1. Moonlight Stroll
Moonlight Stroll Curiosity killed the cat. No one said anything about it hurting a wolf. Avani wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but none of her failings were considered a problem among the Elder Pack of the Oldcrest Wolvswoods—none except for her burning need to know what was going on, to explain things to herself. That, they couldn’t understand. The wolves obeyed commands from their superiors and questioned nothing. She always questioned everything. Which was why she was out of bed on Sunday evening at the witching hour, inching toward the edge of the woods, her bare feet silent as she moved like a shadow. Like a predator. She’d been awoken by a strange tugging at the edge of her mind; her mother used to call it instinct. Avani had started to wonder whether there was something more to it, because whenever she felt that pull and answered it, something out of the ordinary disrupted her routine, good or bad. Maybe there had been a seer somewhere in her bloodline. She wouldn’t know. Now that she’d gotten out of pack territory, she noticed a distinctive heady scent in the air—blood. Human blood and something else underneath. Magic. A paranormal creature was bleeding. That was nothing to write home about here, in the hidden territory concealing the hill from which the vampire royalty had once ruled the world, also home to the well-known Institute of Supernatural Studies. Here, blood was on the school supply list, and served warm in the cafeteria. But something felt wrong. Then she saw it—him. A man walking aimlessly, as if he was drunk. No, that wasn’t it. Avani had seen many a drunkard in her life. This felt even more unsteady; he advanced without conscious volition, like she imagined a ghost would, or a puppet pulled by strings she couldn’t see. His steps were tottering and he tripped every time his feet hit a vaguely uneven surface on the old sand road leading from the Scottish Highland train line to Night Hill. Frowning, Avani focused on the man. From a distance, her wolf eyes could see that his gaze was glazed over, unfocused. Something was wrong. She didn’t know him, but one sniff and she identified him as two things. Firstly, a resident of Oldcrest. She’d smelled him before, and he didn’t register as a stranger or a threat. And also, a huntsman. He had that strange not-quite-mortal flavor, a spice that rendered him less dull than the bulk of humanity. And more appetizing. The wolves who claimed they never felt the desire to sink their teeth into flesh were bullshitting. Or maybe they were just a lot less feral than Avani and the rest of her clan. To her, people smelled like a snack, unless they were pack. Especially when they were bleeding openly like this guy. Her eyes went up the silent hill. It was strange that no one else had come yet; the scent of blood should have gotten the vampires’ attention by now. Then again, the residents of Oldcrest who didn’t don a fur coat every now and then had had an eventful few hours; there had been a battle at the border. A serious one. Avani had watched from the woods, dying to join the melee, if only to run as a wolf and get to bite actual people. But the alpha had ordered all members of the pack to stay away, and the alpha’s word was law. Draiden had said nothing about this guy though. Avani knew that if the alpha had known about a zombie huntsman wandering at night, he would have expressly forbidden all of them to interact. In this case, the absence of directives was all the permission she needed. She couldn’t control it—after a glance encompassing Night Hill and the woods, she ignored the little voice in the back of her head whispering that it was a bad idea, and stepped out of the shadow. “Hey, are you okay?” He wasn’t. He was as far from okay as anyone could be. Now that she was closer, she could see dribble around his mouth, and he muttered to himself, repeating the same thing over and over again, gibberish Avani couldn’t understand. “Do you need help?” If her pack heard her, they might kill her for this. Literally. They didn’t offer help to anyone, huntsmen most of all. The Elder Pack’s only concern was fellow pureblood werewolves. The rest of the world were enemies. Humans, vampires, and witches had proved that over and over again. Within her lifetime, Avani had been hunted, imprisoned, tortured, and she’d seen her only parent killed. Why? Because they were different. Dangerous. She should have little empathy and no compassion by now, like the rest of her pack. In that, she often failed. Avani lived by a simple code. People were fine until they hurt her. Then they were prey. That dude didn’t look like he was in a state to hurt anyone. “Fasestdiceredominmuseritautemreginaomnesinterficere…” More gibberish. He sounded like the old priest who’d tried to exorcise her wolf back when she’d been a kid. Then it hit her. It wasn’t gibberish; it was Latin. She caught certain words. Sangui. Dominus. Regina. That sounded important. The sort of thing that he should be telling someone on the hill, not her. She sighed. “Come on. Let’s get you up there so your friends can make sense of your mess.” The poor guy had clearly been hexed. If she was to hazard a guess, he’d probably been sent somewhere to kill a malevolent witch who’d gotten the best of him. Come to think of it, should she help him? Huntsmen killed paranormal creatures. That was literally their one vocation: getting rid of sups who got out of line. And Avani did get out of line. Frequently. There were many types of shifters, but whether they donned feathers, scales, or fur, there was only one true difference. Some of them came from a human line—shifters whose forebears were turned into shifters by a member of a First Blood family. And others were born from the very first shifters of their races. Whether they realized it or not, that was the only distinction that mattered. They either were hybrids tempered by weak mortal blood or savages. The pack of brutal inbred wolves in Oldcrest was the latter. At the beginning, there had been three wolf shifters: a red wolf and a gray wolf and a white wolf. The red and white lines were killed off thousands of years ago, only leaving one First Blood werewolf line. Fenrir, or Knox—he’d adopted many names over his long immortal years. These days he went by The Wolf. He was the only pureblood, the only real monster among wolves, but her pack was as close as anyone else could be. Their lines had been directly turned by Fenrir himself, and they’d only mixed with others of the purest wolf blood, which translated into a group of unstable psychos who attacked first, asked questions later. Avani differed from the others in many ways. She hadn’t been born here, she wasn’t part of their messed-up family tree where their cousins were their uncles and grandfathers. But in one thing, she was just like the rest of them. She was about one hair short of crazy. At least she admitted it. The huntsmen acted all high and mighty, like they only hunted down her kind for the greater good. Yeah, right. They liked killing, just like most sups. Whether they acknowledged it or not, the source of their bloodlust was the drop of vampire blood in their veins. Dribble Dude was the enemy. But he was a pretty pathetic one at that. She sighed again and put her arms around his torso, half carrying him to speed up his pace so they reached Night Hill faster. His blood dripped all over her favorite PJs. Great. If she was killed by her pack because of that dude, she’d come back and hunt the shit out of him, his family, and his dog. Sometimes, being the nice one sucked.
2. Boundaries
Boundaries The problem with undergraduates was that pretty as they were, they didn’t have nearly enough experience to be good fun, but as Alexius taught a post-grad class, he didn’t have much choice. He drew the line at touching his own students. It was fucking undergrads, cleaning staff, Adairford residents, or going celibate. Celibacy wasn’t an option. He screwed everything else. “Oh yes, please, yes.” He yawned as the bottle-blonde twenty-two-year-old bounced up and down his shaft, head thrown back, screaming like the house was on fire or something. Jesus, what was it with screamers? Needing this disaster to end, he took matters into his own hands, cupping her ass and flipping her on the bed, then turning her so she was on her hands and knees. He lifted her hips and plunged right back inside her, setting his rhythm—a lot deeper and faster than she would have managed. Now the screams were two octaves lower and a lot less fake. He grinned, pulling her arms up until her torso was plastered against his. Then Alexius dropped his lips on the side of her neck. “May I, pretty thing?” He couldn’t remember her name. Laura. Lana? Something that started with an L anyway. She gasped out loud. Alexius extended his fangs and ran them along her skin, his right hand caressing her shoulder down to her arm, hand, then circling around her clit. “You’re going to love it,” he promised. He meant it, she would. Because he’d use ice magic—his affinity—to numb the pain as his fangs entered her, and he’d display his skills with his hand and mouth to make up for the rest. Feeding wasn’t sexy. Not between strangers, a nameless fuck he didn’t care about. It was carnal. A desire he couldn’t escape. Thankfully, thanks to romance novels, mortal women were open to the experience. And as long as the vampire was careful, a little pain could do wonders for the libido. He knew—he’d let his ex bite him a time or a thousand. Viola Wild had been as crazy as her name suggested. But their coupling had been intimate. This was just sex. Sex and blood. “Yes,” the girl mouthed. She wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass; she could brag to her friends that she’d screwed Professor Helsing and let him bite her, too. That would give her a celebrity status among her peers for a while. A month, at least. Until he took someone else to his bed. Alexius did well enough on blood bags. Some vampires couldn’t live on synthetic alone; he technically could. He simply liked to indulge in the real thing every once in a while. One time per month at most, and with a different girl each time, to ensure neither he nor they turned it into more than what it was. A kink. School holidays taken into consideration, he fucked about ten girls per year. As there were about two hundred undergrads in the Institute, who typically stayed three years—five at most—at least a hundred and fifty girls per class never saw his cock. Once they worked on their masters, he wasn’t interested, even if they didn’t take his classes. He had boundaries. Weird, self-imposed boundaries, but still. So the students who did get his attention earned some cred. He knew he was considered the ultimate conquest here. He’d just penetrated her soft skin with his fangs and started to suck, while pushing ice through the wound and pinching her clit, when he smelled something out of place and infinitely more interesting than his partner and her common blood. His head snapped left, gaze directed at the wall, even as his attention focused well beyond the confines of his dwelling. Something had entered Night Hill. Something that didn’t belong here. A wolf. Alexius grinned. At last, some action that wouldn’t bore him to tears. Those wolves knew the rules. They weren’t allowed here, not without invitation. Which meant that he was going to be able to chase. And maybe even bite something a little less bland than his current meal. He withdrew his cock from its wet sheath, removed the condom he hadn’t really needed, and pulled up the pants he hadn’t removed. “Sorry, Laura.” “Lise!” she replied angrily. He had to laugh. The girl let an undead ancient she didn’t know bite her as he fucked her, but she had issues with his not knowing her name. “Right. That’s it, Lisa.” Okay, so he was an asshole; the lack of concern was purposeful. He’d hate to let her think he cared, or that there would be a repeat. “I have an emergency. You can finish the job—I have toys in the bedside table. Then let yourself out.” She’d better be gone by the time he was back. Alexius rushed down the hill. The Helsings were set up on the upper tier, right under the De Villiers; the only other house towering over them was that of the Eirikrsons. The monsters born vampires were warned about instead of the boogeyman and the big bad wolf in their world. By the time he reached the intruder, disappointment hit. It was a wolf, all right. A hot, tanned, sculpted blonde in short cotton PJs and tank with spaceships on them. She was too pretty to hunt, even if she had broken the rules. Which she clearly hadn’t—there was a clause stating that wolves could come on the hill in case of emergency. And the dull, ashen mouth-breather she was carrying at her side looked like an emergency. Alexius swiftly appeared at the guy’s side, checking his pulse and scanning for anything amiss. Gosh, he stank. But Alexius couldn’t help himself. Attempting to heal, to put back together broken pieces, was his curse. He tilted the guy’s head up to look right into his dilated, bloodshot pupils. “Compulsion spell. A strong one.” Alexius frowned, letting go of the head. He glanced down at the boy’s sliced wrists, cut too deep, at an angle that suggested it had been self-inflicted. The guy was beyond saving. He might actually already be dead, moving solely because of the spells binding him. Alexius sniffed him. Yep, definitely dead. He stepped away from the creepy shuffling corpse with a grimace, walking back up the hill. Maybe the undergrad was still in his room. He unquestionably was going to need a distraction after touching a decaying corpse. For all the wrong reasons. “Hey!” the pretty blonde wolf called. “What do I do with him?” Alexius didn’t spare her a second glance, for various reasons. The first one being that he couldn’t allow himself to be close to a girl as appealing as she right now. Particularly not a wolf. To most, the stench of death would have been sickening, disgusting, wrong. In a way, it was. But mostly, Alexius found it arousing. Corpses made him think about hunting down prey, taking it, consuming it. Fuck. He was so damn twisted. “Nothing to do. You might as well drop him there. The cleaning crew will take care of him.” It would hardly be the first corpse they took out of Night Hill. “I can’t believe this.” The poor girl sounded outraged. “Aren’t you going to do anything?” “I absolutely am. I’m going back to get a bite. Feel free to join me if you’d like.” She growled low in her throat. A strangely enticing sound. Now, he couldn’t help glancing back behind his shoulder. He grinned, lifting an eyebrow suggestively. “I take it that’s a no? Shame.” The wolf would definitely have been more fun than Bottle-Blonde Lisa. Alexius chuckled as a trail of insults followed him on his way back home. He could hear and scent Levi and the others approaching at a speed the wolf wouldn’t have been able to detect. They’d take care of the corpse, and help the wolf out better than Alexius could in his state. And Alexius could go back to taking care of nothing and no one except for his favorite person: Alexius.
3. Three Words
Three Words Watching the retreating figure, dumbfounded, Avani couldn’t believe her eyes—or ears for that matter. And she sure as fuck couldn’t believe her nose. The hot dude walking away from her and her five-foot-eleven, two-hundred-pound charge might be an absolute asshole, yet he smelled so damn good she wanted to lick chocolate sauce off his abs. Woodsy, with apple tart and pine tree; all her favorite things. Right after she punched him in the face and got him to deal with the hexed guy she’d dragged all the way up this hill. All her instincts told her to follow him, make him obey, but she stayed put. She could imagine that people didn’t easily make that guy do anything he didn’t want to. Dammit. She really should have stayed away from vamp business. After calling him every colorful name she could think of, including "twatwaffling cuntytart," she forced herself to breathe out to calm her racing pulse. She wasn’t sure her Zen practice helped much, but he was too far to hear her now anyway, so she concluded her tirade with, “Fine. Whatever.” If he didn’t care about the huntsman puppet, there was no reason why she should. She let go of the zombie dude’s arm, shrugged, and started to walk down the hill just as a breeze of air passed in front of her. The hairs on her arm stood to attention, and her body tensed, adopting a protective stance—a natural reaction for a wolf faced with outsiders, potential enemies. The next instant, six other vamps appeared. She felt so terribly foolish watching them stand so close, their bright eyes fixed on her. They were clearly predators, and she was terribly outnumbered. Even she recognized the two leading them. His damn highness Levi De Villier, the owner of Oldcrest, who let her pack stay here out of the goodness of his dark little vamp heart. Or something like that. The pack couldn’t stand him. They needed his charity; that didn’t change the fact that they hated it. And of course, his mate, the object of all the attention on their territory, Chloe Eirikrson. Avani had met her a few months back, during her first week in the territory. She seemed nice. And naive. Or stupid. Which meant she was potentially an evil genius who wanted to appear all three? Jury was still out. “Avani?” Chloe said. She was surprised the girl recalled her name before remembering that vampires had freaky memories. “Hey. I found that guy on the path, so I helped him up the hill. Your troll let me through.” She’d seen the guardian of the Night Hill gates from afar before, but actually speaking to the colossal beast had been a little more intimidating than she’d liked to admit. She knew his kind was freakishly strong and a lot faster than they should be, given their imposing stature. “Thank you, Avani,” said the damn fucking king of vamps. Well, not literally. Levi didn’t hold a formal title. Nonetheless, he could have if he’d wanted to. And he was talking to her. Politely. Using her name, even. Today was weird. “I recognize the boy. He’s…” “A huntsman,” Chloe supplied. “Easton Reeds, I think? He started school the same day as me. Bash would know more.” “Mikar?” Levi said. There must have been some sort of underlying order there because without requiring further prompting, a dark and handsome shadow disappeared in another fast breeze, running at full speed up the hill as though Levi had brandished a whip. Chloe stepped forward tentatively and called softly, “Easton? How are you doing?” No answer came from the huntsman; he kept mumbling, his gaze fixed unwaveringly ahead. “What’s wrong with him?” she mused. There was another unnatural gust as more vamps approached. Mikar was back, with another hot man and woman in tow. Why were they all hot? Avani felt cheated. Pack members were gross. Okay, not all of them, but none looked anything like these vamps. She wondered if going through surgery to look Photoshop-ready was a rite of passage before becoming immortal. “Easton?” the man called, stepping toward the zombie huntsman, close to Chloe. If he heard him, Easton didn’t react at all, still muttering his weird-ass spell-like chants, though his voice had become lower and more distorted. It was starting to creep her out. Time to head back home—before she was missed. She’d have to sneak in and wash the scent of vamp off her, too. “I think he might be…” “Yeah, he’s dead,” Levi confirmed. Ew. She’d carried a corpse up the hill? “Wait, what?” Avani scowled. She didn’t mind hunting down squirrels and eating them raw, but decaying huntsman creeps grossed her out. “He’s been hexed so that his corpse could come to us. I guess that’s a message of some sort. Or a threat.” Great. Now she had to wash off voodoo, vamp, and corpses. “Did he say anything comprehensible?” a black vamp guy she didn’t recognize asked. Avani shrugged. “No, he’s been muttering like this all the way. Something about a queen, having to speak to a master, and some nonsense about a blood link. Good luck making sense of that.” “You speak Latin?” Levi was surprised, and she couldn’t take umbrage. Her pack wasn’t known for its scholars. They never attended school, and the lessons they taught the kids of the pack could be summed up by How To Kill That Thing 101. Some pack members had developed interests outside of hunting, but they were rare. “My mom taught me some stuff,” she replied, leaving it at that. “Still, I couldn’t make sense of what he said overall.” “Thanks again. It’s helpful.” Levi and his posse were obviously not as squeamish as she; they circled the eerie corpse and started to poke him, sniff him, ask questions. Avani cleared her throat. “Well, so long, everybody. Let’s never do this again.” She started down the hill, never expecting an answer. To her surprise, steps soon trailed her. “Wait!” She turned to find Chloe walking right behind her. Immortality suited the other woman. She’d clearly been made for it. When they’d first met, Chloe had felt shy and unsure of herself. Her aura had been all over the place, a strange mix of fear, eagerness, curiosity that made her feel scattered. The woman in front of her was a different animal. A dangerous one. The wolf inside Avani, never far from the surface, observed her every move with wariness. One wrong movement, and her furry counterpart would burst out of her skin to attack the vamp. Avani wasn’t sure she’d win against the fledgling, young and inexperienced as Chloe was. She tried to hold the beast back—for that reason, and because she was absolutely, a hundred percent certain that she would lose against whoever was sent to avenge Chloe if she did manage to take her down. Part of her was irritated; it would be a good fight. Too bad they couldn’t spar for kicks like she would with another pack member. But the dynamic between wolves probably didn’t apply on the hill. If they’d both been wolves, no one would have raised an eyebrow at two dominant females challenging each other for no reason. Avani remembered enough of her life before the Elder Pack to know that wasn’t standard everywhere. Besides, Chloe hadn’t actually shown an inclination toward starting a fight yet. Just because she was an immortal bloodsucker from a family known for their cannibalism and savagery didn’t mean that Chloe was violent. “What?” “I’ve lived in Oldcrest seven months and it’s the second time I've spoken to you—to any wolf of your pack. But although you stay on your territory, you’re part of our little world. If something happens here, you guys will be affected. I feel like we should get to know each other a little better.” Avani laughed. “What, braid each other’s hair, talk boys, and exchange dresses? Come on, Eirikrson. Vampires and wolves are enemies.” “Are we? I have wolf friends.” Not from her pack, Avani wanted to say. “That’s not possible. Our alpha hates your guts—all of you.” Everyone who wasn’t a pure werewolf, basically. “And what do you think?” Avani lifted a brow. “It doesn’t matter what I think. He forbids interactions with your kind, so that’s the end of it.” “And yet, you’re here,” Chloe challenged with a lopsided grin. Damn, the girl had a point. “Do you always do as you’re told?” Avani asked her. Chloe laughed. “I can’t take orders. Like, at all. So, no. But your kind have to obey the alpha, is that right?” Avani inclined her head in acquiescence, slowly. It was the way with shifters, especially when the alpha was a born alpha. “What if I could help you with that?” Chloe said, tilting her head. Avani frowned. “What do you mean?” “What if I could make it so you don’t have to obey anyone?” It was a trap. A trick. When something sounded too good to be true, it was, end of story. Especially when it came from a stranger. “You helped me once. Let me return the favor.” “I showed you out of the woods. That’s not exactly a huge favor.” “And all you get from me is two words,” Chloe said. “I’m not even sure it’ll work. But I think so.” She was rambling and it made no sense. Still, there was something about this girl. Something that made Avani want to believe her. Feel like she could trust her. Trap, trap, trap. Her animal disagreed. It felt a little cornered, so close to the petite blonde. “What words?” she said. The air changed around Chloe. Her deep brown eyes turned bright blue, flashing in the moonlight. Avani would have sworn the earth itself stood still, paying attention to that force of nature. “You’re free.” That was all she said. Two words, as promised. Whispered, sung in a way that resonated deep inside Avani. You’re free. She shook her head. Just a trick. It’d just been a strange trick, that was all. Stuff like that was easy to say for someone like Chloe Eirikrson, mate to a badass royal vamp, heir to a well-known family of psychotic bloodsuckers. She didn’t understand what it was to be a werewolf—the pack dynamic. The price Avani would pay if she ever stepped out of line. But the other woman meant well. Ignorance didn’t make her a bad person. “Thanks, I guess,” Avani said, waving again as she picked up the pace to leave the creepy hill and its weird inhabitants. The assholes, the royals, the weird-ass witch princesses. Avani rushed back to pack territory—a hamlet with red brick houses built in a circle around a tiny town square—and headed to one of the smallest homes. As a single female without pups, she was only entitled to one bedroom. It was clean and comfortable inside. She headed straight to her bathroom and started a shower. As cold water rushed down her skin, she smiled, though with some reluctance. What a strange night. She couldn’t remember a day quite as interesting as this in a long time.
4. Gilded Cage
Gilded Cage Alexius had expected a visit eventually; not tonight, perhaps, but at one point or another. And sure enough, the Leviathan was at his door at three in the morning. Lise had left his apartment by the time he’d made it back, so he’d spent his time doing what he did best. Tweaking his fusion spell. He’d found a way to bind two elements in one object, as the great mages of the old days had done—an art lost to the current inhabitants of this planet that he’d been determined to perfect. Mostly because he could. He had no specific reason for wanting to break the laws of physics and magic, other than boredom. Vampires needed to sleep—though far less than mortals. Just like they needed to eat, drink, to maintain their corporal bodies' functioning. The blood was something else—a carnal desire and need born of their duality; it maintained their immortal essence. Alexius had suffered from insomnia for almost a thousand years. On the rare occasions when he finally passed out, exhausted, three or four times a year, the nightmares started. The memories of who he used to be, what he’d done, twisted by time and magic. So, he worked, night after night, day after day, until he finally had to give in to sleep. “Am I disturbing your rest?” Levi asked. Alexius rolled his eyes. “That’s actually not possible.” No one, nothing, could wake him up when he did finally manage to fall asleep. Until his mind consented to free him from his dreams, he was a statue, a corpse. “Just because you can’t sleep doesn’t mean you aren’t resting,” his friend pointed out. Though “friend” was perhaps a bit of a stretch. Levi had shown nothing but contempt for Alexius for the first several hundred years of his residence on the hill; then later, some indifference. They’d only seemed to get closer five hundred and twenty years ago, after the Eirikrson massacre. Neither of them had known that anything had been going on. The royals had called a meeting, which meant that Alexius had headed right to the Adairford pub—an excellent brewery, even back then—to get drunk off his arse and forget that his family existed. As for Levi, he’d heard the term politics and hightailed it out of there. Then the next thing they knew, there had been screams on the hill, terrible screams that still haunted Alexius’s nightmares. It took an unholy amount of alcohol for a vampire to get even the slightest bit tipsy, and the haze soon passed; but the night of the meeting, Alexius had drunk enough booze to be completely out of his wits. He’d imagined that the screams were his nightmares come to ruin his life during his waking hours for a change. One of the many things he’d never atone for: not even trying to help as an entire family was slaughtered by his kin. Some of the Eirikrsons deserved a good beheading. There always were assholes in each family. But there had been innocents—children, men, and women who weren’t inclined to fight anything or anyone unless it was self-defense. Even among the warriors, some were fair, honest, even kind. And necessary. The Eirikrsons had been the one thing that had kept their kind in check. That had kept him in check. Young vampires could lose it. Easily. The newfound bloodlust, the great powers suddenly at their fingertips held an intoxicating lure. And there also was the way their brains worked. Faster. Taking in everything and nothing at once. The lack of focus was their greatest curse. Alexius used to be lazy as a teen. Too lazy to pay attention to his lessons about control. Or any lesson for that matter. He did what he pleased, and nothing else. His family never bothered to correct his behavior. He was a prince of the Helsing clan; rules were for other people. Then he turned at age twenty-five, and he became something dark, twisted, a predator without a care, without a thought about his victims. Without a thought at all. He was a lion and the humans crossing his path, prey. If that had happened now, in year 134 of the Age of Blood, he would have been killed on sight by huntsmen. Back then, it had been the Eirikrsons and their slayers who kept vampires in check, and they made a different call. He still remembered Viola Wild pinning him down under her heel, both of her curved blades at the ready. She awaited her orders from her mistress. Alexius had thrashed against her like a caged animal, desperate to get free, but he lacked discipline and strength. There was no way he could have done a thing against the likes of Viola, a soldier trained since infancy and turned into a vampire only when she knew every single one of her strengths and weaknesses. Liz Eirikrson, the light-haired, blue-eyed, blood-drinking warrior who commanded the slayer, looked him right in the eyes and Alexius stopped writhing, recognizing death when he saw it. Even in his blood-filled haze, he’d remembered what he’d been told about the Eirikrsons. They were vampires who drank from vampires—from predators like him. He knew the blonde would drain him and enjoy it. Alexius looked down. Liz lifted one brow. “Well, this one looks reasonable enough, for a feral. Not even trying to fight me. He might have a brain cell or two left.” Instead of drinking him dry or burning him, she had him brought back home to Oldcrest, and with his family’s blessing, bound him to the territory until he’d paid for his crimes. What that meant, Alexius had stopped guessing at a long time ago. Nine hundred years hadn’t done the trick. He just knew he couldn’t leave; his flesh began to desiccate and rot every time he tried to cross the borders hiding their world from the mortals. And he tried once a year, every year, like clockwork. Given how many lives he’d taken, he doubted he’d ever free himself. As Alexius regained his sanity, he remembered the hundreds—thousands—of deaths he’d caused, and he’d been fighting a losing battle with depression since. The one thing that seemed to help was healing people. And distracting himself with work. Inventions, discoveries. Things that challenged his mind. He was the brain behind most of the technological advancements of the last hundreds of years; he’d sent letters to Gutenberg, Da Vinci, Newton, tweaking them in the right direction. There were only one or two potion masters who could hold a candle to him. Alexius’s nature made him too volatile to wield magic directly, but he could mold it, infuse it into cursed or blessed objects. Changing lead to gold was child’s play. And it wasn’t enough. Sex helped. A good screw definitely figured among his favorite distractions, although he rarely indulged in the activity. He lived here, twenty-four seven, every day of his life, without a chance for a jailbreak in sight. Complicating his stay with a huge line of conquests wouldn’t have helped his case. “The guy was dead. I would have helped if I could,” Alexius told Levi before the other elder had the chance to launch into a lecture. “I know,” Levi replied simply, walking in without an invitation. “I thought you’d want an update. Jack gave us a list of the locations the boy visited over the last few years. Apparently, he disappeared for a little while, only turning up a month later after an assignment. It’s worth looking into.” It was. For people who could leave this damn prison. “Are you going to offer me a drink?” Levi prompted. This was new. The spontaneous updates, the drink. In the old days, Levi had only come to him if he wanted to accuse him of something or ask for a favor. Alexius decided he didn’t mind. “Sure thing. I have…well, everything.” As he was stuck here, it only seemed right that Alexius would surround himself with all sorts of comfort and distractions. A full bar was on his list of necessities. “Rum and Coke, if you please, Lex.” “Pusser’s?” Rum was one of his spirits of choice; he had an extensive collection. But if the man was going to ruin it with soda, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to offer the good stuff. “Sounds good.” “Would you like it spiced up? I got some fresh AB neg powder.” Once upon a time, the Helsing manor had housed his entire family on regular occasions. It had been more of a dorm with revolving doors than a residence for anyone. Now, there were only a dozen Helsings left alive, all of whom were younger than Alexius. His little sister was technically only a couple of hundred years his junior, but considering she lived on the other side of the world, in isolation, she didn’t count. As the family elder, he was given reluctant respect. His reputation as an unstable, verging-on-insane scientist and ex-feral meant that the rest of his family was terrified of him. They didn’t come here if they could help it. So the house was his, for all intents and purposes. He’d shaped it to reflect his eccentric mind, each room so very different it felt like stepping into a different house. He could choose where he wanted to hang out, depending on his moods. Levi rolled his eyes, following him to a gold and black leather sitting room. “I’m not going to ask how you got hold of blood powder—AB neg, to boot.” Blood trafficking was highly regulated. As there was no true use to concentrated powder, other than giving vampires a slight high, it had been considered illegal for a few years now. Alexius smirked. “I have a donor. Selling someone else’s blood for profit is frowned upon, certainly, but he’s selling me his directly to pay for college. You know how I like to help bright young minds.” Levi chuckled. He surprised Alexius by saying, “Sure, why not. If you promise it was a fair, ethical deal.” Alexius lifted a brow. “You think I’d shortchange a boy? Come on.” He paid a hundred pounds for a vial of ten milligrams of blood; if Mark had gone to a dark alley dealer, he would have been offered maybe twenty or thirty pounds. Black market dealers wanted to force desperate kids to give as much blood as possible so they could profit. “No, you wouldn’t,” Levi said, sounding like he surprised himself. “In spite of your reputation, you’re a lot more honorable than you let on, Helsing.” Alexius would have liked to believe that. But he knew that every time he weighed his options and decided on a course of action, the one thing motivating him was the possibility of getting out of Oldcrest. Scotland was boring. Pretty, gorgeous, clean, and boring. He wanted to climb a skyscraper, swim with sharks, climb Everest, walk the entire wall of China. Rediscover the world he only knew through pictures and videos. This called for a change of subject. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here, Levi?” He handed the other ancient his drink and sat on his recliner. Levi sighed. “Was I that obvious?” “We’ve never been on late-night drop-by terms, friend. Not that I mind. I just figured you might want to get the matter off your chest so we can get drunk with lighter hearts.” Levi’s dark eyes flashed blue, a sign of barely repressed anger. “I…I don’t think I can keep it together for long. Two thousand years I’ve lived, and it has been centuries since anything—anything—has tested my patience like this.” Now Alexius was surprised. “What, is it Chloe? Is she nagging you or—” “No, no!” Levi’s expression was all confusion. “Why would you even think that? She’s perfect. The problem is him. The poser.” Alexius tried his very best to maintain an even expression, but laughter poured out of him, and he couldn’t stop. “Seriously? You see Fin Varra every day, and a boy annoys you more than him?” “Fin is fae, it’s in his nature to be…dramatic. Seth is a freaking nightmare. On purpose. He turns up without notice and lounges around my house. Flirts with my mate. And I can’t fucking punch him because we need him. Stop laughing.” Alexius didn’t think he could. He regained his composure for long enough to drink a healthy gulp of wine before leaning in toward Levi. “All right, so here’s how you deal with someone like Seth Stormhale. You question his worth. Tell him he couldn’t possibly infiltrate the queen’s legion. He’d be all the way over there in a lightning bolt.” Levi blinked. “That…that wouldn’t be prudent. If he gets caught, we lose our one asset.” Alexius’s smile flashed a set of polished fangs. “Now, wouldn’t that be a shame?”
5. Pack Hierarchy
Pack Hierarchy Deep within the Wolvswoods, close to the western borders of Oldcrest and the northern lake, there was a natural spring carved within the belly of the highest hill this side of their territory. The stories said that the great witches of old—once established in the building that now shielded the Institute of Supernatural Studies—used to purify these waters to use them in their spells. After tasting it for the first time, Avani didn’t doubt it. There was something not quite right about the spring; its water was too crisp and pure. Some of the wolves didn’t even want to try it because they were afraid of lingering curses. Avani seriously hoped they were wrong, because being killed by a damn pond would be too lame for words. She didn’t often run to Leah Hill, but this morning, staying out of the way of the pack authority sounded like a good idea. She couldn’t be certain that whoever had been on patrol duty last night hadn’t seen her or smelled her when she snuck in. If she’d been spotted coming down from Night Hill by one of the enforcers, there’d be hell to pay. In the light of day, her actions seemed too stupid for words. Draiden, the alpha, forbade any interaction between the pack and the rest of Oldcrest. The Elder Pack wolves were allowed to go out of the territory once a month, escorted by guards sent by Knox himself, and that was the extent of their interaction with the rest of the world. Avani understood the reason behind the rules; the members of their pack weren’t known for their self-control, and if they ended up hurting an Oldcrest resident, their safe haven might be compromised. There weren’t many places that would have opened their doors to sups like them; not only shifters, but wilder, stronger ones. They were actual predators, not furry humans. Long ago, at the Immortal Wolf’s request, Levi had welcomed the pack’s ancestors, telling them that they could stay as long as they caused no trouble. Their residency still depended on the goodwill of the lord of the territory. Hell, they didn’t even pay rent. Levi had had plumbing installed, and let them place a weekly order of necessities. Avani didn’t think the pack paid for any of it. They would have had issues financing something like that elsewhere. Not that they didn’t have jobs. Some of them did. The alpha, beta, enforcers, and healer were solely focused on the running of the pack, but the others had occupations, in and out of their little world. Tray, the alpha’s younger brother, ran an outdoor gear store in Adairford. Ford fished in the lake and had permission to drive out of the territory once a week to sell his catch to various restaurants. He was considered stable enough to deal with regulars on a weekly basis, unlike most of them. Leonara, a beautiful submissive, ran an online weaving store. Camelia made leather shoes; some of them were distributed to the pack and she sold her surplus online. They all gave a portion of their profits to the pack's common fund, so that everyone could get a small amount of pocket money. It worked well, though it couldn’t finance an entire territory and its maintenance. Avani would have loved to be able to sew, knit, weave, make pretty things with her hands, but she didn’t have the skills—or the patience to learn. She was mostly good at running. Fast. Faster than anyone else in the pack. She wasn’t all that bad at fighting either. A clear dominant wolf female, she’d gotten into brawls with most of the men and women in the pack at one point or another. Brawls she generally won. Her set of skills should have made her the perfect enforcer, had she not possessed a profound distaste for authority. She had to obey the alpha. She also hated it. Abhorred it. She’d arrived to Oldcrest at age fourteen, and for the first ten years of her stay, she’d mostly spent her time assisting everyone else, although not having a clear purpose meant that she didn’t get much of an allowance. Three years ago, her life changed when something extraordinary occurred. The internet was installed on Night Hill. One would have thought that being in the middle of absolutely nowhere would have meant that their signal was pathetic; that was underestimating the depth of a bloodsucker’s pocket. Levi De Villier had an actual tower built on the far side of the hill. The signal covered all of Oldcrest, reaching the Wolvswoods. She could finally catch up on movies, shows, get books online. And the one thing that she wanted to do after immersing herself in civilization was talk about it, to people who would get it. The rest of the pack was barely even interested. They’d been raised here, and learned to prioritize different things. Avani started a video blog, reviewing the stuff she read. Before she knew it, she had followers and the vlog brought a little money. As the years passed, the traffic increased—as did the cash. She now made so much she also had to contribute to the pack fund like Tray, Leonora, and the other business owners. That had been a relief, in more ways than one. She knew that she was mostly useless, and the pack had a way for useless females to earn their keep. She didn’t have to worry about that fate now. Being one of the pack breadwinners meant she got to do what she wanted with her time. She still assisted the others because she had more spare time on her hands than the rest of them, but that was now out of kindness rather than necessity. In a pack with seventy adults and as many kids, only ten members worked for themselves; everyone else served the community. She’d turned into a gofer so that the alpha didn’t order her to take a role in pack administration; those who didn’t have a clear occupation had to help the pack. Not just as enforcers; there were cooks, cleaners, teachers. And…other things. There was at least one pack whore at any time. It was mostly comprised of volunteers, although males and females who broke shifter law could also be condemned to work off their debt on their pack. If they did something horrible, like fatally injure a pack member or attack someone sneakily, without issuing a clear challenge, they were at the alpha’s mercy. He could order their execution, banishment—or the alternative. Prostitution. Then, they were moved to a large home next to the alpha’s, where the door was always open and anyone could go in, any time of the day. “Pack whores” was what the rest of the world called people in that position outside of these woods. Here, they were dubbed “pleasers.” All things considered, they were treated pretty well—their living quarters were more luxurious than almost anyone else’s in the pack and they were given presents by all their lovers. One of Avani’s friends, Julie, had volunteered a couple of years ago. She’d done it for a year, got pregnant with twins, and stopped after giving birth. No one knew who’d fathered the boys, but the entire pack took care of them. To Avani, the whole thing was…weird. She didn’t judge her friend’s choice—at least, she tried not to—while knowing there was no way she’d ever open her legs for the whole pack like that. Not voluntarily, and she’d never done anything that might get her punished harshly enough to be sent to the Pleasure House. She never would. “I thought you’d be here.” Avani stiffened, remaining on her knees in front of the water. She didn’t need to turn toward him to know that Zayn had arrived; she recognized his stench. Sandalwood, bergamot, and some musk that could have been pleasant, and somehow wasn’t. Zayn was Draiden’s eldest son, and the head enforcer. They’d gotten along as kids, but then he’d joined the church of Avani-Should-Give-Pussy. He might even have been the founding member. Some members of the pack believed that she should be having pups—getting hitched to one of them—as soon as possible. That, she rolled her eyes at. Others said her place was in the Pleasure House. The pack coveted her as a breeder because her bloodline was as pure as it could get. And she didn’t come from here; she didn’t share one drop of blood with the rest of them. Mixing between blood relatives had started to affect their heirs, physically and mentally. Those who didn’t have too many relatives in common were still remarkably similar, like siblings. Their skin was olive, their hair dark, and their eyes green or blue. Blonde with brown eyes, she stood out in every way. That didn’t give them any right to her body. Hell, she didn’t even want one of them. Werewolves were generally fit because of the exercise their beast demanded, and objectively, most of the males in the pack were attractive. They were also fairly sexist, and extremely classist. The dominants treated the submissives like lesser beings made strictly to serve them. The Elder Pack might be the one home where she would be safe, but it was decidedly stuck in a different century. She didn’t think anyone could be ordered to the Pleasure House only because they didn’t have any other job. Still, starting to make her own money had been a relief regardless. Those who contributed to the pack fund had a higher status than other pack members, higher even than that of most enforcers. At the very worst, if she’d been seen going out of pack territory last night, Draiden would have forbidden her from accompanying the pack to their monthly outing. Which would suck. Those twenty-four hours outside of the magical walls surrounding Oldcrest were necessary. Not only did she stock up on moisturizer, she also went to clubs and screwed pretty boys to sate her active shifter libido. Without the outlet, she wasn’t sure she could survive the isolation. But knowing that Zayn wanted her either in his bed or in the Pleasure House made every second she spent in his company torture. “I thought you wouldn’t have. Shame you have more foresight than I.” He ignored her, as he usually did. “Draiden called a meeting.” She tried not to let her worry show. Had she been spotted? Was it about her? Avani bit her lip. “When?” “Twelve.” He glanced up at the sky. “So, now. Don’t be late.” On that note, she felt him shift behind her, and start to run on the forest floor. She gathered water in both of her hands and took one last drink before removing her top and jeans. Avani pushed her muscles to run faster and faster, enjoying the air on her fur and the feel of the ground beneath her paws, until she reached the hamlet minutes later. She hadn’t always loved running. Once, it had been a necessity. She’d become good at it because it had been a matter of running or dying. Now that she didn’t have anything to run from, it was freeing. There were only a couple of people gathered in the pack meeting ground when she glanced at it. She had time to head to her place and put on clothes before returning to the town circle. Most of the pack had made it by the time she sat down in the back, near Julie and her twins, away from the dais where the alpha and beta were waiting to start their conclave. Zayn arrived, pacing and buck naked. His eyes widened when he saw her, changed and ready. She’d always been faster than him, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Or angry. But judging by the way he frowned, hands gathered into fists at his sides, he was both. Avani did what she did best: she grinned, infuriating him further. “Good of you to join us, son.” “You called a last-minute meeting. I was passing the message along,” Zayn muttered, looking down to his toes. He still sounded like a teen when he talked to the alpha. “Well, everyone’s here now. So it’s time I announce a bloodhunt.”
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