Kiss of the Wolf

by Morgan Hawke

  As a high-level courier, she’d seen more than her share of elegant manors. This house looked like any other an American senator might live in. However, this was the first time she’d been in one jammed into the side of a cliff.

  The young man turned to the left and headed for the stairs. “This way, Miss Thorn.”

  Thorn followed him to the broad spiraling staircase and looked straight up. The stair wound upward for four floors. Morning light spilled past heavy gold velvet curtains partially covering the narrow glass-paned camber windows marching up the curving outer wall. A huge multileveled, cast-iron chandelier filled the central hollow. However, instead of gaslights or candles, the chandelier was set with fist-sized glass bulbs that held still gold embers.

  Thorn shook her head and climbed after the young man. If the house was lit with magic, perhaps it wasn’t so normal after all.

  They passed two thoroughly human housemaids on their way down. With frilled aprons tied over their black dresses and their hair bound under tiny lace bonnets, they looked like any other housemaids Thorn had seen. Smiling vaguely, the maids nodded at the young man but barely spared Thorn a glance.

  Thorn’s pointed ears lifted a little. The people here didn’t seem to care that she didn’t look completely human. She sighed. Considering that they were working for vampires, maybe that was to be expected?

  The young man stopped at the turn to the next floor and stepped into a deep arching alcove. He knocked on the heavy black oak door.

  Thorn eyed the door, and her heart pounded fiercely. The vampire prince was beyond that door. She could feel him with every beat of her heart.

  The door opened inward, and a robed man looked out. His hand was on the hilt of a sheathed sword.

  The shimmer of “other” made the hair on Thorn’s body rise. This was definitely a vampire.

  He focused briefly on Thorn and then smiled at the young man. “Thank you, Thomas.” His hand moved away from his sword.

  The young man nodded, and his smile brightened. “Of course, sir.” He bowed to Thorn and stepped away, heading back toward the stairs.

  The robed man stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in.” Another sword-bearing, robed man stood just inside the door.

  Ears low and clutching her bag to her chest, Thorn stepped between both men into a spacious room that stretched to her left under an ornate vaulted and coffered ceiling.

  Tall windows, heavily curtained in dark gold velvet, marched across the long facing wall. The rest of the walls were painted terra cotta and held tall wilderness landscape paintings in gilt frames. An Arabian carpet in red, gold, and black covered nearly the entire sleek parquet floor. The center of the carpet was commanded by a huge expanse of wrist-thick clear glass resting knee-height on the outstretched wings of a pair of crouching white marble angels. On all four sides of the glass table were pairs of tall gold velvet wingback chairs. Matching couches lined the walls.

  At the far end of the room was another closed door flanked by another pair of armed men in black robes.

  Yaroslav sat in the farthest wingback chair, facing her, slouching comfortably with his feet up on an ottoman and a scarlet throw across his lap. “Pure happenstance.” He lifted a blue and white china cup and smiled at the vampire prince sitting in the wingback on his immediate right. “She bit me.”

  Rafael was equally slouched with one booted foot up on a matching ottoman. He’d removed his scarlet senatorial robe and tossed it over the back of his chair. His high-necked black velvet tunic was very similar to Yaroslav’s, with gold thread embroidery at the wrist cuffs and around the collar. His belt, however, was made of intricately wrought gold links set with deep scarlet cabochon stones.

  A Turkish coffee service of etched silver sat between them. A lone blue and white cup sitting upside down on its saucer occupied the opposite corner.

  Thorn snorted. They looked positively cozy. Unfortunately her pounding heart and the raised hair all down her spine weren’t buying any of it.

  The prince lifted his china cup, and his lips curved with evident humor, showing his dimple. “Bit you? Surely you jest?”

  Yaroslav lifted his chin and smiled at Thorn. “I assure you; practically the first moment we met, she bit me.”

  Thorn hefted her bag over one shoulder and stepped into the room proper. “Of course I bit you.”

  A clock chimed out the three-quarter hour on her immediate right.

  Thorn stopped and turned to look at the narrow table against the wall. The time on the gilded cherry wood bracket clock wasn’t anywhere near the three-quarter hour. She rolled her eyes. Another messed-up clock. She strode toward Yaroslav, taking care to stay on the left side of the low table, across from the vampire prince. “I bit you because you were a total stranger that came into my cave while I was in wolf form.” She smiled tightly. “That’s what wolves do when they’re cornered.”

  Rafael turned to look at her, and his brows rose over his sky-blue eyes. “So you can assume the form of a true wolf?”

  Thorn’s throat tightened. He was looking directly at her. The words dried in her mouth. She dodged his gaze, swallowed, and nodded. She looked down at the glass tabletop instead. In the middle of the table was a rather large and detailed brass-framed compass. It was as broad as a dinner plate but only two finger widths in height. She frowned at it. There was something odd about where the needle was pointing.

  Yaroslav set his cup on the glass table. “She makes a very lovely wolf, silver as the moon, and quite large.”

  “Oh?” Rafael glanced at Yaroslav and then directed his gaze back toward Thorn. “May I see?”

  What? Thorn jerked her gaze from the puzzling compass. He wanted to see? Her body wasn’t against it. In fact she had the distinct impression that she’d feel a whole lot more comfortable on four legs rather than two. But that meant exposing herself during her most vulnerable of moments—between shapes. “I, uh…” She really, really didn’t want to change in front of him, but she didn’t want to anger him either. She looked at Yaroslav, not sure what to say.

  Yaroslav pushed the lap throw to one side and rose to his feet. He stepped close and eased the backpack from her shoulder. “Allow me to help you disrobe.” He set her bag on the seat of the chair beside her.

  Thorn froze, staring up at him in shock. He wanted her to change in front of this terrifying…prince?

  Yaroslav tugged at the few buttons to her coat, unfastening them. “She is a trifle shy, my prince, if you would be so kind as to ask the guards to turn their backs?” He worked the coat from her shoulders.

  Rafael nodded and lifted a hand. “Of course.”

  Thorn glanced toward either door. All four guards turned to face the door they watched over.

  Yaroslav tossed her coat on the chair, over her bag, and pulled at the shoulder latches to her battered coveralls.

  Thorn snapped out of her daze and pushed his hands away from her clothes. “I’ll do it.”

  Rafael leaned to one side and rested his chin on his upraised palm. “You may turn your back to me, if you like.”

  That sounded like a wonderful idea—she wouldn’t have to look at him—and yet it was an extremely stupid idea, too. One didn’t leave one’s back exposed to a predator. She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

  She sat down on the chair to tug off her work boots. They had gotten decidedly uncomfortable, with her toes being clawed. She got them off and winced. She’d torn the hell out of her socks. She sighed, tugged them off, and shoved them into her boots. She got back up on her feet to work on unfastening the hip buttons to her pants.

  Yaroslav reached out to fuss with the buttons of her cream flannel shirt.

  Thorn pushed at his hands. “Quit that.” She turned to the side to take her buttons out of his reach.

  Yaroslav followed her around and reached for her buttons again. “I am merely attempting to be helpful.”

  Thorn turned to the side again to take her buttons back out of his reach. “You don�
��t need to be so helpful.”

  Yaroslav rolled his eyes. “Very well, then….”

  Thorn unfastened her last shirt button. The shirt slid off her shoulders in Yaroslav’s grasp and was tossed onto the chair beside her. She froze, her heart beating in her mouth. Her naked back was to the prince.

  Yaroslav set his hand on her bare shoulder. “Remain calm.” He tugged at the coverall buttons at her hip. “Rafael also wishes to see your aspect.” Her pants slid down to her ankles, exposing her entire backside and her tail. Yaroslav shoved her long hair over her shoulder and off her back, exposing the full length of her spine.

  Chills raced up her back. She crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered. Light began to glow under the skin of her bare arms, forming the overly familiar blue tracery that marked what bound her two souls in one body. She glanced over her shoulder in alarm.

  “I have never seen an aspect such as this.” Rafael leaned forward in his chair, and his gaze narrowed. “Indeed, this is the work of a heretic.” He raised a finger. “The pattern shows signs of deterioration.” He raised his gaze to Yaroslav. “Is this your overlay?”

  Yaroslav looked down and nodded shortly. “The original aspect is silver damaged.”

  Rafael’s brows lifted. “To be this fragile, it is a beginner’s work, clearly.” He smiled slightly. “Excellent workmanship on your part; the transmutation appears to be proceeding smoothly.” He eased back in his chair. “I am glad. I would not have wished to lose such an enchanting creature.”

  Yaroslav nodded and released a breath. “Thank you, my prince.” He released her shoulder and took a step away to present a small bow.

  Rafael laughed. “So, worried, were we?”

  Thorn looked away and nervously rubbed her bare arms. What the hell did he mean by transmutation?

  Something tapped her shoulder.

  Thorn yelped in shock, and her wolf surged to the surface in a brutally fast change. She dropped to four paws, whirled, and snapped at something blurry hanging right over her head. She missed, and her vision abruptly cleared.

  Yaroslav held his retracted hand close and stepped back. His brows dropped low over his dark eyes, and his bottom lip protruded just a bit. “Thorn….”

  You idiot! She laid her ears flat back and trembled, a little dizzy on her feet. She had changed much too fast. You scared the hell out of me!

  Yaroslav folded his arms across his chest. “If you wanted a taste of my blood, you need only ask.”

  You shouldn’t have startled me. She shook herself, settling her fur out of sheer habit.

  Rafael chuckled softly. “A very lovely wolf indeed, and so large.” He tapped a finger on his bottom lip. “Siberian?”

  Thorn lifted her head to focus on the prince of vampires. Her tall ears lifted. Oddly, she felt a whole lot better about him. The prince didn’t seem nearly as frightening. It wasn’t that he was any less a dangerous predator, it was more that it was easier to see that he was not actually inclined to attack. At least, not at the moment. Alaskan tundra wolf, actually.

  Yaroslav looked toward his prince. “She says she is a tundra wolf from Alaska in northern America.”

  Rafael smiled, and his gaze narrowed sharply. “She was made by an American sorcerer?” He rubbed at his chin. “I had not thought to search there….”

  Thorn shook her head in the human fashion. Not American. The Doctor’s accent had been very British.

  Yaroslav looked down at Thorn, and his brow lifted. “You did not mention that before.”

  Thorn looked up at him and tilted back an ear. She was pretty sure she had mentioned it.

  Yaroslav folded his arms and lifted his chin. “I do not remember such.”

  Rafael’s smile tightened. “Mentioned what, may I ask?”

  “According to Thorn…” Yaroslav looked over at his prince, “the sorcerer that made her, the Doctor, had a British accent.”

  Rafael’s brows rose; then he rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. “Of course. How obvious.” He swept a hand down his cheek and smiled wryly. “This plague was released by the Turks. A British sorcerer makes perfect sense.”

  “The Turks…?” Yaroslav scowled. “Again with a plague?”

  Rafael tilted his head to the side. “They released it, but the Assyrian magi could not discover how their human government had gained it. Senator Ashur is quite firm that it is not of their making.” He raised a finger. “However, in this century the British and the Turks are coconspirators against Russia, which Bulgaria claims to be a part of.”

  “Bulgaria…” Yaroslav lifted his chin, “where the plague first appeared, yes?”

  “Exactly.” Rafael waved a hand at Thorn. “Now that we have the heretic’s signature and his country…” he smiled, baring fangs a lion would have been proud of, “an end shall come to this debacle very swiftly.”

  Thorn suddenly felt a pang of pity for the Doctor.

  Yaroslav frowned. “If there is not more than one heretic.”

  Rafael’s smile slipped. “More than one…?”

  Yaroslav tilted his head toward Thorn. “There is more than one werewolf.”

  Thorn looked up at Yaroslav. Max.

  Yaroslav nodded at her. “Max.”

  18

  “Two?” Rafael sat up in his wingback chair, his sky-blue eyes wide. “There are two werewolves?”

  “Indeed.” Yaroslav stepped back around the edge of the glass table to the wingback chair by his prince. He tugged at his long tunic and sat. “A very poorly made man beast.” He set one booted foot up on the ottoman. “The creature is clearly embattled within as well as without.”

  “That is to be expected from a heretic’s work.” Rafael’s gaze focused on the center of the glass table. “On the other hand, in spite of the obvious flaws in Thorn’s aspect, her dual nature appears…united.”

  Yaroslav reached for his abandoned cup and the coffeepot. “Thorn is at peace with her feral nature, and so gained…stability within and without.” He poured steaming coffee into his cup. “She is a very remarkable creature.” He winked at her and then set the coffeepot back on the tray.

  Remarkable? Thorn would have blushed if her wolf form had allowed for it. Instead she shook her shoulder fur just a little, unexpectedly pleased by his praise.

  “I agree. Quite remarkable.” Rafael tilted his head and aimed his smile at Thorn. “You seem to be a bit more…comfortable with my presence, Thorn.”

  Thorn raised her head, lifted her ears, and gave him a broad wolf grin with her tongue lolling in a friendly fashion. She was a lot more comfortable. The wolf was a far better judge of aggression, or lack of it, than her human side.

  Rafael’s smile broadened. “Might I touch your fur? It looks so soft.”

  Thorn dropped her head and tilted one ear back. He wanted to touch her?

  Yaroslav dropped one hand over the arm of his chair and rubbed his fingertips together. “Do not be afraid. Rafael means you no harm.”

  Thorn eyed Yaroslav’s fingers and wanted the comfort he was offering. She moved to his side and set her head under his hand before she’d considered what her actions might mean. His fingers combed down her heavy neck fur and through her shoulder fur, delivering small, delicious shivers. An overwhelming surge of affection spilled into her mind directly from Yaroslav. She sighed and leaned into his hand. His touch felt really good. To hell with worrying about what letting him pet her might mean.

  “May I?” Rafael eased to the side toward Yaroslav and dropped his hand over the arm of his chair, palm down. He smiled as sweet as a cherub. “It would please me greatly.”

  Rolling under a shivering wave of physical delight, and pressed by the warm affection from Yaroslav, she slid between Yaroslav’s chair and the ottoman under his raised knee to Rafael’s side. She sniffed at the long-nailed hand the prince offered. His scent…Yaroslav’s scent held shadows, but the prince’s was tinted strongly with what could only be described as ancient night. It was alarming, but his bod
y was clearly not displaying aggression. She held still.

  Rafael raised his hand slowly and slid his fingers through her shoulder fur. “Soft as a cloud. How delightful.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  Thorn held very still under his hand. His touch felt physically pleasurable, but the pressure of his presence made her heart race.

  Rafael set his other elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his upraised palm. “I do, however, have one pressing question.” He stroked down her back and turned his head slowly. His gaze focused on the center of the low glass table. “What do you carry in your bag?”

  Huh? Thorn lifted her head in confusion. My bag?

  Yaroslav stilled, and his gaze shifted to the table, too.

  Thorn turned to look at the low table, automatically seeking what they were looking at. The compass—they were both staring at the compass. She puzzled over it. There was something wrong with the needle’s direction. Compasses were supposed to point due north; this one wasn’t. It was pointing straight at her pack on the chair across the table.

  All three of them looked at the canvas bag resting on the chair across the table.

  Rafael’s hand stopped on the back of Thorn’s neck. “Count, would you be so kind as to investigate the contents for me?”

  Yaroslav frowned briefly at Thorn. “Of course.” He rose from his chair.

  Wait a minute! Thorn jerked away from the prince. That’s mine!

  Rafael’s fingers closed brutally tight in her neck fur. “Please, remain where you are, Thorn.” His voice held the threat of a low growl.

  Thorn growled in reply, too frightened by the threat in his voice to react any other way.

  Rafael leaned over the arm of his chair and set his other wrist before her. “You may bite me if you wish.” His gaze narrowed, but his smile remained. “I assure you, I won’t mind in the least.”

  Yaroslav froze, his hand outstretched to Thorn’s backpack. He turned sharply to look at Thorn with wide eyes, and fear pulsed across their mental connection. Do not bite him! I do not wish to lose you to him.