Chapter 3

Charlotte Sanguinite POV:

His face is bloodied. He's clutching the side of his neck, the blood practically spurting out.

He's going to die.

Whoever went after him went for his jugular. He won't survive, not for more than a couple of minutes, not the way he's bleeding out.

The decision is made in a split second.

I hurry over to him, and when he looks up, his eyes are glazed over. He doesn't seem to recognize me because he immediately bares his teeth in warning, a throaty growl emitting from him.

"I'm not trying to attack you," I assure him, holding out my hands. "You're—"

The sound of multiple footsteps has my head jerking up.

He's being chased?!

"You have to come with me!" I say, urgently now, grabbing his hand and pulling.

He growls again, his wolf in his eyes, and while it terrifies me, the people who put him in this state are even more terrifying right now.

"They'll kill you!" I hiss. Come on! I can hide you!

I drag him with me, and while he keeps growling, he doesn't try to pull away from me. However, as I take him inside the animal shelter, I know his pursuers aren't idiots. If they're nonhuman, they'll know exactly where he went. I shove the Alpha behind the counter, where he slumps to the paneled floor, his breathing harsh. Then, I grabbed two of the new scalpels that just arrived this morning. Ricky hasn't had the chance to put them away yet.

Walking outside, I pull the shutter down halfway, and as I'm doing so, I hear the footsteps approaching me.

"You! Girl!"

I look over my shoulder casually and see two burly-looking vampires heading toward me. My heart sinks.

I won't be able to take on both of them.

As they get closer, one of them sniffs the air, and his lips curl. "You're one of us." Where's the wolf?"

"The who?" I ask innocently.

"Don't play games with us, girl." The heftier one of them takes a menacing step toward me. "We know he's—" He cuts himself off abruptly. "I know you. You're from our clan. Mack, isn't this Beruth's daughter? You don't remember me? Droga!"

A cold ball of fear forms in my chest.

I know him. He grew up with me.

Now that I think about it, the small scar on his right cheek does look familiar.

Droga snickers. "Well, well. And here I thought you were dead this whole time, maggots having feasted on your worthless flesh."

My hand tightens around the scalpels in my hand, and my body tenses. Droga was among my worst bullies. He was one of Clyde's followers and took my older brother's lead, tormenting me as much as he could. He and Clyde once broke my leg and threw me down an old well in the woods around our compound. I had been there for days, starved and close to death when I was rescued. But my father just shrugged and told me that if I had not been a defective creature, I would have managed to get out of there myself.

As a result, I've never liked confined spaces.

That incident was just one of many. As we grew up and my figure developed, my brother and Droga did a lot worse for me.

"What do you want?" My nose wrinkled in disgust as I hid my fear.

His eyes run down my body, the lust in them obvious. "The Alpha you're hiding, for starters. And then you and I are going to have some fun, like old times."

I don't hesitate, slashing out with the scalpel. He wasn't expecting it, and I got him in the throat. He clutches his neck, staggering back in surprise. His companion, Mack, jumps toward me, but I duck, avoiding his blow.

I may not be as strong as a vampire, but I've taken plenty of self-defense and other classes to make sure I'm never defenseless again. Of course, none of the instructors ever considered that I might be up against supernatural beings.

I whip the scalpel around, nicking Mack in the arm. My eyes dart towards Droga, and I know I need to finish the job before his neck heals. I move toward him, but my path is blocked by Mack. He punches me in the face, and I go flying backward, falling against the door, crying out in pain.

My left eye is swelling, and I can't see much from it.

As he towers over me, I hear a snarl, and a large wolf breaks through the glass door over my head. I hear Mack scream as Robert tears out his stomach. I don't have time to be sick, because as I struggle to get to my feet, I see Droga running at me. I move to the side, avoiding his attack, and without thinking, I slam both scalpels into the back of his neck and yank them in opposite directions.

He makes a choking sound and falls flat on his face.

The wolf jumps on him, bites into the remaining part of his throat, and rips off his head completely.

Seeing Droga's head rolling away from me, I felt nauseous. At the same time, there is also a dark satisfaction within me.

He's dead.

After so many years of unspeakable torment, he's finally dead.

A small, vicious part of me wishes he had suffered more.

But at least he died knowing I had a hand in it.

The wolf moves toward me, and I stiffen. He doesn't attack me, though, simply sniffing me. Not deeming me a threat, he gives me a small lick on the face and then collapses in my arms.

For a moment, I sat there, stunned, my heart racing.

I don't have the first clue what to do about the bloodbath in the street right in front of the shelter, the bodies on the ground. And what am I supposed to do with the unconscious wolf in my arms?

Taking a few deep breaths, I look down at the wolf and then mutter, "First things first. Hide the wolf. Then hide the bodies. And then—"

My mind goes blank after that.

Do I need a shovel? Should I take the bodies to the woods and bury them? How am I supposed to get them there? Can't very well bring them on the bus, now, can I?

God, I hope Ricky doesn't show up before I've dealt with all this!

If I thought Robert in his human form was heavy, the wolf weighs ten times more.

"How is this possible?" I grunted, pulling him past the shattered front door. I didn't have time to sweep away the broken glass, and he was being dragged over it. "Sorry. "I'm so sorry," I keep mumbling. "Not like this is an everyday thing for me. Please don't get mad."

My back is screaming by the time he's fully inside the office.

The next task is more difficult. Grabbing a plastic bag, I put Droga's head in it. I followed that up by dragging both bodies into the back of the shelter. There is a small yard there where we let the dogs out to play and do their business. In a corner, there's a shed. I push both bodies inside and slam the door shut. Leaning against it, I try to catch my breath.

Why were they so heavy?!

I don't have time to waste thinking about it. I make my way back into the main building and then lock the back door. There is no way to lock the front door since the glass is all shattered, so I simply sweep the shards into the shelter and close the shutters from the inside. The animals are making a racket at this point, having smelled all the blood and heard the chaos.

I finally turned my attention to the large wolf bleeding out in the reception area.

I'm not a vet by any means, but I've been saving up for veterinary school, and I've been assisting Ricky with surgeries. I can also clean and patch up wounds. To help Robert, it would be best to drag him to the back office, which is just not possible if I take into account how tiny our hallway is. He's going to end up damaging the wall or himself.

There's no other way around it.

I go back there alone, get some alcohol swabs, saline, dressing, along with a plethora of other items I need to clean and disinfect wounds and stitch the tear in his throat. He doesn't move while I'm gone. I press my lips together, praying to every deity under the sun that he doesn't awaken while I'm working on his neck. Fortunately, there is someone out there who hears my prayers, and Robert doesn't stir as I disinfect his cut and stitch it up. It's already healing, but he's going to be very anemic for a while till he eats some meat to make up for the loss of blood.

It's while I'm stitching him that a strange scent reaches me.

It's sickly sweet, and my hand goes still.

It can't be.

I lean closer and take another sniff. While I don't have the same abilities as a shifter to be able to distinguish smells, aside from blood, this is a scent I recognize.

Wolfsbane.

My father had a greenhouse where he grew it. Wolfsbane is mostly banned in wolf-shifter-dominated areas; even vampires aren't allowed to grow it based on the peace treaties and business dealings they have with the wolves. But wolves don't come into vampire territory, so my clan has never had a problem with concealing the fact that they grow it in large amounts. I often used to hide in the greenhouse because it was all the way to the other end of the compound. The gardeners would leave me aware of my situation.

I wasn't an idiot. I knew why my father was growing it. But I had my own set of problems as a young child who lacked protection of any sort, so I didn't really care about wolfsbane. But right now, I do. This is a problem.

The wolfsbane has gotten into the Alpha's bloodstream. It's not hard to figure out how; lately, I've been hearing things about liquid wolfsbane, which is more potent than anything.

There are only two ways to get the wolfsbane out of Robert's system. The first one is impossible in this current situation because there is no wolf healer present in the animal shelter. The other way is more intimate, and I really don't want to do it.

I gazed down at the unconscious wolf. No wonder he's not waking up; the wolfsbane must be breaking down his organs by now. I have to do something.