The Devil's Wolf

Ashlynn picked her way down the hallway.

The décor was very institutional. Lots of grey, sensible heavy-duty carpet laid in peel out squares, and mass-produced, assemble-from pack with an allen key style furniture. The lighting was minimal and muted, making her wonder if vampire eyes were light sensitive - she had never heard it said but she had been in two vampire buildings now, and both had been dimmer than she found comfortable. Sharp vision would make sense, she noted. Werewolves had improved vision and hearing, as well.

It sucked to be human amongst Others, she thought ruefully as her stomach let her know it had been too long since she had eaten. Every stomach grumble was audible, let alone any other betraying human noises that might occur to humiliate at inconvenient times. Nevermind, she told herself, they were surrounded by humans and well used to the side effects of humanity.

Did vampires tummy grumble? Maybe they did. It amused her. She was sure that Elior's stomach would never betray him with anything so undignified as a grumble.

The hall opened into a living area, with a minimal kitchen in muted colours that would probably date poorly, she noted. A boardroom-style table dominated the space, as if the safe house was not so much for rest and recovery in safety whilst under pursuit so much as a command center, and an uncomfortable looking couch with two armchairs facing towards the TV.

Elior and Rebecca were at the table, working on laptops, whilst Nate watched the TV in the lounge room. Elior's suit jacket hung over the back of his chair, looking a little worse for wear, and his shirt sleeves had been rolled to his elbows. He frowned, his phone against his ear, displeased by what he was hearing.

"No," he said as he caught sight of Ashlynn and he stood, walking over to her. "We don't want to reveal our resources to them yet. It is still early enough that we may be able to negotiate a resolution." He brushed his lips over her cheek bone and placed his hand on the small of her back, encouraging her into the kitchen area.

As she let him guide her that way, she could hear the rise and fall of a male voice on the other side of the phone line, the words lost to her though the tone did not sound harried, but rather calm and organized. Whoever Elior spoke to was not concerned, or so used to this type of drama that it did not fluster him.

Elior opened the freezer door, revealing stacks of microwave frozen food, and he arched his eyebrows in invitation before returning to the table, continuing his conversation with unhelpful mhms and ahas. She wondered what resources the vampires have yet to reveal.

She shivered as she searched through the selection, before unpacking one, and shoving it into the microwave to heat. She had been doing exactly this in her apartment, she thought, when the Wingless had burst in.

She watched the vampires as the food rotated. Nate was watching cartoons, his feet up on the coffee table. Whatever he contributed to the odd little vampire family, he was not currently doing so, and was comfortable in his inactivity. Rebecca was very much like Elior, Ashlynn thought, the dark haired woman tap-tapping away at her keyboard, her mobile phone held between cheek and shoulder as she did so, and her face pinched with concentration as she spoke in a language that Ashlynn did not know.

Jacinta leaned against the back of Rebecca's chair, watching, but not participation in her mate's activities.

The microwave finished its job, and Ashlynn located a fork, eating it where she stood.

She wondered where Cael was. Did he still follow her, pulled against his will by the mate bond? She sighed and stabbed at a sorry piece of carrot. Fate had a sorry sense of humor, she decided. Her mate had threatened to kill her. She hoped it would be a funny story they would regale their children with in the future - oh, honey, remember that time you told me you hoped I would die, and threatened to kill me yourself? Hahaha.

Not exactly the romance she had hoped for. She had always imagined something more like her parents' relationship. Unfaltering loyalty and mutual adoration, the type of love that still had them sending each other flirtatious looks when they thought their only child wasn't watching, and required an almost annual bed replacement when the springs sagged.

She wanted the sort of love where the bed literally wore out once a year, she thought.

She finished her meal, throwing the container into the bin and washing the fork in the sink, before returning to the bedroom, searching the en suite drawers hopefully. There were several toothbrushes and toothpaste, sanitary supplies, a hairbrush and comb, sample sized shampoo, conditioners and soaps. Someone had outfitted the room for humans as well as vampires. Or did vampires brush their teeth? she wondered. Did vampires get cavities?

She turned on the shower hoping it would help to shed the residual grogginess from sleep and whilst she waited for the water to warm, she washed her underwear and stockings in the cooler spray, before hanging them over the shower frame to dry.

She examined herself under the shower spray. The bruises from her car accident and subsequent adventures escaping the Wingless had set in nicely, forming a purple to black record of events. She was grateful, she thought, that she'd had her body hair lazered away the year before - maintaining bodily hygiene on the fun was not easy, and it was one less thing to worry about when it came to having sexy-times with her vampire lover.

She scrubbed herself twice over to compensate for however long it might be until she next had a shower, and had finished washing her hair when Elior entered carrying towels and white, woven hotel-style dressing gowns. He undressed, sighing over the state of his clothes as he lay them neatly over the vanity, and then stepped into the shower with her.

"I am hoping we are here for a while," she told him. "Long enough my underwear will dry, at least."

"We cannot leave until tomorrow night," he leaned his head back into the spray to wet his hair. "I wish my suit was as easily cleaned as your underwear. I am assuming that you have spoken to your parents and know that the attack earlier was recorded?"

"Yes. Mum says it is a war."

"Hmm." He rubbed soap over his chest and arms with a thoroughness that told her he disliked being on the run and filthy as much as she did. The bullet hole was a raised red scar almost hidden amongst his chest hair. She touched it. "It will be gone by tomorrow," he told her.

"Vampires heal better than werewolves if you do not scar," she observed. She knew the answer. Born vampires did not scar. His skin was flawless, no childhood misadventure or adult injury had left its mark on him. a turned vampire would carry the scars earned in the years before being turned.

"Born vampires," he replied, confirming what she already knew. "Made, less so. Made are lesser, in every way."

"You have three made children,"she pointed out, curious as to what had motivated him to make them.

"Yes," he shampooed his hair and leaned back to let the water rinse the soap away. "Are you curious as to why?"

"No." Because he had asked her, she wouldn't confess to her curiosity out of sheer contrariness. She followed the valley between his stomach muscles, until the Other flared redly in his eyes as she closed her hand around him. "My mother says that her blood wears off."

"It does," he watched her hands stroking him, his eyes becoming somnolent with pleasure and smouldered with desire. "I presume that she told you that she has been supplying me over the last twenty years?"

"Yes." She released him and stepped out of the shower, pulling on one of the dressing gowns and using the towel in her hair briskly to rub the strands dry. She tugged the comb through once she had teased the water out enough that it no longer ran from the ends. "How long until the last dose wears off?"

"It is difficult to predict," he turned off the water and stepped out. He rubbed himself down briskly before stealing the comb from her fingers and tugging it through his hair with far less respect for the strands than she gave hers. It was unfair, she thought, that men always seemed to have gorgeous heads of hair with little care, whereas hers stubbornly refused to grow longer than her shoulder blades without breaking up into split ends. "It seems to depend on a variety of external factors which I have not been able to pin down exactly."

"How long do you think you have?"

"A day or two until we begin to slow and weaken. It should be long enough," he caught her by the waist and eased the dressing gown off her shoulder so that he could trail kisses up to the pulse point beneath her ear.

"Was it coincidence that you were in the same city as me?"

He eased back, tilted his head and considered her through narrowed eyes. "No."

"I guess I knew that."

"Nate has been following you since you left pack lands. When your car was involved in a car accident, I came here."

When she had been in the waiting room, Nate had come down to identify her, she thought. It explained why Elior had known who she was when she had been finally shown up to him. If she had not have been who she was, she would not have made it beyond the waiting room, she suspected, or might have become a snack for Jacinta or Nate before being shoved back out into the cold.

"You didn't tell my parents."

"Tell Raiden that I was tracking his daughter?" His lips curled in the corner, and he eased the dressing gown off her other shoulder. "I don't think that would have been well received." He tasted the point of her shoulder with his tongue, before following the line of shoulder to neck. "Do you?"

"No. I imagine not. Why should I trust you?" She wondered.

"I told your parents once that I was not their enemy, rather an ally."

"Who was tracking me."

"There is every possibility that your blood has the same potency as your mother's. I could not risk that power falling into the wrong hands. I sent Nate in order to ensure your safety."

"Or maybe you just want my blood."

"I have had ample opportunity to take it, and I have not," he backed her slowly out of the en suite. He was unperturbed by her suspicions, the expression on his face amorous rather than alarmed and the Other glowing hotly in his eyes. "Maybe you are just playing me," she felt the mattress against the back of her calves. He released the tie holding the dressing gown closed at her waist, and it fell from her. He stepped closer until his skin came up against hers, trapping his hardness between them. Her heartbeat was racing, and she knew that he could hear it. "Using seduction to gain my trust."