The Blood Coven - Girls That Growl Part 12

He breaks apart a bale of hay and fas.h.i.+ons a small straw bed out of it. Then he shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it on one of the lower rafters. Next he takes off his s.h.i.+rt. G.o.d, he looks good with no s.h.i.+rt on. Such washboard abs. I wish he wasn't p.i.s.sed at me. I'd so go over and run my fingers up and down them if I thought I could get away with it.

"Here," he says stiffly, holding out the s.h.i.+rt. "It's a lot dryer than what you've got on."

He's right. I hadn't the foresight to wear a coat and my sweater is dripping wet. "But what about you? Won't you freeze?"

He shrugs. "Once you're a vampire for over a thousand years you get used to different climates. Better you take it."

I almost believe him. That is until I catch him suppressing a s.h.i.+ver when he thinks I'm not watching. How sweet is that? He literally gave me the s.h.i.+rt off his back. Even though he's mad at me.

He turns his back and I slip off my sweater and out of my bra, then pull on the Batman s.h.i.+rt. It's amazing how easy it is to become a fas.h.i.+on victim when you're freezing to death.

Jareth collapses on the hay bed and curls into a fetal position. Seeing my opening, I scamper over to join him and lie down, trying to cuddle against him. Unfortunately a stiff plank would be more giving than my boyfriend at the moment. And a moment later he rolls over, giving me the cold shoulder.

I scowl at his back. So it's like that, is it? s.h.i.+rt charity aside, he's still mad.

"Wow, I never thought I'd spend my first night in England in a barn," I say, giving it one more attempt. Maybe I can talk him out of being mad at me. It's worked before. "Pretty crazy."

"Especially when you consider we could have lain on a four-thousand-dollar bed with Egyptian cotton sheets tonight," Jareth remarks with more than a bitter note in his voice. Not exactly the reaction I'd hoped for.

"Geez, give it a rest," I grumble, annoyed he can't just move on. This could be a romantic adventure and all he can do is complain. "So I made a mistake. Do I have to be reminded every five seconds?"

Jareth s.h.i.+fts, pulling away from my hold. He stands up, paces the barn a few times, then turns to me. "You know, it's awfully funny," he says, and I can tell by his tone that I'm not going to find what he says next the least bit amusing. "Here you were so worried about me embarra.s.sing you."

I groan and give up. He's obviously not going to do the whole sun setting on your anger thing, so why should I bother?

"Whatever," I say, rolling my eyes and turning my back to him. "I still think your s.h.i.+rt is stupid."

+++ When I wake up the next morning at first I'm not quite sure where I am. Then I smell the hay and see the pitchforks and it all comes back to me. By the light of day the whole thing seems so dumb. Why had I opened my big mouth and told the vampires I was a slayer? I mean, sure, they were rude, but I was used to rudeness, right? Pretty much everyone I know has been rude to me at one time or another.

Including Jareth.

I sit up and scan the barn, finally locating my boyfriend on the polar opposite end of the barn. As far away from me as humanly (vampirely?) possible. Sigh. I wonder if he'll forgive me anytime soon or spend the day holding a grudge. I can't believe we're in yet another fight. Lately that seems all we ever do. And I can't break up with him. He's my blood mate for eternity. Not that I want to. I love him. I just don't know why we can't seem to get along anymore. It sucks.

The rain has ended and I can hear birds chirping outside. I walk over to the barn door and push it open, squinting in the early morning suns.h.i.+ne. The air is crisp, cool. I wrap my arms around my chest, hugging myself for warmth, wis.h.i.+ng I had my luggage and access to my wool coat.

I couldn't see much last night but today I realize the barn is sitting on miles and miles of wild English countryside. Rolling green, gra.s.sy hills, stone fences, blossoming wild-flowers, and wandering sheep. It looks like something out of a postcard. Down the road I see a beautiful lake, the sun catching the water and making it sparkle.

"I always thought England was the most beautiful country in the world," Jareth says, coming up behind me.

"I'm glad I'm getting to see it," I say, turning around, ready to kiss and make up. But Jareth doesn't look very interested. He sidesteps me and walks out into the open air. I sigh. This is going to be a long day.

I realize at the very least I should apologize. Grovel and hope he'll forgive me. "Look, I'm sorry about last night, Jareth. That was a really dumb move. Even for me."

"Yes. It was indeed," he says coldly. "And one that will likely cost us for centuries to come."

I frown. Here I thought he was going to say, "Don't worry, no big deal, I can't help but love your free-spirited ways, Raynie baby." He must be really p.i.s.sed. Either that or I really screwed up big-time. Just great.

"So now what?*' I ask, resigning myself to his att.i.tude. After all, what choice do I have?

"The limo should be waiting for us. We'll walk back to the coven and flag the driver down. The vampires will be fast asleep and won't notice we're back."

"And what about our luggage?"

"We'll see if the driver can convince the guard to retrieve it for us. Otherwise we'll have to stop at a shop and buy a few more things."

The limo driver is easy to spot and he doesn't ask questions as to why we're outside the gate and not walking down from the coven. Or why we're all rumpled and smelly and have hay sticking out of our clothing and hair. He goes to the gatehouse and returns with our bags a few minutes later. I unzip my duffel and check to make sure it's all there. I so did not want to lose that one- of-a-kind, genuine seventies sequined tube top I found thrifting last spring. Luckily, these vampires don't have enough alternative fas.h.i.+on sense to understand what a valuable article of clothing they could have confiscated.

My stake, on the other hand, does not seem to be among my possessions anymore. Great. Now I'll have to carve a new one from scratch.

"So how are we going to get the townspeople to tell us about the Lycan pack?" I ask, settling down into my black leather seat and pulling the door closed behind me. Did I mention I love riding in limos? My stiff back from my night on the barn floor is feeling better already. "I mean, we can't just go into that bar and start asking random people if they've seen any werewolves lately, can we?"

"Actually," Jareth says thoughtfully, "that's exactly what we're going to do."

"What?" I stare at him, incredulous. "But that's stupid. They're going to think we're total freaks. They'll run us out of town.

Even if they do know where the pack is, why would they tell a couple of tourist types?"

"Because we're tourists with the vampire scent."

Ah, the vampire scent. I'd forgotten about that. Each vampire gives off pheromones that make us irresistible to opposite s.e.x humans. Of course this can become very irritating after the novelty wears off and you've already gotten out of a speeding ticket or two. I mean, teacher giving you an A on a test because he's in love with you = good. Random guy coming up off the street and licking you = not so good. So from day one we're taught to control the vampire scent. Push it down, deep inside. And if that doesn't work, we have these special deodorant sprays that keep it from sweating out our pores. In fact, until Jareth brought it up just now, I'd about forgotten I even possessed the vampire scent.

"You very clever, Old Master," I quip, Kung Fu-style. "Young Gra.s.shoppa have much to learn."

Jareth laughs, but it sounds forced. Why am I even bothering? "Here's what we'll do," he says, back to business. "You'll go down to the pub and do one walk around the perimeter. Let everyone catch a whiff of you. Then, when you've got the entire bar's attention, go to the center of the room and find a table to sit down at. If it works, you should have male company in three seconds flat. Once you've got their attention, tell them you're a graduate student looking to study Lycan for your thesis and you were told there's a pack that lives here."

"And you think they'll tell me?"

"Under the spell of the vampire scent they'd tell you a lot more."

I laugh. "I don't think I want to know more."

"Just please, Rayne," Jareth says, his eyes serious. "Whatever you do, don't tell them you're a slayer."

"Yes, yes. I mean, duh. No kidding."

"Well, sorry for mentioning it, but I would have a.s.sumed it was 'duh, no kidding' last night, too. You know, when we were surrounded by actual vampires?"

I grit my teeth. He's so going to hold this over my head for eternity, isn't he? "Jareth, I made a mistake. I said I was sorry, okay? Can we drop it now?"

"Rayne, you can't just laugh your way out of this. What you did was not cute, not funny, and not not a big deal. You were representing your coven there. And international vampire relations are vitally important to our coven's survival. Did you know they could actually vote us out of the council, just for having a slayer in our ranks? We could lose all our rights and privileges as a member of the consortium. You obviously don't seem to grasp the seriousness of what you did."

I feel like crying. I can't believe how stupid I was. To let my big mouth get the best of me again. No wonder no one wants to be my friend. I'm such a loser.

"I'm sorry," I say, choking on the words. "I didn't know."

Jareth shakes his head, as if he's weary of the world. "Just forget it," he mutters. "There's nothing that can be done anyway.

Vampires can come later. Right now we need to concentrate on the wolves."

18

The village of Appleby is small and quaint. There's an ancient castle in the center of town, a crumbling almshouse that's been transformed into an old folks' home, narrow, cobblestone streets, and plenty of pubs and little shops. It'd drive me crazy to actually live in a small town like this, but it's really cool to visit.

We check into Appleby Manor, a charming little hotel on the outskirts of town, and get ready for our wolf recon. As I change clothes in the bathroom, Jareth preps me for the thousandth time about what I need to do. About a half hour later we head down to the Tavern of the Moon. Even though it's not quite noon, there's a good number of men hanging out at the bar, having a few pints, watching the football game. (That's soccer to you Americans, though it makes more sense for them to call their game football, seeing as they use their feet a heck of a lot more than American football players do . . .) Jareth takes a seat at the back end of the pub and I prepare to make my grand entrance. I walk down alongside the bar, watching them watch me in the mirror on the wall. One by one they swivel in their barstools and stare at me and my sequined tube top and micromini skirt. (Jareth thought my outfit was total overkill, but by the looks on the men's faces, he was so wrong.) I smile coyly as I turn around to face them. Several are staring with their mouths wide open. One looks like he's literally about to drool.

"Hi, boys," I purr. "What's a girl gotta do around here to get a drink?"

A mad dash to be the first to buy me a pint ensues. A few men jump off their barstools and offer me their seats. I take a stool, pulling it away from the bar so I can see all the men at once. I sit down, crossing my legs. I'm very Sharon Stone, Basic Instinct, though I'm definitely wearing panties. (So not going to pull a Britney for this crowd.) One man hands me a pint of lager. I take a long sip. As a vampire I can't really get drunk, but I bet I look impressive draining my gla.s.s in one long gulp.

"So," I say. "I have a question."

"We likely have an answer, ma'am," says one of the guys.

"And if not, we can find out."

"Yes, ask away, beautiful lady."

"Oh, you boys are so sweet," I coo. "Very well then. But I warn you, it may sound a bit strange."

"It won't, miss," says a burly guy at the far end. "Don't worry about that." "Okay," I say, reaching into my purse and pulling out a cigarette. I slowly light the tip and take a drag. (I know, I know, I totally said I was quitting. But I'm a vampire. I can't exactly die of lung cancer. So I think once in a while it might be okay to light up-especially when I'm doing everything I can to channel s.e.xy, bad girl Rayne.) "I'm looking for a pack of wolves."

The men stare at me and then at each other. Some wear complete poker faces while others start sweating a little.

''Wolves?" the tallest man says. He has shoulders the size of a linebacker's, pads on. "I'm sure out in the woods you can find-"

"Oh, silly boy, you know I'm not talking about common, everyday wolves," I chide him. "I mean, what do you take me for?

Some stupid woman?"

Head shakes all around. No, of course they don't. At this moment they see me as Venus herself. I should use this vampire scent thing more often.

"What I'm looking for, boys," I say, "are Lycans." I pause for dramatic effect. "Do you know where I can find a pack of Lycans living in this town?"

"Find 'em?" pipes in a skinny man from the back. "You already have 'em, missie."

Rumbling conversation breaks out between the men. There's obviously some argument about whether that little fact should have been revealed. I'm, of course, delighted. This was easier than I thought. As much as I hate the English vampires, they totally hooked us up with the right location.

I glance over at the men. Could they really be Lycan? The pack I'm looking for? They look so normal.

So working-cla.s.s Englishman. But then the cheerleaders aren't exactly sprouting fangs and fur on their non-full-moon days, either. "So you all are .. . ?"

A consensus seems to have been reached and a big, burly man to my right steps forward, puffing out his chest in pride.

"We're all Lycans. The lot of us."

I smile. "How lucky for me to have stumbled upon you."

"Indeed," the man says. "I am Lupine, alpha of the Order of the Gray Wolf, at your service."

Does one shake hands with a werewolf? Or do they, I don't know, sniff b.u.t.ts to get to know one another? Ew, I so don't want to go there. I decide to try the handshake. Luckily Lupine shakes back, making no sudden move for my a.s.s. "So you're wolves, but you live in town as men?" I query. I've got to warm them up a bit before I tell them what I really want.

"Of course. Don't believe the stories you read in horror novels, miss. Most Lycans are prominent members of their communities. We can control our shape-s.h.i.+ft and are completely in control of our actions when in feral form."

I think back to the cheerleaders and the havoc they wreaked on my town. Definitely not exhibiting the control thing there.

"What about during the full moon? Don't you go all crazy then?"

The men laugh. "Only the newbies," they explain. "And we keep them under lock and key until we can train them to control their instincts."

"The full moon is an easy pull to resist, once you've had some training," Lupine explains. "It's the desire to mate that can bring out your inner wolf, even in the most disciplined among us." He gestures to a man at the back of the bar. "For example, look at John over there. He's starting to change right now, just from looking at you."

I glance over at John, who's standing behind the others. He's sprouted some gray hair on his chest and white fur is sticking out of his ears. I watch, fascinated, as his nose seems to elongate like Pinocchio's, right before my eyes.

His face turns crimson as he realizes we're all staring at him. "Uh, I've, uh, got to go see a man about a dog," he mutters, turning and fleeing the bar.

The men break out into laughter, slapping each other on the back.

"John's always been a bit of a lady's wolf," Lupine says with a chuckle.

"So he . . . ?"

"Yes, la.s.s. Basically, you see, when we get h.o.r.n.y, we get, well, hairy!"

Um, ewh. I wonder what the womenfolk think of that. Though, I guess they're probably in the same fuzzy boat. Of course, this would mean it's a lot harder to hide the fact that your partner just isn't doing it for you anymore.

Sorry, dear, I just can't seem to get hairy tonight.

Don't worry, dear. It happens to all wolves once in a while.

One of the men leans in to sniff me. (No, not my b.u.t.t, thank goodness.) "You're not human yourself, la.s.s," he proclaims.

"Your blood smells funny."

Now it's my turn to blush. Should I tell them the truth? I guess it's okay. After all, these guys just admitted they regularly howl at the moon. A little fang will seem like nothing to them.

"I'm a vampire," I confess. "Just turned last spring."

They look at me, wide-eyed and interested. "A vampire, eh?" says one. "I've never met a real one before."

"Do you sleep in a coffin?"