By Moonlight: Vamp Rising Part 13

"I crossed a line. I know that. But that's not the kind of relationship I want to have with you. It was just a means to an end."

"An end to what? My relationship with Brandon?" She challenged.

Christoph's gaze fell, implying she was right. Then he met her eyes and went on, "You would only end up destroying each other. I'm the one for you."

"I'd never destroy Brandon. And he'd never do a thing to harm me. If you're here in the morning, we'll see whose threat gets carried out first," she warned.

As Gwen opened the bedroom door to be finally rid of the manipulating monster, Christoph said, "Ask your mother what happened."

Gwen whipped around and glared at him.

"Ask her why she's limping, covered in bruises, with casts on each arm. Then tell me he's not destined to destroy you."

She held her glare on him determined not to flinch then snorted, shaking her head and closing the door between them.

Fuming, Gwen locked herself in her bedroom, tore the teal scrubs off her leaving them on the floor where they fell, and entered her private bathroom to turn on the shower faucet. She was beyond furious, yet kept reminding herself that Brandon would understand if only she could talk to him and explain things. The worry surrounding the fallout with the Sanctuary, Brandon's probable heartbreak, and the ma.s.sive loss of control she was suffering at Christoph's hand had Gwen completely on edge. Her mind was racing along with her heart rate. At every turn she just had no G.o.dd.a.m.n control, first the diagnosis, then being turned vampire, and now Christoph's detrimental meddling. Even Brandon's steadfast determination to be with her seemed to have happened without her input. What on Earth was it going to take for her to take the reins of her life and finally live it?

As she lathered up under the hot shower stream, she couldn't deny the nagging feeling that her mother had taken some kind of spill that hadn't been explained. When they'd been in the Lexus driving home, Gwen had asked her what happened, but Rose merely redirected all concern back onto Gwen. It's nothing to worry about, her mother had told her. And when she'd pressed them both for information her father only added to the mystery by saying, There's a lot of terrain out there. A lot of wildlife. We were armed, but it wasn't always enough.

Her mother's injuries.

Those shots that had been fired.

By the time Gwen was stepping out of the shower the possibility that the two were connected had her quaking with anxiety.

Quickly, she toweled off her soaking hair so that it wouldn't drip, threw on a robe, and then made her way to her parents' bedroom. The door was ajar, so she knocked, forcing it open a bit more. "Mom?"

"She's having a bite," said her father, who was seated in bed with the comforter tucked high around his waist. He glanced at her over the top rim of his spectacles, smiled and added, "So glad you're home safe." As Gwen eased back through the door, Steve returned his gaze to the book in his lap and turned the page.

Gwen walked down the hall, but paused at the guest bedroom to be certain Christoph was inside. The shower was running so she knew he would be occupied for at least a few minutes. He better not dare creep out, she thought, before continuing down the hall.

She found Rose in the kitchen. She was seated and muscling a bite of salmon to her mouth, as Oksana, beside her, tended to her by cutting up the rest of the fish among other services.

"Honey, did you realize you're hungry?" Asked Rose, happy to see Gwen taking a seat beside her.

"No, I'm fine," she said then asked Oksana, "Can we have a minute? I'll make more bites for her."

The housekeeper nodded then left them and Gwen immediately picked up the fork and knife to cut the fish, giving her something to focus on in case the conversation to come would scare her.

"Mom, I need you to tell me what happened in the woods," she started, but Rose only looked at her blankly. "What caused your fall?"

"I'm fine, Gwen. I don't want you to fret over my little spill."

"Mom, please," she said then thought to add, "I was out there too," implying that the similarities between their experiences might help Gwen cope.

"Alright, Dear," said Rose gravely, as her brow knitted Gwen a.s.sumed because the memory was taking shape. "Well, the Cascades have all kinds of wildlife, bears and mountain lions and such, and we were warned of the dangers by the forest rangers and local police, so we armed ourselves as best we could. Of course your father and I weren't educated, so we left all that gun stuff to the search party leader, Mr. Albertson, who's just your age and I started having the highest hopes of you two meeting, because I thought he'd be just perfect-"

"Mom," said Gwen, urging her mother to stay on topic. She sc.r.a.ped a few more salmon bites to Rose's side of the plate then refreshed her gla.s.s of water. "I'm listening."

"Right, well Mr. Albertson had a good number of men armed just in case and no one was to go off unless their search buddy was armed. You know, that way everyone would be safe. Truth be told, we were a little trigger-happy. It was terrifying out there and if we heard a strange noise, well, better to be safe than sorry. Nighttime was by far the most dangerous. Our flashlights didn't penetrate the dark one bit, and to be honest searching around by moonlight was downright spooky. On the fifth night, I believe, your father and I were with Mr. Albertson when he got word via the walkie-talkies that a pack of wolves had attacked a group of three who'd been sweeping through the bottom of Tucker's Ravine. Wolves, Gwen. And all your father and I could think was that you were out there, alone and scared."

Rose's voice hitched up and she had to take a breath to choke the tears back. Gwen rested her hand on top of her mother's, causing Rose to smile, swallow her anguish, and continue. "He lived. The young man lived, but was very badly injured by the vicious animal. He said he'd been surrounded by the pack. Said the look in its eye was pure evil. Said he'd never have seen the wolf coming, because it was a black wolf and blended into the dark, except that it had a strip of white fur down its chest. That's what caught his eye and gave him enough time to scramble away, isolating himself with the wolf, yes, but the way he described it at least the rest of the pack couldn't get to him."

A white strip of fur.

The dog that had woken Gwen that morning in Little Bear had the same white strip.

Not a dog, a wolf: Brandon.

It took Gwen's breath away.

"Well a number of nights later, for some strange reason Mr. Albertson redirected us to this place called Porter Hills. He said the dogs had the scent and that you were likely somewhere in that region. Your father and I were skeptical, but we had to trust the group. It all happened so fast, Darling. It was like your scent was so fresh, we kept finding pieces of it, torn clothes that I knew were yours. And in a matter of hours we were over Porter Hills doing a sweep. I'd gotten winded, so your father and I hung back with the vehicles. We didn't see the need for an armed buddy because we weren't searching. After resting a bit, I had to tinkle so I left your father and found a spot just inside the woods. Thank G.o.d I hadn't got my pants down, because from out of nowhere a wolf was suddenly growling at me. Oh, it all happened so fast. All that registered was that white strip of fur, just like the young man had seen. Before I knew it I was stumbling back to get away then I took off running, looking over my shoulder as that horrible wolf chased after me and I screamed my head off and was absolutely frantic. It was like I'd left my own body and was looking down at myself in crisis. I hadn't even seen the bluff. I fell. Tumbled down. Thank G.o.d it was only thirty feet or so. Mr. Albertson started firing shots, I mean I was told later it was Mr. Albertson, in the moment all I heard was gunfire as I tumbled and prayed that wolf wasn't charging down after me."

"Did it?" Gwen said, thoroughly rattled.

"No, thank goodness. The shots scared the thing off. All that matters, Gwen is that you're alright. And I'm alright. And there will be no reason on G.o.d's green Earth that either one of us will ever go back there."

Gwen drew in a slow, deliberate breath, though she was completely beside herself, and she managed to say, "No, we won't go back there. Not after that."

"Honey, are you alright?" Asked Rose. "I didn't want to upset you."

"Yeah," she said, feigning a slight smile for her mother's benefit. "Thanks, I needed to know."

Gwen kissed her mother on the head and wandered in a daze back to her bedroom, as an awful thought twisted through her mind: Christoph was right.

Chapter Eight.

Through grainy static, Brandon watched Gwen on his TV. She was seated behind a bouquet of microphones that boasted the various Seattle news stations that were attending the televised press conference. Flanked by two older gentlemen, who had identified themselves earlier in the broadcast as Steve Keller and Martin Fuller, her father and uncle, Gwen looked miserable. She was unusually pale. Her eyes were locked in a downward gaze and she'd been speaking in confused and disordered phrases that her uncle had often interrupted and clarified for the press. Her uncle seemed to be some kind of attorney. He was fielding questions with almost no emotional investment in Gwen's answers, but rather an excited air of authority, as though his position to facilitate the press conference gave him clout and influence. It made Brandon snarl at the screen, but he wasn't sure if his reaction was the result of the man's arrogance or the fact Gwen had left the Cascades with Christoph.

Christoph.

The image of Gwen drinking hungrily from the vampire's neck as intimately as she'd drunk from Brandon's was disturbing. He couldn't get it out of his mind. It had been three days of this. Three days of torment not knowing what Christoph's current involvement with her was, not knowing if the vampire had cast a dark spell over her or if she'd chosen him of her own accord. The former made his blood boil. The latter caused his heart to sink. And oscillating between the two conflicting emotions had sent him into a downward spiral of regret, fear, and despair.

Brandon took a long haul from his beer then set the bottle on the coffee table, clanking the empties aside, oblivious that one of the bottles fell rolling off the table and landed with a crack against the hard wood floors. Drinking had been his only option to numb his aching heart and it wasn't working all that well. His cabin had become overwrought with beer bottles, crushed cans, and crumpled trash scattered about, as tumultuous as his racing thoughts.

Across the living room, the phone started to ring. He didn't have to get up to know who it was. Elektra, Ismay, and his friend Mark had been taking turns calling his cabin ever since he'd stormed out of Elektra's office. He hadn't shown up for work, hadn't even set foot outside his cabin, hadn't been able to do a thing but obsess over Gwen and his own dark mistakes.

After eight long rings the phone went quiet, allowing Brandon to hear the news program again. The camera angle shifted, showing a woman in her mid-sixties. He recognized that face, the tight blond curls that hugged her scalp, her frail posture that reminded him of a bird. She'd run from him screaming through the woods, as he'd mercilessly stalked in, fangs bared and rage burning, determined to flush the search party out of his territory. The name "Rose Keller" was captioned at the bottom of the screen as she spoke. Rose Keller, Gwen's mother?

He hadn't known.

He had been filled with darkness that night. He'd barreled recklessly, consumed by hatred, h.e.l.l-bent on driving out all threat to Gwen's rehabilitation. The look Gwen had in her wide eyes, sorrow and hope, when she'd heard her name called, had torn his sanity. He'd wanted to kill before they could find her, take her. He'd wanted to punish them for reminding her she had a choice; that she could leave. If she did his dream would slip through his fingers: attaining the flawless union of love and darkness. Like a key into a keyhole, it would unlock his immortality.

He hated himself for it, but it was who he was, and he couldn't resist the pull.

Taking another long haul of his beer, Brandon swallowed down the truth along with his beer, praying the alcohol would blur those parts of himself he didn't want to see, and help him grasp the magnitude of damage he'd done, as though the two weren't tangled. But they were. And all he was left with was an overwhelming sense that he'd never escape the curse of Elektra's wolf bite: an eternity of solitude.

Suddenly there was pounding at his front door that jolted him out of his trance.

"Brandon! Are you in there?" Called Mark, as he drummed against the door. "Let me in, Buddy! We're worried about you!"

Brandon stared in the general direction of the front door, though it was tucked down the hallway and out of view. His truck was parked out front, which he figured had given Mark the impression he was home. If he didn't move, however, if he didn't make a sound it was possible his friend might a.s.sume Brandon was off in the wilderness, except that it was well past sun down and Brandon wasn't one to hunt all alone this late at night.

Mark's footsteps outside told Brandon his friend was rounding the north side of the cabin, and his suspicion was confirmed when Mark's shadow appeared at the living room curtains.

Brandon sighed, a grunt of annoyance, knocked back the dregs of his beer, and then lumbered, heavy footed, to the cabin door.

"What do you want, Mark?" He called out into the night, resting his head on the doorframe, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the blackness.

Soon his friend came into view, stomping towards him, kind eyes locked on Brandon. "Hey, man. You haven't shown up for work."

Brandon shrugged, stepping back to allow his friend inside. Mark crossed through the shallow hallway and began looking around the living room, seeming relatively unsurprised by its disheveled condition.

"I need a little time," said Brandon finally when his friend turned to face him, hands on hips yet at a loss for what to say.

Mark nodded, taking it all in for a beat then when his gaze rested on the TV set where Gwen was explaining her wilderness delirium he said, "You gotta let her go, man."

Brandon grabbed the clicker and shut the TV off then tossed the remote to the couch.

"She's a vampire," he added, though sympathetically.

"I almost killed that guy," said Brandon gravely.

"He almost killed me," Mark countered in his defense. "You can't blame yourself for what happened, or how it happened."

"Gwen saw me as a wolf."

"You mean metaphorically, because again, she's a vampire and I doubt your darkness alarmed her."

"I mean literally," he clarified. "Just like that guy saw me. And her mother."

"What do you mean her mother?"

Brandon shook his head as though he could toss the image from his mind. "I almost attacked her," he said ashamed. "And Gwen probably knows all about it."

"So drinking yourself in the ground is going to change that?"

"No," said Brandon defeated. "But I can't just go back to life as usual. I can't just let her go like you think I should."

"Look, man, I'm sorry, but I don't think you have a choice with this one."

"Because she's a vampire?"

"Because of the Peace Treaty. It'll set our species at odds."

"We're already at odds with vampires," he snapped. "Besides, you think they're going to fly over here from Italy for one girl? I doubt it."

"Christoph has very high standing there. You don't know what will come of it. But it's not even about that. Forget the Peace Treaty. Forget how going off half c.o.c.ked will jeopardize your position with the Sanctuary. Brandon, she's a vampire. She'll end up weakening you. She'll siphon away your dark strength. Eventually, she'll kill you."

"I don't believe that," he said indignantly. "I've never seen that happen."

"None of us have, but you have to take the Elders' word for it. Why risk it?"

"Because I love her."

"You don't know her."

"I know what I feel."

"But you don't know how much of that is real. She could've been glamorizing you from the start."

"She wasn't."

Mark held back, though it was a strain to do so. His entire body seemed to tense in the effort.

"The bottom line is that she's tied to Christoph. No one can break that."

Brandon glared at Mark. His jaw clenched. "I know that. Why do you think I've been holed up in here drinking?" He asked enraged. When Mark didn't answer, he eased out a stuttering exhale, trying to calm himself then said, "She might be tied to him, but she didn't choose him. She still has a choice when it comes to picking her life partner."

"That'd be true if she was a werewolf."

"It's true for vampires as well," Brandon said confidently despite the fact that he didn't actually know if this was true or not.

"Brandon," Mark said before grunting out a long sigh, as though he was preparing to say what needed to be said. "Elektra and Ismay asked me to come here. They asked me to tell you, to warn you," he corrected, "That because she bit you, you're infected."

"What?" He asked in disbelief.

"It's nothing too serious. It's not going to kill you. But you need to be treated."

"What are you talking about?"

"These feelings you're having about her, Brandon, they aren't real. When she bit you she unleashed an edge of her vampire darkness inside you."

That's what I wanted, thought Brandon, though he couldn't say it.

"Apparently the two species can never mix. If they do, the werewolf is at risk for madness. You need to be treated."

"I'm not going to get treated," he said. "I'm fine."

"I'm here to take you in," said Mark firmly.