Trill E-Book

Lorelei Bell

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Sabrina's past has caught up with her, and a terrifying secret leaves her questioning who to trust.

After discovering her deeply rooted ancestral power, Sabrina is torn between her past life and her duty of being the Sibyl. 

Some responsibilities are too great to be escaped. But can Sabrina find a way to control her new powers, and embrace her true fate?

Leseprobe

Trill

Sabrina Strong Book 2

Lorelei Bell

Copyright (C) 2011 Lorelei Bell

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover Design by Melody Simmons from eBookindiecovers

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Contributor: Bliznetsov

To my soul mate, Dennis.

Acknowledgments

First Published by Wilfried Voss of Copperhill Media in 2011.

To Yolanda Campbell for edits.

To all my fans who have “discovered” my very first vampire book, Ascension, and “need” to read this one, the continuation of Sabrina Strong Series.

To my good friend, Jared Lash, who wears many hats, and helped me with various computer problems. You rock!

Thanks to all friends and fans who have discovered my book, and gave me great reviews.

And to the stray cat who wandered into our yard “Phantom” who I've used to base Mrs. Bench's cat on, and my husband has been feeding ever since.

Chapter 1

Cold, hard ground beneath me—it was as though every bone in me had been broken. I tried to remember why I was outside without a stitch on. Plus the taste of blood in my mouth almost made me gag.

I cracked my eyes open. My breath came out in wintry clouds as I strove to pull cold air into my lungs. Above, in the crisp, midnight blue sky, stars glittered coldly, indifferently. Suddenly, I remembered why I was here, naked. I got quite frustrated when I couldn't remember what my activities had been for the last several hours. I didn't see the moon above me, full and bright, as I knew it had been when the transformation began.

“Sabrina?” the voice startled me at first, but I knew who it was and remembered he had been with me.

While assessing my physical and mental well-being, I heard him move. The brittle rustle of month old, machine chewed, corn shocks filled my ears. I was in a field. I knew this, but why was it so hard for my brain to function?

The dark outline of a man hovered over me. He was naked too. It would have startled me otherwise, but I knew it was Dante Badheart—shifter, work mate, and used-to-be-lover—he had joined me on my first night of the change. Earlier he had pulled his black hair back off his face into a thick, long braid.

Memory of those moments before the full moon rose slowly returned to me. We'd braided each other's hair in the darkness while seated on the blanket, before the moon rose over the peak of a slight rise in the park where we waited. He'd said it was advisable.

“Sabrina? Are you alright?” Dante lowered himself to his knees beside me, and his voice became my only anchor, pulling me back out of the abyss, back to my very human condition.

Before I could answer, bile rose. I leaned over, and vomited, retching and spitting a few times after I was done. Now I knew the reason why he'd recommended we tie our hair back.

“Oh, God,” I gasped weakly, trembling in the cold. “I can't remember a thing.”

Dante's warm hands helped me to sit up and then, gradually, to stand.

“Be glad you can't,” he said in that quiet, reverential tone that gave this night the feel of some weird religious rite. “C'mon.” He held me for a moment when I refused to budge. He was warm—too warm for someone who was as naked as I was. Still, I shivered so violently my teeth chattered like castanets. I wanted to run my hands over his muscled shoulders and arms, up his well-muscled chest. How long had it been since we'd made love? Ten days? Felt like more.

He moved slightly, parting my thoughts like fog in a breeze. My balance failed me. I was weak, vulnerable, and a little stupid. Naked in the middle of November in a cornfield—that's crazy but not something I could help.

“C'mon. This way.” He braced me with an arm around my waist, and guided me forward, through the harvested cornfield toward a black, thirty- or forty-foot tall wall of mature white pine trees against the backdrop of slightly lighter violet blue sky. This was where we had begun our descent into our strange night among the wild things. My feet felt heavy, my toes numb, as I shuffled over chopped up corn stalks, discarded cobs, and leaves. I wanted to run to where we had shucked our clothes off, where I remember waiting for the change that had come over me once the full moon rose, but resisted. Now, images of what I'd experienced as my creature came back to me in flitting bits and pieces. It was like viewing it through a keyhole, as though watching some weird film. I realized I was in denial. That wasn't me. Couldn't have been me!

Dante wasn't a Were. He was a shift changer, and he had control over when and into what he changed. Normally he'd change into a beautiful, sleek, black jaguar, but tonight, he'd changed into a wolf, since that's what was likely out and about on a full moon.

Who knew what I became—I'd been bitten, not born. I was angry over this turn of events in my life—one I had no control over whatsoever—I wanted to kill Frank Lundeen, the Werewolf who'd bitten me almost a month ago. But I was pretty sure he was long gone. God save him if he ever came back to my neck of the woods.

We picked our way through the sharp, broken corn stalks, and found the place where the fence was twisted, and pushed down to about a foot off the ground and easy to step over, and then we traversed it carefully to avoid the rusted barbed wire with bare feet and legs.

Once we crossed into the park, we were under the sheltered canopy of white pines; their scent filled my senses. We padded across the bed of soft pine needles. They clung to my bare feet and stuck between my toes. Used to the darkness now, my eyes picked out the secret spot beneath the dead lower limbs of the pines. We had chosen this place mainly because Dante felt we'd be safe from farmers who might shoot at us, and we could avoid me killing something I shouldn't. Besides, he said the hunting would be better. I didn't want to think about it—that I'd probably killed an innocent, cute bunny, as I picked something that tasted suspiciously like fur out of my teeth; I needed a toothbrush and a pint of Listerine, and some painkiller. Of course, in an hour, I probably wouldn't feel like every bone and joint in my body had been reshaped, and organs had changed their size and configuration in my body.

Thankfully, I dropped to the soft blanket and found my pile of clothes, and Dante knelt next to his.

“Thanks for coming out with me,” I said between chattering teeth, my hands grasping at my clothes and trying to find the arm and neck holes.

“No problem,” he said. “Wouldn't miss your first time.”

I struggled into my jeans, pulled on my shirt, and yanked on my socks and shoes. I wanted to get into his car, get back to my place, and get warm, pronto. Like in two seconds.

“Uh, I'm freezing!” I said.

“Why are you so cold?”

“Because it's frigging cold out here, okay? Aren't you cold?”

“No.”

“Must be nice to have a hot body,” I retaliated, then squeezed my eyes. “Scratch that.”

He chuckled. “Sorry.” He didn't sound sorry.

“You're full-blooded shifter,” I snarled while tying my shoes. “I'm a frigging freak. I'm probably ugly as hell when I shift.”

“No. You're not ugly,” he said.

“I am too,” I argued heatedly as I jumped to my feet and shuffled around to get my jacket. Only I found Dante in my space. He grabbed me by the shoulders. Tonight was the first physical contact we'd had in weeks. Not since Bjorn Tremayne's edict telling him that I was off limits had he touched me in an intimate way. If Dante wasn't Tremayne's scion, he might have gone behind his back, especially since Tremayne's incarceration, as he couldn't physically stop him. But there had been spies—vampires from Tremayne's inner circle—who had been staying at my house, surely placed there to spy on us. I was sure that anything Dante and I did got back to Tremayne, so we had resisted kissing each other. We had to stop everything. I didn't know how Dante was handling this, but I was frustrated. In addition, I was angry half the time, short tempered the other half, and horny all the time. Although right now, I felt relaxed, slightly euphoric, and that made me seriously wonder what else we did while all furry, I simply didn't want to dwell on the fact that the beast coming out of me this time of month was making things harder, more complicated.

Dante's face was mostly in shadow, but the glitter of his gray eyes shone under the thick canopy of pines. His hand's warmth actually came through my sweatshirt. How I wanted to steal his warmth for five or six minutes. I pressed into him and leaned my head on his chest. I needed him to comfort me after such an ordeal. He put his arms around me and I finally felt myself physically relax. My Knowing came over me, and the vision of us in our animal states threatened to engulf me. I tried to block it, but it roared to life in my mind's eye—meracing across a moonlit field, the wolf keeping up with me. Once he nipped me on the back, and then we went tumbling…

“You're not ugly, Sabrina” Dante's voice pulled me away from the vision. “Not when you shift, and not now. I could never think of you as anything but wonderfully alive, vibrant, and pretty.”

“Pretty ugly,” I muttered, turning my face and trying to pull myself out of his arms. Strong arms held me in place.

“Quit saying that!” His voice became a growl. He sounded agitated. I had never seen him angry. Not with me, anyway. Well, I'd pushed him, hadn't I?

“Okay,” I relented. “I'm not ugly, but I'm not pretty when I shift. How could I be?”

“You'd have to be another shifter or Were to understand.”

“And all male, I'm sure,” I quipped, then regretted it immediately. I didn't want to start an argument. We'd had plenty of those in the past few weeks.

“You want to know what happened?” He let me go and crossed his arms across his chest, a challenge in his voice.

“I already know,” I said, and briskly turned aside. I didn't want to know that I ate something furry, and I especially didn't want to know we'd had sex while shifted.

I had wanted this night to be over with ever since I understood I would probably become a Were-creature. The question of whether or not I would change was undetermined until now. Nicholas Paduraru, the first vampire I'd ever met, had been with me when the Werewolf bit me. He had sucked the venom from the wound within moments of the bite. Tonight's transformation confirmed that he had not gotten it all, or else the poison was exceptionally aggressive and had reached deeper into my system than he could access. Whichever it was, I was now some sort of Were-person, not able to change completely into a wolf, but somewhere in between wolf and human during the full moon every twenty-seven, or twenty-eight days.

Now fully clothed, we trekked back toward Dante's car in the parking lot of the forest preserve. It was a long hike, and I was aching for the warmth of my own bed, and the sanctuary of my own house less than a mile away.

As we topped the hill, our ears pricked to sounds alien to the night and its creatures. Dante dropped to a crouch on the path through dead stalks of tall prairie grass and prairie flowers. Swaying slightly in the breeze, the plants stood taller than a man and made for useful cover. I sank beside him in the long, golden grasses, my senses humming. We both peered through the screen and saw a black and white county police car, its headlight beams lighting up the back of Dante's black Mustang. The police radio crackled every now and then, with a voice or some static.

“Shit,” Dante swore softly. Man of few words, he echoed my thoughts exactly.

I remained silent. Either we had to walk back to my place, or wait for this idiot to give him a ticket and leave. I voted we wait it out. Dante didn't have to ask me, he could read my mind—telepathy being one of his many natural talents.

We watched the uniform return to his own car, and ducked in to call over his radio. I could hear the transmission, but I couldn't quite make out the words. I presumed he was radioing the license plate numbers to find out whose car it was, see if there were any wants or warrants, etc. He would only find it registered to Bjorn Tremayne, not Dante Badheart since it wasn't actually his car but from a line of cars owned by Bjorn Tremayne of Chicago.

In my first week at Tremayne Towers, Dante and I had become intimate on Tremayne's orders, and it didn't take much to persuade me since Dante wasn't a vampire and didn't frighten me as Tremayne and Nicolas did. Plus, he was handsome as hell. My dating list of guys now included shifters and vampires, but it was a testament to what my life had become recently that normal human men were now not nearly as intriguing to me, and I made my decisions about who I would see based on whether he had warm blood and a darker complexion than milk.

I glanced over at Dante, his handsome Native American features partially washed in the lights from the cruiser. My gaze lingered on his sexy mouth. What I wouldn't do to kiss those lips again…

While we sat there in the long grass waiting, the sound of gravel crunching drew our attention away from the Mustang and cruiser to find another set of headlights piercing the darkness along the winding drive of the park. I couldn't tell, but I thought it was another cruiser, until it came closer. Unless it was an unmarked, it looked like a regular car, and it parked directly behind the police unit and cut its lights to parking ambers.

The patrolman unfolded himself from his cruiser as two people emerged from the new arrival. I wasn't sure, but I thought the sporty car's color looked deep maroon. Also, I wasn't entirely sure if the two people who'd gotten out were men or women as their hair was shoulder length. When I heard their voices, I knew exactly who they were. Their British accents made them, and my heart did a crazy little dance between happiness and dread. This could go one way or another, and I wasn't sure I wanted to watch.

“The twins,” Dante confirmed for me, but he didn't need to. I nodded, my gaze never leaving the scene. The voices traveled to our ears. The twins, Heath and Leif Sufferden. Originally from Liverpool, England, they had been turned in 1969. And yes, they had been freaking Beatles fans back then and still are—at least Heath is.

“This car wouldn't be either of yours, would it?” I heard the uniform ask.

“Well, yes it would be,” replied one of them.

“Mind telling me why it's parked here after hours?” the uniform asked.

“Broke down.” “Out of gas…” came voices in stereo.

“Well, which is it?”

“I have the gas can in the back,” said one—I had to guess that had been Leif. His brother, Heath was still standing a few feet in front of the uniform. Obviously, the cop had no idea that the two men were vampires, and if it weren't for the vampiric laws in place, he'd be dead meat right where he stood—all the better for him.

“You got some ID?” he asked.

“Sure.” Heath reached in his back pocket. Wallet out, he stepped forward. Both vampire and human faced one another in the wash of amber and red lights. There came a long pause where no one spoke. Leif moved around their car, empty handed from the open trunk, and now both vampires were in front of the uniform.

Then, without a word, the policeman turned around, got into his car, and drove off. This explained why vampires never got speeding tickets. Mind control by a vampire was total.

Dante was up and moving before I realized it, and I sprinted to catch up. He stopped beside the twins as I pulled up beside him, panting slightly.

“What brings you two to this neck of the woods?” Dante asked.

I cast my eyes on both young men. Twenty-one, and nearly identical down to the wavy, shoulder-length, caramel-blond hair, but I could tell them apart these days. Heath had a more innocent, open face than his brother. Leif simply oozed danger. I saw it every time he looked at me.

“We were driving by—”

“No, they won't believe that story,” Leif broke in. “Tremayne wanted us to keep an eye out, just in case you needed help tonight. I'd say we got here just in the nick.”

“Yeah, gosh, thanks,” Dante said with an aw-shucks voice that didn't belong to him. “He was about to give me a ticket. Gee-whiz, you done stopped him.”

I snickered. Heath stifled his chuckle when Leif shot him a nasty look.

“We actually were prowling for women,” Heath joked. “But at six-thirty in the bloody morning you're not likely to find any.”

“Yeah. Especially in a cornfield, mate,” his brother put in.

“So, what's the real story?” Dante asked with his hands on his slim waist.

“Really, Tremayne wanted to make sure Sabrina didn't come to any trouble.”

“I thought that's why I was here.” Dante sounded slightly peeved.

“Here it comes, brother,” Heath said low, leaning conspiratorially toward Leif.

“Don't matter,” Leif said, hands out in placation. “Anyway, we're here following orders. That's all.”

Dante checked his watch. He looked up at both vampires. “It's nearly dawn.”

Leif and Heath exchanged looks. “Can we bunk at your house, Sabrina?”

“Sure,” I said. “Follow us.”

I was advised to make a room on the north side of my country home impervious to sunlight. I'd chosen my brother's old room because it only had two windows and both faced north. I'd covered them in aluminum foil, bought heavy, dark violet blue drapes to go over them, and matching carpet, as well as the bedspreads. Well, yes. Vampires do sleep in beds, not coffins, who knew? There was a bolt lock on it to make sure that the occupants—whichever vampire chose to come and stay with me—would not be disturbed while they rested during the day. It wasn't unusual to have one, or both the twins stay with me a few nights a week now. Tremayne had pressed his vampire elite guard into service to watch over me during the night since his brother's murder. Dante was my guardian during the day. Up until recently, he'd been my lover, and it made me burn with anger that he couldn't be my lover anymore. I couldn't decide who I was angrier with—Bjorn, or Dante.

Thus was my life—at least for the past three weeks. That was when I had started working at Tremayne Towers in Chicago for Bjorn Tremayne. He was the magnate of the eastern half of the North American Vampire Association. Of course, as things currently stood, he was actually the only magnate in the whole country—there had once been two. Bjorn's brother, Erik, had recently been killed by Toby Hunt (a wannabe, ascended vampire who'd done his best to erase all of us one night in Earthly Pleasures, a restaurant on the vampire side of the Towers). A master certainly had to take over for Erik, and there were none in the United States to take his place. Except possibly Nicolas Paduraru, who was pretty damned close to a master from what I'd heard. He was now acting as temporary stand-in for Bjorn. Oh yeah, Bjorn was no longer acting in his role as magnate. In addition to everything else, Bjorn Tremayne was awaiting trial for killing a human (he'd drained his date, which is illegal). Once Tremayne had his trial, he would be reinstated, at least, we hoped he would. No one knew when this trial was to take place, but it had to be coming up soon. We were still waiting to see what was going to happen with the open seat for the western half.

We all folded ourselves into our respective cars: Dante and I in the black Mustang; the twins in the Eclipse Spider. We all drove out of the park and turned toward my house, which was down the road, around the corner. My house sat on a hill, which also over-looked the replanted prairie and wetlands of the southern portion of this forest preserve. Behind my house was the farmer's field in which Dante and I had scampered the night away as our creatures.

Looking forward to a shower and an all-day sleep, and not expecting any more trouble, I should have been relaxed, but I wasn't. I was already feeling apprehensive as we left the park, and the feeling became unbearable the closer we got to my home.

“Something's wrong,” I said, as Dante turned the corner and headed toward my house. He glanced over at me, slowed down, and braked until he almost stopped. The twins in the Eclipse were behind us, and they had slowed down, too.

“What is it?”

I closed my eyes. As a Touch Clairvoyant, I could take a read of anything or any place, if I were close by, and Know something about the people, or their mood. At times, it saved me from walking into a bad situation. My brother and I could never play hide-and-seek because I'd know, right away, where he was. In some cases, I would have to touch an object, or enter a room to get a read from those who were in the room, but this involved my house—my home for twenty-one years—and I didn't like the vision I was getting. It was disturbing.

“Danger, I think. Maybe. Or—I mostly feel agitation and hostility.” Reading from this distance was hard, but I concentrated on the task. “Harleys—I see men and women. Werewolves.”

“Yeah, Weres,” Dante agreed. “There was a whole group of them out last night,” he informed me. I gaped at him. “I see lights from motorcycles up at your place.” He flicked his gray gaze on me, meeting my own in the predawn. There was a fresh cut on his cheek, partially healed. Had he defended me from said Werewolves? Briefly, I touched his cheek.

The enormous grizzly bear turned on the pack of wolves, rose to his ten-foot stature, and roared, massive paws brandishing sickles for claws. The Werewolves backed down.

Unsettled by the picture I was getting from his battle with Werewolves, I turned my gaze to where my house sat on the hill. From our position, I could see the house and barn's silhouettes against the brighter eastern sky. The sight of the sky's gradual pink, orange, and turquoise banners gave me a jolt. The twins needed to get into a darkened room real soon, or face the sun's burning rays. A hundred thoughts rushed through my head so fast making me feel dizzy, but the Knowing took precedence.

“They want something from me,” I muttered and swallowed, straining not to go into a total blackout, which sometimes happened when a vision of future or past events came to me too strongly. “They think I know something.” I let out a breath nearly overwhelmed by this new complication.

“What do you want to do?” Dante's hand came over mine, he squeezed it briefly, interrupting my read, then let it go. I knew what the Weres wanted.

I cut my gaze to meet his. “The twins need to escape the sun.”

“I know that.” His voice was calm and unperturbed.

“I think we'd better go see what they want.”

“Okay.” He put the car into drive, drove up the hill, turned into my long driveway, and sat there looking at all the bikes and bikers arranged off to one side of the teardrop loop drive, near the house. It was like a mini-rally. There might have been ten to a dozen Harleys. Leather-clad, chain-smoking, rough-looking women stood beside rougher looking men. All of them tattooed, and hairy, looking like the worst of the worst—the men that is. The women looked like bitches from hell.

“What do you think?” I wasn't the mind reader. Dante was.

“I think they just want to talk. But every one of them has either a gun, knife, or chains to back up their threats if it comes down to it,” he explained at length.

“Oh, good. I thought that maybe I was nervous out of respect for the tattoos.”

That earned a smile.

“They don't know that I was the one who beat them off as a bear,” he added, leaning toward me.

“And me as a… Were-creature?”

“Maybe they know that. Be careful what you say to them.”

“Right. I don't think I'll ask them over for Thanksgiving, if that's what you mean.”

One side of his mouth went up in a half-snort.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“I'm getting the name Lundeen, mostly.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“You know anyone named Lundeen?” he asked with a subtle hint of curiosity in his questioning voice as he peered at me. Okay, he probably read my mind, since he was a telepath.

“He's the one who bit me twenty-seven nights ago, so you can thank him for my need to howl at the full moon.”

“Ah, that's right. You did mention him once in passing.”

“Right. I did.”

Several of the men had dismounted from their Harleys, and now stood waiting along with the women, who stood off to the side in a small clique, smoking and glaring at us as if we were the slime balls.

One individual stood out from the rest. His brown-to-gold hair was arranged into the longest dreadlocks—the thick-as-snakes kind—I'd ever seen, trailing down beyond his studded belt, the lengths moving slightly in the breeze, and nearly as long as Dante's tresses, but not as beautiful. He wore a black bandanna around his head that brandished a white skull. Gold earrings also boasted skulls, as did a large, intricate, bronze belt buckle. I figured this must be their emblem because I saw it repeated on headgear, jackets, jewelry, and tattoos throughout the rest of the gang. Black leather driving gloves covered his hands. He wore tight-fitting jeans strategically worn or torn in just the right spots to induce lust from a female admirer. I had no trouble in the predawn light noticing the tats that covered his bare arms, as well as portions of his neck and where the leather vest didn't cover on his stomach and chest.

Dante strode toward the dreadlocked leader, while I stood a few feet behind him. I sensed Heath and Leif come up around our car and angled in to stand like two guards in front of me, and right behind Dante. The women of the group ogled both of them shamelessly. Vampires naturally send pheromones into the air, and any human of the opposite sex within a twenty-foot radius couldn't resist the sudden seduction. I was a little surprised that Were women could be overwhelmed by vampire pheromones, but I was relatively new to all this and was still at the learning stage.

“What can we help you with?” Dante asked, and his voice, though spoken at a normal tone, resonated over the motorcycles' rumblings.

Dreadlock's fist shot up, and the Harley engines stopped. Now morning silence slipped into the gap. I could hear birdsong, and geese cackling over on the ponds nearby. The crows flying overhead with their harsh calls threw a deeper note of dread into me.

“We only want some answers,” Dreadlocks announced.

“What's the question?” Dante wasn't going to play with these guys, I could feel his impatience with the posturing and threats that began right away.

“One of our pack members is missing. He's not in any local jails—or hospitals. But we understand a clairvoyant lives here.”

Dante didn't look back at me. I was the only clairvoyant here.

“You want this clairvoyant to tell you where this person is?” Dante asked.

Dreadlocks sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring, gaze going slightly skyward, and to the side. After a few seconds, he said, “I don't wanna talk to you, Shifter. I wanna talk to the lady there. It's her scent that's strong everywhere around here.” His eyes narrowed when he looked at Dante, and then opened wider when they darted to me. He didn't move so much as shifted his weight and shoved his thumbs into his pockets. The effect was startling. He'd gone from confrontational to cool and aloof in two seconds flat.

“You're the one who lives here,” he said to me. It wasn't a question. “My name is Hobart. I'd like to know who I'm addressing.” His tone was respectful, he spoke clearly, and I detected an intelligent, if not cunning, mind. This was only the second time I'd encountered a full-blooded Werewolf.

Aside from feeling as if my heart had dropped clean out of my chest, I was actually holding up. I cleared my throat and said, “My name is Sabrina. Sabrina Strong.” Dante had moved slightly to my left so that I could speak to this Hobart character.

Hobart smiled, and I was amazed to see large white teeth with one of the front ones capped with gold. The smile made him look almost pleasant, but you somehow knew you couldn't trust it. The cunning behind it spoke volumes.

Hobart's one hand rested on the hilt of a big knife at his hip—something I'd overlooked, but I was certain Dante had not. The twins both drifted in a little closer. They were doing their vampire thing, as if to show that they weren't simply window dressing and that they would fight tooth and nail for me. I'd seen them fight other vampires once. I honestly didn't want to see a vampire tear a Were apart on my front lawn, and have to worry about explaining it to the cops.

“You have vampires who protect you?” Hobart asked, taking in my companions.

“I guess I do.” I didn't know if that impressed him, or made him fear me, or what.

“I've come to see you, Sabrina Strong,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Because you're the clairvoyant I've heard so much about.”

“Okay. So I am,” I said, wondering how he'd heard about me, and, most of all, how he found out where I lived. I didn't know how he, a total stranger, would know that I had second sight. Had someone written my name and number in some men's john? Clairvoyant, cheap, call… I didn't go around blabbing it, and I hadn't done any reads for anyone. Except in front of Jeanie Woodbine's mother.

“I'm hopin' you can tell us what we want to know,” he added, and turned to look back at his pack members. They all made noises of agreement. One fairly large, bald guy with tattoos up and down his beefy arms was the loudest on this. I didn't like the attitude that they could make me do a read.

“You want to know where Frank Lundeen is?” I said.

They looked stunned that I knew what they wanted. Of course, I knew what they wanted to ask me. Duh.

“That's right,” Hobart said his smile deepening as he took in the other members. I could tell that his pals had not been believers a few minutes ago.

A slight weight on my feet made me look down, at the same time I scuffled back about three inches across the gravel. A large black and white cat with longish fur had settled its haunches on my foot. Its tail was completely black, and looked like a duster, it had two large black spots on its sides and odd markings on the face—his nose was completely black, and black spots above the eyes at the base of the ears, and below his chin made an odd cut-out face, if you squinted. Its golden-green eyes gazed up at me, and he meowed hoarsely. It was one of Mrs. Bench's cats from across the road. Focused on what was going on around me, I couldn't begin to guess why it was here. Then, I saw how this was going to end. The quick vision came to me as the cat made himself comfortable on my feet.

“I don't know where he went,” I said. Which was true, I didn't. I would need an object of his to use, but I simply didn't do that sort of read for just anyone at the drop of a hat.

The cat stood and strode forward toward the house, letting out a long meow, as if to tell me to follow.

Feeling imbued with strength and courage, I stepped forward, straight toward Hobart, who was standing in front of my front porch, as if to block me from getting to it. Dante took my hand, the twins strode behind us, side-by-side, and I knew as long as the large cat led us through the group, these Werewolves couldn't touch us. In fact, as the white cat moved forward, Hobart flinched suddenly, and had to step aside, almost as if the cat had pushed him. He gave it a startled look, and then glanced up at us.

Dante's head kept swinging from side to side, watching the other members of the gang, who also were backing up as though some invisible hand was pushing them back. As we strode between them, I heard booted feet shuffle in the gravel, oaths spewed left and right—some of the vilest things I'd ever heard, but they couldn't move toward us.

I looked back as we made it through the horde, and passed the women who sneered and yelled obscenities at us. It was all they could do. Glancing back, I saw Hobart with his one hand up. No doubt his one motion was all that kept the others from pouncing, or pulling a weapon on us. Backpedaling, facing the gang, Heath and Leif made skipping steps while keeping up with us.

We made the porch. Pausing at the door, I turned and made eye contact with Hobart. “You bring me something of Lundeen's, and then maybe I'll take a read for you.” That was my final word on the subject. “Have a good day.”

I dug my key out and plugged it into the lock. In a few seconds, we were inside. I gave out an exhalation of relief as I shut and re-locked the door quickly. Heart thundering, I pressed my back against the door.

“Luv, that was the most exciting time I've had in a fortnight,” Leif said.

“Oi, did you see their faces? It was like—like magic!” Heath added.

“It was magic,” I said as I bent to pet the white cat's head and smooth my hand over his back as he arched himself against my legs. He made a soft meow as it looked up at me.

“I'd have to agree,” Dante said. “Who's your friend?”

I was gazing down at the cat as the Harleys' engines fired up with loud, piston cracking sounds. I had to cover my ears. Until they all drove away, I couldn't speak and be heard.

Finally, I said, “My neighbor, Mrs. Bench's cat. She lives across the road there.” I pointed in the general direction.

“Did you know she was a witch?” Dante asked.

“Uh, yeah.” I gave him a sheepish look. I was supposed to have gone to see her. She'd asked me at my father's funeral to stop by and see her, and said that it was essential, but I'd put it off. I knew that once I saw her, my life would change, more than it had changed in the past month.

“We'd love to stay and discuss what just happened, but…” Leif trailed off with his eyes half-lidded.

Heath yawned deeply.

“Oh, no. I understand, you guys go on up. You know the way.” No sooner had I said that, the two vampires rushed to the middle door of three, threw it open, and galloped up the wooden stairs—the door closed on its own (a trick I realized the vampire could use from time to time). We could trace their footfalls trotting down the hall above us. The door to the bedroom made a whining creak, and then slammed shut. I imagined their shoving the lock into place and falling into their beds. My old bedroom, at the end of the stairs, was now an unused space until I figured out what I could do with it. I'd turned my father's old, downstairs office into my new bedroom. It was a bigger room, and I'd wanted to have a bedroom downstairs ever since my father's death several months ago. Finally, I'd done it. I didn't want to move the old furniture downstairs, so I'd bought a new bedroom set with some of the bonus money I'd gotten from Tremayne for the work I'd done for him. It had been satisfying using my clairvoyant abilities and being paid exceedingly well for telling him who had killed his life mate, Letitia.

Arms folded, Dante said, “He isn't a normal cat.” We both eyed the cat. His face reminded me of a clown's face.

“Really?” I said, frowning lightly. “What is he, then?”

“I'm not sure.”

The cat looked up at Dante, and as if sensing, or actually understanding what he'd said, the cat padded to the door and meowed softly.

“I think he wants out.”

“Of course. He's done his job, and now he's going home for his well-deserved reward. Let him out.”

I did. We both stood in the open doorway and watched the cat trot all the way down my drive, cross the road and disappear into Mrs. Bench's yard. I lost sight of him when he skittered up the steps of her old brown brick porch. I figured a bowl of milk was awaiting him in the kitchen.

“I don't know about you, but I'm beat,” I said as I shut and relocked the door again.

“You want to shower first?” he asked.

Cocking my hip, I threw him a bitchy look and crossed my arms. I hated that he would actually shove the fact that we were no longer intimate in my face. We hadn't been intimate in a fortnight, nor had he stayed here, because the temptation would be too much for him.

Apparently, he was too tired to get my silent, malevolent stare, which should have melted him. Realizing I was holding my breath, I let it out. “Go ahead. I'll use the one upstairs,” I relented. I was too tired to be bitchy.

“No. You look beat. I'll use that one, you use the downstairs one.”

I opened my mouth to argue, and his finger came up to tap me on the nose. “I insist. I'll take the couch.” He swung away, the single braid whipping with his movement.

“That's where I was going to put you, anyway!” I let go the steam building up in me.

He chuckled as he opened the door and chugged up the stairs.

Son of a bitch!

Chapter 2

I woke up to the aroma of frying potatoes, bacon, and coffee. Yum.

Hunger had my stomach in knots as I tumbled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. The wonderful thing about my bedroom being downstairs was there was a second door that led into the bathroom through my bedroom, this way I didn't have to go out into the world looking like crap. The other door of the bathroom opened out to the dining room. My mother had never liked this door leading into the bathroom from the dining room. She'd felt it was nasty to have a bathroom right off the room where we ate Sunday dinner, but my dad had never walled the door off. He didn't think it was nasty as long as you closed the door. After all, there were three doors right next to each other. The door next to the bathroom went upstairs, and the door next to that led down into the basement—which was much nastier than the bathroom by a long shot. The house was over a hundred years old, all the original oak wood floors and woodwork still in place and not painted over.

The aroma of bacon and coffee reeled me toward the kitchen. Back when Dante had moved in, he had done a lot of the cooking, picked up after himself, did the dishes, and did his own laundry. I thought I had died and gone to heaven finding that kind of man after my first boyfriend had been such a louse. But, as they say, nothing lasts forever. It would be my luck that I couldn't have the perfect man. Maybe I didn't deserve him. I couldn't get beyond the fact that Tremayne held sway over what Dante did, or didn't do. Being a vampire's scion must suck eggs.

I noted that it was about three in the afternoon, but to our stomachs, it was breakfast time, and I was famished. Yawning, I padded into the kitchen in my furry purple slippers, dressed in gray sweats.

We used to greet one another with a kiss and a hug. Today though, we merely said, “Good morning.”

Shuffling to the mug tree, I got myself a cup and poured the brew, nearly splashing it all over the counter. Ditz. After wiping up the brown puddle, I doctored my coffee while breathing in the delightful aromas of bacon and fried potatoes with a little bit of onion, and watching Dante's small butt move around the stove. God, I missed playfully smacking his ass.

He already had the table set, napkins and silverware in place.

“Breakfast for two, my lady,” Dante announced as he brought both plates over to the kitchen table.

There was a pile of potatoes, five strips of bacon, and a slice of whole-wheat toast on each plate that he put down.

“I'm famished, and this looks great!” I said, picking up my fork, and digging in. We didn't say a word until we were nearly done.

“Let me guess. You saw what was about to happen this morning when that cat walked in front of us?” he asked, scraping up some lingering potatoes onto a plank of bacon and shoveling it all into his mouth.

“Yeah. In fact, the moment he sat down on my feet, I knew what was going to happen.”

“That was one major ward she put on the house.” Dante knew that Mrs. Bench, being a witch, could set up a protection spell called a ward. I didn't know how strong of a witch she was, until now.

“I'll say.”

“Do you think they'll come back with something for you to take a read from?”

I shrugged as I chomped into the last strip of bacon. Shifting the food to one side of my mouth, I said, “I wish I'd never told him to bring me something of Lundeen's.”

“They did seem desperate to find him.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I think he stole money from the group. That's why they want to find him.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I recall you telling me that you saw him in the bank, and he was taking a huge wad of cash out.”

I'd seen Lundeen—as a human—in the bank taking the large sum out, the day after he'd bitten me as a wolf. He told Jeanie Woodbine, who worked there as a teller (when she was still human), that he was going on a little trip. Now I knew why it was such a large sum.

“Yep. I think he took off with the pack's money.” I said.

“I think they'd probably pay you to find him, if they got their money back.”

“Yeah, maybe. You think?”

“Why not?”

I stood and stretched. “Anyway, I owe Mrs. Bench a huge thank you.”

He made a noncommittal grunt as he stood and helped me clear the table.

“Maybe I should bake some cookies and take them over there?” She'd done something immense for me, out of the blue. I couldn't simply ignore it. I didn't want to question why she did it, but I did wonder what would happen when I went over there. Vasyl had told me I would receive the ring from her. Evidently, this ring could keep vampires from putting a thrall on me. I wanted that most of all. It meant that no matter how strong the vampire was, he couldn't enthrall me. Tremayne would never be able to make me his puppet again. Vasyl had avoided being with me, because he knew that I was vulnerable to his equally powerful thrall.

Dante turned away from the counter where he'd placed the dishes. Opening the dishwasher he said, “You're going to bake cookies?”

“It's the least I can do.”

“What kind?” He loved my cookies.

“I don't know.” I went automatically to the cupboards where all the baking things like flour, baking soda and baking powder, brown sugar and such were stored. I realized I didn't have any chocolate morsels, but I did have a new jar of peanut butter. I pulled it out. “Peanut butter. You wanna help?”

“Only if I get to eat some,” he said as he closed the dishwasher up and pressed the start button. If nothing else, the man's stomach ruled him. I swear he had hollow legs, but I realized that a shifter had to eat almost twice as much as a normal human when he did shift, because shifting took everything out of them. Come to think of it, I was pretty hungry this morning, although we'd just had breakfast. I craved some cookies myself.

“Deal.”

Within the hour, my kitchen filled with new aromas, and the baked cookie smell had awakened my guests—or more likely, the sun was going down, and they were hungry for their liquid food.

I heard the seemingly unsure movements of two bodies shuffling through the dining room and hesitantly poking their heads through the kitchen doorway like a couple of cocker spaniels, sniffing.

“Oi,” Heath simpered. “I haven't smelled that since I was little!”

Leif nudged past him, arrowed directly for the refrigerator, opened it, and found what he wanted. He held two of the black bottles of Real Red out to his brother. “Warm? Or cold?”

“Warm. With a cookie,” Heath said.

“You ass,” Leif berated him as he twisted the bottles open and popped them into the microwave.

By having regular donors and learning not to take more than a pint at a time, modern vampires no longer killed humans by draining them of their precious blood. Bottled blood was another solution. There were types made from human blood, some was strictly animal blood, and still others were a blend. Those weren't very popular, I could tell by the grimaces the two would make when they drank them. Tremayne Enterprises manufactured Real Red, and, from what I understood, since he owned the patent rights to it, it was a moneymaker. The man was a genius. No wonder he was richer than Donald Trump and Oprah combined.

I pulled out the last sheet of cookies and set them out to cool a bit before I transferred them onto the cooling racks. I'd made at least two and a half dozen. Dante had already eaten two and was eying a third, glass of milk in hand. Heath closed in and gazed hungrily at the cookies.

“You can have one, if you want,” I told him, holding out a plate of still-warm cookies to him. Heath gazed at the cookies with obvious longing.

The microwave pinged. His brother handed him his bottled blood.

“I wish I could, but…” Heath tipped the bottle to his lips, “I'm on a strict liquid diet. It wouldn't taste very good,” he explained.

“Vampire's taste buds become more highly developed, strictly for blood. Everything else has no taste,” Dante explained.

“That's okay,” I said. “It was the thought that counts. Right?” I asked Heath.

“Right,” he said and moved along with his brother into the next room to finish their bottled blood.

My cookies had turned out beautifully. I scrounged for paper plates in a high cupboard shelf, to take some to Mrs. Bench. Grasping the paper plates, I rocked slightly on the chair I used for a stepping stool. Dante grabbed me by the waist and brought me down to the floor in a graceful way. I wanted to turn and hug him, but resisted. When I looked up at him, he stepped back. Hiding my hurt feelings, I turned back to the counter and the cookies.

“I want to get these to Mrs. Bench while they're still warm,” I said, my voice controlled but feeling tightness in my throat.

“Those are for her?” Heath had longing back in his eyes.

“Yep, I want to thank her for this morning. I don't know how you thank a witch for magically saving your butt, but this is the first time I've had someone do that for me.”

“Peanut butter cookies should get pretty high marks, I would guess,” Leif said while his brother nodded approvingly. I was glad the blood had softened his sour mood some. Leif's moods changed as rapidly as a chameleon's skin color. I was glad to not to be alone with him. I trusted that we would always have a chaperon, because I knew, I knew he would cross the line.

I piled a dozen cookies on a plate, covered it in plastic wrap. Dante and I threw on our coats and walked out into the chilly autumn late afternoon. The sun was at the horizon, and the sky was becoming dark in the east. I threw Dante a worried look.

“Am I going to change, again?”

“I don't know.” He'd told me that born Weres had to go through the transformation all three nights of the full moon. He wasn't sure about a bitten person. I hoped I wasn't going to go through that three nights in a row.

Once across the road, we shuffled through crisp, fallen leaves—ones that Mrs. Bench hadn't gotten in her annual leaf-burning day, back in October—and strode up her cement steps to her open porch. It felt strange being here. I couldn't remember having been on Mrs. Bench's porch since my brother and I went trick-or-treating when I was small. I remembered her always as being old, back then. I never knew her real hair color. It was always white, to her shoulders and loosely curled. I would see her out in her yard and gardens spring through fall. Sometimes she wore a straw hat with a tie under the chin. She especially loved petunias and marigolds, and I always enjoyed watching her yard go through transformations throughout the year as one thing or another blossomed.

Dante knocked on the wooden framed screen door. There was a light on inside, I noticed as I peered below the white eyelet curtains, which hung on the door's window. I saw a wedge of a medium blue on white kitchen. It was tidy with all-white appliances.

After a moment with no answer, Dante opened the screen door and rapped on the main door.

“She's old. It might take her a while to…”

The door opened an inch as if by itself. We both stared at it with astonishment.

“Mrs. Bench?” I called.

The door moved inward a little more. Down about a foot from the floor, I saw the white paw of a cat hooked around it, pulling it.

“Hel-l-o?” I called out through the gap in the door, which had opened about six inches now. The same black and white cat who had come to our rescue early this morning now sat before us.

“Her familiar,” Dante whispered.

“Yeah.” I pushed the door open a little further. The cat stared up at us and made a weird-sounding meow. “Hi, there. Is Mrs. Bench at home? We'd like to see her. Look, I baked cookies!” I held out the plate, speaking as though he could understand me. For all I knew, he did.

The strange cat blinked green-gem eyes at me, then got up and ran into the house, making that same odd sound as it went, almost as though it were trying to form words.

“Okay, I want one of those,” I told Dante.

“You already have one,” he said, a smirk in his tone.

I snickered. We stuck our heads into what looked like a small mudroom, beyond which was the kitchen through an open doorway.

I was about to call out again when a willowy voice from somewhere deeper inside the house said, “Come into the parlor, my dears. I've been expecting you.”

Dante and I exchanged glances. It was a little unnerving, knowing the elderly lady who dwelled here was a real witch who could cast spells. But much scarier was the fact she was to help me get a ring that would signify that I was the sibyl. I had told Dante about it. I genuinely wanted to get this done. I'd been constantly on edge since I learned about it.

We strode through the square kitchen that may have had some improvements in the '60's but not much after that, other than new coats of light tea-cup blue paint on the walls and the wainscoting of the old cupboards. It was clean and bright. The table and the counter were covered in a grayish-blue Formica. All the appliances were at least twenty years old, by my guess. Stationed on the stove with a blue flame beneath it sat a stainless steel teapot that I hoped had water in it. Squinting to take a quick read, I knew that it did, thank goodness.

The house had intriguing lingering aromas of herbs, baked bread, and possibly soup. I'd never been able to get a read from Mrs. Bench's house, and, up until I realized she was a witch, it had puzzled me. Now I knew why. At the moment, whatever reads I got were all hazy, or watery. It would take a strong witch to keep my inner eye from working.

Dante led me through the small kitchen, and into another square room. Because of my clairvoyant abilities, I already knew the layout of the house. Downstairs had four rooms: kitchen, parlor, dining room, and one bedroom through a hall. In the dining room, a staircase angled up the wall to a landing and then turned. A hall behind that led to a back door, and then the bedroom, where Mrs. Bench slept. This was located at the other corner of the house, and the hallway that led back to the kitchen, with a bathroom between. Upstairs there were three bedrooms situated in a short hall at the top of the stairs.

Upon entering this room, we faced a fireplace with a nice, cozy fire snapping away behind the screen. When we were outside, I had thought I smelled wood smoke in the air—here was the reason. Every piece of furniture was at least twenty-five to fifty years old, and yet it looked as nice as if she'd bought it a few days ago. Probably recovered. The couch was camel-backed and dark brown. An almond swivel rocker and a dark brown wingback chair faced the couch. Doilies were displayed everywhere there was table surface. Everything I saw seemed like the typical house belonging to an old person who was stuck in the middle of the last century. That is, everything except for the large crystal ball on the dark wooden coffee table, lit candles in brass candle sticks arranged at the four corners, and the Tarot cards fanned out before the aged woman seated on the couch. Other than those minor details, I would say this was your typical old lady's house.

Mrs. Bench resided on the couch, smiling serenely up at us. To say that Mrs. Bench was a frail old woman would be like saying a duck had feathers and a bill. A network of deep lines creased her face and neck, giving her the look of someone who'd seen the other side of seventy. White hair haloed her small head. Blue veins beneath the liver-spotted skin snaked across the ridges and contours of her bony hands. She wore a rose-colored sweater over a light blue shirt that matched her sweatpants and had a black, brown, and orange afghan in a zigzag pattern draped over her lap. She looked up at us with a brilliant blue gaze. She wore no glasses, but I knew she needed them to read print.

“Here! Quickly! Drink this, Sabrina!” She croaked, holding a small vial out to me in a slightly palsied hand. The solution was somewhat brownish, like weak tea.

I gaped at her, and then darted a glance at Dante. With a small jerk of the head, he urged me to do as she said.

“You have only moments before you change!” she said in a slightly husky voice.

I shifted the plate of cookies to Dante's hands. He took them and placed them on the coffee table.

I took the vial from her fingers and uncorked it. I didn't want to go into my wolf-persona right there in her parlor. I tipped it back and swallowed it in one gulp. It went down, and not unpleasantly. I stood there, my gaze roving around, waiting for something to hit me. Nothing hit me, but maybe that's what this had been for—to avoid it.

I turned my gaze onto Dante. He walked quickly toward an east window in the next room.

“Moon's up,” he called out.

“And… I'm not changing.” I looked back at the witch.

“Yes!” Mrs. Bench clenched her fist and pumped it. The action seemed un-old-lady-like, and it earned a smile from both Dante and me. “First time I've ever done that spell on anyone. And you were a perfect candidate!”

“Well, thank you,” I said slowly, shifting my gaze to Dante who shrugged slightly. “I think.” What if the spell had gone wrong and I'd halfway shifted?

“Come. Sit down. We need to talk!” she croaked, her hands fluttering at us, indicating we should sit down.

Dante took the chair by the fire, and I took the brown wingback. We both leaned expectantly toward the old woman as she closed her eyes and held her hands over the crystal ball. She looked in her element. Then a frown deepened the furrows in her forehead. Her shoulders went up as she tittered uncontrollably. “Stop that Ted!” she admonished an unseen entity.

Dante and I looked at one another, not sure whom she had been addressing.

“Okay, never mind,” Mrs. Bench said, dropping her hands from the crystal ball, and opening her eyes. “The spirits are not responding to my call tonight,” she explained, shrugging again.

“Who's Ted?” I asked.

“Just a spirit that helps me connect.” She smiled crookedly. “Tonight he's being a pest.” She giggled a little. Sounded like her spirits liked to get a little fresh. I could feel the spirit world, and I had, from time to time, been able to see ghosts, too. I didn't know what level the spirits were that Mrs. Bench contacted. They might be on a higher level than those that I, a clairvoyant, could see. Many disconnected spirits didn't know they were dead and roved around familiar grounds. They were the ones most people feel, see, or hear associated with hauntings, and they were the ones I could see and speak to. There were other levels, higher levels. I'd been able to ascertain that from speaking to certain spirits. I didn't know how many levels a spirit could attain before moving on to the final realm, but mine were on a lower level, obviously, than those Mrs. Bench could contact.

“Oh, I completely understand,” I said.