Page 62 of Mongrel
“As you wish,” says Janos. “But we should bed down together for the day. I’ve traveled this route many times. Not too far ahead is an old church with an inner chamber suitable for our rest. That is, if your wolf promises not to make a snack of my juicy bits while I’m sleeping.”
I glare at him.
Rolling his eyes, Bowie blows out a breath. “It’s not Andras I’m worried about. Can you go an entire day without inciting violence?”
Janos’s brown eyes glint with mischief. “Me? I’ll be sweet as candy.”
“You’d better be, or I’ll let him bite you.”
“Ooh, where?”
“No place good.”
Janos clicks his tongue. “Yeah, you definitely used to be more fun.”
Chapter 20
Asmall cruciform church stands amid a lush field of tall brushlike foliage and young trees fighting for dominance. The structure itself, built of stone and mortar, looks solid, but the thatched roof has seen better days. What’s left of the surrounding dwellings—constructed of less sturdy wood and mud—has already been half-consumed by nature’s relentless appetite.
I pad behind Janos and in front of Bowie up a rounded staircase to the deep-set covered entrance. Janos smells of sweetly scented smoke that lingers on his clothes, and of course, blood. He’s kept quiet while bringing us here, and I hope he stays that way.
We step into the dank building single file. The gloomy interior reveals rows of rotten wood pews with a center aisle leading toward an altar. I’m unsure where we’ll sleep, as patches of moonlight shine through cracks in the damaged roof. Water has long ago made itself at home; the planked floor is warped, and standing puddles appear throughout.
Janos strides down the aisle, past the altar, and to a flight of stairs. Because of course we’ll be headed underground. At least I’m getting used to it. That or I’m just too tired to care.
I wish I could have Bowie to myself. Questions sit on my tongue, though whatever he and Janos are to each other is really none of my business. I wonder how many others of Bettina’s brood have a claim on Bowie’s affections.
Down we go into a dark hole of a chamber beneath the main church body. The scent of old death, of bones and dust, indicates a crypt. I’m glad to be in my animal form, as a shiver can be more easily disguised. At least this level is dry, and I spot a stack of woolen blankets that don’t smell half bad.
“This will do nicely,” says Bowie. “How did you know of this spot?”
“Ivaz has sent me on tasks in this direction before,” Janos answers. “Over time, one comes to learn of any resting place more hospitable than the earth herself. A vampire called Laurence showed me this church long ago before the roof had sagged away.”
“Be sure to thank Laurence for us when next you see him.” Bowie strokes my shoulder and flank. His hand feels lovely in my fur. I’m almost tired enough to ignore Janos as he shakes open the blankets and puts together a makeshift bed. If he thinks we’re sleeping next to him, he’s mistaken.
With an annoyed huff, I grab one of the blankets with my teeth and drag it to Bowie.
“Are you shifting?” he asks.
I look down—our signal for no. Not only am I reluctant to shift in front of this stranger, but I’m well aware he could run circles around me with words. Remaining a wolf denies him that opportunity.
“I don’t blame you,” says Bowie. “If I had a fur coat as luxurious as yours, I’d never give it up.” He spreads the blanket for us. Closer to Janos than I’d like, but in our own corner at least.
I pad in a tight circle and flop down on Janos’s side but a few feet away, keeping myself in the middle and swallowing jealousy each time it bubbles up. It doesn’t matter what’s happened between them. Bowie has chosen me for now and made his choice clear. Hearing him confirm it pleases both wolf and man. I have no real claim on him, but that does little to assuage my longing for one.
Janos sits upon his blanket and pulls off his boots. He gestures between Bowie and me with waving fingers. “So this is new.” His tone takes on a lyrical quality I find annoying.
Bowie acknowledges as much with a nod and redirects as he settles next to me. “It is. And what about you? Tell me. How have you been since last we met?”
I groom my sore paws as I listen to their conversation.
“Bored and boring compared to fucking a werewolf. I thought they were pack animals. How’d you hitch your wagon to a lone wolf?”
He won’t drop the subject so easily.
“Andras isn’t alone. He has a pack,” says Bowie as I suppress an urge to cringe thinking of Farkas and the others. “Look, Janos, Andras has had to shift back and forth excessively to help me follow these scent trails. He’s not used to endless nights of travel and needs to rest without an unnecessary shift. I’m not comfortable speaking for him as if he isn’t here. You understand that, right?”
Bowie is so good with words. I admire his phrasing. Janos would have to be a real ass to continue pushing at this point.
