Chapter eight
I was not used to using a car much. We only drove ours when my mother went out to the nearest town to get supplies, but I hadn't gone with her in years. Andrés drove some truck I couldn't name, something from the late fifties. The ride was a silent one, but at least it had been short. Soon, we pulled up to a building that resembled a soda can cut in half.
"Is this a barn?" I asked, stepping from the truck.
Andrés shot me a look. "It's my house."
I never thought of him living in a house. Maybe a shack, but not a house. He's seemed too much like an animal for the luxury. "Oh," was all I could say.
He led the way inside casually, kicking his shoes off after making it through the front door. Just entering the house, I could count three paintings. "Is—oh Meža vīrs! That's Rihards!" I blushed, looking away. It was one thing to see him in nothing but a human pelt, but to be looking at a picture of it was mortifying.
Andrés looked where I had. "Oh, you mean the big one. Yeah. I think that was after one of your hunts." He moved closer to the picture. "Your brother's in the background. He's your brother, right? He's got the same hair color."
"I don't want to see Bendiks' stuff! Or Rihards'!"
"You were just with them and their stuff," he said coolly, but I heard the amused tone.
"That's different." He snorted. "It is! When we're together we're the pack. The pack always sees each other in their skins. But now, when their not around, I don't need or want to see them."
"Than pick up your paws and let's go. There's more down stairs." I turned, hearing the sound of metal against metal. He was pushing open a tin door that led to a winding staircase. Behind that I only saw black.
"My feet are dirty," I made an excuse not to go when he stepped onto the first step. The thing moved, as if it was held together only by a few cords. "It was muddy out. I'll slip."
"No you won't," he glared at me. "Look, if you don't trust me than you shouldn't have come. I don't care if you get the floor dirty and I won't let you fall. One of the risks of having a werewolf in your house is that they get in trouble. Like a dog. I'm aware of that so come on."
I stepped forward, grabbing his shoulder as I stepped out onto the cool metal. The stairs moved under me, causing my stomach to fall. "I'm not a werewolf," I said, trying to sound calm. For the most part I succeeded till the next step. It swung out like the first and I squeaked, latching onto Andrés. "The proper term for it is a vilkacis."
"Oh, so you're a demon." I let my claws sink into the meat of his arm, but Andrés didn't flinch. The smell of his blood was overly sweet and I became dizzy, hunger cramping my gut. "I know what you are, I just thought you would prefer werewolf to vilkacis. You don't seem like a monster. Too weak," I clawed him again and again got no response but for warmth trickling between my fingers. "Wouldn't you rather be considered a shape shifter?"
"That is what we consider ourselves," I snapped. The urge to pull my hand back and lick his blood from my fingers was strong, but I suppressed it with the knowledge that my grip on him was the only thing keeping me from falling. Desperate, I tried to get the conversation away from what I was. It felt wrong, like I was betraying the pack, for him to know. "So, what are you? Don't be smart about it, either, so don't go and call yourself a painter." His shoulders shook as he laughed. I wrinkled my nose. "I smell blood on you."
"I do have blood," he retorted smartly, ignoring the fact that I already warned him not to be.
"It's on your shirt." He had nothing to say to that and it filled me with a sick pleasure. "What were you doing before you found me and the others to paint?"
"Your expecting me to tell you I was hunting, aren't you?" I nodded in the dark, not knowing if he could see it. Apparently he did. "I'm not going to. Calling it hunting would be a severe understatement. Animalistic frenzy, possibly, but for your sake, just keep believing I was hunting."
"All I care is that whatever you did took from our deer supply." The stairs continued to sway as I followed him. There seemed to be no end. "Our pack is big and getting bigger. We need all the game in the forest. There's not enough to shelter your hunger, too."
Andrés snorted and slipped from my grasp. Taking a nervous step forward I fell with a scream, but arms quickly caught and held me. Gasping, I thought we had reached the ground, but the falling feeling continued. "The thing's still alive, perfectly capable of breeding and making more." I ignored his mutter, focusing on the plunging feeling. Andrés was so damn calm! "When I hunt, when I get food, it's not for meat. Sure, I can eat it and sure it tastes alright, but that's never what I'm in the mood for."
Suddenly, the floor zoomed up. Andrés landed, holding me so I wouldn't touch the floor, but he knees didn't even buck on impact. It was like two stones colliding to meet one another, creating nothing but noise. With a loud slap, everything suddenly became still.
Looking around, I flicked my eyes to work through the shadows. There was no light source at all, only the cool smell of dirty concrete and the mirrors in my wolf eyes couldn't catch a thing. I was blind.
"Andrés?" I whispered. My throat was sore from screaming. It ached and felt like fire was lacing through my blood. Andrés didn't reply, and when I moved something brushed against my shoulder. His jaw, I realized. There was a heaviness pressing down on my head, a tug pulling my head to the side. When my neck twisted, pain shot up my spine, tangling in the nerves. "Damn! Shit, that freaking hurt. Andrés?"
There was sudden pain on the other side of my neck, than my shoulder, than my collarbone. That was when the smell hit me. Blood, my blood, thickened the air. Andrés wouldn't answer me, wouldn't put me down, and I was bleeding out. I pushed on his shoulders, trying to pull back, but that only made the ache worsen. Moving closer to him helped, made the feeling bearable and my head stopped spinning. Something was on me, attached like a leach, sucking gently and quickly. It was under my hoodie, it had to be since I hadn't taken the thing off. The draw of a fleshy mouth, the lap of some wet muscle, and the smell of blood made my hunger growl in the pit of my stomach. Lifting my hand to my mouth, I sucked my fingers. Andrés' blood swirled with my saliva, cool and chokingly sweet. It was enough to satisfy any craving, and my eyes became slits.
But they flew open swiftly as I hit the floor. As I pulled myself up a panel was open to let light shine through and light the room. I was in some sort of basement, and that the light was coming from an open fireplace. Coughing at the sudden smoke, I turned around to see Andrés had opened the metal cage that had kept the light concealed.
My blood coated his front.
