"Never. We only flex our Might energy when we want to show off our strength."
Kieran had been at the receiving end of such grandstanding, so he nodded. "Do you belong to a vampire community of some kind?" The only large gathering of vampires in and around Epsom was the Crimson Circle, but the vampire warriors couldn’t be said to represent average vampires.
She shuddered. "Not if I can avoid it." Kieran lifted a questioning brow when she wouldn’t elaborate. "I don’t particularly like being a vampire."
All eyes turned to Gemma in amazement. "You don’t?"
"Would you?" she asked defensively.
Kieran shook his head. "Well, no, I wouldn’t want to be a vampire. But I’ve never had anything against having been born a shifter."
"You didn’t have a choice in the matter," she reminded him. "You knew early on that one day you would shift. I had the choice. I could have remained human."
He knew that not all humans who carried the vampire variation of the two-natured gene became vampires, but he had never met anyone who wouldn’t have wanted to. "So why didn’t you?" Even as he asked the question he was glad that she hadn’t stayed human. They would never have met otherwise; she would have been long gone.
She sighed. "It meant a lot to my father."
The vet arrived, bringing the lunch and the conversation to an end. Andrew Farnham was outwardly in his early thirties, like most adult shifters. Tall and lean, he had the feline grace of his leopard in all his movements. His aura was out, the big cat watching them calmly from the high perch of his shoulder, regally ignoring the wolf auras that had come out to greet him. Kieran had always thought that a veterinarian was a curious occupation for a predatory shifter, but animals seemed to like him.
The vet studied the carcasses closely and confirmed what they already knew. Wolf-shifters were to blame. He shook his head as he washed his hands afterwards. "I hope this is an isolated incident. There are some known cases of predatory shifters going feral, but they usually act alone, not in a group like this."
"So you would say this was premeditated?" Jamie asked.
"That would be my educated guess, yes. But don’t ask me why they would do it. Does your farm have enemies among wolves?"
Gemma shook her head. "Not to my knowledge. Unless Tom’s taken to gambling and owes a bookie that is making his displeasure known." They all laughed, but her words stirred a memory Kieran couldn’t quite catch.
"It’s nasty business, whatever the reason. And you’re right, we’d best keep this under wraps for now. There are some extremist groups among humans who don’t need this kind of fuel. I’ll write a death certificate that states the ewes died in lambing gone bad."
"Will the authorities believe that three ewes would have a fatal labour at the same time?"
Andrew brushed Kieran’s suspicions aside. "Yes. It’s not likely that one person checks all three forms. But just in case, I’ll add a note that bad weather contributed to the deaths." He opened a briefcase and took out the required forms and filled them. "That should take care of the formalities," he said, handing the forms to Gemma. "You can dispose of the carcasses now." He left and Jamie followed him out to walk him to his car.
Gemma looked askance at the carcasses when she and Kieran were alone. "Do you need help with the … um … disposal?" The pink hue had disappeared from her cheeks and her face was drawn. She could barely stand up, the strength her anger had given her drained now the excitement was over. Unable to witness such distress, he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to his warmth and energy. He would do the same for a clan member to console them. It would have been expected of him.
Gemma wasn’t clan. She stiffened, clearly uncomfortable with the contact. But she didn’t pull away, so he let the arm be, not moving, not changing his hold, allowing the warmth of his energy to surround her. Little by little, her tension eased until she relaxed against him. He wrapped both arms around her and held her.
Like always, the healing embrace affected him as well, the energy he gave not wasted but multiplied with the contact. But her energy was different. The embrace was different. A cool current began to vibrate inside him where her energy mingled with his. It excited as much as it comforted. Their combined energies moved through him, gaining momentum. He tightened his hold as it strengthened, until it became too much.
He let her go, rather abruptly. She looked dazed and she shivered for losing the warmth of their contact. He felt the loss too. He cleared his throat to be able to speak. "We have guys who operate the incinerator. Why don’t we let them deal with the carcasses?"
"I guess I’ll head home then."
"I’ll drive you."
Gemma sat behind Kieran and leaned against him, unable to keep herself up. He had reined in the warmth of his energy, but he could have been a furnace for all she cared. She wanted to close her eyes, but she was pretty sure she would fall asleep if she did.
They took the lane this time, an old path that cut through an ancient forest on the south side of the brick wall surrounding the manor estate, all of it clan territory too. It had been Gemma’s favourite place when she was still living home, never mind that it was private property. She hadn’t been afraid to walk there at night and the forest felt like an old friend now.
The forest gave way to fields, first the clan’s and then Tom’s. When they approached the farm, solitary trees stood sentry on both sides of the lane, most of them the same as when she had still been human, only larger and gnarlier. Spring was advancing in great leaps, the buds on the trees already bigger than they had been when she arrived the day before, ready to burst open.
The lane ended at the farm yard, its ground hard from centuries of use, now muddy in places after the winter and the rains. On the left was the house, two stories of grey stone walls with a slated roof, the former covered with remains of last year’s creepers and the latter with green moss. It was old, but not the first house that had stood there. Her father had built the current house for Mother when they married. It was in good condition, considering that the last great refurbishing had been done in the 1950s after her father died. Outbuildings framed the courtyard on three sides, each as old as the other, all of them grey and dreary, although well maintained.
Kieran pulled over by the barn, as if he had known it was the right spot for the vehicle, swerving around a muddy spot that always formed near the wall. They both dismounted, Gemma slightly stiffly, her legs unaccustomed to so much riding in one day. She would recover; she was a vampire.
She glanced around, searching for something to say to him. She dreaded the moment he would go away and leave her to face the long afternoon alone. Solitude didn’t usually bother her, although she was seldom alone, but the killing had shaken her confidence in the safety of the farm. Any company would do, but a strong wolf-shifter was better. Perhaps she should invite him for a cup of tea.
The idea immediately appealing to her, she was about to make the invitation when he tensed, alert. His wolf peeked out and they both snarled at something behind her.
Alarmed, she turned slowly around. Two huge men entered the yard on foot. One had fashionably cut russet hair and a clean chin, the other a shaven head marred by a horrible scar and stubble. Tall and muscular, their menace wasn’t diminished by mud spatters that covered their black leather outfits. They looked like members of a criminal biker gang, prone to sudden violence.
Gemma’s entire body locked down in fear. Kieran took a step towards the strangers, which placed him between the men and Gemma, and stood guard. The men paused five yards from them, their stance equally hostile.
"State your business, vampires."
Might flared around the men, cunning and powerful. Circle warriors, the ruthless protectors of the vampire race. They could be friends, but for her, they were the enemy. Her fear intensified. She needed to hide.
Run, Gemma, run. Her mother’s Rider goading her. She hadn’t run like she so often had. She had hid in the pigsty where that cre
ature couldn’t smell her, a trick her wolf friend had taught her. There she had remained, even though everyone was looking for her. Until the warriors had come and taken Mother away.
It couldn’t be good that they were here now.
"A trace of sheep-killing wolves led here," the leaner of the men said.
The warrior with the scar sneered. "And what do you know, a wolf we have found."
The wolf aura on Kieran’s chest surged towards the vampires, almost taking the man with him. Kieran stayed put, his anger burning against Gemma. "Are you accusing me of being a killer?" His wolf was in his voice now, making it a low, rumbling growl. Small hairs in her arms shot up in visceral reaction to the threat he posed, but she stood her ground. He wasn’t angry with her—hadn’t been this angry when she had made the same accusation earlier. He was protecting her.
The warriors weren’t beyond provoking Kieran. "The trail leads here and it’s clearly made by wolves. And here you are."
Gemma stepped to stand next to Kieran who made to push her back to safety. She wouldn’t let him, even though survival instinct urged her to remain hidden. "Where did you follow them from?" She needed to know she hadn’t placed her trust in the wrong person. She needed Kieran. He was the only one able to keep the warriors from taking her away too.
The guy with the scar, easily more frightening of the pair, fixed his gaze at her. "From one of our farms."
"Your sheep were killed too?" Relief filled her, the emotion too strong to stifle. She shouldn’t be so happy that more sheep were dead.
The warriors looked surprised. "What do you mean, ’too’?"
"Three of my brother’s ewes got killed by wolves last night."
"Yet you’re fraternising with the killer?"
Kieran growled, the sound so deadly it made Gemma’s bones watery. "I am not a killer."
And he attacked.
Chapter Seven
His fury beyond reason, Kieran charged at the vampires. No one was allowed to accuse him or his clan of such crime again. Colm had been enough, his death one too many. His mind a white haze of rage, he only wanted to bring the warriors down.
A second later he found himself pressed on his back on the ground, the weight of the warriors forcing the air out of his lungs. He didn’t care. Growling, he pushed against the hold. The vampires were larger than him and seasoned fighters, and they restrained him easily. But he was a shifter.
So he shifted. Instead of a lean man, the vampires now had a sturdy wolf maddened with anger to deal with. The vampires had to let go.
The wolf sank their teeth into the nearest calf. The other vampire wrapped his arms around their back, pressing them down, trying to force them to submit. They only bit harder, growling.
Downpour of ice cold water.
Shocked, they let go of the leg. They retreated and shifted. The fight left Kieran with the freezing water running down his spine.
Gemma was standing a few feet from them, holding a huge rainwater tub, now empty. Her mouth was an angry line, but her golden eyes regarded them with worry, as if she feared they would attack her next.
"What the fuck?" the scarred vampire growled, wiping water from his face. He shook himself like a dog and adjusted his leathers. Kieran tensed, ready to attack again if he went after Gemma, but he didn’t. He didn’t even rub his calf, the show-off. Kieran knew he had bit him hard, but the man’s leather trousers had prevented his teeth from piercing the skin.
Only Circle warriors would wear such ridiculous uniforms, a leather jerkin from the Tudor era combined with long-sleeved T-shirts, modern leather jeans and combat boots. They looked like extras in a b-movie, but apparently the leathers had practical uses too.
Gemma stood her ground, but Kieran sensed her fear. "If you behave like mangy dogs, you’ll be treated like mangy dogs."
That smarted. "I am not a dog."
Her gaze swept down the length of him, taking in the six feet of naked man. His hands twitched to cover his privates, but he was a shifter. His kind wasn’t ashamed of their naked bodies, even if he wasn’t at his most impressive, having been doused with cold water.
Her brow arched. "A reasonable man doesn’t attack vampire warriors."
"He does if he’s accused of being a killer without proof," he retorted angrily. "It’s bad enough when humans do it. From our kind it’s inexcusable."
The scarred warrior nodded. "It wasn’t fair of us. I apologise." He offered Kieran his hand. He wanted to refuse it, the accusations too familiar to overlook. But he was a bigger man than that so he shook the hand briefly.
"A man of your age should know better," he couldn’t help saying. The handshake hadn’t caused a similar reaction as when he touched Gemma, but he did get a clear notion he was dealing with someone very old.
The red-headed vampire grinned. "Papa Bear hasn’t been to a decent fight in days. He was hoping the killer wolves would provide him one." The other vampire grunted in affirmative.
Kieran growled. "Not if I get to them first."
"You’re not going anywhere until you’ve put your clothes on," Gemma stated reasonably.
Kieran took a deep breath and forced his wolf to calm down. For the first time in their long life, his companion didn’t do it gracefully. The wolf found the vampires still a threat—to her.
She was afraid of the warriors. He didn’t need to know why to protect her from them. But he couldn’t do that naked either. Or he could, but he would hurt himself.
His clothes were in tatters, scattered in the mud. It was perfectly possible to shift without tearing one’s clothes, but not when it was done in a violent hurry. "Don’t suppose you have some clothes I can borrow?"
Her porcelain skin turned slightly pink and she averted her gaze. "I guess you can borrow something from Tom." Amused that his nakedness embarrassed her all of a sudden, Kieran gathered the remains of his clothes and followed her indoors, the warriors staying behind, to all appearances prepared to wait for them no matter how long it took.
The house was similar to those its age, divided to everyday and Sunday halves by a narrow staircase leading up, and a hallway leading to the back of the house where the dining room and kitchen would be, behind it the garden surrounded by a stone fence. On the left, a morning room with comfortable, well-worn furniture from various ages, and a modern TV. On the right, a parlour furnished with an original Chippendale suite, a Persian rug, and other furniture that had become antique since their purchase as new around the late eighteenth century. It didn’t look like the room was used for anything. As an architect, he could appreciate the décor, but he preferred the comfortable morning room.
Gemma noticed his curiosity. "My parents decorated that room when the house was built. I doubt anything has changed there since Tom was born."
She led him upstairs through narrow and steep stairs that had to be original. Impractical, those were usually the first to go when an old house was modernised. Four doors opened from the landing, three to bedrooms and one to a bath, a clever later addition. He had seen less successful modernisations too. She entered the room on the left to the bath.
"This is Tom’s room. Always has been. But he’ll likely move to the master bedroom now." She was noting it more to herself, so Kieran didn’t answer. The room was small with a low, slanted ceiling and a small window that looked out over the backyard. The colours were light, the rug on the floor handmade and worn, and the bed narrow. He felt rather sure Tom wouldn’t bring his new wife to this room.
Gemma went to an antique armoire on the wall opposite to the bed and pulled out some basic clothes Kieran hoped would fit him. Tom was slightly shorter, but stockier than him. She pushed the clothes at him. "You can change here. I’ll meet you downstairs." She all but fled the room.
Kieran didn’t waste time getting into the clothes. His socks were miraculously dry, so he pulled them on, followed by his hiking boots. What remained of his own clothes he threw into a bin before returning downstairs.
Portraits and
photographs, some so old their sepia tones had faded, had been hung on the staircase wall, and he studied them curiously. Many of the photos were of Gemma. She was a child in the oldest of them, from around the time photography was invented, and he guessed she was about his age. It delighted him. Difference in age didn’t matter much among two-natured, but it had unsettled him to think she might have lived for centuries longer than he had.
"How come we’ve never met before," he asked her when he joined her. "We must have been children around the same time. Didn’t you ever come to play with us?"
She shrugged. "Father didn’t like me to play with wolves. I met a couple of your clan girls at the village school, but it was for girls. Then I was turned, so that meant a century without sun. It’s slightly difficult to meet people if you’re only operational between sunset and sunrise. I won the sun a decade ago and moved to London immediately."
"You had your wolf friend though."
"Yes, well, that was a long time ago and he was more of a protector."
Kieran tensed. "What did you need protecting from?"
She looked awkward. "Well, you probably know what happened to my mother?" He wasn’t entirely sure, but he knew she had gone crazy and killed some sheep, so he nodded. She said, "I used to hide from her in your forest and he would keep me safe. He couldn’t bring other children into it. What if Mother had found us?"
His heart ached for her even as it warmed him to think that one of his people had been there for her when she needed it. He nodded. "Of course, clan safety comes first."
They returned outside where the warriors were busy admiring the horse. She was a huge animal and Kieran could understand how she would be able to push Gemma down. She was perfectly docile now though, allowing the vampires to pet her.
"Horrible beast, huh?" She made a face and he laughed. But he sensed her unease, either caused by the animal or the warriors, and he kept right by her side.
"I can see you’re horsemen," she said to the vampires. "I’m Gemma Byrd, by the way, Tom’s sister. This is Kieran Garret from the Greenwood clan. He’s their tracker. He’s been helping me with the … incident."
A Wolf of Her Own Page 5
