Page 61 of Mongrel
I snarl my displeasure, even as Bowie’s hand lands on my ruff.
“This is Janos.” Bowie gestures with a wave of his other hand. “I had Ivaz send for him. Remember?”
It’s not easy to let go of my instinct to fight, to defend Bowie from this newcomer. Teeth still bared, I study him.
Janos is shorter than Bowie, but not by much. He’s stockier, with a thick muscular build. Wide shoulders. A barrel of a chest. Deep brown eyes the color of fallen acorns. Dressed to blend in, he wears peasant clothing, also in shades of brown, well fitted and clean.
“I’m going to put my hands down and say hello to Beauregard,” says Janos, his eyes on mine. “Try not to attack me.”
Huffing, I stand down but don’t leave Bowie’s side.
Janos opens his arms. “Brother.” He leans in. His hand sits too low on Bowie’s backside for my liking.
“Thank you for coming.” Bowie returns the embrace.
Then Janos kisses him in a fashion entirely unsuited to simple brotherly affection.
A low snarl rises from my throat and emerges with a threatening rumble. Bowie has already turned his head from the kiss, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to tear out Janos’s throat one crunchy vertebra at a time.
“Ooh.” Janos watches me as if I amuse him, provoking me further. His gaze shifts to Bowie. “This one thinks you’re his territory.”
“I am.” Bowie reaches for me.
I press against his thigh, controlling the urge to take out my competition. How manybrothersdoes Bowie have? And how many has he slept with because that was a lover’s greeting I just witnessed. Not that I’m jealous.
Brows raised to surprised arches, Janos stares at Bowie as if he’s grown a second head. “You’re what?”
“His territory,” says Bowie with an air of finality that takes my breath away. “Janos, this is Andras. Andras, if you wouldn’t mind pausing the constant growl, I promise Janos will behave himself. Won’t you?”
Janos gives a reluctant nod and considers me. I don’t like him, but I stop snarling because Bowie asked me to. I snort in Janos’s general direction and position myself between them.
“Ivaz told me you were traveling with a werewolf, but I didn’t think he’d be boning you. He is, isn’t he? Or have you branched out since we last rendezvoused?”
No. I don’t like him. Not at all.
“Don’t provoke Andras,” orders Bowie. “We have more important things to discuss. Have you any news?”
Janos leans his weight onto one leg and crosses his arms. “You used to be more fun.”
“News, Janos,” prods Bowie.
With a put-upon sigh, Janos finally makes himself useful. “I scouted Sarvaar. The staff there says Báthory’s in her castle at Csejthe. They seemed relieved by her absence. I’ve sent word to Ivaz. He’ll be along soon, and he’ll arrange wagons for transport. She’s definitely killing girls. The gossip among the staff is too widespread to be mere rumor. There’s truth to them, surely.” At this, he turns serious, his expression softening. “I’m sorry about your niece.”
Bowie glances down. “So am I.”
I rub my cheek on his thigh and whine.
“Andras’s on her scent trail now,” says Bowie. “She’s been taken through here recently. We’re operating under the assumption the trail leads to Csejthe, but I don’t want to run ahead and risk losing it. You go. With any luck, you can stop them before she’s taken into the castle.”
“How far ahead are they? And how will I know who she is?”
“Andras thinks several days, but we’ve been gaining on them, so two at the most. I fear it’s too late to prevent Cecily’s arrival, but fair to say you should stop any young girl from entering Báthory’s lair. Run ahead, and we should only be a night behind.”
“Come with me, andAndrascan be a night behind.”
I don’t like the sound of that, but I don’t want to stand in Bowie’s way either if that’s what he thinks is best.
Bowie shakes his head. “What if the scent trail veers from this road? Then what happens? Should Andras stop following it to retrieve me? Should he stage a rescue by himself? No, it must be this way. With us on the trail and you running ahead. We leave no stone unturned.”
