Ferocious Flea Market Dragons, page 5
Thorn and I glanced at each other before we busted out laughing. Before my brother had married Karey, he’d been the golden boy of the Stravinsky family. At the time, he was the epitome of a truck-driving, womanizing, hot-blooded werewolf male. Then he crossed the wrong woman, namely Karey Nottingham. Incensed that my brother had cheated on her, she got together with her nymph sisters and broke the windows on his Dodge truck and carved quite the lovely phrase on the side. The whole family spilled out of the house to witness my brother’s embarrassment, and it was Grandma who read—err misread—the words: “Eat shit, and die, you cakesucker.”
Oh, I’d give anything to have video footage of that moment.
“We should get your brother one of those custom shirts for Christmas,” Thorn said with a grin. “Can we get ‘cakesucker’ in large print?”
I snorted. “Definitely.”
Uncle Boris frowned at our exchange. I wondered if he’d run into similar trouble in the past. “Aren’t we here to check out this place?” Uncle Boris scurried out of the vehicle. Thorn and I hurried after him.
“Even if the dryad can fight them,” I said. “I’d rather find a safer way to deliver the murderer.”
“Agreed,” Thorn said. “I promise we won’t just hand them over.”
As we drew closer, I examined the busted-in door, wondering if someone had made a hasty entrance or a violent exit. The goblin blade twitched on my ankle. I withdrew it as it transformed into a heavy iron blade with intricate runes carved on the hilt. A threat was nearby.
“Be careful, gentlemen,” I whispered.
It took some gymnastics to get inside quietly, but eventually we reached a chaotic living room. The couch was overturned and the TV stand askew. The TV buzzed with static, its screen flickering erratically. Beyond that, the kitchen was a disaster. The two-seater table lay in pieces, while broken dishes littered the counters and linoleum floor. An acrid aroma filled the air, likely from the charred contents in the oven.
“Did the werewolves subdue the humans?” I whispered. My sweaty grip on the blade faltered.
Humans lived here, but there was another scent—not of werewolves, but of something more potent, far wilder.
A shadow moved down the dark hallway. Thorn growled. A pale woman emerged into the dim light, roughly my height, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. Her ears were delicately pointed, and her eyes held a fervent ferocity. The bowie knife in her hand glinted when she pointed it in our direction.
“You wolves come back for more fun?” the elf asked softly.
“So beautiful…” Uncle Boris murmured. “Hello.”
I raised my hands and tried to appear non-threatening. “I don’t know who you are, but we’re not here to fight. We just want to find—”
But the elf, with surprising speed, lunged at me, her blade set for my chest. I scrambled to the left and blocked the blow.
“Stand down!” Thorn lunged at her from the right, but with a swift snap kick, she sent him sprawling through the wall connecting the living room to the bathroom.
“Hey, can we talk about this first?” Uncle Boris joined the fray, attempting to flank her. The elf sidestepped and sent my uncle crashing through the living room window.
“Oh shit!” I didn’t have time to check on him. She swung at me, and our blades connected with a sharp clink. Her blade blurred with each additional swing, each strike barely missing my head. Damn, she was fast. Twice I managed to slice her forearms and the cuts sizzled from the iron blade. But I could only keep up for so long. She had technique versus my speed. With a deft twist, she stooped and swept my legs. I crashed to the floor—only to have that bitch raise the blade over her head and thrust it at mine. Somehow, I rolled to the right as the blade sunk into carpeted floor.
“Damn it, can we talk first and kill second,” I growled.
My mate hurled the kitchen table at the elf, forcing the creature to retreat. He came at her again. Swinging. Growling. She took backward shuffling steps, avoiding furniture until an opportunity presented itself. Thorn threw a punch, and she dropped her blade to grab his extended arm. She rolled hard to the left, taking him with her. He rolled under her, and she tried to pin his arm into an armbar submission, but Thorn deftly twisted out of it.
She picked up the blade again. Much faster. Oh shit.
“Thorn!” I bit out.
Thorn narrowly avoided a direct hit, but the blunt end of the blade connected with his head. He staggered back.
The elf grinned and positioned herself just right so that a beam of sunlight hit her skin. A blinding light filled the room, and when it retreated, she was gone.
I rolled onto my side, my breath ragged.
Thorn groaned and clutched the side of his head. “Was that a woman or a Mack truck?”
Uncle Boris staggered into the house nursing a wicked cut on his arm. The goose egg forming on his brow didn’t look any better. “Where did that beauty go?”
“Beauty? Hopefully, far away,” I grunted. “She hits hard.”
From where I lay, I caught the sounds of something moving on the other side of the trailer. “What was that?”
The rustling noise came again, a bit louder this time.
“Yeah, that came from the bedroom.” Thorn helped me get up.
Uncle Boris’s gruff voice shattered the uneasy silence. “If that’s another elf, we’re gonna need back up,” he muttered. We exchanged glances, realizing that our ordeal might not be over just yet.
Following the sound, I carefully padded down the narrow hallway. The bedroom door hung ajar, revealing an overturned bed, a shattered dresser, and a kicked-in TV. Glass crunched under my feet from the broken bedroom window. I approached the closed closet door.
“Smells like a human,” Uncle Boris whispered.
I swung open the door, ready to fight, but found a tied up and gagged middle-aged brunette. The woman’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and relief flickering within them.
“Let me get you out of here.” My hands worked swiftly to untie the knots, and as the fabric fell away, the woman gasped for air.
Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Now that I saw her up close, I recognized her from the grainy video. “Not a problem. Do you live here?” I asked. “We’re searching for a woman who took two…animals away from the grocery store.”
She closed her eyes as a pained expression crossed her face. “Yeah, that was me. I’m so sorry.”
The woman sniffed before she added, “The werewolves showed up last night. Beat up my husband Todd, then they made me take them into town.”
Loretta knew about the supernatural world. That would make these questions much easier.
“Thorn, can you get her some water?” I asked.
Thorn left to fetch it.
“What’s your name?” I asked her as I helped her stand up.
The woman wobbled on unsteady feet before she said, “I’m Loretta.” Her eyes darted around the room as if still expecting danger to leap out from the shadows. I offered a reassuring smile, my senses attuned to any hint of danger.
“Did you see the elf?” I asked her.
Loretta shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “No, just those three men.”
“Did you know who they were?”
She shook her head and sobbed. “I’ve never met them before. They hurt someone, didn’t they?”
Uncle Boris drew in a deep breath.
I sighed. At least now we knew how the werewolves secured a boat. They’d kidnapped Loretta and used her to get to town. What I didn’t understand was why they’d bothered to take a human. Why not just roll up on the grocery store and leave her here?
Thorn returned with some water and Loretta gulped it down.
“Let’s get you out of here.” I wrapped her arm around my shoulder, and we walked into the living room.
Thorn stalked over to the broken window into the backyard. “Someone else is out there. Can you hear that?”
“What is it?” I listened a bit and tried to filter out our heartbeats and the wildlife. Finally, I picked up a faint whimpering from outside. “Someone’s out there.”
“Maybe it’s my husband.” Loretta shuffled to the door.
We hurried outside to the source: the shed. The door handle was bent inward. Whoever was in there wasn’t coming out anytime soon.
“Smells like a human,” Thorn said.
The goblin blade had switched back to its inert form, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I got ready to strike while Thorn broke off the handle to open the door. Inside, we found a beat-up, middle-aged man huddled behind a riding mower. He thrust a pitchfork in our direction.
“Stay back,” the man barked.
“Todd!” Loretta called out.
I put away the goblin blade. Todd stank of fear.
“It’s okay. Owen sent us,” Thorn said.
Even during our conversation, the man held firm to his weapon until he spotted his wife. I didn’t blame him.
“Owen s-sent y’all?” the man stammered.
Loretta ran over to her husband and the two embraced.
“Unfortunately.” I explained how we ended up here after Patty was murdered.
“Not another one.” Todd glanced at Loretta who started crying again. “There’s been too much killing of the magical folks.”
I introduced myself and my family.
Todd gave us a curt nod and helped his wife over to the trailer steps to sit. “Never thought I’d get out of there.”
“Glad to see you’re safe and sound,” I told him. “We came here searching for those werewolves who attacked Patty, but we only found an elf in there.”
Todd managed a tired nod. “Those guys showed up right before we went to bed. Came in making a fuss. They locked me up in the shed and took my wife with them.”
“Do you know anything about the elf?” Uncle Boris asked.
Todd spied the broken door to his home and his voice thickened. “That would be Calliope. Not sure who hired her to come to Stitchings, but she’s been chasing after those shifters for over a week now.”
We followed the couple inside where Todd rushed to the sink for a drink of water. When he’d quenched his thirst, the man took in what was left of his home.
The silence grew heavy until Uncle Boris spoke. “Do you know why all this is happening? Why are the fairies and werewolves fighting?”
Todd hesitated, then said, “It’s all one big mess, if you ask me.”
Loretta slowly shook her head. “A couple months ago, one of the fairies cursed a troublemaker werewolf. After that, the murders started up.”
I sighed, realizing the gravity of the situation. “We need to find those werewolves or your boat. Do you know where they might’ve gone?”
Todd shook his head. “I heard a bunch of cars peel away after the boat left.”
I asked a couple more questions, like did his boat have GPS, or if he recognized any of the werewolves, but he answered no to all of them like Loretta—which meant we had no leads as to where the werewolves went. Our elf had vanished into thin air too. We had more intel, but we were still stuck at square one.
We drove through town a bit—what little town existed—before we returned to the cabins. No one said a word. Maybe Thorn and Uncle Boris were lost in thought too. So much had happened from Patty’s death to our attack at the Farrows’ house. Did I need to mention a goddess’s hellhound wanted to drag me down to Jersey for an eternity of hanging out with Diana?
Our bruised trio returned to quite the cookout. The Stravinskys had spilled out of the house and now they sat on the lawn chairs, kitchen chairs, and even stools around Dad’s fire pit.
“Did you learn anything?” Mom turned to one of my younger cousins. “Go make three plates.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’m not hungry.”
She took in my face. “Your father said something happened to Patty at the store.”
I nodded as everyone quieted.
Dad stood from his seat. “What happened after you left the marina?”
“Oh, boy.” Thorn ran his hand through his blond hair.
“A lot.” I filled everyone in on poor Patty, our time at the marina office, and our attack at the Farrows’ place.
“This is bad,” Mom whispered.
“I don’t like this, Natalya,” Dad admitted. “We shouldn’t get in the middle of a turf war. I know how these things end and it won’t be pretty if we interfere with another pack’s affairs.”
“If we don’t find out who killed the fairies, then we won’t get the seed.” Mom spoke with dead finality.
“Also, we can’t stay here forever,” I added.
Mom tried to smile a bit, even though I caught her distress. “Why not?” she asked. “Mama is happy here.”
Grandma gave me a soft smile.
“Even if Grandma likes Maine, this isn’t our home,” I replied. “I also don’t like forcing everyone to protect me. Even Karey looks tired.”
My sister-in-law sat on a blanket next to a sleeping Sveta. Her normally light-blue eyes had dimmed, and her glistening skin appeared dull.
Alex was sitting next to his wife. “She’s right. We can’t keep this up indefinitely.”
“Sasha—” Mom’s face darkened.
“No, Mom.” He shook his head when one of my cousins offered him more food. “Karey can’t keep listening to the woods forever. She’s using up a lot of magic.”
“Is it like a phone?” Mom asked. “Why can’t she just hang up?”
That got a frown from her son. “I don’t know how nymph magic works, but I know it’s not infinite.”
“Then we’ll let her rest,” Dad said firmly. “Boris or myself can do patrols.”
Uncle Boris took a seat. He already had a beer in hand. “Been a while since we’ve searched for our enemies like in the war.”
“The war?” I asked.
“Your uncle fought in Germany, Korea, and Vietnam too,” Aunt Olga said proudly.
“How come you never told me about your service?” I asked. He pretty much bragged about everything else.
“I’m not particularly proud of those days,” Uncle Boris admitted. “Just like when your dad worked for the mafia in Atlantic City.”
My dad was a powerful werewolf with a menacing build. He’d spent my childhood working as a bodyguard for the supernatural crime groups. During his time, he’d done many horrible things—including incurring a moon debt to the werewolf Russian mafia. For werewolves, a moon debt wasn’t a monetary obligation, but one that can only be paid in blood or sweat. According to the Code, my father’s debt had to be repaid. I fulfilled his obligation to the mafia by delivering a fairy child to the Jackson pack in Maine. Of course, things went awry during the delivery, but in the end, we returned the child to her family, and my friends and I defeated the Jackson pack.
Now I was back in Maine, and I faced werewolf problems again. I sighed. Maybe we should’ve driven south. We could’ve kept going until we reached the southern tip of South America, but even I knew the ends of the earth didn’t matter to a goddess.
Chapter Nine
Instead of running into Grandma in front of the TV knitting a sweater, I found her outside the house. She perched on the edge of the seat while her gaze was trained on the moon above.
“Is everything all right, Grandma?”
She gave me a sweet smile. “Just thinking of old times,” she said. “After you’ve lived for a long time, memories start to blend together, but the powerful ones—the ones you shouldn’t forget—remain fresh.”
I couldn’t imagine what she’d experienced—losing Grandpa, moving away from her homeland, all those things had colored her world.
“Are you remembering your time in the new world of America or Russia?”
She didn’t speak for a bit, her hands resting in her lap. Briefly, I wondered if I’d brought up something painful.
“Recently, I’ve thought about you,” she admitted, “and what you need to survive. I’ve wrestled with the skills I have taught others.”
“You mean Tamara.”
“Yes, at the time, I thought she’d take what she’d learned and use it for the betterment of all werewolves, but that woman turned it into a money-making enterprise.” She shook her head with disgust and untied the scarf around her head, revealing her long, silver hair.
Usually, Aunt Olga braided it, or on the days when Grandma didn’t want anyone fussing, she did it herself while she watched TV. Seeing her running her fingers through the strands brought back such memories from my childhood. I wished I could’ve seen her younger face—her bright brown eyes assessing me without the harder years added in.
Grandma continued. “I wanted Tamara to protect herself once she learned the more potent spells. For there were other bad people back then. They wanted to learn old magic too, but they had heinous plans in mind.” She sighed. “There’s another spell I want to teach you. I have only used it three times as a final resort.”
I turned my back to her, not wanting to know what she meant.
She drew her fingers through the strands. “Do you remember when the Long Island Pack attacked us at your parents’ house after Peter and the others had been drugged with the Chinese food?”
I remembered that night well. I was hiding from the Long Island Pack after their owner had put out a kill order for me. I’d crossed him ages ago and he’d wanted to settle the score. That night, my grandmother had revealed she knew old magic and she cast a most frightening spell. In the end, she became a horrid monster to protect me.
“I don’t want to know, to be honest,” I said.
“I said the same thing to the woman who taught me old magic. Some spells shouldn’t be cast. Some words shouldn’t be said, but my child, we must sometimes do things we don’t want to do to protect ourselves or the ones we love.” I could sense her gaze on my back. This time her soft-spoken voice had an edge to it. A firmness. Svetlana Ludmilla Lasovskaya meant business.
