Page 50 of A Cursed Noel
I cross the street onfour paws. Odin doesn’t take off like I instructed him, too. Thehunt is on. His beast wants in on it, too.
That’s on him. Ican’t think about it. My wolf has waited for his chance to appear.I won’t deny him any further.
I cut through theneighboring yard, the gray and white of my fur blending in with thenight and snow. There are no Christmas lights illuminating Griselda’sestate and those on either side of it. When you worship the wrongside, it eventually extends to areas surrounding it, invading like aninfection until all hope vanishes.
As I reach the rear ofthe property, there’s no slowing me down. I leap over the fence andstalk my first victim. He’s tall, catching a smoke beside an oldoak. He seems bored. Why wouldn’t he be? Nothing sane would invadeGriselda’s home.
Damn shame for him, mywolf is bordering on psycho.
I hunch low on theground, my paws sinking into the snow with barely a whisper of sound.
He’s not human. Hesenses me, pushing away from the tree to look behind him. His eyeswiden when he spots me. It’s already too late. My jaws sink throughhis neck, slicing through tendons and muscles like a cleaver throughsunbaked cheese.
The taste of vampirebarely tickles my gums before I realize what he is.
Man, Ihatevamps. For him to side with a witch either means he’s a strayGriselda scooped up, or payment from a master. If it’s the latter,he was exchanged for a debt or a deal. I don’t care. This time,vamps aren’t my problem.
I force my wolf to killhim quick. He only does it knowing more prey awaits. The vampvanishes in a cloud of ash. The few bits of blood that remain on myfangs dry the same way. I step over his cigarette as the last bit ofsmoke dwindles in the air, eager to keep going and find my nextvictim.
The house sits on ahilltop. I ease my way down the incline, keeping low and using thelandscape for coverage. Lights illuminate the rear of the house andlaughter drifts over the melody of a well-played harp.
Griselda is celebratingthe winter solstice while my love pushes aside her terror to comfortthose she loves. To add to the insult, there’s no indication she’saware the spell is broken. How arrogant do you have to be to thinkyour spells are too ominous to destroy?
My growls vibrateacross the small tree line, disappearing into the wind that picks upand shakes clumps of snow loose from the overhanging branches.
“Lawrence?” My nextprey calls out.
His steps are loud ashis hiking boots press into the snow. “Your turn inside.” Hetries to hide the nervousness in his voice. I’m sure the shit he’sseen is unlike anything he signed up for.
The fear he emanates,and the silver crucifix laid over his black jacket, alert me he’shuman, and stupid to the way things work around here. Crosses andholy pendants are mere accessories to vampires. There’s no heavenor hell to strive for or fear. You give up aging and gain beauty.That’s the deal, in exchange for your soul. If you’re killed, yousimply stop being more than a memory to those selfless enough torecall your name.
This guy is formermilitary or cop. His stance and how he carries himself gives himaway. There’s nothing real to protect him except for the goldbullets I scent lodged within his gun.
They’ll do him nogood. Griselda should have warned himweresare a lot fasterto move than he is to draw.
His hand barely liftsin the direction of the holster at his hip when I shoot out andtackle him.
The crunch of his headhitting the brick walkway grants me some satisfaction but not enough.Not when I see what awaits inside.
From the windows of alarge dining room, I see them. Girls as young as Emme and a littleolder than Celia stand naked in a circle. Shock riddles the featuresof those too afraid to cry. They clutch each other, their gazesgiving away their dread.
A woman with hair aswhite as her skin carries a silver platter of appetizers. Her faceexpressionless as she stops at each table, offering caviar-coveredshrimp and bruschetta to the witches in attendance.
Griselda sits on athrone at the head table, a crown of jewels perched upon her head.Most witches use precious stones to enhance and support the magicthey’re born with. Usually, they fasten them to a talisman aroundtheir necks or to a staff. Griselda, queen bitch that she is, neededmore than one stone and a crown to support each.
Long dark hair brushesher shoulders as she sways drunk from her obscene power, while herbrown skin illuminates her cold amber eyes. She’s slender. Shewould be a beautiful woman if hatred didn’t swim along her iriseslike sharks.
Her arrogance works tomy advantage. She doesn’t suspect or fear an attack. She’s tooimmersed in the magic she’s cultivated. Those stones at her crownweren’t ones she earned by dedicating herself to her craft. Shetook them from witches she murdered.
Man, the evil shecreated coats my tongue with bitterness even from here. It’s goingto take perseverance not to gag when I rip her throat out.
Doesn’t matter. I’lltake my chances.
I ease my way down.They’re expecting Lawrence. I need to move fast. I stick to theshadows, extending my senses as I watch the scene unfold.
A vampire yanks a youngwoman with dark skin toward him, breaking the spell holding the womenin. He bites down on her jugular and makes a show of feeding fromher. When he finishes, he drops her on the floor and walks away as ifshe’s nothing.
The woman, clutches herneck, using her legs to return to the circle. She wants to cry yet iseither too scared or too angry to permit those tears to fall. Goodfor her. She’ll recover. I just need to get her out.