* * *

 

 

My black patent heels clicked on the uneven sidewalk. Sweat was already dripping from my forehead, and smearing my carefully applied makeup. The sun had just set, but the air still felt like a convection oven. I was glad that I’d chosen my black dress, because the short walk from the small house I’d rented off of Main Street to my destination was definitely going to leave sweat stains under my arms and around the low-cut collar of the dress. I had, only very recently moved to Wimberley, a small town in east Texas, surrounded by quiet pine woods and farmlands. It had a small downtown area, where I had gotten a job as a baker in the only coffee shop, Dot’s. I passed the spare-looking buildings of the one-street downtown area. Everything seemed so simple there. I was very quickly going to learn how complicated things were in Wimberley.

I was on my way to The Ice House, the local bar and hang out. It was painted barn-red on the outside, and had a parking lot full of trucks and a few well-worn motorcycles. When I swung the door open, I noticed immediately that I was overdressed in my slinky black dress and heels. All of the other girls wore jean shorts, plaid shirts or tight, belly-baring t-shirts, and everyone was wearing cowboy boots. I was dressed for a night on the town in Boston, where I’d just run away from my life as a trust fund kid pursuing a law degree to please my parents.

“Hey City Mouse!” Kelly held up her hand and waved to me, her blonde curls bouncing. I felt really uncomfortable, but excited at the same time, since this was my first invitation to go out with the locals. Kelly and Ella also worked at Dot’s, but they waitressed out front while I was always tucked away in the bakery out in the back.

“That dress is lovely,” Ella said, pushing out a bar stool with her booted foot for me.

“Thanks,” I said. “Target.”

“Get outta town,” Kelly said. “Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Vodka tonic?” It was my go-to.

“Not here, you’re not,” Kelly said, then yelled to the bartender, a thickly muscled man in tight jeans and an equally tight plaid shirt with sleeves cuffed to show off his tattoos: “Hey Cam! Corona over here for the City Mouse!” Cam nodded, pulling a Corona out of the glass-front fridge and uncapping it with his teeth, then slipping a lime wedge into the neck. He slid it over to me on the bar.

“Two dollars, Honey,” he smiled warmly. He was sexy in a Momma’s boy gone bad kind of way.

“Two dollars? That’s it?” I couldn’t hide my shock as Cam nodded. “In Boston, it’d be at least six.”

“Welcome to Texas,” Kelly said, clinking her beer against mine, which still sat on the bar. I slid a few singles over to Cam. “Land of cheap beer, rare steaks, and affordable smokes. Let’s get us a table, ladies.”

We walked over to a booth in the front wall of the bar, where we could still be seen by other clientele, but also had a fantastic view of the pool tables, where some games were just getting started. I wanted to laugh, because I realized that everything that is stereotyped about Texas is not a joke. Just about everyone was wearing a cowboy hat and boots, and there was a group of twenty-somethings just starting the two-step in the dance floor in the very center of The Ice House.

As I looked around, though, I noticed that some people were definitely bucking the stereotype. Standing against a wall that was decorated by multi-colored Christmas lights, framed front pages of old newspapers, and a stuffed buck’s head were three men. They all had remarkably pale skin. In the few short weeks that I’d lived in Wimberley, my skin had toasted into a light golden tan. But these men looked as though they lived underground. It was only exacerbated by the fact that they were all wearing black. They looked as though they belonged in Boston, one dressed in a fitted t-shirt, another in a soot-colored oxford, and the third in a black polo. They stood there, expressionless, not speaking, watching everyone else in the bar. Suddenly, the one in the polo looked over at me, and I realized that his eyes were a strange golden color, almost glowing. We stared at each other, and I got the very sincere feeling that he wanted to eat me. I gasped and looked away quickly. Ella noticed where my attention had been.

“Those are the Palmers. They run some kind of business out of their ranch,” She leaned in toward me and whispered, “The sheriff thinks it’s human trafficking, but he can never prove it. They’re super smart, and very dangerous. You should stay away from them.”

“On the other hand,” Kelly said, “They’re brothers. It could make for an interesting party.” She raised her eyebrows and winked at me. I laughed.

“I’m good, I think. Once, I had a three-way with two French guys.”

“Ooooh! City Mouse ain’t shy!” Kelly gushed.

“Yeah. It was gross. Like, porn-level amounts of cum.” I wondered how much I should be telling them. I knew that everyone in town went to the small church on the edge of town every Sunday. Ella was looking at me with wide eyes. I took a sip of my beer. “So what else goes on here?”

“City Mouse,” Kelly said. “Nothing. You can go drinking, you can go find a man, you can go ride your horse, you can go shoot your gun, or you can go crazy.” She leaned back in her seat and looked around the bar. “I think I’ll find a man tonight.” She said it with such confidence, then looked at Ella. “Shall we ask The Board?” Ella groaned.

“It never responds. So stupid.” She said, taking a pull on her beer as she swept her dark hair back over her shoulders.

“What is The Board?” I asked as Kelly popped out of the booth and walked over to a bookshelf that contained a multitude of beat-up board game boxes. She pulled one out and headed back over to our table excitedly.

“Ella, get the shots!” Kelly said as she placed an Ouija board on the table. Ella rolled her eyes and got up. “Every time we get an answer, we all take a shot of tequila.”

She grabbed my hand, and looked me in the eyes, saying, “A night that begins with tequila ends in compromising positions with a stranger.” I was soon to learn how true those words would become for me that night.

Ella returned to the table with three shot glasses and a bottle of Jose Cuervo. She slid into the booth as Kelly unfolded the board and set the planchette on top. Ella placed a glass in front of each of us and poured the shots, leaving the bottle uncapped on the table. We each placed our fingers on the planchette.

“Who wants to go first?” Kelly asked. “City Mouse?”

“Okay.” I thought hard. “Obviously, is there anyone here with us?” The planchette automatically swung over to “yes.”

“Kelly!” Ella said. “You’re just trying to get us trashed.”

“It wasn’t me!” Kelly said, eyes wide and innocent. “Shot! Now.” The tequila burned on the way down, and we all coughed simultaneously.

“Okay, I’m next,” Kelly said. “Is anyone getting laid tonight?” The planchette swung over to “yes” again.

“Kelly,” Ella groaned as she lifted her shot glass again.

After the first few shots, the tequila stopped burning, and I began to get a nice, warm buzz going. I looked around the bar, at the people who were talking, dancing to the steady stream of country music. I smiled, then was taken aback when I met someone’s gaze. He was leaning up against the bar, facing away from it, elbows leaning on the top. He had tousled brown hair and light stubble, as though he’d shaved yesterday. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and a white t-shirt and jeans. I could see all of the way across the bar that he had deep brown eyes. There was warmth in them as he smiled at me and nodded, raising his beer to me. But he also seemed sad.

“Who’s that?” I asked. Kelly and Ella looked.

“Ooooh! Girl, that is Owen Green,” Kelly said. “He is fine.”

“I think I need some water,” I said. “Is it okay if I leave my bag here? I’ll just be a second.” Ella nodded.

“You are totally thirsty,” Kelly replied. “And so am I.”

“Please don’t go talk to the Palmers,” Ella said.

“They’re here to play,” Kelly replied. “And so am I.”

I rolled my eyes at Kelly’s drunkenness and wove my way through the crowd to the bar. I leaned up against the bar on tiptoe, instantly getting Cam’s attention.

“Can I have an ice water please, Cam?”

“Sure, hon, how are you holding up with those two birds?” He pulled out a plastic cup and scooped ice into it before setting it on the bar and filling it with water. “They drink you under the table yet?”

“Not yet. Us Bostonians can hold our own against Texans.”

“Atta girl!” He said as he was hailed to the other end of the bar by another customer. As I sipped my water, I could feel Owen’s warm gaze on me.

“Boston, huh?” He said.

“Born and bred.”

“You don’t have the accent,” he commented.

“No. I went to prep school in New York for awhile.”

“Prep school? Whatever would bring you to this little slice of nowhere?” I turned to look at him. He towered over my five foot four frame. He was easily over six foot.

“Hiding out.”

“Ah. A good place to do that.” He seemed so cool. So comfortable within himself, but also a little bitter, a little sad. I was close enough to smell him. It was animal—sweat, soap, the leather of his jacket. I liked it. I think I liked everything about him in that moment, even the sadness.

“How about you? Are you from here?”

“Nah. I guess I was also fixin’ to hide out,” he said. “I come from New Orleans, though.”

“I’ve never been.”

“It’s full of ghosts,” he replied. “Maybe you could try your spirit board there to better effect.”

“Oh, that.” I shook my head. “It was Kelly moving the planchette to get us drunk.” He looked at me with a bitter smile.

“Don’t count things out as impossible so quick,” he held out his hand that wasn’t holding the beer. “I’m Owen.”

“Ness.” I pressed his hand. “Short for Vanessa.”

“Ah.” He looked up and then pointed. “Your friend seems to be tryin’ to get your attention.”

I looked up and saw Ella waving frantically as Kelly walked, arm-in-arm with the oxford-clad Palmer brother out of the back door of The Ice House.

“Your other friend appears to be makin’ some bad decisions,” Owen said, placing his beer on the bar. Leaving my half-finished water behind, I quickly followed my friends and the Palmers out the back door. It slammed shut behind me, then was opened again as Owen followed me out.

I froze as I took in the scene before me. One of the Palmer brothers appeared to be biting Ella’s neck, from which blood flowed freely. Her eyes were wide, and she appeared to be screaming, silently. The other two were biting Kelly’s neck. Kelly appeared to already be unconscious. I screamed, loudly, and all three brothers stopped and turned to me.

At that moment, Owen grabbed me, picking me up and cradling me in his arms, as though I weighed nothing at all.

“Put me down! What the fuck is going on?” I fought against him as he suddenly began to run at a ridiculously fast pace.

“It’s too late for them, Ness,” He said. “They’ve either been drained or infected. I have to get you to safety.” I began to scream.

“We have to go back,” I insisted. “Now.”

“I have to get you to safety,” Owen repeated. “Be quiet, or they’ll find us.” My head was spinning. We were speeding through the woods that backed up to The Ice House, at least as fast as a car would go. I stayed quiet, waiting for my world to reset itself. But it never would.

Owen took me to a small cottage out in the woods. It was almost fairytale-like, although it was dark, I could make out that it was painted yellow, with a small porch with a few rocking chairs. He finally set me down on my feet when we reached the clearing that the cottage was nestled in, but my knees buckled and I almost swayed to the ground. He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me up.

“C’mon. You’re safe here.” He looked me in the eyes. “I promise.” I just nodded, and mechanically followed him into the house. He shut the door behind us, and locked it. Sensing my sudden panic at being locked in a strange house with a strange man who was preternaturally strong, and really fast, he reassured me: “You can unlock the door if you want. I’m not forcing you to be here. But the Palmers don’t know this is here, so it’s the safest place for you to be.”

“The Palmers—what are they?” I felt exhausted, confused, and still very drunk. The room that I was in was comfortably furnished, with a brown sofa, and two armchairs. There was a small kitchen off of the main room, and a closed door, behind which was presumably a bedroom. There was a little clutter—a sweatshirt thrown over a chair, a newspaper and some books with an abandoned mug on the kitchen table, but it was remarkably clean for somewhere that a man lived by himself.

“Leeches.” He threw himself down upon the sofa.

“What?”

“They’re vampires. Drink blood. They don’t usually go hunting out on the town.” He said casually. “You’ve heard the human trafficking rumor, I presume?”

“Yes,” my stomach was roiling a bit from the tequila.

“Well, the reason the sheriff has never found any humans being trafficked, is because they have already been dined upon and disposed of by Misters Napoleon, Charleston, and Boudreaux, A.K.A. Leon, Bo, and Chaz, to the local human population.” He cocked his head to the side, like a puppy, I thought dazedly. “You wanna have a seat?” I plopped down in an armchair.

“Are you a vampire, Owen?” My heart was racing a little.

“No. I’m…something else.” He smiled. “You can trust me, when the moon isn’t full, at least.”

“You’re kidding me.” He shook his head.

“No, ma’am.” He leaned forward, as if to get up. “You want a beer for this conversation?”

“Might as well,” I said, realizing that the “normal” world that I had heretofore inhabited had just been blown apart, and I wanted to prolong the inevitable hangover as long as possible. Owen went in the kitchen, returning with a six pack of Bud Light.

“Sorry I got nothin’ fancy. “ He set a can into my outstretched palm, and then placed the six pack on the coffee table between us as he sat back down on the couch. Opening my beer, I took a deep sip.

“Thanks,” I said. “So, you’re a werewolf?”

“Yeah. Since I was a kid. Got bit by my foster mom.” He took off his leather jacket, revealing a twisted pink scar from an old bite. “She was trying to start an army of sorts to take back the city of New Orleans from the vamps. I didn’t want to be a part of it. I left the pack when I was eighteen and out of the system. I’d heard that there was a wolf pack in Wimberley. The preacher here is the Alpha. He set me up in this house here. Got me a job fixing cars.”

“Wait. Hold up. So there’s a war going on?” There was so much I didn’t know.

“Not really. More of a long-standing disagreement.” He said it easily.

“Between vampires and werewolves?”

“And the humans who hunt us.”

“Why doesn’t everyone know? I mean, this vampire thing—” I suddenly gasped, my stomach dropping as I realized that I’d forgotten entirely about Kelly and Ella. “We have to call the police! Kelly and Ella—”

“Are never going to be found.” Owen finished. “The Palmers have been doing this for several hundred years. They never get caught. What we need to focus on is getting you out of here.”

“Where am I going to go? I mean—” I suddenly realized that I’d left my purse with my wallet and keys back at the table in The Ice House. “I left my purse back at the bar.” Owen let out his breath with a hiss.

“The vamps probably have your info, in that case.”

“Right.” I leaned back. “So, now what?”

“You stay here. Until I can talk to Pastor Rich.” He got up, and offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. He lead me to the bedroom. He opened the door, revealing a neatly made bed on a braided, circular rug. “You can sleep on the bed. I’ll shape shift, if you don’t mind, then sleep on the floor.” I nodded, stepping out of my heels.

“Could you maybe close your eyes?” He asked. I nodded, shutting my eyes. It sounded like skin tearing and bone cracking, and his breath thickened into something animal. When I opened my eyes, a large wolf stood before me, his fur was brown like Owen’s, and his eyes were that same deep, soulful brown. He was a beautiful animal—well-formed, muscular legs and a thick, glossy coat. He was much, much larger than a normal wolf—he was able to look me in the eye easily when he was on all fours.

Without thinking, I reached out a hand and lightly caressed his velvet muzzle. He flinched in surprise, and then watched as I went over to the bed. I sat down on it. He curled up on the floor in between the bed and the door. Still very drunk, I fell asleep quickly.

In the morning, I woke up to voices and the sound of cooking; clanking pots and a whisk. I smelled bacon and coffee. I sat up and stretched, groaning as I felt the hollow pang of a hangover headache. My stomach turned a little—I was nauseous from the tequila. The sunlight coming through the white curtains was already hot. My dress was wrinkled, and I tried to straighten it as best I could.

When I opened the door, I encountered The Pack for the first time. Lounging on the sofa were two twin boys with straggly brown hair, about late teens, wrestling with each other. Sitting regally in the armchair that I’d occupied the night before was a woman in her early thirties who looked like a super model. Her back was straight, and she was reading a thick novel. Her wild, curly hair framed her picturesque face. She looked over the book at me with vivid blue eyes. She put the book down gracefully.

“Hello, human,” she said. I felt automatically uncomfortable in the presence of the she-wolf. Owen came out of the kitchen wearing his white t-shirt and jeans.

“Bianca, be nice,” he said.

“You, are a Beta,” she spat at him, and then returned to her novel, Anna Karenina, I saw. “You have no power here.”

“It’s my house,” Owen replied, throwing a pillow at the twins. “Knock it off, y’all.” Two more men came out of the kitchen; one had thick black curls and deep brown skin with a banded tattoo around his arm. He smiled easily at me. The other, I knew.

“Hello, Pastor Rich,” I said to the copper haired priest. He had tried to usher me into his flock earlier that week, and I’d been politely dismissive.

“Hello Vanessa. How are you?” He took my hand in his, pressing it.

“Um. Hungover.” I felt extremely awkward in the presence of so many people, still over-dressed, and feeling horrible.

“Breakfast and Advil await you in the kitchen,” Owen said. “Quick introductions—”

“Evan,” one of the twins offered.

“Peter,” the other said.

“Bianca,” she said, not looking up from her book.

“Sami,” the man with the black curls and tattoo replied with a warm smile, and gestured to the kitchen, where I was then plied with Advil, bacon, eggs, and toast. As I ate, I was filled in with the goings-on outside.

“We have to get you out of Wimberley,” Pastor Rich said. Not that I had roots there, but I had just been getting on my feet. “You should stay low here with Owen for a couple of days. The Palmers are looking for the two of you. They don’t like leaving human witnesses, and the fact that Owen, a werewolf, rescued you, has them angry.”

“We have a little agreement that they don’t hunt in town and we don’t bother them,” Sami whispered to me. I nodded my head.

“I want to go get my things,” I said.

“In a few days, maybe. But not only are the vamps looking for you, so are the authorities. Currently, you are technically endangered missing, along with Kelly and Ella. If they don’t know where you are, then the vamps don’t either,” for a man of God, Pastor Rich was shifty.

“The vamps have easy access to any police resources,” Owen said. “They grease some palms fairly regularly.”

“We’ll get you some fake ID’s and then get you safely out of Dodge in a few days,” Sami said. “I’m an artist at Driver’s Licenses.” I smiled. I liked Sami. We were going to be fast friends.

“We’ll keep this place surrounded so the vamps don’t get in. You have nothing to worry about,” Pastor Rich said. I nodded. I realized that I felt safe, despite the fact that I was the only human in a house populated entirely by werewolves.

Everyone was standing around the kitchen, eating off of mismatched plates, except for Bianca, who sipped a Red Bull. Owen was fiddling with his coffee pot, pulling mugs out of the cupboard by his head. He turned to me.

“How do you take your coffee, Ness?”

“Soy,” I said. And they all looked at each other before laughing. “What?”

“Only humans are lactose intolerant,” one of the twins, I wasn’t sure which, said. “We forget sometimes.”

“Goes for gluten, as well,” the other twin said.

“Wolves have strong stomachs,” Owen supplied, pouring a copious amount of sugar into my coffee. “This is gonna be like jet fuel.”

I accepted the cup offered to me, coughing and cringing as the most acrid and sweet thing I’d ever tasted filled my mouth. One of the twins howled with glee. I was so glad that my humanity was entertaining to them.

 

After The Pack had left, Owen and I sat in the living room silently. We were both on the sofa, about a foot apart. I felt him, like a bolt of electricity, beside me. I was borrowing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. The clothing was thick with the smell of him, and I found that I enjoyed being wrapped in it.

“You weren’t afraid of me, last night,” he said.

“You’re a puppy,” I replied.

“Awwww don’t say that,” he said, looking away. We were silent for a minute, feeling the short distance between us.

“Hey,” he said, turning his whole body toward me.

“What’s up?” I said.

“I told you what I was running from,” he seemed tentative, but genuinely curious. “What are you running away from? Why are you here?”

“It’s stupid, really. I was in college. Getting my degree in Law,” I sighed. “My parents were so proud. Their alma mater.”

“What school?”

“Boston University.”

“Ah. So you’re like, wicked smart?” he imitated the Bostonian accent poorly, dropping the “r” in smart. I shoved his arm lightly. “What happened?”

“I didn’t want it. Any of it. The trust fund, the law degree, the plastic life they wanted for me… I was so tired.” I looked at him. “I wanted to be a chef. So I left and got a job as a baker in a coffee shop in Wimberley, Texas.”

“You left all of your money?”

“No. And that’s the problem. I emptied out my bank account before I left.”

“Ah.”

“I need to go back to my house.”

“No.”

“I have 20,000 dollars in my mattress.”

“Shit,” he thought for a minute. “The vamps are definitely going to be watching that house. Even in daylight. They’ll have a crooked cop sitting on that.”

“I can’t leave that money.”

“You might have to.”

Hitting an impasse, we read the random novels that Owen had. He didn’t own a television, which was annoying. I wanted to get news on the search for the girls, even if Owen insisted that the Palmers victims were never found. I wanted to know what the police knew about me. I wanted to know what they were putting about me on the news. I wondered if they’d contacted my parents in Boston. Owen dozed off while reading a beat-up paperback copy of Ender’s Game. I watched him sleep for a moment. The sun on his eyelashes made the tips blond. He looked exhausted, as though he were always being chased by something, even in his sleep. Quietly, I eased off of the sofa, and walked into the bedroom, taking his shirt and boxers off and sliding back into my dress. I slid open the bedroom window, which was only four feet off of the ground, and slipped out easily.

The humidity was thick in the woods. I carried my heels and walked barefoot, praying that there were no snakes nearby. The sun was just beginning to go down, and I was almost back to town when Bianca stepped out from behind a birch.

“What, pray tell, do you think you are doing?” She crossed her arms.

“I’m going back to my house,” I replied, feeling stupid.

“We’re all putting our asses on the line for you,” she replied. “And you are stepping right into it. Do you know how close you are to the Palmer’s property right now?”

By now, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, making the shadows of the trees long. Owen came barreling through the forest in a panic. He relaxed when he saw that I was with Bianca.

“Ness! What the hell—” He was suddenly hurled off of his feet by a pale fist. It was one of the Palmer brothers, still dressed in the same oxford from the night before. It was flecked with blood. His features were sharp, perfect. He smiled coldly, hungrily at me.

“Vanessa,” he held out his hand. “Boudreaux Palmer. A pleasure.”

I backed away from him as a sand-colored she-wolf burst out of the trees, biting at his throat. They began to grapple as Owen in wolf-form joined the fray. Cold hands reached around from behind me, covering my mouth and whisking me away. Fear pooled in my stomach as I fought against the hands that held me. The vampire holding me ran, as Owen realized that I was gone and began to take chase. But it was too late—we were out of the trees and rushing up toward a large white mansion fronted by white columns. The windows were ablaze with light from inside.

 

I found myself seated on an antique couch with mahogany legs and upholstered in pale blue velvet. The whole room was exquisite—marble sculptures lined the powder-blue and gold fleur-de-lis papered walls. The furniture was all lustrous mahogany wood. The floors were polished to a dark gloss, and the carpets were plush oriental designs in pale pinks and yellows. The thick floral brocade curtains were thrown back to show the night sky. The moon was a deep yellow, nearly full; at least it would be in a night or so.

My hands were tied, as were my ankles, in thick white silk cords. I pulled on it, testing, and it had a little give, but not enough. I wondered if The Pack would come for me, or if they considered me the Palmer’s territory, now. My heart went out to Owen, the betrayal and fear on his face when he saw me out in the forest.

“It is so rare that we have guests,” the vampire talking to me was dressed in a suit. His hair was worn long, brushed back from his face. The other night, he’d worn a t-shirt. “Charleston Palmer,” he introduced himself. “It is so rare that we have guests that are not food.”

“You’re not going to eat me?” He placed a hand on my face, caressing it.

“You are so beautiful, Vanessa. You will make an exquisite vampire,” he said. “And your trust fund will add wonderfully to our slightly diminished resources.” At the shock that registered on my face, he grinned. “Yes. We have had our collective eye on you since you were a child. And imagine our delight when you delivered yourself right to us.”

The other two vampires entered the room; both were dressed in evening wear. Boudreaux had bite marks and scratches, which healed as he entered. As his marble-white skin eased itself closed, he looked upon me coldly. The other, Napoleon, I assumed, looked at me with a blank stare. I felt as though I had come to the end, as though I were waiting for death to happen—a situation that I had never been in before. But I wasn’t going to die, I realized—I was about to become an immortal thrall to the Palmers.

I looked at the Palmer Brothers—they could almost be identical, but with minor variations of their marble sculpture-esque faces. Charleston, with his long hair, and slim face, Napoleon with his close-cropped hair and high cheekbones, and Boudreaux with his wide chin and open forehead all stared back at me with the same yellow, predatory eyes.

“Do promise not to run away,” Napoleon said as he began to loosen my bonds. “We can run quite as fast as the wolves do when we are not otherwise occupied with other prey.”

“We must get you prepared for your party,” Charleston said, holding out a hand to me that I did not take as I stood shakily. He shrugged. “Follow me.”

The other two remained in the sumptuous parlor room as Charleston led me down the hall, which was painted a deep maroon color with oil paintings depicting pastoral scenes in the Hudson River School style. He opened the door to a room off of the hallway, revealing a huge four-poster bed with a silky plush comforter, a large, walk-in closet filled with dresses in rich fabrics. There were no windows, I noticed immediately. The room was painted a royal blue, and had a painting of a coldly beautiful blonde woman in an intricate dress from the Regency era.

“This will be your room,” Charleston said, walking over to the closet and pulling out a full-length ball gown in an emerald green. The silk cloth of it hissed as he whisked it over the bed. “This should suit you.” He went over to the dresser, and pulled out black lace lingerie, that would cover nothing. He walked around behind me, using his fingertips to ease the straps of my wrinkled, sweat-infused dress. I stiffened, feeling deeply uncomfortable with this, but it seemed that I had no choice.

“Don’t—” I started.

“Oh, are you shy?” Charleston asked, mockingly. He brushed my hair back over my shoulder, and whispered as his lips brushed my neck, “Soon you shan’t be.” He slowly peeled my dress off of me, letting his fingertips brush my skin as they followed my skin from my shoulders, down my ribcage, and over my hips. My skin was chilled—I felt repulsed as goosebumps raised where he touched me. I was standing in my black bra and panties, arms crossed over my chest. He let me go, and I walked stiffly into the en-suite bathroom with the gown.

“Be sure to shower,” he called. “You smell a little of dog.”

He was sitting on the bed when I came out in the gown, which hugged my figure tightly. I felt like I could barely move. My hair was still wet, dripping down my shoulders, but I didn’t care—I wasn’t going to make too much effort for the Palmers.

“Ah,” he said approvingly, “You look lovely.” He stood up, and then walked behind me, twisting my wet hair into a simple bun.

“I don’t have shoes,” I said.

“You won’t need them,” he replied evenly. “We won’t be going out until after you’re Undead.” He led me back down the hallway, where Boudreaux and Napoleon were lounging on the blue sofa that I had been tied up on earlier. They glanced at me approvingly. They were sipping a dark red liquid from champagne flutes and a decanter on the mahogany table in front of them. Boudreaux noted my sudden reaction to the liquid.

“Do not worry,” he said, raising his glass. “It is not vintage Ella.”

“Do have a seat,” Napoleon said, gesturing toward a velvet-upholstered chair that matched the couch. “We are so excited to have you join the Palmer family.” I had no response to this. Napoleon seemed to be the most approachable of the three, while Boudreaux seemed to be the muscle, and Charleston the brains. Good cop, bad cop, worst cop, I thought to myself. Charleston sat down in the chair next to mine, and poured himself a glass of the red liquid.

“I forgot my manners,” he said. “Certainly we are celebrating your last night as a human, and your entrance into our family. That calls for champagne.” He went to the sideboard by the door, and pulled out a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, which he poured into a glass for me. I took the delicate glass with a slightly trembling hand.

“I remember when you were a little girl,” Charleston began. When I gasped, he nodded. “Yes, we chose you a long time ago. You looked like an absolute doll in the carriage ride through Boston Common.”

I suddenly remembered vaguely—a pale carriage driver with a white horse drawing it around Christmastime, my au pair distracted by his debonair manner. I recalled feeling entranced by all of the white Christmas lights decking the trees on Boston Common, a fizz of excitement while I wore my special dark green dress, my hair tucked up under a knitted white beret. I wondered which of three Palmers it had been, my memory too vague and their features too similar for me to know with certainty.

“And then you grew up splendidly. We couldn’t have been more impressed.” Napoleon said. I sat there, feeling exhausted and afraid in the most beautiful dress I’d ever worn. I took a sip of champagne, hoping that it would steady me, but it went straight to my head. I realized that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning—almost a full twenty-four hours ago by then.

“We have been a trio for far too long,” Charleston said, sipping his drink. “We were changed three hundred and seventy-five years ago.”

“In the colonies,” Napoleon added, reminiscing. “There was so much bloodshed in the early years. We had several other members of the family over the years, but it has, so far, not worked out very well.”

“We had to destroy them,” Charleston said. “When they proved to be disappointments.”

“It will be nice to have female company,” Boudreaux was undressing me with his eyes. “Perhaps—”

At that moment, there was a crash downstairs. It sounded like something had been hurled through a plate glass window. I hoped that it was The Pack, coming for me, and that Owen hadn’t come by himself.

The Palmers stood, forming an arc in front of the open door. It was not long before the wolf that I knew to be Owen stood in the doorway, along with a sleek, black furred wolf with golden eyes that I guessed was Sami. They growled, and immediately flung themselves at the vamps.

Wanting to help in some way, I smashed my champagne flute against the mahogany table, and advanced upon the vamps from behind, feeling highly inadequate. I looked around, hoping that the Palmers collected weapons, perhaps. No such luck, however. I supposed they hadn’t required a weapon in a few centuries, anyway.

Charleston threw Owen against the wall as Sami tore Boudreaux’s throat out with his teeth. Boudreaux still stood, trying to choke Sami with his hands. One of the marble sculptures was knocked to the floor with a resounding crack. Meanwhile, Napoleon turned to find me standing behind him with the shards of my champagne flute.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said, disappointedly, as he picked me up easily, leaning in toward my neck. He forced my head back, baring my throat. His fangs descended, and I felt the tips scrape against the skin of my throat. Owen, noticing what was going on, howled, and from the hallway, two identical grayish brown wolves launched themselves upon Napoleon. They each pulled on a side of him, tearing him limb from limb in tag-team fashion. He screamed inhumanly as his arms popped out of their sockets. His legs followed soon after. Although it was my salvation, I still felt a little nauseous.

Owen was being held up against the wall by Charleston, and he was struggling to reach him with his teeth, snapping and snarling, while Charleston strained to hold him. Sami, on the other hand was slowing down, losing his breath as Boudreaux strangled him to death. The twins; however, made quick work of Napoleon, having turned him to a bloody pulp, and raced to aid Sami.

I knew that I had to help Owen, so I turned to the mahogany table, and grabbed one of the legs, pulling with as much strength as I could. An antique, the wood was pliable from the years, saturated by the humid Texas air. It bent, albeit slowly. I kept pulling, willing it with everything that I had left within me at this point, until it finally separated from the rest of the table. It wasn’t sharp; it was quite blunt, but it would have to do. Holding the table leg out like a lance, I raced toward Charleston’s unwitting back, praying that I wouldn’t hit a rib. I yelled as I used my momentum to stab him in the back with the table leg.

At first, it glanced off of a rib before sliding through his back. I twisted upward, hitting his heart. Charleston dropped Owen, who slid to the floor. Charleston turned, looking at me as his face seemingly began to sweat blood. He began to say something, but fell; a mess of blood and pulpy tissue upon the floor.

I raced to Owen, leaning down beside him. He groaned, and then nuzzled me with his velvet snout. It appeared that the twins and Sami had control of Boudreaux. Owen got up, as he did so, he shape-shifted back into his human form. He looked at me with tired eyes. I felt a rush go through my stomach as I realized he was naked. His body was as well-formed as his canine shape, defined muscles rippling beneath his unevenly tanned skin. He had a light dusting of dark hair that trailed down his stomach. He smiled as I looked at him.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said roughly, and I looked at his throat, which was red from Charleston’s hands. He picked me up in his arms and walked to the window which overlooked a field of bluebells, the light early morning sun illuminating them. I tucked my head in beneath his chin, feeling awash in relief. He ran, through the bluebells, and into the forest, taking me back to the cottage.

 

“I need some clothes,” he said, placing me down in the living room, and then walking into the bedroom. “And then I’ll take you back to your house.”

“Wait—” I said, gathering up the skirt of the long evening dress. He turned to me, and his eyes were flashing, angry.

“How am I supposed to protect you if you leave?” He said, cutting me off. “How could you be so stupid?”

“I needed my money,” I said, lamely.

“No, you didn’t.” He snapped. “It’s just money. I’ve lived my whole life with next to nil. You may not be used to that, but you need to realize that your life is more important than feeling comfortable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you? We risked our lives for you,” he gripped me by the shoulders. “We do that for members of our Pack. We promised to protect you. There are other vamps out there—not just the Palmers. Friends of the Palmers, though. You’re part of this, now.”

I put my hand on his cheek. It was warm and rough with stubble. A tear ran down my cheek. He turned away, and I grabbed his arm.

“Stay,” I said.

“I’m not a dog to be commanded,” he said, looking at me with feral eyes.

“I want you to stay with me,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. He stood still, looking me directly in my eyes. When I was sure that he wasn’t going anywhere, I reached up, unzipping the gown, and easing it off of my shoulders until I stood before him in the lacy black bra and panties. He exhaled deeply as he looked me over. I unsnapped the bra and let it slide off down my arms, then stepped out of the panties.

He grabbed me, picking me up and throwing me down on the sofa. He nuzzled my neck with his nose, kissing my throat up to my ear, which he nipped lightly making me exhale sharply. I pushed him back until he was sitting, and I was sitting astride him. We kissed hungrily, eyes open. Running my fingers through his tousled hair, I held myself close to him, as though I wanted to melt into him. I felt him become hard against my leg.

He stood, holding me against him, then threw me down on the sofa, his stubble burned as he kissed my stomach, nuzzling his mouth between my legs. Warmth shot through my stomach as he expertly licked me. I felt loosened, freed as I came, yelling out suddenly. He kissed my stomach, smiling smugly at me. I smiled back at him, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

He was over me in a hot second, gently entering me, watching my face with a tentative expression. Everything about him was so warm and solid—he held my legs up as he rocked me back and forth. I was panting; I had him, but I wanted more. I arched my back, reaching up and circling his neck with my arms. A layer of sweat slid between us, he was breathing in my ear.

“What do you want?” He said breathlessly.

“I want you to come for me,” I whispered. He pumped harder, and I rocked my hips to meet his rhythm. I could feel my own orgasm building up with his, and we both broke together, suddenly coming apart at the seams in each other’s arms.

He slid behind me on the sofa, wrapping my body with his. I had never felt this comfortable with someone before, I realized with an electric jolt. I laced my small, slender fingers through his longer, masculine ones. He whispered in my ear.

“Stay, Ness.”

“Okay, Owen.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

We fell asleep like that, legs entangled, his arms encircling me, the morning light shining through the curtains.

 

The sun had advanced by the time that I woke up. Owen was breathing heavily in his sleep. I was starving. Un-entwining myself from Owen, I went into the kitchen. I opened up the cabinets and the refrigerator, taking stock of what was available. The refrigerator was stocked full of raw, red meat I found.

“Ew,” I whispered, shaking my head as I recalled that the man that I’d just had sex with was not entirely a man at all. Werewolf. I settled for dry cereal and a glass of orange juice. I heard him get up off of the couch. The tired, haunted look had returned to his eyes when he entered the kitchen.

“I thought you’d left again,” he said.

“Nope. Just getting something to eat,” I said, holding up the bowl of dry cereal. “Want some Cheerios?”

“Sure,” he said, getting the milk out of the fridge for his. We stood silently in the kitchen, eating our cereal.

“I didn’t thank you for rescuing me,” I began.

“Someone had to,” he said. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“You didn’t have to,” I said. “You barely know me.”

“I wanted to,” he responded. “Not everyone in the Pack was up for it. Bianca said you’d made your choice. Pastor Rich had to stay out of it since he has a public image to maintain. The Palmers, oddly enough, were part of his congregation. But I wanted to. And Sami and the twins were behind me.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why save me?” He looked at me.

“Don’t you know?” I shook my head.

“Tell me.” He put his cereal bowl down on the counter and put his lips up against my ear.

“We wolves have a tendency to imprint,” he whispered warmly. I laughed.

“You’re kidding.”

“I want you,” he said in my ear.

“You have me quite at your mercy, Mr. Wolf,” I replied. He took my bowl away from me, and lifting me in his arms, carried me in to the bedroom.

He was so gentle with me—this time, it was less frantic than before. The lovemaking was slow, and he made sure that I came first, massaging my clit with his fingers. I kept my eyes open the whole time—the way that he looked at me making my insides feel electric. I had never felt so desired before. He came, moaning softly as he tucked his face in to the hollow between my chin and my neck. I never wanted this to end, but at the same time, the outside world knocked.

“Owen—” I began.

“No. We’ll talk later. Tonight, just be with me.” He sat up, gasping. “Tonight! Fuck.”

“What?” I said, sitting up.

“It’s the full moon. I’ll have no control over myself,” he explained, quickly grabbing clothes out of his dresser, and tossing me a shirt and a pair of athletic shorts far too big for me. “You have to get out of here—somewhere safe.”

“Where? Where should I go?”

“There’s a hunting blind, about a mile away,” he said, looking out of the window, where the twilight created a blue glow. “I think I can get you there before the moon rises.”

 

We were running through the woods again, racing toward the hunting blind. I heard a distinct howling. Owen paused.

“Shit,” he said, dropping me as he began to shift into a wolf. We were too late. “Run.”

I ran, as fast as I could on my bare feet, but I didn’t know where I was going and it was dark. My heart leaped as I raced. I suddenly heard a growl behind me as Owen leapt upon me, knocking me to the ground. I looked into his eyes, usually brown; they were a shocking red color. I screamed as he bit me.

I was afraid that this was the moment that I was going to die. Just when life had seemed so promising, Owen was going to tear my throat out. This was when a large, copper-colored Alpha sprang from the bushes. Pastor Rich, I thought. I held a hand to my throat, which was bleeding freely. The Alpha snarled, forcing Owen away from me. I quickly tore a strip of cloth off of the t-shirt that I was wearing, and wrapped it around my neck to slow the bleeding.

This was when I realized that I was beginning to sweat. The woods were spinning, and I tried to stand, staggering to my feet. I didn’t know where to go. I could hear the two wolves snarling and snapping at each other nearby. I sank back to my knees, keeping pressure on my wound. I felt faint, like I was going to pass out. And then everything faded, and I fainted.

 

When I awoke, everything was bright—far too bright. I was in Owen’s bedroom, and he sat next to me on the bed, wearing only a pair of jeans; his hair mussed, and the skin around his eyes red, as though he’d been crying. He had bruises and scratches on his body. Pastor Rich, dressed all in black, stood by the door, a solemn look upon his face. I felt like I had a fever—hot and covered in sweat.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I croaked, and Owen held a plastic garbage can for me as I vomited bile. I lay back on the bed, breathing through my nose. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I’m so sorry,” Owen said, holding my hand. “If you want me to leave—”

“Stay,” I whispered. He looked like he was going to cry.

“When Owen bit you in the woods last night, you were infected,” Pastor Rich said.

“What does that mean?” I asked. My head was throbbing.

“You’re going to be a werewolf,” Owen said. I looked at him. He was wracked with guilt. I nodded. Oh well. Better than a vamp, I suppose.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” Owen said. “I promised to protect you, but I couldn’t even protect you from myself.” I shut my eyes.

“I want this,” I said. “I’m going to be strong, and I’m going to stay with you, Owen Green.” I could hear Owen sobbing silently as I dropped off into an uneasy sleep.

I slept fitfully, waking up to hallucinations—my parents, skin pale as the Palmer’s standing over me. I didn’t know where I was, and I felt too sick or weak to stand. I fell back to sleep, waking again, but this time to all of the Palmers, standing in a half-circle around the foot of the bed. I tried to scream, but my throat was swollen, and I couldn’t seem to make my vocal chords work. I felt so warm, and I was drenched in my own sweat.

I dreamed that I was back in the bar, with Kelly and Ella. We all sat around the table at the Ice House, and I sat with my fingers on the heart-shaped planchette for the Ouija board.

“Hey girls. Are we playing?” I said, waiting for them to place their fingers on the planchette.

“Of course we are, City Mouse,” Kelly said.

“You’re talking to us, aren’t you?” Ella said.

I noticed that their necks were slit open, and their blood was coursing down their chests.

“We’re still dead, City Mouse,” Kelly said. They smiled at me, their eyes going all black, and I woke with a start.

The fever was gone. The room was sunny, and I heard voices in the living room. The Pack. I eased myself up; I was wearing a t-shirt and the lace panties from the Palmer’s house of horrors. I felt tired and hungry, but stronger than ever. I got out of bed, padding over to the door. When I opened it, the twins sprung up from the sofa, locking me in a tight hug.

“Welcome to The Pack, Ness!” They said simultaneously. Bianca looked up from her book, a different one this time.

“It’ll be nice to have another she-wolf around,” she said, smiling warmly for the first time.

“Give her some space,” Owen said. He was looking at me hesitantly, standing with his hands in his pockets. I ran over to him, kissing him full on the lips. He froze for a second, then softened, leaning into the kiss.

“Enough, you two,” Sami said, laughing.

“I’m starving,” I said.

“Cereal?” Owen asked. I sighed, walking into the kitchen and throwing open the fridge. I grabbed one of the raw cuts of meat, tearing open the grocery store packaging before tearing into it with my teeth.

“That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do,” Owen said.

“Shut up,” I replied, wiping blood from my mouth before devouring the whole thing.

 

The whole pack was present when I shifted into a wolf for the first time. They all shape-shifted first, one by one running into the woods, until only Owen and I were left standing by the cottage. I smiled at him. He smiled back, but I could tell that he still felt guilty.

“Let’s do this,” I said. He nodded, and I felt myself begin to shift. My senses sharpened—I could see better, and I could detect a million new smells. I looked at the wolf that was Owen, felt how much I cared for him with a jolt, and then leapt off into the woods after the rest of the Pack. We ran together, the trees and the sun blurring as we raced on. I felt strong, and connected, not just to Owen, but the others, as well. I belonged. I wasn’t some rich girl. I wasn’t some new girl in town. I was a she-wolf. I was a member of the Pack. But more than that, I was with Owen, the love of my life.

 

A few days later, back at the cottage, entwined in bed with Owen, he kissed my hair. It was night, and we had just gotten back from my first hunt with the Pack. I felt exhilarated, filled with fresh protein and endorphins.

“So, how is it?” He asked. “Everything that you wanted?” He still sounded bitter.

“Almost. But not quite,” I said. He froze. “I mean, I love it—the strength, the agility, the connection to The Pack…”

“But?” He whispered huskily.

“But I have this feeling that you think I’m going to leave again.” He exhaled. “And I want to prove to you that I won’t.” I turned so that I was looking him in the eyes. He looked afraid, set off balance.

“Marry me,” I said. It wasn’t what he had been expecting at all, I could tell.

“Are you sure?”

“More than anything,” I replied, and he pulled me in close. I could feel him smiling into my hair. “I love you, Owen.” He sat back, teasing a tendril of my hair.

“I love you, Ness,” he said. “I’ve never loved anyone before.”

“Neither have I,” I replied.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” he asked.

“Never patronize a she-wolf,” I warned him, nipping his ear playfully. He grabbed me, covering me with his body, and kissing me as everyone deserves to be kissed at least once in their lives. I was looking forward to being kissed that way every day for the rest of mine.

 

I never truly returned to the human world, forsaking it almost entirely for the safe, warm cocoon that I inhabited with Owen in our cottage in the woods, and the company of The Pack. I sometimes went into Wimberley, but the people there hardly recognized me. I didn’t look quite like my human self anymore—my features became more refined as I spent more time as a wolf. My body lost any extra padding that it’d had, and became more muscular, athletic. My eyes were suddenly a vibrant green. I began to wear my hair longer, as it was thicker, and fuller. Sami made me a wonderful fake ID, one for a certain Ness Green, resident of the state of Texas.

Owen and I were married in a clearing in the woods by Pastor Rich. Only our pack was in attendance; they stood around us in a circle, wearing their best. It was deep into the afternoon in late summer, and I had a crown of blue bells and wildflowers in my hair that matched my bouquet. My dress was delicate white lace over a linen shift. As I walked alone into the clearing, my eyes were on Owen. He was wearing a white oxford over a pair of jeans and cowboy boots. His hair was tousled, and his ever-present stubble shadowed his jawline.

He smiled at me, like the first time he saw me, the smile reaching his warm brown eyes that I had come to love so much. He held out a hand, and I took it confidently after handing my bouquet to Bianca. He squeezed my hand as Pastor Rich began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join these wolves in holy matrimony,” he began, and we all grinned at the appropriation of our species. “Marriage, as Pack rules understand it, is a voluntary and complete commitment. It is made in the fullest sense and to the rejection of all others, and is entered into with the desire and hope that it will last for life.”

“Is it your intention to be married today?” Pastor Rich asked us.

“Yes,” we said together.

“Do you come here freely and without reservation?” He asked.

“Yes,” we both said, adamantly. Pastor Rich looked at me.

“Vanessa, do you take Owen to share your life, to build your dreams, and promise to give him your respect, love, and loyalty through all of the trials and triumphs in your lives together?” He asked. I looked at Owen as I said:

“I do.”

“Owen, do you take Vanessa to share your life, to build your dreams, and promise to give her your respect, love, and loyalty through all of the trials and triumphs in your lives together?” Pastor Rich asked.

“I do,” Owen was grinning easily.

“May I have the rings?” Pastor Rich asked. Sami stepped forward and handed Pastor Rich the rings. He handed the larger of the two unadorned golden rings to me.

“Vanessa, place the ring on Owen’s hand, and repeat after me.” I slid the ring onto Owen’s left ring finger.

“With this ring, I marry you,” Pastor Rich said.

“With this ring, I marry you,” I said, looking up at Owen.

“Wear it as a symbol of my love forever,” Pastor Rich prompted.

“Wear it as a symbol of my love forever,” I responded, my voice cracking a little.

“Owen, place the ring on Vanessa’s hand, and repeat after me.” Pastor Rich continued. “With this ring, I marry you.” Owen slid the ring onto my finger.

“With this ring, I marry you,” Owen was looking at me steadily, solemnly.

“Wear it as a symbol of my love forever,” Pastor Rich said.

“Wear it as a symbol of my love forever,” Owen said.

“May your life together be blessed with prosperity and good health, and may your love for each other be a source of strength, respect, and passion for one another, all the days of your lives. I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Pastor Rich finished.

We shared our first kiss as a married couple. Our Pack shifted and howled joyfully. I leaned back and looked into Owen’s eyes. His hands were on my hips, holding me close. I had never been more his, nor he mine. The look of exhaustion was gone, and I would see it return from time to time. His past would always have its hold on him, but I would kiss it away, reminding him that it was just that—the past. That day, we shape-shifted into wolf-form and ran off into the slowly darkening woods.

~*~

THE END

 

 

 

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