by Lily Luchesi
He blanched, his eyes going wide and his breathing getting hard and rough. He grabbed his stomach and groaned, falling to his knees. “This always hurts,” he said through clenched teeth, as if to assure Angelica that nothing was amiss.
He fell on his hands and knees, nails digging into the soft earth. She saw his muscles ripple through his clothes. His shoes fell off as his feet changed into paws and began sprouting fur. The change continued that way, from the bottom up. His legs morphed painfully, ripping his pants and underwear, revealing the already fully formed hindquarters of a wolf.
His upper body strained, muscles popping and reconfiguring themselves. The shirt tore as the muscles and his flesh expanded and changed. Before the fur started sprouting, she caught his smooth, muscled back. She felt herself blush, and then shock took over as his fur began to sprout erratically. She watched his hands expand, the fingers shortening into paws and nails elongating into claws.
Finally, his ears grew, his neck shortened, and his jaw began to extend. He screamed, the sound going from a human in agony to a wolf ready to go in for the kill. The change had been rapid, but Angelica knew she’d never forget watching Quentin transform. It all had happened in slow motion in her mind, and then she was standing there, exposed and part human, with a predator of the night who might eat her.
The wolf stopped howling and turned its head towards her, making a noise like a whimper.
“Quentin?” she said. “Do you recognize me?”
The wolf snuffled to signify that he knew, and gestured from her to the edge of the forest. He wanted to hunt, and he wanted her to follow.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Quentin took off in the darkness, and she easily followed his lithe, bounding steps.
He ate a few rabbits and a squirrel in quick succession. Angelica grinned, knowing her father would wonder where all the fat, juicy rabbits had gotten to when he wanted one for tea some night. She, personally, was not partial to rabbit meat or rabbit blood.
Eventually, they stumbled upon a deer, and quick as the wind, Quentin pounced, biting its neck and breaking it. It was still alive, however, so Angelica could drink from it easily. She bit into it, savoring the rich blood. While she needed human blood to live, she enjoyed the blood of the animals most humans ate. They were treats for her, but she’d never had to hunt one herself. She always drank from animals her father was having slaughtered. It was a rush and a thrill to have hunted one in the wild.
She was exhausted, not having the stamina to hunt as long as a full vampire could. Quentin was still sniffing around, looking for a new scent to follow.
“Quentin,” she said softly, concerned with startling him while in animal form.
He looked up at her, his wolfish gaze even more intense than his human one.
“I know you need to keep hunting, but I need my rest,” she said. “Can I see you tomorrow?” she asked.
The wolf nodded his head.
“At the market, after sunset. I have been in the sun too much this week,” she said. Without thinking, she bent over his massive head and placed a kiss between the wolf’s ears.
Quentin whined and nuzzled her neck. Somehow, the action was more intimate than the kisses they had shared. As a wolf, he was reduced to emotion and instinct, so any action he took was going to be pure and honest. He cared for her. That was now obvious. She felt something stirring within her heart, and she liked the way it felt.
“Goodnight,” she whispered and dashed off home, her heart beating wildly and a strange smile on her face.
****
The next evening, Quentin looked healthy and a little wild. He seemed to have an ethereal appearance after transforming, something the naked eye couldn’t exactly point out but the mind could see clearly.
“I enjoyed hunting with you, Angelica.”
“It was quite exhilarating,” she said, falling into step with him as they walked through the market, their hands just brushing their backs against each other. “Mother was concerned that I was not hungry that evening, however.” She grinned ruefully.
He watched Angelica, who was sweet, soft and refined. She wore jewelry that would pay a year’s salary to every soldier in their Army and Navy. What was it about her that allured him so much? To top it off, she was a vampire-human hybrid. What made him want her so badly? He usually never wanted a woman like that. He was a wild one, even in the werewolf community. He drank, he swore, he slept around and he was feisty. Some called him a reckless bastard, but he got the job done. He wondered what his father would think of her.
General Adrian Michaels was a werewolf of great standing. Unlike vampires, weres had no leaders or any type of hierarchy. They did, however, have their own military division, of which Quentin’s father was the head. Would he shun his only son for loving a vampiress heir? Would he understand that love transcended species? After all, Angelica’s parents were proof of that. A human and a vampire, and they were living happily with a beautiful daughter.
“Angelica, I know how I feel about you. I think I know how you feel about me. The proper thing to do is…introduce the other to our respective parents,” he said.
“You? Proper?” Angelica laughed. “That’s the exact opposite of your reputation.”
“I have a reputation?” he said, feigning shock. “Do I live up to it?”
She looked him over, casual and messy with an air of danger in his very scent. “Definitely.”
He laughed with her.
“How about tonight?” she asked. “My parents won’t mind having a guest, and I already told them we were acquaintances, so it won’t be too big a fuss.”
He blanched, stunned. “Seriously? Right now?”
“Of course. Come. We’ll have fun.” Angelica took his hand and led him through the bustling town to her humongous mansion a few miles away.
Outside the house, Quentin just stared for a moment, unable to believe the splendor before him. Werewolves were not wealthy creatures. He didn’t know any wolves, or were creature of any sub-species, who lived in a manor like hers. How many servants must work there? How many precious gems could be in that home? Enough to feed the poor for years?
“Aren’t you coming?” Angelica asked, standing at the doorway.
She opened it a crack, and his keen nose smelled meat cooking and something sweet baking. “Yes. My apologies.”
He bounded up the steps and quietly followed her through the foyer, which was adorned with beautiful tapestries depicting infamous vampire moments in history. The grandest one, was supposed to be a depiction of the very first vampires—though no one really knew if the stories were true or not.
“Mother? Father?” she called, her lilting voice enough to make him shiver pleasurably.
Quentin heard silk swishing and could smell the distinct odor of the fully turned vampires. A smell that was sweet, coppery and cool. No one aside from shifters and other vampires could detect it, and he actually found it quite pleasant. The woman who appeared was beautiful, very similar in looks to Angelica, but older and much paler. Angelica had a heart-shaped face, while her mother’s was sharper and her eyes hungrier.
Her father followed closely behind her. He moved as languidly as a vampire but was very obviously human, with a healthy glow and bright smile. His nose was hawkish, and he shared Angelica’s high cheekbones.
“Well, whom do we have here, Daughter?” Veronica asked, a knowing grin on her face.
Angelica blushed. “Mother, Father, this is Captain Quentin Michaels, General Michaels’ son. Quentin, this is my mother, Veronica Cross.”
Quentin bowed deeply, turning on the charm. “A pleasure, My Lady; My Lord.”
Veronica curtseyed. “I have heard so much about you. My husband and your father box together. You are always highly spoken of. And, of course, my daughter has more recently spoken quite highly of you as well.”
“Yes, I am aware of his boasting,” Quentin said sheepishly. “At times, I think he tends to talk me up a bit too muc
h, sir.”
“Mother, Father, I brought Quentin here to ask you for permission to have him court me, despite our…differences.”
Her father seemed to have expected the request, but her mother looked positively aghast. She quickly covered it up. “Well, we have all evening to speak of it. Please stay for dinner, Quentin.”
Quentin stayed, enjoying himself while eating a nearly raw steak and laughing with Vincent who was a kind, intelligent man. Who said vampires were poor hosts who ate their guests? After all, this one has lived here for eighteen years!
While Veronica was quiet and subdued, she was as sweet as her daughter.
****
Angelica knew her mother well, and she knew that her silence wasn’t a good sign.
After dinner, Veronica took her daughter aside, while Vincent entertained Quentin in the library.
“Daughter, I thought this was just an acquaintance,” she said, her dark eyes filled with worry.
“So did I, Mother, but things progressed. He is a very kind man. I know a relationship between a werewolf and a vampire is unprecedented, but I do not believe that it could come to any harm. Even if it comes to the fact that we cannot procreate as you and Father did, I would not mind. I have bigger plans than simply increasing the vampiric population.” She smiled coyly.
“Daughter, you do not understand. Werewolf blood is poisonous to vampires. I am not sure about saliva, but everything else is like acid. Your skin could burn from contact, and if it were to get inside of you…” She shook her head. “You could die.”
Angelica leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. Could Quentin’s blood, or any other bodily fluids, really kill me?
“We are separate for a reason. We get along well enough, but that’s why no vampire could ever court or be courted by a werewolf. I do not want to hurt you or Quentin, but you needed to know because I could not bear to see you hurt.” Veronica gently touched her daughter’s arm, while Angelica forced back disappointed tears.
“I understand, Mother. And I will tell Quentin tonight.”
She dragged Quentin from the house soon after. Her bright smile was gone, in its place was pursed lips, red with the blood she’d drank at dinner.
“Angelica, what happened? I don’t want to overuse the euphemism, but you’re running out of there like a bat out of Hell,” he said, sounding confused. “What did your mother say to you back in the library?”
“She told me why there has never been a successful relationship between a vampire and a werewolf,” Angelica said. She wrung her black-gloved hands together, nearly tearing the fabric. “Your blood—and most other bodily fluids—are toxic to us. If I were to bite you, and I will, I could die.”
“Then don’t bite me,” Quentin said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
Angelica sighed. “If it were that easy, do you think I’d even bother telling you? Even if we marry and lay together, I could die. That wouldn’t matter, however, since I am a vampire. When we find our loves, we feed from them. Like my mother feeds from my father. It’s in our nature, in the very fabric of our being.
“I am sorry, but if I cannot be myself, give myself fully to you, what relationship would that be? If I fight my nature to be with you, I will grow miserable and desperate. This was a mistake,” she said.
Quentin stared at her, his pupils dilating. The wolf inside of him was trying to fight for what he thought was his. “That’s not fair. In fact, that’s quite selfish of you, Angelica.”
“Of course it is! Love is selfish. And if I cannot be myself with you, I do not want to be with you. We never should’ve begun something so unknown. It is better if we part now, before we go too beyond the point of no return.”
“So you can let me go so easily? Drinking blood means more to you than love?” Quentin asked.
She shook her head. “No, no, you don’t understand! Drinking blood is a part of how vampires love. Arousal brings out our thirst. And yes, I value my life more than a fleeting relationship.”
“Now you always thought that the relationship was fleeting?” Quentin’s voice was growling.
“Like you didn’t know? You’re mortal. Your life is a blink compared to mine. For you, a century is a lifetime. For me, it is the equivalent of two years.” Angelica backed away a few steps, making sure that she had enough room to avoid an attack if his wolf broke free. “You and I were never meant to be together. It is folly to have ever thought otherwise.”
“You vampires have always thought you were superior to us,” Quentin sneered.
His pupils elongated, and she noticed some of his wolfish fangs were beginning to sprout.
“Just because you’re immortal! Your kind is not better than mine because of how long you live!”
“I never said that,” Angelica argued.
“You did not need to.” Quentin backed away. “I was a fool to fall for you. Go back to your mansion and sip your blood from golden chalices. One day, your kind will cease to exist. Humans are becoming wise to you, and they’ll get the upper hand.” He smirked. “And I just might give them a hand…or a paw.”
Angelica thought that would be the last time she’d ever see him.
Chapter Nine
“And that’s it? That made weres hate vampires?” Miranda asked Angelica, skeptical.
Danny’s powers could be broadcasted secondhand if someone else touched him while he was having his visions, so that enabled Miranda to see what he saw without either Danny or Angelica having to rehash it all for her.
“And what did that have to do with the aftermath of possession?” Danny wondered.
Angelica was paler than normal, quiet. “That was the back story. You see, demons go for the weak ones. Those who are drug ridden, drunk, have mental disabilities and people who are very hurt or angry. The easier the better. And they love it if a were-creature is easy to possess. The extra power is always a bonus for them.”
She got up and took a long drink of water. “You’ll know the rest in a moment.”
“Do you need a break?” Danny asked. She didn’t look well at all. He wondered if she needed to feed, or needed sleep. “I don’t want you sick because of this.”
She shook her head, and he smelled her sweet perfume.
“Continue. There is not much more to tell.”
Bracing himself, he put his hand on her shoulder and was instantly transported to London again.
****
London, England
1832
A week after she had last seen Quentin, Angelica and her parents had gone to the city to see a play, a revival of Macbeth. It had always been Angelica’s favorite.
As they walked the torch lit streets of London, Angelica and Veronica hoped to find a blood donor, as all the people around made them hungry.
Vincent seemed to notice something off about the night. “The air feels heavy.” Despite being human, he had a keen sixth sense.
Angelica nodded. “I feel threatened.”
Veronica stepped away from them, and in the blink of an eye, changed into a bat to see if there were any threats nearby they should be worried about.
“Should we follow her?” Angelica asked her father.
Vincent nodded. “I think she sensed more than we did. Come.”
Keeping their eyes on Veronica in the sky, Angelica and her father wandered through the London streets. It was a beautiful, clear night, nearly the full moon.
Angelica heard the snarls and growls long before her mortal father did.
“If it’s attacking humans, I will take care of it,” he told his daughter.
Angelica resisted the urge to scoff. “Father, how will you—”
He silenced her by reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a revolver. He opened the clip and showed her the silver bullets. While she wondered why he carried around a silver-fueled handgun, she decided she didn’t want to look a gift-horse in the mouth. She had no tools with which she could fight off a werewolf about her person.
When they saw the were, her heart sank.
Her mother turned back into her human form and asked, “Isn’t that Quentin?”
Angelica nodded, her heart racing and mind reeling. Was this violent shifter doing this because of her? Then she saw its eyes change, turning into an inky black. That was definitely not normal for werewolves.
“Belle, go back to the house. I know you don’t want me to kill him, but there’s a chest in the closet in the empty maid’s room. I have silver shackles and iron shackles. Bring both, and be quick,” Vincent told her, handing her a very old and intricately carved key.
Angelica asked no questions, just did her father’s bidding and hurried home as fast as her powers could take her. Inside the closet was an armory of silver and iron-forged swords, daggers and bows and arrows. Inside the chest were shackles, knives, and books written in Latin.
Angelica had never known her father to be a warrior of any sort, and the things in the closet were used for hunting the unnatural, so they could not have been her mother’s. She was grateful for his secret as she took the shackles and used her vampire speed to get back to where Quentin was destroying the marketplace.
Veronica, a strong vampiress in her own right, was struggling to keep a good grip on Quentin’s neck to keep him from attacking any people. So far, he had only destroyed property and left the Londoners untouched.
“Give me one set and you get the others,” Vincent said.
She tossed him the silver shackles, using the iron ones to tie the front legs together while Vincent tied the back. As soon as the silver touched his body, the wolf howled and began to turn back into Quentin. It wasn’t really Quentin. Not anymore.
Angelica knew immediately, when he opened his eyes, that there was something wrong with him. His eyes were still completely black.
“Love, you and Angelica need to get him to the cellar as fast as you can,” Vincent told Veronica. “I’m going to get someone who can help us. I pray he’s still in London.”
With the silver rendering his powers useless, Quentin was helpless as he was taken to the Cross house and locked in a room Angelica hadn’t even known existed. The door had been covered with yet another tapestry, and she had never had reason to think that there was another door in the room.
