by Gaja J. Kos
“You’re insufferable.” She laughed, then laughed again as Veles gave her a noncommittal shrug. “And you’re so buying me new shorts.”
The god’s smile grew, dark strands of his hair brushing against his sculpted cheekbones. “You know well by now how little material things mean to ages old deities.”
“Oh, really?” She guided her gaze down his still clothed body. “Why don’t you burn off your own, then?”
He did. And the beauty of his slender, yet muscular form took her breath away. She ran her fingers down his chest, the weight of the world flaking away with each fine shudder that captured his body as she explored, taking her time and enjoying every fine ripple of muscle, every path of his veins and the elegant curls of his hair, as if she didn’t know them all by heart.
As her fingers trailed past his waist, closing around the length of his arousal, she let herself forget about what she needed to do. Let herself forget about the confrontation with Veles she was certain would follow.
She gave in to the ethereal pull between consorts, riding its promise of oblivion until there was nothing but the two of them, the soft cries of pleasure and the touch of skin against skin.
At least for a little while.
Frank really hadn’t been joking when he said that all he needed were a couple of weres for backup in case things went south. Jens scanned the floor of the patio, observing the streaks of blood that marred the cemented pebbles and the broken vampiric bodies, completely devoid of life.
He exchanged a glance with Tim, who simply shrugged in return.
While there weren’t any patrons lurking around now, Jens didn’t doubt they were responsible for at least a few of the corpses. Attacking Pri Sojenicah was a foolish plan. There were always werewolves coming and going from the bar, and they would have no difficulties holding their ground against vamps. Then again, given the Upirs didn’t consider their half brethren as anything more than cannon fodder, he wasn’t particularly surprised by their choice, either.
But one thing was clear. Frank was a friend to the pack, Pri Sojenicah a beloved hangout.
This—this was personal.
Although the initial vampiric outbursts, even Vaclav’s protest, had been fueled by the lethal touch of Rose’s power, the actions and the meticulous organization the Upirs had turned to wasn’t aimed at the pack specifically. Until now.
He weaved through the battered tables and broken chairs, his body on alert for any sign of danger that might lie in wait. But nothing greeted him, save for the growing stench of dead vampires on the ground and the faraway sounds of ignorant passersby on the other end of the glamor.
There are two live ones still inside, Evelin said as she prowled closer to the entrance, skirting around a particularly nasty heap of entrails and torn-off limbs. One male, one female, I think. The scent is too faint for a proper reading.
Jens crouched as he inched forward, keeping himself out of the line of sight of the two windows overlooking the patio. He barely covered half the ground when the snick of wood splintering filtered through to his ears, the sound followed by a groan that was touched by the unmistakable chill of death.
One live vamp, Evelin corrected. She was already by the door, Mark waiting on the other side and ready to rush in at his mate’s command.
Damn it, we’re going to miss all the fun. Jens sent his thoughts over to Tim.
The were chuckled. Even seeing the assholes dead is good enough for me.
Lucky you, he rumbled back, but the words lacked any true conviction. He couldn’t deny that the sight was rewarding, even if his body still yearned for the thrill of a hunt.
Nostrils flaring, he sucked in the air, sifting through it for any indication that more vampires would arrive. However, all he picked up was the thick, syrupy stench of blood and death. Evelin had been right. Pri Sojenicah was closed up tight, without as much as a whiff leaving the thick walls.
Silently, he cursed Frank for improving not only the glamor on the place, but making it airtight in case the pack wanted to hold more meetings in the privacy of the back room. The bartending were had joked he didn’t want anyone sniffing around, but Jens never believed Frank had meant it quite this literally.
He shook his head. Should have expected as much.
We’re going in, Mark warned, the echo of his voice still slithering through Jens’s mind as Evelin burst through the door.
Tim darted across the patio in a blur of speed and threw himself into the darkness behind her, Mark disappearing into the bar not a second after that.
Yet Jens found himself unable to move. Unable to do anything but crouch in the middle of all the gore, pinned to the spot by the familiar scent the ripples of wind blew his way.
It couldn’t be…
It was only as the ruckus of a struggle and the following cries of impending death broke through the daze that he moved, propelling himself through the entrance with two long leaps. Mark and Evelin were standing over the fallen vampire, Tim a silent shadow behind them.
The room was a mess of overthrown tables and chairs, the floor littered with broken shards of glass and spilled beverages. But despite the destruction, despite the nearly unrecognizable state of their beloved hangout, Frank was leaning lazily against the tall bar, a wide smile plastered on his face. He glanced at the female were standing on his left, bloodied but seemingly unharmed.
Jens blinked. Then blinked again.
The slender, tattooed werewolf met his gaze, blue eyes alight with life and as vivid and fiery as her long red hair. She gave him a wink, her own smile surpassing even the one Frank still boasted, and waved a bloodied, clawed hand through the air.
“Hey there, little brother.”
Chapter 8
Jürgen plopped himself on one of the benches that had survived the attack, his eyes never leaving Greta, who was still leaning against the massive wooden counter, looking every bit as content as a were who had just gotten off to a good start on her vacation.
By the gods… Even after twenty minutes had ticked by, he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his sister was in Ljubljana. She hadn’t told him a damned thing when he’d spoken to her a week ago, and, judging by the amused way Jens had grinned at him once he and Zarja had pushed into Pri Sojenicah from the back, his twin had no idea about Greta’s plans, either.
While a part of him hated to see his sister in the thick of it—especially when she didn’t have the bond of The Dark Ones to fall back on to keep her alive in case shit hit the fan—he could see the glimmer in her blue eyes, the thrill of the hunt oozing from her body. Like them, this was something Greta needed. She was a Black were after all, and waiting on the sidelines in Germany while the rest of them fought in Slovenia must have been torture.
“Til’s doing great,” she said to Mark, her fierce expression softening. “He went through a short adjustment period after you dropped him off, but with Pablo and Lotte still living at the house, he quickly realized being there could be quite fun.” She chuckled. “Mom is completely charmed by him. We all are. But I think Liesl really loves having another cub around.”
Mark’s shoulders dropped, a labored breath whizzing from his chest, but his gaze didn’t leave Greta. “He hasn’t shown any indication of shifting yet?”
Normally, werewolves didn’t experience their first shift until they were at least twelve months old, but the exact age varied. Sometimes more so than others. Their rapid maturing could be due to the way the individual was wired, nutrition, or simply the atmosphere of the were’s surroundings. Even Jürgen had beaten his twin by a few weeks, much to his mother’s surprise, since the two of them normally did everything together. But Liesl Freundenberger was a seasoned Black were, and with seven children under her belt, shifts became something as ordinary as changing diapers.
Greta shook her head, her mass of dyed red hair swaying with the movement as if there wasn’t dried vamp blood clinging to the strands. “Nothing yet. But with Pablo taking such a liking to
him, I wouldn’t be all that shocked if the rascal somehow tricked Til into shifting sooner than he would have otherwise.” A gentle smile cupped her lips, the sentiment immediately reciprocated by Jürgen.
He missed his family. He missed the colorful bunch of snarling, laughing, beer-loving individuals who had been his first pack.
His trip to Munich with Katja was the last time he’d seen them. Only a few months had passed since then, but with everything that had been going on lately, it felt more like ages. He grunted. Longing or not, he couldn’t leave Ljubljana. Not when his actions here meant his family would stay safe.
“Oh, don’t you cry on me, little brother,” Greta teased, effortlessly picking up on his mood—as she always did.
Jürgen growled at her, but Jens only chuckled. “You know he misses Pablo…” His blue eyes met Jürgen’s narrowed stare. “And the beer. Fuck, I miss the beer, too.”
Frank stretched over the counter, producing a can of Paulaner and lifted it over his head like a trophy of the most prestigious kind. Not that it was far from the truth.
“You mean this beer?” he crooned. “Greta brought a stash of it with her. Said it’s never the same if you purchase it outside the country.”
Jürgen grinned. “Damn right!”
He snagged the can from midair when Frank tossed it his way, then watched the were hand out six more, and, finally, pop one open for himself.
Silence spread through Pri Sojenicah as every one of them cradled their beer, the rich fragrance of the brew washing over the stench of death that still lingered. Although they had piled the bodies in the back alley to be disposed of later, the essence of dead vamps seemed to have etched itself into the wood, refusing to dispel completely even with the door and windows closed. Unlike the interior, the patio was still a rough canvas painted in gore.
Thank the gods for glamor, Jürgen thought as he sipped on his beer, determined to enjoy the brief moment of peace. As did the rest of the weres.
While only he and Zarja had actually fought, the pack still seemed calmer, more placid. And with good reason. After the lull of the past two weeks, they finally had something to work with.
A lead, or whatever detectives called it. Although prisoner was a term that came to mind.
Frank, being a man of his word, made good on his promise. He and Greta had captured one of the attackers alive.
The bastard had refused to speak after he regained consciousness from a nasty blow to the head, courtesy of Greta, so the two weres had bound him with a few additional heavy duty chains and tossed the fucker into the back room to await further questioning.
Jürgen was surprised the vamp managed to hold his silence, but he wasn’t particularly bothered by this display of foolhardy resistance. The bastard would break. They all did, in the end.
He was as sure of it as he was in the Upir’s involvement in the attack.
While none of the two-souled fucks had actually showed up, the entire thing reeked of their presence. And the pack had received the warning loud and clear.
As long as they were standing in the way, souring their plans, their loved ones wouldn’t be safe.
“It’s more than that,” Evelin commented softly, but loud enough to capture the attention of the entire bar.
Jürgen looked up from his beer, only now aware that he had been broadcasting his thoughts through the bond. Seeing his sister preening over vamp carcasses must have surprised him more than he’d originally thought. Yet as careless as his mistake of not sealing off his gate of the ethereal path was, he couldn’t deny that this was a subject the pack needed to discuss.
“If they wanted to attack Frank to hurt us, they could have done so after he closed the bar,” Evelin said calmly, but her emerald eyes burned with wrath.
“Maybe a case of two birds with one stone?” Frank asked, undoubtedly filling in the blanks with ease. “Attack me and threaten other supes at the same time?”
Evelin nodded.
Zarja said, “Kind of stupid of them to go after weres, don’t you think?”
Frank shifted uncomfortably, shuffling his feet. “Not really. It was only Greta, me, and two more patrons when they struck. Their scouts must have missed the group of weres that came in about a minute after that. Some local bikers,” he added once Tim shot him a questioning glance, clearly as surprised as Jürgen was by the news. They’d both assumed the bar had been packed on such a sunny day. “Luca called this morning to reserve five tables, so I knew they were coming.”
“Lucky as always,” Zarja muttered, furrowing her brow before she flashed Frank a grin, and instantly received one of his classic wide smiles in return.
Tim shook his head, laughing silently, but, for once, Jürgen didn’t join in. When had he become the party pooper?
He shrugged to himself and drank deeply from the can, then addressed the pack. “Lucky or not, it still means they’re growing bolder. They aren’t only coming after Rose any longer. Or us, for that matter. They attacked civilians once before…” The warehouse-turned-party pad had been a massacre, the first major attack the rogue vampires had launched on their murderous path to supremacy. If the pack hadn’t intervened when they had, the body count would have been astronomic. “And with what happened today—who’s to say they won’t do it again?”
The room fell silent, uncomfortable, but Evelin’s sharp gaze met his. “I’ll call Tomo. We can’t work on finding the Upirs and keeping Ljubljana safe at the same time. If we stretch ourselves out too thin, we’ll play right into the Upirs’ hands.” She bit her lip. “The police need to be involved in case the vampires escalate.”
“He could arrest the vamp”—Jens angled his head toward the door separating the bar from the back room—“use him as proof that they’re becoming a threat for the wider population.”
Low rumbles of agreement spread through the stuffy, death-strained air, but Mark’s voice silenced them all.
“I don’t like this.” He held up a hand when Evelin wanted to protest. “I understand vampires are a part of the visible community and fall under the laws of police just as any human does, but the Upirs still remain in the shadows. We’re toeing a dangerous line here if we consider outing them. Even to only a few select individuals.”
“The Keepers have already made their move,” Tim snarled, the Paulaner can crunching in his grip. “I hardly think they’ll give a fuck if we blur the line between human and supernatural a bit more.”
Mark clenched his jaw. “Or it’ll make them come after us even harder.”
The aggression in the room ratcheted up a couple of knots, and Jürgen placed down his beer, monitoring the two werewolves for any sign that he would have to run interference. He could see Greta tensing up as well, her readiness to pounce carefully concealed in her casual stance that would have fooled anybody but him. They exchanged a quick look, dividing up who would stop who if the need arose.
But Tim only tossed the crumpled can on a nearby table, crossed his arms, and leaned against a fairly clean part of the wall. “Tomo already is involved. Why don’t we ask him how he wants to handle it before we jump to conclusions?”
The vein in Mark’s neck pulsed, but, eventually, the were nodded, although his tone remained harsh. “Call him. But we do this without revealing more than we should.”
Tim barked his agreement, and the rest of the weres followed suit. Yet even with the pack once more in agreement, Jürgen couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that, like it or not, the secret existence of the supernatural community was reaching its expiration date.
And that there was nothing they could do to stop it.
“Well, this brings back memories,” Veles said as Rose opened a clear, rectangular plastic container. It was filled to the rim with fresh spring rolls, their crusts the perfect golden brown Rose liked, sending wisps of the mouthwatering aroma spreading through the air.
She took in the smile curling up the god’s lips, then glanced at Serafina sitting on the bed beside her, the Kolduny
a’s traditional dress a green so deep, it was almost black. Veles was right. The setting did bring back memories.
The single difference from the night the three of them had spent in New York, aside from the location, was that Morana was now occupying a part of the bed, her bent knee gently brushing against Serafina’s thigh.
Witnessing the small affection between the two women dispelled some the chills crawling down Rose’s limbs. Her power hadn’t brought only death and loss into this world, but love, as well.
She hid away a smile as she noticed the careful, yet revealing glance Serafina gave the goddess, and, stomach rumbling, Rose dug into the food. She’d missed the barbecue downstairs, thanks to her training with Jens and the chaos that flew in on the wings of Sander’s arrival, and gratefully wolfed down one spring roll after another. But even though her hunger was real, she also knew a part of it came from trying to postpone the inevitable.
And that, to put it mildly, sucked.
Veles hadn’t said a word when she’d asked him to pick up her favorite comfort food after he dropped off Katja and Nathaniel in Ljubljana at the vamp’s request. Nor had he said a thing when she invited Serafina and Morana to join them upstairs after Rorik had taken up to the skies once more, Sander’s glamor shielding their flight.
If Veles had asked her what was wrong, if he’d as much as shown even the slightest concern at her requests… Rose didn’t know if she would have the strength to go through with this. So she was thankful—thankful for the silent support, even when she knew there was still a fair chance things could go sideways.
She picked up another spring roll, promising herself this was the last. She couldn’t control the future, but she could seize what the present had to offer.
With everyone running errands, the four of them had the house to themselves. Free of far too many people with augmented hearing that not even the thickest of walls could prevent from catching a whiff of her words. Only that didn’t mean this privacy would last forever.
