by Gaja J. Kos
After a few silent moments passed, Tim’s growling laughter echoed through the woods. “My brother would die to have you by his side.”
A snicker slipped from Rose’s lips, quiet, but not quiet enough to pass Zarja’s keen ears.
That’s one show I wouldn’t want to miss, the were agreed. But I don’t know who’d be suicidal enough to listen to Nathaniel’s enamored ramblings afterwards. My ears would start bleeding before he’d even get to the point where they’d spoken the first damned word…
Rose bumped Zarja with her leg, cutting the were off. She didn’t trust her abilities to contain the chuckle to a mental level if Zarja continued.
And knowing the were, things would only get juicier.
In the meantime, Katja’s beaming eyes revealed she was nothing but pleased by the comment.
“He’s the M.E., right?” the vampire asked, a sly grin brightening her features. “I’d gladly give him some pointers of vamp physiognomy... Especially if he’d let me in on an autopsy or two. Hacking up rogue traditionals by myself without the proper equipment isn’t all that fun.”
“Glad to have you with us.” Rose laughed, meaning every word, and flashed her elongated teeth. She began moving past the boulders into vamp territory, casting a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, and you are definitely raiding the lairs with us.”
The group continued uphill, silently pushing their way through the dry branches. None of the werewolves could sense the three traditionals Katja had mentioned, but they had locked onto the scent of two who had been present at the factory.
The trail led them in the direction of the second lair Sebastian had marked; advancing at a quick pace, they only slowed down once they approached their target, their stances gaining the necessary pre-fight tension. Although Katja had told them this particular lair was empty, they didn’t look lightly upon taking any chances.
Katja didn’t take the precautions as a lack of faith in her abilities but recognized them for the tactics they were. For that alone, Rose liked her even more. Clearly, the vampire was no newbie to fieldwork.
The scent of the two traditionals Veles had fought at the factory grew stronger, thickening around the entrance of a man-sized burrow that had been camouflaged with an intricately woven barrier of barren branches, its design similar to that of a grate. Zarja hooked the branches with her claws, placing them aside on the frozen ground.
Evelin lowered her head and slipped through the misshaped entrance, the rest of the group going in single file behind her.
The lair was a dark cave with walls made of dried mud and stone, its ground littered with broken bones of human and animal origin; combined with the reek of its previous two residents and the excrements of their victims, the ambiance made Rose want to gag.
“Well, isn’t this morbid.” Frank snorted from behind, the remains crunching under the soles of his boots.
Rose nodded at the remark, being even more vigilant about her own footing. She came up to Evelin’s side when the burrow widened, the dense scent of the two vamps propelling them forward. There were two makeshift cots crammed by the circular wall at the back of the den, both disturbed. The two vamps who had occupied them clearly didn’t concern themselves with keeping up appearances.
If anything, the caked bloodstains testified that the two weren’t strangers to snacking in bed.
Rose bared her teeth and hissed beneath her breath. Maybe hunting down all the traditionals wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
But before she could dwell on the thought, Evelin dropped into a crouch and lowered her head, her nose scanning the first bed. Rose mirrored her motions across the other.
They turned simultaneously, following the vamps’ scent to a heap of litter that lay only a few steps away from the cots, in the direction of the spot where Katja and the rest of the weres waited, not wanting to contaminate the smells.
A third scent lingered by the pile of dirty rags and various accessories that had undoubtedly belonged to those who had fallen victim to the two—now deceased—vamps. The reek of the traditionals had obscured this new smell, causing the weres to miss it when they had first entered the cave.
A faint trace of it ran from the burrow’s opening to the place where Rose and Evelin now stood, but most of it was concentrated at the mishmash pile spread at their feet.
Odd, Rose thought, catching Evelin’s equally puzzled expression.
The new scent was vampiric, yet it didn’t hold the base notes as that of the traditionals or the twentyfourhourlies did.
There was something off about it, something neither of them could quite place.
The two werewolves sniffed at the heap, carefully removing the victim’s possessions with their fully extended claws as they searched for the hot spot emitting the peculiar scent.
Rose pulled a crumpled piece of paper from underneath a shredded purse and carefully unfolded the cream-colored note.
The gold filaments in Rose’s eyes ignited as she read the message, its contents written in immaculate cursive. With a controlled, long exhale, she handed the note over to Evelin.
Carefully holding it between the tips of her claws, the were scanned the paper. The soft lines of her face grew harder, sharply filed teeth visible as she pulled back her upper lip.
Finally, Evelin lifted her emerald eyes to meet Rose’s gaze.
“Sonovabitch.”
Chapter 24
The werewolves and Katja stood still, the tension in the dim space growing, becoming lined with accumulating aggression they were unable to contain. Nothing had slipped through the bond, but it didn’t have to. The perfectly natural energy that rolled off the two werewolves who had seen the note was enough to cause the group to react.
Evelin’s voice filled the silence that had spread inside the burrow, claiming everyone’s complete attention.
“Humankind has set to extirpate those who should rightfully reign. Their small minds fear the endless power, the immortality, and the choices it gives to those individuals that have been endowed with it.
They have already struck against your weaker kin, poisoned them like one does rodents. And in their actions, they had forgotten their inferiority.
It is time to remind them of what they truly are.
Tonight, come taste the sweet flavor of that beloved nectar of life the humans value so highly. The buffet will be well stocked.”
She fell quiet, taking a deep breath before finishing the rest of the note; it consisted of detailed directions to the factory-turned-party-pad where the traditionals had attacked, along with the hour when the crowd would be thickest.
As soon as she finished, the werewolves exploded with snarls and curses as if they had been released from some ethereal grip, their bodies violently ridden with the need for retribution. Even Rose's eyes turned a deadly shade of gold, although she seemed to be holding herself in check as much as she could.
“The fucker wasn’t lying,” Jens growled from the center of the group, his teeth elongated into canines. His gaze found Tim, and the were nodded solemnly in return.
“This is sick,” Katja spat, her complexion ghostly pale as she pushed towards Rose and Evelin. “It had to have been another vamp, a powerful vamp that wrote that...invitation. I can’t imagine anybody else slipping inside the traditionals' lair without getting drained in the process. The fuckers don’t discriminate. They’ll eat anything with a pulse. Even their weaker kin.”
The last words dripped with disgust. Katja took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Someone like you?” Evelin asked once the vampire calmed down, but there was no malice in her words, only the purest kind of curiosity.
Katja shook her head, her thick chestnut ponytail swinging wildly with the movement.
“I’m not powerful enough to pull it off.” She sighed.
The rest of the werewolves quieted down behind her, eager to hear what the vampire had to share.
“Like I said before… They would have sensed me once I walke
d into the burrow. It takes a master level of skill to hide your presence from others. I’m barely over one hundred years old, a baby in vamp terms. I’d need an additional few centuries to even begin learning the basics of the art of occultation.”
Evelin cursed silently. It was bad enough they had frightened twentyfourhourlies and blood-driven traditionals on their hands. But to think that the latter’s puppeteer was one of the ancient ones…
Chernobog damn them all.
“This art of occultation,” Mark began, stepping closer to the distraught vampire, “are there many of your kind who master it?”
Katja bit her lip, a single droplet of blood swelling on the surface where her fang grazed the skin. Apologetically, she wiped away the crimson bead, using steady breaths to retract her fangs.
“I can put together a list of those I have come across in my studies,” she finally said, regaining some color in her cheeks. “It won’t be comprehensive, but it’ll be a start.”
“Traditionals?” Zarja asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest to prevent her rage from wrecking the burrow.
The vampire’s eyes turned dark. “And twentyfourhourlies.”
Mark didn’t say a word, merely nodded. He understood the discomfort rising within Katja. To think that one of your kin could have orchestrated the slaughter was difficult to process. There was no need to push the subject further.
He turned back to the rest of the group, gently touching Zarja’s shoulder as he moved past her in a gesture for the were to follow him. There was nothing left in the burrow for them to search.
Evelin bagged the note before they set out. She was determined to have either Tomo or Nathaniel run a fingerprint analysis on it, or possibly find some specifics as to where the paper had been bought.
Its texture was thick, a thin line of gold decorating the bottom edge. It led her to believe it was part of some upscale, hopefully even custom-made stationery.
Sharing Nikolai’s love for non-electronic means of communication, Evelin knew there weren’t that many places left where one could obtain quality products. And the buyers were more often than not regulars.
Unless, of course, they were dealing with a somewhat more progressive ancient, an ancient who wasn’t a stranger to technology and the endless possibilities the internet brought.
Still, she could hope.
Even as they left the reeking, crammed environment of the lair behind them, Rose continued to try and catch the peculiar scent that had been embedded in the structure of the note. But with that much time already passed and the relentless winter winds rushing through the forest, whatever trail the agitator might have left was now long gone.
Knowing there was nothing to do but search for the second lair, Rose fell in step with Katja. They walked a few strides together in silence, the frozen ground softly crunching underneath her feet.
A question had been knocking at the back of Rose’s mind ever since the vampire had told them about the possibility of a vamp’s concealment from their kind, especially if the emphasis was on their kind.
“The art of occultation doesn’t only change a vampire’s energy signature, it affects their scent, too, doesn’t it?” she finally asked, turning her gaze on the figure walking alongside her.
Katja looked at her with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted. “Yes... How did you know?”
“I thought it was the note at first, but… I smelled the sonovabitch inside,” Rose said with a malicious snarl, and pushed deeper into the woods, the odd vamp-but-not-vamp scent safely cataloged in her mind.
And a freshly placed kill mark set firmly on top of it.
Rose sat in her dining room, her eyes fixed on the blade in her hands. She inspected it from all sides under the artificial light until she was certain she hadn’t missed anything, and wiped it down one final time before placing it on the table in front of her. It had taken her just over half an hour to clean the resilient blotches of blood, especially the ones that had pooled around the handle.
Despite the humidity which saturated the air, the blood had been quick to dry. Even with the small cloth she always carried in the side pocket of her pants—to wipe the blades immediately after their use—it simply hadn’t been enough to ease her task.
The second location the weres and Katja went to inspect hadn’t been empty.
The vampire resting inside the lair was there only by chance, a squatter; his scent was new, the weak presence of it unable to override the signature sequence of odors that had belonged to the original inhabitant—the senior traditional Tim had faced at the factory.
Rose had been the first one in, her entrance rousing the squatter vamp. Fangs on display, he lunged at her from where he had lain, making the job almost too easy. Rose repositioned herself in the split second before the traditional landed on top of her.
With her claws outstretched and ready on one hand and her knife set at an upward angle in the other, the pale creature all but impaled himself. The blade cut into his flesh before the vampire realized his mistake. He braced his legs against Rose’s body, trying to propel himself backward, but the werewolf pushed the blade deeper.
The movement was almost automatic, a built-in memory from too many experiences.
The tip of Rose’s knife connected with the vamp’s heart. The squatter thrashed, but her claws kept him steady. Satisfied with the damage inflicted to the heart—most of it done by the vamp himself as he tried to wiggle his way from her grasp—Rose slithered behind his back with supernatural speed and dragged the blade across his thin, sinewy neck in a single, lethal slash.
Once the blood flow eased and Rose let the body fall to the ground, Katja and the weres entered the burrow, immediately beginning their search for the note.
The lair was smaller than the first one, with fewer remains scattered across the ground. Almost orderly by the traditionals’ standards.
Frank whistled to the others, locking on the unusual scent. He followed it to a nearly mummified deer that was stashed in a small stone alcove. With disgust clearly showing on his face, he shoved away the drained carcass, and picked up the note with the tips of his claws.
The rest of the group gathered behind him, peering over his shoulders only to confirm what they had already suspected. The note’s contents were identical to the ones on the piece of paper Evelin had bagged in the first burrow, the straight lines written in the same immaculate handwriting.
The sound of water reaching its boiling point snatched Rose from the memory of the ghastly den and propelled her back into the present. She was home, and a cup of coffee would soon rest in her hands—which were now devoid of blood.
After they had found the second invitation, the group called it a day; not only were they already losing natural light, but they didn’t exactly have high hopes of finding anything different from what the first two lairs offered them.
They hiked back to the road, the sounds of motorcycles and car engines accompanying their departure. Most of them headed for their homes, while Evelin and Mark made two short stops, dropping off one note at Nathaniel’s lab and the other at Tomo’s house.
If there was anything of relevance, they would find out soon enough. Rose thought it highly unlikely that anyone as powerful and ancient enough to master the art of occultation would slip in their vigilance and leave incriminating traces behind. But it was worth a shot.
With the case being nothing but a blurred mass of chaotic whorls in her head, everything was worth a shot.
She leaned back in her chair and lit a well-earned cigarette. Rather than let the gloomy abyss of her mind suck her in, she admired her handiwork of cleaning the blade. Its cold surface gleamed under the lights, the edge flawlessly sharp. With a smile, she thought of her mother.
Ileana had taught her well.
The enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee weaved from the other room, filling her senses; she lifted her head in time to see Veles emerge from the kitchen, two steamy cups in his hands. He placed one in front of
her, observing her with a gaze full of intrigue and a hint of hunger lurking underneath.
“How are you even fucking real, wolfie...?” He exhaled, embers rising within the black rims of his eyes.
She knew what he saw. Her hair was a disheveled mess of curls after her quick shower, the still wet ends soaking the fabric of her white tee, turning it sheer over the swell of her breasts. Coupled with the satisfaction that came after a hunt, the satisfaction that now lingered on her features, the sight of her made Veles groan, and rattled the hunger within him.
A carnal smile captured his lips as he prowled over, his fingers brushing away a strand of her hair to trace the delicate line of her neck.
“Coffee?” she managed to ask in a raspy voice, but the god’s lips already closed on the skin where his fingertips had been moments ago, tasting her pulse.
She shivered when he pulled away just enough to raise the curve of his mouth to her ear.
“Later,” he whispered, the promise of ravenous sensuality in his tone pushing her desired cup of coffee into oblivion.
Chapter 25
Next morning, the pack regrouped in the cozy atmosphere of Nikolai’s sitting room. A steady fire was warming the room from the masonry fireplace, the barest hint of sun coming through the tall windows. The werewolves sat in a semicircle, gazing at the eighty or so photos spread across the wide, thick carpet.
When Evelin dropped off the note at Tomo’s place the previous afternoon, the policeman gave her a whole box of case materials in exchange. He had successfully tracked down the photographers present at the opening night—without any help from the theater officials, of course— and had made copies of every photo they had taken.
And they had taken a lot. It upped the weres’ hopes of finding something of significance.
Inside the box were also detailed reports about the searches done at the theater and Pelican Foods, as well as information about the organization and people employed at both establishments. Tomo and his man had run background checks on every person who could have had access to the blood, but so far nothing had stood out to the police.
