The Bite of Winter (International Monster Slayers Book 2)

by Bethany Helwig

  I almost swerve off the road.

  “Clearly, not enough sleep then,” she says and clicks her tongue. “Eyes sharp, dear.”

  Repeatedly calling me dear makes me think of Celina but this woman is so much different than my surrogate mother.

  “What do you know about it?” Hawk asks and turns about in his seat to talk directly with the librarian. I’m glad my seat belt is keeping my heart securely in my chest. It feels like it’s trying to jump out and run for the hills.

  “I know you two can be rather rash. Brave and loyal, but rash. One day you may regret stomping on the bones of your past, but I assume this urgency and the deliberate arson of last night are related.”

  “Just get us to the expert,” I growl.

  A devious smile grows on her face. It’s animalistic. “Next turn up ahead, dear.”

  She must know we’re desperate and her subtle threats are cluing me in that if we make the wrong move, she can tear us apart with what she knows. I try to push that happy little thought out of my mind and take the off ramp to Sturgeon Lake. The librarian directs us across the overpass, down a forested road, and between a couple of lakes until we’re deep in the woods.

  “Turn right up ahead and mind the gate.”

  I do as she says and pull onto a paved driveway guarded by a massive wrought iron gate designed with intricate swirls and whorls. As if they know who we are, the gates unlock all by themselves and allow us through. Curious. Massive pines line the driveway in orderly rows and the paved road seems to go on forever, deeper and deeper into the forest. At last we come to a turnaround in front of the nicest house I’ve ever seen. No, not a house. A mansion.

  A leafless gnarled oak sits in the middle of the roundabout and tastefully spaced trees decorate the expansive flat land that encircles the building. Enormous windows face the driveway and sunlight passes through revealing massive couches, tables, and benches inside. I bring the SUV to a stop between the marble pillars that hold up an awning over the walkway to the double oak front doors.

  “The expert lives here?” I ask and crane my neck to survey the marvel of a house through the windshield.

  The librarian sniffs in disdain. “Where else should she live? The depths of her knowledge has afforded her a comfortable living. Come along.”

  We unbuckle and step out to gaze in awe at the house. The librarian ushers us inside to a grand foyer laced in marble and some kind of red wood. The entrance is spacious and leads to a massive circular room in the center of the house with a ceiling two stories high.

  The librarian pauses fifteen feet ahead of us in the middle of that room, rolls back her shoulders, and lets out a relieved sigh as her skin seems to drape off her body, expanding out like a cloak behind her. Her clothes melt together with her skin, lengthening and changing color to a vibrant green. She stands taller—no, she physically becomes taller—foot by foot until she’s a good eight feet by my estimate. The deep green cloak about her shifts as if in a breeze and from beneath a tail uncoils. A row of spikes expand along the top of the tail and climb up her back as her legs and arms change shape.

  In less than thirty seconds, the human that had been before us is now a scaled, slender lizard of shifting hues of vibrant green and florescent blue accents. The shape of her is almost like a greyhound but the size of a horse. She curls around to face us, tail coiling around her ankles, claws clicking on the marble floor tiles, and looks down her elongated snout at us. Short blue frill frames her face and falls in layers down the sides of her neck, which puffs out briefly before lying flat against her scaly skin.

  The librarian is a dragon.

  “Well,” she says in that same clipped tone but with a bit of a growl. “Here I am. What can I do for you?”

  Chapter 20

  The dragon waits politely for us to overcome our shock. The dragon. I’ve never even seen one in real life, only in pictures during my studies. Sure, I’ve been hanging around Draco a lot lately but I’ve never witnessed his true form.

  “Your mouth is open again, dear,” she says and holds up a forefoot to inspect her deadly, shining claws.

  I close my mouth and reach blindly to the side for my brother. He does the same and we grasp each other’s arm.

  The dragon-librarian tilts her head and the frill along her jaw expands briefly. The irises of her eyes have transformed into reptilian slits but they still have the same sharp intelligence about them.

  “It’s charming the way you two seek comfort in each other,” she says and lowers her forefoot to the floor. Her claws click on the marble surface. “Two sides of the same coin, ever bound.”

  “You’re a dragon,” I manage to breathe.

  “Yes, you’re quite astute.”

  “And you’ve been here this whole time?”

  Her long, thin tail flicks once like a cat studying prey. “This whole time is a rather general span of measurement, wouldn’t you say? But as I assume you mean since you came back to Moose Lake in October, then yes, I have, and a little longer. But never mind that. You had urgent business.”

  I let go of Hawk and take a step forward. “You were around when Dasc attacked. You could have helped. Why didn’t you?”

  “I was unaware when he struck, and my reasons are my own.”

  “That’s not good enough,” I snap, completely forgetting her head is a good two feet over mine and she could probably tear me in half if she wanted to.

  She brings that elongated face down to my height, eyes narrowing. “Do not judge so harshly when your own rash actions have caused a ripple effect throughout the legendary community.”

  “What?”

  “Do you think your capture of Dasc and battle with the vampires has gone unnoticed? You’re on a path where mere mention of your name will elicit a reaction. Be careful where you tread. In your current state, anonymity may be a wiser stratagem.”

  My current state. Right. “Look, we came to you because we need a cure.”

  She recoils and sits posed like a statue. “Your blood is not strong enough to purge the werewolf contagion.”

  “We can’t wait any longer,” I argue and step closer. Hawk is right on my heels. “Please, there must be something you can do.”

  “Has your patience run out? Or has something happened?”

  Hawk puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me back as he steps forward. “It’s because of me.”

  “Hawk, no,” I warn but he doesn’t stop talking.

  “I did something horrible last night, and I know what my options are at this point.” He sounds resigned but I won’t have any of it. “I’ve lied about it now and we’ve covered it up. I haven’t taken the serum for years and I . . . I killed a friend’s pet last night while Phoenix was away. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep lying but I can’t take the serum either. And if I can’t handle those options, then I know eventually I’ll be dragged into one of the werewolf rehabilitation centers and I’ll never leave. If there’s nothing you can do, please just tell me now and save me the trouble of hoping there’s a normal future for me.”

  I bow my head and study the marble beneath my feet. It sounds like waiting for my blood to be ready isn’t even in the cards for him. It’s gotten this bad and I hadn’t even realized. The foyer falls silent except for the deep breaths of the dragon. This is it for us, isn’t it? The hope in me starts to drain away.

  “Follow me.”

  Well, that’s not a no. I’ll take it. The dragon turns and walks deeper into the house. Together we jog after her long strides, through the circular room in the center, make a right, and trot down a large stairwell to the level below.

  “What do we call you?” Hawk asks.

  “What to call me indeed,” she says. We make it to the bottom and enter a long hallway lined with glass walls that reveal a massive laboratory. “I’ve had my share of names but I seem particular fond of . . . Scholar.”

  “Isn’t that more like a title? Or a description?” I say offhand and gaze at the rows of med
ical equipment, metal tables, and huge monitors displaying information I can’t wrap my head around.

  “Yes, it describes me perfectly, I must say. It also makes me sound rather mysterious, which I do enjoy.”

  She trots to a large open doorway and we follow her to a glass case full of an assortment of trinkets and jewelry next to a large map of star constellations. Scholar has a little bit of everything down here in her sanctuary—her superhero spy lab. Hawk peers in through the glass of the display.

  “What are these?” he asks and I join him in examining the rows upon rows of gold medallions, necklaces shaped into symbols of an ancient language, rings stamped with seals, and branded bracelets. Squinting at them, I realize they’re the same symbols that cover the black arch in the middle of IMS headquarters. Dragon script.

  Scholar walks around to the other side and rests a clawed forefoot lovingly on the edge of the glass to gaze inside. “Heirlooms and little babbles I’ve made over the centuries.”

  Centuries? How old is this Scholar? Not all dragons are immortal—only the six majestics. Then there’s the noble class of dragons who can fly and live for hundreds of years. Below them are the regals, a smaller breed with a shorter life span but they can still fly. Next come the terrenes, those dragons without wings with significantly shorter life spans. I’d say Scholar fits in the last category but a terrene usually only lives to be about a hundred and twenty.

  “Scholar, what class of—or, excuse me, who are you?” I ask, doing my best not to affront the dragon two feet away from my face.

  Her frill rustles. “Clever girl. Kept up with your studies, have you? I’m clearly not majestic enough, or noble, or even very regal. Apparently, all I can be is earthbound. Those classification systems were always pointless and rather indelicate, if you ask me. They could have at least titled us poor wingless individuals as grand, or splendid. I would even be amenable to stately, I suppose. Either way, I am a separate entity to their classification system as my abilities and lifespan do not scale to their ratings.”

  Her indignation at the affront and her cool response make me start to like her.

  “But we’ve gotten off topic, dear,” she says and raps a sharp claw on the glass. “Each of these items has very specific properties, ones that are particularly conducive to the binding of magic. My magic in particular. Hawk, please choose one which is most desirable to your tastes.”

  His head snaps up. “You want me to have one of these?”

  “I want to fill one with some of your sister’s blood and have you wear it, yes. Goodness knows we could use a decent field test at this point.” She waves her paw over the case. “A little binding magic from me and it will be near indestructible and near impossible to detect.”

  That shrinking bubble of hope in my chest suddenly swells. If Scholar is saying what I think she is, then Hawk will have a little bit of me with him wherever he goes and that piece will contain my magic to keep the werewolf disease at bay.

  For such a monumental and significant item, Hawk takes his time perusing the trinkets. Scholar starts to pace beside the case like a cat until she decides to sit several feet away to watch. Curiosity draws me over to her.

  “Does Jefferson know you’re a dragon?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes.” The dragon keeps her eyes trained on Hawk and her tail twitches back and forth, clearly interested in which of her handcrafted pieces he’ll choose. “Jefferson and I have been friends for many years.”

  “So, do you work for the IMS?” I ask which earns me a low growl. I hold up my hands. “I’m just trying to figure out where you fit into everything.”

  “The majestics’ original intentions for the International Monster Slayers may have been good, but the six always like to overextend their reach.”

  “You don’t agree with the organization? But it sounds like you’ve been helping Jefferson to analyze my blood.”

  Her tail slithers near me then flicks away to curl around her forelegs. “The difference between the organization itself as a whole and the people who work for it is the difference between arrogance and wisdom.”

  “I don’t—”

  “It means blindingly following orders from those with unknown intentions and boasting a greater cause is not the same as understanding the need of the important work being done.” She lifts her snout to the ceiling and gives her spine a long stretch before resuming her previous posture. “Jefferson understands why he does what he does. Admittedly, he struggled to see the difference between evil and those affected by evil after what happened to his family but . . . I think you’re bringing him around. I’ve been watching you.”

  Oh, that’s comforting. “Since when?”

  “Since I tested a vial of strange blood sent to me by Jefferson and observed the profound effect it had on a disease once thought to be incurable.”

  If that’s the case, she most certainly could have helped against Dasc. If I’m so special, why didn’t she show up when Jefferson, Hawk, and I were all in his grasp about to die? Does her intense dislike for the IMS have anything to do with it?

  Another thought strikes me, about how she knew Hawk and I had burned our old house to the ground. “I found tracks around my parents’ house before. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  There’s a glimmer in her eye and what I think is the start of a smile but it’s hard to tell whether she’s simply baring her teeth. “Yes, I have watched you patch up your former home like putting bandages on an old, festering wound. I found your actions to be most telling of your character.”

  A hot flush goes up my neck. “And what, exactly, does that say about me?”

  “You don’t let go,” she says in a singsong voice that’s almost cheery but her words hit me in the gut. Then she leans in closer and those sharp eyes cut through me. “And you don’t give up.”

  For some reason, the way she says it doesn’t make it sound like a compliment. I swallow and alternate between worrying my upper and lower lip. Scholar seems to have everything figured out, doesn’t she? Maybe she can answer another question that’s been on my mind.

  “Jefferson warned me not to tell the IMS what I’m capable of,” I say. Hawk appears to be deciding between three pendants and is oblivious to what’s going on behind him. “He’s never told me why.”

  “Probably because he didn’t want you to lose faith in the only family you’ve ever known apart from your brother.”

  I purse my lips. “Can no one ever give me a straight answer?”

  A thin hiss escapes between her bared teeth. “So impatient.”

  “I should go announce my gifts to the director right now,” I shoot back. “Draco might still be around. He ought to know, too.”

  “Foolish, stubborn girl,” she growls. Her head swivels on me less than a foot away. “Where do you think the power for the serum comes from, or the bio-mech guns for that matter?”

  I lean back and shrug. “It’s dragon technology.”

  “It’s blood.” A low growl emanates from her throat. “Consider that for a moment before you take any hasty actions.”

  She gets up and stalks away from me to peer over Hawk’s shoulder at the pieces he’s picked out. Blood. Whose blood? Jefferson has been warning me that I’d be locked up in a lab the rest of my life if they knew. Is this what he meant? Are there other people being held at this very moment, their blood being used to produce the serum and bio-mech guns? A shiver runs down my spine. That can’t be true. The IMS wouldn’t hold someone against their will like that. Would they?

  “This one,” Hawk announces and holds aloft a small, bronze pendant in the shape of a coin. As long as this works, I’m not going to think about the rest right now.

  Scholar leads us to one of the medical stations and has me sit in a chair as she shrinks into her human form in order to take a fresh sample of my blood. After two vials, she takes the pendant Hawk selected and with a press of her finger it pops open. We both watch with fascination as she adds several droplets of my blood into a
minuscule compartment hidden inside. Ever so gently, she closes the pendant again and clutches it tight in her palm before handing it over to Hawk. The faint glimmer of a dragon barrier fades into the metal and it becomes an ordinary pendant once again. Hawk pulls it over his head and tucks it under his clothes.

  “And that’s it?” I ask.

  “If my theory is correct—and mine usually are—the blood in that pendant will react any time Hawk is affected by the werewolf disease. It’ll be as if you’re there with him. It’s still not a cure, but it’s enough to buy us time until there is one. And it’ll need to be refreshed with new samples every so often.”

  Hope reflects in Hawk’s face again and he smiles. “Thank you.”

  “Thank your sister,” she says.

  “It feels warm,” he murmurs.

  Scholar clicks her tongue at him. “And if you go over the edge, that little pendant will burn rather painfully and should snap you back to your senses. The more powerful the disease, the more powerful the reaction.” She puts her hands on our backs to guide us out of the lower level and to the front door. “You must tell no one of that pendant or from whom you received it. I haven’t lived here all this time for the country’s rustic charm. No one must know where I am. No one. Not the IMS, not your friends, not a soul. If anyone catches my scent, they will all come for me. It was difficult enough not letting Dasc find me.”

  “You’re that valuable?” I ask.

  She straightens to her full human height with a dignified air. “Yes. Now go on.” She holds the door open for us and we move out into bright sunlight. “Before you go, know this. The vampires are hardly ever this organized. This is an anomaly.”

  For a shut in, she certainly seems to know a lot. “How do you know about—”

  “The vampires are cowards. They won’t go to war unless something, or someone, forces them to. Normally, I would say the only ones capable of doing such a thing would be Dasc or their own alpha, but considering Dasc is in custody and their alpha’s been dead for centuries . . .”