“By wolves.”
“Yes. Will you stop interrupting me?”
To honor his request, I don’t respond.
“Will you?” he snaps.
“Sorry.”
Rolf crosses his arms. Maybe he is a little cold after all. Or maybe he’s just aggravated at me. Either fits.
“Yesenia’s only surviving son did what he could to help draw off the wolves. He fought many of them and saved countless lives, but in the process, the largest wolf sliced his stomach badly. Yesenia saw. She rushed over and tried to heal him, but she hadn’t the strength to. She was older now, and she had been healing others throughout the attack. Instead, she sacrificed the wolf and her son. Through some of her druid priestess powers, she transferred her son into the spirit of the wolf.”
“So he’s a zombie vamp wolf,” I deadpan.
His glower is fierce and annoyed. “Zombie?” he asks, disgusted and hostile.
Unbelievable. It’s like he’s more irritated that I interrupted his epic storytelling than he is devastated and frightened over the villain of the tale.
“You said she sacrificed him…”
He ignores me, anger in the curl of his lip. “Anyhow, when her son came into being as the spirit of the wolf, in her arms, he returned the favor. He bit his mother, ate her flesh, and drank her blood. Some claim that he has to continue this diet to survive, and he certainly has both continued to enjoy this meal over and over again and survive.”
“Wait. I’m confused. You first told me that he’s been around for a thousand years. You mean he’s even older than that?”
“Yes.” He tilts his head. “That’s your question after all of this? How old he is exactly?”
“It’s just a story. It might be true. It might not be. My questions aren’t about his history—it’s about the weapons. What are they?”
“You’ll see.”
“Tell me.” I cross my own arms and stare him down as best as I can despite him being taller than me. “I would like to survive. Oh, and if I do, are you wolves gonna pay me or something? Hail me as a hero? I mean, it would be well deserved, saving you all from your worst enemy.”
“You’ll be doing your job as a cop to take him out. Do you need another boon?”
“Can’t blame me for trying,” I mutter under my breath. “The weapons,” I remind him.
“A pure silver bullet containing blood within the center.”
“Whose blood?”
“His mother’s. It is said that the other druids collected a vial of her blood and enhanced it with poisons. It was their wish that the monster she created could be put down.”
“Just a vial. Of course. A few drops and nothing more. What else?”
“A blade forged from her bones and the bones of the wolf used in the transformation. It should be able to pierce his skin.”
“Will I need both?”
“Yes. First, use the bullet square between his eyes. It should knock him unconscious.”
“Not to his heart?”
“No. The bullet will not kill him.”
“Not even with the poison? So what will kill him?” This is way too complicated for me. At least a silver bullet takes out a vamp. That seems so much easier than all of this.
“After you knock him unconscious, you’ll have to use the dagger to slice down his chest. Crack open his ribcage, and yank out his heart.”
“Oh, right, because that’s so easy. Anyone can do that. How in the world am I supposed to crack open his ribcage? And what if the bullet doesn’t work? How long will it render him unconscious? How can you be certain the bullet will work? This all sounds way too magic-y for me. I’m human, remember? Not a witch. Not good with magic. Not good with wolves, either.”
“Apparently,” Rolf mutters.
“Look, you want me to do this favor—“
“It’s not just for me,” he protests. “It’s for all wolves everywhere, and it’s also for the people of Bethlehem. As long as he’s here, he’s a threat to everyone. How many more people does he have to kill—“
“Why is he killing people instead of the wolves?”
“As long as we leave him be, he will ignore us. We are a kin of sorts, after all.”
I glower at him, angry, baffled, and maybe a little scared, too. “Do you share in that feeling of kinship? Is this all some kind of elaborate ploy to sacrifice me at the altar of Amarok?” I tap my foot impatiently, anxiety seeping out of me with every exhale.
“How can I get you to trust me?”
Oh, now that’s something to consider. Pondering, I rub my chin and smile impishly. “I know how. I want you and the others in your pack—wait a second. Do they know about me? They don’t, do they? You want me to do your dirty work to protect your pack, but they don’t even know I’m involved.”
“They do know I have a plan,” he admits, “but they do not know of your involvement, no.”
“Well, change that, and tell them that they need to keep watch over the city, help protect the people.”
“From Amarok?”
“From anything. Amarok, vamps, criminals…”
“Not from Amarok. We can’t get involved… but,” he rushes to add, “we can help against the criminals.”
“Why not the vamps?” I cry. This is so infuriating!
“We don’t get involved with them. They don’t get involved with us. We aren’t going to upset the balance.”
“Balance this.” I scowl. “Either you do as I say or—”
“Or what? You know you’re going to face down Amarok regardless of what we do.” Rolf smiles wolfishly.
“You enjoy being infuriating and frustrating?”
“I enjoy living, and you are going to ensure that I remain alive and deal with my biggest problem.”
A wave of fatigue washes over me. I just want all of this to be over with already. “I thought you were convinced I was going to die in this venture?”
“I can hope you’ll succeed. I can hope for the best.”
“Yeah, well, I want the people of Bethlehem to be able to hope for the best, too.”
Rolf gnashes his teeth together. “Fine. I’ll ask the others to watch out for the people from criminals, and I’ll handle any vampires that I see. I’m not sure if any are within the city, though.”
“You’ll risk war between wolves and vamps for me?” I’m surprised. Maybe he’s not as terrible and self-serving of a wolf as I thought.
“Only for one day. I will get you the weapons first thing in the morning. By the next morning, Amarok had better be dead.”
That sounds too much like a threat for my tastes.
“Or else…” I prompt.
“Or else that means Amarok has killed you.”
Chapter 16
It might be my last day alive, and when I wake up the next morning, I am not in a good way. My body is screaming in pain from the vamp attack yet, and I’m… I’ll admit it. I don’t want to die. I’m terrified of death. I do believe in Heaven and Hell, but I don’t know where I’m going. I’m not a bad person, but I’m not necessarily a good person, either.
My life. What have I really done with it? What mark have I left on the world?
Those questions are way too deep for me to ponder without some coffee first. I’m brewing an entire pot—yes, an entire pot of hazelnut coffee just for me—when there’s a knock at the door.
I quick throw my coat on over my pajamas and open the door. A small box rests on the ‘Police Line Do Not Cross’ welcome mat. No one is in sight. No car is driving away.
The box is strangely, surprisingly heavy. I’m too confused and curious to be worried. I don’t hesitate to open it. Maybe not the smartest of moves, but I have an aversion to waiting. Patience has never been my strong suit.
Inside rests the single silver bullet and an ornate bone dagger. Just touching it creeps me out. The blade part seems to be fashioned from both bone and obsidian. Interesting. I don’t think Rolf said anything about volcanoes. Isn’t
obsidian volcanic rock? Maybe their city had been by a volcano or something. I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter so long as the dagger is sharp enough to slice into Amarok’s skin.
Hm. Does he have to be human or wolf when I go after him? Does it matter? I doubt I’ll recognize him in human form. I only saw him from the back.
It’s early yet, too early to go in, but if today’s my last day, I might as well do something fun, right? So I call off. It’s something I’ve never done before. Never. I’m definitely a workaholic.
Not today though. That’s on the docket for tonight.
In the meantime…
I call Dean, not expecting him to answer because he’s either working or sleeping. When he does answer, I drop the phone.
Smooth.
I grab it and say, breathlessly, “Hello?”
“Is something wrong?” Dean asks.
“Why does everyone ask me that?” I chuckle weakly and grimace. I’m really not in fighting shape.
“You groaned. What happened? Are you hurt?”
“I… Yeah I got in a fight the other day—“
“The other day? Did you go to the hospital? Did a doctor examine you?”
“No. I thought I would self-medicate, that it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Who hurt you?” he asks quietly. There’s a hint of a threat in his voice, geared toward my attacker. It’s sweet that he’s ready to go fight against my assailant, but I’m not some silly damsel in distress.
“I can take care of myself,” I remind him.
“I’m not implying anything else. I know… I… Are you busy? Do you have to go into work? You do, don’t you?”
“I called off,” I say softly. “Any chance you’re off, too?”
“I’ll come right over. I have to work this afternoon, not in the morning.”
Quickly, I get changed, but I opt to skip the heavy makeup. The horror in Dean’s eyes when I open the door and he sees me makes me wish I caked it on.
“That bad, huh?”
“Who hurt you?” He’s almost growling the words, reminding me of Rolf. Dean cautiously cups my cheek, rubbing my jawline, near one of my bruises.
“It doesn’t matter who.”
“Of course it does.” His nostrils flare, and he slams the door shut behind him.
I lift my eyebrows, mouth gaping with surprise. He’s showing another side of himself, a more intense side, and I’m not sure what to think of it.
Wordlessly, he examines me and my wounds. It’s not romantic in the slightest, all clinical. Still, I do feel taken care of. He uses my first aid kit to wash my already-washed wounds and bandages me up.
“You’re lucky. I don’t think your ribs are broken, but maybe you should get an X-ray to make sure,” he finally says.
I shake my head. “Would rather not.”
“Line of duty?” he asks casually as he tosses the last of the bandage trash onto my coffee table. He sits on the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
“Yes,” I answer honestly, wishing he wouldn’t press the issue.
“Did you nail the guy? Guys?”
“Don’t worry about all that.” I sit beside him and rest my head on his shoulder.
He’s tense and rigid, and he doesn’t move to put his arm around me.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big… Clarissa, someone hurt you, and—”
“And they’re dead,” I say quietly.
Silence reigns, heavy and oppressive. I can’t bear to look at him, but after a moment, I have to. There’s shock in his eyes, wonder, fear… and respect.
“The news hasn’t reported anything, not that I saw,” he says.
“The media doesn’t know everything, believe me, and that’s a good thing.” I nestle against him, and this time, he’s open for snuggles.
I desperately want to change the subject, to suggest we do something crazy or wild or fun. Of course, he’s not ready to let it go.
“What were they after?”
“Dean…” I sigh and pull away, sitting up.
“You can’t say. Sorry. I get that. It’s just…”
“Who was it?” I ask quietly.
“Hm?”
“Who in your life was abused?”
His cheeks tinge pink as he glances away. “My sister. Her scum of a boyfriend. I tried to tell her he wasn’t any good for her, but she thought he made her happy. He did enough to stay in her good graces and then would start up again. It wasn’t physical at first. He slowly turned her against her friends and her family. Kept her real close to him. By the time he showed all of his true colors, she felt like she had no one to turn to.”
“What happened?” I almost don’t want to know.
His hands are tight fists, his knuckles white. His eyes are haunted, hazy with anger and frustration. “He slammed her into the wall so hard that she blacked out. Clarissa, she had a brain bleed. It dissolved on its own, thank God, but if it hadn’t…”
“She’s fine.” I pat his hand.
Dean ignores me, acting like I’m not even there. “And the worst part of it? She went back to him a few months later. Typical battered woman. It took some heavy-duty therapy for her to realize her self-worth. What kills me is that I don’t know how she fell for him and his ploy to begin with. Mom and Dad have always talked us up. They never put us down, and we were raised to have good, strong, healthy self-esteems. She’s doing much better now, with a guy who treats her right… at least so far.”
“Wow.” I’m speechless. I’m not sure what else to say.
“So when you don’t want to talk about the guys who hurt you, it reminds me of Jillian. She used to make excuses all the time, used to change the subject, brush it off… And that was when I could get her to see me, to talk to me, considering Jack tried to keep her away from us. He didn’t want anyone to try and taint him in her eyes.”
“That’s… Dean, it’s admirable that you want to… save me… from the men responsible…” I almost trip over the word men. “But you don’t have to worry about me.”
“Right. Because you can take care of yourself.”
“I can. And also because it’s not abuse. It’s nothing you can save me from. It’s a part of the job.”
“I…”
“You have to accept who I am,” I say quietly. Man, this is so not going the way I wanted it to. I wanted… not roses and chocolate, but something memorable. Something that Dean can hold onto if anything happens to me. Because, let’s face it, the chances that I’ll be able to take down Amarok isn’t very likely. I’ll be barely a blip on Dean’s radar, on anyone’s radar.
How can a life be truly lived if you don’t leave an impact? What good have I done in the world? Sure, I’ve arrested some bad guys and cleaned up the streets from drug dealers. Yeah, I helped to get rid of some of the vamps in the city, but more are hanging about yet, possibly. I’m not sure considering Amarok isn’t supposed to be keen on vamps.
“I know who you are,” Dean protests.
“I’m a cop. I protect people.”
“Everyone but yourself.” He finally looks at me, smiling with his lips but not his eyes. “And I’m a doctor. A healer. I heal people. Let me protect you. Let me heal you.”
At first, I think he means heal as in magic. This is crazy, and I know it’s crazy, but with everything between the vamps and the wolves, I can’t help myself.
Instead, he brushes his knuckles against my cheekbones, gently taps a bandage, and leans over for a sweet, tender kiss.
Can he accept me wholly and completely? I can’t be sure, but right this second, it doesn’t matter, since there might not be a tomorrow for me.
Chapter 17
The last time around, when I tried to lure out the vamps, I went the whole goodbye routine. Diego saw through me, so I can’t dare risk doing I again… at least not beforehand. Once Dean leaves to pick up some lunch for us, I quickly write a note for Travis, Samantha, Diego, and a few others. If I don’t m
ake it back, the letters will be found. Hopefully, they won’t be needed, but I’m not willing to risk never saying my farewells.
By the time Dean returns, I have to wipe a few tears away. I’m not ready to die yet. Not really. But I am willing to put my life on the line for everyone. That’s just who I am.
Maybe I need to recognize who I am, too.
“Clarissa?” he calls from the living room.
“Be right there,” I answer. Do I look like I’ve been crying? It’s not like I’ve been bawling. Just a few tears. Nothing major.
A few deep breaths do nothing to settle my nerves. I’m so uptight and anxious. Seriously. It’s like fright has taken up residence within me, making me second guess every move I make.
It’s not until tonight. You can forget about it for now. Just live in the moment.
“Clarissa?” Dean sounds like he’s just outside my door.
I hinged it shut, and he makes no move to open it, opting to give me privacy. While I appreciate it, I also want him to stop tiptoeing around me. We’re so timid yet. Just finding our middle ground. Who knows if our relationship will ever get to that easy, comfortable point where one will just know what the other needs. Without having to say a word or ask a question first. Truly knowing and understand and accepting the other.
Maybe, maybe not. It depends on tonight, but even if I somehow survive, it doesn’t mean our relationship will thrive. Dean’s hiding something else from me, I think. I have a sense about those kinds of things. There’s something else bothering him, more than just his sister.
“Come in,” I say. My fingers brush against the frame of a picture of my parents and me on my nightstand. We’re so happy in it. It takes my breath away. We went to Musikfest not that long before they were murdered, and we had been so happy. Dad forced us to go with him to see a country act. Mom doesn’t mind country, she can take it or leave it, but I hate country music. Give me rock and roll. Give me the classics. Heck, give me jazz or R&B. Anything but country. And anything but rap.
He begged me to come with, so I did. Now, I’m so glad I did, even though I hated the music for those two hours.
Dean touches my shoulder. “Your parents?”
When Wolves Howl: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 2) Page 11
