Four

 

 

 

The bubble of frustration and anger that had started out so small was threatening to envelop her entire body. Damn everything to hell and back again. Damn Michael for his overprotective alpha crap. Damn Chase for his inability to see that she didn’t need to be mollycoddled or kept in the dark when it was her life on the line.

And damn Pierre for his relentlessness when it came to training.

“Come on, Luna,” he called to her in his native French as he circled her, his footsteps light in the snow. “You actually need to attack me, not just try to dodge me.”

Luna watched as he lunged forward, twisting out of the way at the last moment. “You do realise that you’re a dhampir, Pierre? You’re stronger than I am. If I attack you, it will be like a bee sting – inconsequential. Even speed isn’t on my side. You and the werewolves are faster than me as well.” Luna hated the irritated tone in her voice as she spat the words out, which only increased her annoyance with herself.  

As Pierre hit out with his elbow, Luna dropped to the ground, kicking his ankle, causing Pierre to stumble. She lashed out again with her foot, this time kicking behind his knee. Pierre dropped to the ground. “Even bees can do damage to larger, stronger animals, my little one,” he told her with a slight chuckle, as he looked up at her from his cold position in the snow. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this whiny before. What is the matter, my love?”

“Everything!” she cried, falling into a sitting position on the ground. The snow instantly began soaking into the denim of her jeans, but she didn’t care. She didn’t give a damn if she was cold and wet. “I’m sick of everything, Pierre! I’m sick and tired of this whole damned situation. Did you know Michael has ordered that no one is to leave me on my own? I couldn’t even go to the bathroom this morning without either him or Chase escorting me like a three-year-old child. I’m sick of not being told anything when it’s my life on the line. What’s the bloody point in training when I’m up against those who are stronger and faster than I am?” She hated the whininess that coated her words, but she couldn’t mask it anymore.

Pierre got to his feet, silently making his way through the snow towards her. She hated that about him right at that moment. Pierre was gracefulness personified, silent and deadly like a predatory cat. She was more like an elephant when it came to snow – noisy and bumbling, out of her natural element.

Damn him again. No one should be that graceful.

Crouching before her, Luna felt his cool finger underneath her chin, raising her head so she could meet his eyes. Pierre’s eyes were the colour of the sea when he was calm and happy – azure, warm, inviting, but in other moments, they would deepen to the same shade as the Atlantic Ocean during a violent storm. When Pierre had taken a lot of damage or hadn’t fed enough, those endless blue eyes would bleed into crimson, a sign when he was at his most dangerous. She’d only seen his eyes turn red a few times when he had suffered from attacks by phantasms, but each time had caused a river of nervousness to course through her body.

“Ah, my little love, the point of your training, and your guards, is to give you a decent chance to survive. We want you to live. But you are not going to if you continue to sit on your delectable bottom in the snow and refuse to learn to fight, are you? Mind you, it would give me the chance to sling you over my shoulder and brush the snow off it. Perhaps that would be more to your liking, yes?” Mouth curling into a devilish smile, Pierre winked at her.

Before she knew it, Luna burst into laughter. Shaking her head, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her bottom and back of her legs were already soaked through, the coldness numbing her wet skin. It was uncomfortable, but she doubted Pierre would allow her five minutes to go inside and change her jeans. No, he was as ruthless as Michael and Chase when it came to training - the bastard.

“No more whining then,” he admonished, his voice firm. “You’re human, yes, and you are facing supernatural beings. That means you need to push yourself as far as you can go, and then push further. Werewolves are faster than most humans, so you need to be faster than other humans to try and match them.”

“How can I be faster than most humans when I am human, Pierre?” she asked him, frustration layering her words.

“In seventeenth-century China, a young girl created a new style of martial arts to protect herself against physically stronger opponents. It’s made of close contact combat, using kicks and punches in quick succession, with a tight defence, and agile stances and footwork. Using the right amount of force while staying relaxed, you will be able to overcome werewolf strength and force. It’s called Wing Chun, named after the girl its inventor taught.”

“And you’re going to teach me Wing Chun?” she asked sceptically.

Pierre nodded. “We’re going to use the principles of it in your training. Many supernatural creatures you’ll meet will be physically stronger, but if you learn how to be sensitive to them, by reacting to feelings instead of sight, you should have a strong chance of defending yourself.”

A sense of disbelief attempted to take hold of her mind, but Luna forced it aside. Pierre was right; she needed to learn how to defend herself for when they next came for her. “Fine. Teach me.”

Pierre worked her for an hour, taking her through the rudimentary principles of the ancient Chinese martial arts. Since the werewolves had strength, she could learn to counteract it with speed.

Together, they worked through different stances, kicks, grabs, hooks and strikes. As the minutes turned into hours, Luna found she had a knack for the martial arts. Quick as lightning, she learnt how to react to each movement, anticipating the moves Pierre made, and hitting back at him instead of merely moving out of his reach.

As the sweat poured down her arms and back, Luna continued to lash out, dealing blow after blow, trying to get as many punches and kicks in as possible. Soon enough, Pierre began using his supernatural speed against her, but Luna managed to make contact with him in vulnerable spots soon enough. It was only when her muscles started to scream, her lungs crying out for oxygen, that Pierre relented and allowed her a respite.

Dropping to the snow-covered ground, Luna bowed her head, panting, desperately trying to suck in as much oxygen as her lungs could take. The snow seeped through her wet jeans once more, the coldness a welcome contradiction to her sweat-covered skin.

Pierre, too, was panting, although not as much as she was. He wasn’t sweating either. Damn, damn, damn.

“Well done, my little one, well done,” he told her, his voice full of satisfaction. “You have done better than I could have imagined. If you continue like that, you would be a black belt in no time.”

Pride coursed through Luna’s body at his words, warming her inside. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth until it spread across her face. Through the icy vapour from her laboured breathing, Luna watched as his eyes sparkled in the early morning light. His blonde hair was hardly ruffled, his lean body encased in a tan t-shirt and loose-fitting black trousers tucked into black snow boots. It was amazing to her that neither Chase nor Pierre felt the cold – one was too hot for the cold to bother him, the other was far too cool for it not to bother him.

And there she was, human and feeling every single degree of it all.

“I have a good teacher, that’s why,” she told him, her voice breathy and low. “It’s down to the teacher.”

Pierre shook his head, his eyes disagreeing with her. “No, no, Luna. There you are wrong. I’m just doing what I can to keep you safe. Which now leaves me with the next part of your training.”

A sense of dread flooded through her. “The next part?”

“We have been building up your physical strength and speed as much as possible, but after talking with Michael, we think it is time to build up your magic resistance.”

“Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this,” Luna told him, wariness in her tone, eyeing him as he strode towards her.

Regret reflected in his azure eyes. “You’re not,” he told her. “But it’s necessary. Dhampirs have a natural resistance to most types of magic, although sorcery tends to have more of an effect on us than other magic.”

“Like the phantasms we dealt with?” she asked.

Pierre nodded. His eyes grew serious. “Like the phantasms, yes. It is likely that we will encounter more magic, and since your brother wants to up your training, this is what we’re going to work on next.”

“I’m starting to hate my brother,” Luna muttered. “Fine. How do we start?”

Pierre pulled her to her feet again. “I’m going to try using magic on you to cloud your mind. Your job is to try to see what is real through the illusion. Wait here.” Heading to his rental car, he grabbed a leather satchel and made his way back to her.

When he was standing a few feet in front of her, he opened it and pulled out a glittering orb. It was much smaller than the phantasm orbs, or ghost balls as her brother called them, the size of a wonton dumpling. Iridescent light shone from his hand. “This is somewhat like the phantasms, in that it can feel hot or cold and show you painful memories, but it isn’t formed from a tortured soul. I’m going to break it in front of you. Your job is to break free from the illusion.”

“That’s it? Break through the illusion?” she asked, cocking her head, her brows creasing. It sounded so simple.

Pierre shook his head, his nose flaring slightly. “It’s harder than you may think, my little one. It plays on your deepest fears, your deepest emotions. You are so wrapped up in the illusions of the past that you cannot see what is going on in the present.”

“So how do I break free of its influence?”

“Try to see past whatever it shows you. Enough talking. Time to react.”

Before Luna could take a breath, she watched Pierre squeeze the orb, the shimmering light blasting through the air before her, the iridescent glow consuming everything until it faded and darkness swallowed her as she closed her eyes.

When she opened them, she was back in her apartment. Whitewashed walls, adorned with brightly coloured paintings, surrounded her. The windows were open, natural light flooding through so brightly it made fresh snow seem dull and grey. A table and chairs stood to her right, the door to the kitchen just behind it while the scent of peppermint tea saturated her senses. Breathing in the tea was almost as refreshing as drinking the tea itself. The shrill of the phone to her left caused her to jump. Luna tentatively stepped towards it. Reaching down, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

“Salut?” she whispered.

“Sis, it’s me.” Michael’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Michael, what’s wrong?” she asked. “Why are you ringing me so early?”

“I … I need to tell you something. Mom and dad were in an accident tonight. They’re dead.”

“Non. Non. Do not tell me lies, Michael. Please tell me you are joking.”

“I’m sorry, Luna, I wish I was, but it’s true. You need to come home … to say goodbye.”

Luna fell to her knees, grief engulfing her, the pain overwhelming her senses. Hot tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, silent screams pouring from her open mouth as Michael’s words reverberated in her head. The darkness of grief strangled her veins, a dark cobweb which enclosed her mind. She was lost within the pain, blinded by tears. Finally, the silent screams transformed into loud cries, drowning out Michael’s voice through the receiver still clutched tightly in her hand. How long she sat on the floor, she couldn’t tell, but the persistent knocking on the door pierced through her wails. Luna shakily got to her feet and, zombie-like staggered towards the door. As her hand reached out to open it, she knew it would be Pierre. Pierre would be there, but why …

Because it has already happened, a voice whispered in her head. Gasping for breath, she scrunched her face up in concentration. You’ve experienced this before. That was it. This wasn’t happening. Her parents had died last year. This was just a memory.

Suddenly, the door in front of her disappeared. Pierre stood in front of her, his face etched in concern. “What did you see, my little love?” he asked, his voice soft and anxious. 

Luna struggled to keep her breathing under control. “It was … it was the day that Michael rang to tell me our parents had died. Someone was knocking at the door. As I was reaching for it, I realised it was you on the other side. When I asked myself why I knew it was you, I remembered that it had already happened.”

Pierre nodded. “You broke through the illusion, and when you did, you were able to see again. You have done extraordinarily well, Luna.” There was a tightness in his voice, but beneath it, Luna could hear the unmistakable tone of pride.

Luna closed her eyes and, wrapping her arms around her chest, rocked herself back and forth. “It hurts, Pierre. Why do memories hurt so much?”

Strong arms wrapped around her body. “Some memories cannot be healed. Painful memories are like sharp thorns that pierce the heart, and they can cause you to bleed more than any other weapon.”

Luna looked up at him through the tears blurring her vision. “What memories make your heart bleed, Pierre?” she asked him, her voice a mere whisper.

“There are so many. I was not always such a good man,” he replied, his words coated in thick sadness.

“Can you show me?” Luna asked, her voice small, her face softening as she locked gazes with him.

Releasing her, Pierre walked back to where the satchel lay on the floor. Pulling out another ball, he handed it to her. “Squeeze it, and the magic will work. But be prepared, Luna. History is not always as pretty as books make out.” Giving him a slight nod, Luna looked down at the orb in her hand. Various hues of silver and pink swirled in glittering patterns, the sphere warm in her hand. She took a step closer to Pierre. Twisting her around, so that her back was pressed tightly against his chest, Pierre had one hand holding her around her waist, the other hand closing around hers. “Do it,” he whispered in her ear.

As she did, the same shimmering light spilled around them, the world disappearing before their eyes. The mistiness that surrounded them pulsed, then ripped apart like a curtain tearing at the seams. When the light faded, a new world had taken its place.

It took a moment for Luna’s eyes to acclimatise to the darkness. They were in a room, heavy curtains blocking out the light, with only a single candle burning in the corner providing illumination. A hiss resounded in her ear. She felt his body stiffen against hers. Something told her that he knew what was coming and he wasn’t happy about it.

A door creaked open, a shadowy figure emerging through it. Squinting, Luna could make out a cloak, a face mostly hidden in shadows. “Pierre,” came an anxious soft feminine voice. “You must go, quickly. They are coming.”

“They don’t know where I am, Marie,” he whispered behind her, his tone filled with pleading. Pierre’s hands stretched out, and Luna found her own moving with his. It was almost as if they were moulded into a single being, forced by the past to repeat what had already happened. “They cannot know I am here.”

Regret encrusted the woman’s soft voice. “You have been betrayed, my sweet boy. They will be here in a few minutes. You must leave.”

“Where am I to go?” Hopelessness and fear layered Pierre’s words.

Luna made out a quick shake of a head in the relative darkness. “I do not know. Make your way to Calais and take a ship to England. Seek shelter in London or any of the cities there. You cannot linger here. They have already killed your mother and Jacques. If they find you here, they will kill my family and me too. Leave and be safe! May the gods bless you.”

Luna found herself moving forward, through that door. All she could see was a blur of shadows and darkness as Pierre ran with her through an unfamiliar house. It was as if something compelled her to move. It was instinctual. When they emerged through a door, she spied a man at the bottom of the drive by the gate, obviously waiting for them.

Waiting for Pierre, she reminded herself.

Wearing charcoal trousers, a dirty shirt which must have been white at one point, and a waistcoat splattered with fresh blood, a smarmy smile spread across his face. “Just the freak we have been waiting for. You’re coming with us, boy.”

“Get out of my way or die,” Pierre growled behind her.

“Don’t make me laugh,” the man told them, chuckling as he tossed a knife up in the air, catching it, and then repeating the gesture. “You’re not strong enough to kill me. Neither was your mother.”

Luna gasped as she was forced forward again, heading straight from the knife-wielding man waiting for them, Pierre’s grip stronger around her waist. Anger radiated from his pores. As they sped closer, Luna gasped as his eyes transformed into amber.

Werewolf eyes.

The world was transformed into a blur of fists and kicks as they fought the werewolf. Blasts of air whipped past Luna’s head – or perhaps it was Pierre’s head - as she twisted to the side, narrowly missing a fist to the abdomen. Hot rage blasted around them as they fell to the ground. A clang rang out by her feet. Glancing down, she saw the werewolf had dropped the knife. Releasing her hand, Luna felt herself automatically reaching for it, as if compelled by some strange sorcery. But she could see the outline of Pierre’s hand merging with her own, as if two layers were melting into one. The metal was cold in her hand. An urge to throw it at the attacker overwhelmed her. With a cry, she flung it through the air toward him.

It missed.

Elongated teeth snapped towards Luna’s throat. Fear coiled within her chest and raced down her veins. Pierre’s fist struck out, penetrating his throat, through to the other side. Blood and tissue coated his hand as he pulled it out of the werewolf, his amber eyes darkening as he slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Screams forced Luna to look up. A group of people had gathered around, looks of horror etched across their faces. Cries flooded the air. Struggling to stand up, Luna took a shaky step forward. She tasted her pulse in her throat.

The reason for the horror was clear.

The knife that she had whipped through the air had buried itself into the heart of a young girl. No more than thirteen, her light-coloured dress was already soaked in rich crimson blood, tendrils of dirty brown hair framing a pale, lifeless face. A strangled cry tore through the air. Hers. Pierre’s. Both. One layer of pain on top of the other.  

“Enough,” croaked Pierre, his voice cracking with regret and shame. “It’s time to leave.”

The illusion faded away, but the memory of what she had seen still lingered as the snow and naked trees came back into view.

“Pierre,” she whispered, not really knowing what to say, the emotions overwhelming her. Together they sank to the ground, the snow cushioning their fall, Pierre’s grip still tight around her waist.

“So many thorns,” he whispered, his voice weighed down by regret and sorrow. “They pierce my heart and soul every time I think back to the past. You have just seen one of the thorns that bind me to my world of pain, my sweet Luna. I didn’t mean to kill the girl, I swear. It was an accident; I was aiming for the werewolf … but I missed. Badly. I managed to escape the crowds – you didn’t see that they found me standing there, covered in blood – but I have never escaped the memory of that young girl’s death. Years later, I found out who she was. I made sure each of her siblings, even the girls, had an education and the family never went hungry again. I did everything I could to make up for my dark deed, but I will never be a good man.”

Luna twisted around, tears spilling over her eyes once again. She placed a hand tenderly on his cheek, the coolness of his skin so familiar, and brought his head down so their foreheads touched. “It was an accident, Pierre. I know you didn’t do it on purpose, I could feel your sorrow and pain when you discovered what had happened. You tried your best to help the family afterwards because you felt guilty. You are a good man, Pierre. Even if you don’t see it, I do.”

Pierre rested his head on her shoulder, gently kissing the delicate skin on her collarbone. A cold tear dropped onto her neck, trailing down her skin, past the spot where the touch of his lips lingered. His voice cracked, and Luna could feel the tears within his words. “You always see the best in people, my little one. That is why I love you. My soul is yours. Every shattered fragment, every stained inch … it’s all yours.”