by Cheree Alsop
Bitterness filled my words. I thought of my fight against the four werewolves determined to tear me to shreds so that they could be rewarded with higher ranks.
“I watched you fight the four of them. It wasn’t even close to fair,” the werewolf said, his voice quiet as he guessed the direction of my dark thoughts.
“I still almost won. If Seven hadn’t used Twelve as a shield to take the brunt of the blow….” I let the words die away. The thought of what I had done without question to please the Masters made me sick.
“You were branded and thrown in a cell,” the werewolf said. Realization colored his voice when he continued with, “And that’s where you met the girl you tried to save.”
I closed my eyes tightly against the smell of vanilla and the girl it reminded me of. Her plea for safety lingered in my mind. “She deserved something better than a death at their hands.”
“I agree.”
His words made me open my eyes again. I studied him as he watched me, but his honesty was plain and the pain in his voice as evident as the ache in my chest when he said, “We were raised to act like animals, and so we can’t be blamed.”
“We can—” I began, but he cut me off with a shake of his head.
“Let’s not argue semantics right now. Instead, focus on the why. Why did the Masters take their strongest werewolves and pit them against the others in unfair matches? Why risk losing the leaders they worked so hard to cultivate?”
I brooded about that until an answer came reluctantly to my mind. “Because they were afraid we weren’t strong enough.”
“Exactly.”
The werewolf’s confirmation made dread tighten in my stomach. “Strong enough for what?” I asked.
“For the end,” he replied.
My mouth went dry and the pain in my shoulder was forgotten. “The end of life?”
He shook his head and the smallest smile touched his lips and then vanished before I could be certain it had existed. “The end of the Masters.”
I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
He watched me as if waiting for the answer to sink in. “What is the one thing stronger than the Masters?”
Our whole lives, we had been taught that our vampire lords were the strongest creatures in the world, that the world was created to serve them and every being upon it was there by their grace. I couldn’t recall them ever talking about an entity that was stronger. And that was the answer the werewolf waited for.
“Other vampires.”
The werewolf nodded. “Younger, stronger, faster, meaner. They will wipe out our Masters and take the Lair over.”
My voice came out as barely a whisper when I asked, “What makes you think you’re right?”
“I’ve been researching.” At my skeptical look, he lifted a shoulder. “I may look like a homeless dog, but you know what we learned at the Lair. It’s just as applicable outside. And from what I’ve found on the internet, vampires are on the move.” His expression was deadly serious when he said, “Trust me; they’re coming.”
I shook my head. “Brickwell can’t handle more vampires.”
“Neither can we,” the werewolf pointed out.
“I’ll protect this town with my life,” I said, my tone firm.
“And you’ll die without leaving a mark,” the werewolf replied with surety in his voice. “You’ll throw whatever this is away.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the store where Alia worked. “It will all have been in vain. A lost cause.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he put a hand on my shoulder. The gesture stopped me with its boldness.
“Zev, you have a name, you’ve found a family worth fighting for, and you’re free. Don’t throw that away with foolhardy promises you can’t hope to keep.”
I didn’t know how to reply. Of course I would die for them, for the town, for the humans I had spent my life terrorizing. I knew how the Masters viewed humans and could only imagine how a horde of other vampires would treat the town. It would be their own private bar.
I had read the stories of vampires before Lairs were created. Mass murders disguised as plagues, mass burials for the same reason. Humans had no other answer as to why their friends, neighbors, or entire cities were falling so quickly. Plague became the cry for bodies drained of blood and left to rot. Rats, mosquitoes, and other pests were blamed for spreading diseases that wiped out humans in droves.
I used to think vampires got off lucky, but realized luck had nothing to do with it. They were smart; eerily, terrifyingly brilliant. And they would do the same to Brickwell that they had to other cities throughout history. A single werewolf, or even two, would make little impact in stopping them. I would be dead and Brickwell would fall.
“What can we do to stop them?”
The werewolf’s eyebrows rose and surprise showed in his eyes for the first time. “We?”
I remembered the first time I had used the word ‘we’ to include James and Jemmy the witch. It was a forbidden word in the Lair. Individuals were stronger without relying on others for protection or problem solving. But that was where the vampires were wrong.
“Yes, we,” I replied. I nailed him with a glare. “You found me, remember? You brought this up; now we’re in this together.”
He held up his hands and glanced around as if searching for an escape. “You can’t throw me in with your little mismatched family.”
I took a step to the left. The dead end at the other end of the alley efficiently made getting past me his only means of leaving. His eyes widened slightly when he realized it. His muscles tensed.
I held up a hand. “Hear me out.”
It was strange to choose reasoning over fighting. My instincts wanted to force him to help, to beat him into the realization that he had to do what I said. Yet being with the Willards had shown me another option. To ask. It was a strange way to get things done, but the werewolf in front of me was no longer a captive, no longer a guard at the Lair forced to follow a strict schedule and do what was commanded of him. He was free to leave, and I had to respect that.
“You can go,” I began.
He took a step to the side as if ready to pass me.
I continued with, “But everyone in Brickwell will die unless we come up with a plan.”
He shot me a sideways look without facing me directly. “What makes you think I care?”
“You’re here,” I said. “You came to warn me.” I cringed inwardly but didn’t let it show when I admitted, “I may have handled it a bit better.”
“You think?” he said dryly.
I gave a grim smile at that. “Old habits die hard. But that might be our saving grace.”
“Why is that?” he asked, his tone guarded.
“Because we’re used to defending the Lair. Maybe if we put what we’ve learned there to work here, we can figure out how to do the same for Brickwell.”
It was his turn to stare. “You’re putting a lot of faith into what the Masters taught us.”
I shrugged, but spoke with true sincerity when I replied, “Let’s hope something of value came from all of that pain.”
Chapter Four
“He’s coming home with us?” Alia’s whisper rose to a high pitch at the end.
She glanced over my shoulder at the werewolf who leaned against the back door of her store. I followed her gaze. When he met my eyes, his attention shifted to the floor.
“He brought some bad news,” I began.
She cut me off to demand, “Was this before or after trying to kill you?” She shot a meaningful look to where Brexton and Jayco were busy attempting to screw table legs back on while the girls hung shirts and folded pants to return the store to a semblance of what it had been before the werewolf arrived.
Everyone shot the werewolf furtive glances. Alia’s explanation that we were estranged brothers apparently calmed the mood a bit, but it was a strained story. We looked nothing alike. I was just glad nobody else in the room was a werewolf, bec
ause we didn’t smell alike, either. Families had a shared scent. It was subtle, but it made it easy to tell who belonged with whom. I didn’t share a scent with anyone, especially not the werewolf who had just attacked me.
“After,” I said. At the roll of her eyes, I realized it had been a rhetorical question. I went on to say, “But the threat is real and we have a lot of work to do.”
“What if I don’t want him at my house?” she asked.
The scent of true fear touched my nose. I didn’t want to push her, but the truth was far scarier than anything she thought might happen. “If you don’t, the entire town might be in danger.”
“You’re bleeding.”
I glanced over to see Janie standing there with an armful of broken hangers. Her pink hair swished from side to side when she nodded toward my back. “And it doesn’t look good.”
A groan of frustration escaped me. I reached a hand awkwardly to feel my shoulder blade through the shirt. My fingers came back damp with bright red blood.
“Did you do that on the table?” Isley asked with concern in her voice from where she had been busy stacking pants on the poorly repaired shelves.
I fought back a grimace at the attention. “Probably,” I lied. “I think it’s just a scratch.” I looked at Alia. “Do you have a black shirt?” All I needed to do was wait until dark. The sun was already setting. If I could avoid garnering more unwanted attention, I would have a chance to heal and could stop worrying about the annoyance of tearing through stitches.
A hint of a smile touched her lips as if she read my thoughts. “Yes, but you’re going to need bandages or it’ll just soak through.” She searched in one of the drawers, then pulled out a miniscule first aid kit. “We can use this.”
I rubbed my forehead in an attempt to stop the headache that was threatening to take over. “Are you sure that’s necessary?” I asked.
A small sound of disbelief made me turn my head to meet Isley’s incredulous look.
“You’re pretty casual about that fact that you’re bleeding. Does that happen often?” she asked. Her expression said she warred with still being mad at me for ruining her shirt. “My brothers used to fight all the time. I’ve patched up a lot of bloody noses and scrapes.”
Her eyes felt too all-seeing when she searched my face. I turned away. “I’ll take care of it.”
I grabbed the kit from Alia along with the shirt she took from a pile Trina was trying to straighten and headed toward the fitting rooms. A glance at the werewolf showed him still standing near the backdoor. I had to admit that knowing he was there to protect Alia helped alleviate my concerns a bit. A werewolf wouldn’t have much chance to sneak by two of us, and if a vampire tried it, their scent would give them away the moment they entered the mall.
I didn’t like being beholden to anyone, let alone another werewolf. The thought of bringing him back to the Willards with us wasn’t a pleasant one, but I really didn’t have a choice. If he was right, we would need all the help we could get.
I pulled off James’ shirt and tossed it to the floor. The sight of the blood that stained it made me wonder if I should get a job. I was definitely going through more clothes than I figured James was used to throwing away. I owed Mrs. Willard an apology for sure.
A glance in the mirror on the wall of the dressing room showed that eight of the ten stitches had torn. I opened the first aid kit and realized I hadn’t thought my actions through. My shoulder blade was a bloody mess and trying to reach it was a painful, difficult process, not to mention the fact that the first aid kit was designed to bandage papercut fingers or hands poked by pins, not perform minor surgery.
A quick glance at the paltry supply of gauze made me pick James’ shirt back off the floor. I used to it dab the worst of the blood from the gash. A stubborn trickle continued. Alia was right. If I didn’t get it patched up, it would continue to make a mess until the moon rose.
I gritted my teeth and pushed the gauze into what I could reach of the wound. The mumble of voices as Alia’s friends worked to put the store back together settled into a dull hum. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. I sucked in a breath through my teeth and tried to force the gauze higher, but the angle was all wrong.
I couldn’t have an easy-to-reach wound like on the leg or an arm or something. It had to be in the area where a simple itch could become the most annoying thing in the world due to inaccessibility. I used to think the worst thing was to get an itch between my shoulder blades when I was in wolf form because I could never reach it, but I had found something worse. Yay me.
“I was thinking that maybe—”
I grabbed the shirt Alia had given me and spun, holding it against my chest so Isley didn’t see more. But her opened mouth and pale face told me she had seen enough. The burn marks that lined my skin and the scars of a thousand battles erased any conjecture Alia had made about me being some normal, random guy who had happened to walk past their house at night when a burglar was forcing the window open. Doubt, disbelief, and a bit of nausea took over where her good intentions had been.
“I-I…,” she stuttered.
“Get out!” I growled.
It wasn’t my finest moment. The fact that she had blown my cover wasn’t the part that angered me the most. I had let down my guard. What she had seen was entirely my fault. I should have found somewhere that was hidden to patch myself up, not a dressing room where the sound of footsteps was muffled by the way the pain made my heart thunder in my ears. I was an idiot, and now I had ruined Alia’s story. Our cover was blown.
I smoothed several bandages over the wound in a haphazard way, threw the black shirt on, and tucked the one James had given me under my arm. I tossed the rest of the first aid supplies back in the box and hurried out of the dressing room.
Alia threw me a puzzled look from where she straightened several shirts near the door.
“Isley said she had to run to work. She seemed in a hurry,” she said.
I nodded as if I had nothing to do with her want to get out of the store. Before Alia could ask questions, I turned away to check on her friends’ progress. Brexton and Jayco had put the pants display back together in a half-decent way and Janie and Trina were busy stacking pants on it again. Jayco had moved to sweeping up while Brexton lifted the final display mannequin.
A glance at the werewolf showed that he had also changed into clothes Alia had picked out for him. He looked a bit more normal in a dark blue shirt with a haphazard star across the front and a pair of jeans. She had given him flip flops for lack of a better shoe selection at the store. He looked completely uncomfortable in them. I felt the same way in James’ borrowed shoes and had to fight to keep them on my feet.
The werewolf gave me an uncomfortable look. I knew exactly how he felt. I didn’t like borrowing clothes either, but at least they were clean.
“Hey,” Brexton said. “Can you help me with this?”
I realized he was talking to me and hurried over. I held the base in place as he lifted the mannequin, now dressed in a blue shirt and black pants, back onto the stand.
“There,” he said when he twisted it into place. He stepped back and wiped his hands on his pants. “Much better. I figured it should have Brickwell’s school colors. Go Fighting Falcons!”
Trina shook her head. “You know it should be Township’s colors. Brickwell’s too far for anyone to care.”
“You care,” Brexton shot back. “And here you are. Point proven. Mic dropped.” He opened his hand as though letting something go and walked away. When he neared the back door, he spun around and lifted an imaginary shirt collar around his neck. “You’re just jealous I thought of it first.”
“Am not,” Trina protested.
Brexton gave the werewolf a knowing wink. “She’s jealous.”
“I-I’m guessing so,” he replied.
Janie carried an armful of hoodies to the back rack and smiled at the werewolf. I took a step forward as a feeling of protectiveness washed over me, but then
I forced myself to wait. I needed to find some way to trust him if he was going to return with us to the Willard residence. Observing how he acted around humans would definitely help.
“So you’re staying with the Willards tonight?” Janie asked.
The werewolf’s gaze flickered to me, then back to her. “That’s the plan,” he said with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“That’s nice,” she replied. “Are you, um….” She gestured toward his hair. “Are you just returning from somewhere?”
He shot me another look, this one filled with a hint of panic. Before I could intervene, Trina interrupted.
“Janie, that’s not nice. You can’t imply someone’s been gone a long time because he’s a bit scruffy.” She threw a smile at the werewolf. “I’ve always liked long hair on men.” She glanced at me and her smile deepened. “And now there’s two of you.”
I ran a hand self-consciously through my own hair. She was right. Even though I had showered and shaved that morning for the first time in forever, my hair was still far longer than I usually let it get. The dark blond strands almost brushed my shoulders when I turned my head.
“He’s a bit scraggly,” I admitted. I thought quickly about a movie I had seen when I was supposed to be researching. “We were on a backpacking trek. He hasn’t had a chance to clean up yet.”
“That’s awesome,” Trina said.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Jayco admitted. “I’ve thought about maybe doing it in another country, but not speaking the language scares me.”
“I can go with you,” Trina told him with a teasing wink. “I speak three languages.”
Jayco glanced at Alia, then shrugged his wide shoulders. “It would be fun to go with someone.”
Janie reached out a hand, and before I could warn her, she was touching the werewolf’s hair. He appeared as surprised as I was about her boldness. Instead of reacting, he stood frozen to the spot. She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort and walked around behind him, checking his hair length.
