Moon Tortured (Sky Brooks Series Book 1) (17 page)

Stunned by my assessment, he smiled. I doubt it was possible to curve your lips into something less sincere. “My dear, I don’t have any problems with Ethan. I hold him among the few that I admire,” he stated in a very pronounced Southern drawl, making his words sound wholesome and sweet. He was lying. I didn’t have a basis for confirming it, but I just knew.

When Ethan walked toward us, the look on Owen’s face didn’t allude to anything that could remotely be perceived as admiration. It held disdain—utter, impenitent disdain. “We are leaving tonight,” he informed me. Steven and Josh had driven away just minutes before.

“Where are they going?” Owen asked.

“He’s going to meet with someone,” he stated casually as he walked past us.

“Who?”

Ethan shrugged, “Don’t know,” he responded with obvious disregard and blatant lying.

“It’s not typical for a Beta not to know what’s going on in his pack,” Owen acrid voice stated.

“It’s not typical for one who isn’t one to care so much,” Ethan lashed back in a tone so razor sharp, I felt the slashes.

Standing between the hostile were-animals, I absorbed the tension, wishing I knew the cause. As Ethan guided me toward the door, I could feel Owen’s eyes stabbing Ethan.

Josh and Steven returned nearly three hours later, and it was a good thing because there was so much testosterone flooding the house between Owen and Ethan, it was only a matter of time before they decided to do something about it.

I grilled Josh on the way back to the airport about what he found out. He seemed frustrated as I interrogated him. Finally, he admitted that his other source was unhelpful. But he said it with such ire that I knew they
chose
not to be helpful.

CHAPTER 6

Less than an hour after returning to the house from Georgia, I had showered, eaten and was surfing the Web in an effort not to fixate on our trip, which I considered a useless endeavor. The only things that came of it were: a picture of an object that neither of us could identify, the knowledge that the people who disliked Ethan spanned further than this side of the country, and the fact that warlocks’ interactions entailed the same silly primitive posturing as that of were-animals.

Tired of feeling like I was wading in my shallow pool of knowledge, I decided to do something about it. I knew were-animals existed but because of their censoring, I knew little about them. The VAMPIRE logs made me well versed on the psychopaths and degenerates of the group, but I knew very little of typical vampires—if there were such things.

There wasn’t much information on the mainstream sites about vampires and were-animals, but there were plenty on the nuts-r-us sites, blogs and forums dedicated to people with undiagnosed psychoses that led them to believe they were vampires. They would drink blood, participate in indiscreet sexual behavior and favor the nightlife over daylight. They had screen names like: “vampdaddy,” “vampgirl,” “creature of the damned,” and their screen pictures were often Goth-influenced, with obvious prosthetic fangs. With each site, I found myself rolling my eyes and wishing they would meet a real vampire. That would surely cure their romanticism of the creatures.

Other sites were dedicated to the idiots who claimed to be werewolves and attributed their asinine behavior to being “moon-called” as the animal within fought to escape.
Oh, brother!
There wasn’t any real information on were-animals. After hours of reading through tons of articles and blogs, I had gathered the same amount of information I would have from watching “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” “Angel,” or “True Blood.”

Warlocks and mages were often used interchangeably, but based on what Josh had told me, what I had seen and what I had read, they were vastly different. Mages were limited to defensive magic and spells. Though some mages’ skills were better than that of others, they didn’t seem to be as strong as witches and warlocks. Because of witches’ inherent gifts, they didn’t require the use of incantations or talismans to perform basic magic and were able to do both offensive and defensive magic and spells.

“I need help,” Josh admitted, knocking on the door as he entered. I snapped the laptop closed before he could see what I was looking at. I felt guilty as though I were spying on them. He grinned as if he knew what I was doing. Nothing in my research revealed that witches had the gift of telepathy; however, Josh was a lot more intuitive than anyone I ever met before. “What do you need?”

“An extra set of eyes,” he admitted. He linked his fingers through mine and led me through the house to the library. Josh laid the picture between us as we sat at the conference table. “I can’t find out what it does because I have no idea what it is,” he admitted as the shadow of frustration shone through his typically relaxed demeanor.

Sprawled across the table were several books on witchcraft; the dark arts; and Greek, Nordic, Paleo-Balkan and Etruscan mythology. The selection was joined by another stack of books with foreign titles that I had seen on my first day in the retreat.

“We are just looking for objects, symbols and articles of power,” he explained. “I just need to find the one I saw in my dreams.”

The warlock with the disheveled hair, worn jeans and graphic t-shirt looked out of place, surrounded by the odd books. He had changed his earrings from hoops to small studs. His appearance was something most men couldn’t pull off. Wearing his confidence and charm as casually as his t-shirt, he made the reckless abandonment of the conservative style sexy. Josh was a refreshing escape in a place stifled by structure and rules.

He slid several books toward me. “Go through them and look for anything that resembles this sketch. Even if it barely looks like it, still let me see it,” he instructed.

At first, the task was tedious at best. I found myself drawn in by the stories. Brought into a world where were-animals, vampires and warlocks existed, mythology didn’t seem so far off. I considered the very origin of were-animals and vampires. Were the were-animals’ existence the result of a curse bestowed upon the animal or human? Had they been forced to live in a limbo between human and animal in state of horrid conflict? Or was it a gift from the gods to walk between the worlds of man and animal, enjoying the benefits of both? For me, it was nothing more than a curse with unfair retributions.

And vampires? Who and what deity did they anger to be forced to wander the earth in a lifeless body, only able to survive on the blood of the living? I am sure one could perceive it as a blessing for the immortality they maintained, eternal youth, speed and extraordinary strength. I considered myself a monster, and yet I didn’t rely on killing humans for my survival. How could they perceive themselves as anything better?

Several times Josh had to interrupt me to keep me on task as I glanced through the books. Usually, I am not so easily distracted, but the information was interesting, drawing me in. I found myself reading the stories, engrossed in the many tales of gods, were-animals, demons, vampires and faes. Beguiled by the tales of lost powers, fallen gods, revered and feared demons and all that in between.

“Interesting stuff, huh?” he finally stated putting the book down and rubbing his eyes.

I nodded as I leafed through the pages. Josh left and returned with two large cups of coffee. I inhaled the robust smell of French roast, allowing it to overtake my senses before drinking.

“This is good.”

“I wish I could take credit. Winter’s a coffee and tea snob. I made the mistake of bringing store-brand coffee in the house. I think she considered poisoning me. You know she’s venomous. That’s how she maintains her position. Because she is an inferior species, most the canidae and felidae have her at a physical advantage in animal form, but they won’t challenge her. In animal form, they would have to be quick enough to avoid her strike. Enough of them have fallen victim to it that the lesson was quickly learned. That’s why most challenges for her position have been in human form. Needless to say, she is just as dangerous in human form,” he stated casually.

“She’s venomous in human, too?”

“No, but she is just as dangerous,” he stated. He didn’t have to tell me. I’d seen her in action and I was fully aware of how dangerous she was.

The break from staring at the books was much needed. My eyes were tired and starting to dry out. We had been at this for almost four hours and didn’t have any pictures in the possible pile. Even Josh was showing signs of fatigue.

After another two hours of unsuccessful viewing, Josh placed the last book aside and leaned back in the chair. Deeply drawn into his thoughts, he began to chew on his lips absently. He stayed in that state for a long time before walking over to the corner of the room, unlocking the drawer at the bottom of a bookcase and pulling out three books. With a heavy sigh, he sat them on the table, looking as though he hoped we didn’t find the sketch in them.

The books were very old. They felt different from the others as I brushed my hands across the bindings. Drawn to the weathered book at the bottom of the stack, I pulled it from the pile and slowly flipped through the pages. Fear stalled my movements abruptly as I heard the pages whisper to me. Shaking my head, I convinced myself I was just tired. But I couldn’t deny that with each page I turned, there was a lure that became stronger. My fingers were forced to a page three quarters of the way through it.

I closed my eyes. There wasn’t a need to look at either the sketch on the table or the page in the book. I knew it was it. It pulled me to it, wanting to be found.

I turned the book toward Josh and pointed to the picture. He cursed under his breath, taking the book from me. I stared at the words on the spine. It wasn’t in English. “What’s the title?” I asked.

His face remained solemn and pensive. “It’s in Latin,” he replied absently.

“What’s the title of the book?” I repeated firmly. He may not be familiar with Latin, although I found that highly unlikely, but he knew the titles of these books.

“‘Symbols of Death.’”

Of course.

When he shook his head and tossed the book aside on the table, I picked it up. It had various drawings and pictures of objects without any information regarding what they were. Scribed on each page was just a name of the object. It was a book created with the cruel and sole purpose of displaying the various things used to bring forth death, without offering the seeker any explanation. My fingers lingered, brushing over the picture. It didn’t feel like death, not that I knew what death felt like; but it didn’t feel the way I perceived death would feel. I sensed life—new life, which soon turned into something more alarming. A dark tug of energy crept up my arm, and for a moment, it held me. I gasped, jerking my hand back.

Too focused on his thoughts, Josh didn’t see what happened. “Demetrius shouldn’t have possession of anything from this book,” he whispered dismally to himself.

He looked up from the floor and made an attempt at a smile as he considered the look of worry on my face. “Symbols of death aren’t always used to bring forth death. They serve many other purposes.”

Of course and a gun can be used as a hammer, but how many people are using it as one? “I am sure the other purposes aren’t good either.”

Slowly he shook his head. “We have to get it from Demetrius and return it.”

“Return it to whom?” I asked.

“The book.”

“The book?”

“Once the objects of this book are destroyed appropriately, they are returned to it,” he stated as he took the book from me. He flipped through a few pages and turned the book toward me. The pages were a deep crimson, discolored as though the picture had bled into them. As I stared at it, I felt the eerie feeling that the thing in the sketch may have wanted to be found—but it didn’t want to be destroyed.