Callie's Guardian: White Tigers of Brigantia (Book 1)

by Lisa Daniels

  Just before Rose backed away and whisked the surprise baby away, the man called in a perfect English accent, “I know you're in there. I can hear you breathing.”

  Fuckity fuckity fuck. Shaking violently and holding her breath, Rose said, “What do you want? Because no offense, but you look fucking scary.”

  The man's gaze trained upon her at the window. She gave a little yelp and pulled away.

  “Okay,” he called, “let's do it this way.” His deep baritone voice sounded exasperated. There was a rustling sound, before he said, “Don't worry about opening the door. I'm Sebastian Gregorovitch. I'm here looking for my cousin, Ivelina Lubanov. I know she's been here. I want to know if she's with you or has spoken to you.”

  “What does she look like?” Rose asked, still deeply suspicious, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The I.D. card showed the man's name as Sebastian Gregorovitch.

  “Dark-haired, amber eyes. Short. Terrible English accent.”

  Despite herself, Rose smiled. “I might have had someone like that at my door.”

  “Might have?” Sebastian repeated. “Is she no longer with you?”

  When she replied no, he cursed.

  “Damn! Did she speak to you, at least?”

  “Yes,” Rose said, anxiety tingeing her voice. Her heart beat hammered faster as she wondered if what she was thinking was a bad idea or not. “She also left me something.”

  “She did? What is it? A note?”

  “Not exactly...” Rose hesitated, before telling the stranger, “she left a baby.”

  There was dead, baffled silence. “She what?”

  “She left a baby.”

  After another brief pause, he asked, “What color eyes does the baby have?”

  Finding the question odd, she replied, “Blue and yellow.”

  “Can I come in to see for myself?”

  “No offense, but I still don't trust you.”

  A grunt of irritation came from outside. Rose edged nearer to the door, her limbs shaking. Serial killers would say anything, wouldn't they, to get in. For all she knew, this Sebastian Gregorovitch was the one chasing the woman in the first place.

  “Sorry,” he said to her, his voice now grating and harsh, “but I think I need to come in now.”

  The door burst open in an explosion of splinters. A snarling monster emerged from the broken pieces, nothing like the man who had been standing outside, and Rose instantly screamed. Her scream was short-lived, however, since the creature bounded towards her and muffled her mouth with a hairy paw.

  Dragging her along, the creature moved to examine the gurgling baby, now smiling at the monster who towered before it.

  “Sorry,” the creature snarled, though obviously an apology wouldn't cut it at this point. A short, sharp blow sent Rose straight into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Two

  When Rose woke up, the red velvet drapes of a four-poster bed greeted her. She lay snug between thick red blankets, and she stared at the ceiling through the gap in the bed. A dull ache throbbed at the back of her skull, and the memory came back to her in a flash.

  A monster, ripping through her door as if it was made of matchsticks. The weird apology just before the monster then proceeded to knock her out. The monster had been wearing the same clothing as Sebastian Gregorovitch, so Rose had to assume that they were one and the same.

  Her eyes drifted to the glass of water lying by the side of the bed. Her throat felt parched, ragged. The surroundings, honestly, appeared grand and gothic, with the sort of architecture one might expect to find in an eighteenth-century building. A mahogany dressed table sat on one side of a huge wardrobe, with three mirrors framed by sculpted patterns of birds decorating the top.

  The circumstances in which she had arrived here, however, were less than ideal.

  Doesn't matter how pretty the place is, if I'm a prisoner. Rose expected herself to start panicking and hyperventilating, but she didn't. Something in her mind told her that if someone planned to do creepy, serial killer stuff to her, they wouldn't dump her in a four-poster bed, leave a glass of water, and leave no bindings on her arms or legs.

  These observations alone bled the terror out of her system. Even the way that creature had said sorry, before clouting her on the head, added to the conviction that maybe not all was bad.

  Just as more questions erupted in her mind, the door leading into the bedroom opened, and the kidnapper in question stepped through onto the green-shaded carpet, carrying a tray of food.

  “Hello,” he said, as if there was nothing wrong about the situation at all. Rose glared at him.

  “Explanation,” she said. “Now.”

  “Sure,” he replied, placing the tray on the empty space next to her. “First things first, I'm a werewolf.”

  Rose watched in utter bewilderment, and a shiver of fear as he morphed in front of her, fur growing on his hands, face elongating into a snout, and his odd, silvery eyes shining with an ethereal glow. He gave her a literal wolfish grin, then melted his face back into those handsome human features.

  “And, to answer any extra questions you might have – yes, werewolves are real. No, I don't know about any other supernatural creatures out there. No, we don't only shift at full moon, and we're totally cool with silver. And yes, I've kidnapped you to protect our super-secret secret.”

  Most of this went over Rose's head. The panic did, however, recede slightly, and she fidgeted under the bedcovers as she scrutinized the calm, almost amiable figure of Sebastian Gregorovitch. He slowly morphed back into human form.

  “Can you, like, repeat that again, and slower, so I understand it better?”

  Sebastian sighed, but complied.

  Bitch better not be sighing. I'm the one taken prisoner here. After someone decided to drop a baby at my doorstep.

  Rose contemplated the possibilities of escaping. She also contemplated the fact she had just been inadvertently dumped into a supernatural world, expanding the width of her personal universe. Maybe Sebastian had her here for some initiation rite or something.

  “Are you going to turn me into a werewolf because I know your secret?”

  Sebastian blinked, momentarily confused. “Well, no. We can't turn humans into werewolves. Sorry. But we're going to make you swear vows of secrecy and the like, under a slight hint of death. Just a slight one, though.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Over the course of the next few hours, Sebastian Gregorovitch patiently explained to her the mechanics of the werewolf world, smiling as if enamored by her.

  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.

&
nbsp; 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 carryi
ng 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.