Chapter Twenty-Six
Luna
The shock compels a scream out of me. But before the air can be expelled from my lungs and over my vocal cords, Wulf has his hand over my mouth.
The iron hard clamp stops all the breath from escaping.
I feel my ears pop like a cork as the suppressed air tries to find a way out. For a moment, I experience the feeling of being truly lightheaded.
I know I tried to run, but somehow, I am still in the same spot, held firmly in place by his other hand. “Unlike my bloodsucking brethren, Luna Blackwood, I don’t need an invite to come in.”
All I can do is stare bug-eyed at Wulf’s face in the mirror.
Under the patina of dust and grime on his skin and clothes, I notice the color of his hair. It is a deep, dark red with knitted filaments of black interwoven in the strands. And his eyes are the same color. Starkly black irises with scarlet flecks.
And yet his beautiful features are freakishly similar to my own.
He has a noble, masculine face, but he is almost too perfect to be human.
If he were to approach me in a wine bar at night, I would look around to see if he had made a mistake, like maybe there was a supermodel standing behind me who was the one to catch his eye.
His wretched existence makes my heart hurt. Rejected by vampires and too eerily handsome to be part of the human race.
But he killed Linda Farmer, and probably countless other women, too. And he killed Tempest.
“If I take my hand away, Luna, are you still going to scream?”
“Mmph-uh.” I shake my head.
When he releases his hand from my mouth, I realize I have been holding my breath. Gasping, I inhale.
If he wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now.
“Now, when I let you go, sweet cousin, I want you to go back downstairs and shoo the dog outside. If you disobey me in any way, I’ll rip out half of your liver and eat it in front of you. Don’t worry—you will live after I have done it, but the pain will be indescribable.”
When I feel his breath on the back of my neck, I shudder. When I look down, I see that the crotch of my pants is wet with urine.
Wulf smirks. “And you can change your outfit. See? I’m only half a monster, Luna.”
He lets me go. Running out of the bathroom without daring to look back, I slam the door of my bedroom shut. Tears of fear are pouring down my face. My limbs begin to prickle as the adrenaline floods my body.
Sniffing back the mucous, I pull facial wipe tissues out of the pouch and use them to pat myself dry.
Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s out there waiting for me.
A sweeping thought crosses my mind. I am tempted to climb out of the sash window and make my escape over the porch roof. But his threat prevents me from even trying. Any attempt to pit my feeble female strength against Wulf would end in my demise. I know it.
Grabbing a fresh pair of panties and thrusting my wobbling legs into some leggings and socks, I know what I have to do next.
Desperation had turned me into some kind of a survival genius.
Using the brow pencil out of my makeup case, I hold the now dry facial tissue straight with my fingers and start writing.
I am not embarrassed that I literally pissed my pants, nor do I care that the mineral smell of urine is on the tissue.
All I want is for Shadow to know what is happening.
Wulf is here. Come quick.
Folding it into a tiny square, I palm the note in the middle of my hand. Making a few practice moves to make sure I look natural, I swallow hard and open the door.
Wulf is right outside. We are eye-to-eye, only inches apart. I get my first close look at the man who haunted my dreams when I first arrived on Landslide.
His hair is long. Not as long as my own, but close. But there is no chance of Wulf Ifan’s son ever being mistaken for a female.
He must be close to six and a half feet tall standing in his Nike Air Force 1 sneakers. His outfit is such a strange mix of modern and vintage.
He lifts up his arm and pushes a few strands of hair away from his face; he blinks. It’s a very human gesture.
His scuffed, ragged jeans slung low on his lean hips show the white band of his boxer shorts hugging the sharply angled pelvic lines that run along the sides of his six-pack. And then he drops his arms and it is hidden.
The broad width of his shoulders pull the thin cotton of the long-sleeved antique shirt tight.
I know it is genuine vintage because of the tiny handmade stitching on the seams and yellowing whiteness.
We did history of fashion in college. This is the kind of shirt Mr. Darcy would have worn in the early nineteenth century.
The billowing folds of the shirt is not enough to conceal the massive development of his deltoids and pecs.
Everything about this man seems designed to intimidate and fascinate at the same time. A flash of sympathy ripples through me when I think of his victims. They might have died happy if this beautiful man was with them.
He reaches out and touches my face, never taking his eyes off me.
“What are you hiding?” His voice is deep with suspicion.
If there was any blood left in my face, it must be draining out of there right now. But I won’t go down without a fight.
“My fear.”
His smile is brilliant, creating cute dimples in his cheek and causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle. Again, it makes him look dashingly handsome and human.
Jerking his head in the direction of the staircase, he orders me, “Go get rid of the dog. Go on. The bastard won’t stop yapping otherwise.”
I must hold onto the banister as if my life depends on it, because I get the feeling that my legs might buckle underneath me at any time.
“Come, Mu, come outside and get a treat.”
The Samoyed sticks his head up from the couch, but he doesn’t move.
“Come on, Mu.” Patting my thighs, I make encouraging noises and rattle the packet of dried fish. “Come and get some nice nyum-nyums.”
Convinced it is not a trick to lock him outside, Mu comes out with a jaunty step.
Kneeling down, I give him the snack while pretending to hug him as I hide the note under his collar.
“Take this to Shadow, Mu.” I whisper the plea in his ear.
After kissing him hard on his snoot, I stand up. “Go on, Mu. Get out of here.”
The dog looks at me intently for what seems like a long while. Then Mu looks back at the front door. It’s as if he is debating. In my mind, I try and transmit to the dog that he will be more helpful by leaving.
Wulf is lurking on the second floor, Mu. If you don’t scoot right now, then both of us will die.
Giving a soft woof, Muohta darts down the porch steps and runs into the lane. I watch him go with a lump in my throat.
Closing the door behind me, I look towards the staircase before realizing that Wulf is now seated in the armchair.
He’s holding my phone in his hand.
“We have a couple of hours before sunset, Luna. Let’s make good use of it.”
Flopping down on the couch, I struggle to overcome the despair rising inside me.
“What do you want from me, Wulf?”
His large frame dwarfs the furniture around him. When I look at this man, I believe I can hear the roar of bloody battles as two sides clash. If there ever was a war, there is no doubt in my mind that this man would be a victor. No, he would be the victor.
“Don’t be so fucking pedantic and predictable with your questions, cousin. You’re better than that.”
His words needle me. My fighting spirit rises.
“You abuse me in my dreams. You murder my aunt, your own mother. And now you have the gall to sit here and criticize the line of questioning I choose to take?! Fuck you!”
He smirks. “I abused you? You loved it. And you would have continued to love it until that narrow world view of yours was twisted by Mr. Tran-Sylva-nia.”
I am momentarily sidetracked by the origin of Shadow’s surname. Sylva: Transylvania. Why didn’t I ever notice that before? But then I recognize the siren call of Wulf trying to gaslight me. Classic manipulative move.
Despite the loathing I feel, my curiosity gets the better of me.
“I thought Shadow’s roots are in the Arctic Circle?”
“Roots, yes. But he branched out. My father told me how the Seven would trek from place to place, trying to find the origins of the death cult uprising. Their search took them past the Ural mountains to the Carpathian mountains. That was where the Red Queen first rose to power.”
“She couldn’t have been that powerful. I mean, Shadow’s brother took her out.”
Wulf can be really engaging when he wants to be. I have to focus not to be sucked into his story.
“Let’s not forget that the Queen transferred her powers to her chosen consorts by fucking and feeding on them first, before allowing them to feed on her. Why do you think she did that?”
“Because the warriors tasted good?” I have to shrug. Why is he telling me this?
Wulf’s upper lip curls with pity at my ignorance.
“It sealed their bond, Luna. Give and take. Push and pull. If the blood only goes one way, it seems unfair, no?”
Instinctively, I open my mouth to contradict him. But I stop before the words can come out.
Wulf grins like he can read my mind. “Yep. I’m saying you kinda have a one-way relationship with your lover, Luna. You modern women, you’re all about equality until you fall in love. You haven’t even paused to think about your future with Mr. Immortal Sylva, have you?”
Sitting up, Wulf leans closer, pronouncing the words carefully. “Sex is power, Luna, and you’ve given all of your power to the MC.”
He’s right… I think.
From the cradle to the grave, we are defined by our sex, the sex we want to have, and who we want to have it with.
And the minute we hand our monogamy and love over to the other person, it gives them control over us.
I think I must have blinked, because when I open my eyes again, Wulf is sitting next to me. I want to shrink away from him, I really do. But I am like a mouse hypnotized when it feels the shadow of a hawk blocking out the sun.
“Next question.”