The Guide Page 6

  Tor’s mind quickly snapped to the unthinkable. “Hunters?”

  The leader nodded, his dark and bushy brows knitting together. “Yes, and humans who will not know what you are. They may attack your caravan.”

  Tor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A large city as this was bound to house a few disagreeable characters, but he never imagined there would be hunters. There was one thing he did know, and that was that there was safety in numbers. Tor took one look to the others, the pack as the leader called it.

  “I have a favor to ask then,” Tor began.

  At first, the leader did not seem pleased, but he nodded. “For a fellow brother and son of Asena, anything.”

  Tor opened his mouth to question the leader’s words, but there was no time. “May I ask for an escort through your city. You may keep your distance from the carriage and my companions, but I would greatly appreciate your protection.”

  The leader rubbed at the thick, dark beard that covered his chin. He debated the idea for a few moments, and then nodded. “Yes, we can do that. We will follow you on the rooftops and in the crowds. If a hunter comes close, we will alert you, but we cannot interfere. I have already suffered many losses in my pack and we are all that’s left. We will escort you to the borders of the city, but you are on your own beyond that point.”

  “I understand. You have my many thanks.” The panic in Tor subsided only a little. He would have some level of protection as they traveled, but it was no guarantee for safety. If they came across a hunter, Tor would have to defend his party on his own. He wasn’t so sure that he could.

  Based on how well he did the last time he came into contact with the hunters, Tor hoped that time had changed him enough to be wiser and stronger.

  4

  Outside Istanbul, 1570

  By the time they were out of the city and well into the countryside outside of Istanbul, night had fallen over their party. They stopped for a short time after Jane, her father, and Yaverik awoke from their sleep, so that they could take their daily blood meal and allow their servants to rest before continuing.

  A small tent was erected for the modesty of the females of the party, while the others huddled around a small fire out of sight from the opening. Jane could smell the roasted meat they rotated on a spit over the flames, but it was nowhere near appetizing. It was food for the humans to help revive their strength for the journey.

  She sat on the rug that her father had laid down for them, so that they wouldn’t have to rest on the hard ground. With her legs curled up beside her and leaning upon her hand, she thought of Tor. He wasn’t in camp. All she knew was that he had to leave, but he would keep up with the others once they started moving.

  When he came back from reclaiming his meat in Istanbul, there was something different about him. He seemed wary, but when she asked him why, he wouldn’t answer. Perhaps it had something to do with the appearance of more werewolves like him. She could sense them outside the carriage, though they never spoke or approached the group at any time. They kept their distance and as soon as they left Istanbul, the pack dropped away and Jane did not sense their presence again.

  However, that couldn’t explain the edge in Tor’s voice when he spoke, because the aura persisted, even after the other werewolves left. Her father would give her no more details when she asked where Tor had run off to. That was nearly an hour ago and he still hadn’t returned.

  “What do you think of Angelo?” Francesca asked from her bedroll deeper within the tent.

  Jane turned and gave her blood servant a look. “You should be resting.”

  Francesca propped her chin in her hand, her green eyes sparkling. Jane always did love her green eyes, especially when they lit up with excitement. “I know, but I wanted to know what you thought of him.”

  Angelo wasn’t the most handsome man, not like Tor. Given her choice of humans within their close circle of acquaintances, Jane would have preferred Marco far better. He was strong, mature, and had been with her father for quite a while. Angelo was still relatively new to their odd family, having served Yaverik for three years so far, and Jane hadn’t spent enough time around him to form an opinion. In fact, she kept her distance from Yaverik too when possible, which was why she hadn’t spent time with Angelo.

  “He’s fair, I suppose,” she replied, knowing full well that both her father and Yaverik could hear their conversation. At least they would be aware of Francesca’s feelings for her fellow blood servant. Perhaps they already knew. Her father had a way of knowing things before anyone else and it infuriated Jane at times. She wanted to learn his secrets, but he still insisted that she was too young.

  “He’s been extremely friendly with me the last few weeks,” Francesca said, her free hand stroking the coarse fibers of the rug beyond her plush bedroll.

  It was not uncommon for the blood servants of covens to fall in love, get married, and even have a child who would be loved and cared for by their masters as devotedly as the parents. It happened once when Jane was a child, between the blood servants of her parents. Michael released them to live their own lives, which is when they took on Marco, who was a little older than her at the time. If Francesca and Angelo should enter into such a relationship, Michael was sure to be lenient.

  Appraising Francesca, Jane realized that if she could find love in Angelo, then she should grasp it with both hands. An unmarried signorina of little wealth over the age of twenty would have a hard time finding a lover. Francesca was not so old, but she would be soon. She had faithfully served Jane for almost a decade now and had become her closest confidant. It would be heart wrenching to let her leave, but Jane was not one to stand in the way of true love.

  “You should ask him what he thinks of you,” Jane advised.

  Francesca’s eyes went wide. “That would be improper.”

  “Nonsense.” Jane leaned toward her blood servant as if to share the greatest secret of the universe. “Men are dense. They need to be told everything. If you fancy him, then you should tell him. He will give you a quick answer if he thinks the same of you.”

  Now it was Francesca’s turn to give Jane a look. “Then what’s holding you back from Tor?”

  Yaverik would never have stood for such a bold rebuttal, but Jane and Michael were far more tolerant with their servants.

  To be honest, Jane wasn’t sure what was holding her back. Each time she thought of telling Tor exactly what she wanted from him, her stomach and chest would twist in knots until it felt she would never breathe again. She knew full well that Tor didn’t care for her in the same way. It was debatable whether he even liked her.

  For all her vampire abilities to read emotions, she could not penetrate the thick walls that Tor had built around his heart. Why they had been erected in the first place, she couldn’t say. The only way to know anything about Tor was to plainly ask, so there was no confusion in the matter. Yet Jane could hardly bring herself to ask the burning questions that demanded answers.

  Jane pushed aside her heavy skirt and shuffled over to Francesca on her hands and knees. The blood servant giggled at the impish look on Jane’s face. “I’ll make a deal with you,” she whispered. “If you agree to tell Angelo how you feel, I’ll tell Tor how I feel.”

  Francesca shot her a dubious look. “Promise?”

  Jane held out her pale little finger to her friend. “Promise.”

  She accepted the oath and hooked her own pinky around Jane’s.

  “In fact,” Jane said. “I’m going to go do it right now.”

  Before Francesca could reach out and grab her mistress’s hand, Jane was already at the tent opening. “I thought Tor went away?”

  “He did. I’m going to find him,” she replied with a simpering grin.

  Francesca made a sound of disapproval, but it was too late. Jane slipped out of the tent and crept toward the horses. The fires of determination had been rekindled, but for how long?

  On the other side of the tent, she could hear the me
n talking around the fire. If she weren’t wearing her full skirt, she might have been able to sneak out of camp completely unnoticed by human or vampire. She was fairly confident that her father would hear her at the very least.

  She found Giovanni’s horse where Tor’s staff was securely tied to the horn of the saddle. With a single touch, she focused on the crux of the staff and the bond that tethered it to its owner. Werewolves had their sense of smell for tracking. Vampires had what her father always called The Sight. It was the collective ability to feel another’s emotions and see their memories, as well as follow the spiritual essence of a soul left behind in small traces as it traveled across this earth.

  The latter ability was reserved for only the most powerful of born vampires, but Jane’s heritage was pure and strong. If her father could, then she certainly could.

  It only took Jane a few moments before she could sense the pull of Tor’s soul on the staff. It snaked through the forest, away from the camp. Jane slipped off her heeled slippers and took off into the trees.

  The branches and bushes snagged at the delicate fabric of her skirts, tearing at the stitching and embroidery that her father had paid a hefty price to have completely perfect. Jane was done with perfect. Done with tame and proper.

  Her father scolded her for being blind to the truths of the world. She was too young, far too young to know of the dangers of stepping outside of the normal parameters of their culture and society. Jane had been yearning to bust out of her tight and itchy clothes for years now, longing for something wild, something savage. Something like Tor.

  Tonight, she would get a taste of it. Only then would she know if she wanted more.

  Jane smelled him before she ever saw him. A musky scent of fur and forest that beckoned her in for a closer look.

  Slinking closer towards the row of shrubs that separated them, she knew he must know she was there. Her skirts, if not her scent, would have been a clear giveaway. Stealth was not a skill she possessed, nor was it something her father would care to teach her. After all, what use would a lady have for sneaking about?

  She peeked over the bushes and her eyes went wide. Tor was just as she had imagined him to be. Massive. Neither man not beast, but a functional mix of both. Magnificent, and yet intimidating.

  Jane wasn’t afraid when he turned his wolfish head and stared at her with the golden eyes that seemed to burn through the darkness of the night. His nostrils at the end of his long muzzle flared as he passively sniffed the air.

  With movements so fluid and graceful, he rose onto his hind legs, his shiny, dark pelt reflecting the few rays of moonlight that filtered through the trees. His tail disturbed the fallen leaves behind him as his broad and muscular shoulders squared to display the chiseled chest and stomach.

  She likened his body to that of a statue that had been crafted by one of the masters of art. Regardless of his beastly appearance, with vicious claws tipping his humanlike digits and strong arms hanging at his sides, Tor was like a god.

  Jane rose from her hiding place and pushed her way through the bushes, drawn to him so completely that all the rest of the world faded away. Tor did not flinch, run, or even growl at her presence. Yet, she could sense that he was not entirely pleased to see her. She didn’t care.

  She had never before laid eyes upon a werewolf in its greatest form. She wanted to touch him, to feel his fur beneath her fingertips and explore every part of this amazing and wondrous body.

  Tor slowly lowered himself back down onto all fours and slowly padded towards her. Despite his displeasure, he was in full control of himself, and seemed to understand exactly what she wanted.

  With a hand, trembling with excitement, Jane reached out and weaved her fingers through his thick mane, caressing around his neck. This form was twice the size of his human form and he had to bend his head down to graze his wet nose against her cheek.

  He snorted and shook out his mane. Jane giggled and would not be deterred.

  “I hope you know how magnificent you look,” she whispered.

  The intelligent look in his eye told her that Tor heard every word she said. Yes, now was her chance to say everything, even if he was a wolf.

  “Tor, I – “

  His head snapped to the side, his ears erect and swiveling to listen to something in the distance. Jane silenced and listened as well. She heard the pop of the gunpowder first, then the yelp of distress from Tor.

  He staggered into her as the scent of blood filled her senses. She hastily caught him and looked in the direction of the assailant. Why hadn’t she detected him first? So wrapped up in everything about Tor, she had been oblivious to any danger.

  The man, cloaked in black and half of his face concealed in a shroud, she couldn’t identify him, but her intuition told her this man had murder on his mind. This wasn’t some case of a hunter mistaking Tor for sport. This man specifically wanted Tor dead. He lowered the barrel of his smoking pistol and holstered it into his belt before he turned away, obviously thinking that his job was complete.

  The fur around Tor’s shoulder became caked with his blood and it was slick to the touch. He should have healed by now. Upon quick inspect, she saw the edges of the bullet wound burn and sizzle. A wisp of smoke curled upward from his flesh. Silver.

  He was alive, but if the silver wasn’t extracted soon, he might not be for long. Her father had told her enough about werewolves to know their weaknesses and their many strengths. Tor looked to her, dazed with his lips curled back in a snarl. It wasn’t directed at her, but at the immense pain. Jane felt it too, seeping through her own body and searing her skin. If only her abilities allowed her to take away his suffering.

  She hissed toward the assassin. Blinded by the need to vindicate Tor, she left him where he fell and darted through the trees. Her skirts tore even more and snagged on the unforgiving brambles around her. The assassin did not flee in the face of a female who was running far faster than any human should be able to.

  Instead, he pulled out a stick. No, a stake. Jane skidded to a stop and noticed the man also wore a cross around his neck and it caught the moonlight just enough for her to finally see it against his dark clothing.

  Whoever this man was, he knew nothing of vampires. Their hearts did not beat, so there was no use in plunging a stake through her chest as the myths dictated. Neither would she be deterred by a simple cross.

  Completely untrained in the art of martial combat, Jane charged the man and slashed at his face, her eyes blazing a deep red and black as the fury took control, and fangs glistening between her lips. The man dodged a few blows, but her nails managed to slice into his shoulder. Several times, he tried to stab her chest with the stake, but she evaded every attack, and finally knocked it from his hand to render him defenseless.

  He let out a long whistle that was half-muffled by his face mask. Jane lunged at him, ready to see how deep her fangs could sink through his flesh. Her father had taken pride in the fact that he had never killed a human, but Jane was not above taking the life of this stranger. He hurt Tor and that was all the reason she needed.

  Before she could grip his neck, she heard a faint disturbance in the air and then felt a sharp pain in her side. She fell to the ground and looked down to see the arrow pierced through her bodice and embedded in her ribs. With each move, a burning spread through her body, the source coming from the arrow tip.

  Jane hadn’t much experience with garlic, except when she passed a bakery or house where cloves were hung in the kitchens. The smell alone made her sneeze and cough. To feel it coursing through her veins was a different sensation entirely. Everything felt as if it were swelling, growing thick and tender. Her flesh pressed against her tight stays and rubbed against the seams of her chemise. The very blood in her veins congealed and her limbs convulsed as the poison reached to the most outer points of her body, which were growing rigid and immobile.

  She let out a scream, hoping it would alert her father in time. She looked to the assassin and he was jo
ined by two more men, one holding a crossbow. Her vision went blurry as the searing pain intensified. She swayed and the world began to tilt. Just before everything went black, she heard the angry and helpless roar of a werewolf some distance behind her.

  The men stooped down to collect her and Jane lost her slip on consciousness.

  Giovanni didn’t have the faintest idea what roused Michael and Yaverik. One moment, they were talking about a particular fashion trend that was making its way through Europe, and the next they had looked to the west and darted from their seats around the fire.

  Given no word to stay where he was, Giovanni ran after his patrons into the forest. Slow and encumbered by the thick shrubbery, Giovanni arrived to the scene, gasping for air. Yet what he saw next stole the breath from his lungs once more.

  A massive beast, a monster neither man nor animal. Perhaps it was both. Yaverik jeered at it, as if it were nothing more than a flea infested, rabid dog. Michael, however, stooped beside it, assisting it to rise on its four limbs.

  Giovanni could only guess that this creature was Tor. The werewolf had dismissed himself from the party around sundown, but gave no explanation. The scholar looked to the sky, but the moon was not full. So, the myths were false. Werewolves were not dependent upon the moon for their unholy change.

  With wide eyes, he watched Tor reel and stagger.

  “Jane has been taken,” Michael announced.

  The last he had seen of the young vampire, she was in her tent. Giovanni knew that the girl would bring trouble upon their voyage. What was worse, they had two females to look after now. If Giovanni had any say in the matter, he would have ordered them to board another ship bound back for Italy the moment they docked at Istanbul. Yet Michael was in charge and he permitted them to follow for whatever mysterious reason.

  “I thought she was in camp?” Giovanni questioned, his voice little more than a raspy attempt to speak.