by Michele Hauf
Suddenly Mireio clutched his hand and he sensed her intense fear. “He’s moving in on her. He’ll bite her.”
“That is what vampires do,” he said.
“Yes, but he’s a known killer. What if he kills her? Oh, I can’t watch this. Lars?”
The witch was squeamish, which he decided was a good thing. But not if she intended to ultimately eat a vampire heart. Blood drinking only seemed palatable if you were a vampire. Well, it was what vamps did. And if a guy was going to accept that the world was filled with all species that sometimes destroyed others to survive, then he had to allow each their own survival methods. But Lars knew vampires didn’t have to kill to survive. They committed homicide because they wanted to. Raven Crosse had reported this vampire had killed many. And that made all the difference to Lars.
“Nobody is going to die tonight,” he said, trying to hide the resignation in his voice. He’d hoped to remain a bystander. But there was obviously a price to pay for such voyeurism. “Stay here.”
He climbed over the cement balustrade and stood at the lip of the fourth-floor level. Pushing off into a free fall, he landed on the tarmac crouched in a solid stance, his boots stirring up earthy dust. He turned up to Mireio and winked at her, then took off in the direction where the vampire stalked his victim. The fear scent was stronger down on the ground. As was the acrid tang of blood. Lars quickened his pace.
The woman struggled against her captor when Lars came upon them; the vampire had her pinned to the wall by both wrists. The blood scent teasing the air sickened him. He growled, alerting the vampire.
The longtooth turned to him, fangs dripping with blood. The vamp hissed, and took off.
Taking chase after the fleeing vamp, Lars followed him at a leisurely lope for three blocks. He wasn’t about to go full-out assault werewolf. Not in the middle of a neighborhood populated by humans. And besides, Mireio needed this vampire to live for the night she would return.
When he decided he’d scared off the flesh pricker, he quickly veered back toward the victim, who wasn’t there when he returned.
He sniffed and cast a glance around the dark alley, peering into nearby shrubs and between trash cans and parked cars. The human scent trailed west.
To follow her or not?
He glanced upward, his gaze meeting Mireio’s. Even at a distance he could see her give him the thumbs-up signal. The victim must have wandered off to safety.
He returned the thumbs-up, then wandered back to the parking garage. When he reached the truck, Mireio ran up to embrace him. Wrapping her legs about his hips, she held him in a long hug. That connection brought him down from the adrenaline high of the chase. It was a sweet landing in the arms of a soft and sexy witch.
“I saw her wobble off,” she said. “A car pulled up and two women got out to help her into the back seat. I hope they’re taking her to the emergency room.” Her body shivered against his. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a vampire attack a person. It kind of freaked me out. I wish I could have gotten a better look at his face.”
“I saw him. It was dark, but I’m sure he’s the one Raven Crosse told us about. This must be his territory. We’ll return when you’re ready to do the spell. Okay?”
She nodded, and he helped her up inside the truck. As he drove to her place, Mireio remained quiet and Lars sensed she’d been more shaken by watching the attack than he’d first thought. How desperately did a person have to want immortality to commit such an act?
Immortality. If only werewolves were immortal. Hell. He’d better not go there. He’d never get through this night if he allowed the doctor’s diagnosis to do battle with paying attention to the girl.
Arriving at her place, he walked her into the living room and helped her to sit. “I’ll make you some tea. It’ll settle your nerves.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“She’s going to be okay,” he offered. “The victim.”
Fortunately, he’d gotten to the vampire and his victim before the bastard could drink too much. The woman would survive. With luck the vamp had used persuasion to make her forget what had happened, but Lars guessed his showing up might have prevented that. That woman was going to have some hellacious nightmares.
In the kitchen, he found a cup and some tea, then filled it with water and set it in the microwave for a minute and a half. While he waited, he stared into the living room, spying Mireio, who had put her bare feet up on the end of the couch. Her reaction prodded at his own morals.
Raven Crosse had assured them this vamp was the baddest of the bad. That he had killed. Many times. He probably deserved a cruel and painful death. But how could Lars be the man to deliver that death? No matter how horrible the vampire was, he should not place judgment on him and decide it was okay to end his life.
Should he?
Mireio had asked for his help. He’d said he would. He was a man of his word. But now...
Shit. Things had changed. And it had been two days that he’d stayed away from Mireio, knowing when next he saw her he’d have to tell her all. He didn’t want to. How could he? Could a guy get a rope to pull himself to shore?
Feeling a dizzy wave wash through his head, Lars slapped a palm to the counter. A weird feeling of dread crowded his thoughts. And then...his legs gave out and he went down.
Chapter 10
Hearing a clatter in the kitchen, Mireio sat up. Lars didn’t answer when she called out, so she raced into the kitchen to find him lying on the tile floor between the counter and the fridge. Unconscious.
He still held a tea bag in hand. He couldn’t have bumped his head. She didn’t see any blood. Had he...fainted?
Giving his shoulder a shake, she jostled him awake. The big, muscular man sat upright with a sudden movement and a groan.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I think you fainted.” Saying it out loud ratcheted up the anxiety she hadn’t realized had tensed her fingers into claws. She shook out her hands. “Let me help you up so you can sit on the chair.” She grabbed his arm but he roughly tugged away.
Turning onto his knees, he used the stove to heft himself up, and wobbled over to the barstool before the counter, where he collapsed in a huff. Hands shaking, Mireio filled a glass of water and brought it to him. When he refused it, she insisted. Finally he took a few sips, then he drank the whole thing and handed it back to her.
“Your tea water is ready,” he said curtly.
“I don’t need tea. I feel better now. But you are not fine. Lars, you fainted!”
“It was nothing.”
She exhaled, hands to her hips. Grown men who were as strapping as Lars, and seemingly healthy, did not all of a sudden faint.
“It is something. Something you’re not telling me. What is it? It’s about the tests the doctor did, isn’t it? You’ve had the blackouts and the shifting without volition. And you forget things in the middle of conversations. And you said something about your fingers getting numb.”
“Mireio,” he said warningly. He pressed a fist to his forehead and winced.
She wasn’t going to be chided. The man was not okay. And she needed him to let her in, trust her and tell her what was up. She needed that for her own sense of well-being.
She placed both hands on his shoulders. “Lars, you can trust me. And I worry about you. Is it your health? What’s going on?”
He exploded up from the stool, shoving her aside. Pacing between the counter and the front door, he paused in the center of the room. He eyed her sternly. His breaths were heavy. He glanced to the tea bag, still lying on the kitchen floor.
Then he turned and marched out the front door, leaving the screen door to slam in his wake.
Mireio gaped at his fuming exit. “Did I say something wrong?”
Just when she felt a tear wo
bble at the corner of her eye, the burly wolf marched back over the threshold and again paced a few times in the center of the room before her.
What was going on with the man? And why did men have such a hard time—
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s—” he squeezed a fist before him “—something.”
Of course it was. And it was a big something, to judge how upset he was. By the goddess, she didn’t know how to keep doing this. The man had a way of dropping surprises on her left and right. What more had he to hide?
No. She would not accuse or berate him for keeping things to himself. Lars was a private man, never one to boast about himself. Or, obviously, bring up his problems. So she’d be open and prepare herself for whatever he had to say. “Tell me?”
“Mireio, I—” He swung a fist through the air in defeat, then stopped his pacing. “Fuck!”
“Lars, please, you’re scaring me.”
Turning to face her, his arm swaying out in helpless abandon, he looked at her as if for the first time. For a moment his mouth compressed and he blinked his eyes, as if tears might fall. But then he nodded and pressed his palms together before him as if in prayer. “Sorry. I thought taking a few days to think this over would make it easier to tell you. It’s not. And it never will be. But you need to know.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair, gripping it, then releasing it with another forceful swing of his arm. “I’ve got...this thing. A disease. The doc says it’s rare and exclusive to werewolves.”
She stood there, arms down and open to listen. Because any wrong move would surely send him fleeing. But already Mireio felt her stomach clench and tears began to well.
“I’ve been having symptoms. Involuntary shifting. Memory loss. Disorientation. And now this? Blasted fainting? I hate this! It makes me feel so weak. But I’m not, Mireio. I feel good still. I’m strong. I feel...” He sighed.
“What is it called, that the doctor says you have?”
“It’s some fancy medical name. Lycanthorpus...” He searched for the words, then punched a fist into his palm. “I can’t remember the full term, something crazy. All I know is it’s degenerative.” He glanced to her for reaction.
Mireio touched her breast over the thudding heartbeats as the definition of that word coalesced in her thoughts. “Doesn’t that mean...?”
“It means I won’t ever get better. I’ll only get worse. And then?” He spread out his arms in what seemed surrender, and stated, “I’ll die.”
Her mouth dropped open at that statement. Issued forcefully and finally. She didn’t know what to say. She’d never... Feeling light-headed herself, she steered around the counter and climbed onto the stool. “That’s...” Heartbeats thundering and skin prickling, she looked to him.
The big, strong werewolf whom she had come to care for. Pine for. Think about constantly. He was her boyfriend. They hadn’t come out and stated their relationship status, but he was. He was hers. And she was his. And... The world faded in and out on muffled vibrations that at once made her heart pound loudly, and then she could not hear a thing.
Degenerative? He was going to die?
She sought his gaze and he initially looked away, but then, he met her eyes straight on. Shoulders rounded and hands still spread loosely beside him, he said softly, “The doc gave me a few months.”
Mireio stood. “A few? But that’s... Seriously?”
“I’ve been having symptoms for over a year. I didn’t want to go to the doctor.” He sighed. “But after shifting without volition one too many times, I finally figured I’d better check it out.”
Oh, damn. Her heart dropped to her toes. She couldn’t move. Her hands shook.
And she noticed Lars subtly shook too from shoulders to hands. And that was all she needed to break out of her shock and plunge against him and wrap her arms about him. At first he stood there, caged within her arms. But she hugged him tighter until he put his arms across her back and then bowed his head over hers and pressed his forehead against the crown of it.
Blessed goddess, she never wanted to let go of him.
They stood there for long moments. She could feel his heartbeat against her throat, could almost hear it. His heavy breaths that rose and fell with a world-weary exhale... Death?
“You need to get a second opinion,” she suddenly said. “Yes?”
“There’s only one werewolf doc in this part of the States, sweetie. He’s been taking care of the Northern Pack for much longer than I’ve been around. I trust him. He did all sorts of tests. Brought out books and explained things to me. He believes it was inherited.”
“Inherited? But your...family?”
“My dad died when I was little. Not sure where my mom is. She left me alone with the pack after dad’s death. It was hard on her. Ridge Addison and his wife, Abigail—a witch—raised me.”
“But if the doctor has been looking after your pack? Didn’t he take care of your dad?”
“He did. My father had the same thing. And—” he swallowed and dropped his hand down her shoulder and back “—he said he went quickly.”
Compelled to give comfort, she hugged him even tighter, wanting to draw out whatever it was inside him that was making him sick. To cleanse him of it. To renew him.
“Maybe there’s a spell?” she suggested. “There must be.”
He stroked her hair and tilted her chin up so she would look at him.
“You won’t die. We won’t let it happen. I’ll search my spell books. We’ll figure something out.”
He hugged her against his chest, so broad and strong. The deception of his outer appearance had surely fooled her. Her mighty werewolf was dying. There were simply no words to put that into proper focus right now.
“I want to make sure Peanut is taken care of,” he said. “Thought about that a lot the past few days. I just get that sweet little piece of heaven and now he’s going to be taken away from me. Or rather, I’ll be taken from his life. Just like with my dad. Something’s wrong with that.”
She clung to his shirt, squeezing too tightly, but to let go of him might see him fade away. And then she’d never get him back. Because he was skittish in a way that always surprised her. Except earlier...
“Oh, my goddess.” She pushed from him, turning away because she didn’t want him to see her. “You went with me this evening. And the whole time you knew you were going to...” That he would die. And so quickly. Two months? “I can’t believe I could have been so cruel.”
“You’re the least cruel person on this planet. What are you talking about?”
“Me!” She stabbed her chest with her fingers. “I’ve been seeking immortality, and I drag you along to make it happen. There you are standing with a death sentence on your head. How dare I?”
“Mireio, you didn’t know. And this has nothing to do with the spell you want to cast. You need that immortality. You said you’ve been thinking about this for years. And I will help you get it.”
She shook her head and spun her shoulders to face him. That he could suggest such a thing now revealed the capacity of his wide and giving heart. She truly was a monster to even think to ask him for such help.
“Can we sit and hold hands?” he asked softly. “I need that right now, Mireio. I... Please?”
His hand slipped into hers and she led him into the living room, where they sat on the couch. Tilting her head against his shoulder, they cuddled in the darkness, quiet, yet their minds racing. Two hearts who had found one another under the strangest circumstances.
Perhaps a half an hour had passed when Lars glided his hand along her arm and tilted up her chin to kiss her. Slow and easy, he tasted her mouth, taking his time and lingering on the sensitive inner dip behind her lower lip. It was such an erotic touch. She sighed into him as his hand cupped the back of her head and his thumb stroked her cheek.
>
He bowed his forehead to hers and asked quietly, “Make love with me?”
“Yes” fell out in a gasp. “Take me upstairs.”
Standing, he took her hand and she followed the stoic werewolf up the creaky stairs and into her clove-perfumed bedroom. The pale mint walls glinted with sparkle dust she’d blown on while the paint had still been wet. Moonlight shimmered everywhere, as if in an enchanted haven.
A pop art portrait of Marie Antoinette stuffing cake into her mouth hung beside the window. A sunflower burst above the high bed. It was covered with a patchwork quilt comprised of shades of green, mint and violet. Her grandmother had sown it for her. The stitches wove wards and protective sigils and blessings for love into the fabric. Draped over the canopy, a sheer blue scarf with violet and yellow flowers dangled its long betasseled hem over all four sides. It was her mermaid’s escape from the world.
Lars sat on the bed and pulled her to stand before him. The side of his face was illuminated by moonlight and his big brown eyes took her in as if she were magic.
Now was no time for thinking dire thoughts or discussing a dreaded future. Now...this man needed her.
He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, burying his face there as if to imprint the lines that told her life story, past, present and future, upon his soul. Keeping her hand in his he glided her palm over his cheek and she tickled her fingers down and into his soft beard. He wore his wild on his face, but his tender, gentle soul revealed itself in the curve of his smile and the perk of his dimples as he cradled Peanut in the crook of an arm.
“Touch me everywhere,” he whispered. “Make me yours.”
For a moment she thought of his confession down in the kitchen. Her heart dropped. But mining bravery, she pushed that feeling aside. Didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Now was for the two of them, getting to know one another on a deeper level. And she needed that desperately from this lovely yet broken werewolf.
Stepping up to stand closer to him with one of his legs between hers, she leaned forward and slid her hands down the back of his head, finding the wood stick and pulling it from the leather hair clasp. Tossing that over a shoulder onto the floor, she ran her palms over his thick, wavy hair and drew it up to press against her cheek, lips and nose. He smelled like wood and wild and salty, musky masculinity. His beard was thick and soft and so...fun to run her fingers through. He purred as she stroked it. Mmm...
