The Wolf's Call (Two-Natured London) (15 page)

“Who the bloody hell are you and why are you here?”

When an apparent human-on-human shooting turns out to have non-human origins, vampire DI Philippa Audley is ordered to investigate. It would be easier, however, if she hadn't been ordered to work with Jasper Grayson, one of the legendary vampire warriors of the Crimson Circle. An old-fashioned relic of a bygone era with very peculiar notions of what a woman can and can’t do is not an ideal partner for Philppa who has made a life’s career of being the first vampire woman in everything. It doesn’t help either that her late father, a Circle warrior himself, was Jasper's last partner.

Jasper Grayson isn’t very accustomed to vampire women, let alone a woman as unique as Philippa who is used to giving orders and being obeyed. His Hunger compels him to protect her, but how is he to protect someone who refuses to listen to very reasonable commands to stay safe? And how is he to gain her trust when he is keeping a secret from her?

Black magic is afoot and a deadly enemy to vampires forces the pair to find a way to work together. But will they be able to put aside the demons of the past for a shared future?

Continue to the next Two-Natured London novel, Warrior’s Heart.

Chapter One

“Wake
up, sleepyhead!” The cheerful command was followed by the swift removal of Jasper’s
duvet, leaving him feeling cold and exposed in his nakedness. That didn’t stop
him from shooting out of the bed and punching Jeremy in the shoulder.

“Fuck
off, Jem, you twat!” Jasper sat back down and rubbed his face to banish the
last remains of his sleep.

“Now,
now, Jas, is that any way to address your little brother?” Jeremy asked
good-naturedly, not even massaging his shoulder, the show-off. Jasper had given
it a good punch, but the idiot had deserved it. You didn’t wake a sleeping
vampire and not pay for it. “It’s your night off, remember. You can’t spend it
sleeping.”

“I can
do what I bloody well want,” Jas growled, still annoyed at the interrupted
sleep. “I’m over three and a half centuries old. I need my constitutional.”

Jem
snorted. “Well, Papa Bear - or should I say bare,” he added with a grin,
shooting a meaningful glance down at Jas’s naked torso, “those of us who aren’t
quite that old are heading to Sudden Death, and you are coming with us.”

Jas
would have punched harder if he had known Jem was here on such a blasted errand.
“Like hell I am.” Sudden Death was the most popular night club in London among
the two-natured kind, vampires and shifters alike, but Jas was yet to see the
appeal. Most warriors of the Crimson Circle went there regularly, but Jas had
been there maybe twice during its existence, and hadn’t frequented any of the
other joints that had enjoyed the warriors’ patronage before that club either.
He didn’t get the attraction of loud music, overcrowded dance floors and
rubbing shoulders with shifter pups and vampires barely out of their
fulfilment
.
Now, get him into a pub - a proper English affair such as he remembered from
his youth - with a pint of whatever was on tap, and he was happy.

“Can’t
we go to the Crown instead?”

“Nope.
Zach feels like dancing tonight,” Jem said, going to Jas’s wardrobe and pulling
it open. While he rummaged through the contents - and good luck with that - Jas
resigned himself to his fate. Zacharias Hamilton, the Second Son of Alexander
Hamilton, Lord Foley, the leader of the Crimson Circle, loved Sudden Death, its
atmosphere, its music, the dancing and the booze. But most of all, he loved the
women and there were plenty of those to be had there. And they all loved him
back. He was a force of nature when it came to partying so Jas might as well
head to the shower.

“There’s
nothing in your wardrobe but leather and jeans,” Jem complained.

“If I
can’t go in jeans and a tee, I’m not going,” Jas said emphatically, closing the
bathroom door behind him, but to no avail. Before he turned on the shower, he
heard Jem say something about finding clothes from his own closet.

***

“Are
you done primping yet?” Jeremy’s voice called through the bathroom door ten
minutes later. With a grunt to the affirmative, Jasper finished drying himself.
He shot a glance to the mirror to make sure his face was clean, the sum total
of his preparations for the night. His gaze fell on the tattoo circling his
right bicep, a thorn wreath inked in deep red, the mark of a full-fledged
Circle warrior. He was proud of it. He had other tattoos too - his left
shoulder and upper arm were covered in black tribal swirls - but on his right
arm there was only this one.

Hanging
the towel to dry, he turned his back to the mirror. He didn’t have to worry about
shaving or having his hair fashionably coiffed. He kept stubble shadowing his
chin and shaved his hair so short it was almost impossible to tell its colour.
He scarcely remembered it himself, but it had to be dark brown, if his eyebrows
and the hair that covered his body were any indicators. He had looked the same
for centuries, long before it became fashionable among human males to shave
their heads more diligently than their faces when they wanted to conceal their
receding hairlines or look tough. He saw no reason to change.

Jasper
wasn’t exactly balding - he was a vampire after all - but his hairline had
begun to recede before his
promise
was
fulfilled
when he was
twenty-nine. Using Might, the energy surrounding all living that only the
two-natured races were able to access, he had been able to correct some minor
details. He had reset his nose he had broken as a lad and again as a soldier
for the king, but it hadn’t seemed important to make his hair grow back. Just
as he hadn’t seen a point in removing the thick scar that ran horizontally
across the right side of his head above the ear. It was a memento from the
Battle of Killiecrankie in 1689 when a Highlander had tried to take the top of
his head off with his claymore.

It had
been a killing blow, and the only reason Jas was alive today was Foley. He had
found Jas after the battle, lying bloodied and dying on the field, and had
saved his life with his ability to heal. Then he had moved Jas to his own camp,
the vampire division of the troops fighting for William of Orange.

Saving
his human life hadn’t been the only thing Foley had done for him. He had told
Jas that he had
promise
in him - the vampire variation of the
two-natured gene, as modern science called it - and had offered to
fulfil
it - trigger it so that Jas would become vampire instead of remaining human.
Jas hadn’t hesitated. There may not have been any vampires in the village where
he grew up, and he hadn’t encountered many during his career as a soldier
either, but the near-death experience had convinced him that there were great
advantages to being a vampire. He had even asked Foley to test Jem for the
promise
.
Together, the brothers had been made vampires and they had pledged their
allegiance to Foley and the Crimson Circle.

With
their newly acquired vampire handicap of being unable to operate in daylight
for the first century or two, they couldn’t have continued as soldiers for the Crown
anyway. But the Circle more than made up for the loss of profession, offering
them plenty of chances to fight during the night. Moreover, the brothers had
proven to be strong in Might despite being human-born. It had taken them less
than a century to win the sun, opening a way for them to become full-fledged
Circle warriors.

Jas
exited the bathroom in his birthday suit and shot a disgusted glance at Jem who
was standing right outside. “What’s the rush, little brother?” Jasper was three
years older than Jeremy and he liked to bring it up every now and then. Or, you
know, like every day.

Jas
actually liked having Jem around, even on evenings when he was being more
annoying than normal. He was the only family he had left, including the progeny
of their human siblings; the last one of those had died about a century ago.
They had their warrior brothers of course, but it wasn’t the same as having
one’s blood relations around.

That
didn’t mean they always had to be nice to each other though.

Jas’s
glowering made Jem only grin wider. The bastard was enjoying this. He was
holding a black silk shirt from a hanger and he pushed it towards Jas. “You can
wear this.”

The
shirt wasn’t much different from those which men had worn in Jas’s youth, but
times had changed. “No way am I wearing that. I’ll look like a sad, clueless
rocker, especially if I wear it with leather jeans.”

“So
wear denim instead. Or, you know, proper trousers. I’m sure there’s a pair
somewhere in your wardrobe.” Jem himself was wearing black suit trousers and a
white dress shirt with its top buttons open and sleeves rolled up to the elbows
so that some chest hair and muscular, sinewy arms were showing. He was even
wearing shiny leather shoes.

They
looked much alike, but Jeremy had always taken greater interest in his looks.
His full, dark brown hair didn’t show signs of receding, and he had shaved
carefully so that his strong angular jaw, much like Jas’s own, was perfectly
visible instead of hiding behind the stubble. Prominent nose - magically mended
like Jas’s - stark brows and puppy brown eyes that always regarded the world
with enjoyment made him look if not handsome then manly. Jas wasn’t sure the
same could be said about him. And the only thing he truly enjoyed was fighting.

Grumpy
old bear, Jem always called him, and he was probably right.

Since
Jas had already pulled the leather jeans on, he wasn’t about to change. “Jeans
don’t go so well with kickers.”

Jem
rolled his eyes. “Then put on trainers.”

Jas
wasn’t sure what was considered appropriate footwear for a nightclub and he
didn’t really care. “Just give me the bloody shirt.”

He
snatched the shirt from Jeremy and put it on. At least it wasn’t one of those
pseudo-historical shirts with ruffles and billowing sleeves and only strings
with which to tie it closed at the throat that were so popular among human men
who pretended to be vampires. What was with that shit anyway? They never got it
right.

The
shirt was rather close fitted and it didn’t hang all the way to his knees like
the shirts of his youth; in modern eyes, it would have made the shirt look like
a dress. It didn’t look half bad, actually. Of course, tight as it was, he
wouldn’t be able to flex his biceps for fear of tearing the fabric. Or lift his
arms up even.

“Leave
the top buttons open,” Jeremy instructed him. “And don’t tuck it in.” Sighing
in annoyance, Jas stopped what he was doing, leaving the shirt tails hanging
loose.

“Let’s
just go so we can get this over with.” And even though he wanted to put on his
combat boots, he took out a pair of black trainers and wore them instead. Who
cared whether they suited the outfit or not. He contemplated putting on a long
leather coat too, to ward off the late February chill, but they were driving
and the coat would be a nuisance inside the club. He was a vampire; he could
handle a bit of cold.

They
met the rest of their group in the grand hall of the Crimson Manor, a rambling
Elizabethan building Foley had built at the end of the sixteenth century to
replace the earlier medieval castle the Circle had called their home. The place
was large, opulent, and thanks to modern refurbishing, very comfortable. Jas
remembered when times were different.

The
grand hall was made to impress anyone entering the place for the first time: it
was huge, with dark oak wainscoting, a high painted ceiling, stone floor, and
gilded leather tapestry. Long hallways led to three wings of the manor and a
grand staircase to upper floors. In the enormous fireplace on one wall a fire
was always lit and the warriors gathered around it when they were on their way
out or returning home.

Of the
two men waiting for the brothers, Zach Hamilton was more striking. He was over
six and half feet tall with a body full of lean, well-defined muscles. He
resembled his father in size and colours, and like him was also so handsome as
to be beautiful. In addition, Zach had his mother’s curling hair, deep dimples
and laughing blue eyes that made him look like a fallen angel, mischievous and
deadly.

“Look
who deigned to join us,” Zach hailed Jas with a grin when the brothers reached
the fireplace. “I feared I’d have to come and fetch you myself.”

Jas greeted
Jem’s patrol partner with a grunt, feeling that Zach’s comment didn’t deserve
stronger acknowledgement. Zach was dressed in his usual party gear - something
tight-fitting to emphasize his body, as if it mattered what he was wearing. He
could dress in a Hessian sack and the ladies would still fall at his feet.

Not
that Jas cared. He hadn’t tried to make ladies swoon in more years than he
cared to count. Not since Gwendolyn.

“Do I
have to go without breakfast?”

“Hey,
if you’d gotten up with the rest of the house, you’d have had your breakfast,”
Nicholas Fortier, Jas’s patrol partner and the fourth man in their group,
pointed out. Nick was a century younger than Jas, but he was vampire-born and
thus strong in Might. He was slightly bigger than Jas as a result of his purer
blood, but not as huge as Alexander’s progeny. He had russet hair that was
always cut in the latest fashion, and blue eyes that had retained their
innocent look despite centuries of fighting for the Circle; the man himself was
far from innocent. They got along well even though Nick was more sociable than
Jas. They balanced each other out.

“It’s
my night off!” Didn’t anybody bloody respect that anymore?

“Yeah,
yeah, whatever. We’ll stop to buy you something on the way,” Zach promised.

By the
door, the warriors on duty that night were preparing to head out, led by
Gabriel Hamilton, Foley’s First Son. While not much bigger than the more leanly
built Zach and Alexander, he was huge compared to most of the warriors, at
least six foot eight tall and carrying over three hundred pounds of muscle and
heavyset bones. Dressed in the customary fighting gear of the Circle warriors,
a sleeveless leather jerkin - Kevlar-lined these days - soft leather jeans, a
long-sleeved t-shirt and combat boots, he looked frightening, even with the
Hamilton handicap of an overly handsome face. Gabe compensated for his looks
with long black hair bound in a tight queue in the style of warriors past, and
cold, black eyes.

Jas
didn’t have the mass of his leader, who could claim vampire blood in his
ancestry going back for generations. He was a shorter five foot eleven tall and
weighed less than 250 pounds, but that had made him a huge man back when he was
still human. Well, he hadn’t had that kind of bulk back then, not with the food
they ate when he was growing up. Nowadays, with a solid protein intake and
steady workout regimen, not to mention the benefits of having had his
promise
fulfilled
, he didn’t look half bad. And he was a good warrior.