by Dalia Wright
The biggest overture Rose heard was that her life as a university student was likely to be grinding to a halt after this. Not to mention that her home had a stuffed bag of cash, and she didn't know if Sebastian had taken the keys with her when he decided it would be a good idea to burst into her home and take her prisoner. Not that she needed keys, given that her door now lay on the ground in pieces.
He admitted he scooped up a bunch of her belongings, the bag and some keys before tossing her into his four-wheel drive and chugging along to the Gregorovitch family estate.
Estate. He says estate. Lordy me, now I'm in some fancy castle with a beast. Funny, that.
She breathed a sigh of relief that her most important things were with her. Now that she scoured the room better, she spotted her handbag and some clothes folded upon the dressing table chair.
The information about the werewolves, which Sebastian acted willing to distribute, helped calm down her sense of unease. The nibbling despair at the notion of being captured warred with the intrigue felt from, well, being captured. By a werewolf. After having a random werewolf baby dumped at her feet.
“So, let me get this straight. You have a cousin. Who ran away...”
“Well, we thought she was dead. Turned out to be alive. As things happen.” His nonchalant attitude offset the mood of the whole encounter. To comfort herself, Rose began biting into the food offered – a cheese and pickle sandwich.
The pickle added such a strong, pungent taste, that she needed to gulp down a whole glass of water. Tears sprung to her eyes from the foul texture. “God. That's awful!”
“Have a cookie,” Sebastian replied with a smirk, pointing to the selection of dark cookies on her tray. She gladly complied, before offering him the sandwich, which he accepted.
“Okay,” she said. “Dead cousin who turned out to be alive. Why was she meant to be dead?”
Sebastian gave a small shrug as he chewed through the sandwich, and the motion arrested Rose's attention. There was something graceful yet powerful in his body language, something that spoke of menace and amiability at the same time. “Because the Lubanov werewolves did something bad some years back. They slaughtered a whole village of humans. So the other werewolves punished them. We never found her body but we assumed she was amongst the dead. Well.”
Rose hesitated. “I think I see a slight problem then.”
“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “She assumes that we're going to kill her on sight. When we realized she was still alive a few months ago, we tried tracking her down. There is no more blood-desire for vengeance left in the families. She doesn't know that, however.”
Rose digested the information, mulling it through her brain. Listening to the small-time politics of the werewolves was like listening to local town municipalities debating over whether they should upgrade the dumpsters for easier trash collection or not. Except, these lonely gods seemed to gleefully murder each other, or eat humans, and generally live the kinds of lives more suited to the Dark Ages.
It also disappointed her to hear she couldn't just be converted into a werewolf. Being something more than human appealed to Rose, given that she spent most of her childhood watching fantasy shows, including her favorite of all time, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That kind of show ran rife with vampires, werewolves, demons and inter-dimensional beings. It excited her to have the possibility of supernatural beings actually in this world – to watch the magic it contained unravel before her human eyes.
Her thoughts kept bouncing from her beleaguered mother and father dealing with show quotes, before she developed an interest in travel and exploration – to her current plight.
She was imprisoned. No matter how much Sebastian smiled at her, and brought her food and drink, it still didn't conceal the issue that freedom and blabbing about werewolves might not be allowed on her future plans list.
Sebastian stared at her with those peculiar silver eyes, making her mind flit yet again.
What did he think and see, behind that charming face? Did he dream of running in the forests, howling at the moon, with the wet taste of animal meat exploding in his mouth? Or perhaps werewolves did not dream of anything at all. He might not have a soul, or feel empathy the same way a human did. He might smile and nod at her whilst simultaneously plotting her demise.
If he had really wanted her dead, though, she certainly wouldn't be lying here now.
“Will I be allowed to call my parents? They usually expect a call with me once a week on Skype.”
Sebastian shrugged. “I don't see why not. You can use my phone if you want, but I'm going to be in the room with you when you make the call.”
“Fair enough,” Rose conceded. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure if breaking down her door and knocking her out might have been entirely necessary. If anything, he could have just left her and taken the baby. Instead, he brought her to this estate. She checked the velvet layered curtains, seeking a glimpse of the outside, wondering what sort of views lay before her.
In quiet response, Sebastian got off the bed and slung open the curtains, greeting Rose to a view of soaring heights, snow-capped mountains with tufts of snow spiraling down from crystallized-foam clouds. Nimbostratus. Abandoning her cookie breakfast completely, Rose heaved herself out of bed, noting she wore the same clothes as last night, and she ventured to the window, bright in interest. The view itself was obscured by thousands of pine trees formed on rocky slabs of mountain. An entrance with four cars parked on gravel revealed a sign with both the Bulgarian and English versions of Gregorovitch Estate. A couple of stray dogs padded over the gravel, rooting for scraps.
A narrow pathway curved out of the estate, leading to a choke-hold of trees. Snow drowned many sections of earth, which reached around ankle high. When Sebastian opened the window, a cold chill swooped into the room, making her cheeks feel like frozen chunks of meat.
“I should probably close that, sorry,” he apologized, shutting the window again. “We're over two thousand meters high. We're on Pirin, near the Todorka peak, and one of the many eyes of the mountain.” He indicated a clear pool of water. “My family helps run tourist designations over the lakes, and for skiing. And we're seated safe and snug in our home – which happens to have a few European wolves and bears roaming around. Actual wolves. Not us.” He gave a crooked smile.
Rose inhaled the sharp, crisp tang of high-altitude air, devoid of pollutants, blasting out her lungs with the cold thrill of it. She smiled at Sebastian, liking the way his eyelashes curved out of his face, longer even than hers, contributing further to his sleepy expression. His was the kind of face that put anyone at ease, and the melodious rise and dip of his baritone as it formed words in that neutral European accent made her want to prompt him to keep talking. Just so she could keep listening, and perhaps fall asleep to that voice.
Most Europeans always held an accent relevant to their native language, simply because they grew up hearing their native speakers practise English, so they learned to copy it in turn. Neutral inflections sounded oddly cute, sometimes with obvious American flavor to words, sometimes even with British or Australian pronunciations.
“Why do you call the lakes eyes of the mountain?”
“It's Bulgarian folklore. We used to believe the mountains were deities. A major Slavic god called Perun lived in the mountains with his beautiful sister, Perunika. Which also is the name of a flower. That one.” He pointed at a patch of purple irises in a small garden allotment at the entrance.
“Oh.” Rose stared at him in interest. “You have a lot of folklore?”
“Of course. Old countries have old tales. And there is a god of the mountain. Just not the same one the old Bulgarians believed.” He smiled.
Rose chewed her lip, thoughtful. Truthfully, she didn't know much about Bulgaria when she moved here. In fact, she moved entirely on a whim, and entirely because people boggled at her when she announced her new destination in life, since a lot of people hadn't even heard of the country.
She enjoyed those reactions, which she knew to be a less than honorable fact than wanting to move to Bulgaria for the beauty and wilderness it possessed. She had to admit, though, the scope of the mountain range and the rugged terrain struck chords of beauty and brilliance within. When one chose to go on holiday, they only saw famous places advertised, like Barbados, Malta, Spain and France. Nothing like the regions of Bulgaria.
“How are werewolves made? Surely they must have started out as humans. I mean, you look the same as any man, aside from the odd eyes.”
Sebastian gently steered her back to the bed. His hand pressed against the small of her back, sending peculiar shivers there. She wouldn't mind being touched more by him. Smiled at more. Or to steal him away for conversations about the mysterious world he hailed from.
And possibly slap him for kidnapping her.
“If there's a way for humans to become werewolves, I don't know it. If you're not born into a line with the werewolf gene, you won't ever be one. It's interesting... because I know a family that had a human who mated with a male werewolf back in, like, the eleventh century. All her children and her children's children showed no sign or power at all. But then random descendants started popping up with it. Now they form a family called the Armanevs.”
Rose processed this, and tried applying where she fit into the mess. “Hmm. So you're saying that I can't be a werewolf, but there's a possibility that I might be carrying the gene?”
“Yes.” Sebastian grinned. “Precisely. I might say you're better off being human, however. Being a werewolf is not... fun. Especially during a blood moon.”
The word sent a chill inside Rose. She repeated the word. “Blood moon?”
The handsome, sleepy-eyed werewolf gave her a serious look. “That will be something for another time. When you're ready, let me give you a guided tour of the mansion. And we'll check in on the baby later, if you want. Since it was kind of left on your lap.”
Rose shrugged. She didn't feel any particular bond or need to protect the baby. But she didn't mind staring once more into the face of a werewolf child, wondering if any wolfy traits manifested other than the glowing eyes.
“Sure. But I need a shower. These clothes feel icky.”
Sebastian nodded, before asking if she had finished with the food. The last slice of sandwich looked stale by now, and all the cookies had gone. She said yes, and watched as the werewolf took the tray and bowed out of the room.
Left to herself, the madness of the last few hours pressed upon her mind.
Somehow, in the course of one night, her life had been upended forever. After all, it wasn't often someone had a baby dumped in front of them, money thrown their way, then to have their door smashed down by a werewolf who promptly kidnapped them and locked them in a castle reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast.
Stranger still felt Rose's reaction. How were you supposed to behave when something like this happened? Did you scream? Cry? Beg and whimper? Or did you just roll with it?
She thought about her art projects lying at home, of dual faces. It'd been her theme for the semester, painting images of people with two faces, a light and a dark. The light displayed bright lights, warmth and fields and soaring clouds. The dark represented twisted thoughts, blood and suffering and madness. It always amazed her how humans fit into all areas of the spectrum.
Apparently, werewolves had been added to this spectrum.
What did it mean? She absently chewed on her bottom lip, before running hands through lank, red hair. With nothing better to do, she rummaged through the wardrobe and found her clothes neatly strung up or distributed, meaning at some point, Sebastian had actually packed what resembled a suitcase worth of items. Even the personal bathroom attached to the suite had her toothbrush in it.
That's some pretty thorough planning for someone who knocked me out in the middle of the night.
Too many thoughts and spikes of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. She decided to focus instead on committing to a nice, warm shower, scraping off all the grime and exposing herself to a fresh start.
As the shower pounded clear, warm water onto her head like a hose, she reflected upon Sebastian. His motivations puzzled her. She couldn't help but think his actions seemed bizarre and unnecessary. Why not just break in when she was sleeping? Why not pretend to be police or something? Not that she would have accepted him in anyway, because the police had no reason to be hammering at her door at that time of night, but it would have been a damn sight better than just kicking her door in.
Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, she pondered, reaching for what looked like shampoo, smelling it, then rubbing it into her hair. Maybe he just panicked. He certainly didn't seem to expect the baby. Guess that's one secret his runaway cousin managed to keep well.
This brought her to a reflection of Ivelina Lubanov, and her tear-streaked face, her animalistic terror as she thrust the bundled infant with the oddly-colored eyes at Rose.
She could have chosen anyone's door to do this to. And somehow, out of all the odds possible, Rose found herself short-listed.
The beast of the castle, Sebastian Gregorovitch, offered himself as a door into his world. A pang of irritation and missed opportunity coursed through. Such a shame I can't become one.
She wondered also if Sebastian happened to be single. Not that she was planning to date him or anything. Because wouldn't that be like Stockholm syndrome or something?
Imagine explaining that to everyone she knew in her life.
After the shower, she struggled into a green, long-sleeved top, her favorite gray hoodie with the picture of a sleeping cat on it (the irony here amused her), and she took the time to brush her dark red hair, leaving tufts of it on the ground. She smelled fresh and ready for the day, which stretched ahead of her like a mystery novel. What exactly happened in a mansion of werewolves?
Hopefully, nice things. I'd hate to end up being someone's dinner.
Taking one last glance outside to the astounding scenery offered, she left the bedroom, and began her new adventure in the ancient halls of the Gregorovitch family home.
Chapter Three
“Hey, mom.” Rose sat on a ridiculously ornate armchair, her legs slung over the side, abusing her privilege of being trapped in a mansion/castle/estate. Sebastian and his grandfather, Filip, watched her from the dining table. Filip's dark, bushy-eyed expression seemed less than approving of the human now sprawling over his furniture, and Sebastian got up from the table, gently but firmly grabbing her legs to place them into a more respectable position. He indicated with a slight twitch of his eyes toward the ancient Filip, and Rose mouthed sorry, before wincing as her mother's voice crackled out the device.
“Oh, hello, honey boo! So good to hear from you! How's your art course going?”
Rose reflected upon the art course she had been absent from for a week, and smiled nervously. “Uh, just fine. I'm doing that project on duality and the teachers seem to like it.”
“Good. Good. Haven't had any trouble, yet? I keep hearing that eastern Europeans have a rather nasty reputation. Thieves and the like. You've not been robbed yet?”
“No, mom,” Rose said with a sigh, “I've not been robbed. Or stolen for human trafficking, or been shot at, or anything, really. It's like living in Raleigh, except I don't understand half the people I speak to.”
“To be fair,” her mother said, “I don't understand half the people I speak to, either. Idiots, the lot of 'em.”
Rose's mother happened to be a die-hard liberal.
“Yeah. I know. Everyone's an idiot except you.” She grinned, feeling tension unravel out of her at the sound of her mother's annoying, high-pitched voice.
With this contact to the outside world, it made Sebastian seem less like a monster to her, with secret, nefarious reasons for keeping her locked in his abode. Or rather, his grandfather's abode. Speaking of the grandfather, he had that shrunken-spine look of someone well past their eighties, though she suspected that for a
werewolf, it meant someone many years older than that. For all she knew, he'd seen the liberation of Bulgaria from the Ottoman Empire and had heard the Titanic sinking or something. Sebastian treated the elder with a great deal of respect.
Filip didn't seem to have a wife. Rose supposed she had long consigned herself to the earth as a memory and perhaps a gravestone.
Everything about the place served to intimidate her. Immensely. The house had a collection of suits of armor, paintings and furniture which Rose felt fairly certain she could never afford throughout five working lifetimes.
Tapestries adorned the stone walls, and brackets for torches symmetrically filled up the space. A brazier with burnt-out coal decorated the entrance into a small study room, which held old-fashioned typewriters, stacks of yellowing paper and books along the shelves. A disused fireplace lay snug in one corner.
Sebastian had happily toured her through the rooms, including a dungeon section which he confessed that some of his more brutal ancestors used to incarcerate traitors and torture spies. Fortunately, no more torture equipment remained, having been donated to history museums.
The information of how the room had once been used made Rose queasy inside, but she nodded and smiled anyway, focusing more on Sebastian's individual gestures, rather than the fact that his attempt to walk her through the history of the family home fascinated her. Sebastian Gregorovitch interested her instead. His peculiar, silver eyes, his light, charming smile, the smoldering expression his hooded sleep-look conjured, and the upright, graceful manner in which he conducted himself bespoke confidence. Then there was the fact that he held a certain scent, and she couldn't quite place her finger upon it, except for the fact that her panties tended to become rather tangled whenever he spent too long adjacent to her.
It made things awkward, to say the least.
“Your father is certainly trumping the idiot card today, Rosie baby. He wanted to do some DIY on the freezer, and now we have a huge leak all over the floor. He also almost killed Fluffy by shutting the cat in the freezer and not noticing.”
