Page 30 of Fangs for the Memories
I shift back with a growl, knowing my suit will never be the same again, not like when I shift to my wolf form.
“Humans do not mate like us. She probably hasn’t felt the mate bond.” I shake my head, hating what I’m saying. “And there is a rogue vampire on the loose, one not under Dominik’s control, one which wants to open the vault.”
Viktor flares his wings for an instant, then tucks them back again.
“You have a bigger problem,” he intones.
“What?” I run my hand through my hair. “What could be bigger than a rogue vamp who wants to open the vault? Or my cousin deciding he wants to be pack leader? Or finding my mate in a human female? Or the fact my mother is going to cut off my balls for not picking her choice of mate?”
Viktor lowers his head. “The Darasz ate all your female’s clothes.”
I stare at him for a long beat.
“She isn’t happy,” he adds.
I’m up the stairs faster than I think I’ve ever moved in my life. My heart pounds out of my chest, my breath coming in short bursts.
My mate isn’t happy and I cannot have it. She should always be happy, warm, comfortable, and when the time is right, ripe with my pups.
The door to my bedroom is closed, but even so my acute hearing picks up the sound of her breathing. My heart rate falls instantly. I open the door and enter. Every single light is on in the room, however Grace is curled up in a tiny ball in one corner of my bed, no covers, only my coat.
I approach her like any predator approaching prey, slowly, carefully, keen not to spook her. However, I don’t need to worry. She sleeps on, like any human, completely unconcerned at the monster who is getting ever closer.
She doesn’t wake when I sit next to her.
“Kedves?” I murmur quietly, placing my hand on her shoulder.
Her eyes shift under her lids, then they slowly flicker open.
“Ferenc?”
“I’m here.”
In a beat she’s up against the silk covered headboard, her arms around her body and knees drawn up to her chest, looking at me like I am a monster.
She is not wrong. My hands are not clean and neither is my business. Werewolves have always done what needed to be done to survive. Our pack means we’ve been able to carve out a life, in my case a wealthy one, with centuries of experience and knowledge about how the world turns.
It has made our kind rich in human terms. It has made most monsters enough they didn’t have to show themselves.
Except for what was kept in the vault.
Grace’s stomach growls. In all that has been happening, she hasn’t had any food since breakfast, and, from memory, she hardly ate anything then.
“Let me get you something.” I pull out my phone and thumb a message to my chef.
“You’ve done enough, thank you,” she says in clipped tones.
“I’m sorry about your things.”
“I’m alive. I’m grateful for that, even if it is no thanks to you,” Grace responds, turning her head away from me to look across to the ornate carved dresser next to the bathroom door.
Unable to help myself, I catch her chin between my fingers.
“I am sorry for everything, Grace.”
She stares at me for what seems like a long time, not attempting to pull away, nor to come any closer. Until there is a knock on the door.
“Come,” I call out, my gaze not leaving hers. The door opens and light floods the room as Kórnel comes in with my standing order. “Put it by the door.”
