A Wolf of Her Own (20 page)

She half expected the Rider to tell her to keep her mouth shut, but her second nature had been quiet, as if it didn’t exist. Perhaps the warriors were right. She should let it out every now and then so it would be more manageable.

He cocked a brow in amused question and she sighed. She couldn’t avoid this longer. "It’s my fault your brother is dead."

The surprise on his face was so blatant it would have been comical in any other situation. "How do you figure that?"

"Mother killed those sheep, and somehow humans got it into their heads your people had done it. They wanted revenge and found your brother. But he wouldn’t have been there without me. He must have come to look for me on the farm. He often came as a wolf to check up on me."

He was silent for so long she began to fear. Then he shook his head. "You want me to blame you for my brother’s sense of duty? His need to make sure a little girl was safe?"

"If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have needed to keep anyone safe."

"But then you wouldn’t be here today. You wouldn’t be making me happy. You wouldn’t have been there to save Vincent." His eyes glistened with emotion.

"So you don’t blame me?" She held her breath, his answer meaning everything to her. He smiled warmly.

"Of course not. And I’m happy you found my brother when you needed him."

She smiled back, relieved. "It was my infinite curiosity that led to that. I wanted to meet some wolves."

He leaned in to kiss her nose. "How lucky you are to have a wolf of your own to satisfy your curiosity from now on."

She laughed. "I so am. And I’m going to take full advantage of it. Unless – you’re not putting the call off or anything?"

"Not for anything. I’ve always resented humans for what happened to Colm and that’s not likely to change. As for today, you saved my nephew’s life, even though you feared it would cost you too much. How could I ever not love you for that?" She got tears in her eyes and he brushed them gently away.

"It’s not possible to stop the call for anything, but should I be angry with you for any reason, the call is there to help me see past it. And the call isn’t why I love you. I love you because you’re brave and strong and beautiful. I can see that without Might influencing me."

He leaned in to give her a small kiss. It released her to finally feel as strongly as she wanted to. What had felt like a small ember in her heart burst into full flame, making her entire body glow.

She reached to brush his cheek. "The call isn’t the same for me, but I feel the pull of Might too. More importantly, I feel love. I’m not afraid to anymore."

He smiled. "You’re not afraid of anything. But I’m here for you. I’ll help you back should you need it."

"I can’t promise I’m always able to express how I feel."

He leaned over and kissed her. "Small steps. There’s no need to release the floodgates at once. It’s enough for me to know you love me and that you feel the call. We can build on that. We have eternity."

They did, didn’t they? She tried out the words in her mind and they rang true. The warmth in her wasn’t because his body covered hers. It was because of him, because he was here with her, for her. Because he loved her.

She took a deep breath. "I love you."

There was a peace inside her.

Warrior’s Heart

Have you read the previous Two-Natured London novel, Warrior’s Heart? Read how Philippa came to date her fierce warrior, Jasper. Here’s the first chapter:

Chapter One

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” The cheerful command was followed by the swift removal of Jasper’s duvet, leaving him feeling cold and exposed in his nakedness. That didn’t stop him from shooting out of the bed and punching Jeremy in the shoulder.

“Fuck off, Jem, you twat!” Jasper sat back down and rubbed his face to banish the last remains of his sleep.

“Now, now, Jas, is that any way to address your little brother?” Jeremy asked good-naturedly, not even massaging his shoulder, the show-off. Jasper had given it a good punch, but the idiot had deserved it. You didn’t wake a sleeping vampire and not pay for it. “It’s your night off, remember. You can’t spend it sleeping.”

“I can do what I bloody well want,” Jas growled, still annoyed at the interrupted sleep. “I’m over three and a half centuries old. I need my constitutional.”

Jem snorted. “Well, Papa Bear—or should I say bare,” he added with a grin, shooting a meaningful glance down at Jas’s naked torso, “those of us who aren’t quite that old are heading to Sudden Death, and you are coming with us.”

Jas would have punched harder if he had known Jem was here on such a blasted errand. “Like hell I am.” Sudden Death was the most popular night club in London among the two-natured kind, vampires and shifters alike, but Jas was yet to see the appeal. Most warriors of the Crimson Circle went there regularly, but Jas had been there maybe twice during its existence, and hadn’t frequented any of the other joints that had enjoyed the warriors’ patronage before that club either. He didn’t get the attraction of loud music, overcrowded dance floors and rubbing shoulders with shifter pups and vampires barely out of their
fulfilment
. Now, get him into a pub—a proper English affair such as he remembered from his youth—with a pint of whatever was on tap, and he was happy.

“Can’t we go to the Crown instead?”

“Nope. Zach feels like dancing tonight,” Jem said, going to Jas’s wardrobe and pulling it open. While he rummaged through the contents—and good luck with that—Jas resigned himself to his fate. Zacharias Hamilton, the Second Son of Alexander Hamilton, Lord Foley, the leader of the Crimson Circle, loved Sudden Death, its atmosphere, its music, the dancing and the booze. But most of all, he loved the women and there were plenty of those to be had there. And they all loved him back. He was a force of nature when it came to partying so Jas might as well head to the shower.

“There’s nothing in your wardrobe but leather and jeans,” Jem complained.

“If I can’t go in jeans and a tee, I’m not going,” Jas said emphatically, closing the bathroom door behind him, but to no avail. Before he turned on the shower, he heard Jem say something about finding clothes from his own closet.

***

“Are you done primping yet?” Jeremy’s voice called through the bathroom door ten minutes later. With a grunt to the affirmative, Jasper finished drying himself. He shot a glance to the mirror to make sure his face was clean, the sum total of his preparations for the night. His gaze fell on the tattoo circling his right bicep, a thorn wreath inked in deep red, the mark of a full-fledged Circle warrior. He was proud of it. He had other tattoos too—his left shoulder and upper arm were covered in black tribal swirls—but on his right arm there was only this one.

Hanging the towel to dry, he turned his back to the mirror. He didn’t have to worry about shaving or having his hair fashionably coiffed. He kept stubble shadowing his chin and shaved his hair so short it was almost impossible to tell its colour. He scarcely remembered it himself, but it had to be dark brown, if his eyebrows and the hair that covered his body were any indicators. He had looked the same for centuries, long before it became fashionable among human males to shave their heads more diligently than their faces when they wanted to conceal their receding hairlines or look tough. He saw no reason to change.

Jasper wasn’t exactly balding—he was a vampire after all—but his hairline had begun to recede before his
promise
was
fulfilled
when he was twenty-nine. Using Might, the energy surrounding all living that only the two-natured races were able to access, he had been able to correct some minor details. He had reset his nose he had broken as a lad and again as a soldier for the king, but it hadn’t seemed important to make his hair grow back. Just as he hadn’t seen a point in removing the thick scar that ran horizontally across the right side of his head above the ear. It was a memento from the Battle of Killiecrankie in 1689 when a Highlander had tried to take the top of his head off with his claymore.

It had been a killing blow, and the only reason Jas was alive today was Foley. He had found Jas after the battle, lying bloodied and dying on the field, and had saved his life with his ability to heal. Then he had moved Jas to his own camp, the vampire division of the troops fighting for William of Orange.

Saving his human life hadn’t been the only thing Foley had done for him. He had told Jas that he had
promise
in him—the vampire variation of the two-natured gene, as modern science called it—and had offered to
fulfil
it—trigger it so that Jas would become vampire instead of remaining human. Jas hadn’t hesitated. There may not have been any vampires in the village where he grew up, and he hadn’t encountered many during his career as a soldier either, but the near-death experience had convinced him that there were great advantages to being a vampire. He had even asked Foley to test Jem for the
promise
. Together, the brothers had been made vampires and they had pledged their allegiance to Foley and the Crimson Circle.

With their newly acquired vampire handicap of being unable to operate in daylight for the first century or two, they couldn’t have continued as soldiers for the Crown anyway. But the Circle more than made up for the loss of profession, offering them plenty of chances to fight during the night. Moreover, the brothers had proven to be strong in Might despite being human-born. It had taken them less than a century to win the sun, opening a way for them to become full-fledged Circle warriors.

Jas exited the bathroom in his birthday suit and shot a disgusted glance at Jem who was standing right outside. “What’s the rush, little brother?” Jasper was three years older than Jeremy and he liked to bring it up every now and then. Or, you know, like every day.

Jas actually liked having Jem around, even on evenings when he was being more annoying than normal. He was the only family he had left, including the progeny of their human siblings; the last one of those had died about a century ago. They had their warrior brothers of course, but it wasn’t the same as having one’s blood relations around.

That didn’t mean they always had to be nice to each other though.

Jas’s glowering made Jem only grin wider. The bastard was enjoying this. He was holding a black silk shirt from a hanger and he pushed it towards Jas. “You can wear this.”

The shirt wasn’t much different from those which men had worn in Jas’s youth, but times had changed. “No way am I wearing that. I’ll look like a sad, clueless rocker, especially if I wear it with leather jeans.”

“So wear denim instead. Or, you know, proper trousers. I’m sure there’s a pair somewhere in your wardrobe.” Jem himself was wearing black suit trousers and a white dress shirt with its top buttons open and sleeves rolled up to the elbows so that some chest hair and muscular, sinewy arms were showing. He was even wearing shiny leather shoes.

They looked much alike, but Jeremy had always taken greater interest in his looks. His full, dark brown hair didn’t show signs of receding, and he had shaved carefully so that his strong angular jaw, much like Jas’s own, was perfectly visible instead of hiding behind the stubble. Prominent nose—magically mended like Jas’s—stark brows and puppy brown eyes that always regarded the world with enjoyment made him look if not handsome then manly. Jas wasn’t sure the same could be said about him. And the only thing he truly enjoyed was fighting.

Grumpy old bear, Jem always called him, and he was probably right.

Since Jas had already pulled the leather jeans on, he wasn’t about to change. “Jeans don’t go so well with kickers.”

Jem rolled his eyes. “Then put on trainers.”

Jas wasn’t sure what was considered appropriate footwear for a nightclub and he didn’t really care. “Just give me the bloody shirt.”

He snatched the shirt from Jeremy and put it on. At least it wasn’t one of those pseudo-historical shirts with ruffles and billowing sleeves and only strings with which to tie it closed at the throat that were so popular among human men who pretended to be vampires. What was with that shit anyway? They never got it right.

The shirt was rather close fitted and it didn’t hang all the way to his knees like the shirts of his youth; in modern eyes, it would have made the shirt look like a dress. It didn’t look half bad, actually. Of course, tight as it was, he wouldn’t be able to flex his biceps for fear of tearing the fabric. Or lift his arms up even.

“Leave the top buttons open,” Jeremy instructed him. “And don’t tuck it in.” Sighing in annoyance, Jas stopped what he was doing, leaving the shirt tails hanging loose.

“Let’s just go so we can get this over with.” And even though he wanted to put on his combat boots, he took out a pair of black trainers and wore them instead. Who cared whether they suited the outfit or not. He contemplated putting on a long leather coat too, to ward off the late February chill, but they were driving and the coat would be a nuisance inside the club. He was a vampire; he could handle a bit of cold.

They met the rest of their group in the grand hall of the Crimson Manor, a rambling Elizabethan building Foley had built at the end of the sixteenth century to replace the earlier medieval castle the Circle had called their home. The place was large, opulent, and thanks to modern refurbishing, very comfortable. Jas remembered when times were different.

The grand hall was made to impress anyone entering the place for the first time: it was huge, with dark oak wainscoting, a high painted ceiling, stone floor, and gilded leather tapestry. Long hallways led to three wings of the manor and a grand staircase to upper floors. In the enormous fireplace on one wall a fire was always lit and the warriors gathered around it when they were on their way out or returning home.

Of the two men waiting for the brothers, Zach Hamilton was more striking. He was over six and half feet tall with a body full of lean, well-defined muscles. He resembled his father in size and colours, and like him was also so handsome as to be beautiful. In addition, Zach had his mother’s curling hair, deep dimples and laughing blue eyes that made him look like a fallen angel, mischievous and deadly.