Lilith Mercury, Werewolf Hunter Series (Boxed Set, Books 1-3)

by Tracey H. Kitts

  When my training was complete and my father was looking for a place to have me permanently stationed, he knew that I would love it here. Medieval history has always fascinated me, particularly torture devices, which coincidentally, were the only pieces of “furniture” that went with the house.

  The house had been empty for over three hundred years before I moved in. I had a suspicion that the man who built it was of wizard descent himself since he died at the ripe old age of seven hundred years. The average Terran life span is around two hundred. Even then, he hadn’t died of natural causes. He was visiting Terra and was killed by a dwarf in a bar fight. Aside from that, all I knew was his name, Vincent Cole. Apparently, he was quite the character. It was a shame that I never met him, but I felt very comfortable in his house, which said good things about him. I have been in many places where I was far from comfortable. However eccentric Vincent might have been, I could say with certainty that he was not evil.

  Chapter Twelve

  I opened the door expecting to be berated for not returning any of his calls but found Elijah to be in his usual good mood. My heart leapt when he smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but return the expression.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, stepping through the door.

  “I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.”

  “So, what are we having?”

  “Oh shit.” I ran back toward the kitchen just in time to save the chicken from burning.

  Elijah entered the kitchen with a smirk and replied, “I’ve never had ‘oh, shit’ before. What’s it like?”

  “Mess with me and you’ll end up with this chicken in places the French toast couldn’t reach.” I punctuated my words with the jab of a fork and a sarcastic grin.

  “Such hostility.” He laughed. “Can I help?”

  “Sure.”

  Elijah pitched in and within the hour, dinner was served, but not like a volley ball the way the toast had been. Cooking with him was fun and as usual when I was around Elijah, I forgot to worry when I saw his smile. Most likely, I enjoyed displaying the food more than I enjoyed cooking. Leave it to an artist to think the plates needed to be decorated. But I believe that food is a lot like people. It’s all in the presentation. You can make a perfectly good dish unappetizing with a bad presentation.

  Speaking of perfectly good dishes, Elijah looked great. He managed to wear dress shirts with jeans and make it look good.

  “Why don’t we take this in the sitting room?” I suggested.

  “I’m agreeable to that.”

  We moved to the small coffee table in front of the fire and I asked Elijah to light the candles while I retrieved a bottle of wine from the dungeon.

  “You mean wine cellar, right?”

  “No, we keep wine in the dungeon.” I fought to keep a straight face.

  “This I’ve got to see.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather wait until after dinner for the grand tour?”

  “If I let the chicken get cold, will you make me wear it?” he teased.

  “Quite possibly.”

  “In that case, I’ll wait until after dinner.”

  The dungeon was an excellent place to store wine as it was the coolest location in the entire house. It had a rather large closet which was used for nothing but wine storage. We’d had several tall racks built into the closet walls so the room was lined with wine bottles. After a moment’s thought, I selected a bottle of Vigorello San Felice 1998. It’s a wonderful Tuscan wine that smells of chocolate and berries with a touch of vanilla. I’ve found that it goes very well with chicken.

  When I returned with the wine a few minutes later Elijah asked, “You really have a dungeon?”

  “Let it go, Elijah.”

  The wine was good, but the company was better, as I once again managed to lose myself in his eyes. Until then, I didn’t know much about Elijah personally, so I enjoyed hearing where he was from, about his younger sister, and his love of animals. He had moved here from a small community just outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma. His sister, Mary, was two years younger than him and was working toward her degree in interior design.

  He said that had been the reason he wanted to talk to Kat. “I’m trying to talk her into moving here after she finishes school,” he said. “It would be good experience for Mary if Kat would be willing to give her a job.”

  “Good experience for her, huh?”

  “Well that and I could keep a closer eye on her,” he confessed.

  Before I could stop myself I asked, “And does she also have her father’s eyes?”

  He leaned back slightly, and I saw a trace of surprise on his face, but not fear.

  “How did you know that?”

  “It would take too long to explain, but just now, as I looked at you, I saw your father.”

  “Does that happen to you often?”

  “No, this is the first time.”

  He looked at me intently for a few minutes before answering. “No, she has my mother’s eyes. They’re green.”

  I reached out to touch Elijah’s face as I gazed more deeply into his eyes, almost as if I were in a trance. He was gorgeous, but it wasn’t him that I saw. It was the feeling behind his eyes, the thoughts running through his mind. I didn’t know them all, but I could sense them.

  “They say that the eyes are the windows of the soul.” I used the hypnotic quality in my voice, but without the overtones of sex, like when I spoke to Marco.

  Elijah leaned into my touch as he asked, “And what do you see?”

  “Hope.”

  “Is that all?”

  As I brushed my thumb underneath his eye I answered, “Your smile hides many worries, but you do not hide behind it. You are genuinely happy.”

  He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, leaning farther into my touch and I couldn’t help asking, “Don’t you have other things to do besides spend time with me?”

  Elijah opened his eyes, but his lids were heavy, as if he were intoxicated. “There are other things I could be doing, yes. But nothing I’d rather do.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said softly, “but you should be careful whose company you keep.”

  “Why? Are you dangerous?”

  “To you ... I’m afraid that I am.”

  He slid closer. “Is this something that you see, or something that you feel?”

  “Something that I’m afraid of,” I whispered as his lips came dangerously close to mine.

  “Would you ever hurt me?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  With that question he closed the distance between us. For one stunned moment, I didn’t respond, but then I wrapped my arms around him. He felt firm and warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and I breathed deeply of his wonderful cologne.

  His lips tasted of sweet red wine and I drank him in. I held him more tightly, running my hands through the softness of his hair. But the feel of Elijah’s soft hair between my fingers brought back the memory of someone else whose hair shined like polished obsidian in the morning sun, and I pulled back.

  “I’m sorry.” His breath was a warm promise against my lips.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not.” He sighed as our lips met once more.

  “I can’t,” I whispered, pulling back again.

  “It’s Alfred, isn’t it?” he questioned with a frustrated sigh.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it just the Italian thing?” he asked.

  “No.” I smiled. “But that doesn’t hurt.”

  I was relieved to see his smile return, lacking none of its usual charm.

  “I took Spanish in high school,” he said, doing a fairly decent imitation of a Spanish accent.

  When I laughed he said, “Don’t worry, I won’t push the issue.”

  “Is it really an issue?”

  “No, not really. I enjoy being around you.”

  “Me, too,” I confessed. I meant I enjoyed
being around Elijah, but the comment sounded like I was full of myself. Fortunately, he seemed to get my meaning.

  “So.” He got to his feet. “Let’s not screw with that.”

  It was nice to know that he didn’t plan to stop coming by. I really did like spending time with Elijah and the thought of not seeing him depressed me. Going without his smile would be like never being able to watch another sunrise.

  “But, if you ever want to screw, I did give you my cell number, didn’t I?”

  “Come on.” I laughed. “I’ll show you my dungeon.”

  Elijah followed me through the foyer into the kitchen, where I collected the key to the dungeon before entering the door that led down to Alfred’s lab. The staircase was narrow and dark, barely wide enough for two people, and made completely of stone. It looked as if someone had carved the steps out of a natural rock formation long ago. The years and many footsteps had worn them until the edges were smooth.

  “How do you see down here?” he asked.

  “I have excellent night vision,” I replied taking his hand. “And Alfred knows the way by heart.”

  “What did he do before then?”

  “He used a flashlight. There are sconces along the wall with torches, but in the time it would take to light them all, I could just show you the way.”

  I led him down for a ways before turning to an ornately carved door to the left. I took the lighter from my pocket and lit the torch beside the door in order to give Elijah a better view of the etchings.

  “What’s that way?” He pointed down the stairs.

  “That way goes to Alfred’s laboratory.”

  Elijah turned his attention back to the door. An elegant archway was carved into the surface, amongst a tangle of vines and leaves so real that I almost expected them to part in order to pass. Elijah reached out his hand and traced the delicate pattern with his fingertips.

  “What’s it made of?”

  “Silver.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, but I believe its purpose was to keep werewolves from escaping the dungeon.”

  He continued to stare in fascination at the carvings until I opened the door with the silver key I’d picked up in the kitchen. Stone steps similar to the ones that had led us thus far, continued down into the dungeon. This was not the dank and frightening dungeons in history books, but a magnificent display of architectural talent. The ceiling that arched upward, reminiscent of a castle, was carved from the same gray stone as the steps. The arches were carved just as expertly as the pattern on the silver door, making them look smooth to the touch. However, as they met the wall, the stone had been only roughly chipped away except for the pillars sculpted to meet the arches of the ceiling.

  “Wow.” Elijah stared in awe at the ceiling while I lit the torches along the wall.

  “That was my first impression, too.” I smiled.

  I explained to him that the dungeon had been what attracted me most to the house.

  “I can understand why,” he said, running his hands over the magnificent pillars.

  Just then, Elijah began to notice the many unusual devices around the room.

  “Holy crap,” he said, eyes wide. “Did it come with all this?” He motioned around the room.

  “Yep. Would you like the grand tour?”

  “Can you tell me how it all works?” he teased.

  “Of course.”

  “In that case, let ‘er rip.” He smiled.

  “Okay.” I decided to start with the table along the wall, which was an antique itself. “This,” I said indicating the first device which resembled a double headed fork attached to a leather collar, “was known as The Heretic’s Fork. The sharp points on each end are placed deep into the flesh under the chin and into the sternum. It completely prevented all movement of the head, allowing the victim to only whisper a confession.”

  “And this,” I said moving on to an object which resembled a pair of brass knuckles with long curving claws, “is The Cat’s Paw, also known as the Spanish Tickler. It was used to rip the victim’s flesh from their bones.”

  To my amazement, Elijah seemed to be enjoying the tour.

  “What about this one?” He picked up an elongated pear shaped object with a golden handle.

  “That’s The Pear. Are you sure you want to know what this one was used for?” I teased.

  “Sure, how much worse could it get?”

  I laughed as I replied, “The Pear was inserted orally, anally, or vaginally, and then,” I pressed the golden handle and watched Elijah jump as it opened, “it was expanded.”

  He replaced the object to the table, careful to touch only the handle.

  “Now, this one I recognize. It’s a chain whip, right?”

  “Right, except with this one, the chains are pure silver.”

  “And that’s a Rack.” He pointed to the object that resembled a long table with a crank along the opposite wall.

  “Impressive.” I smiled. “But can you tell me what that is?” I pointed to an apparatus in the far corner that could only be described as bizarre. It looked like a stool, except there was a large silver triangle in place of the seat. Above this was a belt suspended in mid-air by three chains, one attached to the ceiling, and one to each wall in the corner.

  “Tell me it wasn’t used to treat hemorrhoids,” he pleaded.

  “Close, but no cigar. It was known as The Judas Cradle. The victim was hoisted up with the belt and chains and lowered onto the point of the pyramid in such a way that their weight would rest on the point positioned in the anus, the vagina, under the scrotum, or underneath the last two or three vertebrae.”

  “Goddamn,” he exclaimed.

  “My thoughts exactly. But have you seen the one over there?” I pointed to the contraption in the other corner, down from the Rack.

  “It’s familiar, but I can’t think of its name,” he answered as he walked over to get a closer look. It was a tall sarcophagus looking device that sat upright with many large spikes inside the back, and along its two doors.

  “That’s The Iron Maiden. It was used more for execution than torture, since practically no one ever survived its use. The victim was placed inside and the doors were shut, impaling them on all these lovely spikes,” I added the last in response to the horrified expression on his face.

  “Lovely?”

  “I’m just teasing.” I snickered. “You look pale. Do you want to see the rest?”

  “How many more are there?” He looked around the big room nervously.

  “Just one.”

  I walked over to a small highly polished wooden platform. Along the back of this was an upright plank with a narrow seat attached. Above the seat, slightly more than shoulder height on most people was a leather strap. This strap was attached to a crank on the back of the board.

  As I sat down on the device I explained its use. “This is my favorite piece of equipment,” I shared. “It’s called the Garrote. With the turn of this crank, the strap would tighten, asphyxiating the victim.”

  “And why is this your favorite?”

  A wicked smile spread across my lips as I answered, “You don’t want to know.”

  “Ah, but it’s past our first date. Does the rule about restraints still apply?”

  “I’m afraid so.” I walked to the large oak door at the back of the room. “Would you like to see the rest?”

  “There’s more?”

  “Oh yeah, this is the best part.” I placed the same silver key into a door and, with a good bit of effort, slid it open.

  With its thick dark wood and reinforced silver bolts, it looked like someone had ordered the door from ‘Dungeons ‘R’ Us’.

  “Won’t you come in?” I offered with a melodramatic flourish of my wrist.

  “I’m scared.” He laughed, but he walked through the door.

  To say that the dungeon was large would have been an understatement. It covered at least two thousand square feet, making it slightly larger th
an Alfred’s lab. The first room beyond the door had shelves along the wall, but was otherwise bare, except for the continuation of the beautifully arched ceiling with its columns, and torches.

  Elijah followed while I lit the torches in this room, also.

  “Was this a library?” he asked.

  “I’m really not sure, but I think so. That would explain the shelves anyway.”

  “What is this exactly? It looks like a whole apartment built under here.”

  “It is,” I said, leading him into the next more spacious area that must have been a bedroom.

  “But why would anyone ...?” He seemed at a loss for words.

  “I have no idea, but wait till you see the bathroom.”

  One last door, which was a smaller version of the heavy oak, separated us from the bathroom, and I opened it with the same silver key.

  “Holy shit.” Elijah laughed as we stepped inside.

  “This is the only room with anything even remotely resembling modern conveniences,” I said, indicating the black marble toilet in the corner. “Why they would go to the trouble to put in plumbing and not run electric lights is beyond me.”

  Elijah looked at me like I was crazy. “I’m sure they didn’t have electric lights when this place was built.”

  I shrugged. “The Hunters did and it was owned by a Hunter before me. Naturally, Alfred and I had electricity wired for his lab, but we decided to leave the dungeon as it was.”

  “You had electricity run in the lab and no one asked questions about this place?”

  “We had it done by a special team. Not everyone who works for The Hunters tracks down werewolves.”

  “Wow,” he said for the second time.

  “I love this,” I said, seeing what had caught his attention.

  I walked over to the large round tub. It was set deep into the floor with what was the most beautiful collection of smooth colored rocks that I had ever seen, many of which I recognized from Richard’s rock chart. There were all varieties of quartz, amethyst, citrine, rose, tourmaline, and tiger’s eye. The range of color was amazing. It was also the only color in the room.