Witch Wolf

by Winter Pennington

  I heard the bathroom door open. Lenorre’s gaze went to it, eyes full of an anger I couldn’t understand. I seriously doubted the vampire harbored any jealousy toward me. More than likely, I suspected her ego was bruised that she hadn’t gotten to me first.

  I moved so that I could keep both the werewolf and the vampire in view. Rosalin’s hair was wet like she too had taken a bath. A matching black towel was tucked around her body, and I knew she made the situation look twenty times worse.

  Rosalin looked at me, and then the vampire. The expression on her face told me she was completely lost, but she had to have heard some of the conversation. Our kind have excellent hearing.

  “I did not say that you could use my bath.” Lenorre gave the other werewolf a look the put a chill of coldness in my heart.

  “I didn’t think you would mind.”

  Lenorre closed her eyes and responded with two words, but the command in her tone was hot enough to make me flinch.

  “Get out.”

  Rosalin looked at me as if asking for sympathy. I was too upset to feel particularly sympathetic. I felt like an idiot who’d allowed myself to get caught up in a moment of careless passion.

  A look of pain crossed her face and she hesitated at the door. She looked back at me.

  I shook my head. “No,” I said when she opened her mouth to speak, “not now.”

  She left.

  My hands trembled where they held the towel in place. Lenorre turned away, looking up at a painting on the wall. In the glow of candlelight it was beautiful. The painting was many shades of deep swirling blues and black. There were tiny pinpricks of light trapped in the sky, small silver stars. A horned crescent moon hung low on the horizon, stark white against the darkness. The edge of a gray cliff jutted out, welcoming the moon. The lighter shade of the sea below reflected the moon’s luminosity, tides curling in welcome to her light.

  The woman Lenorre had fed upon lay back against the thick dark pillows. As if she felt my gaze, she looked at me. Her skin was as pale as mine, but not quite the unnatural paleness of Lenorre’s. I couldn’t tell if it was some trick of light or contacts that made her eyes look like amethysts. She turned her head and I noticed there was a purple tint to the fall of her straight black hair.

  “Zaphara,” Lenorre said.

  “Yes, m’lady?” The voice didn’t quite purr like Lenorre’s, but there was breathiness to it that hinted at more nefarious things.

  “Show Kassandra to her room.”

  The woman nodded to the vampire’s back, climbing out of the pile of massive covers. She buttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, smoothing out the material with the palms of her hands. The dress slacks she wore were wide enough and had enough give that they made her legs look long and slinky. Her heels were muffled against the thick-carpeted floor. I looked up at Lenorre, and then followed the woman out into the brightly lit hallway. I squinted until my eyes adjusted.

  Zaphara walked ahead, putting a sway in her walk that would turn every head in a bar. I frowned and forced myself to stare at the fall of her black hair, deciding it was a bad idea since her hair ended right above her ass. I’d had enough preternatural drama for one night. It wouldn’t do to stir the cauldron even more.

  We passed several doors before she turned a corner.

  “This is your room,” she said.

  I walked into the room and nearly dropped my towel. It wasn’t as large as Lenorre’s room, but the space was generous. The room smelled of rosewood, sweet and spicy at the same time. Thick green material was pulled back and tied to each post on the canopy bed. The pillows were a combination of greens and cream colors. A rosewood armoire was placed in the corner of the room, matching the wooden posts of the canopy and the mirror diagonal from the bed. There was a Victorian vibe to the room, but beneath style was the energy one only finds in natural elements like wood and stone.

  Dark gray yoga pants and a white tank top were spread out on the bed. I guessed that Rosalin had taken them out and left them for me.

  “Rosalin put the rest of your clothes in the dresser,” Zaphara said from the doorway and I nodded.

  “If you need anything I’m down the hall and to the right.” She left, shutting the door without waiting for my response.

  I went to the dresser and opened a drawer. Rosalin had brought more than one outfit for me, all of which were neatly folded. I dug through them, finding a pair of black underwear. I opened the doors on the side to find that the dress and coat I had worn to dinner were hanging on wooden hangers. They smelled like they’d been cleaned.

  I tossed the towel over the large mirror and changed. I was glad the tank top had sort of a built-in sports bra so that the shirt wasn’t see-through. After I dressed I went back to the armoire, remembering my cell phone. It wasn’t in the pockets of my coat, where it should’ve been. I frowned and headed for the door, nearly jumping out of my skin when my mind registered the vampire leaning her tall frame against the door. I wondered how long she’d been standing there.

  “I told you to stop doing that.” I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “Doing what?” She looked genuinely perplexed.

  “Poofing. You did the poof thing again.”

  “I apologize for…poofing.” She gave a slow blink. “I wanted to give this to you. You had a phone call.” Extending her arm, she offered my cell phone.

  “Why do you have my cell?” I asked, and the suspicion in my voice was obvious.

  “I used it to contact Rosalin.” She shrugged, as if that explained everything. I took the phone and stood there, staring at her.

  She motioned at it with a graceful flick of her wrist. “You might want to get that.”

  I looked at it and realized it was on. “Shit, now you tell me.”

  “I told you a moment ago that you had a phone call.”

  I shook my head and took the call. “Yeah?”

  “Who was that?” Arthur asked. “Did I interrupt some bow-chicka-bow-wow?”

  “A friend, and no you didn’t interrupt anything.” That was, like, thirty minutes ago, right? “What do you want, Arthur?”

  “To hear your sexy angry voice,” he said, laughing loudly over the line. I had to move the phone away from my ear for a second or risk injury to my eardrum.

  “Arthur, cut the crap. Why are you calling me at two in the morning?”

  Did he catch Carver? I wondered. I hoped.

  “I’m not telling you until you tell me who answered your phone.”

  “I told you, a friend.”

  “She sounded hot.”

  I looked at Lenorre, who sat on the bed smiling. No doubt she was hearing the entire conversation.

  “Maybe,” I said and her smile faltered a little around the edges. I smirked. “Your turn. What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got our first official werewolf complaint,” he said in a singsong tone.

  “Really?” I asked in my best you-are-boring-the-shit-out-of-me tone. A complaint? Not the actual werewolf? Damn it.

  “Holbrook wants you to come in and help question her,” he said, serious.

  “Her?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said. “Can you be here in twenty minutes?”

  “Yeah, if you want me to get pulled over for speeding.”

  “What? Your apartment isn’t that far away…Ooh.” There was a pause as it dawned on him. “You’re not at home, are you?” He laughed.

  “That’s none of your business,” I said.

  “Aww,” he said, “spoil the fun. How far away are you?”

  “From the station?” I asked. “If I take the highway, only half an hour or so.” I was guessing. I hadn’t kept track of time when Lenorre drove us out here. Who would with a vampire driving?

  “I’ll let Holbrook know, but you should hurry. You know how impatient he is.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, remembering. Captain Holbrook was bossy, loud, obnoxious, and had zero patience. If he said to get something done, he meant get it do
ne in 2.5 seconds. His wife was the complete opposite, polite, soft spoken, and with what seemed like an unending amount of patience. Usually, people that project a sweet image to the world have a horrible temper lurking somewhere in the depths, but not Lillian. She was the epitome of kindness and ladylike grace.

  “Hurry up, all right?” he said.

  “Give me time to change and then I’ll leave,” I said.

  “Can I—”

  I hung up the phone before he could finish.

  Lenorre stood from the bed. “As well,” she said, “I need to change my clothes.”

  I frowned as she began walking toward the door. “Why would you need to change?” I opened the top drawer in the dresser, taking out a pair of stylishly destroyed jeans and red hooded henley. Rosalin had been thoughtful enough to put a pair of solid black skate shoes in the armoire. I silently thanked her. I was so not in the mood to wear heels.

  “Your undergarments are not there because they were not retrievable,” Lenorre said matter-of-factly.

  An image flashed through my mind of the entire squad finding the remains and sending them in to forensics. So not cool. I was ninety percent certain the woman was reporting the werewolf in Heartland Park. It wasn’t a comforting thought that I might end up on that complaint. I certainly hoped not, since I had saved her butt. If that was a possibility, why was I going in to interrogate her? I was also ninety percent sure the wolf in Heartland Park had been Carver, and judging by Arthur’s call, they hadn’t caught him. Any information I could get would be valuable to the case and taking him down.

  “You didn’t leave them, did you?”

  She gave me a look. “Of course not.”

  I nodded, but said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea if you go with me.”

  “Ah,” she said, “but I am going to go with you.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You asked for my aid, did you not?”

  I tried to see if there was a trap in her words and failed to see one. “You’re right,” I said carefully, “I asked.”

  “So,” she said, lifting her shoulders in an elegant shrug, “I am giving it.” She gave a victorious smile. “I’ll leave you to change. It will not take me too long.”

  She left, kindly shutting the door behind her. I changed into the clothes I’d set out on the bed. Digging through the drawer and ruining Rosalin’s fold job, I managed to find that she had packed an extra bra for me. It wasn’t the same as the bras I usually wore, which molded to my body. This bra was a push-up with two tiny shoulder straps. It was the only bra that made it look like I actually had cleavage.

  I hoped the henley would be warm enough. The material was thick, but it had been chilly earlier tonight. I slipped my feet into the shoes, pulling the white socks up so they didn’t bunch at my toes. If there was one thing that would drive me neurotic, it was bunched-up socks. I laced the shoes and put my cell phone in my right pocket.

  There was a light knock.

  I called out, “Come in.”

  Lenorre walked in. “Better?” She asked.

  “Yeah, much better.” My gaze traveled over the length of her body. The denim pants she wore were tight and neatly tucked into a pair of strut-your-stuff boots. The word delicious came to mind. The shirt she wore was modest and faded, but the design that peeked through the opening of her dark jacket made me laugh.

  “The Grateful Dead?” I asked.

  She grinned wide enough to flash the tips of her fangs. “I am glad you notice the humor in it.”

  “Shit, I couldn’t miss that a mile away,” I said. “At least you look somewhat human. Let’s go.”

  As we stepped into the hallway she walked past me and looked over her shoulder. “So do you.”

  “So do I what?” I asked, lost.

  “You look somewhat human.”

  “A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” I jested.

  “That is more true than even you know, Kassandra.”

  I gave her a look at that cryptic comment, but decided it was best if I left it alone, for once. There was a nearly unnerving silence to the house as we left. It felt as if the walls were holding their breath. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something about the house felt strange.

  Chapter Twenty

  As Lenorre sat in the passenger seat guiding me toward our destination, I tried to memorize the area. This, at two-something in the morning, wasn’t easy to do. Everything always looks so different at night. I knew that if I tried to drive back to the house in the morning I’d have to try and remember street names. The problem with that was there were none. They had all been painted over in various shades of spray paint.

  “Why aren’t there any street signs out here?” I asked.

  “There was a house down the road where teenagers used to party. They replaced the signs once, but the kids vandalized them again.”

  “That explains why the past two stop signs we’ve passed have ‘Go’ written on them,” I said.

  “Indeed,” she said. “It does.”

  “They should really replace the signs. Fine the kids or throw them in juvey.”

  She lounged in her seat. “They would most likely give them community service.”

  I nodded in agreement. “True.”

  “The kids would do it again.”

  “Oh, look.” I leaned over the steering wheel while easing my foot down on the brake for a stop. “Elderberry,” I said, reading the first sign that was graffiti free.

  “If you keep going straight it leads to the highway,” Lenorre said.

  I spared a glance at her. “Forward,” I corrected. “When you’re in a car with someone that’s gay, it’s the polite term to use. If you say ‘straight’ we just come up with smart-assed remarks.”

  The corner of her mouth trembled for a second in what I thought was an effort not to smile. “Forward, then.”

  I wondered if Lenorre was a lesbian. I mean, come on, she’d taken me out to dinner. Wasn’t that a date? Well, that and the scene in her bedroom. I tried to think back to my first impression of her at the club. It’s easy to visually spot the obviously gay—the stereotypical butch and gay male. The women that go into clubs scoping out other chicks, shoulders held tight, as if they’re ready for a fight at any moment. In all reality, stereotypes do not trigger what is commonly known amongst homosexuals as “gaydar.” I’ve met butch and tomboy women who were married and men who were extremely feminine but loved women. There’s a lot more to homosexuality than a trend or appearance. Appearances, as they say, are deceiving. Very deceiving. Like knows like, and a lot of us can sniff one another out almost on a psychic level. Kind of like the way I could scent another wolf nearby, I realized.

  I glanced again at Lenorre, trying to figure her out. I was betting she was a lesbian, even though it wasn’t physically noticeable.

  “Kassandra.” Lenorre’s voice called me out of my thoughts.

  “Hmm?”

  “You failed to stop at the sign we just passed.”

  “There’s a stop sign behind us?”

  She nodded and then looked curiously at me. “What were you thinking about?”

  Should I tell her, or do I just ask her, “Are you a lesbian vampire or a bisexual vampire?”

  I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel…Hmm.

  I decided to tell her. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re a lesbian or not.”

  Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Why would you try to figure that out?”

  “I’m curious,” I said.

  “Mmm.” She tilted her head to the side.“What do you think?”

  “I think yes,” I said, this time remembering to stop. I followed the street under the overpass and made a left onto the service road that would eventually spit the car onto the highway.

  Lenorre was silent.

  I looked at her. “You’re not going to enlighten me, are you?” I asked.

  “Why should I when you already know?”

  “So, are you
admitting to it?”

  “That I am a lesbian?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yes. Though I prefer the title ‘Lover of Women.’ It has a more sensual ring to it.”

  “It sounds a little polyamorous to me.” I gave the car a little more gas when taking the onramp.

  “I can see where one might get that impression,” she said. “I am, however, a highly monogamous creature when I am in a relationship.”

  “When you’re in a relationship?” I laughed.

  I heard more than saw her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I have been alive long enough that I have tasted a casual encounter at least once, Kassandra.”

  I ignored the fact that, technically, she wasn’t alive. She was undead.

  “Once?” I asked.

  She smiled, reservedly. “Or twice.”

  “I’m not a casual person,” I said, placing my cards on the table.

  “Are you saying that what happened with Rosalin was not a casual encounter?”

  I stared at the stretch of highway before us and tried to figure out how to respond. In a sense, it had been casual. Rosalin had been the pursuer, but I had ultimately given in to my wolf, to the energy between us. Could I have stopped it? If I could have, would I? I didn’t know. There wasn’t any sense in blaming anyone or trying to push it off as an accident. Those were both lies. I wasn’t angry with Rosalin, I was angry about the fact that we’d had casual metaphysical sex and I didn’t feel as terrible as I thought I should. In fact, I felt okay. Did I see myself having a relationship with Rosalin? No. The energy was amazing, but something was missing, some deeper craving wasn’t there with Rosalin. In that moment, I’d felt plain and simple erotic hunger brought on by the wolf. It was nice, but fleeting. It was, in fact, purely animalistic.

  I looked at Lenorre.

  “I don’t take it seriously, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” I asked.

  “If she had won your heart…it would have diverted all of my plans.” Her voice was low and purring.

  I shuddered. “And what plans are those?”

  “You are a smart woman, Kassandra. I am sure you can figure it out.”