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“Yes, of course I would welcome you to my home. Have I ever been anything but a gracious host before?” Elias said with a charming drawl over the phone in his office.
He knew that Claire was outside the door, but he did nothing to dissuade her presence. As long as she stayed within the mansion, he did not care. But if there were plans for a sudden visit by the local arm of The Council, he would need to prepare her as best as possible. And to Elias, that meant to get her as far away as possible.
As soon as the phone was set down, Claire sprinted away to the library. She scoured the books, grabbing anything on The Council that she could find. Elias walked past the room at one point but paid her no mind. He was glad that she was reading up; it would save him explanations. He knew exactly what was in his library, and he could shape his answers around that.
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Claire stood in front of The Council members, trying not to appear as worried as she was. They were staring her down, studying her as the doctors did in the hospital all those years ago. It made her feel weak. Elia sensed her discomfort and squeezed her arm slightly, smiling down at her. The old woman began to smirk wickedly. She stood up and offered her hand; Elias growled, and she tittered again, withdrawing it. “Does she not know anything about her world, Elias? Did you worry that she would take me up on my offer?” Claire would not have touched the witch, but she did stare at her. She looked familiar. She even sounded a bit familiar. But if she was the Priestess of the local coven, that would make sense. She had likely met with Elias before, maybe even re
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Colin paced back and forth, two miles outside Elias’ land. Reed and Kali stood nearby, trying to offer support. But he knew that the real reason for their presence was to keep him from doing something stupid. Something that could get the pack in trouble. “Why is she with him?” he asked no one for the hundredth time. “We don’t know, but it might not mean anything,” Kali replied again, trying to soothe him. “Humans often accompany vampires. Elias is a strong man, but he does not have a reputation for cruelty.” “No reputation for cruelty? He’s convinced her to stay so he can slowly suck the life out of her,” he growled in response. “She probably doesn’t even know what’s happening! Can’t they mind-control people? Even wolves and witches?” Every so often, the wind would blow, sending her scent down to the trio. The only way Colin would agree to stay outside th
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Jocelyn’s smug grin only grew as she watched panic rise in the young wolf’s face. The moment she saw the hybrid, she knew why the witch was able to be turned; the Moon Goddess had already fated her to be with a wolf. She wondered how Elias found the witch, especially in the vulnerable position he had found her in. Of course, there would be time for such questions. She had nothing but time.“Claire,” the wolf said, his voice shaking. “Do you know what I am?”The young woman looked at him and nodded. “You’re a wolf.”His face clouded for a moment as he realized that she was not scared of him. She was scared of what she could do to him. He glanced down at his shirt, covered in his own blood, and looked back at her. Her blue eyes had darkened as blood flooded her irises, turning them into a deep purple. Jocelyn heard his heart flutter, both from innate fear and from the admittedly beau
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Claire was gone. She had been right in front of him, close enough to touch. But now, she was gone. Colin was both frozen and on fire. His mind ran faster than ever, but he could barely pick up his feet. He pressed his nose to the ground, both bathing in her scent and attempting to track it. But she had just disappeared out of thin air. High-pitched whines escaped his throat as he lifted his head, howling desperately into the sky. “Silence!” his father commanded him; now that Claire was gone, he had no need for false pretenses of kindness towards his son. Colin’s ears pressed flat against his head as he bowed his head. Elias looked at the bloody wolf, who trembled with rage, and frowned for a moment. He turned back to Alpha Peter and said, “I cannot cross into her lands; the wards will kill me within a moment.” Peter shook his head. “I will not risk my warriors for your hybrid,” he sneered, and Colin growled at his words.&
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Claire was staring at Elias. Or at least, she had been. He was threatening to use the sire bond on her. Or at least, he had been. And that wolf, Colin, was trying to defend her for some reason. Or at least, he had been. But then, she started spinning. Like when she was a child and would sit in her father’s office chair as her sisters spun her around and around. The kind of dizzy that made the world blur into colors. And after the dizziness, she wasn’t in her garden. She was in a damp cellar, behind a wall of bars, surrounded by gray concrete. Weakened and confused, Claire dropped to her knees and gagged, the back of her throat burning as she hacked. “I do not think vampires can throw up. But I suppose that you may be an exception to every rule,”
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“My dad died seven years ago,” Claire answered coolly.Jocelyn smirked wickedly and feigned embarrassment. Shaking her head, she replied with the same bubbly tone she had used when first meeting Claire in the cage, “My mistake! Of course, your dad is dead. But your father.” Her eyes twinkled as she laughed mischievously, “Your birth father, however, is there.”Claire stood, dumbfounded. She had no witty retort because for some reason, she knew that the old woman was not lying. “How?” she whispered, unsure of what else to say.“No, no. That is not how this will work.” Jocelyn took her seat again, clearly happy to be back in control of the situation. “You will get your answers in turn for cooperation.”Claire’s eyes narrowed, but she was not surprised. She sat on the floor, realizing just how exhausted she was. Closing her eyes, she ignored the witch. If the old woman
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Claire hummed softly as she leaned against the wall with her eyes closed. It was an old French song that Elias sang to her years ago. Some sort of lullaby sung during to the royal children the early Capetian dynasty, back when the French were called ‘Francs.’ It was originally a Troubadour’s ballad about a young noblewoman learning to dance with her milk brother, and how they secretly fell in love. He had hummed it in the beginning, back when the pain kept her awake and paralyzed, when it was all that she could think of. She hadn’t even remembered that he was the one who taught it to her until she went to sing the words under her breath and realized they were Old French, not English. That made her stop and burn with rage, both at herself and Elias. “Don’t stop on my account,” a tired voice said from the other side of the room.&nbs
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