The Wolfen Lover Page 4

  Laina had told him of Byron and the way she resisted his love. He knew she was waiting for him. He knew it in his heart. And he was sure Laina dreaded the moment when she would have to part the veils and learn the secret of killing a vampire. When she does, she will give her very life over to me.

  I must trust, completely, with a clean heart, he thought. As she trusts me. He remembered the hate in his own soul that first moment in the cave. She has risked so much to love me, he thought in wonder.

  This risk was one she would take for the sake of their love, but Michael knew she was frightened. The veils between the worlds were found in a treacherous place, he knew that, and were inhabited by beings so powerful and so dark in their magic. She must muster up all of her courage and conquer all of her terror to meet them as equals. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she had told Michael one night in tears, and he had kissed away her fears.

  Tonight, she walked beside him, and he was sure she was terrified. In his animal form, he could do little to comfort her.

  She had told him that she wished she could fly with him in her arms, but she was afraid she would be clumsy in flight and that they would die. And so she walked through the night, never complaining, never wearying, and the village grew closer with every step. But she must dread our arrival, he thought.

  One more night of this, he thought, rubbing against her body as she moved beside him, and we should be close enough.

  * * * *

  The queen paced in her rooms as her husband told her of his plans. She was conflicted, torn between some small desire to protect her child and her status, and the need to punish the girl for her stupidity. In the end, it did not matter whether or not she approved of this mission, for the king’s word was law, and all knew this to be true.

  She looked at her husband and nodded, and her mind raced with the possibilities. If Byron should return with Laina, they would be married, and a great royal wedding should help to distract the clan and raise her own status once more. If, however, Laina was destroyed in the secret, ancient ways, the queen would be shamed forever. She hid her anxiety this night, and she decided to use her powers of seduction to please her husband. She had painted her lips so that they shone as Laina’s always did, a deep, rich red of fine wine. She had added a little rouge to her cheeks, and she glowed in the candlelight, seductive and acquiescing. Her husband gazed at her and drew her close. His attraction to her had not dulled with time, although he would dally with others, even human women, before he fed on their crimson blood. The king and queen moved closer to one another, and their lips met.

  She would give him her passion and reassure him that his choice of queen was the correct one. She would not beg for her daughter’s safety, and she would keep her power however she could. Laina must pay for her mistakes, not me, she thought, coldly, unbuttoning the king’s fine shirt. I will not suffer for her folly and recklessness, she decided, as she fell upon the bed and enjoyed her husband’s expert caresses. If she dies, she dies, Melissande thought angrily, and she made sure to give the king every ounce of expertise she possessed. No one helped me when I rotted in that little cell, only the king, and in the end we are all alone, she knew. She would not pity.

  She straddled her husband, riding him until he groaned, displaying her slim midriff and full breasts. She reached over and dribbled some wine along her nipples, so that they seemed to shine with blood. She leaned over him so that he could suck the rich red liquid from her erect nipples, and she felt the intense pleasure that would soon bring her climax. This is all that matters, she thought. Passion . . . I will not let that silly, ungrateful girl take away what I have.

  Chapter Six

  Michael and Laina found shelter in a shallow cave, where the strong night winds bit into their frozen bodies. Light snows swirled into the cave, and there was no fire to warm them, as all the branches they found were wet and would not burn. Laina dug deep inside herself, snuggled into Michael’s fur, and tried to remain positive.

  Her mind turned to the past, to the people she had killed and to the whole saga of her life, which seemed now only a blood-soaked adventure full of death and loneliness. She sensed some doom in the very air as she stroked Michael’s silver pelt and murmured endearments to him, as much to soothe herself as to soothe him. His soft, animal growls were gentle and smooth and comforted her as she fretted and tried not to give into the terror inside of her.

  * * * *

  Over the sky, the king’s emissaries worked fast, moving through the night skies, their eyes glowing unnaturally bright. The caves of the forest were their targets, and each of them would land near a different one, looking for the elder wolves, if they lived, and for their wayward princess, Laina.

  Byron moved against the icy wind, feeling no discomfort. His joy was like a shield, protecting him from the world around him. He landed on the forest floor, his eyes scanning the dark woods. He could sense her. He knew she was close, so close . . . It was only a matter of time. He walked through the forest, alone and unafraid, feeling power surge through every fiber of his being.

  The dark skies were not lightened by the snowfall. He took in the inky beauty of the night, and his heart swelled in his breast. He imagined Laina cowering within a cave, and he could almost taste her full lips and smell the sweet scent of her frightened body. She would be as helpless as his victims, and he would be merciful. If she fought him, he would subdue her, and return her to the estate intact . . . to be his bride.

  The Wolfen frightened him not at all, for there was no way he could believe their power might eclipse his own. He only thought of her . . . of Laina. She had been the first thing he had ever wanted that he could not have . . . and she was to be his. Nothing had ever been denied him since the night he was changed, and he thought little now of the human life that went before.

  He found a few empty caves where he stealthily moved, for all vampires were light-footed and sleek and were able to move silently and carefully toward their prey. He found a large cave, and his eyes adjusted to the blackness, and he grinned as he saw the delicate paintings on the walls, zoomorphic figures of animals and delicate knot work borders that could only be the work of Laina.

  Feeling her presence, he wandered the cave, almost able to smell her, and something else . . . an animal musk that he knew to be Wolfen. The other vampires had told him the stories of their scent and how it aroused the hunger . . . and of their taste, sweet, so very sweet, and addictive to the vampire palate.

  He wandered over to an abandoned fire pit looking for clues. He found an old pelt upon the ground, and picked it up, its tan fur dirty and cold. He pressed it to his nose, and he smelled the scent of sex, faint but unmistakable. He saw the traces of blood that dotted the old fur, and he trembled with rage. Had his Laina, his virgin bride-to-be, been defiled by a . . . beast? He imagined the Wolfen atop Laina’s slender body, touching her in ways that had always been denied him, and he dropped the filthy pelt and stormed out into the night once more. Anger twisted through his body like a serpent, and he walked onward, knowing he would have his revenge.

  * * * *

  “Someone is here,” Laina whispered in the darkness of her cave, while Michael nestled beside her, deep in slumber. “I can feel him . . . or them. They are very close now.” She thought of waking him and moving on, but the night was growing stormy, and there was nowhere to run. Being out in the forest would only make it easier for them to find her. She waited in the dark, and with her eyes tightly closed, she meditated as the king had shown her in an attempt to lower the veils between the two worlds.

  She whispered the ancient incantation and felt her spirit rise up over the forest into the other world, where all was possible, and every love and hate was recorded for eternity. She prayed, she knew not to whom and repeated the old words that she had always been afraid to utter. Her eyes were still closed, and as she moved her mouth, her head, her own quiet voice filled the darkness,

  “Darkness made bright, sun come dark,
<
br />   Our kind will see the otherness

  Love defiled, hate made gentle now,

  All is in readiness . . .

  Tell us, o sacred ones,

  The sacred secrets, as

  Ancient as time . . .

  . . . and give us our powers,

  to do your will,

  upon the air we climb, your own

  creatures,

  give us your will . . .”

  Laina felt her soul depart and rise over the worlds, and she found herself alone in a barren place so desolate and dark that her spirit cried out with pain.

  “You are here,” a disembodied voice wailed, and she fought the terror that controlled her and made her shudder in the cold cave.

  “I must know,” she cried as bravely as she could. “I must know the secrets . . . to protect my love. I will die if you will it, but he must live, for he is everything to me, and I will gladly

  die . . . but tell me how they shall be destroyed, if it is right.”

  The voice laughed out. “It is easy to know what is right, is it not? What is good, and what is bad? Are you so sure that what you plan is not abomination?”

  “I don’t know!” she cried, tears choking her voice. “Please, give me your wisdom. I beg of you.”

  “The king shall reign until the moment when the new royal will rule. Who shall say who that is and if it is you. Would you take the reins of your clan or see them all destroyed forever, your own brethren, simply to keep your Wolfen lover?”

  “They are destroyers,” she told the voice, “and they destroy what you yourself have created. The Wolfen are a part of you, just as we are. We are all under your domain and your wisdom. Would you let them undo your own will?”

  The voice laughed again. “No, I would not see the Wolfen disappear, for vampires are many, and they are few. I was not pleased to watch the deaths that night. It was an affront to me and displayed great arrogance.”

  “Tell me how the king must die then. There is little time, and I am not afraid to fight for my love and for those who remain.”

  “He will be vulnerable when he feeds. For the first moment the blood is on his fangs, he will be weak until he is sated. It is in this moment that you must strike, for in that moment, he can be destroyed.”

  The voice continued, and Laina felt the cold truth of his words. In that moment, when they fed, they were . . . different. She had felt it herself, and at once, she knew it was so. That fatal weakness, when the blood flooded the mind and senses, was the flaw she sought.

  “A witch’s dagger made of iron,” the voice intoned. “Blessed with spells . . . that is your weapon. But the dangers are many, and the chances of success thin indeed. Think hard upon this path that you choose to travel.”

  Laina felt a coldness all through her body, the worst sort of despair. She sought the light, the heat, any warmth that could soothe this desolation which seemed worse than death itself. She opened her eyes, and she was back, still stroking the fur of her love, and she took a few ragged breaths and tried to compose her mind.

  The one who spoke, he was the Creator, and she knew, at once, that even she could die. Only he knew the way, and perhaps the king did, too. She must find a dagger, consecrate it, and drive it into her father’s body at the very moment when he plunged his long fangs into a victim. It would be difficult, well nigh impossible, and she sighed at the very idea of it. The king was known for his reflexes, his extrasensory abilities, which far beyond those of most vampires.

  “I can do it,” she told herself doubtfully. But first I must find one of the witches of the town, who are mercenary creatures, and pay them well. Or I could kill them, she thought, and steal their things, but I must have the blessings. She shook Michael awake, though dawn was far away, and repeated to him in a quiet voice the things she had learned from the Creator.

  * * * *

  Michael listened in silence, unable to comfort Laina and unable to do anything but try to hide from her the elation that rose within him. Now, he had the secret, the ancient secret, and he would use it well. He would protect Laina, though. He would drive the dagger in himself, and then he would laugh over the king’s dead body. And then he would kill all the others, one after another, all but Laina, his mate.

  He rose on all fours and prowled the cave restlessly. He saw the tortured figure that was his love, and he felt a great tenderness, for she was as he was . . . able to die. They would both need to fight to survive as creatures should, and he would be a hero to her. He was certain of it. He nuzzled her lap with his head and wished he was man and could take her in his strong arms and soothe her with kisses. She has given me everything, he thought, dazed. She has given me the key to her own death.

  “They are coming,” Laina told him, and he nodded. They grabbed their things and stood for a moment, unsure whether or not they should flee. Michael shook his head, and they sat back down. There were no witches close by, and he knew there would be a battle this night, and that they would need to fight, only with their strength and wits. On the morrow, they could descend upon the village, that dangerous place, and find the weapon they needed so desperately.

  Laina put down the things she held and settled down with Michael, and they both waited in silence, gathering their strength. Hopefully, the attack would happen before morning when Michael was but a man, and the sun would make the others weak, but there was no way to know. The sky would be dark for another couple of hours, and the waiting would be long and agonizing. There would be no impassioned lovemaking as in the everlasting darkness of their cave and no deep kisses to fill their hearts with hungry lust. The time for love would come again, if they were lucky, and if not . . . they had truly loved, at least.

  Chapter Seven

  The king and queen lay in bed sipping the finest wine, which the lesser vampires had stolen from their wealthier victims. They were clad in silken robes, their faces slack with drink. Byron and his clan brothers were moving through the night, taking care of their affairs, and the king and queen celebrated, smoking rare opium through a special pipe from the East and glutting themselves on vintage wine.

  They had the other vampires serve them as was fitting, and they waited. The smoke from the pipe made Melissande fall into dreams, and it helped the king to open the veils. This time, though, he could not make his way through. He was frustrated, but the opium drained him of all aggression, and so he simply drifted upon the surface of dreams like a leaf upon the waters.

  * * * *

  Byron found the cave. He could hear the rustling inside. He could feel Laina like the snow that fell on his hair, and he could feel the fear, and something else . . . some power, emanating from the inside. He tiptoed to the mouth of the cave as silent as a ghost, and he entered, floating above the princess and her lover.

  Had he taken her by force? Byron stared down at them as they gazed up at his floating body, waiting, their bodies tense. No one moved as eyes met eyes, and he stared at Laina’s face looking for an answer. He saw her gaze down, protectively, at the wolf, and his rage burned inside him. He gathered all his fierce strength, for her one glance at the creature had confirmed his worst fears. She loved the beast or perhaps only the man, and she would never go willingly. He knew that . . . it would be a battle.

  “Byron,” she whispered, and her eyes seemed to beseech him to understand. He heard the strain in her voice as she pleaded with him. “Byron, please go. This is where I belong, and I will harm no one, if only you will leave us be.”

  “You mate with . . . an animal?” Byron snarled. “You mate with a mere beast? I cannot believe that you should lower yourself this way, you, of the royal bloodline, the ancient line. You have fallen, Laina. I am here to take you back to our kind.” Above them, he watched the wolf closely, for he was taking his measure. The muscles in the animal were pronounced and strong. His shoulders and haunches were thick and powerful. But brute strength could not kill a vampire, only injure him and slow his movements. There was nothing to fear, he was sure.<
br />
  “He is my love,” Laina said, her voice hot with passion and with the need to make him understand. “My love, Byron. I tried to love you, I did, but I could not. It was my destiny to be with my Wolfen lover. I am not the same as you, and I beg you to leave me to my fate.”

  “I cannot leave you, for my mission is to bring you home and to kill any Wolfen I see.” He sneered then, sure of himself, and of victory. What was Laina but a tiny, young woman, still girlish? And the wolf was but a beast like a large dog.

  Byron smirked in the darkness. “Tonight, any of . . . his . . . kind that remain are being killed. All the clan’s strongest men, save the king, are attacking the caves where they sleep, just as they did on Hallows’ Eve. Your beloved beast is the only one left, I am sure. By dawn, the Wolfen shall be extinct, and our kind shall reign for eternity.”

  “No!” he heard Laina cry out, and then the Wolfen creature surged forth, pawing the air as he tried to attack. The wolf was wild and twitching, and his eyes were burning with hate. Byron knew he would be torn to shreds with his sharp teeth, until his parchment-like flesh lay in tatters.