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

by Tracey H. Kitts

  Sighing, I thought to myself that I might as well sleep. It was the weekend. I reached for an oblong shaped pillow and hugged it tight underneath my chin. My mind wandered in and out of consciousness as I noticed how well my golden silk pajamas matched the sofa with its startling crimson upholstery. The pillow I hugged so tightly was an off white, almost cream. That reminded me I’d forgotten to put cream in my coffee. My thoughts continued to drift aimlessly until I heard the first drops of rain begin to fall. The wind roared, the thunder rumbled, and I got a really good nap.

  Lightning cracked like a whip in the sky. This was my wakeup call several hours and a cold cup of coffee later. I stretched out catlike down the length of the sofa, pointing my toes at the height of my stretch.

  I got to my feet, stumbled over to the window and took a good look around. Judging by the way the yard looked, I’d slept through a flashflood. For a second I wondered if Elijah and Kat would cancel their plans with me because of the weather. However, before I had time to pursue this thought any further, I remembered that Alfred was sending me something.

  I went back upstairs to get my bedroom shoes before going down to the lab. The cold stone steps felt like ice against bare feet. I’d been stupid enough to walk on them barefoot before and I had no intention of doing so again.

  On my way to get the key from its hook in the kitchen, I put my coffee cup in the sink. Maybe when I came back up, I’d try again with breakfast. The same key that opened the dungeon also unlocked Alfred’s laboratory. Two copies of the key had come with the house and Alfred kept the other one. It probably wasn’t the brightest idea to keep my key in the kitchen, but it wasn’t as if a werewolf could pick up a solid silver key. Not without waking everyone in the house.

  Alfred’s lab had the same arches and pillars as the dungeon, except it was lit by large lamps which hung from the ceiling. Sometime before I purchased the house, someone had started running wires to put electricity in the lab. Alfred and I finished the job. Entering this part of the house always felt like stepping into a bizarre science fiction novel. There were gadgets in nearly every corner that made no sense to me whatsoever, but they were interesting to look at. Three long stainless steel tables sat in the middle of the room. Along the tops of these tables were various pieces of machinery, among them microscopes, slides, and a variety of unsavory looking specimens in jars.

  Alfred’s desk sat at the back of the room, looking like it belonged in a mad scientist’s lair. It was stainless steel like the table tops, with another strange array of contraptions which nearly covered its surface. His chair was silver with large clawed feet that gripped the stone beneath, and was upholstered in black leather. Behind the desk, there was a door which led to his private library.

  There was an open shower in the far upper left corner of the room in case anyone was splashed with a dangerous chemical. In the corner opposite the shower was the transporter. Sitting in the middle of the circle of small white tiles was a black box. The box was light and I almost shook it do see what was inside, but thought better of it. Knowing Alfred, there was no telling what he had sent. It might very well be alive.

  So, I carried the box over to his desk and cleared a spot among the scattered apparatus to set it down. I noticed with a smile that he still had the letter opener I’d gotten him a few years ago. It was a large silver dragon wrapped around a mountain. The actual letter opener was a sword whose hilt stuck up from the mountainside.

  When I turned my attention back to the black box, I noticed a card on top and decided to read it first.

  Lilith,

  I saw these and thought of you. The blades are solid silver, and they’re SHARP. I really hope you read this letter before trying them on. The sheaths are leather, and should fit well to your forearms. There is a molded rubber grip that should fit across the palm of your hand. In the middle of this grip is a small indention. When pressed, this will cause the blade along the top of the sheath to extend. BE SURE TO HAVE YOUR WRISTS FLEXED DOWN WHEN YOU PRESS THIS BUTTON. I really don’t want to test your regenerative qualities to see if you can re-grow a hand. I hope you enjoy your new toy. Be careful, Lil.

  Yours truly,

  Alfred

  p.s. Your other blades are in the top left drawer on my desk. I hope you haven’t needed them before now. I meant to tell you earlier, but there wasn’t time. Sorry about that.

  To hear his warning, you’d think I was a either a total moron, or he worried about me. Since I knew my IQ to be well over one hundred and fifty, I assumed he was worried. When I slid the cover off of the box, I smiled my approval at Alfred’s gift. The leather sheaths were black, sleek, and soft. They would fit easily underneath clothing if I needed to conceal them. I slipped my right hand through the straps and was impressed to find that the sheath was the exact length of my forearm from wrist to elbow. The rubber grip he had mentioned fit perfectly in the palm of my hand, and I could feel the indention with the tip of my middle finger. Careful to flex my wrist downward, I pressed the button and jumped as the thin blade extended from the sheath with an intimidating slicing noise.

  “Wow,” I breathed, as I turned the blade to the light.

  I could see myself reflected in its perfect shiny surface. A second press to the palm caused the blade to retract. I slipped the sheath back off, placed it beside its twin in the box and scribbled a hasty note to Alfred thanking him for his thoughtfulness. Of course, I was careful not to say more than that in case my father picked up the note first.

  After sending the letter to my father’s office, I quickly climbed the stairs and dashed to my bedroom. I was eager to see how the blades would work with one of my cat-suits, so I went to the wardrobe in search of them. I have a large walk-in closet that connects to the upstairs bathroom. This was where all of my normal clothes were stored. However, I special ordered my leather suits from a seamstress on Terra, and I stored them in a large antique wardrobe that sits in my bedroom. At the bottom of the wardrobe are two drawers where I normally stored all of my blades.

  Alfred was forever trying to get me to carry more guns, but I preferred the up close personalness of a blade. The way I saw it, if someone was attacking me, it was damn sure personal. I wanted to see the faces of my enemies when they realized that they’d made a mistake. I also ordered the bodysuits in vinyl and spandex, though it was leather that I wore to hunt. Leather offered more protection, but I liked the way I looked in the vinyl.

  After fishing around in the wardrobe for a few minutes, I retrieved a black spandex suit. I normally wore spandex for training purposes only, since it was a cooler fabric, but I wouldn’t dare wear it out in public. Anyone wearing spandex and hunting werewolves is just asking for superhero jokes to be made. Some of the suits had a slightly different style, and I liked the zipper on that one. The zipper ran up my left side over my breast, and up the side of my throat, finishing in a mock collar.

  I rolled back the sleeves and placed the sheaths over my forearms. After adjusting the blades for a more comfortable fit, I decided against wearing boots, opting instead to practice barefoot.

  As I walked into the training room, I passed the full-length mirror near the door, paused and looked again. My first thought was that maybe I should reconsider wearing spandex in public. Not to sound like a jerk or anything, but I looked okay in the spandex. As long as my scars were covered, I didn’t lack self-confidence. I extended the blades simultaneously and found I also looked deadly. The blades let you know that this was no petting zoo, and you’d better keep your distance.

  Having the blades attached to my arms left me free to do a wider range of movements. I found that I could slice, stab, and chop almost simultaneously. I had gotten used to the feel of the large machete I normally carried. These would take some getting used to, but I liked them. Being able to retract the blades at a moment’s notice also allowed me to move more quickly, without having to worry about replacing them to a holster.

  What I lacked in finesse at the time, I made up for in
ferocity. It would take some practice to develop my skill with the new blades, but I was no stranger to an edged weapon.

  Several hours passed. The rain was still coming down outside, and I’d sweated until I looked as if I’d been caught in it. I deliberately didn’t keep a clock in the training room. If I had a clock I’d only talk myself out of working harder, thinking that I had somewhere else to be. However, without Alfred to come and get me at a particular time, I could easily waste hours in that room.

  What I used as a training room had once been a large formal dining room. But, it was perfect for my purposes. It had a cathedral ceiling, and like the room beside it, three floor to ceiling windows that faced the rainy afternoon outside. The windows, like the one in my bedroom, arched gracefully near the top, except in this room, they were draped in a sheer white fabric.

  The windows were separated only by a narrow strip of wall in this room, but in the next, there was a door between the second and third window. This door led onto a small balcony which nearly touched the ground, but gave a beautiful view of the woods.

  The room next door was another reason I’d wanted the house. It was a ball room, with a large grand piano that sat off in one corner. Sadly, it was never used. It remained bare of furniture and I kept the beautifully polished wood floor dusted, but no one ever danced in it, even me. I’d thought about dancing in that room, but Alfred didn’t dance and it seemed a tragedy to dance alone in such a room. So, I kept it clean and let it be.

  My exhaustion helped me to realize how much time had passed. I retracted the blades one final time, and made my way back through the house to the kitchen. According to the clock, it was three thirty, and I still hadn’t eaten. After opening the box, I’d forgotten all about breakfast, but my stomach reminded me that it hadn’t.

  Nausea nearly overpowered me and I cursed myself for not remembering the last time this happened to me. I sat at the table for a few minutes, still breathing hard from my workout and tried to focus on something besides the flips my stomach was doing.

  That’s one thing werewolves and I have in common, we both have to eat. Their extremely fast metabolism means they have to consume food at least three times a day. It’s a very rare thing to see an overweight werewolf. Only compulsive eaters could manage that feat.

  Werewolves are also practically immune to aging due to the constant regeneration of their tissues, and are completely immune to physical disease. Lycanthropy actually lengthens the life spans of those infected. Marco, for example, who was already of Terran descent and then infected with lycanthropy could expect to live a very long time.

  That was something else that had been bothering me lately. My life was already most likely extended as his had been, even though I had not contracted the disease. On top of that, to find out I had a wizard in my family meant I could possibly live to be a thousand years old ... or more.

  I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of living that long. In theory it sounded good, but I didn’t want to end up like Mathias, watching everything I love fade before my eyes. People admired wizards, but their lives were often times a sad existence.

  My line of thinking had only succeeded in making me feel worse. I rushed to the half bath underneath the stairs to throw up. After I spent several minutes “worshiping the porcelain god” I decided to make my way back to the kitchen.

  Normally, throwing up makes you feel better, but I think it had only made me worse. I rummaged around in the fridge until I found something carbonated then took a slice of bread down from the cupboard and forced myself to eat it. I needed something heavy enough to soak up the acidity of my empty stomach and bread normally did the trick. The soft drink was mostly just to help get the nasty taste out of my mouth.

  About twenty minutes and three slices of bread later, I felt better. One glance at the clock told me Elijah and Kat should be there within the hour, and I was still sweaty and unwashed.

  I went upstairs as quickly as possible, but careful not to move too fast just in case I got sick again. After peeling off the sweaty spandex and placing the new blades in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe, I padded gratefully to the shower.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After a quick shower I walked, still damp and naked through the bathroom to the closet and quickly selected a pair of well-fitted jeans and a soft lilac t-shirt. The jeans had been too tight only a month ago, and I noted with some satisfaction that they were now a perfect fit.

  If I had wanted to I could have worn them before, but they pinched just a little at the top of my hips. I preferred to wear low rise jeans, and have been known to occasionally buy men’s jeans to avoid the extra fabric some designers seem to think women need around the thighs. That only succeeded in making my butt look baggy. If I ever did gain a few pounds, I tended to carry them in my stomach and upper hips, not in my butt or thighs.

  My backside wasn’t flat by any means. I was just blessed with good genetics. My father had never worked out a day in his life and had the muscle tone of a much younger man who spent hours in the gym. On the other hand, since women naturally have more body fat, I did need to work out, at least in my opinion. However, I could go longer between periods of regular exercise without losing muscle tone.

  Still, I stood in front of the mirror, twisting and turning this way and that to make sure I didn’t have any unsightly bulges anywhere I shouldn’t. Kat and Richard had both told me I was way too self-conscious. They were probably right, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I didn’t want people to see me out in public and think I didn’t own a mirror. I suppose it’s because there is so much about me that people can’t see. Things I know they’d never approve of, that I go to such lengths to look presentable. I want to be accepted, if not for what I am, then for what people think I am.

  Once I walked back into the bedroom the clock said I had exactly fifteen minutes to find a bra that looked good underneath the tight shirt and dry my hair. Deciding that damp hair was not a tragedy, and showing off my nipples to Kat and Elijah would be, I went for the bra first.

  My breasts are too large to go braless. But, even if I were a B cup instead of a D, I think I’d still want to wear a bra. It was bad enough I didn’t wear underwear most of the time, but there was no need to look slutty.

  So, I rummaged quickly through the chest of drawers that held my lingerie and pajamas and soon came across a pale lilac bra made of silk and lace. I had a penchant for lingerie, but it had to fit well. No sense buying something that wasn’t functional and if it happened to match, all the better.

  I had just pulled my shirt up around my neck in order to slip on the bra when I heard a knock at the door downstairs. A quick glance out the window told me it was Kat, and she was early.

  Pulling my shirt down as I went, I dashed down the stairs and let her in.

  “You’re early,” I panted.

  “And you’re not ready. Big surprise.” She smiled.

  “Shut up, Kat.”

  “Well, you’ve got about ten minutes before Mr. Blue Eyes shows up with the game.” She yelled at my retreating backside, “I’d hurry if I were you!”

  In the middle of a frantic attempt to dry my hair, Kat made her way into my bedroom. She walked over and plopped down among my plethora of pillows and blurted, “Guess what?”

  “What?” I turned slightly so I could see her face.

  “I’ve met someone.” She was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Really?” That got my attention. “Do tell.”

  “He’s gorgeous,” she purred.

  “What’s he like, and when did this happen?”

  “He came in the shop a few days ago. As far as his personality, I have no idea, our first date is tomorrow. But, I can tell you about his ass,” she said suggestively.

  “Got a good look at that did you? What’s the rest of him look like?” I asked, turning my head every which way to get the roots of my hair dry.

  “His name is Charles Xander. He’s got short auburn hair, gorgeous green eyes, and
an ass that could stop traffic.”

  I whistled. “That’s a tall order for one man. Auburn hair, huh?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Admit it, you have lesbian fantasies about me,” I teased.

  Kat rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, woman of my dreams. I’ve got a weakness for redheads.” She laughed.

  “So, what was he looking for?”

  “He came in just after I put up the pictures of the tea party, said he was looking for some nice picture frames. Why?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering. Since you say that only gay men know how to decorate properly, I wanted to know if he asked for decorating advice, or just picked it all out himself.”

  “He asked for advice,” she said smugly. “That’s how we struck up a conversation. Besides, I can tell if a man is gay or not.”

  “You’re so full of crap.” I laughed as I put on my makeup.

  “Maybe, but I’ve got a hot date tomorrow night.” She stuck out her tongue.

  “Oh, that’s nice. Real mature.”

  “It’s not my fault you move too slow,” she taunted.

  “I don’t move slow.” I ran some styling putty through my hair. “I just think you should be sure he understands the baking directions before you give the cookie away.”

  “Bitch.” She tossed a pillow at me.

  “Slut.” I threw it back.

  Kat paused in mid throw. We had both heard a knock at the door.

  As I started downstairs she said, “Why don’t you just pick one?”

  “It’s not that easy, Kat.”

  “Sure it is. They’re all hot. You put their names in a hat and just pick one.”