Nora Walker, a psychic vampire, is conscripted into a task-force of supernatural legends that care more for themselves than the cataclysmic threat they face...
...
"And I presume that's Ruben Shibata behind you?" the crunchy-peanut-butter-boy asked, when I failed to respond to his first query.
"I suppose it is," I said, secretly revelling in the news of Ruben's surname. "But I must insist that you call me Nora."
The blonde's smile was charmingly crooked and evidently practiced. I realised he thought I was flirting back, but in reality I hated the sound of my real name. I'd hated it since I was a child, since I first set foot in the Incantum and was swept away from the safety of my studies like a small child in a rip current. I'd hated the way it sounded coming out of that wretched man's mouth; hated his possessive tone, the way he lingered over each syllable as if that sealed his ownership of my person, my destiny...
I shook my head, steering my thoughts back to safety. "And you are?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew.
"Seth Hudson," he said, offering his hand.
I took it, expecting a handshake. I nearly wretched when he brought it up to his lips.
"Just shut up and get in the car," the driver complained.
Normally I would have argued for the sake of it, but it was chilly outside, and I stood more to gain from compliance than rebellion. I yanked the back door open and threw myself into the backseat, ruthlessly elbowing aside a man with wine-red hair. I wanted to sit in the middle, right in front of the heating vents, with human insulation on either side.
Ruben shut the door behind us with a soft, precise click, followed by the snick of his seatbelt. The driver twisted around in his chair and glared at me, waiting for me to do the same.
For a moment I was taken aback by the sheer size of his frame. He had to stoop to prevent his coppery curls from brushing the roof of the car, and his hands almost swallowed the steering wheel.
"What?" I snapped. There was a primal intensity to the look of abject disapproval in his eyes. It rubbed me entirely the wrong way.
"Seatbelt," he grunted.
I narrowed my eyes, refusing to be backed into a corner. I wasn't stupid; first impressions paved the way for future interactions and exchanges of power, and I refused to let this man retain the impression that he could tell me what to do. Even if he did look at me the same way my mother did.
"Now," he growled — quite literally. The threatening rumble shook the frame of the car.
"Only if you introduce yourselves," I said, callously inspecting my nails. It was easier than maintaining eye-contact.
Leather creaked as the driver's fingers tightened on the edge of his seat. "I don't appreciate your attitude."
"That's a terribly long name," I said dryly. "What on earth was your mother thinking?"
That earned a chuckle from the stranger on my right. A sly glance in his direction revealed a shock of unkempt wine-red hair, a splattering of bronze freckles and a cute turtleneck sweater that I wouldn't mind borrowing. The green complimented the golden-brown of his eyes, and he wore his fangs like dimples. Vampire.
The upholstery groaned as the driver's fingers tightened on the steering wheel again. "Stop testing my patience, girl. Just put your damn seatbelt on."
"Mum wouldn't like it if I got a lift from a stranger," I went on, and it was technically the truth; I'd been lectured many times over the course of my life about the dangers of strangers. I'd always thought it was ironic, coming from the woman who'd killed her own mother to secure her mantle as the Southern Dark Witch; the woman who would surely kill me to retain it. "If you tell me your name, you won't technically be a stranger anymore. See where I'm going with this?"
We continued to glare at each other. I refused to blink, and my eyes had started watering by the time Seth turned around in his seat, lowering his sunglasses to... sweet chaos, was he trying to smoulder? His lips were slightly pursed, his hazel eyes were slightly squinted as he blinked slowly at me like a trusting cat. It was all I could do not to laugh in his face.
"The driver's name is Mathew Waters," he said. "He's the Beta of the Melbourne City Pack and good pals with Chance Nightshade, so I wouldn't antagonise him if I were you."
This task-force was proving to be an excellent exercise in supernatural networking. "And your name?" I asked, batting my eyelashes. Let him think I'd already forgotten it. That he wasn't memorable in the slightest.
"That's Seth Hudson," Ruben said, accelerating our introductions in that pragmatic way of his. "I believe he's still the resident fledgling light-witch. The gentleman on your right is Holden Millicent Craft, a vampire who was turned in 2004. He's a regular at Superstition, loves a good werewolf book, and is currently looking for the Pam to his Jim, though I have no idea what he's referring to. He's quite forthright after a few drinks."
Holden blushed. "Nice to meet you."
"You believe?" I echoed Ruben, ignoring the vampire completely. My glorified babysitter was typically certain of the information he imparted.
"Well," Ruben started, folding his hands neatly in his lap, "I had heard some rumours that —"
"For Christ's sake, I went on a three week bender!" Seth exclaimed. "And I had a falling out with my dad afterward, so I haven't worked with him since. Not that it's any of your business."
The City Beta disengaged the handbrake. "Seatbelts," he grunted, and I barely clicked mine into place before he slammed on the accelerator. The car lurched forward at an organ-bruising speed, horns blaring as our werewolf chauffeur went merrily about his hooning, utterly unfazed by the outrage of the general public and the chaos that we left in our wake.
Buildings whipped by our windows. When confronted with traffic, Waters would abuse the bus lanes and skip the queues, prompting choruses of horns and a few middle fingers. It wasn't until we cleared the city streets and pulled onto the eastern freeway that I was able to let out the breath I'd been holding. Traffic coming out of the city at this time was fairly relaxed compared to the congestion caused by those going in; I couldn't help but snicker at all those suckers going in the opposite direction.
"Where are we headed?" I finally summoned the courage to ask. Until now, I'd been worried that talking would distract Waters from driving. "Why can't we just train in the city?"
"Eh," Waters said, shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug. "Maybe there are, but there's always a slim chance of risking discovery. We don't have to worry about that at the estate."
"The estate?" That tickled an old memory. "You mean that halfway house for werewolves in Warrandyte?"
His eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror. "You could call it that."
"Wasn't it demolished in February?" I asked, recalling some of the gossip that had been circulating over the last few months. "Some idiot in Superstition was trying to tell me that Chance blew it up with her mind."
Waters smiled to himself, and I wondered if he too was amused by the ludicrous rumour. But I couldn't read minds and he declined to comment, so I was left to imagine the worst.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
