Bloodmark (7 page)

It sounded too good to be true. It was only a matter of time before the tiny bit of reserve I had broke and there would be nothing left for him to protect but a pile of blubbering tears. I had to hold it together, or this whole battle would be for nothing.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and his strength almost gave me strength, but not enough. We walked through the crowded airport, and there were blurry faces all around us, empty space where their faces should have been. It was like walking through a sea of soulless people. Were they soulless, or was I? I wanted to be home by the sea. I wanted to be with my mother. Everything I knew was gone, and everything I had was taken away. Everything had somehow changed, and I still didn’t understand why.

We exited the airport into the rain. I looked up into the sky and let it wash my tear-stained face and calm my mind. I started spinning around, letting it wash over me—cleansing my soul, setting me free.

Baran’s motorcycle waited for us outside. I studied the black Harley. I had to admit that his bike made a statement no one would dare argue with. It had a presence like he did. We left the brightly lit, concrete city behind on our five-hour drive to the coast of Maine. We drove on the blackened roads of a foreign land. We passed cities, farms, and the great wide open. If it hadn’t been for the crisp wind in my face, I might have believed this was all an illusion, but the trip was over quickly in comparison to the last few days. We arrived in the small coastal town of York Harbor after dark. We parked in front of a historic-looking house with an open porch and a widow’s walk on the roof. The house loomed over us as we walked inside.

His house was immaculately clean but cluttered with books. I felt strangely comfortable surrounded by his things. “This is home,” he said. “Your room is this way.”

He showed me to a closet door in the center of the house, just off the kitchen. He pulled a silver handle that opened up a hidden doorway to a wrought-iron spiral staircase. I gulped down my fear as I followed him. At the top of the stairs was a small bedroom and bathroom. A bay-window seat was on one end of the room and the bathroom on the other. It was a little creepy, but it felt safe. Only a bare bed and a five-drawer dresser were in the room.

“I’ll get you some bedding.”

I took a seat in the window, resting my face on the cool glass, watching the nocturnal animals as they scurried about their evening business. I didn’t look up when I heard him enter. I was too bitter about my situation to care what he wanted. Baran set sheets and a large comforter on the bed.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. I heard his footsteps as he descended the stairs. I was wary of my new home, but the tiniest part of me was excited. Maybe I could build a life here. I grabbed the black comforter and wrapped it around my body and sat back down.

I was so angry with everyone. Why didn’t Mother fight harder, why did she let Baran take me? Had she finally given up? Even Mund let this happen. I could expect as much from Father, but it hurt to think Mund and Mother would allow this. Maybe it was time for me to learn to be on my own. I had yearned for freedom and adventure my whole life, and here it was in front of me, waiting for me to grasp it. I just had to have the courage to do it.

The next morning, I studied the room by the light of day. It wasn’t a bad room; boring, but private. I yawned, taking in a deep breath. I hadn’t showered in days, unless the rainstorm counted. I hopped in the cast-iron tub to take a shower. The warm water felt good on my dirty skin.

I was finally clean, and the idea of putting dirty clothes back on was out of the question. I wrapped myself in a giant towel and ventured, the metal stairs frigid under my bare feet. I found a plate of cooked bacon in the kitchen and snagged a piece of the salty meat, surprised to find I liked it. I searched for Baran, wandering through the living room; the room was as clean as the others and utterly masculine. The smell of burned wood was prominent from the fireplace. A large bookcase was filled with books that poured out of the full shelves to the floor. The coffee table was cluttered with papers, a few open books, and a pair of boots.

I continued from the living room down a long hallway, and I entered the office with four walls of solid bookcases. The books in here appeared to be much older, like books from Father’s library. Some were stacked haphazardly, barely on the shelves at all. A large wooden desk sat in the center of the room, and it was covered in stacks upon stacks of books and scrolls. Behind it was a stately chair, almost throne-like. There was a stack of old tapestries and Turkish rugs in the side of the room. I glanced across the hall to the bathroom. It looked uninhabited.

I continued down the dark hall past two stark, empty rooms, opening the last door to a large dark bedroom. His room was like a well-organized antique store. It must have contained his family’s most-prized possessions. His large four-post bed was unmade, his black sheets hanging off onto the floor. Even more books were stacked all over the bed and floor. I wondered what answer he was searching for.

I dug through a stack of pants in his closet until I chose a pair of tan canvas work pants and slipped them on. They rode low on my small hips and were a foot too long, but they would have to do. I saw an open drawer of white T-shirts and slipped one over my head, tying it at my waist.

I walked back to the kitchen for more bacon and took a seat at the table. There wasn’t a single photo displayed in the entire house. It was unnerving, as if he had something to hide. I had met his nephew Willem—why were there no photos of Willem and his wife?

I glanced out the window to see a blue four-door sedan. It didn’t seem like something Baran would drive, but then whose car was it? I turned around to the sound of the front door opening. A blonde woman with big blue eyes watched me from the doorway. She was short with cute freckles all over her round face and little nose. Her hair was cut short to her chin. She looked young, but her eyes gave her away. She was much more mature in life and age than her round face alluded to.

She smelled good, almost savory. My mouth watered at the thought. I had never tasted a human before—I knew our purpose was to protect them—but their scents tempted even the strongest of our kind. The woman studied me as I did her. I felt self-conscious of my appearance and began to fidget with my shirt.

Her pink baby-doll shirt offset her light-blue jeans that crinkled as she set her purse down on the entry table. “Good morning, dear. I’m Claire. I work with your uncle at his shop.”

What shop, I wondered. I didn’t know what Baran did to pose as human. She took a few steps toward me, extending her hand out in the standard human greeting. Her scent crept back into my nose. I tightened up, standing perfectly still, wide-eyed, trying desperately not to react to her scent. I couldn’t think with her scent in my head. I closed my eyes tight, trying to block her from my mind.

Nervously, she giggled, and I heard her take a subconscious step back. I had to get control and respond. She was going to think I was deranged. It was obvious she was uncomfortable in this odd situation—only she didn’t seem to realize why she should be scared of me.

She started to talk very quickly, but it was easy for me to understand her. “Baran asked me to pick you up this morning and take you to the shop to meet up with him. Are you ready to go now, or shall I come back later?” She didn’t even wait for my response. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She started toward the door in a rush.

“No bother,” I managed.

She glanced back over her shoulder at me, and I forced a smile. It worked. Her face lit up like sunlight. “Oh good. Baran said you might be sad, with the loss of your parents and all, but here you are smiling and everything. What a trip you must have had.”

She babbled the whole way across the small town of York Harbor. We passed houses and storefronts and arrived at a large mechanic’s shop with an immaculate showroom. Everything in York Harbor was so different from my home at the cliffs. The chatter had quieted; Claire must have asked me a question, but I wasn’t listening—I was concentrating on not killing her. I looked over at her, and her car door was open. She seemed to be waiting for me to get out. I jumped from the car and followed her to the second open stall, where a custom-built matte-black motorcycle sat getting new tires.

Baran knelt, loosening a bolt with a lot of grunting, but it was all for show. I knew he could easily lift the bike with one hand and toss it across the street if he had wanted. He looked up at me and answered Claire. “Claire, thank you for bringing Ashling. I’d like a word with her.”

“Sure thing,” she said, and she darted away like a rabbit into the building. Though we were meant to protect them, she sparked my predator instinct to chase. Baran was studying me when I finally brought my attention from the scent of Claire’s blood to him.

“Nice clothes.”

I felt my face turn as red as my hair. “Sorry. I didn’t have anything to wear. I hope you don’t mind?” I kept my eyes on the floor, suddenly embarrassed to be dressed like this. I wanted his acceptance, and I didn’t know how he would react to me rifling through his things.

He laughed, filling the tall ceilings with his thunderous sound. “Had I known I’d be bringing you back with me, I’d have prepared better for you,” he said, still chuckling at my expense. His tone turned serious. “Claire is a test for you. You’re doing well, but you need to do better. I can see it in your eyes. You need to hide your desire, bury it deep. Don’t let me down.” He paused, studying my face. I didn’t dare meet his eyes. I was ashamed to be reacting to Claire’s scent so deeply. I knew the forsaken wolf packs ate humans, but all other packs ate livestock. I preferred wild game myself—the hunt was so much more rewarding. “Well, you can’t run around in my clothes forever. So I’ve asked Claire to take you shopping for whatever you need to be comfortable here.”

Despite my anxiety, I smiled at him. “I
forgot
to bring any money while I packed for the trip.”

He snorted out a laugh; at least he appreciated my sarcasm. “Oh, I have that covered.” He handed me a wad of American money. It was so colorless in comparison to most of the world’s money, but the texture was almost like cloth in my fingers. “This should get you started. Please return Claire to me in the same condition I’m lending her to you.” He closed my hand around the money with a smirk and went back to grunting on the bolt.

I followed Claire’s scent into the main building and found her barely able to sit still. She rushed over to my side, grabbing up my hands and dragging me out the door and back to her car.

“Just think, Ashling—shopping on work time and a makeover too!”

“Makeover?”

“Oh sure, honey. Baran said to help you with all the lady essentials. So I thought we’d go to the spa first. Hair, mani, pedi, makeup, then hit the mall. He said you needed some things for your room too. And then who knows where the wind may blow us.”

“What’s a mani and pedi?”

“Oh heavens!” she said. “You’ve never had a manicure and pedicure? Honey. It’s a good thing you have me.”

Her energy made my skin twitch. The day was a horrifying blur. After several hours of what I gathered to be the ritual sacrifices of the American woman, I was starving, but she didn’t returned me to Baran until dusk. I had to have had at least a dozen shopping bags of clothes, shoes, and makeup. I did sneak into a bookstore when she was distracted and picked up a few of my favorite classics.

My hair was shaped into ringlets of red curls but still wild. I had makeup on my face. I wore a short denim jacket over a paisley-printed, knee-length, flowing dress and tall, dark-brown boots. I could feel Baran’s steel gaze as he looked at me.

“You look nice, Ashling,” he said. “But the boots? I’m not sure they’re appropriate for a girl of your age.”

“What don’t you like?”

He glanced at Claire, who gave him a dirty look, and he started backpedaling. “No, no . . . you look . . . ”

“Beautiful,” a broodingly handsome young man said as he stepped around the motorcycle. I hadn’t seen him there. His shaggy dark hair was unkempt around his chiseled face, and his sideburns grew long down his cheeks, perfectly shaped into points, making him look dangerous, even wolf-like. His almost-eerie green eyes were piercing . . . and they made no effort to conceal his surveillance of my body. His smile was an interesting mix of sweetness and temptation. I wanted to reach out and touch his lips and run my fingers over his sweet flesh. I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted to be near him.

His obviously fit body was covered in a black long-sleeved T-shirt, spread tightly over his chest. The sleeves were pulled up to reveal tattoos on the undersides of his wrists, but I couldn’t make them out. The tattoo on his left wrist was partially covered by a brown leather cuff.

I was surprised to find myself desperately intrigued by him, from his dark denim jeans to his black cowboy boots. He was ruggedly handsome. His scent was hard to detect with all the oil and exhaust. I felt my face flush from his insistent gaze. He walked up to me, wiping his hands off on a shop rag, tossing it nonchalantly into a bin as he passed. He reached out his hand and claimed mine in his big, warm hands, bringing it up to his lips as he kissed the top of my hand. My heart was beating so loud, I was certain he would be able to hear it, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked up at me over the top of my hand. His eyes were a daring invitation I was willing to accept.

“What’s your name?” he asked, still holding my hand, drawing my devoted attention.

I straightened myself up. “Ashling,” I replied.

“Ashling. That’s an unusual name. But seems right for a vision like you.”

“That’s enough, Grey,” Baran said.

Grey snuck a mischievous glance at me. “Is it?” he said before winking and letting my hand go. It was instantly cold, and I missed his warmth. “How about you climb on the back of my bike, and I’ll take you for a ride?” He gestured toward its sleek frame.

Baran swiftly closed the distance and stepped between us. “Beat it, kid. Before I kick you to the curb.”