Chapter Two
Yanus held vigil by his sister's bed, refusing to leave. It tore him up inside to see her as a shell of her former beauty, to have her lie in a small bed breathing pain, waiting for her werewolf healing to kick in and to swallow up the injuries that would kill a normal human twice over.
I'm so sorry, Luelle. I'm so sorry. He raised a shaky hand and stroked his sister's matted black hair, soul shriveling as he examined the extent of her injuries.
When his sister had gone all those years ago to be married to a Russian werewolf, he never imagined seeing her again like this. That cheerful little Armanev girl, a member of one of the proud noble families, reduced to a battered slip of a creature, a shadow of the laughter she had once been.
“You're safe now. You're safe. He'll never have you back.” He crooned the words to his sister, but she lay deep in unconsciousness, oblivious to his comfort. How many years had she endured, with that horror of a man, who had been all sweet smiles and promises to their family, exchanging children – only to then ensnare her in a domestic hell?
The black woman sauntered into the hotel room, tucking away a lighter into her pocket. Yanus examined her, detecting a strange odor emanating from her skin, a mix of honey and peaches. It also came with something else – the faint tang of rust under her skin, not quite wolf-like, but not quite human either.
Light brown irises stared from her face, accentuated by wide cheekbones, a gently sloping curve to her chin, and long eyelashes over hooded, lazy eyelids. The woman smiled, and dimples pinched in on either side of her mouth. For a moment, Yanus found himself distracted by the unexpected display of beauty.
“Hey,” she said, in a husky voice, folding her arms as she approached the bed and scrutinized his sister. “Welcome to the Springmoon Hotel. Anything you need, we'll try to help with. Though I suspect your sister just needs time, food and drink.”
“Thank you.” Yanus examined the girl with the peculiar smell for a little while longer. What was it about her? He knew she wasn't a werewolf. She didn't have the eyes, or the scent – but there was something different. He turned back to his sister, immensely annoyed and ashamed of his focus drifting onto the woman instead of his sister. After everything Luelle had gone through, she at least deserved his love and care.
“I'm Frey Radev.”
Radev. Have I heard that name before? “Yanus Armanev.”
He saw Frey's expression darken at the mention of his ancient family name. “Ah, yes. My father and mother thought highly of the Armanevs. Then again, my father used to go pretty crazy over anyone of noble heritage.”
Now Yanus thought he realized where the odd displacement of Frey's scent came from. “You were born to two werewolves?”
Frey smiled at this, but it was a thin, loveless curl of her lips. “Yes.”
“Oh.” She didn't need to say anything else. A history of resentment and discrimination lathered itself in the tone of her voice. “I had no idea that was even possible.”
“Neither did my parents.” Frey's fingers started twitching, a nervous habit Yanus often identified with smokers. Frey then studied Yanus for a long time, her eyes searching his body, lingering at his exposed collarbone. He felt as if he was standing in a spotlight, ready to talk to an audience of spectators, and his heart thudded a little faster.
“What happened to your sister?” Frey stopped clenching her fist and closed the distance, now crouching beside the bed. Yanus took this opportunity to scour Frey's simple white blouse and black pants with his eyes, and over the subtle hint of cleavage the frills of the blouse revealed. He shook himself out of the distraction with a low growl.
“I'm not sure. She escaped from Russia. Contacted our family to ask for asylum, that she was being chased by her husband. Our mother and father chose to ignore it, because she had a right to her husband, to provide him with children...” Yanus turned to his sister, insides broiling with fury, the kind that melted stone. He honestly wanted to find every last one of those disgusting Koroslav wolves and rip out the throat of their wives, husbands and children. Anyone who condoned an act like this didn't deserve the air they breathed. “They even contacted the husband to tell him where she was.”
Slices of memory rippled through. His baby sister, telling him about her adventures with her friends in the villages, and the human girl she loved. Danniven and Markus and Ordri knocking at his door, asking where Luelle had gone, because no one answered their knocks in the family home. Explaining to them her arranged marriage, and seeing the disappointment on their faces.
She had only been twelve. Far too young to understand love, and the tasks expected of her. Far too naïve to realize the brutality she would be exposed to, that would snatch all the freshness from her youthful body, and leave a beautiful person robbed of all her innocence.
Seeing her again, all those years later, with bruises and gashes upon her skin, stumbling into his arms and begging for him to save her, to take her somewhere safe, before her husband found her again had broken his heart. The rain fell on their clothes, disguising the tears upon her cheeks. It hurt to know how their parents had betrayed her, left her to the cruelty of her marriage because they believed that she likely deserved it.
“If she's run away, son, then he has every right to be angry at her for betraying his trust. You have to punish people when they do bad things, so they learn never to do it again.”
Out of spite, Yanus took out his phone and snapped a picture of his damaged sister, peeling back the covers so her entire fucked up body came into view.
Frey watched him, curious, as he attached the image to a text to his mother and father respectively.
This is what that bastard thinks is rightful treatment of your daughter. He beat and mutilated her. You think someone gets that much abuse because they deserve it?
You think it was her fault that she wanted to run away? You sold her to a monster.
You should be ashamed to be parents.
Frey let out a little gasp as he sent it off. “The werewolf that died in the village. Was that her husband?”
Yanus shook his head. He pictured the werewolf again, screaming at Yanus that he had no right to do this, to take away someone's wife. The disobedient slut after all wanted to avoid her due justice.
Calling her a slut. She's my little sister.
He recalled the bastard lunging at him – the dreadful, howling fight, the rip of fur and teeth snapping at one another's throats. The intervention from the employees of the Springmoon hotel, that strange werewolf sanctuary he had heard about snug at the base of Rila mountain. “Len Koroslav, a son from a previous marriage. We're going to be in for a shitstorm.”
Frey chewed her lip. “We can't keep her here indefinitely, then. Your lot are only a couple of mountains across. And it doesn't sound like they're the sort to break treaties.”
“No,” Yanus agreed. He pulled the covers back under his sister again, and kissed her cheek, on a yellow, old bruise. “They're not. Thank you for taking us in.”
“No problem. It's what we do. What are your plans?”
Yanus shrugged helplessly, a spasm of fear squeezing his lungs. What would he do?
The Koroslavs would shriek for vengeance once they found out a favorite son had been killed on Bulgarian soil. The noble families would scramble to make peace, fearful of retribution. They might seek to return Luelle and kill Yanus for the blood debt. Worst – the other families might turn on the Armanevs, the same way they turned on the Lubanovs, where only two survivors remained – Nikolai and Danniven.
“We'll keep her here and hidden until she's healed up,” Frey said, hardness in her voice. She took out a cigarette and played with it idly between her fingers. “Set up a false message saying that you've fled the province, intending to make it over to Greece. That'll buy you some time for anyone who comes sniffing. Use it to decide what you will need to do.”
“Thank you,” Yanus said again, immensely grateful. He stared at the strange woman for a while longer, marveling at her beauty, deciding he found the dimples that formed on her cheeks endearing. He wanted to see her smile more. He resolved to find extra excuses to talk to her and drill more into whatever mind lurked behind those features. What thoughts did an impure woman have in a world of werewolves?
Not that he would be entitled to any power to court her more seriously. Being heir to the Armanev dynasty meant nothing if he assisted his sister. Being Mosra Armanev's favorite son meant nothing if he had killed another favorite son.
A slight pang of regret coursed through him. He had to stare at Luelle again, to remind himself that not all was lost.
His little sister lived.
And these Radevs, they had come out of the murk to save him from the fury of Len, blurred forms attacking the rabid werewolf, who had threatened to disturb the peace of Sapareva Sapareva Banya by biting homeless humans in the back alleys, infecting their blood, mind and soul with the vicious cravings of a werewolf, with none of the blessings.
Perhaps he could argue that point, and say the Koroslav had grievously broken laws.
Perhaps his parents would listen.
They never will, he thought, with a throb of realization. Pride is everything to them. Honor is their world.
Taking one last look at Luelle, the churning of his future still mired in Stygian darkness, he gestured to Frey's hand which contained the cigarette. “Come on. Let's get you your smoke. I'll come. There's not much else I can do for her.”
Frey nodded, relief relaxing the creases in her brow. “Sure.”
Yanus smiled, trying to banish the fears at the back of his mind, which threatened to consume him if he spent too long dwelling on the nightmares. He hated this world, honestly. Being chewed between duty and love often meant sacrificing one for the other.
Bulgaria was a place where dreams failed to become reality, and slowly choked the lives of those growing up. It should have become a land of dreams and opportunity, but too many people clung to the old ways, to the things that made others suffer.
It didn't help either that there were many places for monsters to hide.