Page 15 of Fangs for the Memories
“Absolutely not,” I growl.
“In that suit, I would be,” she says, turning on her heel and continuing into the park, down the short lane to the small two story building which is the park headquarters.
I’m cursing the fact I refused to allow Viktor to tag along with me today, despite his misgivings, as it seems like I’m about to end up right in the heart of vampire country, but I had other jobs for the big gargoyle to undertake, important ones.
Which means I’m here, with a mate who doesn’t know she’s my mate and who remains unclaimed and vulnerable.
Not the way I wanted us to spend our first day together.
I stoop to enter the low doorway to find Grace along with a small group of other tourists who are clearly here for the cave tour too.
A slim human man sizes me up before he notices my gaze, and then he averts his eyes to the rest of the group
“Looks like we have our final members,” he says, in English. “Come with me and we’ll get your kit.”
He leads us through into a room at the rear which is filled with racks containing boiler suits and helmets. The human starts handing out the equipment until he gets to me.
“I don’t believe we’ll have anything to fit you,sir,” he says in Hungarian with obvious distain.
I guess a mafia boss is a mafia boss to a human.
“It’s fine. I’ll go like this,” I respond.
He sniffs and hands me a helmet. “It will be dirty. You’ll need to sign a waiver.”
I glare at him, a glare which would wither a lesser wolf but not, apparently, this human male. He stares back.
“I won’t need to sign a waiver.”
“Hey, big guy.” Grace pats me on my chest, and it’s as if her hand has left a print there. It’s enough to break my concentration. “You ready?”
She’s in a green boiler suit and has the helmet on her head, straps swinging undone. I carefully clip them together and tighten up the strap. Then I put my own helmet on, regardless of whether I need it or not.
“I was born ready,” I growl.
“You’re going like that?” she queries.
I shed my outer coat, hanging it up on a peg next to the other tourists’ outer clothing.
“Italian wool will stand up to anything, even Hungarian dirt.” I look over at the human male. “Especially Hungarian dirt,” I add.
“Then we begin,” the guide says, striding out the back door as the rest of our party follows. “Into the depths.”
Grace
Idon’t think the guide likes Ferenc very much. I’m also not surprised they didn’t have a boilersuit in his size. Although, his decision to continue on with the tour wearing his expensive suit is an interesting one.
I’m guessing he doesn’t want to lose face, like every man, or alpha male like he is. I’ve had it with controlling men. If he wants to ruin his suit, that’s his choice. I didn’t ask him to come along. And I guess if he’s buying hotels before breakfast, he can probably afford to replace it anyway.
We’re taken through a heavy iron door and down a set of steep metal steps before a large cavern opens up. It’s well lit, with various formations highlighted. The rest of the party makes littleoohandaahnoises.
The guide informs us that this is what is known as a show cavern, and the places we are going to be taken are so much better but also harder to get to. He confirms he’s an experienced caver and knows the caverns well, but he warns us there are over 200 kilometers of them, so we need to stay with the group, as if we get lost, we’ll end up like some of the skeletons of animals he’s going to show us.
Animals which wandered in and then couldn’t find their way out.
“What about the vampire caverns?” one of the younger members of the group asks excitedly.
Everyone else nods.
