Wolf's Bane: Book Three of the Demimonde

by Unknown

  Once again, the sick feeling crept in, pulling my insides and slowing my steps at the curb. I wanted to march across the street, away from him, away from here.

  I just didn't have the stamina to do it.

  Once again, I turned around and saw him behind the glass, feeling a thin respite as I looked at his face and his gentle, expectant expression.

  It wasn't compulsion. It was some kind of magic.

  I didn't know what any of it meant. All I knew was that this werewolf had me and there was nobody, save him, that could help me.

  What could I do? The only relief I'd find would be at his side.

  I trudged back inside, clarity returning and with it, anger—anger I didn't dare show because it would just be another check to bounce. Right now, I had to focus on getting out of this mess. Somehow.

  He raised his hand, gently urging me to return with him to the depths of the theater. "You will not be in danger. I won't allow it."

  "I don't want to go back in there," I whispered. "I'm afraid."

  "Of what?" His accent made him sound so sure, even though I suspected my words puzzled him.

  "Of them. The werewolves."

  "Sophie, they are mine. There is no need to worry. Do you fear me?"

  I bit my lips, thinking for a moment and fishing around my gut for a reaction. "No. You make me cautious, not afraid."

  "Well, then," he said with a chuckle. "If you do not fear me, then you shouldn't fear at all. I am the one in control here."

  "About that," I said. "They keep calling you kernick. What is that?"

  "König," he repeated. His careful pronunciation gave the word a subtle flourish at the end. "It is a title."

  Vague. Maybe it was German for front man.

  We crossed the darkened auditorium floor toward the side of the unlit stage, past the bar where we'd first met. A few hours ago the stage was alive with sight and sound and this man had prowled across it. I thought about how he'd sung, about the things I thought about while he sung them. I thought about his voice. He was accustomed to singing to thousands.

  Now, in the empty theater I was his only audience and he sang only for me. He hummed a simple tune, a soothing melody. It was warm and brooding and I relaxed against my better judgment.

  Humming became words. "Strangers were we before this night, two spirits meant to pass in the dark…"

  I snorted. "My requiem?"

  "Sophie, requiems are for the dead. You are alive."

  "Yeah, well…" I swung my purse by my side, rubbing my shoulder. "My past experiences with the Were haven't done much to convince me I'd end up anything different."

  "Then you have only met sad excuses for Wolfenkinder. My pack does not run about harming beautiful maidens."

  I laughed, despite wanting to throw up on the floor and flee. "That's poetic."

  "If a poet describes what he sees with his heart then it is not poetry. It is merely truth."

  We headed backstage, passing through the long corridor. It seemed much less forbidding before when it was lined with crew and hopeful fans. Now, it was empty and the walls echoed with expectation. Voices carried from the rooms beyond. They ceased when we rounded the corner and stepped into the common room.

  "Ah," called out a voice. Stohl rose to face us. "A change of heart, thief?"

  "You might say that." Dierk answered for me. "Sophie has agreed to help us solve this charming puzzle of who she is. First, my friends. I think it is fair that we show who we are. My dear Sophie is fearful of der Wolfenkinder. I do not wish for her to spend time here with us worrying about which one of you will eat her. Gentlemen, if you'd be so kind. . ."

  One by one, the men standing closest to us dropped backwards into the crowd, allowing room for sleek shapes to push through. Black wolves, bigger than German Shepherds, eyes glowing like Halloween lanterns.

  Were. They were all Were.

  Startled by their sudden change, I lost grip on my barriers and they wavered, wide open. That's when I felt it.

  The few DV who had remained in the room were threatened by the Weres' manifestation. Surges of DV power erupted, eliciting growls from wolves throughout the room. The growls only made the DV more nervous. Tension was building, a positive feedback loop that would only end with an explosion of aggression. The DV's power squeezed at me, clawing through my barriers. If I didn't calm them, a whole lot of bad was going to happen and I'd be caught in something far worse than a mosh pit.

  I reached out, locating each of my DV, draining their anxiety and their defensive anger, calming them, soothing them, getting them to withdraw their power. The growling ceased. The tension drained. Bloodbath averted.

  At least I had thought so.

  I turned back to Dierk to find him downright glaring at me.

  "What are you doing?" He sniffed at the air around me, frowning. "You are human, yet you command these Demivampire. You wear their power. Are you a succubus?"

  "A what?" I knew what a succubus was. At least, Syfy's version. If that's what he meant, I had better be hearing wrong or I was going to club him, superstar or not.

  His lip curled. Apparently, that's exactly what he meant. "A vampire whore."

  A condemnation if I ever heard one. I'd known vampire whores and being placed in the same category as Donna made me want to spit. "Is that what you think I am?"

  He shrugged, seeming very comfortable with hurling insults. "Perhaps."

  "How dare you!" I raised my hand, intending to slap off his smug expression.

  He grabbed my hand before I could strike and held it firmly. Although it didn't hurt, I still didn't like it. I twisted, trying to pull out of his grasp.

  "I do not mean to insult you," he said. "But I am Wolf. This is our world. Don't blame me because my brethren are not overly fond of your Demivampire pets."

  "Look. Let's just agree to disagree. Okay?" I struggled to yank my hand loose. His half-smile made me furious. "You don't like my friends. I don't like yours. Let's just say so long and good night and let me go."

  "I cannot." He lowered our hands to his chest and I could feel his heart beating. "There is still the matter of the Leni."

  "Which is?" His tone made me wary. I was suspicious of foreign words and foreign traditions. I was still trying to figure out the DV, for crying out loud, even with the Sophia giving me an inside track.

  "The Leni is a ritual of destiny. The sensation you experience when we are separated is the sign of the soul-bond. The Leni will determine if it is a true bond."

  "A true bond meaning…?"

  "It's a mating ritual, you stupid human. Honestly, Dierk, this one? She isn't worthy of ein König!" I didn't have to see the owner of the ugly voice to know it was my new BFF. "She is an insult to Wolfe. An insult to our Leni. She makes mockery of legend."

  Not that I wanted to agree with the mean bitch, but still. "Dierk, I didn't come back here for a mating ritual."

  "Can you deny what you felt when you walked away from me?" His tone was not bossy. It was tender, soft and gravelly. "I know what I felt."

  "Dierk, you must be mistaken," Cacilia insisted.

  "Cassy." Dierk's voice raised in dark warning. "Now is not the time."

  "It's never the time," she said, her words running together in a growl. "I will not abide this."

  Pushing aside the people who stood in her way, she stomped out.

  "Look, Dierk," I said. There was something big going on with that woman. I more than suspected the entire drink-down-the-back thing was in retaliation for Dierk speaking to me at the bar. "I don't want to cause problems with your girlfriend."

  He glanced in the direction she had gone. "Cacilia is not my girlfriend."

  "Neither am I."

  "True." His half-smile deepened and took on genuine expression. "But you may turn out to be so much more."

  "Do I have any choice?"

  "Destiny is not a choice, my dear."

  Ugh. Dear? "This isn't my destiny. I've already got one."

  "We
will see." He half-turned and called out: "Clear the room."

  Immediately, several large men, some of whom I recognized as the lovely gentlemen who'd asked me about a missing wallet, began ushering people toward the doors. Murmurs of disappointment trailed in their wake. Several DV spikes, questioning, suspicious.

  It was the DV that were being shown out. The people I'd identified as humans, too, I noticed. Alarmed by this, I hesitantly peeked my power out.

  Only Were remained in the room, and me. The sudden vacuum made me suck in a hard breath. When the doors closed with a boom, Dierk turned his attention back to me.

  Gently, he raised my captive hand to his mouth and I felt the scrape of new beard mingling with the softness of his lips. It was a very courtly gesture and I didn't appreciate it one damn bit.

  "Destiny…" His voice carried to the corners of the room. The gathered people and wolves held collective breaths, me included. "Determines the path of the stars and the cycle of the moon. We can deviate from our destinies no easier than the moon or the stars can from theirs. I, Dierk Adeluf, son of Schatten, der König von Wolfenkinder, invoke the Leni to determine if it is destiny that our soul-bond become life-bond."

  Life-bond? My eyes must have bulged with the disbelief I struggled to contain. Oh no, he doesn't–

  Before I could protest, he thrust our hands out and down to our sides.

  A wolf bit into my hand.

  The attack was silent. The pain was splintering. The stars and their destinies exploded behind my eyes.

  I rocked on my feet. Heat traveled up my arm, filling my head and squeezing out my breath. My knees buckled once, twice. I tumbled forward into Dierk's open arms. He'd been waiting for me to fall and he caught me, gently sinking to his knees with me, cradling me to his chest.

  As the room and the light and the sound faded into the haze of heat and pain, the last thing I saw was Dierk's face and his damnable half-smile.

  Waning gibbous | moon 10% visible

  I floated in feverish delirium. Consciousness evaded. Dreams evaded. I floated alone on a warm red tide.

  Pain swam through me, pooled in my hand. I floated, rocked hopelessly by a tide I didn't understand. The red moon never moved, never waned—just hung in the dark as if painted there. Oh, uncompassionate moon! It didn't care if I sank or not. She talked to herself, a tumbling sound of murmurs and laughter, and gave no notice to my broken body riding the rising tide.

  So I sank, letting the warmth surround me and pull me under. Why should I care, if the moon did not?

  My hand throbbed with a dull restless ache. It wanted attention and got it; I could concentrate on nothing else. The pain came in a series of blooms, like drops of ink falling into water, falling and blooming and making everything hazy.

  Never stopping.

  Eventually, I could think past my hand to the rest of my body, which ached all over like the flu. My joints ached, my muscles felt bruised; fever and headache pretty much made applesauce of my head. Suspecting it would hurt to open my eyes, I kept them closed.

  My ears rang with a zinging pitch, though, so I lay still and listened. I always thought tinnitus was cool. It drowned out everything else. I wanted it to drown out everything else.

  Then I realized someone was singing along with it. Oh, dear.

  Time and reality clicked into place when I opened my eyes, the way one slide advanced to the next during a projection show. Sight gave me anchor, even though everything, save the man, was completely unfamiliar.

  Dierk lounged in a wide square armchair, listening to a music player. He sat forward the moment my eyelids moved, rising immediately to sit on the edge of the bed.

  "Hey, sleepy," he said.

  Sleepy? If I had to have a Seven Dwarfs nickname, it would be more accurate to call me Pissy. Or Doom. Because as soon as I could lift my arms, I'd kill him.

  At the moment, however, I was hot, achy mush. All my anger came pouring out in a weak whimper of discomfort and fear. Way to enunciate, Sophie. Go on with your big, bad self.

  "Shh. I know you don't feel well but you'll be better soon. I promise." He stroked his fingers along the side of my face, down my arm. Where his skin touched mine, I felt better.

  His touch chased the ache away.

  "Try to sleep." Dierk rose and smoothed the blanket. "It's easier if you sleep through it."

  "No," I mumbled. So much work for such an easy word. "Stay."

  His half-smile almost spread but he seemed to force it down into a neutral line.

  "Of course," he said, and lay down next to me, arm around me, our heads close together. He pressed along the entire line of my body and he kept the pain away.

  Comforted by his nearness, I slept. And this time, there was no red moon.

  I awoke with a clearer head, aware of how much extra skin was in bed with me.

  A quick inventory revealed I wore only my camisole and undies; apparently Dierk was clad only in his shorts. Not modest enough for strangers, soul-bond or no.

  I tugged my right hand out from under the thick blanket. It pulled free with difficulty. The large bandage was heavy, making my hand look like a freaking Q-Tip.

  Great, I was done for. Bitten by a God-damned werewolf. Just what I never wanted.

  I couldn't even cry about it. This was beyond the worst thing that had ever happened to me. It was like finding out how and when I would die. The bite might not actually kill me but it didn't matter. My life was over.

  Dierk stirred beside me, sliding his free hand over my ribs and tucking his fingers under me, snuggling closer. I felt the scrape of new beard against my skin when he pressed his face against my shoulder.

  "Are you awake?" He murmured to me, his face in my hair.

  Stuff like that should only be for sweethearts. Not us.

  "Yes." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. "They gonna take me away soon?"

  "Are who going to take you where?"

  "The Were. Are they gonna take me to a safe house?"

  He withdrew his head from my shoulder and pulled away from me, resting on his own pillow. Cool air seeped between us where we gapped. "Are you afraid of safe houses?"

  "Yes. I just want to go home."

  "Why? Are you afraid, I mean?"

  "I know what happens there." My nose started to stuff up, making me sound childish and small. "They're gonna bite me again and hurt me and I don't want to be pack-broken. I'm not an animal."

  "Ah. I see." He dislodged his hand and gently rolled me over on my back so that I could look at him. His expression was sympathetic under his mussed hair. "That's an awful thing to think about right now, especially after how sick you've been. No one is going to treat you like an animal. I am here."

  I believed him. What other choice did I have?

  About an hour later I was washed as thoroughly as I could with a washcloth and a travel-sized bar of soap, while sitting on the toilet, draped in a towel. I didn't trust myself alone in the shower and I sure didn't want any company.

  He had given me privacy and stayed out of the big bathroom, which reminded me of the ones in the better hotels in Philly. Marble and tile and shiny things. Fuzzy white bathrobe on the door.

  I had privacy but at a steep price. By putting the distance between us, the achiness and strange stretchy I-don't-feel-good feeling seeped back in.

  Staring at the bandage gave me enough resolution, albeit spiteful resolution, to keep from crawling out to him or calling him in. Mule-stubborn Sophie, that's me.

  Damn him and his Leni and his werewolves. Damn him for turning me into this. I threw the soap but it thudded against a stack of fresh towels, giving me little satisfaction.

  When I wobbled back out, the bed was freshly made and turned down. He met me at the door, guided me to the bed and eased me back in like I was an old lady with a bad hip. The ache was slipping away again but the fever remained.

  I exhausted myself by walking from the can. Shoot.

  "That was some housekeeping," I said,
as he pulled the blanket up. He'd opened the drapes, revealing tall windows and a city view I didn't recognize. The room looked like an actual bedroom, with matching suite, although it didn't appear to be a personal room. The top of the bureau wasn't cluttered enough to be anything but one in a swanky hotel.

  He nodded, confirming my suspicion. "Efficient staffing."

  "So this is a hotel?" I glanced around, seeking the usual rack of pamphlets and amenity guides. Nothing in the room offered a clue as to where I was.

  "Yes and no."

  Boy, was he being helpful. "Is the room service as efficient?

  "Hungry?"

  I nodded, afraid to ask.

  He swiped the television remote from the bureau and closed the curtain behind the TV set. "That's good, because I ordered already."

  That made me suspicious. "You don't know what I like."

  He shrugged and crawled up on the bed next to me. Dierk lifted the remote and clicked on the flat-screen TV, flipping through the program guide. "I guessed."

  "Thanks for this." I pulled gently at the T-shirt he'd given me. It was big enough to reach halfway to my knees, but it was fresh, unlike my orange-stained, grimy camisole.

  Before he could answer, a knock sounded.

  "Come," he called.

  A fair-haired man opened the door and leaned in. "Our girl is awake?"

  I didn't care for the rather possessive pronoun he used, but didn't waste the energy scowling. Besides, the only thing that alarmed me about the man was that he didn't alarm me at all. He kind of reminded me of a blond Henry Winkler with thin wire-framed glasses.

  "Ah, Tancred. Good. This is Sophia Galen, my guest."

  "Sophia Galen. An interesting name." He half-lifted a black leather satchel he held in one hand. "How well do you live up to the title?"

  My stomach tightened into a solid lump and I gripped the covers around me, suddenly cold. What did he know about the Sophia? I stammered an uncertainty, unsure what to say.

  He laughed gently and sat on the bed, reaching out to pat my leg. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot. It's not every day I meet someone who shares a name with a physician and philosopher of such high renown."