Fangs & Freaks (Shifters of Myths and Legends #1)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Varys

I wake with a start, the air around me thick and suffocating. I was dreaming of her… again. It’s been like every night since I got here. While my body has healed in the days since I arrived, my nights are plagued with restlessness.

Her name lingers in my mind—bitter, sharp, intoxicating. The memory of her voice coils around my mind, taunting me. She’s there every night, a presence I can’t escape, her tone a sick mix of venom and seduction. The dreams always leave me shaken, but tonight feels worse.

Shadows creep across the corners, pooling like spilled ink, and for a moment, I swear I see her.

Bloody Mary.

Her reflection flashes in the tall mirror near the dresser, just at the edge of my vision. She’s there and gone in a blink, but her presence lingers, leaving a faint hum beneath my skin. My breath catches, and I freeze, heart hammering against my ribs.

I shift, groaning, trying to shake off the lingering unease, but when I turn, a sharp chill races through me. The moonlight slants across my chest, illuminating something I can’t quite comprehend.

An oval shape like a mirror is etched into my skin. A dagger pierces through a crescent moon at its center, blood dripping from the blade. The hilt of the dagger bears an intricately carved eye.

I stare, frozen, before my shaking fingers brush against it. The skin is raw and red but not painful, almost like it’s been burned into me.

“Shit.”

I throw off the blankets and stumble to the mirror hanging on the wall. The mark glares back at me from the reflection, an accusation I can’t escape. This isn’t a nightmare anymore.

“Bloody Mary,” I whisper, the name slipping out before I can stop it.

The shadows seem to shift at the sound, curling tighter around me. I should be terrified—I am terrified—but there’s a strange comfort in it. Like being wrapped in a cold embrace that still manages to feel familiar.

“Pull yourself together,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.

But the moment I lower my hand, I see her again. This time, she’s in the corner of the room, just beyond the edge of the light. Her silhouette is faint, blurred, like she’s standing between two worlds. Her eyes—dark and endless—seem to pierce straight through me, and her lips curl into the faintest hint of a smile.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, my voice trembling.

Her form flickers, and then she’s gone again, leaving nothing but the soft rustle of the curtains and the steady drip of water from the bathroom faucet.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my hands gripping my knees as I try to steady my breathing. Despite the horror of it all, I can’t deny the pull I feel toward her. It’s magnetic, inescapable, like she’s threaded herself into the very fabric of my being.

The door creaks open behind me, and I whirl, my heart leaping into my throat. Warrick stands in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. He looks like he’s been sculpted from the shadows themselves, every angle sharp and cutting.

“Varys,” he says, his voice low, steady, but with an edge I can’t ignore. “What’s going on?”

I grab a blanket and wrap it around myself, trying to cover the mark on my chest. His sharp gaze catches the movement, narrowing. He steps inside, and the door clicks shut behind him. We’ve gotten friendly since I’ve been here. He and Blackwell check on me, making sure Bloody Mary hasn’t appeared or taken me.

“I—” My throat feels dry. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

His brow arches. “Fine? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, but my voice cracks, betraying me.

His gaze sharpens, his movements slow and deliberate as he closes the space between us. His scent—leather, blood, and something darkly sweet—fills the air. It makes me uneasy, but not in the way it should.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says, his voice softer now. “What’s going on?”

I give up, dropping the blanket to show him the mark. “This.”

Warrick’s eyes widen briefly before narrowing again, his lips pressing into a thin line. He steps closer, so close I can feel the cold radiating off him. His gaze burns like a brand as he examines the symbol on my chest.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the curse like a growl in his throat.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Tell me what it means.”

He doesn’t answer right away, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for the mark but thinks better of it. “It’s a claim,” he finally says, his tone clipped. “Or a warning. Either way, it’s serious.”

I stagger back, the weight of his words hitting me like a blow. “What do I do? How do I make it stop?”

His jaw tightens. “You don’t panic. That’s the first thing. Bloody Mary wants your fear. Don’t give it to her.”

“How do you know this?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, tinged with accusation and desperation.

His gaze snaps to mine, his fangs glinting as he speaks. “Because I’ve been around long enough to know how these things work. She’s not just some bedtime story, Varys. You called her, we stole her job, which means her payment, and she’s pissed.”

I swallow hard, his words doing nothing to calm the panic raging inside me.

The door opens again, and Blackwell saunters in, his expression casual, though his eyes immediately zero in on Warrick’s rigid stance and my panicked state.

“What’s all this?” he asks, his voice smooth but curious.

“Nothing,” Warrick says quickly, his tone sharp enough to cut.

Blackwell’s gaze flicks to me, lingering just a moment too long. There’s a pull between us, like a string stretched taut, but I’m too rattled to focus on it. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to shield the mark, but it’s too late. Blackwell notices the movement, and his grin widens. “Ah. She finally strikes.”

“Now what?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Did you see her? Did she do that in person? Can you put in a request next time for her to mark me? Preferably while undressed and with my cock buried deep inside her pussy.”

My breath catches. “It’s not funny. Have you seen her?”

“She’s hot,” he says with a smirk, and Warrick growls low in his throat.

“Not this shit again!” Warrick snaps. “She’s hot ?”

Blackwell shrugs. “What else is there to say?”

Warrick turns to me, his voice tight. “Ignore him. She’s not someone to take lightly.”

“She was here,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Warrick tenses, his sharp gaze scanning the room as if he expects her to materialize from the shadows. “You saw her?”

“In the mirror,” I reply, swallowing hard. “And the corner. She’s... haunting me.”

“You can’t let her get to you,” he says, his voice low and firm. “That’s how she wins.”

“She already has,” I admit, meeting his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about her. I feel like... like she’s always there, just out of reach.”

Warrick exhales, his jaw tightening. “That’s exactly what she wants. She’s in your head, Varys. You can’t give her any more power.”

“But it doesn’t feel entirely bad,” I say, the words spilling out before I can think better of them. “When I see her... it’s almost comforting.”

Warrick’s expression hardens, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “Don’t confuse obsession with comfort. She’s playing you.”

I nod, but the truth is, I’m not sure he’s right.

Because when I close my eyes, I can still see her smile, and it feels less like a warning and more like an invitation.