CHAPTER THIRTEEN || THIERRY
I t couldn’t have been worse.
If what Jeremy had told me in the dream was true, there was no escaping him. He’d find me every single night while I slept—for as long as we both lived.
How long did wolves live?
I had a sneaking suspicion it was much longer than humans. On the plus side, wolves were mortal. His lifespan could be shortened—a thought growing more tempting by the moment.
How was this even possible?
But I already knew, didn’t I? The same way I’d recognized him the instant I saw him. We were having these dreams because Jeremy was—
No.
I shoved that thought away with extreme prejudice. Nothing good could come from it. The dreams were some strange wolf magic I hadn’t been aware of. Mostly because what I knew about werewolves could fit inside a thimble, with room left over. They were the most reclusive of supernatural creatures.
Jeremy was smarter than I’d given him credit for. He didn’t immediately bring up the dream, even though I’d have bet any amount of money it was the only thing either of us was thinking about.
Instead, he stood and, in a brisk tone, said, “All right, we need to see if there are any live ones left in town. We’ve got about four hours until sunset. No sense wasting any more time.”
Then he set off without another word.
I followed in silence, watching his back with suspicion. What was he playing at?
Moving quietly, we checked every building on Main Street, listening for the telltale sounds of human life. We branched into side streets, but after covering half the town, three of our four hours were already gone.
If we’d turned a corner to find the horde of bloodthirsty newborn vampires waiting—or even Godric—I’d have welcomed the distraction. But the hours passed, and Jeremy didn’t act any differently toward me.
He didn’t mention the dream, even though every detail was seared into my mind. He barely spoke at all. If he was thinking about it, he didn’t let on.
But how could he be thinking about anything else?
I kept replaying it—a habit I’ve always had when faced with something unpleasant or humiliating. I turn it over and over, as though I might somehow change the outcome. I never do. Usually, I just exhaust myself. Even so, knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to stop.
If I stepped away from the sheer horror of what it meant long-term, I had to admit the dream had seemed more vivid than the waking world. It wasn’t just that we were both there, but that our existence there felt more real than reality.
Rookwood, in comparison, seemed pale and flat, its colors washed out and horribly mundane. Jeremy had literally plucked a mote of pure magic from the air and held it in his hand, his rugged features softening with boyish wonder. That wouldn’t have been possible here.
And then I had thrown myself at him.
And he had rejected me.
It took longer than it should have for the sting of that to fade so I could see the truth of what had happened.
Because he had been interested—or at least his body had been. But he had still stopped. Instead of satisfying his own needs, he had forced me to recognize it wasn’t just a dream. That it mattered.
He could have taken advantage. He had to have known that. And he hadn’t.
In fact, he’d taken a risk. He thought vampires volatile, bloodthirsty monsters. He hardly knew me. Perhaps, in his mind, there was a chance I might have reacted… poorly.
And he’d told me anyway.
Grudgingly, I had to admit he’d done the right thing.
Magnus never would have. He would have toyed with me, used me until there was nothing left, ensuring I felt every ounce of shame afterward.
Even after destroying my brother, he hadn’t let me go.
Decades passed before I escaped him. And he had never let something like consent stop him from getting what he wanted.
The difference between Magnus and Jeremy, even in that single moment, was impossible to ignore.
Which meant…
Well, Jeremy was still an asshole, but he wasn’t the monster I’d pegged him for. He wasn’t like Magnus at all. But how did that square with what had happened with James and Pierce?
“You know, I wonder why this doesn’t happen more often,” Jeremy said at last, breaking the silence. He frowned at the motionless tree-lined street. Sunset was an hour away, shadows lengthening ominously.
Even if he wasn’t Magnus’s caliber, he was still an ass, and I couldn’t resist the opening. “Right, because all vampires are monsters who can’t control themselves around the living?”
He led us up the driveway of the next house, chuckling. At the gate, he turned back with a look that said he wasn’t taking the bait. “No. I’m surprised because all it takes is one newborn who doesn’t know better, right? They bite someone, then that person bites someone else, and—”
“No.”
He paused, brow furrowed. “No?”
“It’s not like it is with wolves. Just biting someone isn’t enough to turn them into a vampire.”
He frowned, unlatching the gate and holding it open for me, then letting it bang shut. “How does it work, then?”
“Your pack lore doesn’t teach you about other supernatural creatures?”
He raised his eyebrows and waited.
I sighed. “For someone to turn, a vampire needs to feed them their blood and then kill them immediately—before the blood expends its magic healing wounds or causing arousa—”
I caught myself, but it wasn’t hard to guess where I’d been going.
Recovering, I added, “The process doesn’t take days. It’s hours, normally. But it doesn’t happen on accident very often.”
“Someone who didn’t know what they were doing would just suck people dry, then.”
“They’d need to give their victims blood first, before killing them. It’s not something a crazed newborn would know to do.”
“But there are no bodies in town. Signs of violence, but no bodies. We haven’t seen a single one.”
“Correct.”
His expression darkened as he caught up with me. “Someone who knew better did this…” He gestured toward the silent main drag. “This wasn’t an accident. Someone taught the newborns how to turn others.”
“More likely, they forced them. Ancient vampires can hypnotize the young.”
“Can you?”
“No. And I don’t appreciate the implication that I’m ancient. Eight centuries is practically spritely, by vampire standards.”
He snorted. “And what would you call me, then?”
“Would you really like the answer to that? Because I have plenty of things I could call you.”
His lips twitched, like I’d amused him—exactly the opposite of my intent. “Why turn a whole town, if not by accident?”
I thought of Godric.
And then I froze.
I’d been so sure Godric was behind this.
My dream hadn’t been wrong yet. But why would he come here, hundreds of miles from Seattle, and turn an entire town into vampires?
Rookwood was reasonably close to me, but not close enough that he could be sure I would notice right away.
There were better options, without crossing state lines out of Washington.
The only obvious answer was an army. But the Godric I knew wasn’t the army-building type. That had been more Magnus’s style—he’d had aspirations along those lines once. Godric was practical. Efficient. Brutal.
In fact, he was often the one who dispatched Magnus’s feral creations before they could draw too much attention. And in that task, he was merciless.
After all, what would he possibly do with an army of vampires?
Which meant this might be bait. A way to lure me in.
Perhaps his psychic gifts had shown him that if he did this—turned an entire town into bloodthirsty murderers—then I would come.
And what did the lives of a thousand strangers matter to him, if it meant tying off a loose end?
Maybe this was the only way he’d foreseen to get me alone.
With one easily dealt-with wolfy exception, of course.
The thought laced unease through me.
It was growing dark. Which meant Jeremy’s life was in danger. Annoyingly, it mattered to me that he didn’t die pointlessly at the hands of a thousand ravenous vampires.
“Perhaps whoever did this simply got bored.” I shrugged, aiming for unaffected. “Or maybe they know enough to create vampires, but not enough to know what happens when you try something like this.”
“What happens?”
I flashed him a smile that felt dangerous on my lips. “What do you think? When young vampires draw too much attention, older ones destroy them and clean up after, so humans don’t catch on. It’s easier to drink your fill when your prey doesn’t believe in you.”
“Stop it.” He shook his head. “I know what you’re doing. Knock it off. It’s not going to work.”
“Oh, do you think you know what I’m doing? Do you really?”
Perhaps if I scared him enough, he’d leave. And if he left, he might live to see sunrise.
I advanced, letting my fangs drop. “What if I’ve been lulling you into a false sense of security this whole time?”
He stood his ground, gaze steady. He didn’t flinch when I seized his shoulders.
“Maybe you’re foolish to have dropped your guard with me. Wolves run hotter than humans. I wonder how that changes the taste of your blood.”
“Let’s find out,” Jeremy said, tilting his head to bare his throat. “Go on. Do it. Prove me wrong.”
His scent enveloped me, reminding me of home, of belonging.
“Damn you,” I whispered, releasing him and running a hand through my hair—a nervous tic I hadn’t done in years. What was I doing?
“Look, if you want me to leave, just say so.”
“Fine, leave.”
“No.”
I ground my teeth. “It will be dark soon. And I can’t protect you from a thousand vampires. You’ve stayed too long.”
“Careful, or I might think you’re starting to like me.”
“I wouldn’t share a bus seat with you.”
“Are we back to this now?” He sighed. “Look, we still have time to check the rest of this street.”
“And then? This is dangerous, wolf.”
“Once I have enough moonlight to shift, I will. I won’t smell human. It’ll be a more even fight if it comes to that.”
I drew in a breath to explain just how idiotic that was—then scented it. And froze.
The sickly-sweet tang of illness, faint but unmistakable. A living creature nearby.
Jeremy’s brows pulled together. “What is it?”
“Quiet.” I held up a hand, listening.
A heartbeat. A sharply indrawn breath. Whispering. The rustle of fabric. The creak of a floorboard. Survivors. I focused for a long moment. Then—faintly—a muffled whimper of pain.
I vaulted the fence and ran, stopping at a single-story house marked with a small lawn sign: Rookwood Elder Home. A black van sat in the driveway with a massive side door. I’d have bet any amount of money it was equipped with a wheelchair lift.
The curtains in the front windows shifted. As if someone had just been watching us and stepped back suddenly. The scent was stronger here—at least one other human inside. Four heartbeats in total. Four struggling candle flames against the encroaching dark.
Jeremy jogged to join me. “What is it? Do you hear someone?”
“Yes,” I said softly. “There are survivors inside.”
“Huh. I’m used to being the one with the sharpest senses.” He glanced at the sky, which was darkening from blue to purple. “Well, shit.”
Not eloquent, but accurate.
Then he brushed past me and knocked on the front door.
From inside, a gasp. And deeper in the house, another muffled whimper.
“We’re the good guys,” Jeremy said through the door.
“Are we?” I arched a brow.
“I’m grading on a curve,” he muttered. Then he knocked again, louder. “We’re here to help!”
No reply. The humans were holding still. Smart. But not enough. If I could scent them, others could too.
“Right. Move,” I told Jeremy.
I grabbed the knob—and hissed in pain, yanking my hand back. The acrid stench of burnt flesh filled the air. My palm was red and blistered.
“What the hell?” Jeremy asked.
“Witchcraft,” I gritted out.
The front door opened. An amazon of a woman stood there, a sphere of swirling orange-red fire cupped in her hand, her expression rigid. Her gaze dropped to my palm, and her expression shifted from fury to murder.
“Vampire,” she spat.
Then she threw the fire.