by Nicole Grane
“Oh it wasn’t a man,” Kim offered. “It was some kind of dog.”
“A dog?” his attention seemed piqued.
“Kim, I’m sure Mr. Balfour doesn’t want to hear about what a bad time we had in his country,” Leah scolded while still maintaining a pleasant smile.
Kim blushed as she took another bite.
“Well, it’s not really my country,” he interjected. “I just base a great deal of business out of London. Perhaps some time you’d all like to accompany me?” Although he extended the invitation to all of us, his eyes were clearly on me.
“Would anyone like any dessert?” The waiter appeared suddenly. The question was for everyone, but his eyes were on me. A large grin spread across his face. He was almost leering at me.
“No thank you,” I spoke up. I wanted to get out of there quick. Something felt very wrong; and creepy.
Mr. Balfour cleared his throat, snapping the waiter out of his fixated stare.
“None for us either,” Leah answered as she shook her head no to Kim.
Kim frowned and placed her napkin on the table. “No. Nothing for me. Thank you.”
“Just the check then,” Mr. Balfour instructed.
“So, when would you like to see one of our displays?” Leah was taking charge of the conversation again—thank goodness.
“Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?” he suggested.
She nodded her head. “That would be fine.”
“If there won’t be anything else,” the waiter began. His eyes were back on me.
Mr. Balfour had his wallet out before the waiter handed him the check. He placed some cash in the booklet. “That should take care of it, my good man.”
“Oh, please, let us treat you,” Leah said as she extended her hand to the waiter, reaching for the ticked book.
“Absolutely not. The pleasure has been all mine,” Mr. Balfour said as he rose from the table.
I stood along with him. “I have to be going as well. Thank you again, Mr. Balfour.” I extended my hand.
He took it and brought it to his lips once more. I could hear his heart beating rapidly now, his blue eyes looking right through mine.
I shifted uneasily. I couldn’t help but think I was having a moment of déjà vu. I couldn’t figure out why I was so uncomfortable around him. I felt like he knew things about me that I didn’t.
“Until tomorrow . . . perhaps we could discuss that trip abroad.” He moved in closer, his hand still holding mine. “I can assure you: your travels will be safer with me.” There was something sinister about the way he said that. “Ladies . . .” he smiled brightly as he tipped his head and walked away.
“Now, that’s a man!” Kim nearly shouted when he was out of earshot.
“Kim, I’ve never been so embarrassed,” Leah thundered. “Why did you have to tell him about Phoebe getting attacked? She doesn’t want to talk about that, and do you really think he wants to hear that she was bit by some rabid dog, or worse—some psycho while visiting overseas?”
“I’ve got to go,” I said abruptly, grabbing my purse.
“Phoebe I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
I looked into Kim’s big brown eyes. She was always so kind, I could never really be mad at her. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,” I smiled at the both of them now. “I really have to go, I’ll call you both later, ok?”
I didn’t give them time to answer. I rushed out the door. Something was wrong—I could feel it.
I drove home, constantly looking over my shoulder. I felt like I was being followed; although, I didn’t see any actual evidence of it. I couldn’t figure out where I’d heard that name before?
“Balfour . . . Balfour . . .” I repeated it over and over in my head.
Tap, tap, tap.
I jumped in my seat. I stared out my car window with a confused look on my face. I’d driven home and was parked in my driveway without even remembering getting there. I turned my car off and opened the door.
“May I?” Mr. Balfour extended his hand to help me out.
I hesitated for a moment. Not wanting to be rude, I took his hand.
“I must confess: I followed you,” he admitted with a forged look of guilt on his face. “I hope you don’t mind?”
I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say.
“You forgot this.” He handed me my wrap.
“Oh! Thank you. I didn’t realize I’d left it.”
“Perhaps in your haste to leave?” he suggested with a smile.
I suddenly felt self-conscious again, my cheeks heating with embarrassment.
“Miss. Williams suggested that since I was returning your wrap to you, I might take a moment to look at your latest collection.”
“I wish she’d called me. I could have saved you the time. I don’t have anything to show at the moment. I gave Kim all my completed pieces last week for packaging. I can give you some snap shots, I suppose. I keep them for reference,” I explained. “Or if you’d prefer, I can make up a few pieces; I’ll just need a few days.”
“The photos will be fine,” he assured.
“I’ll just be a minute.” I ran inside to my desk, pulled out an envelope with the latest photos, and turned back toward the door.
“Huh!” I jumped. I brought my hand to my heart, trying to steady it.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” his voice was low.
“No, I just didn’t expect you to be behind me,” I laughed nervously. “Here you are.” I handed him the envelope.
His thumb caressed the top of my hand as he took it slowly. The touch, seeming oddly familiar.
“I make you uncomfortable, don’t I?” he said knowingly, the corners of his mouth curled up a little.
“It’s just the way you’re looking at me,” I confessed, trying to avoid his stare.
“I’m sorry. I don’t wish to make you feel uncomfortable . . . it’s just that you remind me of someone, someone I knew a very long time ago . . . someone very dear to me.”
I nodded my head in understanding.
“Well, I’ll leave you to the rest of your day,” he leaned in and kissed me softly on the cheek, his lips lingering longer than necessary. “Until tomorrow,” he bowed his head and slipped out the door.
I stood there for a while with my hand on my cheek. I could still feel his kiss. His scent lingered heavily in the air . . .
“Where have I heard that name before?” I thought aloud.
I looked over to see Marcus standing in my doorway—I hadn’t even heard him come in.
“You’re back!” I rushed over throwing my arms around him.
He pulled back abruptly.
“What’s wrong?” I found myself stepping away from him. My joyous mood—gone!
His eyes darted around the room.
“What is it?” My voice cracked. A feeling of dread crept over me.
“I can smell him; he was in the house,” Marcus growled. His eyes vigilantly searched his surroundings.
“What?”
I inhaled deeply. I could smell the ocean, I could smell the sweet smell of Marcus, and . . . my eyes widened. “I had a visitor.”
“You let a werewolf in your house?” Marcus rounded on me.
“A werewolf! No, it was that man I met for lunch, the one who wants to promote my jewelry line.”
Marcus moved in closer. “I can smell him on you.” I could actually see his anger rising as he looked me over.
“He wasn’t a werewolf.” I protested.
“I know his scent,” he snapped. “I’ve been tracking it ever since I left you. I was just past the Washington boarder when I realized he doubled back here.”
I looked at Marcus in disbelief. “Washington? How did you get there and back so quickly?”
“I’m fast.”
I didn’t have a chance to marvel. “Marcus, I promise you . . . there was no one else here. I’d have seen a werewolf in my living room, I’m not blin
d!”
“Phoebe, he wouldn’t necessarily be a wolf now. There’s no full moon.” Marcus turned his head slightly, looking at me through the corner of his black eyes.
“What do you mean he wouldn’t be a werewolf?”
“I mean that he would look like a normal human.”
My mind couldn’t comprehend what he was saying.
“You’re safe.” He sighed contently, looking momentarily relieved that I was all right. His black eyes sparkled like ebony as they looked into mine. I could feel my pulse begin to race as his cool fingertips ran along my jaw line and down the side of my neck. I closed my eyes as he pulled my face toward his.
I waited for the moment his soft lips would touch mine. The moment he held my body close to his as he embraced me tightly . . . this would not be that moment.
I opened my eyes to see his face dangerously close to mine. He was frozen. His eyes stared past me. They were black with fury, his jaw clenched tight. I could feel the tension running through the fingers that still held my face.
“Marcus?” I breathed. “You’re scaring me.”
His eyes flickered sharply to mine. I instinctively tried to back away—he held me tight.
“That beast was close enough to kiss you, and you didn’t tell me!” His voice echoed with rage.
“What are you talking about?” I asked desperately, trying to pull away.
“He kissed you!” he hissed through gritted teeth. He held my arms tightly—I wasn’t going anywhere.
“It was just a polite kiss on the cheek!” I said defensively as I tried to pry his fingers away.
His eyes narrowed before his fingers released their hold on me. “Did he hurt you?”
“What?”
“Did he hurt you?” he asked again, more impatiently this time.
“No! No more then you just did,” I snapped, rubbing the circulation back into my arms. “At least Mr. Balfour didn’t man handle me.”
“Balfour?” His expression became lethal.
“Yes. The man that was here—he wants to promote my jewelry line overseas,” I said crisply, annoyed that I had to keep repeating myself.
Marcus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. A look of frustration overtook him.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he began. “It’s just that when I smelled his scent on your skin,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Phoebe, he could have easily killed you.”
“I smell?” I couldn’t help but feel insulted. It was the second time this afternoon someone had commented.
“Phoebe,” he paused for a moment; he looked as if he was trying to collect himself. “I know that name . . . Balfour. Damen Balfour.”
“Damen? No. That can’t be.” I shook my head. Yet my mind drifted back to Mr. Balfour’s deep and intense eyes—how they looked at me so longingly, so knowingly. I couldn’t understand why I felt uncomfortable around him, why I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Even his smell seemed so familiar . . .
A flash from my dream came at me. His eyes, staring down at me . . . his yellow eyes . . .“D. Balfour . . .” I repeated his name under my breath, still in a trance like state. Then fear took hold of me. I knew he spoke the truth.
“He won’t touch you again Phoebe, I swear it!”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I thought he wanted to kill me? Why would he kiss me? It doesn’t make any sense?” I felt myself holding my cheek again.
By the look on Marcus's face, I knew he had the answers to my questions. He sighed, then nodded before retreating to the couch to sit. He reluctantly met my stare. “This was so long ago, and I’m not sure me telling you now will help?” He looked worried, as if something bad were going to happen.
I walked over and sat down beside him. I wasn’t afraid of Marcus. I didn’t hesitate for a moment to put my arms around him and hold him close to me.
His arms wrapped around me and my heart reacted as it always did when he was so close—erratic. I looked up into his glorious face and took advantage of his unprotected lips. I kissed him feverishly. I wanted him to know that he didn’t have to worry, that I loved him, and nothing would change that. Not some pushy werewolf; and especially not something that happened five hundred years ago.
“Careful . . .” he whispered across my lips.
I pulled my head back to examine him closer. “Why? You don’t have fangs.”
“Not always,” Marcus grinned.
At that, my mouth dropped open.
“You would only have to rub against them a certain way . . .” he didn’t need to finish; the look of shock on my face told him I understood.
Marcus took my hands and brought them to his chest, holding them there. His eyes looked tenderly into mine. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. From the moment I saw you so very long ago . . . I’ve never been able to let go of you.”
“I know,” I assured. And I did.
“All right . . .” he conceded.
Chapter 9: Vampires and Werewolves
“I can’t possibly tell you everything now, but I will try to tell you everything I can.” He spoke slowly so that I could take it all in.
“The feud between the vampires and werewolves has gone on for nearly one-thousand years. Before the war, werewolves were our protectors during the daylight hours, but over the centuries we’ve evolved and found that we could also go out into the sunlight. With this new freedom, vampires became aware that our daytime protectors had been forming a secret army to annihilate our species.” He paused briefly then continued. “They resented the vampires for keeping them as slave-like creatures. They wanted their own freedom to roam as they pleased, without restrictions.”
“I guess you couldn’t fault them for that; everyone wants to be free,” I said.
“No!” Marcus insisted. “Werewolves cannot be allowed to roam as they please. They wreak havoc everywhere they go. They have no control. They kill all in their path or infect entire populations and create more werewolves.”
“Oh, I didn’t know . . .” I looked downward as I thought of me being partially werewolf now. Was I going to infect others? Would I kill as well?
Marcus somehow read my mind. “You are not like these werewolves Phoebe; you are not truly a werewolf. You can’t turn others.” His face looked worried now. “I don’t understand how, but somehow Damen managed to bite you without infecting you, completely.”
“Why does that bother you, aren’t you glad I’m not a . . . whole werewolf?”
“Of course, it’s just . . . how did Damen maintain that control? I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s changing again. I don’t know what his limits are. That makes me very worried.”
I tried to understand the magnitude of what Marcus was saying, but couldn’t.
“Now, during the initial uprising,” he continued. “Damen, who was a relatively young werewolf at the time, joined Aidric—the leader, and the oldest of the werewolves. Aidric gave Damen his own army of werewolves to lead against the vampires. There were nearly fifteen hundred by the time we became aware of the population growth. They outnumbered us greatly, nearly five to one.”
I stared at him. I was completely engrossed in his words.
“Vampires have always tried to keep a secret identity. It has secured our existence for many thousands of years,” Marcus explained. “If the werewolves’ numbers were to grow too large, the knowledge of their existence, as well as our own, would be at stake.” I could hear the desperation in his voice.
“Are there that many of you still?”
He nodded his head. “There are central covens on each of the main continents, to maintain the population growth and to ensure our secret way of life. We are free to come and go as we like, so long as we honor the rules of the ancient one.”
I was on the edge of my seat. “I had no idea . . .” I was truly amazed. It was like an old civilization had been discovered, and I was the only one in the world who knew about them. They had their own rules, government, and lif
estyle. It was amazing, and frightening, how long they’ve lived among us—undetected.
“I was born in England in the year 1260,” he continued thoughtfully. “The war had been going on for nearly three-hundred years when it passed through my family’s lands. I was twenty-six at the time. I had arrived home to the brutally murdered bodies of my father, mother, and two younger sisters.” His face looked devastated, as if speaking of the carnage brought fresh sorrow to his heart. “The werewolves killed everyone. The servants, the livestock; I had nothing but stone walls left.”
I reached out and gently squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine.” My heart ached for him.
He smiled flatly. “It was at that time that an elder named Luther came through the ruins of my family’s estate, with a small army at his side.”
I opened my mouth to speak but said nothing.
Marcus's eyes locked with mine. “I knew what they were the moment I saw them,” he said. “There’d been whispers of such men . . . legends . . . I remember how scared I was of them.”
My thoughts were spinning wildly in my mind. Never had I imagined that I’d be sitting in my living room, talking to a vampire, about an ancient war with werewolves.
“The werewolves had taken everything from me,” Marcus spoke desperately. As if that was to justify what he was about to say next. His expression hardened. “Luther took pity on me. He gave me the choice of immortality to avenge my family. To rid our land of the vile beasts that plagued them.” He spat the words with such hatred . . . I found myself cringing at them.
“So that’s how you became a vampire?” He had finally answered the question I had been nervous to ask.
Marcus shook his head. “That’s how I decided to become a vampire. Not how I was turned. But that is another story,” he added quickly as he saw the question pop into my head.
“After I was turned, Luther organized an elite group of vampires known as Moon Hunters to track down and destroy all werewolves—with the exception of a few. There are only twenty-six of us.”
“Twenty-six?” I couldn’t help but notice the similarity. Marcus had been twenty-six when he’d been turned, he’d said.
