Scarlet Heat

  “You think they’re trying to run you off?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “They made a few overtures but I put them off—I thought they got the message that I like going it alone.”

  “Is that a problem for weres? When you decide to be a, uh, lone wolf, the other wolves don’t like it?” she asked.

  I was surprised at the astuteness of her question.

  “That’s it exactly,” I said. “Especially if the lone wolf is an Alpha. The pack leader might not want another Alpha near his territory. So it could be him.” I shook my head. “I guess we won’t know for sure until we find out who put down the trap.”

  “I’ll get the information from Addison and set up an appointment with the witch—we can go tonight if you want to. Unless you’re going to, you know, change again,” Taylor said.

  I shook my head. “I only have to change on the one night of the month the moon is fullest. I can hold it off all right the rest of the time. So don’t worry—you won’t have to see too much more of my wolf.”

  “Oh really? That’s too bad.” To my surprise, she sounded disappointed.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Too bad? Why would you say that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just…I liked your wolf. He was so big and cuddly—kind of like a living teddy bear. He kept me warm while I was sleeping—I mean really warm and that’s hard for me. I’m always cold since I was turned.”

  “He is actually me,” I reminded her. “I was the one cuddling you and keeping you warm last night.”

  “Oh, I know.” She blushed a pale pink. “I just…it’s hard to think of you and the wolf as the same being. You’re just so different in that form. Less, I don’t know…less threatening. Not that you’re threatening now,” she went on hurriedly. “But you’re just less…less scary as a wolf.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “You must be the only person I know who thinks a huge wolf is less scary than a man.”

  “Animals aren’t deliberately cruel,” she said softly. “I mean, they may do savage things sometimes but it’s because of instinct, not because they want to hurt someone on purpose. You know?”

  I nodded. “So animals are safer than men—is that what you’re saying?”

  “Pretty much.” She crossed her arms over her chest protectively. “Sorry, I’m not saying you’re cruel or anything. I guess I just like animals better than people sometimes, that’s all. They’re less…complicated.”

  I had to agree with her there—I felt the same way a lot of the time. In fact, most weres and shape shifters do. There’s a prevailing feeling among my kind that having an animal side makes you more straightforward, less likely to bullshit or double cross somebody in a deal. But it seemed strange to hear that sentiment coming from a vamp. Of course, I was beginning to get an idea of what she had been through at the hands of Celeste and Roderick so maybe it wasn’t so strange after all.

  “Well…” Taylor sighed. “Let me go call Addison and see what I can find out. Maybe we can figure it out tonight.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Uh, your clothes should be done in a minute. I put them in the dryer right before I nearly stepped in that damn trap.”

  “Speaking of the trap—look at it.” Taylor’s eyes were wide.

  “What?” I looked at the tangle of gray fabric where I had shed my sweatpants, expecting to see the silver teeth grinning at me. But the trap wasn’t there—it was three feet away from the sweats and lying right in front of the refrigerator, which was where I had been going to go next. Not only that but it was open again, its silver teeth gleaming in the overhead fluorescents since the sun had finally sunk behind the trees outside.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered, staring at the thing. “Did you see it move?”

  Taylor shook her head. “No. I didn’t see anything the whole time we’ve been standing here talking.”

  “Me either,” I said. “That’s it—we have to find out about this damn thing tonight. I don’t want it in my house one second longer than it has to be.”

  “We should put it in a box or a bag—something strong,” Taylor said. “Something it can’t…can’t bite through.”

  “I’ll find something,” I told her, looking around the kitchen. “You get the broom—I don’t think we should touch it.”

  “Okay.” She came into the kitchen easily now—the sunlight was gone and there was no need for her to fear. I made a mental note to get some shades put up right away—we might even stop by Home Depot tonight and get some cut. I didn’t want a repeat of today’s near accident.

  We wound up pushing the trap into a big old Tupperware cake container my Mom had given me years ago, when I first moved out. Taylor shoved it with the business end of the broom (which it snapped shut on, making us both jump, by the way) and I cornered it with the Tupperware until it pretty much had no choice. Once we got it squared away with the thick plastic lid in place, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Nice cake carrier,” Taylor remarked, smiling at me. “You do a lot of baking?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry to disappoint you but I’m not one of those guys who’s secretly really good in the kitchen or anything. I just keep that big old thing because my mom gave it to me when I first moved out. Well, actually she baked me a cake and gave it to me in this container and then I just kind of never gave it back. It reminds me of her.”

  “Oh, is she…did she pass away?” Taylor asked sympathetically.

  I shook my head. “No, she’s alive. I just can’t see her. My dad either.”

  “Oh…” Taylor hesitated, clearly uncertain what to say about that. I could see by her face she wanted to ask why but didn’t want to step on my toes. I took pity on her.

  “I was shunned by my pack,” I explained stiffly. “After that…when that happens, you can’t talk to anyone in the pack anymore. Not even family.”

  Taylor frowned. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry, Victor.” She put a hand on my arm and squeezed briefly before letting me go. “My parents don’t talk to me either. Ever since I was born to darkness they call me ‘the bride of Satan.’ As if I wanted to be this. As if I chose it.”

  “I didn’t choose what got me shunned either,” I said, relieved that she hadn’t asked me the reason behind my expulsion from the pack. “It’s just something I live with.”

  “Me too.” Taylor sighed and then motioned at the trap contained in the Tupperware. “You think that’ll hold it?”

  “I have no idea.” I frowned. “I’m going to keep an eye on it. You get us an appointment with that witch—we need to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Will do, as soon as I get my clothes.” She nodded and smiled at me. “You know, you may not be able to bake but any man who does laundry is all right in my book.”

  “Don’t forget the part where I turn into a big cuddly wolf,” I pointed out, grinning at her. “It’s not every guy who can do that.”

  “Very true.” Taylor smiled at me but I thought there was something troubled in her eyes. “I, uh, should go. Get my clothes, I mean.” She turned away abruptly.

  “Okay,” I said, still keeping half an eye on the trap. I wondered again who had put it on my land and why. I knew the local pack leader, a were named Marcus Wainright, from one very brief meet and greet when I had first moved into the area. He was an Alpha in his fifties who seemed to be stern but fair. Putting a spelled trap on my land didn’t seem like his style. His daughter, LeeAnn, however, was a real piece of work.

  For a moment I considered the possibility that she might have something to do with it but then I dismissed it. LeeAnn was a spoiled little princess—Alpha bitch of the pack on account of her father’s status—not because she’d earned it. But she didn’t strike me as malicious—just selfish and willful. She’d made a play for me when I first came to town, which I had declined—very politely—I didn’t want to give her any reason to claim offense. I had no interest in that kind of woman and even if I had, I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do w
ith her. You can’t date the pack leader’s daughter and not join the pack.

  But ruling out Marcus and LeeAnn still left me with a big question. “Who put you out there?” I muttered, eyeing the trap. “I guess we’ll see.”

  Chapter Eight—Taylor

  “If you’re after a spell to dissolve your blood-bond, forget it,” Gwendolyn LaRoux said the minute she opened her front door and invited us in. She lived in Ybor City with her grandmother in a small wooden bungalow painted pale yellow with white trim—I had gotten her address from Addison.

  “That’s not why we’re here,” Victor said stiffly, as we followed her into a large living room filled with shabby but clean furniture that looked like it had been new back in the seventies. “And how do you even know about us being bonded, anyway?”

  Gwendolyn shrugged. “A witch knows.” She was pretty, with café au lait skin, delicate features, and striking jade green eyes lined with heavy black makeup.

  “You talked to Addison, didn’t you?” I said. “What did she tell you?”

  Gwendolyn settled on a worn armchair and nodded at Victor and me to take the faded floral print couch opposite.

  “She’s just worried about you, that’s all. She wants to be sure you’re doing okay.”

  “I just talked to her when I got your address,” I said as we sat down. “She knows I’m fine.”

  Actually, my conversation with Addison had been a little one-sided. She seemed sure that Victor was going to abuse me in some way, though I had assured her otherwise.

  I had wanted to talk to her more about the weird feelings that had come back even more strongly since I had fed on Victor the second time but we hadn’t had time. And besides, I was embarrassed. How did I tell my best friend I had a terminal case of the hots for my new werewolf husband? Even now, after touching myself over and over, I was still uncomfortably aware of his wild scent and the heat from his big body radiating against my side. God, what was going on with me?

  “You may be fine now,” Gwendolyn said darkly, pulling me out of my uncomfortable reflection. “But a vamp and a were being bonded…I don’t know.”

  “What don’t you know?” I asked, feeling suddenly worried. “What are you talking about?” Did she sense what was going on with me? Did she know what was happening?

  “Never mind. You’ll find out soon enough, if you haven’t already.” She shrugged mysteriously, making me want to grab her and shake her. Damn it, I needed answers! Not evasions and mystical witch sayings.

  “Cut the crap,” Victor growled. “Taylor and I aren’t here to talk about our bond. We want to find out about this.” He nodded at the Tupperware container with the silver trap, which he was carrying in a large plastic shopping bag. Very carefully, he removed the plastic lid and placed the container, bag and all, on the coffee table.

  Gwendolyn looked in the container and recoiled.

  “How dare you bring a cursed object into my house?” she demanded, glaring up at him. “This was made in the Shadow Lands—I don’t want it here.”

  “Well, I don’t want it on my land, either,” Victor growled. “Which is where I found it when I put my fucking foot in it last night.”

  “We want to know who put it there and why,” I said quickly, leaning forward on the faded couch. “And we thought since you’re a witch, you might be able to tell us.”

  Gwendolyn frowned. “Well, it’s true that an individual witch’s magic leaves a personal signature behind but I don’t recognize this one. Whoever did it, though, they’re very strong. And very into the dark arts.”

  “Do you know anyone like that? Could you give us a name—someplace to start?” Victor asked.

  “Even if I could, it wouldn’t help you,” Gwendolyn pointed out. “It’s not the witch you should be looking for, it’s just a business deal for them. Whoever he or she did the spell for—the one who put this trap on your land to hurt you—that’s who you ought to be after.”

  “Can you get any kind of a, I don’t know, a reading on it?” I asked. “Give us a general idea of who’s behind it?”

  Gwendolyn frowned and leaned over the trap again. Her nose wrinkled.

  “Phew. Well, I can definitely smell were on it—can’t miss a stink like that.”

  “That’s probably me, though,” Victor pointed out blandly.

  “I don’t know…” Gwendolyn came around the coffee table, put her face close to him and inhaled. “Ugh!” She choked and backed off. “Nope, that’s a whole other odor. Definitely a different were—I can smell your stink but it’s not just you. I might be able to figure out the identity but it’s going to take a little while and some fancy spellwork.”

  Victor didn’t seem offended by her little display but I certainly was.

  “What are you trying to say?” I demanded, glaring at her. “Why are you making that face? Victor smells wonderful—like fur and leather and sunshine and…uh…” I trailed off, realizing they were both staring at me quizzically.

  “I know you haven’t been in the supernatural scene long,” Victor said. “But witches have a stronger sense of smell than the rest of us.”

  “Every type of supernatural creature has a magical scent—completely different from the scent their bodies make,” Gwendolyn explained. “So don’t worry, sweetie, I wasn’t trying to dis your man’s personal hygiene. I was just saying his magic stinks—to me, anyway. I can tell he went furry recently—smells kind of like wet dog.”

  Victor laughed. “Thanks. Real nice.”

  Gwendolyn shrugged. “I call them like I smell them.” She looked at me more closely. “You know, witches aren’t the only ones with a magical scent detector—it’s just more developed in us. A lot of the reason why supernaturals don’t like each other has to do with scent—they smell different, smell wrong to each other. It’s hard to like someone who stinks, even if you don’t realize it on a conscious level.”

  “She’s right.” Victor nodded. “That’s the reason weres don’t like vamps—part of it, anyway.”

  I was horrified. “You mean we…we stink to you?” And here I had been laying all over him when I was taking his blood. Had he been holding his breath the entire time, trying not to smell me? When he told me I smelled good before, was he lying?

  Victor must have seen the look on my face because he reached over and grabbed my hand at once.

  “No, baby—it’s not like that. Not with you,” he protested. “I mean, most vamps smell like the snake cage at the zoo. But not you, you smell like…like…”

  “Like what?” I asked, pulling my hand away and frowning at him. “You don’t have to lie to me, Victor. If you think I stink—”

  “You don’t stink!” he growled, obviously frustrated. “You smell good—too Goddamned good.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you smell like a female wolf. Like a wolf going into—” He stopped abruptly and shook his head.

  “Go on.” Gwendolyn looked amused. “Finish your sentence, big guy. This is getting interesting.”

  “We’re not here to talk about who stinks and who doesn’t.” Victor’s eyes flashed gold with irritation. “We just want to know what you can tell us about the fucking trap.”

  Gwendolyn spread her hands—she had bright silver nail polish on with little designs drawn in gold.

  “Like I told you, that’s going to take a while. There are spells I can do—identity spells, truth revealing spells—but they’re not instantaneous. Magic—real magic—takes time. I can’t just wave my fairy wand and sing bibbity-bobbity-boo or some shit like that.”

  “How long?” Victor asked tersely.

  Gwendolyn shrugged. “A couple of weeks at least—maybe more.”

  “Fine. Call me when you know.” Victor rose to go but Gwendolyn gave him a frown.

  “Not so fast, wolf. Aren’t you forgetting something? Like the little matter of disposal and payment?”

  Victor sank back down. “All right, what
do I owe you? And what do you mean by disposal?”

  She nodded at the trap. “What I mean is that this thing is going to follow you and keep popping up on your land and in your house unless someone who knows what they’re doing gets rid of it.”

  “Ugh!” I exclaimed involuntarily. I couldn’t help thinking of how the trap had reset itself and moved around the kitchen without Victor or I seeing it, even though it was right in plain sight.

  “Ugh is right, sweetie,” Gwendolyn said calmly. “After I finish testing it, this is going to have to go back to the Shadow Lands where it came from—which means I have to go right to the edge myself. And that kind of disposal doesn’t come cheap.”

  “Okay, we get it—the fucking thing is toxic. So how much do you want to get rid of it?” Victor was clearly near the end of his patience.

  Gwendolyn looked at me speculatively. “How long have you been a vampire? It’s been under ten years, right?”

  I nodded, mystified. “Well, yeah. I was turned about six years ago. Why?”

  “Because I’m casting a spell and I need blood from a young vamp to make it work.”

  “No,” Victor answered before I could reply. “No, absolutely not. You can’t have anything from Taylor.”

  “What? Why not?” I frowned at him. “It’s my blood. I should have a say, don’t you think?”

  “Well, technically, it’s my blood that you sucked out of me,” he rumbled, frowning.

  “Your blood?” I glared at him. “So that’s how you feel? Like I owe you a blood debt because you let me drink from you?”

  “No, of course not.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I’m just saying you don’t want to give a witch any kind of personal thing—hair, blood, fingernail clippings—basically anything with DNA they can use against you.”

  “Give me a break.” Gwendolyn threw up her hands. “You really think I’m trying to get blood from your little vamp to what—use against her? Control her in some way?”

  Victor glowered at her. “It’s possible. How do we know you aren’t the one who spelled the damn trap in the first place?”