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“The Praetorian Guard,” she whispered. “The guards of the abyss. The keepers of time, guardians of the passages.”
“You know our history.” He was pleased.
“Yes I do. Lucifer’s dogs. The Hounds of Hell,” she whispered, her face paling.
“Never call us by that name!” Lawson roared. The car veered to the side of the road and stopped abruptly. Bliss was thrown against the front seat, and blood trickled from her forehead. She was shaking.
Lawson turned and glared at her. Malcolm cringed. “Lawson, please,” his brother begged. “She doesn’t know.”
Bliss stared back at the two of them angrily. “Know what? Wolf, hound, all the same, isn’t it?”
“No!” Lawson shook his head. “Never.” He looked down at the steering wheel, at his white knuckles. “My brothers and I escaped from the pack a year ago, and we’ve been hiding and running ever since. We’ll never be hounds, not if I can help it.” He thought of Tala for a moment, wondered if those were empty words, remembered all his friends who were still left behind. “The masters turn wolf cubs into Hellhounds on their eighteenth moon day. We had to run before we were turned.”
“Right,” Bliss said, and her tone of voice told him everything he needed to know. She didn’t believe a word he’d said. That made two of them. Ex-vampire indeed. He gunned the engine and steered the car back to the road, and no one spoke until they reached the cave.
“Arthur says it’s a show cave from the 1960s,” the younger boy—Malcolm—was telling her. Bliss followed them out of the car and inside a dark cavern. She didn’t see that she had a choice for now. She was their hostage, even if the older one—Lawson—didn’t want to admit it. She only hoped he would take her to Jane; at least they would be together.
Bliss wasn’t sure she believed his story about not being a Hellhound. Even though she’d witnessed his wrath at being called such, she knew he’d meant to hurt her back at the butcher shop. Hellhounds are uncontrollable, violent, and vicious—yeah, he’d been all that.
Lawson. She hated him a little for being so strong—she was jealous, she supposed. She used to be a vampire, immortal, powerful; now she was just an ordinary girl. Bliss was annoyed with herself as well, for even noticing that he was attractive—handsome, with a strong jaw, a high forehead, and thick, dark ha
ir. He was a killer—she’d seen it in his eyes. He was dangerous, brutal. She would have to watch her step around him—why had she told him so much about herself? Best not to reveal anything more, she decided.
The cavern was one long space that wound in an arc like the crescent of the moon, with a makeshift kitchen in the middle and a few scattered and dark utility rooms off to the side. Bliss followed Malcolm, who was still talking. “Arthur said back then they didn’t care about preserving natural beauty, instead they put in linoleum and charged admission, whatever that means. But they’ve got some cool exhibits in the back.”
“Who’s Arthur?” she asked.
“He sort of…takes care of us—he moved here after the attack. Thought it would be safer if the hounds returned.”
“The hounds? They attacked you too? Why?”
Bliss noticed Lawson giving his brother a hard look, and Malcolm grew quiet. She looked around at her new surroundings. The whole place smelled of mold and dust; it made her nose run and her eyes water. The cavern was cold and humid, like a basement with a broken steam pipe.
“We’re back,” Lawson called as they approached three figures sitting by the fire. “This is Bliss Llewellyn. We found her in the shop. That’s Arthur,” he said, pointing to an old gentleman in the corner, who smiled at her gently. “That’s Rafe,” he said, pointing to the stockier boy. “And that’s Edon.”
Bliss greeted them with a nod. None of them seemed to be surprised to see her. They must have known about the trap back at the butcher shop. She gazed at the four boys together. There was something savage and untamed about all of them, but something fierce and splendid as well. If Lawson was handsome, with the rugged good looks of a frontier cowboy, Edon was beautiful—his features were just a little finer, with an aristocratic cast, deep violet eyes and golden hair. Rafe was olive-skinned and almond-eyed; built like a rock, his body looked as if it could stop a Mack truck, but he had a sweet smile.
The boys were dressed appallingly. Their clothing was dirty, too small or too big, mismatched, and oddly chosen. Malcolm was wearing a yellow hooded sweatshirt, green corduroys, and pink Crocs. Rafe wore a flannel shirt and worn tuxedo pants. Edon, for all his hauteur and aloofness, was wearing a silly boy-band T-shirt and surfer shorts over long underwear. All their clothes were holey and worn, dirty and torn. Not even thrift stores would take them; they looked like things they had found in the garbage.
Rafe shook her hand while Edon appraised her coolly. “So this is the ex-vampire,” Edon said. His voice was beautiful as well, smooth and melodic.
Bliss started—how could he know? The wolves must be able to communicate without speaking, she realized, able to use the glom just as the vampires did. “I like to think of myself more as newly human,” she said, smiling thinly. “So you guys are wolves, are you? Escaped from Hell, Lawson says.”
“Lawson says a lot of things,” Edon said. “Why should we believe that you no longer have your fangs?”
“The same reason you want me to believe that you no longer do the work of the devil,” Bliss retorted.
“We never did his work. We ran before we could do any harm. Do not speak of that of which you know nothing,” Edon threatened, his voice a low and chilling growl.
“So what kind of name is Bliss?” Malcolm asked, changing the subject. “Is it a family name?”
“No.” She shook her head. “The people who raised me weren’t even my parents. Bliss isn’t even my real name. At least, not where it matters. I found out that my real name is Lupus Theliel.”
Malcolm gave her a curious look. “Lupus Theliel. Wolfsbane.”
“Yes.”
The younger boy exchanged looks with Lawson. “You must be part wolf, then…but you’re one of the Fallen, which doesn’t make sense,” he said.
