VI.

Smiling softly to herself, Emily arranged the dishes on the tray. She stood in the manor’s seldom-used kitchen, triumphantly surveying the hastily gathered collection of edibles. Half a loaf of bread sat sadly in a corner, dwarfed by the assortment of fresh fruits, carefully stacked teacups, and steaming teapot. The bread was the only thing in their pantry that was neither alcoholic nor vegetable in nature. She frowned, adding a scattering of sugar cubes to the tray. The household lacked a sugar bowl—the last having been shattered after an ill-fated flight towards James’ head—as well as any unspoiled milk. As afterthought, Emily snatched up the honey from a cupboard before heading out of the room, tray held proudly in her pale hands.

She hadn’t left her room until she’d heard James take the body away. Only after his trudging footsteps vanished did she summon the courage to dress, praying one last time for the dead hunter to be at peace. The proximity of her room to the weres’ put her within easy earshot of Ms. Black and James’ exchange, and, quite frankly, Emily was embarrassed. Not for herself, of course, but for James. A gentleman simply didn’t speak to a lady like that! In her opinion, Ms. Black was well within her rights to retaliate. In fact, her words had brought a giggle to the girl’s lips, followed closely by an uncertain chill.

Wasn't there something pure and innocent you needed to go eat?

Emily paused on the stairs, the words echoing back through her mind. Before her Lady’s presence could sweep down on her, demanding to know what had so upset her, trying to comfort in her own domineering way, Emily snapped up a simple mental block. It kept the world out, she’d learned, and herself in. Five years of her condition had taught her that much.

While a master was capable of reading the thoughts and emotions of their creations, Emily found herself more than able to do the same—albeit her talent was not limited to her Lady and James. In the first days, she’d been forced to develop the blocks or go insane as foreign minds crowded with her own, jostling out her own feelings in place of theirs. Things had gotten so bad, that it was impossible to leave her alone—her Lady or James was always with her, holding a steady link back to her frightened psyche. Back then, she simply wasn’t trained enough to hold her mind above the others, to keep it separate from the thousands of others crowding London’s streets.

Maybe, she mused, ascending to the landing. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me… Maybe that’s why I can’t remember…

Abruptly, a flash of memory rose up in contradiction to her thoughts.

Eyes… warm and safe… so dark and rich she could drown in them…

Emily blinked and the image faded. That was all she could remember. Those eyes haunted her, so familiar, but every time she tried to grasp at the memory of their owner, they dissipated like a dream. She supposed once she grew as old as James, or even her Lady, these flights of fancy would leave her be; maybe she would outgrow them like an old dress.

My, but I’m morose tonight! she chided herself. It wouldn’t do to alarm the weres with the presence of such a pensive expression.

Balancing the tray easily on one hand, she knocked at their door. A series of thuds and angry yelps answered her summons. The clamor was silenced when a low yowl rang out, accompanied by the scuffle of feet. She barely had time to school herself before the door opened, revealing Ms. Black. A warm smile broke out across the young vampire’s face. “Good evening, Ms. Black,” she said brightly. “I heard you and yours were awake, and worried you’d be hungry.” The tray was extended towards the mildly startled alpha were, a few teacups rattling.

Cara eyed the four china cups suspiciously. “How’d you know?” she asked.

Had she still been capable of doing so, Emily would have blushed. “Please don’t think ill of me, Ms. Black,” she replied. “but I couldn’t help overhearing your voices earlier this evening. Was I wrong in my count?”

With a sigh, Cara shook her head. “No, you weren’t,” she said. Her eyes took in the contents of the tray. “I’m surprised you have anything here at all for us—no offense intended, but… vampires don’t usually stock apples in their pantries.”

“Don’t be such an ungrateful wretch, Cara!” someone called from inside the room. There was a pad of bare feet against wooden floor, and a man stepped into the doorway, extending his hand to take the tray from Emily. He looked hastily dressed, shirt and pants rumpled from sleep. He gave a little bow towards the vampire. “And you haven’t even introduced our lovely hostess to us! For shame!” he chided his leader. With another bow, he continued, “Samuel Morgan, miss. Please excuse our rudeness, but a few years running wild about the countryside will wear down even the most cultured.”

Handing him the tray, Emily curtsied neatly. “Emily Brightmore, sir,” she answered. “And it is no trouble, truly my pleasure.” The next words tumbled out before she could restrain herself. “I’m so very pleased to be sharing my home with creatures such as yourselves.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Cara looked at her with something akin to suspicion, as if gauging whether or not to snap at her.

“And we are pleased to make the acquaintance of such a pleasant example of the undead species,” Sam broke in smoothly. His green eyes were soft and a small smile was on his face. “You must understand, Miss Emily, we have been far too long without such common courtesy, especially from your quarter.”

“I understand completely,” she said quickly. “I… I truly meant no offense, to you sir, or to you Ms. Black.” Now she backed up a step, suddenly shy. “It’s only that… I have only ever met undead before… It’s… rather refreshing to know… that we aren’t alone…”

That we aren’t the only ones people are afraid of…

Cara nodded at that, softening. “Don’t worry about it, Emily,” she said, trying to be reassuring. If they were going to be staying with the vampires for any amount of time, it would be beneficial to make as many friends as she could—and Emily seemed achingly lonely for some sort of “normal” companionship, if weres counted as normal. “Thank you, for bringing us the food. We truly appreciate it.”

The shyness left the young vampire in a heartbeat. “You’re very welcome Ms. Black!” Fangs glinted in her unabashed grin, a grin which turned suddenly thoughtful. “Oh dear, I almost forgot! How long will you be staying with us?” she asked.

Now that was something Cara hadn’t really thought about. Her pack had accepted their temporary lodgings with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she could tell they were glad to have some semblance of a safe haven, especially for Mercer’s sake. On the other hand… the dubious nature of their undead guardians put them on edge. She felt Sam’s eyes on her, questioning through the trust. “I’m not sure yet,” she answered carefully. “Lady London was rather unspecific.”

“She usually is,” Emily agreed with a frown. “Even so, you’ll tire of nothing but fruit and tea. Which leaves me no choice!” She smiled again. “I’ll have to shop!”

“You don’t have to go to the trouble,” Sam told her, arching an eyebrow. He slipped past Cara to disappear back into the guest room.

“Oh, it’s no trouble!” she said. “I need to go out tonight anyway, and I’d rather have a good reason to. Is there anything specific I can get for you?” She hadn’t felt this excited in a long while. It was good to get some excitement for once. As the weres called out a few requests—mostly along the lines of meat and pastry—Emily reported in to her Lady.

Hmpf. I doubt there’ll be any grocer open, Aleksa scoffed. But you’re welcome to try. Keep in touch at all times. We don’t know if our uninvited guest had friends.

Yes ma’am!

She curtsied goodnight to the weres, then darted away down the stairs. After grabbing her cloak, she found herself on the streets, heading quickly for the grocer’s. For the most part, she’d adjusted to the life, to being out alone. It was easy enough to turn a person’s head, so that they saw the man, or the old woman, next to you as a chaperone, when in reality, you were all on your own. She really preferred to go out with James, his presence was more than enough to deter any unwanted questions. But he hated people, hated the city. She couldn’t ask him to accompany her.

People were still hurrying about the streets, heads bowed in the breeze. Emily trotted along quickly as well. She would draw more attention to herself if she didn’t move fast than if she ran, no matter how unladylike it was. It didn’t matter too much, the grocer’s was only a few blocks away. The only thing that troubled her was the fog, already rolling in over the tops of the townhouses. Her Master would be upset if Emily were out in the fog alone. Despite her undead status, and perhaps due to it, there were some unsavory individuals looking to harass a girl such as herself. Such a group was clustered about a lamppost, posting up some sign. It looked suspiciously like a wanted poster. Emily sighed inwardly, moving a little closer to a laughing, middle-aged couple. She’d have to pass that poster on her way back… goodness knew what horror she’d be forced to witness on its crude face.

A little bell jingled as she slipped through the door. Behind a low counter, a pleasant woman in an apron waved to Emily, then returned to sweeping. She was known here, especially for her late night errands. She usually claimed they’d run out of fruit during the day—due to some sort of party. Carefully, she purchased an assortment of fruits, then stepped back out. There were another two blocks before the butcher’s, bakery, and then back home. She smiled faintly. It was good to finally be a hostess again.

She headed down the street, a lightness finally back in her step.

Perhaps he should have gotten up, and taken part in the heated discussion across the room. However, the fantasy swirling about in his brain, combined with the comfort of the loveseat he currently sprawled across, was too delicious to ignore. Had he been of Cara’s breed, he would have indulged in a purr. As he was, he simply stretched, watching the proceedings with drowsy green eyes.

Yusami laid into Cara, at times not even speaking directly to the girl, but rather to an offending bit of furniture. Through it all, Cara simply watched her, occasionally re-stating her reasons.

“A vampire?” the lioness hissed. “You’re letting yourself be overruled by a vampire? I thought we were in this to get rid of them! Not sleep in their beds, in their houses!”

“What was I supposed to do, Yusami?” countered Cara. “Turn down a Lady in her own home? We would all be dead right now if I had!”

Lazily, he snatched a slice of bread from the tray, munching it thoughtfully. The night was wearing on, and he would dearly love a bath.

“Maybe that would be preferable to being chained by the undead!”

From the bed, he heard Mercer whimper. It looked as if his lounging would have to wait. He rose, padding quietly to the other man’s side, ignoring the shouting from the cats. Mercer eyed him, as he always did, but said nothing, even as Sam took his hand, pulling him up from the bed.

“Come along, Mercer! Let us leave these ladies to their tiff and find the baths!” he announced, grandly sweeping the older were along. Their course took them between their leader and Yusami, both staring at him as if he’d grown another head. He opened the door and gave Mercer a gentle shove into the hall.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Yusami snarled. “This is not the time for your little games.”

Folding his arms, he turned back to her. “There isn’t very much we can do at this point,” he said. “And none of the inns we’ve been in lately have been in the possession of a decent bathtub, let alone lavender soap. Unless my nose has failed me, which is utterly impossible, these vampires are in possession of both.” He unbound his hair, grinning. “If this is incarceration…” he trailed off, giving her a deep, mocking bow. “Then let me be the damnedest of convicts.”

“Of all the…!”

But Cara nodded to him, saying only, “Take care of him, Sam.”

He grinned. “But of course!” Carefully, he closed the door, before Yusami could launch into another bout of shouting, this time aimed in his direction.

Mercer gave him a weak smile as he allowed himself to be escorted by his taller packmate. “Merci, Monsieur Morgan,” the other wolf murmured. “I… did not know what to do back there…”

Sam shrugged. “No trouble,” he said. “Now then… which way?” He paused in the hallway, running a hand through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the scents of soap, mingled with the light, barely detectable hint of steam. “Ah, upstairs.”

“There is a third floor?” Mercer asked. He looked vaguely alarmed.

Another shrug. “You know these rich old undead,” he answered, moving purposefully down the hall. “It’s the best, or nothing. Though, one does wonder where all the glorious wealth comes from…”

The bathroom they found was simple, meant for guests more than the occupants of the house. A search of the rest of the floor found spare bedrooms, none of which were in use. Everything held the same musty scent as the rest of the house. Everything smelled of vampires. The weres bit back unconscious growls and whimpers, proceeding with their task. Pack order decreed the younger were to be first, and, after filling the tub, Mercer retreated behind a screen, the sounds of borrowed scissors soon emerging from his direction.

Hot water was a balm. Sam let out a gasp as he slid into the bath, already feeling tense muscles unwind. He’d missed this. Hotels and inns were shoddy comparisons to the bliss of simply reclining in steaming water. It conjured memories of another time, one in which his baths were, quite frequently, shared with another.

He growled softly, chasing the memories away. Unbinding his hair, he slid deeper into the water, sighing. It was time to relax, time to plan his next move, not time to curl up in a bathtub and brood over the past. He found the soap—another item to keep himself firmly rooted in the present.

But, there had been no information for days. Nothing new. It reminded him of the days before the pack, of the days when the smallest word was enough to send him tearing off to the nearest train station as fast as his legs could carry him. It left him tense, almost itching in his skin.

It seemed like an eternity that he’d been searching for a sign, anything to point him in the direction of what he’d lost. Idly, he wondered what the community he left behind thought of him now. What was their opinion of the heir who abandoned everything to go wandering Europe in search of what he had cleverly called “adventure.” Most likely, they looked down their pale, powdered noses at the notion, going on with their dull little lives, cowering at the slightest sounds in the night.

For over six years he had been that sound. He left the family home—so cold and empty now—without a word, and become more animal than man. Not quite feral, not quite civil. Social constraints fell by the wayside more and more as the full moons passed. All that mattered was picking up the pieces of his original, two-person pack. It consumed him to the point of loss—he’d almost forgotten who he was by the time he ran into Yusami, and, later, Cara.

Out of reflex, he ran a hand across the ragged tears in his left ear. The marks were a more permanent reminder of the transition between vagabond and pack second, of the promise now joined with his original oath.

“I’m looking for someone. I won’t come with you unless you can promise me I’ll find them.”

Cara’s eyes softened. “We’ll find them.”

“Then, madam, you have Samuel Morgan at your service.”

Abruptly, he stood, exiting the tub and calling for Mercer to take his turn. They traded places, the older were bathing while the younger combed fingers through wet, auburn hair. He tried not to think. The sleepy, contented mood of earlier had vanished, leaving him once again restless. How long could the pack stay here before the manor really did become nothing more than a fancy cage?

“I’ll head back to check on the ladies?” he called over the screen. “Or would you prefer I stayed?”

“Non,” came the answer. “I will be fine.”

In answer, Sam only nodded, and slipped into the hall, the air of the house chilling his still-damp skin. He hunched his shoulders for warmth. If they were to stay here for any length of time, someone would have to speak to the damned leeches about the temperature. Maybe the undead could live with this sort of thing, but weres certainly needed a fire at the very least.

By the time he heard the commotion downstairs, he was halfway back to their room. Something had their hosts in an uproar. He paused at the railing, listening. After a moment, he was headed on his way again, quickly. Yusami could still be heard shouting inside. Knowing her, she hadn’t let up on her leader the entire time he’d been gone. He threw open the door, cutting her off and earning a hiss.

“Cara! We have something of a problem!”

Whatever Yusami was about to call him died on her lips. Silently, Cara rose. She followed him into the hall, where a raging male voice stood out over the others.

“She’s wanted?”

The weres looked at each other briefly before descending the stairs in a worried cluster. In the parlor, they found their hosts in debate over a crudely drawn poster. Or, rather, one was in debate, while the others listened. The man, James, stalked back and forth between two sofas, on which reclined the other two. Aleksa sat straight, hand resting on her chin. Emily appeared frightened, seated between twin sacks of newly purchased food, and starting when Cara entered. The others noticed as well, with varying reactions.

“Explain yourself!” snarled James. He crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, thrusting the already crumpled paper at her. “What is this?”

She felt Sam peering over her shoulder. “Not too flattering a likeness is what that is,” he murmured. Cara was inclined to agree.

“Oh, this old thing,” she said, smoothly accepting it from the undead. “You’re right, Sam, they did get my bad side, didn’t they?”

A snort from Aleksa’s direction. She couldn’t tell whether the Lady was amused or annoyed. Maybe they were the same thing, coming from her. Cara turned her attention to the frightened girl across from her, meeting wide green eyes. “Nothing to worry about,” she assured Emily, though she hoped they were all listening. “It’s really nothing serious.”

“But…” The younger woman studied her hands. “But did you… you’ve done nothing wrong… have you?”

“She must have done something to get herself pasted up on every flat surface in London,” James growled. At a warning from his master, he silenced, still seething.

Ignoring him, Cara continued addressing Emily, trying to wear what she hoped was a heartening smile. In actuality, the only thing keeping her here, instead of sending her fleeing back up the stairs or straight out the front door, were the eyes of the undead, and the hand of her packmate on her shoulder. “I promise you, Miss Emily,” she said. “I have done nothing to hurt anyone. And…” She eyed the poster once more. “They are exaggerating everything quite a bit.”

The relief in the girl’s eyes was worth the explanation, even as Cara cursed herself for caring. They were all the same, vampires. This girl was no different than the other heartless bastards draining innocents dry.

Isn’t she…?

“Emily? Those groceries should be put away. Oh, but leave a bottle of the wine. The three of us need to have a discussion, and it is something of a necessity for such things.”

The Lady’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Stormy eyes met hazel—knowing. Cara did not look away. “Sam,” she murmured. “Go tell Yusami.”

“She’ll take my bleeding skin off—”

“Go. And take care of Mercer too.”

Growling under his breath, he retreated, his footsteps sounding on the stairs. A soft, “qu’est-ce que c’est?” came from above, answered in muffled English. Silence fell thereafter, cloying, thick. She remained rooted to one spot on the rich, imported rug. In the silence, she took a moment to run a critical eye over the rest of the parlor. It was decorated in the same manner as the rest of the house, dark wood, dark reds, no less than four sofas. A massive stone fireplace stood at the back of the room, contrasting with a surprisingly delicate piano whose color was somewhere between black and grey. None of the rugs could possibly have come from anywhere closer than Turkey—in this house, they wouldn’t dare to.

“Aren’t you going to say anything? Explain yourself?” snarled James, breaking the silence. “Speak up!”

Cara pressed a hand to her temple. The motion disturbed her glasses. “There really isn’t anything to talk about,” she said. “I told your Lady everything last night.”

“Did you tell her about those posters?” he growled back. Candlelight gleamed across bared fangs. “I don’t believe you did.”

“That wasn’t important back then, leech!” Cara paused, taking a breath. She couldn’t lose her temper. Not so close to the full moon. “I told your Lady everything that was important at the time,” she said. “I mentioned the hunters… I just had no idea they were so close.”

James advanced on her, ready to launch some new tirade.

“What do you plan on doing?” his master asked, silencing him. She met Cara’s eyes again, casually resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

Her hand sought the empty sofa, her body following to sink into the seat. “I lay low,” she said, the words achingly familiar. “I lay low until they lose my trail and move on.” How many more times would she find herself repeating those words? How long until it simply wouldn’t be enough? They couldn’t keep running forever.

Dark brows arched. “You won’t be driving them away?” the vampire asked, as if her solution, and not Cara’s, was by far the more obvious.

“No, I won’t. They’ll leave on their own if I stay out of sight…”

“And if they don’t?” James asked, before his master could silence him.

“Then I run!” she snapped back. “And if they follow, I’ll keep on running!” Cara stood, unable to contain her nervous energy. Her boots drummed against the rug. “I can live with that. It's better than being burned in public square. Running isn't the bravest thing, but it's sure as hell the smart thing to do. It keeps my comrades and me alive…” She took another deep breath. “This has happened before,” she continued, mostly to herself. “They'll leave.”

The silence stretched over the room yet again, each in the room examining the others. A low, indignant snarl broke the pall of quiet.

“Maybe you can live with these hunters about you,” James said, words distorted around his fangs. “but I… we cannot!”

This child did not understand. It was not simply her problem anymore. She had brought the murderers here, they had followed her, and she wanted to dump them in the middle of their city, their home, while she escaped into the countryside. Perhaps the weres could depart a territory whenever he or she wished, but they had built a home here, a place where they could still play at being human, a haven. If they fled, they were no better the feral monsters stalking the wilds.

To stay among the hunters was folly. Of course, they could lie low until it all blew over. But what were they to feed on then? Did the girl expect them to starve? Or lose complete control until the hunger drove them to kill? The hunters would certainly find them then. And then, all they had would be lost. Everything they’d built would be burned to the ground—for “cleansing”, the humans said.

“We cannot leave,” he heard himself saying, though his mind was still raging.

The girl growled, a low, deep sound. “They'll leave within a few days time. You have my word,” she said. Her eyes met his, defiant. “Once they search the woods and visit the best pubs, they'll move on. I know how they work.”

He felt his lips part, baring fangs. “Have this many ever come before?” he snarled. “They know where you are, were. They won’t leave until you’re dead, and us with you!”

Her growl rose in volume. No fear showed behind the glasses. It was almost as if he were trying to stare down his master—the realization almost made him back down. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll leave tonight, if you’re that afraid.”

“Afraid? Of humans? Why should I be?” he snapped back.

“That isn’t what it sounds like to me!” she returned.

Only his master’s presence in the room saved the girl’s skin. Aleksa’s eyes bore into the back of his head, keeping him tightly restrained. If he made any wrong move, she would be on him in an instant. “All right,” he hissed. “If you insist on a demonstration, I’m happy to show you how bloody afraid I am!”

This is so utterly mature of you James… His master’s voice echoed dryly in his mind. I feel as if I’m watching a boarding school squabble.

“What are you saying?” the girl asked, breaking off the angry retort he’d been forming.

He strode past her, making for the door. “I’m going to kill them,” he said simply. Even as he moved, he tensed, waiting for the command he knew was coming. “I’m going to protect my home. They can’t hurt anything once they’re dead.”

“And what good will that do?”

The lack of anger in the girl’s voice made him stop. Slowly, he turned to face her, not quite keeping the confusion out of his expression. All traces of rage had drained from her face, leaving her looking tired and resigned. It was, so far, the most vulnerable he had seen her. “If we kill them,” she said. “they’ll only raise the price on my head. More will come, and I’ll have to run anyway.”

“Oh for the love of… both of you be quiet for one moment and listen to each other!”

Both antagonists turned, almost having forgotten the elder vampire was there. Aleksa stood now, regarding them with raised brows, arms folded. “Cara Black, you’re right,” she continued. “For you to go out and dispose of the hunters will do you no good.” Dark eyes turned to James. “And you, James, also have a point. It is bad for our health to do nothing.”

“What are you saying?” Cara asked. She watched her host, wary of the suggestions to come.

The vampire chuckled softly. “I’m saying,” she said, looking up at Cara. “that you should just sit tight. I’ll take care of this. Luki Webber should know better than to send his errand boys into my city.” Dark eyes sparked with something akin to mischief. “In fact, this is an act of war. How was I to know those hunters were not intended for me, hm?” She brushed past them, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” James asked.

“To deliver a message, James,” she responded, not turning her head. “You both can come if you like… But you’ll need your sword, Cara Black.”

“What sort of message requires a sword?”

Painted lips parted in a fanged smile. It was all the answer she received.