A Taste of Crimson

by Marjorie M. Liu

“The police are beginning to blame the wolves for these murders. Someone needed to speak up for us, and I thought it might as well be me.”

  “Ridiculous.” The Grand Dame’s voice was sharp, uncompromising. “The police are in contact with me, and from what I can tell, they do not know what they have. The humans are investigating the murders willy-nilly, without any focus. The wolves have nothing to fear, not without evidence.”

  “Which is what we have to find, one way or another,” Keeli argued. “And what about the negotiations? Do you want them to fail? Wouldn’t it be nice to tell the vampires that you have someone investigating the murders? It would be a sign of good faith.”

  “I owe the vampires no such signs.” The Grand Dame sipped her tea.

  “What do you owe your people?” Michael asked quietly. “What do you owe them if no alliance is reached, and then later the humans strike against vampire and werewolf, and we are all weak because we are alone?”

  Keeli sighed. “Please. You fought so hard to convince the other Alphas of the importance of this alliance. Don’t change now. Don’t let that go to waste, just because you’re mad at me.”

  “Don’t be silly.” The Grand Dame grimaced, staring at the fire. “The police wish to question me. They wish to enter the tunnels and examine my wolves. Tonight, even, and I have the second night of the negotiation to think of.”

  “I will speak to Jenkins,” Michael said. “Keeli and I can conduct the investigation.”

  The old woman narrowed her eyes. Keeli stepped forward.

  “You don’t have to say another word. I know you don’t approve. But I’m not like the other wolves, and I won’t live my life in fear—”

  “Stop it—”

  “—of you. You raised me to speak my mind. You raised me to be strong. We both know why. So don’t try to take that from me now. This is something I have to do. It’s a matter of honor. Michael helped me, so now I’ll do the same for him. And maybe, at the same time, I can help the clan.”

  “Everyone will hear of this, Keeli. It’s inevitable.”

  “I don’t care. You shouldn’t, either.”

  “I care for you!” snapped the Grand Dame. “Already the others are saying you should be kept in the tunnels. And now this?”

  Keeli’s mouth snapped shut. Michael gave up on subtlety and stepped close. His arm brushed her arm.

  “As Keeli already said, we do not have time for this. The police are taking these murders very seriously—as you know the vampires are. If there is another death …”

  “The vampires cannot afford a war with us.”

  “Would you stake the lives of your wolves on that? Would you care to say for certain the police won’t order a roundup? What if a human dies next?”

  The Grand Dame set down her cup. She closed her eyes. “None of us can afford that.”

  Michael nodded. “So, time. We may not have enough.”

  The Grand Dame picked up her tea. She drank slowly, staring into the fire.

  “You are a very strange vampire,” she said finally. “I don’t trust vampires. Just as I suspect you don’t trust werewolves.”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” Michael said. “Vampires or werewolves.”

  The old woman snorted, her eyes keen. “Burned by your own kind, is that it?”

  Michael’s smile was cold. “The burning has been mutual.”

  The Grand Dame simply nodded, and he wondered just how much she knew about him. How much she could know, separated as she was from the vampires.

  “Werewolves sink teeth into their own ranks,” she conceded, surprising him. “But if I see your fangs while you are a guest in my tunnels …” Her eyes flashed gold and muscles rippled fine and hard beneath her delicate skin. She turned her gaze on Keeli, still with the wolf in her face.

  “You take responsibility for him? And yourself?”

  “I do,” Keeli said, and still she did not move from Michael’s side.

  The Grand Dame stared at her granddaughter. “The easy life never did suit you.”

  “I wasn’t born to ease,” Keeli said flatly.

  The old woman’s mouth tightened, and for a moment, Michael sensed pain.

  “Find the murderer,” she said. “Clear the Maddox name, if you can. Do it quickly.”

  Michael and Keeli left the Grand Dame’s small home. The empty corridor outside her apartment was made of poured concrete, well lit with industrial-sized fluorescent bulbs. The polished walls were softly curved and lined with a mishmash tangle of pipes and wires, which no doubt made sense to someone, but which to Michael looked like a fire hazard.

  Michael pulled the digi-encoder from his pocket. “No reception. I need to reach Jenkins.”

  “You could use the Grand Dame’s phone,” Keeli said. “I’m surprised you didn’t mention it while we were in there.”

  “You seemed uncomfortable. I thought we should go.”

  Keeli stared. Michael sensed tension in the hard line of her shoulders, her mouth. “I love her,” she said.

  “I know.”

  Keeli’s jaw worked. “You’ll have to use a public phone. Only the Grand Dame has direct access to the main telephone line.”

  Which was not a completely pleasant thought, but better than nothing at all. Better than knocking on the steel door behind his back. Vampires did not intimidate Michael. Very few had his respect. The Grand Dame had managed to do both, and it set his teeth on edge. True, he had left because Keeli was uncomfortable, and he would not return for the same reason. But he wasn’t entirely innocent of feeling discomfort around the old woman.

  “How long has she been Alpha?”

  “Longer than I’ve been alive. Her husband was the Grand Sire, but he died in a challenge. She fought the wolf who made the bid. Fought and won. She’s incredibly strong. Even now, at this age, there aren’t many wolves in Crimson City who could take her and win.”

  Keeli led Michael down the corridor, which curved as if they were in the belly of a snake. He watched the doors they passed, and remembered what Keeli had told him earlier about homes.

  “Who lives here?” he asked.

  “No one,” Keeli said.

  “I thought Maddox was a large clan.”

  “It is. But only the family members of an Alpha are allowed to live near the central heart of the underground.”

  “One of these is yours.”

  Keeli gave him a sharp look. “You don’t seem surprised. I wondered about that, back there.”

  “The resemblance is undeniable.”

  “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

  “You don’t like people knowing?”

  “It’s complicated.” Keeli’s gaze trailed over the cold doors. Cold, so cold—a mirror of her eyes. “There’s some bad history.”

  Michael frowned, taking in the quiet, the empty rooms. “What happened to the people who should be living here?”

  Keeli’s lips tightened. When she looked at him, he felt her anger, the sudden distance. She opened her mouth to speak and Michael pressed his fingers against her cheek. She froze.

  “If you are going to shout at me, don’t. If you feel forced to tell me the truth, don’t. I ask questions because I am curious, not because I expect you to answer me.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, after a long moment of silence. “Thank you.”

  Michael nodded. His fingers still lay gently on her face. “I have another question, Keeli. Why are the other werewolves afraid of you?”

  Her eyes changed—not to anger, but to a quiet despair that shot straight through Michael’s chest into his heart. She did not answer him.

  He caressed her cheek, lightly, brushing his thumb over her softening mouth. He stepped away. Careful, restrained.

  Control yourself.

  Keeli cleared her throat. She turned and began walking once again. Michael followed, silent, wondering at the secret in her eyes, the reason for such pain. It had something to do with the empty homes, the fear he had seen earlier in werewolf face
s when they realized who Keeli was. He could not image the woman at his side as a frightening force.

  Michael smelled the wolves before he saw them. Nothing offensive; a faint musk, the underlying odor of wet fur. Laughter, too, just as they rounded a curve in the corridor. Keeli slowed, almost to a stop.

  The first person Michael saw was a tall teenage boy with thick black hair and rough sideburns. He was pressed up hard against a girl, and she was definitely not complaining.

  “Oh,” Keeli said. She glanced at Michael, embarrassed.

  “Do you know them?”

  “Complete strangers. I heard some new wolves had been adopted, though. Someone said they were near feral.”

  Michael wanted to ask her what that meant, but the girl opened her eyes and saw them standing there. “Shit,” she said, frantically pulling the young man’s hand out of her jeans. She pushed down her shirt. Her boyfriend was clearly more reluctant to end his activities, but he turned away from them. Michael heard a zipper.

  “Sorry!” said the girl, brushing shaking hands over her long dark hair. “Really sorry.”

  “You should probably use your room,” Keeli said. “This corridor does get some traffic during the day.”

  “Yeah,” said the boy, flushed. “We—” He stopped, studying Michael, nostrils flaring. A damning expression filled his eyes, disgusted and horrified and afraid. It had been a long time since someone so young had looked at him like that, and Michael felt frozen within those eyes, the echo of centuries past—the heat of flames against his cheeks, the first flush of blood, hot between teeth—and oh, the horror if it, waking in the middle of a nightmare and knowing it was real—all real—

  “You smell like fang,” said the boy, in a deadly quiet voice.

  “I am a vampire,” Michael said, and he felt as though he were confessing a sin.

  The reaction was instantaneous. The boy flung himself at Michael, shifting shape as he flew through the air. Michael had never seen a werewolf transform so quickly; when the boy hit the ground again, he looked more wolf than human, with paws and a thick tuff spiked high along the back of his misshapen head.

  “Shit,” Keeli muttered, lunging forward to grab the boy around the neck. His girlfriend screamed, fur pushing through her skin even as she tried to slash at Keeli with new claws. Michael grabbed her.

  “Stop this,” he hissed, knocking her into a hard slide along the floor. He did not give her time to reorient herself, either; he flipped the girl on her stomach and yanked her arm tight against her back. She screamed again, and this time it was all fear.

  “Richard!” cried the girl, trying to buck Michael off her body. She began shifting into wolf form; he put her in a headlock. The girl thrashed against him, but Michael was stronger.

  “We’re not here to fight you!” Keeli shouted. “Shit! Listen to me!”

  It was too late. Doors slammed open; feet pounded against cement. Men and women were pouring out of rooms, racing down the tunnels to see what could make two people scream so terribly. Michael smelled the acrid mark of something feral.

  The first few werewolves hesitated when they saw Keeli, who said, “Wait, I need to explain.”

  “No!” shouted Richard, mostly human again. “He’s gonna bite her!”

  Michael felt the air change the moment he was recognized as a vampire; a crackle, the spit of electricity and fire. A shout went up, drowning out Keeli’s strident pleas, an echoing cry that vibrated his bones with howls that began shrill, but shifted guttural as throats changed and thickened beneath sprouting fur.

  Blasted by sound and wolf, when Keeli released Richard to step in front of Michael, he abandoned the girl and grabbed Keeli’s arm to yank her behind him. She was small, so small, her pale throat too exposed, and he did not think it would matter to these wolves that she was the Grand Dame’s granddaughter, that she was one of them. Only, that she stood against them for a vampire. He could not bear to see her hurt for that.

  The moment Michael touched her, the wolves dashed in. He barely managed to throw Keeli behind him before the first wolf went for his throat. Teeth slid against Michael’s skin but he was fast and flung the werewolf away before it could break flesh. He did not hold back his strength. He was not gentle. Pain flashed in his ribs—bright, hot.

  And then Keeli was there in front of him, but she was different, sharp and wild, with the wolf riding her hard—in her face, her body, everywhere—and he felt rage pour off her in waves. It was crazy anger, the kind he had seen last night as she crouched over a man with her fangs brushing skin for blood. The werewolves faltered when they saw her face, and then they scattered as she lunged at them, howling. Michael grabbed Keeli around the waist, hauling her tight against his chest. She screamed, still fighting, mindless with fury.

  “Keeli!” he shouted in her ear, uncaring what the others thought. He had to calm her. He had to make her listen before she did anything she would later regret. “Keeli, control yourself!”

  The werewolves still shouted, howling; he felt them close in again, but he did not check to see if it was to help or kill. He was too busy whispering in Keeli’s ear, feeling her body shudder in his arms, her heart pounding rough as her breathing slowed, slowed, slowed.

  “Michael,” she whispered.

  “I’m here,” he murmured.

  A voice cut through the melee. A shouted bark of authority that was part human, part wolf—and very clearly angry.

  “What is this?” snarled the Grand Dame Alpha, stalking through the wolves with a strength and poise that Michael would never have imagined, considering her age. She walked upright, completely naked, covered in thick silver fur. Her face could not have been called human, but she had not shifted enough to lose her ability to speak. The frozen state between woman and animal was monstrous in its rage; visceral. So much like Keeli, but with iron-tight control.

  The Grand Dame’s fists lashed out, mercilessly cuffing wolves who failed to move from her path. She kicked and clawed her way to the center of the mob, and it was a miraculous thing, seeing them cower before her on hands and knees, or with tails tucked and bellies exposed.

  Michael released Keeli, who managed to stand on her own without any show of weakness. The Grand Dame came to a stop beside her granddaughter, and Michael felt power wash over him, the connection that bound the two women despite their distance in age.

  “Don’t I protect you?” roared the Grand Dame, spittle flying from her sharp mouth. “Don’t you trust me to take care of you? Would I allow a vampire to walk our tunnels with my own blood, if I were not sure it was safe? Would I allow a vampire to live in my presence if I thought he were a threat?”

  She turned slowly, every wolf touched by that hard cold gaze. “You disrespect my judgment by your actions today. You threaten my only living blood, cub of my cub. Behaving like animals. Ferals. All of you disgust me.”

  “He’s a vampire.” Michael turned and saw Jas sitting up from the other werewolves. “Shouldn’t you be more disgusted with him?”

  Keeli went very still. Everyone held their breath. The old woman lifted her chin, the tips of her ears swinging forward. Tenacious, stubborn. Again, Michael sensed her power, the stain of raw untainted resolve. The years had polished her bright and hard; her body was old, but her will was not.

  “I am the Grand Dame Alpha,” she said, and her voice snapped out each word like the crack of breaking bones. “Do you contest my wisdom, Jas? Do you contest my authority?”

  Will you fight me? Will you take what is mine? Will you kill me?

  For a moment, Michael thought Jas would accept the challenge, that he would rise to his feet and meet the Grand Dame in the center of the corridor and fight her for power.

  He did not. Jas lowered his body slowly until he crouched like all the others, subservient. The promise was there, though. The threat had been spoken out loud. Michael knew it was only a matter of time.

  “No,” Keeli breathed, and Michael realized she understood the truth of it.
>
  Because if old age did not kill the Grand Dame Alpha, Jas most surely would.

  Chapter Nine

  Keeli did not pay attention to the reaction of the other werewolves. She did not look to see if they felt the same horror of anticipation, the realization of possible new leadership and challenge. Part of her was still lost to the wolf. There were moments, in the middle of the fight, when Keeli had felt herself awash in a dark sea, a cool and mindless tomb. All the anger that shifting brought to her—the rage of the wolf, uncontrolled, waiting beneath the ever-fraying seam of her human skin, waiting to spill out to sate hot fury with flesh—was too overpowering. It was the familiar danger, inherited and legendary.

  And she had almost used that fury against her own people.

  You will never be allowed to leave the underground. Not until you master your anger, like Granny May has.

  Granny May, the Grand Dame Alpha, was beautiful, heartwarming. Her ability to make everyone cower in abject fear and humiliation was brilliant and wonderful. Everyone had listened, learned, and licked booty when her grandmother entered the fray.

  And then Jas had to open his mouth and ruin it all.

  Nothing lasts forever. Her grandmother’s words, said to a little cub sobbing in her lap. Keeli, young and broken. Nothing lasts forever but love and memory.

  But that’s not enough, Keei told herself. She felt Michael at her side, and remembered his hands around her waist, holding her. She could still hear his voice in her ear, whispering her name over and over, bringing her back from the wolf, drawing the woman from the animal.

  Keeli glanced up at his pale face and noted lines of pain around his mouth and eyes. He bled from a small wound in his ribs, his shirt torn just enough for her to see the ragged patch of flesh. Nothing lethal, but it hurt Keeli—the sight hurt her heart—because the wound was for her. He had tried to protect her.

  “We need to stop that bleeding,” she said.

  “It’s nothing,” Michael replied.

  “You’re getting the floor dirty,” she snapped, embarrassed. Her cheeks felt hot.

  Michael stared at her, his expression unreadable, and said, “Keeli. I will be fine.” And then, even softer, “Now is not the time.”