Page 120 of Evil Hearts

Only you?

Like it was so unheard of to have a single woman staying in one of their rooms…

Still, it made her feel so alone.

Looking down into her glass of wine, however, Katarina realized she’d been feeling lonely for a lot longer than she’d let herself believe. She had to question if maybe she did need to find a more permanent companion to help inspire her. After all, art was her passion; herlife! She couldn’t let it be ruined by something as stupid as loneliness!

“Alright, Kat… time to go find some inspiration,” she whispered as she stood, taking one last gulp of wine before putting some cash on the table to cover her untouched meal and a tip.

“Och! Will ye shut it, ol’ man!” the thick burr of the innkeeper sounded from across the bar. “There be no wolves around these parts since the ol’ times.”

“Aye? And what makes ye so sure, Magee?” an older man grinned at the innkeeper, nudging her and letting out a bout of drunken laughter.

The old woman smiled, and Katarina inwardly smirked at the sight. So the womandidhave a soft spot in her under all that crass and brass. She took her time getting her jacket on, taking her time so that she could continue to eavesdrop.

Wolves in Scotland?

Beautiful, powerful, deadly beasts roaming the land?

Maybe this was exactly what she needed to help inspire her.

“Ye are full of it! Just like when ye were in here goin’ on about Nessie! Or that month ye were obsessed with the missing villagers and tourists! But ye ne’er have anyproof!”

“This time’s different, ye ol’ bat! I’m not the only one that’s seen ‘em!”

“Well, where d’ye think the wolves are then?” she cocked a brow at him; genuine curiosity brightening her features.

“Och! There’s tha’ ol’ excitement in ye eyes!” the older man laughed and nudged her again.

“Well, m’be ye’ve peaked my int’rest! So then, out with it, ol’ man! Where?” she slapped his back, causing him to double over in his drunken stupor and let out a loud, heaving cough.

“Alright, alright! Ye ol’ wench!” the man’s voice was a choked burr around his coughing fits, but still the innkeeper kept her slaps consistent against his back, spurring him on. “They say there ‘ave been sightings near Meall Mòr!”

“Ohaye? An’ jus’whois—”

Katarina turned away from the conversation, both in body and in mind, and finished throwing on her jacket as her mind raced with new thoughts. As she left, she found herself smiling toherself as she pulled out her map and headed towards the hills. As she made her way out of the village, she could feel herself grow lighter and her smile deepened as she looked up to the clear night sky. The moon was almost full and she felt almost empowered by it as she continued into the hills, humming to herself.

She wasn’t sure what to expect out there, but she was just as skeptical as the innkeeper had been. The old Scottish drunkard had seemed certain, but only because of what he’d heard from other, no-doubt equally as inebriated and misinformed elders. Katarina knew all too well that stories had a funny way of moving and exaggerating between each new teller; hell, her career was outright built on just this sort of exaggerated spoken lore! What was wolves that night could have started as a single sheepdog from a week ago. A few yipping foxes fighting over a rabbit spotted by the right near-sighted local could just as easily have inflated to this sort of story.

Or maybe they were true, Katarina mused, smiling wider as she continued forward—both on foot and in thought.

Maybe, just maybe, thereweresome wolves to be seen up in those hills, and in this sort of night—the unnatural clarity that she’d never find in New York City back at home—a sight like that wascertainto spark new life into her paintings. She’d worn out the elf theme a while back, relying heavily on memories and stories of her anapriek heritage as a reference to paint scenes of nimble, long-eared beauties. The recent Lord of the Rings films had made for a spike in those types of visuals, however, forcing Katarina to shift her focus or risk being swept away with the lingering trend. Vampires were, despite Erik’s vanity-driven urges, an oversaturated market if one wasn’t willing to depict ageless teenagers humping like porn stars, and no matter how much her agent pressed that they’d be “making a comeback” she couldn’t bring herself to paint another fanged fiend withouta greater certainty that there’d be a buyer at the end of it all. Horror and romance—and even uncomfortably beautiful hybrids of the two—were a reliable source of steady income, and when she found herself in a pinch there were always movie posters and book covers to fall back on for a quick sale…

But she wanted more.

Katarina was, when all the glitter and glamor was washed away at the end of the day, anartist, and—dammit!—she wanted to feel like she was creatingartagain.

Wolves in the highlands…she thought, cycling the words in her mind again and again.

It evensoundedlike an art exhibition.

Wolves… in the highlands.

She felt a shiver of excitement flutter in her breasts as the hope of new inspiration blossomed and she began to let the ideas come to her. Her feet carried her as her mind wandered; her basic instincts needing no more instruction thango to the hillsto drive them. Speed and agility were her natural gift—as much a product of her anapriek genetics as her ears and skin—and, though she rarely needed them in the busting hubbub of the city, they’d never left her. Though it brought her no pride to dwell on the thought, anaprieks were the cosmic underdogs of the mythos community. Anything with a taste for death—vampires, therions, and just about every other species with the exception of the humans, who she knew to be no less bloodthirsty—were stronger and deadlier than her kind. Moreover, whether it was a divine prank or a cosmic injustice, anaprieks were a unanimous treat to any creature’s taste buds; their bloodandtheir flesh serving as an ongoing temptation to anything with sense enough to smell it or a history for the taste.

She’d even caught Erik stealing glances at her throat when he thought she wasn’t looking, and she knew it wasn’t for her sex appeal.

And while times had changed and laws had been passed to prevent mythos-on-mythos violence, it was an inescapable reality that, when monsters got hungry, monsters fed.

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