“Despite your suspicious nature, little boy, I don’t have malicious intentions,” Bohu said, though ‘this time,’ finished his sentence in Wolffey’s mind. “You request we trade? From the looks of it, you need me more than I need anything from you at this time.”
Wolffey didn’t move from the door, though he didn’t like Mayda being as close as she was. She trusted him about as much as he trusted her. It was a mutual understanding. His attention remained on the Grand Master. The gears were grinding in the Grand Master’s head.
Bohu continued. “What is in your system that would drag you to someone like me instead of the fey?”
Wolffey kept his face neutral, though it was puzzling Bohu would be leading with questions like these. He was the one that demanded a visit. It would be stupid to think the visit was nothing more than pleasantries. There was nothing pleasant about vampires or assassins.
“Beithir scratch,” Wolffey said.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Mayda. Sergei and Dyckran crossed their hands over their head and hearts, still religious after so many years dead.
“What business do you have with a Beithir?” Bohu asked. Tension slipped into his wary tone.
Wolffey’s jaw tightened. He felt no need to discuss his private affairs. “What business do you have with me is a better question. You summoned me.”
“And you came,” the master said, his eyes brightened but there was no humor in his face.
If he were feeling better, he wouldn’t have, but after weighing the options, this didn’t seem like a bad idea. “I have a trade if you’re interested.”
“I’ve been interested in a few things you could offer, assassin,” he said.
Wolffey’s spine ached at the remembrance of their last conversation. Was he willing to let Bohu spinal tap him? Would the Grand Master still want to with the venom in his system?
“You are crafty Wolffey, you learned that from the fey, which makes any trade with you fairly dangerous,” Bohu said. The others didn’t move. Even the people behind the curtain stopped moving.
The curtain pulled back and Wolffey’s attention immediately zeroed in on the movement. It was another nameless minion to Bohu, and his werewolf company was female. Odd, werewolves, unless rogue, rarely mingled with outside sources. Her dazed eyes held his. Her clothes were too nice. The howler had money. She wasn’t rogue.
“I won’t discuss this with a howler in the room,” he said.
Even dazed, she jerked up from the bed. “What did you just call me?”
The man she’d been with was quicker, grabbing her by the waist and hauling her down. Dyckran stood as an extra precaution. Wolffey tightened his hand on his blade. He was sick, but he could still protect himself. He didn’t appreciate them running interference. It made him feel weak.
“You don’t want to cause trouble with him, he’s not your typical… anything,” the man finished.
“My business with her is concluded, so get her out, Pippitt,” Bohu ordered.
The female was restless to get to him as she was escorted out with force. If it hadn’t been for the blood loss, Wolffey was sure there’d been more of a struggle. Once the door was shut, business was ready to be conducted.
“I need to live for a few more days,” he flexed his free hand at his side, feeling the stiffness. It was in his joints and spine. It made his vision blurry and it slowed his reaction time… he was sure that was why he allowed Mercer to stand so close.
“And you think I can help?” Bohu asked.
Wolffey’s eyes narrowed. “The men running your fair in the daylight hours are dead. I know you have the ability.”
“You’re a werewolf,” Bohu said. His eyes trailed over Wolffey before meeting his eyes again. “You’ve been touched by different scores of magic. I’m not sure if my spell will affect you the way it should. The faeries have seen more than me. They would have an answer to your issue.”
Wolffey’s jaw tightened. He was getting frustrated with the constant mention of the faeries, the majority of which didn’t want him there. Aire’Si didn’t want him there. “I will let you take my spinal fluid if you help me.”
Bohu lips were set in a grim line. “I’ll see what I can do.”
ELEVEN
Wolffey stared at the bed the two had been laying on only moments ago. Germs didn’t bother him when he was usually covered in some pretty questionable stuff at the end of an assignment, but this was uncomfortable. The lycanthrope smell left him edgy. He hated shape shifters.
“I can’t examine the cut without looking at it,” Bohu said. They were the only two in the room, though the small group hadn’t left the same way the lycanthrope had. There was an exit in the floor, hidden by a large carpet that was once again in place.
The Grand Master stood in the tiny kitchen and mixed something foul in a large bowl. On the counter was a silver tray with instruments Wolffey hadn’t seen for a long time. They were Topside medical items.
It took a few tries for his numb fingers to feel the buttons on his vest and slip them through the slots. Despite the layers he wore, having the vest undone left him uneasy. Shrugging it off his shoulders and folding it before placing it on the chair felt like torture. He worked the buttons on his shirt, first with the wrists and then bottom upward. His hand stilled on the last three buttons. When the shirt came off, the tattoo would be far more telling than anything he’d ever willingly share. He didn’t like being exposed.
His fingers went up under his shirt, brushing over his pectoral muscle. The tattoo was flat, but Bohu would recognize it. He debated taking the shirt off. Everything inside him said this was a secret he couldn’t afford to reveal. Instead of taking the shirt off, he held the fabric high enough to expose the soppy bandage stuck to his side with extra medical tape.
“You’re modesty isn’t becoming in a medical emergency,” Bohu berated him.
Wolffey glared at the Grand Master, who didn’t have the decency to acknowledge him. The bowl was now on the counter and Bohu was soaking cut up rags in the liquid. Wolffey left his shirt half buttoned, but the chilly air found its way through the fabric, making his skin prickle.
“You would have me lay in this dirty bed?” he asked.
Bohu came over with two trays, one with equipment and the other with the soaked strips. His dark eyes met Wolffey’s and some of the tension left his body. They were enemies yes, but Bohu looked like a healer and he trusted healers. It was okay to be partially nude in front of a healer, though not anyone else.
“Yes,” Bohu said, setting his tray down.
Wolffey took a seat on the edge of the bed, ready to show Bohu more skin than he’s ever shown anyone and with good reason. It was a normal bed, but the smell of the lycanthrope clouted his senses, leaving him distracted. Bohu gave him a long calculated stare, though this time, Wolffey couldn’t meet it.
Bohu settled in on the stool. “You make things more difficult than they have to be.”
“Don’t make this awkward with small talk,” Wolffey shot back, finally lying down.
Bohu grunted disapprovingly. Wolffey expected the touch, but he still flinched when the cold fingers probed the sides of his wound. He licked his lips and tried to still his thumping heart. He hated being touched. Everything inside him screamed that he needed to put an end to this, but his mission was bigger than his discomfort. He needed to live a few more days, until he got into the Rainbow Room.
“It’s pretty nasty. You’re probably starting to feel the effects of the venom in your bones and joints. I can give you a week at best, but towards the end, you will experience cramping, abdominal pain, stiffness and blindness. Do you still want to live that long?” Bohu said.
There was concern in his tone, which surprised Wolffey. Bohu was staring at him, really, consciously seeing him, and that made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want concern, pity or even friendship. He wanted to live in the shadows unnoticed.
He broke the eye contact first, looking up at the low cei
ling and gritted, “Yes.”
“I’d warn most people that this will hurt,” Bohu paused, peeling the bandage from Wolffey’s skin. “But you aren’t most people and you wouldn’t want it any other way.”
It was Wolffey’s turn to grunt, but the grunt turned into a groan when Bohu stuffed the open wound with a thin strip of cloth he’d soaked. The sting stole Wolffey’s breath. He hissed, involuntarily shifting to brace against the mind blowing pain that left his mind spinning.
“This is nothing like what you’re going to feel when your week is up,” Bohu said, lifting the strip and putting another one in its place. The pain never had a chance to subside.
Wolffey wasn’t sure how much time he lost when the last strip was packed on and covered with a bandage. A deal was a deal, but he didn’t immediately move. He held his breath, released it, and repeated the breathing exercise until he felt normalcy. It’d been a long time since pain had been this mind altering.
Bohu held the long needle. “Do you want a little more time before we do this?”
Wolffey brought a hand to his face, wiping the cold sweat that clung to his forehead. His skin was clammy, or maybe that was due to his numb fingertips. He was thirsty, his head hurt and now his stomach growled. Bohu raised an eyebrow but didn’t voice his question.
“I will bring food once the tap is finished,” Bohu said.
“That won’t be necessary.” Even as he said it, his stomach growled, reminding him that he run out of the fey fruits he’d brought with him Topside. A day without food wasn’t an issue to a warrior, but three days and he wasn’t so sure some of the pain wasn’t from starvation.
Bohu made a noncommittal grunt. Wolffey swallowed hard and rolled onto his stomach, letting the fabric of his shirt bunch underneath him. Bohu was no longer a healer, he was a hungry enemy. Only once, had a vampire bit him, but he’d been young and off guard. Now, he was willingly going to allow a vampire to get to a part of him that teeth couldn’t extend too.
“The bed reeks,” he complained, like werewolf, he mentally added.
The last thing he wanted was the smell of werewolf in his sensory with Mercer at the forefront of his mind. The alpha had terrible timing. He had a tendency to show up at the most inopportune moments. Why was he searching for him? The question ran circles in his thoughts.
Bohu didn’t answer. Instead, he busied himself at the side of the bed, getting ready for the procedure. Fumes from the rubbing alcohol leaked into the air, burning his nose. The wet cotton ball was cold along his spine. He didn’t like being on his stomach. It left him vulnerable.
“You’re holding your breath. You wouldn’t be nervous?” Bohu hummed in amusement. “But of course, a queen’s assassin would not be nervous. That’s too human of an emotion.”
Wolffey huffed. It came out as a growl; a very primitive, animalistic growl. He would’ve shaken the thought, but Bohu chose that second to pierce his spine. He twisted his fingers in the sheets, holding his breath as he waited out the probing. Finally Bohu’s hands stilled and Wolffey let his breath out slowly, embarrassed.
He pressed his face into the pillow, taking in the previous werewolf’s scent. She smelled clean, like the forest and fur. Underneath her signature scent was the smell of warm baked apple pie. She didn’t belong on Mercer’s farm, but he smelled the alpha just the same. The comfort that it brought him was surprising. He didn’t want to be comforted, not by a werewolf… not by Mercer.
oOo
Hunger; a burning iron couldn’t sear hotter than the rumbling pit in his stomach responding to the rich smell of carnage. There was nothing beyond the pleasure of his teeth ripping into muscle. He barely chewed before swallowing, positive the hollow pit would never be satisfied. He needed this. Everything inside him screamed for it. No, it wasn’t a scream. It was a howl.
“He’s feral. He shouldn’t be contained in such a small area. He’ll have the advantage if he turns,” a male voice said.
Wolffey couldn’t focus on the voice or the additional smells slowly filtering into his awareness. He shoved the palpable pieces of raw meat into his mouth without seeing his surroundings. There was nothing beyond the red hue of his vision.
“Not feral, just starved,” the second male present in the room, responded. The accent was as heady as the tobacco that scented the air. “This is good. It will aid his strength.”
Starved? Wolffey finally tasted what he ate. The bloody meat layered his throat and mouth. It’d been a long time since he swallowed the flesh of a hunted animal and was surprised he could still recall the distinguishing musk of a deer. He stared at his fingers coated in animal product. Dread bottomed in his stomach, but the need to vomit wasn’t there. He felt satisfied.
He dropped what was in his hands. The world came into focus. He was still in the bed.
His legs were bunched under him like he was ready to leap, except the sheets were twisted around his feet and the pillow was gone. The large serving bowl in front of him had tiny, chewable portions of meat, sodden with blood and raw from the fresh kill. He swallowed hard and regretted it. The blood sated the hunger and something primal that he believed was long buried. The food offering left him feeling like an omega. The alpha had provided for him. Bohu was a vampire, but the instincts were still there. Damn Mercer for befuddling his senses.
He could hunt on his own. He didn’t need someone hunting for him. Meat was not the wise choice. It was Topsider nourishment; a werewolf diet.
Bohu and Sergei stood against the counter with their arms crossed. On the foldout table, a small tin tray burned fresh coal and tobacco by a six armed deity, masking the vampires’ scent. There was no sign of a deer carcass. Someone went out and slaughtered it.
“How long-”He started. His voice was moist and gurgled with the blood. He swallowed and tried again. “What time is it?”
“Sunset,” Bohu answered. Neither vampire moved. Their dark eyes watched him closely.
Wolffey jerked from the bed and his legs locked. He held the wall for balance as his vision readjusted. The small bit of movement made him aware of his full stomach. He didn’t want to guess how much deer he’d eaten or the fact that Topside food could have an adverse effect with the changes he’d undergone in order to live in the Hill. “I need to go.”
When he could move, he started buttoning his shirt, hating the tremor in his hand. He pulled on his second over shirt and the vest. His hands stilled on the trench coat. He was too hot to attempt it. Sweat accumulated against his neck and shoulders under the weight of his long hair and double clothing.
“How are you surviving this long with the venom in your system?” Bohu asked.
He was very aware of the vampires watching him. He stared hard at the blood that crusted his fingers, wrists and down his arms. He needed to shower; to get the smell of meat, the vampires and Mercer off his skin. He met Bohu’s gaze.
“It’s of no value to you what I’ve done to my body. Will your healing keep me alive for the next couple of days?” Wolffey answered.
The dim light gleamed in Bohu’s eyes. Only vampires could stand so still, watching. “Anything is possible when it comes to you, assassin. If you want to live for the next couple of days, I believe it’s conceivable.”
Wolffey nodded. The space between the vampires and the door was narrow, but he passed them, on guard and waiting to be blocked. He didn’t look back into the motor home as he stepped into the last remaining rays of evening sunlight. Laughter circulated from the distance, louder than the constant fluttery music over the surprisingly sharp speakers by the fair ground. Hot sugar and greasy popcorn made the air savory.
He leaned against the vehicle, hot with the summer soaking into the metal. He flexed his hands, feeling the pull of muscle, but the top of his skin was still numb. The meat hadn’t changed his chemistry. It didn’t draw out the deeply buried werewolf within him. As soon as he got his hands on Hera’s Nectar Stone in the Rainbow Room, it would cure him of the venom and then it would fix Aire’
Si.
A few days was all Bohu’s medical knowledge bought him. He couldn’t waste it standing in the gypsy camp.
oOo
“Ye can’t be serious about this, lad,” Rufus whispered, though there was no risk of being overheard. Topsider’s didn’t possess the ability to see the dead; nor were the fey capable of it. It was a substantial trade on his end, to have that ability. “The place is crawling with shifters.”
Wolffey sighed in irritation. Rufus appeared at nightfall, and hadn’t shut-up since. He kept talking, determined to win his one sided argument.
“That’s why the locals call this place The Pound,” Wolffey whispered, cautious of the predators. This close to the full moon, anyone could be in their animal state, prowling. “It’s similar to a cock fight. Someone walks off the victor, and the other is left to die.” The losers were shredded from what he heard.
The private property stretched for miles, making the fight yard remote. The clearing was massive and enclosed like a prison yard with high, barbed fencing. Despite the damp heat, trash can fires blazed, adding to the accumulated scents.
“The earth is ritually spell bound. Ye can’t use yer abilities to get in. There is one entrance unless ye want to scale a fence with rusted barbs as long as yer fingers,” Rufus said.
Which meant a quick escape would be problematic. Last time he dealt with Akili, he left her a wet, pissed off ball of fur. She wasn’t going to hand her piece of the key to him without a pound of flesh in return. “I need to get closer.”
Rufus fluttered alongside his face. “Ye’r outnumbered!”
Wolffey pulled his cowboy hat low and strolled at an even pace towards the entrance. It was still early in the night, making the entrance busy. He left the duster and his bulkier armaments at the hotel, but he was acutely aware that he stood out. He didn’t have the same body dimensions as the shifters. His hair, free from the warrior braids, was far longer than any of the men and even most of the women present. There were other differences too; the smells, the aggressive strides and the all black gear with silver studs and spikes. Most everyone present looked like they belonged to the same motorcycle gang.
Werewolf Forbidden Page 12
