Sanctuary

by Tanith Frost

  “Very much in doubt, I assure you.” He smiles, broad and slow. “Perfect beasts. Or so I’ve been told on occasion when I’ve left here in this form and enjoyed the company of humans.” He looks down again, not hiding the slow roam of his gaze as he takes in my soaked form.

  I ignore it. He wants me defensive again. Or distracted. He’s not going to get either tonight.

  “Maybe the kid owed one of you money,” I offer.

  “Sure.”

  “Maybe someone did it for fun.”

  “That’s cats, not dogs.”

  “You’re saying there couldn’t be psychotic werewolves?”

  He shrugs. It seems to be his go-to gesture. “Fine. Psycho killer wolf could have been operating under his or her pack leader’s nose.” He picks up another tool, one I can’t even name, and fiddles with it.

  “Or revenge,” I muse, “though I don’t know what a human teenager could have done to a werewolf. I guess if it was a wolf with a life outside the sanctuary, anything is possible.” I watch as he flips the tool from hand to hand. “Will you give me that? God, you’re childish.”

  He hands it over with a little pout, and I turn to put it on the shelf next to the wrench, standing high on my toes and stretching to push it out of his easy reach. I keep my senses and perceptions open to him, though he’s hard to read. I feel his power, but both he and it are too unfamiliar for me to recognize any warnings or emotions. Aside from that, I get nothing more than I would from a human.

  This conversation is going better than I expected, but I can’t afford to be too trusting. We’re each playing our own game here, and neither his goals nor his rules are likely to be the same as mine.

  “Or the motive is deeper,” I say. When turn back to him, he’s leaning against the bench. “The killing wasn’t the end goal.”

  He raises a dark eyebrow and stands up straight, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Is that it?” I ask. “Is that the answer?”

  “Fuck if I know.” He shakes his head like I’m insane and leans closer. “I don’t know who did it.” He speaks slowly, as though I might have trouble understanding. “I’m not leading you to a magical answer, friend.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing?”

  “Getting out of the rain.” He looks toward the roof, where it sounds like the downpour has slowed. “Give it another five minutes. Anything else you want to talk about? The stock market? Daddy issues?”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  The smile, along with any hint of the easygoing troublemaker, leaves his face. “You asked me to come here, remember? I’m being compliant. I don’t know what else you want.”

  “I want answers.”

  “And I gave them. No one in my pack was unaccounted for that night, and I’m not answering questions about anyone else because it’s not my fucking business. I know my pack looks a bunch of assholes to you thanks to last night, but that doesn’t make them killers. They obey me, and I wouldn’t allow that.”

  “No? One of them attacked me. And it seems like you’re okay with them breaking a lot of other rules. What’s that about? Thumbing your noses at us? How far does that go?”

  He bares his teeth and pulls his hands from his pockets as he steps closer. I don’t flinch.

  “There are lines we don’t cross,” he snarls, then recovers his composure. He steps back and drums his fingers on the workbench. “Yeah, we push the boundaries of the freedoms we’re so generously allowed by our prison guards. Maybe we like to hunt when we can, live the lives we’re supposed to as werewolves, pretend we don’t have invisible walls around us and soulless assholes trying to make us hide like we should be ashamed of what we are, but—” He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “We’re not as stupid as you all think we are. I want to protect my pack. Killing humans isn’t the way to do that.”

  “So who thinks otherwise?”

  He glances at the roof again, then out the open door. “Rain’s stopped. Is the interrogation over?”

  “You’re not under arrest.”

  His sneakers squelch over the concrete floor as he heads back to the garage door. I follow close behind.

  “I appreciate you coming down,” I tell him. And I do. I might not have got anything, but he came when I asked, he waited outside the gate, and he listened. That’s progress.

  He nods. “You’ll want to lay off the questions,” he says. “I tried to warn you before. No one is going to be happy about you poking around, even if it’s your job. Paul understands this. We’re used to being left alone.”

  “So are the people of Bloody Bight.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Just… fuck off, okay?” He sounds more exasperated than angry. “For your own safety. You don’t seem like the worst example of your kind. Save yourself and go be a do-gooder somewhere it will actually do some good. Free advice from a wise and mystical creature.”

  I smile in spite of myself. “You do strike me as being rich in canine wisdom. Like a Labrador retriever, maybe.”

  He scowls. “That cuts deep, Aviva.” There’s humour in his tone, though, and that makes me think maybe we’re getting somewhere. You just have to know how to talk to people. Asshole to asshole.

  “Go cry in your kibble,” I tell him.

  He grins. “Go fuck yourself. If that’s a thing corpses are into.” And he takes off, running around the building toward the north end of the yard.

  I don’t bother following, or offering to unlock the gate. He knows how to get out.

  I’m feeling pretty good about things until I return to the garage and notice that there’s a small key rack on the end of the workbench where he was standing. It’s got a door over it that would blend perfectly into the wood, which is why I never noticed it before. It’s open, revealing a label that says SPARE.

  And there’s nothing inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  Paul is sitting in front of the TV when I enter, staring through his anti-reflective lenses. There’s a nearly empty bottle of beer beside him. I’m not judging. We all have our vices.

  It’s the fact that he’s still on his lazy ass that pisses me off.

  “Where the hell were you?” I demand, resisting the urge to pick up a cushion and slap the back of his head with it.

  He turns slowly, then nods to his phone, which rests on the table. He obviously got my message.

  “You’re fine.” He turns back to the TV. He’s watching a Western, something I don’t recognize when I squint at the screen. Clint Eastwood’s face perfectly reflects how I’m feeling, though.

  “You couldn’t have known I was fine. What happened to us being each other’s backup?”

  Paul sighs and presses pause on the remote. He stands, stretching with his hands pressed against his lower back. “Backup? I don’t remember authorizing you to go out there and stir things up. I’m not here to clean up your messes. Understand?”

  I grit my teeth and try to look at this reasonably. We’re not werewolves. We don’t embody blind loyalty, and Paul doesn’t give a shit about me aside from my role within Maelstrom.

  I’m still pissed at the alpha wolves for covering for whoever is responsible for the killing—one of them is lying to me to protect a pack member, and that’s fucking stupid. Yet I can’t help the hot envy that cuts like a sword through my chest, branding me with resentment toward my own kind. There’s no one who would do that for me, who would stand up for me no matter what the cost.

  That’s not the vampire way. I’m on my own.

  “I can’t imagine the elders would be pleased if I was torn apart by wolves after I asked you for help. Bit of a mess, wouldn’t you say?”

  He reaches for his beer and drains it, then wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “The wolves know better. And not every vampire would think it was a bad thing if we had a reason to start up the debate about what to do with them. This recent killing might open discussions, but a direct attack on us certainly would.”

  I frown. “You�
��re that desperate to get out of here?”

  He scowls. “The wolves are a cancer, Aviva. Nothing but a risk of exposure, and they just keep breeding, bringing in new blood. Things are better in places where they got rid of them. Here, we’re stuck until they break their treaty.” He shrugs. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Just so we’re clear.”

  “Then what are you saying? Why didn’t you come out?”

  He gazes off into the distance like maybe that wasn’t his first beer of the night. “I’m saying I have good reasons for telling you to lie low. I don’t know what those stupid fucks are up to. Maybe nothing. Maybe they’re taking care of this within their packs like they always do. But maybe this will go higher than you or me. Either way, nothing you do here will change anything. Got it?”

  At least he doesn’t seem mad about me taking the Jeep. I decide not to tell him about the scratch just yet.

  But there is the other matter.

  “Do we have spare keys around?”

  He scrunches one eyebrow down. “Why? You lose yours?”

  “I’m realizing there’s a lot I don’t know about this place yet. Just asking questions as they come up.”

  I’m not going to incriminate myself if it’s possible I’m wrong about Silas.

  “We did have some, out in the garage. Little box on the work bench.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Now, Gordon had to take them a few months back. Can’t say whether he returned them or not.”

  I release the useless breath I’ve been holding. “Silas was in the garage. I’m wondering whether he took them.”

  Paul’s glazed eyes clear immediately. “The hell was he doing in there?”

  “He responded to our request that he come down for questioning. I didn’t want to stand in the rain.”

  Paul purses his lips, leans toward me, and inhales. “Thought I smelled wet dog.”

  “You’re not worried?”

  He scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know whether the keys were out there, but I’ll change the locks after I order new ones in. Until then, we take turns staying up during the day, and I’ll keep the rifle loaded with silver for whoever’s taking watch. That’s all we can do.”

  “You’re not going to yell at me?”

  “Doubt it would do much good. It was a stupid place to keep keys, I guess, even if they were well hidden. Like I said, if you give werewolves an inch, they’ll take the whole damned island.” He sits down again, his back to me, and clicks the movie back on. “Go fill out an incident report.”

  I leave him to his distractions, pulling my phone from my pocket as I stalk down the hallway toward my room. Daniel’s number is programmed in, but I remember it well enough to dial it myself. It rings ten times before I give up.

  I hope he’ll see that I tried and call me back. I don’t know what he could do to help me, even if he wanted to. I just need a connection with someone, even someone I’m not happy with. I miss him. Miss his body, his voice, his quiet confidence in me. It’s not love. But it’s all I’ve had since I died, and being around the wolves is making me realize how badly I want…something.

  A family, maybe.

  Someone I can rely on.

  I close my bedroom door behind me and lie on the bed, fingering the blue stone necklace. I should return it. I kind of don’t want to. It makes me feel connected to this place.

  A soft scuffling noise outside my window catches my attention, and my eyes fly open. I move quietly and open the curtains slowly, revealing a fast-brightening sky beyond the treetops outside the compound fence.

  Three wolves are sitting in the dirt. A fourth, a pale beast with darker fur covering his shoulders and spine, is sniffing around closer to the building. None of them are Silas. None of them bear his scars.

  I bang on the window, and they all look at me. The closest one lets its tongue loll out of its mouth, grinning.

  I raise my middle finger to them and tap it against the glass, which I hope they can see through in spite of the anti-UV treatment on the inside.

  The closest wolf’s grin disappears, morphing into a silent snarl. The four turn and race for the north fence. I watch them go, but they’re out of sight before they leave the yard.

  I let the curtains fall closed and lie back on my bed, but it’s no use. I grab a book to read later and head back out to get my report done.

  I’ll take first watch today. I doubt I’ll be sleeping anyway.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clara was delicious.

  I didn’t finish her, of course. She’s resting now, perfectly contented. Her blood wasn’t as strong as I’d have liked, but it was far better than my previous meals.

  Tonight was my third visit to Delvin’s house since my arrival at the sanctuary. My second came a week ago, the night after my run-in with Silas and his sticky fingers. Paul claimed the first choice of stock, so he went to Delvin’s while I kept an eye on the compound, though I needed the feed more than he did. He took Jeff after Clara politely declined him, saying she didn’t feel quite recovered. I chose Delvin when I visited later that same night. He was, as I suspected, depleted from frequently feeding us, but there’s something interesting about the blood of a person who’s destined to become one of us.

  Tonight I came alone again. Clara was more than ready for me after her long recovery. She offered herself shyly, as though I was doing her the favour by choosing her, but she wasn’t at all nervous as we lay on her bed. I fed from her slowly, giving her time to luxuriate in the bliss of my poison while I took what I needed. The old temptation was still there, but I had no trouble releasing her before I took too much. There was no anger in me, no stress or fear to drive my craving for death.

  In fact, the past week has been quiet. Paul hasn’t installed the new locks yet, though a human delivered them from town five days ago and Paul stowed them in his room. I was surprised at first, and angry at his laziness. I pestered him, even offered to do it myself, but he brushed me off.

  It made no sense until I realized that I’m being punished. I’ve been taking twice as many daytime watch hours as Paul does because this is my own damn fault. I’m short on sleep and feeling drained by being awake during the day, both of which make for a miserable vampire. I suspect Paul will draw this shred of power out for as long as he feels it’s safe to do so and as long as I give him the satisfaction of my irritation. So I’ve stopped asking.

  There hasn’t been any sign of Silas. No more wolves in the yard.

  I haven’t seen werewolves anywhere, as a matter of fact, save for several females in their human forms signing themselves out before they returned to their regular lives. They came down in the two vehicles that were parked up there when I visited, and they all left together the same way. None of them made eye contact with me as they came in, signed the register, and left. Not even Sasha. Several males signed in when I wasn’t there.

  Paul has been as relaxed as I’ve been on edge. He never seems concerned about anything, with the exception of that scratch on the Jeep. He muttered about “the bitches” after I gave him a rough overview of my visit, then ordered me away as he patched it up. I still don’t know whether he was counting me in their number.

  I walk down the path from Delvin’s house, drinking in the night. I won’t think about Paul now. He has no place here in my post-feeding bliss.

  The night is clear. We’re far from the full moon, and even with no clouds to block the light of the millions of stars above, it’s dark. I decide to leave the Jeep behind and walk down the tree-lined driveway toward town. I’ll go return Susannah’s necklace to her, then come back for the vehicle. I want to get a better view of those glorious stars, to bask in their light as I allow Clara’s blood and her life to suffuse every part of me. Strength far beyond any she possesses herself courses through my muscles. I feel warm in spite of the cool air, wild and free. It’s not like being drunk. I’m not at all muddled or feeling out of control. I pick up my pace, jogging and then running down the road, revelling
in the sensation of my muscles contracting and releasing, working in perfect sync to propel me toward the open fields below the main road. Though I know better, I let myself believe for a moment that this well of energy is bottomless.

  I don’t get winded, because I don’t breathe. My unbeating heart doesn’t strain against the effort. Everything just works. I feel perfect, goddess-like in the dark power that fills me. Purely vampire, and wishing for nothing else.

  I’m on top of the body before I see it. It’s a close thing, but I leap over it instead of tripping, landing hard on a tussock of grass that almost sends me tumbling onto my ass. It takes a few steps to slow and find my balance. I brace myself before turning back.

  I don’t want to recognize him, but I do. Floppy mess of grey hair, crooked teeth bared to the stars.

  The mayor. Shaker of hands, maker of deals, pleasant enough until you start to wonder what scheme he’s thinking of trying on you.

  His scheming days are over now. It’s like the kid. Throat ripped out, blood covering the front of his shirt and pooling on the ground. He’s dead, no question, but the blood is incredibly fresh. It calls to me almost as strongly as living blood would, and I don’t have to touch the puddle of it that’s slowly soaking into the grass to know that it’s still warm.

  I spin around, searching with my eyes, my ears, and my power. I’m not looking for shadows this time, but for the culprit. The wolf can’t be far off. I didn’t see one running from this spot on my way down, and there are plenty of hiding spots among the low shrubs that dot this open field.

  I inhale deeply. Scent isn’t my strongest sense by any means, but tonight everything is at full power. There. It’s faint, but I catch something wild and canine on the wind. That’s all I get from it. Were I a wolf I’d probably get sex, age, and emotion. But this will do. The slight breeze points me in the right direction, and I stalk slowly forward, muscles tensed and ready for a fight.

  The coward runs, a pale silver form dashing toward the river.

  I pelt after it, pushing my legs as hard as I can. This is no pleasure run now, but a hard race. The wolf keeps ahead of me, but I stay close, and it can’t lose me even as it weaves through the trees and leaps gullies on its way back to the sanctuary. This creature has speed and stamina unlike any natural wolf, but I hear its hard breathing and catch the energy of its pounding heart as it runs. There’s nothing in its blood in this form that calls to me—animal blood isn’t at all appetizing. But I sense its power, even when it disappears into the shadows.