When we were a few feet from the front door, Mark turned and looked at me. His blue eyes glowed in the darkness, and once again, I got that sense of him … growing, somehow.
His voice was low, seductive, almost playful, and edged with excitement. “It’s time to decide, Sophie.”
I swallowed hard. “Fine.” My voice sounded about a thousand percent more confident than I felt. “Name the terms.”
His blue eyes glowed brighter for a moment, and I sensed his presence, well, unfurling is the closest I can come to describing it. As I stood there in the darkness, the hot smell of smoke rose around me. I felt engulfed by him somehow, as if he was blotting out everything around me—the garden cottage, the spring grass at my feet—even the stars seemed to gutter in the sky and go out. I clutched my purse to my stomach, wishing my mother had had time to whip up something more powerful than a bag full of salt.
“Name the terms,” I repeated, this time in a whisper.
Mark drew himself up, and for a moment—just a moment—I thought I caught a flutter of dark wings. His voice, when it came, was different—deeper somehow. Older. And scary as hell. “You will bind yourself to me, Sophie Garou,” he said. “You will forsake all others but me, for eternity. My will will be your will, and you will be mine. In exchange for your loyalty, I will free your sire, Luc Garou, from captivity.”
My throat dried up. Right behind that door was my father, who would almost certainly die tomorrow. I had the key to his survival in my hand, but to use it would be to shackle myself to this being, forever.
I stood there, rooted to the porch, trying to take this in. I knew there would be a price. But my eternal soul? I cleared my throat and tried for a light tone. “And here I was hoping you’d settle for a weekend getaway.”
Mark was growing impatient; I could tell by the intensity of his smoke smell. “What is your decision?” he asked.
“I’m thinking,” I said. “It’s kind of a big decision, you know?”
“Do not think too long,” he said. “Even now, I sense them stirring.”
I glanced over my shoulder; sure enough, a light had gone on in the main farmhouse.
“If you do not choose to agree,” Mark said, “your father will die a long and painful death.”
“You don’t know that,” I said.
He chuckled then, a low, throaty laugh that, despite the heat emanating from him, chilled me to the marrow. “How are you going to defend him?” he asked. “You know the trial is fixed. Graf has wanted his head for centuries. Are you really willing to throw your father’s life away?”
I thought of Luc Garou, whom I’d barely gotten to know, shackled to a chair inside the garden cottage. His reddish hair, his green-flecked eyes—just like mine. Granted, we hadn’t exactly been close, but that didn’t mean I still didn’t care about him. Could I turn my back on Mark and let the werewolves consign him to death?
“They do more than just stake them, you know,” Mark said, his voice silky smooth. “They dismember them, too. Just to be sure. Sometimes they do it before they stake them.”
I glanced up again. More lights were coming on in the big farmhouse.
“Time is running out, my darling.”
I looked at the door of the garden cottage, feeling wrenched in two. I turned to Mark. “I can’t do it,” I said.
His eyes sparked. “You refuse me?”
“I have to,” I said. “It’s … you’re asking me for too much.”
He seemed to grow larger then. The boards of the porch groaned beneath him as he advanced toward me, and I could almost see the flames flicker along his skin. I fumbled in my purse for the bag of salt my mother had given me, wishing I’d taken a few minutes to clean it out. Lipstick, compact, wolfsbane tea bags, hair brush—finally, my fingers closed on the little cloth bag, and I yanked it out and thrust it toward the advancing demon.
“Stay away from me,” I said, my voice quavering.
He snorted, and I swear little flames escaped his nostrils. But he didn’t come any closer. “Are you certain you’re willing to condemn your father this way?” he asked. “It would only take a moment for me to free him.”
“Go away,” I said, more firmly this time.
The heat on the porch blazed suddenly, and my face burned. I turned my head to the side—it was like being inches from a bonfire—but didn’t lower the bag of salt. The band of metal on my finger was suddenly hot as a brand; I gasped in pain.
“Last chance, Sophie,” he said.
I turned my head toward his, squinting, and almost dropped the salt. Gone was the handsome CEO of Southeast Airlines; in his place stood the flame-covered creature I’d glimpsed in the cave in Round Top. Even under the mantle of fire, I could still see the magnetic blue flicker of his eyes, drawing me in. The ring on my finger burned, and I could hear a seductive voice in my head, telling me to surrender, promising me all manner of delights, a life of ease …
“No,” I croaked, and it took all of my strength to utter it.
“That was a mistake, Sophie Garou,” he said, and the malice in his words shocked me to the core. “We will meet again, soon. I promise you.” He blazed blindingly bright, and I shut my eyes again, waiting for him to burn me alive. Then the light and heat dissipated. I opened my eyes a hair, still brandishing the bag of salt like a weapon. But I was alone.
Well, not entirely alone.
Light flooded one of the windows then, illuminating the porch in front of me, and I heard voices from inside. Turning to flee, I spotted three werewolves loping toward me. I might have just saved my immortal soul, but the mortal part of me wasn’t out of the woods yet.
Tucking the bag of salt into my purse, I sprinted off the porch into the brush, praying the werewolves hadn’t seen me, although that was highly unlikely, considering Mark’s little bonfire display of a few moments ago. Still, they were in human, not wolf form, which was at least a little bit of an advantage. They moved more slowly as humans, and they couldn’t smell as well.
About a hundred feet into the woods, I found a little hollow in the trunk of an oak tree. I pressed myself into it and thought invisible thoughts, then peered around the bole of the tree at the garden cottage.
The front door had opened, and five werewolves now populated the porch. Two of them trained a flashlight on the porch floor where Mark had stood a few minutes earlier, looking at scorch marks, probably; the other three, unfortunately, were training their lights into the bushes around me.
“It’s the daughter, I’ll bet,” one of them said.
“She can’t be far.”
“Let’s go,” another growled. They were just advancing into the brush when a car engine growled from the parking lot, and a pair of headlights cut through the night. Mark’s limo—I could tell by the hum of the engine.
“They’re heading for the gates,” one of the werewolves said. In an instant, all five of them were sprinting toward the parking lot, leaving me alone in the woods.
A second later, I glanced around the tree trunk toward the garden cottage, which was silvery in the light of the waxing moon. The smell of Luc Garou was stronger now. Was it possible they had left the front door open?
As a second car engine roared from the parking lot, followed by the screech of tires, I crept through the brush toward the garden cottage, sniffing for other werewolves. But except for Luc and the three made werewolves, which I could now smell as well, I appeared to be alone.
I hurried up onto the porch, excited to discover the sliver of light leaking from the open door. I slipped inside and hurried toward the back of the house—and my father.
“Dad,” I whispered as I entered the room where they were holding him.
He looked totally nonplussed by my arrival. “Sophie,” he said. “Chérie. Why have you come?”
“I’ve come to get you out,” I said. Even though he still looked haggard, his eyes were bright, as if he’d been waiting for something. Me, probably, I realized. Could he smell me? I’d had my
shielding on, though. I certainly could smell him—and the made werewolves, who I could tell were somewhere else in the little building.
“What happened to your ami?” he asked.
“My what?”
“Your little friend,” he said. “The one who smells like a fireplace. It was very strong, the odor. I could not detect you, but I suspected you were somewhere nearby.”
“You mean Mark?” I shrugged. “We had a little disagreement. He went home.”
“Why are you here?” he asked. “And to bring him… what was your purpose? It is trop dangereux.”
“I’m here to get you out,” I said.
He nodded sagely. “Ah. I appreciate your loyalty. Admirable.”
“Where are the keys?”
“Is not Armand en route?” he asked.
I took a deep breath, feeling guilt wash over me. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t reach him.”
“Georges?”
I paused for a moment, not wanting to break the news. Finally, I said, “They killed him.”
My father looked stunned. “Les animaux,” he whispered. “Georges. Le pauvre ….”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling racked with guilt. If only I’d listened to Luc, and tried to reach Georges earlier …
“Sophie,” my father said then, his voice urgent. “Georges is—was—a warrior. It is a waste, a terrible waste, but it is not your fault.”
“If I’d gotten in touch with him earlier, though …”
He gave another of those Gallic shrugs, making his chains jangle. “That is past. Presently, though, unless you want to be imprisoned by those Teutonic animaux, you must leave. Immédiatement. If they find you here …” he began.
“They won’t,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “The keys. Do you know where they are?”
“Wolfgang’s animaux carry them with them always. I doubt you will find one.”
“There must be some way to get you out of here,” I said, hurrying over to examine the padlocks that held the ends of the chains together. They were distressingly bulky, as were the chains they linked. As I fingered the heavy metal, my father’s scent—gamey as it was at the moment—brought up a mix of old emotions. Emotions I couldn’t afford to examine at the moment, to be honest. Concentrate on the problem at hand, Sophie. If I could get the biggest lock loose, he would at least be free enough to run. It would be tough—unlike mine, my father’s scent was rather powerful—but if we could get out of the compound, we could deal with the manacles on his hands later. If only I’d brought my mother’s hedge clippers with me …
“You must leave this place,” he said.
“I can’t,” I hissed, my eyes rising from the padlock to my father’s wrenchingly familiar golden eyes. “If I leave you, they’ll execute you. The trial’s fixed.”
“Peut-être,” he said. “But I have a plan.”
“So do I,” I said. “If I don’t get you out tonight, I’m going to defend you tomorrow.”
“Sophie, ma chérie. I appreciate your attempts at assistance, but I assure you, it will not help.”
I sighed. “I know it probably won’t. But I’ve got to try.”
“You must not attempt to free me, my darling. I would not have them attack you as well.”
“But…”
His eyes glowed in the dim room. “You must leave me be tomorrow.”
“How about we get you out of here now? Then we won’t have to worry about it.”
Before he could say another word, I ran to the kitchen to see what I could find that would help me pick the lock.
I returned to the little room a moment later bearing a steak knife.
Luc Garou raised an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do with that?”
“I’m going to try to open the big padlock,” I said, and jammed the metal blade into the lock while my father looked on mildly.
“It’s too big,” he said. “Perhaps something more slender would be better?”
“There isn’t anything,” I said. And it was true; the kitchen was almost completely bare. “Unless you think a corkscrew would work.”
He chuckled. “Not unless there’s a good Côtes du Rhône along with it.”
I paused in my knife-jamming to glance up at him. How could he be so cavalier?
“After all,” he added, “why die sober?”
Die sober? “I thought you said you had a plan!”
“I did not lie. I do have a plan.”
“Then why are you talking about dying?”
He raised his shoulders a fraction. “I said that I had a plan. But I never said that it would work.”
“I’m coming to defend you tomorrow,” I said as I jabbed the lock fruitlessly.
“No you’re not.”
“I am,” I said, “and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“That’s my girl,” he said quietly. I looked up at him again to see a proud smile on his face. “Even if tomorrow is my execution, I die a happy lupin. Tell your mother she has done well.”
“No, Dad.” The word felt so strange on my tongue, but right, somehow. “You’re not going to die tomorrow. You’re coming with me. Tonight.”
“No, chérie,” he said sadly. “They are coming, I am afraid. You must leave this place.” As he spoke, I heard the murmur of voices outside, and caught a whiff of werewolf.
Damn.
“Go, my daughter,” he whispered. “Flee this place. Send your mother my love.”
“But…”
“And you have mine as well,” he added, eyes burning into mine. “Now go.”
I was about to protest, but the footsteps on the front porch, and the smell of several hostile werewolves, made me decide that he was right. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whispered, reaching for his hand. He grasped mine and squeezed it hard, only for a moment.
Then he released me. “Go,” he whispered, and I did. Tears stung my eyes as I stumbled to the kitchen and let myself out the door. I’d spent my entire life without my father; now that I’d met him, I had only a few hours before we’d be parted forever.
As I shut the door behind me, I could hear the thunder of boots in the garden cottage. Where my father remained shackled to a chair, awaiting his execution.
I took a few moments outside the garden cottage to get my emotions back into some semblance of control, which was a challenge. After all, not only had I just deserted my father, but I’d barely escaped being burned to cinders by a demon who until recently had been my lover, and my client. Adele will be so pissed, I thought, then snorted out loud. Of all the things I had to worry about, my boss’s concerns were pretty low on the list.
Once I’d manage to collect myself, I looked around and tried to get my bearings. Obviously I wasn’t going to be leaving in the style in which I had arrived—Mark’s limo was long gone—but after considering my options, I decided my best bet was to follow the main road and hop the fence near the entry. With a last look at the garden cottage, which was now chock-full of werewolves, I skirted the compound and cut a path through the scrubby oaks about fifty feet away from the main road, trying not to think too hard about everything that had just happened.
The presence of large stands of cactus lurking at regular intervals was a mixed blessing. It distracted me from my worries, but I ended up with a few dozen spikes embedded in my jeans. Aside from a few botanical entanglements, though, I made it to the front gate unscathed. I guess because Mark had left in the limo, the werewolves presumed the intruder had left the compound, so there wasn’t a lot of focus on internal security. Once I cleared the fence, sporting only a couple of injuries from barbed wire, I reached into my bag for my cell phone to call my mother, only to discover it wasn’t there.
Brilliant.
What kind of an idiot walks out of the house with a demon in tow to try to save her werewolf father without even carrying a cell phone?
Oh, well. There was nothing I could do about it now. And although I hadn’t been packing technology, at
least I’d had a bag of salt. Which had come in remarkably handy.
Since my only other option was to walk to a gas station or go back into the ranch and ask to borrow a phone, I started hoofing it down the shoulder of the highway, hoping I was moving in the right direction. It was slow going, since every time a car came roaring down the highway I had to hide in the gully in case it was a werewolf. Every time I lay down in a patch of burrs I cursed Mark—redundant, I know, but I couldn’t help myself—and by the time a Kwik Stop came into view two hours later, I found myself experimenting with ways to tell my soon-to-be-former-client to go to hell. Literally.
Light was starting to color the sky by the time I located the gas station’s lone pay phone and dialed my mother’s number. It wasn’t the best sunrise I’ve ever experienced—after all, my father was still on line to be condemned to death and I’d narrowly escaped eternal damnation—but at least there weren’t any werewolves hanging out in the parking lot and threatening to rip my throat out.
My mother answered before the second ring, her voice breathless. “Sophie—you’re okay.” It came out as more of a statement than a question.
“I’m fine,” I confirmed, even though I’d never been closer to despair in my life. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and forget about everything that had happened. But I couldn’t. My father’s trial was scheduled to start in mere hours, and if I didn’t show up to defend him, who would?
“You didn’t get him out, did you?” she asked in a low voice.
“No,” I said, and the feelings I’d been trying to hold off all rushed in. I felt hollow, and hopeless, and ashamed that I hadn’t been able to help my father. Or that I hadn’t been brave enough to sacrifice myself to free him.
“But you held off the demon,” my mother said.
“He’s gone,” I said, wiping my eyes. “You were right about him, though. The salt—if I hadn’t had it, I don’t know what would have happened.” I closed my eyes, wishing I could rewind the evening and replay it. The problem was, I couldn’t think of any other way it could have gone. Unless I had somehow managed to smuggle in a locksmith. And maybe an exorcist or two.
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