Death's Servant

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Dria exits the vehicle, holding open the door for me to jump out. She wraps one delicate hand around the studded collar and whispers, “Don’t leave my side tonight. It’s the only way I can ensure your safety.”

I nod once, conveying I understand. Will I be able to hold back if I see Raine in danger? 

“If you don’t, you run the risk of ruining the whole plan.” She gives my collar a jerk and then releases. “Think on that long and hard, numb nuts. Those alpha tendencies can get in the way and destroy the whole pack if you’re not careful. Don’t make me regret agreeing to help.”

We walk to the front door and Dria rings the bell. A young blond woman, skinny to the point of looking anorexic, answers the door, a bright, forced smile on her face.

“Welcome to the V V Inn. Please, come in.”

Dria’s back stiffens at the woman’s words. The hand resting on my back fists in the fur. “Interesting name. May I ask where it came from?”

The skinny blonde shrugs, the smile on her face faltering. “I’m not sure. Cecil, the owner, said it means something to the vampire community.” The young werewolf locks eyes with me, trying to convey something—what I’m not sure. Maybe it’s simply a warning from one Were to another to get out while I can.

“Yes,” Dria says with a strained smile. “I’ve heard of it before. Hadn’t realized there was a...branch here in Virginia.”

“I take it this is your first time here?”

Dria nods her head regally. “Yes, it is.”

“My name is Tara, I can show you around.”

Tara leads us into the large foyer with two formal rooms branching off both sides. Midway into the house an elaborate staircase winds upward, and further back, a hall leads to more rooms.

Tara waves to the right with her toothpick arm. “Inside you’ll find the parlor, where guests mingle with the available Weres, selecting a partner if one has not been prearranged.” Dria nods and steps forward to glance about the room. Sticking close to her side as instructed, I follow, and see more than I’d bargained for.

Several slim werewolves lounge on heavy leather furniture, their gazes empty and unfocused. How much of their minds have been ruined by the constant control Cecil exerts on them? Can they heal from such damage and live a normal life?

Rage boils under my skin and I start to shake, minimally at first with the shudders gradually increasing as I try and hold still. The alpha in me calls for revenge, and a red haze of violence colors my vision, urging me to leap and tear out the throats of the nearby vampires ogling the emaciated wolves. 

The studded collar around my neck is painfully jerked by Dria, the hard edge of the stitched leather digging into my airway. I glance up at her to see she’s eyeing the vampires in the room, ignoring me completely, but obviously aware of my distress.

One vampire selects a slender man in his early twenties. He picks up the delicate leash dangling from the Were’s navy blue collar and leads the unresisting Were out of the room toward the stairs. He ignores us in passing, but Dria studies him carefully as they exit.

When he’s gone, her bright green gaze lingers on every bloodsucker in the room, like she’s trying to place their identity or memorizing their appearance for a later purpose. There’s a calmness emanating from her that feels down right spooky. I wish we had talked about more of an actual plan than “follow my lead” before we got here.