Bloodfire (Blood Destiny #1)

Bloodfire (Blood Destiny #1) Page 9

“It’s the Way.”

Julia folded her hands together implacably and looked at me. “At the risk of repeating myself, you need to rein in that temper if we are to get through this.”

I was immediately apologetic and could instantly feel the fire falling back down to a smoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.” I suddenly thought, and not for the first time, that I should have left when I became 18 and couldn’t be turned. This wasn’t fair on any of them, even bloody Anton.

“This is your home.” She reached and touched me softly on the arm and then reiterated her point from the previous night. “We need you too.”

I looked down at her face. Her repeated reassurance didn’t change the truth of the thought, however. If I wasn’t here then there would be no danger to them. I should have gone years ago, even if I had nowhere to go to.

“Here’s what you’ll do. Continue with the lotion. Do NOT bathe. When you are called to interview, act meek and weak. When you are asked to fight in an evaluation, then do so poorly. We do not need them to pay you any attention whatsoever. If they ask you to shift, tell them you’re embarrassed because you’re only a werehamster and of no use to anyone anyway.”

“ A were hams…!” I spluttered.

“It was the easiest scent to replicate. It’s not completely accurate but werehamsters are rare enough that I think you’ll manage to pass further inspection. Above all, do NOT lose your temper.”

I jumped off the branch. “Okay, “ I said quietly. “What about John’s killer?”

“Once this is done and they’ve gone, then we deal with that. Who knows, they might even find the culprit themselves. They are the Brethren for a reason, after all.”

I scoffed again. “They might be strong but that doesn’t make them smart.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” Julia said with a steely expression. “Especially the Lord Alpha.”

“I won’t. But John’s killer is going to be mine.” I looked at her steadily. “68 hours to go.”

After leaving Julia, I wended my way to Trevathorn, the local village, skirting the keep just in case any of the Brethren decided to take in some of the night air. The village lights were on and I could hear the hum and murmur of voices from the Hanging Bull as I passed. Most of Trevathorn’s inhabitants were under the impression that we were some sort of cult – probably a fair assumption actually – but as long as we didn’t trouble them too much, they left us alone. Shifters had been in the keep for at least the last couple of hundred years so even the most fiercely Cornish of the locals would nod if we passed them in the street, accepting us as part of the scenery. I occasionally wondered if they suspected the truth but, if that was the case, they never let on. Nick had certainly never said anything about the pack, other than to murmur a few easily dodged questions about why I lived with them.

I didn’t wear a watch but I was conversant enough with the night’s sky to know that I was early and had time to kill before meeting Tom. I paused briefly, just past the door of the pub, before turning back and heading in. John had said that the locals had initially alerted him to the clearing where he’d found the wichtlein’s little stone so perhaps I could dig something else up.

Inside the pub, the lights were warm and welcoming. There were a few people at the tables along the edges whilst Adam and the Ants bopped out from the ancient eighties’ heavy jukebox. I nodded hello at a few familiar faces before perching on one of the barstools and ordering a diet Coke. I chatted to the barman whilst he poured my drink and tried to think furiously of a way to bring up strange noises and black pebbles without being too obvious.

“Is this seat taken?” A smooth voice uttered from behind me.

It was Nick. Excellent – if anyone knew about anything strange happening, it’d be him. I turned and smiled, probably a mite too brightly by the sudden wary look on his face. I had to admit that he was looking good, blond hair smoothed back and a light tan that would be unusual in any other part of England bar Cornwall. I patted the stool next to me and gestured for him to sit down. He grinned at me, flashing a display of even white teeth and highlighting the little dimple at the side of his cheek. There was no denying that he was very cute, and that many girls would consider themselves lucky to have his attentions, but he was just so…old-fashioned.

“Hitting the hard stuff, are you Mack?” he asked.

“I’m working out with Tom in a bit,” I answered, taking a swig of Coke and crunching down satisfyingly on a cube of ice.

He frowned slightly. When we’d been dating, he’d never quite been able to believe that Tom and I were just friends. I didn’t really care.

“What the hell have you done with your hair anyway?”

“I fancied a change,” I said airily. He didn’t look very convinced so I moved swiftly on. “So how are things in the land of the crime-stoppers?” I took a sip of the Coke and hoped that was enough of an opener to get him talking.

“Same old, same old,” Nick said with half a grin, “although there was a shocking case of burglary this morning.”

“And….?”

“And nothing. It was probably just kids. Perkins was broken into but nothing much was taken.”

Perkins was the local hardware store. It sold an array of DIY tools and kitchen implements. Probably not anything that a supernatural creature that left no tracks would be involved in. Not unless they had a penchant for home/cave/backwater portal improvements at least.

I feigned interest to keep him happy. “So what was taken?”

“A bag of coal and an electric screwdriver.” He leaned back on the stool and folded his almond brown arms.

“Riiight,” I said slowly.

“Like I said, probably just kids.” He smiled. The wariness in his eyes had gone and been replaced by a slightly over-eager expression that vaguely alarmed me. We’d parted on good terms but I wasn’t keen to have to quash any lasting hopes he might have that I was the woman of his dreams.

“Well, whatever keeps you busy, I suppose.” I gulped down the rest of my drink. Clearly there wasn’t anything to be gained from staying any longer.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, the smile leaving his eyes.

“Like I said, I need to meet Tom.” I stood up.

“You should be careful out there, Mack. By the sounds of things there are a lot wild animals around at the moment.”

I paused briefly, half turning towards him.

“Didn’t you hear the racket last night? It sounded as if we’d been invaded by London Zoo.”

That would have been the pack, when John’s death was discovered. Nothing new for me there then after all. I pulled out a screwed up five pound note from my back pocket and left it on the bar, motioning to the barman to pay for Nick’s drink too. “Well, if I see any polar bears walking around with electric screwdrivers, then you’ll be the first person I’ll call.”

“Do,” he replied, with a cheesy wink.

I sighed inwardly and headed back out.

Trevathorn was a pretty place with window-boxes and cobbled streets but it was not exactly a teeming metropolis. After ten minutes of brisk walking from the door of the Hanging Bull, I was leaving the outskirts behind me and was in sight of the beach. The roar of the waves and salt in the air beckoned me and I quickened my step. I had briefly considered standing Tom up and going back to the site of John’s death to see what else I could dig up but I recognised that with the Brethren around that probably wouldn’t be smart. They had to have people out there already.

I stepped up to a jog, skirting the tough grass that scattered the path to the dunes. The moon remained high in the sky, throwing shadows across the landscape, although fortunately it would not be full again for another fortnight. By the time I rounded the top of the dunes, Tom was already on the sand, waiting. I slowed and took my time walking down towards him. Falling down once a day thanks to my seemingly inborn clumsiness was more than enough, thank you very much, and the sandy slopes were steep enough to warrant at least some care. The tide was out, leaving strands of seaweed and ocean detritus behind it. A small crab scuttled out of the way of my feet as the sand levelled out. Tom stood patiently, watching my approach.

I gave him a mock salute and, wordlessly, he handed me one of two wooden staffs before widening his stance in preparation. I ran my hands down its unvarnished length and it occurred to me that I was in need of some sparring. I had a lot of aggression still pent up inside. I wiggled an eyebrow at Tom, ducking just time to miss being hit by his first swipe. I retaliated with a crouching sweep that knocked him off his feet but he leapt up with more agility than he’d shown in recent sessions.

“Been practising much?” I inquired lightly.

He didn’t answer and instead began circling me. His left flank was open so I jabbed him under his ribs and was rewarded with a faint ooph. He tried to even the score with a swipe but I pulled back just in time so that his staff found nothing but the wind. He immediately recovered, spinning the wooden pole adeptly in his hands and then lunging forward with an underarm attack that caught my clenched knuckles. I hissed slightly in surprised pain and retaliated.

We continued for some time, with no sounds to be heard other than our breath, the knocking of wood as the staffs connected and the rumble of the sea. I was beginning to feel my muscles tingle with pleasure at the exercise and a faint sheen of sweat graced both our foreheads, when he suddenly grinned and threw away his staff, pulling off his t-shirt and sweats. I took a step back and watched, ready.

He bowed his head and tensed, beginning his shift. It amazed me every time how an 80 kilogram man could become such a huge animal. Where did the extra weight come from? Shifters didn’t transform into normal looking animals – even the smaller weres, the rodents and such-like, became larger than their human forms. And again, most definitely not for the first time, I wished I had my own shift.

Tom’s bones creaked and his skull elongated outwards. His muscles rippled and the hair follicles around his chest and legs extended till he was shaking out his coat on all fours, with fangs bared and yellow eyes gleaming. Tom was a wolf. Generic, I know, but he had both speed and strength and wasn’t afraid to hold back.