FREY'S MATE (Shifters of the Bulgarian Bloodline Book 3)

by Dalia Wright

  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 m
annerisms, 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.”

  “The way you say that – you put yourself in a bad light,” Yanus said.

  Frey frowned disagreement. “No. I tell the truth. I know my motivations. I've never pretended that I had that cute, innocent desire to find love in my brother. I wanted to usurp him from my parents, because I hoped if they saw how much he loved me, maybe they would love me too.”

  A glint of a tear welled behind Frey's left eye. Despite her harsh, flat tone, and the effort to fixate now on a point beyond Yanus, the memory of the emotion conjured up deep-seated pain. The eternal neglect and desperation for her parent's love still radiated on her worst days. “Didn't work. But I got an awesome brother out of it.”

  Yanus gave her a sly glance. “Does your brother know? What you did?”

  “Yes. He knows everything.”

  “For the record,” Evo said suddenly, making Frey jump in surprise and Yanus to shake in silent laughter, “I'm glad she didn't stab me. She's a good sis.”

  “You fuckers.” Frey grinned nonetheless as her brother wrapped her in a hug.

  “Clean up is done now.” Evo shook Yanus's hand firmly. “We'll look after you for as long as we can, Armanev. Keep your head low in our hotel, though. You'll have people seeking you.”

  “Thanks.” Yanus met Evo's icy blue eyes. Then, he gave a wicked smile. “So. Is your sister single?”

  Frey almost dropped her cigarette as Evo replied, “Oh, yup. Please, by all means, take her. She can do with some lightening up.”

  “I'm a funny woman. Full of humor and laughter. I don't need any lightening up.”

  Evo gave her a long stare, one unimpressed eyebrow raised.

  “Okay. Maybe I can be a little serious at times,” Frey amended, spreading her lips in the cheekiest smirk she could muster. “But you love me.”

  “I do. Go for it, dude.” Evo slapped Yanus on the shoulder. “Make her scream.”

  “Yeah... I'm going inside now,” Frey said, stubbing out her cigarette and sauntering into the hotel. “Lady has to sleep at some point. It's stupid o'clock.” Excitement danced inside at the thought of Yanus showing keen interest. The circumstances could be better, of course. Accepting Luelle and Yanus Armanev into Springmoon Hotel as damaged fugitives rather than traveling guests did dampen some of the joy.

  “Maybe I will at some point,” Yanus said, his voice dipping into a suggestive growl.

  Frey winked at him. “We'll see.”

  Chapter Four

  Over the next two weeks, Luelle recovered. She went from an immobile, broken husk of a creature, forced to endure something impossible to one who could now wake up to the fact that she was free – no longer a prisoner of her husband and his former wife's son.

  Frey observed the improvement with a mix of satisfaction and worry, because although it was good Luelle could function without any notable mental trauma from the ordeal, she didn't know how much longer they could conceal her in the shadows of Springmoon hotel.

  Yanus confirmed to Frey that his parents had replied to the message sent two weeks ago, but not to express their concerns over Luelle. They wanted to know his location out of fake concern for him, and he flat out refused to tell them.

  “I don't trust them,” Yanus said, lounging in the bar of their hotel one evening, with everyone
else sprawled out around sofas, taking their drinks from beer bottles. “They also wanted to know about Len. He was meant to be meeting up with them.”

  Luelle gave a hysterical giggle. Her werewolf regeneration covered most of the injuries, leaving just the faint hint of a scar on her right arm, where teeth had ripped through at one point. Without the swelling of bruised flesh over her face, and the purplish mash of skin, she looked like a perfect female twin of her brother, with dark hair and glass green eyes. Evo sat next to Frey with one leg crossed over his knee. Emma and Horace lay curled up with each other, with Emma slowly drifting off into a light sleep. Johan, the quirky Belgian, had remained in the hotel a good sight longer than anyone anticipated, so in the spare time allocated, they made him work around the rooms cleaning up.

  “My dear husband,” Luelle said, raising her bottle in a mockery of custom, “may he and his disgusting family rot in the graves waiting for them.”

  “I'll drink to that,” Yanus growled, clinking glasses with her.

  In the spare moments between conversation, Yanus took the opportunity to keep glancing over Frey's form. She donned a low-cut yellow dress that displayed a scandalous amount of cleavage. Her walnut-toned skin appeared glossy in the gentle room light, and her hair puffed out for once, almost touching her bare shoulders. In a deliberate imitation of what she scented on Yanus, Frey had sprayed herself with a subtle mint perfume.

  Over the two weeks, Yanus had found more chances to get Frey alone, to talk to her and dig more into her thoughts and past. Something about her fascinated him – the strange woman of werewolf parents who had once tried to kill her beloved sibling.

  Having his attention made Frey feel normal and worthwhile. She sometimes worried or believed that a person like herself was fundamentally unlovable. No one wanted a truth-speaker, a person who spoke to the dark thoughts in their mind and gave each one a place. It drove potential friends away because in return, she saw something of their darkness.