plastic box into my hands. “Apple strudel,” she explains at my curious look. “Please tell him thanks for saving your life last night.”

  I know he doesn’t need to eat human food, even though he seemed to enjoy the taste of the dessert when I brought him some once, so I take the box with a smile. A second later, my eyebrows furrow to a skeptical line. “You didn’t put garlic in there, did you?”

  Nana laughs and, without a word, goes back into the house.

  Okay…

  Shaking my head, I start off to the castle, still feeling a little too warm at being outside, even if the sun allergy has definitely lessened since this morning. I don’t make it ten steps when a soft meow stops me. Frowning, I pivot to find the fluffy little tiger traipsing after me, ears and tail pointed straight up.

  “What?” I groan and squat in the street. Saby jumps onto my thighs and then places his front paws on my chest, straining his neck. With a lawn-mower-like purr, he rubs his face against my chin. “You know where I’m going, don’t you?” I accuse him. “And you want to see him again.”

  The furry muzzle keeps nudging my jaw until I rise with the kitten and put him into the hood of my sweater. “Buckle in, tiger.” Giggling, I walk on while Saby makes himself comfortable behind my neck.

  At the castle, I rap the knocker once against the door for the usual warning and then carefully slip through. The hall is free of candles but illuminated by the warm hearth fire. A cozy feeling wants to settle over me until my gaze snags on the open coffin in front of it. Good grief!

  I shriek and jump back as Quentin rises from the casket. He looks a lot happier than I do when he sees me. And less nauseous.

  “Abigail!” Stepping out of the coffin as if it’s a freaking bathtub, he comes closer. While I’m still trying to figure out how to calm my racing heart, he reaches for my hands and then pulls me into a gentle but needy hug, croaking, “You’re alive!”

  His familiar scent of adventure and protection drifts up my nose and soothes my mind. I manage a small smile of relief. “As opposed to being undead?” I tease as I lift my head to look into his eyes.

  His features relax into a smirk. He releases me and carefully slides the shades off my face. “Undead, dead, a wolf…whatever.” Folding the sunglasses, he places them on the mantelpiece and then cups my cheeks with both hands. Without wasting another second, he presses a quick kiss to my mouth that obviously surprises him just as much as it does me. A small apology sparkles in his blue eyes when he inches back. “How do you feel?” he whispers.

  “A lot better…now.”

  His lips curve into an easy smile, and then he touches his forehead to mine, still holding my face.

  “Nana says thanks for saving my life last night,” I tell him rather hoarsely, clasping the plastic box between us. “She sent you apple strudel.”

  Quentin looks down and grins. “I do like the taste of it.”

  “If you like what’s in the box, just wait ‘til you see what’s hiding in my hood.”

  Tilting his head slightly, he scrutinizes me through curious slits. His warm hand wanders from my cheek over my neck and down to my shoulder blades. An absolutely stunning laugh escapes him when he retrieves the little tiger and presses a kiss to his flat head.

  While Quentin cuddles the kitten to his chest, I put the apple strudel on the table by the wingback chair and give the eerie casket a quick once-over. I can deal with all sorts of paranormal creatures, but jeez, that thing still creeps me out. “Why did you bring it up from the dungeon? Is something wrong with your bedroom?”

  The way Quentin suddenly looks at me, with his lips compressed as he draws in an oddly deep sigh, starts a rather uncomfortable prickle in my stomach. “There’s something I have to tell you. You don’t need to be afraid but—”

  “Your uncle is up now,” a hoarse old voice drifts from the stairs and shocks the living dead out of me. I take a jump back, right into the wingback chair, and knock it over with my impact.

  Quentin drops the cat into the coffin and rushes to my side, helping me up, but my eyes are glued to the old man with shocking white hair and a frock coat standing on the upper landing. “Huh…” An indefinable sound leaves me.

  The ancient penguin raises his bushy eyebrows at me, apparently no less curious, just a little less shocked. His gaze then returns to Quentin. “He wants to know if it’s fine that you take the return flight tomorrow morning.”

  Wait! What?

  Squeezing my hands, Quentin hesitates a second. I swallow, close to sobbing because it’s suddenly so hard to get air into my lungs. “What’s going on here? Who is this man?” I croak, searching Quentin’s sad eyes.

  “He’s my uncle’s butler.”

  “Your…what?”

  “Master Quentin?” the man prompts again.

  From the look in Quentin’s eyes, it appears as if he’s processing a million things right now, all of them leading to one decision. “Yes,” he finally says over his shoulder after an endless silence. The old man disappears with a nod.

  Quentin is leaving? Flying home? Tomorrow? A painful stin
g explodes in my chest. But then an even more acute panic grips me at what he just revealed. I suck in air in shaky breaths. “Your uncle is here?”

  Quentin nods.

  “Dracula?” The word wrenches from my clamped throat.

  “Listen,” he says quietly, and the pressing urge in his voice makes me shiver. “He’ll come down any minute now after hearing you’re here. You cannot tell him about Rose—”

  “Oh, you must be Abigail,” a deep, melodic voice slithers over me, cutting Quentin off. My terrified gaze snaps upstairs, where I look into the delighted face of a man who’s been dead for six hundred years.

  Chapter 30

  Mexican stand-off

  Quentin

  Fuck!

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief moment and then turn to face my uncle, who stands on the landing. With one hand on the rail, he walks down, his movements fluid and graceful, clearly the true prince of this castle.

  Abby’s fingers shake in mine. They’re ice-cold, and her gulp echoes off the stone walls. When my uncle stops in front of us—admittedly with the friendliest smile I’ve ever seen upon his face—he holds out his hand to Abby in a polite way. She just grips mine harder.

  “Hello, Abby. I’m Vladimir,” he utters in greeting, which doesn’t really make things any better for me. Abigail’s going to crush my bones if I can’t slip free right now. I use my other hand to pry her fingers loose, but her body is stiff as a board. She’s so not going to shake hands with the great Dracula.

  Uncle V looks down as I try to extricate myself from her deathlike grip and then compresses his lips in some sort of discomfort. He certainly isn’t used to people—humans—becoming utterly horrified in his presence. Because they usually don’t know what he is. His gaze zooms to me for advice. Damn, all I can offer is a helpless shrug.

  Abby’s mouth drops open, and some incoherent sounds come from her throat as she presses against me. Feeling her horrified shivers, I don’t budge but place my hands gently on both of her arms. She’d probably back away into the wall behind us and flee through the chimney if I let her. Sorry, not a chance.

  When my uncle bends and picks up the fallen chair, I wonder if he moves this slowly so as not to scare her even more. He lowers onto the armrest and innocently folds his hands on his thigh, keeping his expression friendly and his eyes warm as he watches her. “Why don’t you relax a little, Abigail? No one’s going to hurt you here.”

  Holy bat shit! The voice he uses on her stops my heart. He wants to get inside her head—his last resort to make her feel comfortable with him. A layer of goosebumps spreads over my skin. Damn, if he does that, she’ll start projecting. And the devil knows what kind of shit she’ll reveal about the werewolves! She’ll seal their fate and ensure their death sentence.

  Sleep! I command her mind in utter panic. Abigail’s eyes roll back in her skull, and immediately, her body slackens, falling forward right into Uncle Vlad’s arms. He catches her, frowning at me.

  “Could be I fucked up her brain a little by practicing too much,” I answer with a sheepish grimace. “Happens all the time.”

  My uncle cocks a brow. I take a step back, my lips sealed. Gently, he lowers Abby to the wingback chair and then confronts me with a low grumble. “Quentin—”

  A short rap on wood interrupts him. Both of our heads snap to the opening door where Rosemarie bounds in with a happy smile as she shouts for Abby. Clearly before she took a look around. And then all hell breaks loose when her gaze snags on my uncle, and she bursts into a huge, white wolf. A high-pitched yowl breaks free from her throat, her wolf face frozen in horror. Her paws row and skitter on the stone floor for purchase, trying to halt herself as she comes careening toward us.

  Appalled, my uncle swipes out his arm, and Rosemarie flies through the hall, knocking the casket closed as she and the coffin crash into the wall next to the mantel.

  “No!” I yell, running to her aid, but I’m not the only one. Trayan came in right after her.

  “What the hell!” my uncle’s enraged roar resonates through the castle as the wolf lies motionless on the floor. A fireball appears above his palm. Fuck, he’s going to incinerate her! Except, the fire extinguishes a split-second later, and my uncle doubles over with a painful groan as a sharpened stake zooms past me and embeds deep into his stomach.

  My heart stops for a moment, my gaze darting all over the place, searching for where the fuck Trayan pulled the wooden pale from. There’s barely enough time for me to take a breath, because he snatches a dagger from his boot, slices his arm, and is behind me before my uncle can even straighten again. Trayan winds my arm behind my back and presses the bloodied tip of the blade to my throat. Holy hell! One scratch and it’s game over.

  Breathing smoke, my uncle tears the wooden weapon from his stomach and throws it aside. The stake clatters toward the corner. He gets ready for a final blow to end the wolf, but Trayan’s deathly calm voice makes him freeze. “Hold it if you want your nephew to live through the night.”

  I swallow and croak, “Whoa, easy there.”

  “Sorry, pal,” he growls, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

  Moving might be the worst thing I could do right now. Mind control doesn’t work with a werewolf, and I damn well hope my uncle will get his temper under control for once. When his hard glare finds us through his disheveled black hair, he grips the backrest of the chair with one blood-smeared hand right next to Abby’s head for support until the wound in his stomach is healed.

  “Darling, is everything all right? I heard—” My aunt’s question from upstairs breaks off with a terrified shriek. She claps her hands to her mouth and then rushes forward, down the stairs.

  “Stay there!” Uncle V shouts, holding out his other hand to stop her. When she freezes at his fierce command, his head slowly turns back to Trayan. “You cannot kill a vampire with a knife.”

  “No,” Trayan snarls from behind me. “But with wolf blood, I can quite well.”

  A weak laugh escapes me as I murmur over my shoulder, “Truce, huh?”

  “Hey—” His breath brushes the back of my neck. “You protect your girl, I protect mine.”

  Well, seen from that point of view, the method is quite effective.

  My uncle still hasn’t moved.

  With all the panic in the room, my hold on Abby’s mind slips, and she slowly comes awake next to him. Her eyes open and then snap wide as she takes in the situation and jumps from the chair. I try to make her focus on me and slowly shake my head. “Don’t do anything stupid now, Abigail. Just don’t move,” I beg her because there’s no time to get into her head while she’s in shock.

  “The same goes for you,” Reginald’s furious warning drifts down to us. Four heads spin toward my aunt on the stairs where she gathered backup from the butler—who’s aiming a goddamn crossbow at me. “Unless you want a silver arrow between your eyes, I suggest you let the boy go.” On second thought, I’m not his target.

  Trayan is.

  “No, Reg. No!” I growl. The bloody knife at my throat freaks me out a little, but it’s Rosemarie’s life assurance. The only chance she has. So, I take a slow half turn to the right, shielding Trayan with my body.

  “Quentin…” Ellie squeaks in horror, gripping the handrail for support.

  “It’s all right,” I assure her, and then I address the butler with a look that accepts no contradiction. “Take my aunt back to her room.”

  The tension in the room feels close to exploding. “Sir?” he addresses my uncle uncertainly.

  “You heard what he said, Reginald.”

  The old man takes Aunt Ellie by her arm and leads her upstairs, ignoring her protests. As they disappeared down the corridor, I lock gazes with Abby. “Come over here. Right now.”

  Her knees shake as she reluctantly obeys and crosses to us. Good. I just want to make sure Count Dracula doesn’t use the same kind of game as the werewolf behind me.

  When she’s safely out of his reach, I start mo
ving backward, closer to the wall where the white wolf still lies. Trayan’s iron hold of my arm eases, but the dagger stays in place. Wise decision. I look at my uncle, who finally seems to grasp what’s going on. “I’m sorry,” I tell him honestly, but without regret for my actions.

  “I believe the story about burning the berserk wolf wasn’t exactly the truth.”

  “Look, she’s made a few mistakes, but she’s not as dangerous as you think. Trayan has it under control. He’ll take her away from here.”

  Uncle V’s eyes narrow at the calm shifter behind me, and suddenly, understanding dawns in them. Straightening to his full, intimidating height again, he crosses his arms over his chest. “You are Trayan MacCorbin. Alpha of the Loch Ruthven pack, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” comes the stone-cold and yet respectful answer from behind my shoulder.

  The wound in my uncle’s torso has healed completely, only his clothes are disgustingly soaked. “I heard you’re a good fighter.”

  “Fighting is what made me leader of the pack. Being diplomatic is what keeps me in that position.” Trayan takes a slow breath. “I don’t want anyone in here to get hurt, but I can’t let you kill this wolf.”

  “She crossed some lines that require punishment.”

  “So did your heir. Or is it allowed now to drag humans into vampire affairs without reassurance that they won’t talk?”

  My uncle’s unreadable look finds me. “He’s going to set that right as soon as this situation is under control. Abigail won’t remember anything by the time we leave.”

  Trayan laughs coolly. “Oh, that’s what you think.”

  Point for the wolf. I’m not going to take away any memories of the past week and my time with Abby. Unless she wants me to…which I hope she doesn’t.

  “Abigail,” Trayan says with a firm voice. When she gapes at him with deep fear in her eyes, he commands, “You have to change Rosemarie back into a human now.”

  “Me?” she squeaks. “How?”