Page 57 of Blind Date with a Werewolf
Asil wondered if Bonarata had been hoping for a witchborn baby to raise as his own and gotten this—
He looked at the child—all of twenty-three years—who sat so stiffly beside him. Had Bonarata been disappointed because he’d gotten this innocent helpless human girl? Or perhaps he had gotten a witch so powerful that she had deceived Asil, the way that the witch in Spokane had deceived him?
Without a word, Asil took the girl’s wrist—not ungently, but not allowing her to break free, either—and brought it to his nose. His thumbnail, sharper than it had been a moment ago, lightly broke the surface of her skin, releasing a drop of blood for him to taste. Blood could not lie. It burst onto his tongue, iron rich and full of information for him to sift through.
She made a distressed sound. Like prey.
His wolf lunged.
Asil was aware, dimly, of her struggling to free herself. Ofthe car swerving. Of horns and shrieking brakes around them. Of an urgent conversation. But he was preoccupied with his maddened wolf.
When he was done, he was in control. But his wolf was tangled back in the familiar ball of incoherent rage that had been his state for centuries. No more words.
Asil tried not to feel guilty about that.
“There are iron filings in my bullets,” growled the driver; Asil was pretty sure it wasn’t for the first time. “And I will kill you if you make it necessary. Let her go.”
Asil had closed his eyes while he battled his beast. Not only to hide his wolf but to concentrate. He had made the deliberate choice to control his wolf and hope that the two vampire-kissed strangers in the car with him would not attack while he was distracted—risking his life in order to save theirs.
He had driven his wolf back into incoherent unspeaking rage from which it might never return. All to keep himself from murdering Mariposa’s daughter.
Time to see how that would work out for him.
Asil opened his eyes, knowing that his wolf was buried deep enough that not a hint of gold would show. They were in the deserted parking lot of a small neighborhood park. The pouring rain was doing as much as the night and the darkened windows to keep them secret from the world.
And the driver—by now Asil was starting to capitalize that in his head as if it were a proper name—The Driver was turned around, kneeling in his seat, to allow him to take a proper shooting pose.
That would not do.
Asil released the girl, took the man’s gun, and pressed the magazine release and racked the slide, dropping the disabled gun parts on the floor. He did not damage the man’s hand when he took the gun. And he did it very swiftly. Very swiftly.
The scent of fear filled the car, and Asil’s wolf—mindless and reduced to instincts—threatened to come out and kill them all. Again.
“Hello,” Asil said to the frightened people trapped in the car with him. “I am Asil Moreno, better known to my people as the Moor. I think it is time we become friends, no?”
He looked at Mrs.Alvarez and held out a hand for her to shake. She straightened her purely human spine—the human part verified by the blood Asil had taken. Then she bravely reached out and shook his hand with her own, the one that still bore the scratch of his claw. He was pleased to note that there were no red marks that would become bruises. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her more than necessary.
“I am Mari-Brigid Bonarata Alvarez,” she said, answering two questions with that statement.
First, he’d been right about Bonarata. His instincts were usually faultless. Second, she needed help so badly she was willing to take it from a scary monster she did not know. Brave and desperate.
Asil held his hand out to The Driver. That one took a long look at Asil and didn’t move.
Asil sighed. “If you had shot me with your gun and its iron-impregnated bullets, I would have been annoyed, but no more. I am not fae.” He spread his hands as if to showcase the gift that was the Moor. “I am here to help you.Mashallah.”
Properly he should have said that last word with more enthusiasm. Perhaps even exclaimed it.Behold! Allah has accomplished this great and marvelous thing!But even Asil couldn’t tell for certain if he meant it ironically or not, and that blunted his volume.
“What are you?” Mari-Brigid asked, still mostly pressed against the far door despite her brave handshake.
“I am an old enemy of your parents,” he said, ignoring the fact that Bonarata wasn’t technically her father, because the vampire had claimed her by giving her his name. The man who fathered her biologically was not important. “I was present, though sadly not responsible, for your mother’s death a few years ago. I live for the day I can say the same of your father.”
It told him a lot that she relaxed somewhat at those words.
“Yes,” she said. “Me, too.” Then added, “About my father. I never knew my mother. I suppose she was a monster also?”
“Yes,” Asil said, though he thought she would consider him also a monster. Who knew what measuring stick Mari-Brigid, raised in boarding schools paid for by the Lord of Night, used for determination?
By any measure, Asil was a monster.
