IM03 - Pandora's Box (22 page)

Whatever Edmond was doing seemed to keep the spirit at bay, but there was no telling how long that would last. I turned to Lysander, shooting him a questioning gaze. I hoped he had a plan because I sure as hell didn’t. We needed the cylinder, and we needed to get the hell out of this place fast before that thing began round two of the massacre.

“None of your problems were our doing, Edmond,” Lysander said. “You, however, are threatening not only our clan but the wolves as well by bringing this thing here.”

“I don’t give a shit about the wolves.”

A rumble of growls issued from the remaining wolves standing around us. One of the wolves crouched, ready to spring.

“Touch me and the spirit will kill you all,” Edmond warned. “I’m the one in control here.”

“Hold,” Connor said wearily.

The wolf quieted.

Lysander took a step toward Edmond. “You sound like a petulant child, throwing a temper tantrum and blaming all of your problems on others. Who will you blame when you have killed us all and find your life is still not what you hoped it would be?”

“Let me be the one to worry about that,” Edmond sneered.

“Of course, when there is no one left, who will help you put the spirit back to rest? Or haven’t you not thought that through?” Lysander asked. 

“I’m so glad you asked that. You’re actually going to help me with that little part.”

The wind blew restlessly through the trees again. I gulped back a knot of fear forming in my throat. Any minute now, this thing could be called to attack us.

“And how am I going to do that?” Lysander asked.

“The spirit must be put back into the box eventually. But it won’t go willingly. You’re going to do it.”

“That’s precisely what we have been trying to do.” Lysander said, his voice becoming lower and more dangerous. “But why should we be the ones to do this, when you have the means?”

Edmond walked towards me with a wicked smile across his face that showcased all of his teeth. “Because I will spare your little prize if you do it.”

He reached out to touch me and I jerked away. “Keep your hands off,” I growled at him.

“Is that any way to treat your new master?” he asked.

“You’ll never be anyone’s master, least of all mine.”

“Oh I think you’ll change your tone, over time.” He turned to Lysander. “So, this is how it will play out. You, Lysander, will agree to sacrifice yourself to put the spirit back in the box, and I’ll promise not to kill your precious Alyssa.”

“You’re bluffing,” Nicholas growled.  “You have no intention of letting anyone live. You think we’ll fall for another of your little games?”

“You have no choice,” Edmond responded. “He who has the box controls the spirit.”

The wind blew through the clearing this time, and I swore I felt the slightest brush of fingertips across my face.

I remembered how it had reacted back at the house when its name was called and wondered if it would have the same reaction again. If what Edmond said was right, though, I’d have to get him to let go of the box first.

“I don’t think it wants to go back in the box,” I said, and swiped my leg at his knee. Caught off guard he tumbled to the ground. “Why don’t we ask him? Aniketos, do you want to go back in the box?”

As if Lysander had known what I was doing, he ducked down and grabbed the two halves of the box and held it up in the air.

The wind picked up and began swirling around us, picking up dirt and leaves.

Edmond yelled a word I didn’t catch and looked around. The rustling wind continued and blew through us like small tornado. A scratch appeared across Edmond’s face, healing almost as instantly as it had appeared.

“That’s right, Aniketos doesn’t want you to put him back in the prison,” I said again, louder this time, and scooted as close to Lysander as I could, hoping the open box would protect me as well.

The wind swarmed, picking up leaves and dirt. Edmond yelled the strange word again and began scrambling backwards. He dropped the canister and swatted at the air. I watched small pinprick-sized bubbles of blood appear on his skin. He yelled again and again as he continued to back away and butted up against a large tree.

We watched as the swirling wind took shape and the ugly bald man appeared. He took hold of Edmond’s body, lifted it up into the air, and tore open his neck.

I cringed and turned away.

“Get out of here,” Lysander yelled to the wolves. He turned to me. “Take Connor. We’ll be right behind to make sure he doesn’t follow.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I hoisted Connor up into my arms, surprised at how light he felt. I often took my own strength for granted. For a man close to three hundred pounds, he felt no heavier to me than a child.

Once he was secured in my arms I took off, following the other wolves’ lead back towards the bonfire, with Nicolas and Lysander, hopefully, close behind.

“He’s losing consciousness,” I shouted as I burst into the crowded lobby, carrying a very limp Connor in my arms. The two wolves who had accompanied me on my run back were glued to my side. “Someone. Anyone. Help!”

A middle-aged woman in an oversized black tee-shirt came running up behind me. She looked like she’d just tossed the shirt on after the change back to her human form. 

“Put him here,” she shouted as she swiped her arm across the reception desk, knocking everything to the floor with a succession of loud crashes.

I laid Connor out across the desk and checked the makeshift bandage on his leg. He mumbled incoherently. His blood had soaked through Nicholas’s t-shirt, making it cling to his skin. As I ripped it away, more poured from the wound.

The wolves beside me whimpered, and one butted me with his nose.

“He’s not healing,” the woman shrieked. “He’s losing too much blood.”

My heart raced. I couldn’t let him die here. “We have to stop it. Get me bandages or a first aid kit. Something! Fast!” The smell of his blood was overwhelming and amplified further by the adrenaline rushing through his system. Even with the desperation of the situation, I found myself salivating while hoping that the haggard looking woman and Connor wouldn’t notice.

She sprinted across the room, hopefully to find bandages. One of the wolves next to me took off after her.

Connor moaned again as if he wanted to get my attention. I looked at him. His eyes were rolling backwards. He struggled as if he could hardly keep his eyelids open. His skin color faded, becoming dangerously pale. Sweat beaded up across his brow. I knew he wouldn’t survive long if he continued to lose blood.

The remaining wolf nuzzled me again with his nose and let out a light growl.

“I’m doing all I can,” I said to the wolf then turned to Connor. “You’re going to be fine. I’ve just got to try to stop the bleeding, okay?” I said, hoping he would understand me. “Stay with me, Connor.”

The woman still hadn’t returned with bandages, and he was fading fast. There was no other choice. I looked down at the wolf. “I’m going to have to clean the wound myself. Do you understand me?”

Surprisingly, the wolf nodded. At least that’s what it looked like.

To stop the bleeding I needed to use the healing mixture of my blood and saliva. I hoped it worked on werewolves the same way it worked on humans.

This was a dangerous temptation. It would be so easy to sink my teeth in and drink. One slip and I could accidentally drain him. That wouldn’t bode well for our cause. The beast inside was already pushing me, tempting me with thoughts of flooding my mouth with his hot blood.

He’s already dead
, my inner beast whispered.
Take him. Strengthen yourself with his blood
.

I hoped I had the willpower to do what was right. One taste could drive me into frenzy. I bent down to his leg and closed my eyes, taking in a slow deep breath. I steeled my resolve. I was not going to give into the bloodthirsty beast inside of me.

I won’t lose control
, I told myself.

The wolf at my side growled again, this time much louder. It was now or never.

I pierced my tongue with my fang, wincing at the momentary pain, and slowly began licking the wound clean.

His blood was rich and surprisingly thick. I bathed my tongue in its delicious warmth, savoring the notes of sweet and tangy flavor. Similar to vampire blood, it had an odd sort of tingle as it traveled down the back of my throat. It must be something in the magic of our supernatural nature. Unlike vampire blood, though, it was warm. Like drinking a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day.

I lapped at the wound, moaning as I enjoyed the slight head rush it gave me. The flow began to lessen. My healing saliva had to be working.

Again my inner beast taunted me, telling me to bite down. To reopen the flow so I could have more.

I wanted more. I needed more. But this was wrong. I had to stop!

With a grunt of frustration, I pulled myself away from the wound. After a few calming breaths, I opened my eyes to inspect his leg. Either my saliva worked extra quick on wolves, or his accelerated healing had finally kicked in. Either way, the wound had sealed and only a long shiny pink scar remained.

I looked down to the wolf. “He’s healing.” I barely recognized my own voice, it was hoarse with need as my inner beast began to rage against me for stopping.

Connor was out cold, but he wasn’t losing any more blood. I’d done what I could, and thankfully, I hadn’t killed him.

The woman finally returned with a hand full of various bandages and gauze. “What did you do to him?” she asked in an accusatory tone.

After what I’d just done, and with my inner beast raging for blood, I had no patience for her tone. She should’ve been a hell of a lot more grateful to me for stopping her Alpha from bleeding to death.

“You were a bit late with the band aids,” I said in a surprisingly Nicholas-like tone. 

“Well… I can take it from here,” she said dismissively, and turned to inspect Connor.

“You’re welcome,” I growled and turned to walk away, hoping to see Nicholas or Lysander walk through the doors next.

“Savages,” I heard the woman whisper under her breath.

I chose to ignore the comment, though showing her how savage I could be was tempting. But we had bigger issues to tackle than an ignorant woman’s contempt.

Zuri spotted me and called me over. “Follow me. We need clothes and blankets for the group,” she said, leading me through a long corridor. “What happened out there?”

“Our ghost problem tracked us down. It ripped through four wolves like paper and tried to take a chunk out of Connor. Edmond was trying to control it. But it didn’t listen, and we took the opportunity to run.”

She opened up a large folding door at the end of the hallway and pulled out a stack of towels, and then handed them to me. She took another stack for herself. “So the thing’s here now? Well, you got your wish. The wolves have to help, now that it’s drawn first blood.”

“That wasn’t exactly what we wanted,” I said, following her back out to the lobby.

“Honey, nothing ever happens the way you plan it. We just gotta roll with the punches.”

“Yeah, but all those lives lost for nothing. Those poor wolves.”

“I feel ya. And the sooner we stop this thing the better.”

We split up and started handing out towels to the assembled wolves, most of whom were in human form now, half naked and shivering on the floor. Some of the group still remained in wolf form. I had the sneaking suspicion they were doing it on purpose, to better protect the others.

 Nicholas burst through the doors, out of breath and bleeding. His face appeared to be healing from multiple cuts. In his hands, he held the cylinder with the old scrolls. “We need to look at this and do it fast. Where is the witch Aiden said he’d call?”

Brady must have transformed while I was busy healing Connor’s wound. He stood naked covering as much of himself as he could with his left hand. In his right, he held a cellphone. “I can have her here in fifteen minutes, if you can pay.”

“Make it ten. We don’t have much time to prepare.”

“Where’s Lysander?” I asked.

“He’s giving us some time, running interference to get that thing to follow him.”

My breath caught in my chest. “Lysander’s alone?”

“He’s got the box, and if Edmond is right, keeping it open will keep him safe.” Nicholas spread the scroll out on the ground and looked at the funny writing. He let out a loud grunt of frustration.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t reed ancient Greek!” He slammed his fist into the ground, cracking the floor tile. “Lysander can, though.”

Brady closed the cellphone and walked over. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Can she read Greek?” I tossed him a towel from my stack to cover himself up.

“Seriously? Do you think anyone alive today actually reads ancient Greek?”

“Then we’re going to need Lysander to translate,” Nicholas said. “There’s supposed to be some incantation here to call the spirit and hold it in place. We need the wolves to spot it, the witch to hold it, and the sacrifice to trap it.”