by Mary Abshire
He turned the corner to another hall. Dragging his fingertips along the painted wall, he headed for his office. A set of closed wood doors stopped him from striding in. it had taken him years to finish renovating the family home, adding rooms and designing it the way he wanted it, but the work had paid off. Reaching the double doors, he turned the handles and pushed them.
The office also served as his library. The large room nearly matched the size of the main living one. The smaller walls to his left and right were lined with shelves containing books. A rectangular desk with six chairs took up the space in front of the shelves on the left. Facing him, an old settee, a couple lamps, and two lounging chairs sat near the windows, which were covered by curtains. On occasion, he enjoyed reading one of the classics while the windows were open, allowing the fresh air to flow inside. To his right, he strode to the old wooden desk. His laptop, phone, and a small lamp lay on top. Since he rarely used a phone, he didn’t carry it with him.
Stopping in front of the desk, he claimed the cell. He ran his finger down the screen, through his short list of contacts, before tapping the icon for Demetri. As the call went through, Marcel held the phone to his ear.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Demetri answered. “Shouldn’t you be flapping those large wings of yours high in the sky?”
Marcel leaned back and sat on the desk. “I was until I saw a pair of lights in the forest.”
“Lights? Have aliens finally arrived in the reserve?”
Marcel stifled a chuckle. “Not that I know of. The lights belonged to a car.” Most vampires he’d met didn’t have a sense of humor. The fact his friend had one, no matter how small, went a long way.
“A car driving in the forest at night, in the storm?”
“Yeah, I followed it for a while, then something happened and it went off the road. I flew down for a closer look and spotted a human.”
“Now that is strange.”
“There’s more.” Marcel braced one hand behind him on the desk. “I spotted five werewolves tracking her.”
“Her?”
“I didn’t know it was a woman at the time. I flew down to save the person and discovered she was a woman.”
“Is she with you now, or did you let her go?”
“I accidently injured her—not anything serious, but I brought her to my house and tended to her wounds. She was a bit shocked by my true form, but not hysterical. She’s resting now.”
“You have had a very interesting night. What do you plan to do with her?”
Marcel lifted his hand and then ran it over his head. “For now, help her, if I can. But if she starts acting panicky or freaks out, I might need you to alter her memories.”
“Can I drink from her first?”
“No!” Marcel snapped.
“Now there’s a tone I rarely hear from you. Tell me about this woman.”
Marcel stepped away from the desk and started ambling the room. “Honestly, I don’t know much right now except her name and that her grandparents owned property on the reserve twenty years ago. She was exhausted, hurt, and in a little bit of shock, so I didn’t have an in-depth conversation with her.”
“Did she mention their name?”
“Winslow. I seem to recall the name, but that’s it. Does it sound familiar to you?”
“Winslow… Winslow… I believe there was a family who owned land in the northeast side of the reserve, high up. I only remember the name because a family of elves purchased the property. I ran into them one night and they told me where they lived and who they bought the land from.”
“You’re the oldest one here that I know of, and you’ve lived here the longest. Do you know if anyone on the reserve knew the Winslows?”
“Why do I suddenly feel insulted? I’m the oldest?”
“Demetri, I need to know about her and her family. I can’t ask her right now.”
“Why the interest?”
Marcel headed for the books on the other side of the room. “She has a connection to the reserve, so I want to know more.” Staring at the filled shelves, he wondered if his family had kept information about their ancestry or any of the landowners over the years.
“Is there something else?”
Marcel hesitated to explain how her blood had affected him, knowing Demetri would probe him for more information. Marcel wasn’t ready to tell his thoughts or feelings about Lynn just yet.
“I’m not sure right now, but I could use your help trying to figure a few things out,” Marcel said as he came to a stop a few feet from one of the shelves.
“Like what exactly? You’re being ambiguous.”
Besides having a small sense of humor and a very inquisitive nature, Demetri liked to be very direct.
“I was following her car for a while and didn’t see any problems. Then it suddenly veered off the road. She left her car and werewolves were there within a minute. They actually chased her. She wouldn’t have been able to get away had I not scooped her up,” Marcel said. “Why would wolves attack and how did they know she would be right there for them?”
“Hmm, those are good questions. Pack wolves wouldn’t attack a human without just cause. There are feral werewolves roaming the forest. I would suspect they are the ones who went after her. Now, it is strange they knew where to find her and when. As you know, I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Do you know anything about the feral wolves in the reserve? Are there a lot of them?”
“I’m not sure how many there are, but they tend to travel in small groups. They’re sneaky. They tried to attack me a couple times. Of course, they didn’t survive.”
“How many have you seen over the last couple of years?”
“Seen or run into?”
“Both.”
“Well… I’ve seen close to twenty in the past year. I had to kill seven in the last two years.”
“Any idea where they came from? Were they kicked out of the local packs?”
“Possibly. The werewolves don’t talk much. The ones in packs keep to themselves. The few times we ran into each other they turned the other way.”
Marcel sighed heavily. At least he could rule out pack wolves as the ones who’d chased Lynn. “Have you ever heard of the feral ones attacking humans before?”
“On the reserve? No. Do I think they would if they had the chance? Yes.”
Marcel silently agreed. If they had the opportunity, they would pounce. And they’d had one.
“Do you think the feral werewolves could’ve been hunting at the same time her car went off the road?” Marcel asked.
“I suppose its possible. Did your woman seem intoxicated or indicate any trouble with her car?”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask her, and no, she didn’t have any alcohol in her blood.”
“Interesting choice of words, Marcel.”
He bit his tongue, wishing he’d answered differently. “She had a minor injury that was bleeding. I took care of it. Other than that, she seemed normal.”
“Except she saw your true form and went into shock. Am I right?”
“Something like that, and that’s one of the reasons why I called. If she’s going to be a problem, can you alter her memories so she won’t remember the dragon?”
“Of course. We wouldn’t want anyone spreading rumors about us.”
A sense of relief filled him, but he still had unanswered questions about her and the feral werewolves. “I’m going to talk to her more tomorrow and take her to her car. I’ll text you if I’ll need you to stop by tomorrow night.”
“Why don’t we just plan for me to stop by after sundown?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Do you honestly plan to tell her the truth? What makes you think she can handle it?”
Marcel had already told her about his true nature and the various species on the reserve. While she seemed stunned, she hadn’t passed out or gone crazy with fear. She’d mentioned feeling sick and had left to clean up and c
hange. Other than that, Lynn had acted rationally, which surprised Marcel. He couldn’t help wondering if she were in a state of shock. With everything that had happened, he couldn’t be certain of anything except Lynn was special.
At any rate, he didn’t want Demetri taking any action yet. Marcel needed to find out more about her, and he had a deep desire to get to know her better. Aside from his curiosity, he felt a deep attraction to her and it was more than physical. He had a perfect opportunity to explore his feelings. Why not see what happens?
“I have everything under control,” Marcel said as he headed to the end of the bookshelf. “Give me some time with her.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Demetri asked in a low tone.
“Yeah, very sure. I need some time.”
There was a long pause. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
“Thank you, Demetri.”
The line became silent. Marcel held the cell in front of him and noticed the screen had changed, indicating the call had ended.
He lowered the phone to his side. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to rely on Demetri to change Lynn’s memories, but it was always best to have a backup plan.
Stopped at the beginning of the shelves, Marcel scanned over the titles of the books. He looked for anything that might talk about ancestry, the reserve, or the landowners. His parents had owned the house and land before him. They’d settled on the reserve in the late nineteenth century. He couldn’t be sure they’d kept any records about their family lineage or landowners, but his mother had loved to read to him and talk about their past. Had she documented any of it, he didn’t know, but his parents had amassed a large collection of old books. Many of the spines didn’t have writing anymore. Several of the hardback covers were falling apart. Thin books appeared to be journals with loose paper. He’d never looked at many of the items on the shelves, but he’d kept them since everything had been passed down to him.
With a deep breath, he set the phone on one of the shelves and then removed a book. If he had to go through each one by hand, then he would. And if he couldn’t find answers in his library, he’d contact the stations to see if the guards kept any records. Lynn was a descendent of the Winslow family. If they had lived on the reserve, they had to have some tie to a non-human species. One way or another, he’d find answers to his questions about the special woman who called to the fire within him.
Chapter Five
Lynn shifted onto her side until she felt a sharp twinge. She rolled onto her back again and the discomfort went away. She’d felt similar pain earlier while she was sleeping. What the hell was wrong with her now? Getting older sucked.
Sighing and keeping her eyes shut, she slid a hand under the soft blankets. She was comfortable and didn’t want to get up yet. Feeling around her abdomen, she discovered something had been taped on her. What the hell?
She lifted her eyelids. Soft light spilled into the bedroom, which looked unfamiliar. She twisted to her uninjured side and looked around the spacious bedroom. Gray curtains blocked the windows on the right. A black lounging chair and a small table sat in the corner near a closed door. The bathroom was next to it. She remembered walking from there in the darkness before laying on the king-sized poster bed. And what a large antique one it was. A long antique dresser sat against the wall near the open door to the hall. A few framed photos sat on top of the dresser. The walls were free from artwork, but painted a calming grayish-blue color.
She returned to her backside and gazed back at the nightstand by the bed. A thin lamp sat on a doily, but that was it. No phone. No clock. Nothing else. Who doesn’t have a clock by the bed?
At that moment, her memories returned. Marcel lived alone. This was his house. He’d saved her after her car had gone off the road and werewolves had tried to attack her. Oh yeah, he was a dragon and shifted into a naked man. Can’t forget that detail.
It all seemed like a bad dream, except Marcel had been overly kind to her. And how could she forget he was very pleasing to her eyes. Would he still show her the same kindness today? Or would he turn out like most men and want something from her? She aimed to find out.
Curious about the time and where Marcel had gone, she slid from the covers and off the bed. Her stomach and side ached with each step as she headed to the bathroom. At least the throb in her head had gone away. She reminded herself she needed to check her wounds.
In the bathroom, she flipped on the light. The shoes she’d left were gone now. She recalled Marcel had taken her clothes to wash them. She suspected he must have returned for her shoes at some point. Did he check on her, too?
Looking in the mirror, her reflection gave her pause. Her long brown strands had tangled and frizzed out. She looked worse than she had before she’d gone to bed.
Standing in front of the vanity, she started opening the top drawers, searching for a brush. The first drawer contained dental floss, a couple of sealed toothbrushes, and tooth paste. She wondered why he had so many, but was glad that he did. Taking one, she opened it, applied a dollop of paste, and then brushed her teeth. Once she was done, she returned the tube of paste and then set the toothbrush aside to use later.
She resumed her search for a hair brush and opened the next drawer. It produced one, but it was half the size of a normal brush. The bristles looked clean upon close inspection. Although she wasn’t in the habit of using a stranger’s comb, she had no other option unless she wanted to look a horrid mess, which she didn’t. Considering the cleanliness and orderly appearance of his home, she doubted he had lice.
With one stroke after another, she worked the small brush through her locks, slowly detangling the strands and cringing from the difficult ones. After she finished, she emptied her bladder and then washed her hands. She soon realized too much movement, especially bending of any sort, bothered her bandages and stitches.
Interested to see her wounds, she pried the tape on the long bandages away from her skin. Spots of blood dotted the pads. The two horizontal scratches still looked a bit red, but not like earlier. She’d always been a quick healer and suspected the lines would be gone in a few days. After returning the dressing, she pulled away the smaller one. Dark dried blood stained most of it. The stitches hadn’t torn, but her skin looked irritated. She suspected moving in the night might have aggravated her injury. As far as she could see, the hole wasn’t leaking any fluid. More antiseptic or antibacterial cream would help it. She’d ask for some later. Once she returned the bandage, she proceeded out of the room.
She walked through the bedroom wearing nothing but Marcel’s oversized maroon shirt and a pair of his boxers. Since she was in a stranger’s house, she felt uncomfortable without her clothes. She hoped they were clean so she could at least don some underwear.
On the way to the door, she paused at the dresser. Four framed photos sat on top. A faded black and white picture showed a young couple wearing vintage clothes and holding two toddlers. Another photo showed two older boys, either middle school age or a little older—teenagers for sure. A third photo showed the same couple with the boys, but everyone looked older, especially the parents. She guessed they were his parents since the last photo showed them with Marcel in a wooded area. He appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties, a little younger than he looked now. She wondered how old he was.
Lynn continued out of the room and then down the hall. She passed a couple of closed doors before reaching the staircase. A creamy off-white color tinted the wall. Wood trim ran along the ceiling, middle, and floorboard. She recalled Marcel had told her his family had owned the house and he’d renovated it. She wondered how old the house was. It seemed in excellent condition. Not a single step creaked as she descended the stairs.
The scent of food reached her nose before she landed on the main floor. She couldn’t place the aroma. Soft sizzling sounds led her to believe Marcel was cooking. Without pausing to gaze out the tall windows in the main room, she turned left and headed for the kitchen.
&nbs
p; The wide hall contained a couple of arched openings to rooms on the right. One open doorway probably led to the kitchen, but she spotted another opening past the hallway that would take her there, too. A tall rectangular table stood against one of the walls near the end of the hall. A chest sat underneath the table. An old-fashioned coat rack stood in the corner near the front door.
Passing the hallway, Lynn entered the kitchen. The room appeared like the others, spacious, clean and organized. Black appliances blended well with the dark wood cabinetry. A soft yellow colored the walls and brightened the room, giving it a warm and homey feeling. Four stools sat under one side of the center island.
Marcel stood shirtless in front of the stove. Jeans covered the lower half of his body. Her jaw lowered as she moved into the room. He had three large pink scars on his back. His arms moved as if he were working with something on the stove. That something sizzled loudly.
Reaching the end of the island, she pulled out one of the stools. It scraped over the tiled flooring.
Marcel turned his head to look over his shoulder. “Are you hungry?”
“Uh, yeah.” She winced from her stitches when she sat. “Do you know what time it is?”
He stepped back and shot his gaze to the counter on his left, across the sink. If she’d noticed the microwave sitting there, she wouldn’t have bothered asking for the time.
“It’s only about half past eleven. It’s still early,” he said as he returned his attention to the stove. “Do you like chicken, rice, and vegetables?”
“Yes. I’m not a picky eater.” Didn’t he notice her larger than average thighs, hips, and belly?
“I was getting hungry, so I started cooking. If you were still sleeping, I was going to set some aside for you.”
Her stomach gurgled and she put her hand over it. She hadn’t eaten since four in the afternoon the previous day. The heavenly aroma had aroused her appetite.
