One Bite

“You bloody
bastard!
”

Eurydice flew to the knothole just in time to see Prince Etienne grab Prince Kirill by the front of his tunic and shake the vampire hard enough to rattle his fangs. The werewolf’s face contorted in a partial shift, eyes glowing yellow as a snout full of sharp teeth snapped in the vampire’s face. For a split second, Eurydice’s heart stopped as she waited for him to bring Kirill’s beauty to a macabre end.

Prince Kirill’s face remained impassive, only the slight lift of one eyebrow betraying any emotion at all. “If you have something to say to me, Prince Etienne,” he said calmly. “I would be most gratified if you would do so in a civilized manner. If you insist on speaking with fangs, I can oblige you, but considering we do have company, perhaps we can address this like gentlemen?” Even as he spoke, he slid his hand inside his cloak. Eurydice pressed her ghostly palms against the inside of the tree, her heart in her throat as her mind tortured her with images of all the weapons Kirill may have stashed in the volumes of material.

“Don’t tone it down on my account,” Prince Adonis insisted, his trademark cigarette smoke spilling from his lips as he spoke. “Go ahead and fight it out.” He smirked. “I like to watch.”

“If you’re going to make crude jokes all evening, I’m leaving now,” Prince Patricio muttered, ruffling the feathers on his wings.

“Well then, bye
bye
, birdie,” the incubus said sweetly. He flicked cigarette ash in the direction of the angel’s spotless white robes and Patricio glowered at him as he stepped back.

“I’m sure you two are more than capable of handling your own conflicts,” the god interceded calmly. He stepped closer to the scuffle, his palms up in a placating gesture. “But since we are all here for a reason, perhaps your ire could be set aside for the greater good?”

Etienne’s eyes continued to glow, but he let his face melt back into his human visage. “He sent one of his leeches to my kingdom!” the werewolf snarled. He released the vampire’s clothing, thrusting him backward. Kirill kept his feet easily and Eurydice let out a whoosh of breath as his hand fell away from his cloak—weaponless.

“I was only looking out for my interests,” Kirill said, brushing his hands over his tunic to smooth out the material. “After our last meeting, I took the liberty of inquiring around about all of you and your respective kingdoms. What I learned about you, Etienne, gave me cause for concern. I’d had no idea that a witch was so close to blessing you out of your heritage.” He bowed slightly. “On that note, may I say that I am pleased to see you are once again the
lycanthrope
we all know and
admire.
”

“I am not one of your interests and neither is my kingdom,” Etienne spat. “You and your ilk will stay outside of my borders if you value your afterlives.”

The vampire’s eyes flashed red, ever so briefly. “Perhaps you should cease worrying about my activities and go home to your lovely new bride. I’m sure she’s anxious to get to know your wolf—”

A howl of outrage poured from Etienne’s lips and the incubus dove between them just in time to stop him from leaping on the leering vampire. Adonis grunted as Etienne threw his weight against him, straining to get his clawed hands on the vampire. Even the demon’s bulk was hard pressed to hold back a raging werewolf and the thick muscles of his arms and chest rippled with the effort.

“Hold up there, Etienne,” Adonis ground out, struggling against the other man’s fury. “All joking aside, we don’t have time for this. We have some blood to give tonight and I’m sure you’d prefer putting it there yourself as opposed to having us smearing your insides over the bark.”

Etienne stopped straining and jerked back, eyeing the demon with an eerie stare. “Was that a threat?”

The strange wolfish whine in his voice gave away how close he was to losing his human form. Eurydice swallowed hard, hardly daring to breathe. Maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe these men could not work together—should not be around one another. Oh, what if her plan was nothing but a fantasy? The demon narrowed his eyes and her worry increased exponentially. For a second, all humor faded from his countenance and he straightened his spine, abandoning the slouch Eurydice had come to associate with him. He was a good few inches taller than Etienne and he used that height to stare down at the
lycanthrope
now.

“Do you love your mate?” the incubus whispered.

A shudder ran through Etienne’s body as he rolled his shoulders and neck. Eurydice pressed her hands against the trunk of her tree as the werewolf fought down his beast enough to speak clearly, a slight pinch of confusion between his eyes. Despite the direness of the situation, Eurydice couldn’t help but be glad at the way Etienne’s brow softened at the thought of his new wife. It was good to see him happy.

“More than life itself,” he answered finally.

“Then I expect you’d like to get home to her as soon as possible.”

Etienne paused, but then nodded.

“Then let it go,” the demon said softly. “Forget fang-face, put your blood on the tree, and go home. You’ve got something better waiting for you.”

There was a flicker of pain in the incubus’ eyes and Eurydice held out a hand as if she would comfort him.
Poor Adonis
, she thought sadly.
Please don’t give up. You have a mate waiting for you. I just need a little more time. She’s a little…harder to reach.

The other
princes
stared, apparently shocked into silence by the intensity of the usually happy-go-lucky Adonis. Finally, Etienne took a deep breath. The tension whooshed out of his body and the uncomfortable energy that had been crackling in the air eased.

“There that’s better,” Adonis said. Just like that the slouch and smirk were back. He waved a hand in the air and a lit cigarette appeared from nowhere. He took a drag and stepped back to smile at the rest of the men. “If you don’t mind, there’s a
kitsune
that likes to run naked on the night of the full moon and I’d like to join her as soon as possible. So…”

He gestured to the tree and all five princes turned their attention to it.

“Well, Prince Saamal,” Adonis said casually. “Is tonight the night?”

The god smiled. “I do not see the future, young demon. I merely—”

“Sense when forces are working toward a goal,” the vampire finished, quoting the god’s words from their last meeting.

Saamal nodded.

“Well then, let’s get on with it,” the angel sighed.

Once again, each prince drew his own blood and pressed his palm to the tree. Eurydice sucked in a breath as power rushed over the bark. Just as it had the first time, the tree grew healthier, more vibrant. The sensation tickled through Eurydice’s incorporeal form, a reflection of the energy rippling over her tree. She
smiled,
her vision a little hazy as she watched them step back.

“Not tonight,” the god said lightly.

“But closer,” the vampire mused, his sharp gaze locked on the tree.

Eurydice held her breath, unsettled by the strange feeling that Kirill was somehow looking through the tree directly at her. Perhaps she’d underestimated him. Was it possible that he’d uncovered information he wasn’t meant to have yet? Did he know what their blood would bring?
Oh my, that would be bad. Kirill is far too ambitious to be given a sneak peek.
He looked away and she breathed a sigh of relief. It had just been her imagination.

 
“I felt it too,” the angel said, eyeing the tree. “The energy was stronger now than last time.”

“Perhaps it’s because our wolf friend is at…optimum capacity?” the vampire offered.

Eurydice waited for Etienne to growl or snarl, but the prince just nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he agreed.

“Does that mean that the rest of us are operating…below capacity?” the incubus asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

The suggestion brought a scowl to the vampire’s face and Etienne perked up.

“Perhaps you should be paying more attention to yourself instead of sticking your nose into my business,” the werewolf suggested, his voice dripping with false encouragement.

“Perhaps you should bring a spare outfit to keep here so that you can cease showing up stark naked, wolf,” the vampire snapped.

Adonis barked out his laughter and even the angel appeared to be trying not to smile. Instead of getting angry, Etienne gave them all a sheepish smile.

“I suppose I could do that,” he agreed. He glanced at Adonis. “After all, you gentlemen set the dress code so high…”

Everyone smirked at Adonis and his simple loincloth. He met them with a grin. “Hey, I dress for practicality. You never know when a beautiful maiden is going to show up, and with my wardrobe, all I have to do is—”

A chorus of shouts went up as Adonis flipped up his loincloth, flashing everyone present. Eurydice smacked an incorporeal hand over her eyes and stifled a groan. Etienne shook his head, Kirill raised an eyebrow, the angel scowled, and the god pinched the bridge of his nose. Adonis let the loincloth fall back into place, not a trace of humility or apology on his features.
“Jealous, gentlemen?”

“I’m leaving,” the angel muttered.

The vampire rolled his eyes. “You are a strange demon. Even for an incubus.”

“Perhaps I’ll bring a spare outfit for him while I’m at it,” Etienne suggested wryly.

Before Adonis could respond, the god straightened, drawing the attention of all four of his companions.

“I believe that for whatever reason, we are finished here, gentlemen. I bid you goodnight and I look forward to seeing you all on the next full moon.”

The other four princes stood there as he drifted back into the forest to disappear. One by one they looked at one another. Then each man turned and left, lost in his own thoughts.

“A collection of blood.
How…disgusting.”

Irina wrinkled her nose at the bitter, coppery scent and replaced the cork on the vial she’d taken from one of the many racks in the secret wall cabinet. She put it back among the neatly labeled glass tubes, each one bearing a name and a species.

“I don’t want to know how she got all of this,” Irina muttered. Crossing her arms, she glared at the cabinet, searching each container for any sign of her name.
There
. She plucked the vial of her blood off the rack and stalked to the window.

As she threw open the sash, a gust of frigid winter wind swept into the room. She gritted her teeth as papers flew off the giant oak table behind her and glasses rattled precariously. Popping the cork, she tilted the vial and watched with satisfaction as her blood poured out into the snow on the window sill.

“No more Irina blood for you.” She slammed the window shut and whirled around. The sight of the papers scattered all over the floor made her roll her eyes, but for now she turned her attention to finding a liquid to replace her blood in the tiny ampoule.

Her stepmother’s study loomed around her. Bookcases stretched hundreds of feet up the magically enhanced walls, each one filled to bursting with texts that hummed with power. The sorceress’s giant alchemist’s table was strewn with enough beakers and colored glass bottles that it should have made even the heavy wooden legs of oak collapse under the weight. Candles of every shape, size, and color burned merrily despite the blast of cold air she’d so recently unleashed on them. Irina resisted the urge to kick an intricate copper stand holding a large, maroon pillar candle to the floor. It would serve the sorceress right if she just burned the whole palace down.

“I used a lot of blood to make that candle and I’ll be very cross with you if you kick it over.”

Irina spun around. Her stepmother, Serafina Shevchenko, stood in the doorway to her study, bright black eyes shining in amusement as she contemplated Irina. The green gown she wore was ringed at the sleeves and hem with pure white fur and her collar rose ridiculously high so that it framed her entire head. She filled up much more of the doorway than she should have and for the hundredth time, Irina wondered if the sorceress was using magic to appear more intimidating than she was.

If she is, it’s a waste of magic.

“You’re snooping around my study again, child. I thought we’d discussed that?”

Irina pressed her lips into a thin line and straightened her spine. She held her head high and tried to set her stepmother on fire with just her glare.

It might work someday.

Serafina lowered her gaze to the vial Irina still held in her hand. “
Tsk
,
tsk
, little one. You’ve gone and spilled your lovely blood.” She sighed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to refill it now.”

Before Irina could move, her stepmother appeared at her side, Irina’s hand held in an agonizing grip. Irina hissed as a sharp black claw erupted from one of her stepmother’s fingers and pierced her thumb. Her blood trickled in a thick wave into the vial, filling it up in the blink of an eye, as if the glass itself was drinking from her. A shiver ran up Irina’s spine.

Serafina thrust Irina to the side and corked the vial. “You know, Irina, if you continue to make a nuisance of yourself, we’re going to have to go back to locking you in the coffin.”

Irina’s blood ran cold. Without her permission, her gaze dragged itself to the corner of the study to the spot where she knew the glass coffin rested just under a secret trapdoor. Memories of nights spent locked in the confines of the enchanted glass deathtrap rose like screeching banshees in her mind and she swallowed a scream. She held her breath until she was sure she could breathe without shuddering.

“Oh, but then where would you sleep, Stepmother?” she asked, forcing a sickly sweet tone into her voice despite the terror trying to crawl out of her throat. “I would hate for you to sleep in a plain old bed without the magic of your lovely coffin.” She let her contempt fill her eyes as she forced herself to meet her stepmother’s amused gaze. “After all, it just wouldn’t do for you to wake up looking like the nasty old hag you are.”

In a flash, the smile fell from Serafina’s face. Her black eyes burned with a fearsome dance of flame, her entire body trembling with an unholy rage. For a split second, Irina thought she’d finally gone too far. She braced herself, wanting to die on her feet without giving the sorceress the satisfaction of showing how frightened she really was.

A second later, the fury was gone. Her stepmother tilted her head, no trace of fire left in her eyes, and the smile back on her lips.
“Oh, Irina.
Someday I will kill you.” She sauntered across the room and began gathering papers from the floor and shuffling them into piles. “Now, I have
work
to do. Be a darling and go to your room before I ask the
domovoi
to drag you there.”

Irina steeled her nerves, refusing to look around to see if the
domovoi
had appeared at the sound of his name. The house demon generally didn’t do more than clean, but Irina had seen her stepmother twist males of every species to do her bidding and she didn’t want to test the
domovoi’s
loyalty to his mistress.

Sweeping out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster, Irina fought the urge to stomp all the way to her room. Her hatred for the sorceress the Fates had deemed fit to be her stepmother filled her chest with fire until it burned to breathe. One of these days she would find the key to bring about Serafina’s death. One day.

The door to her room hit the wall with enough force to rattle the thick wood. Just for good measure, Irina slammed it closed too. She hoped it gave Serafina a splitting headache.
Like it had done to her.

Irina cursed and rubbed her temples. She dragged herself over to the window and thrust the pane of glass out as far as she could,
sucking
in a deep breath of the winter air. The cold raised goose bumps all over her skin, even under the thick long sleeves of her winter dress. The deep blue velvet couldn’t keep out the icy wind that she so casually invited into her room with the open window. Raising her eyes to the pale early morning skies, Irina opened her mouth and began to sing.

The notes were so rich, so powerful, that Irina imagined she could see them in the air, mixing with the wind and dancing in the light. She sang until the winds grew gentler and the tension eased from her muscles. Every note brought her a little more peace and sent
a pleasant
warmth over her skin. In the protective cocoon of her song, Irina could relax.

When the last note faded in the air, Irina closed her eyes, relishing her newfound peace.

“That was beautiful, Irina. What a gift you have.”

Irina opened her eyes and turned to smile at the
vila
hovering in the air beside her window. The ghostly woman smiled back as her long white cloak floated around her. The winds that were hers to summon slid through her long hair, twirling the white locks in the gentle breeze.

“Thank you for the lovely compliment,” Irina acknowledged.

The
vila
’s
smile widened. “Thank you for the cakes you left for me and my sisters. Even our most devoted people rarely leave such a bounty.”

Irina waved off the thanks. “I love to cook and I’ll be damned if I’m going to feed the sorceress. I’m only too happy to pass the food on to those who appreciate it.”

A frown marred the
vila
’s
beautiful face. “Irina, I have to warn you. Your stepmother plans your death.”

“I’m aware of that. I have been since she killed my father.”

A lump rose in Irina’s throat and she turned away from the
vila
, struggling to regain her composure. Serafina had killed her father years ago, when Irina had been just a child. Still, the pain was as fresh today as it had been then.
Perhaps more so with the weight of all her failed revenge attempts.

The
vila
kindly gave her time to collect herself, waiting until Irina turned back to her to begin speaking again.

“Irina—”

“Irina.”

The male voice drew Irina’s attention even as the
vila
flew away. She smiled when she saw the huntsman standing in her doorway. The older man towered like a giant pine tree, his wild brown hair only just starting to grey at the temples. The green tunic and plain brown pants he wore only added to the tree imagery. His weathered face, usually creased in a smile, was fraught with tension. Irina frowned.

“Viktor, what’s wrong? You seem sad.”

Irina stepped forward, wanting to offer some sort of comfort. Viktor was the one aspect of this palace that made her life bearable. Despite her initial distrust of him, based solely on the fact that he was her stepmother’s huntsman, the man had quickly earned her respect. Every day he came to take her on a walk and as they ventured through the woods and over the land, he told her about the different people and creatures that lived there. He spoke of each one with a deep reverence. It reminded her so much of her father, and Irina knew that it was largely due to the two men’s influence that she had so much respect for every culture, and why she could go anywhere and find a friend.

Viktor offered her a weak smile. “I am fine,
rybka
, truly. Are you ready for our walk?”

Irina frowned, still concerned over the huntsman’s strange demeanor. He was fidgeting, his hand dancing at his side in a restless movement that was not at all like him. Unease slithered down Irina’s spine.

“I am ready,” she said slowly. “Just let me grab my cloak.”

She walked to her closet and removed the heavy fur-lined wool cloak. After fastening it securely around her shoulders and sliding her arms through the long, wide sleeves, she offered Viktor a tentative smile. He nodded and she followed him out of the castle.

The drawbridge lowered without a sound, kept forever well-oiled by the
domovoi
. Irina held onto the huntsman’s arm as they crossed, unable to keep from looking into the water that surrounded her stepmother’s home. Underneath the water, a slide of silvery scales sent ripples over the water.

The huntsman raised a hand and unsheathed his knife. Before he could make a cut on his finger, Irina grasped his arm.

“Please, let me.”

Viktor furrowed his eyebrows as she raised a hand and let the sleeve of her cloak fall down. The wound on her thumb, courtesy of Serafina, stood out like a tiny red mouth. She pinched the tip and blood welled up. Irina held her hand over the water and let a drop of blood fall into the lake.

A shiver rumbled under the surface, frothing the water where her blood had dripped into the moat. The silvery shape moved away from them, vanishing back into the dark depths.

“You cut yourself?”

Irina sucked on the wound before letting the cool air soothe it. “Serafina wanted my blood for her collection. There was no sense in you offering the monster your blood when my injury was already fresh.”

She couldn’t help glancing at the water when she said that. The monster was a creation of her stepmother’s. It demanded a small offering of blood for anyone to cross the bridge. A brilliant guardian, since anyone who caught a glimpse of the creature would do everything in his power to avoid spilling blood into the water. Only those who didn’t know the rule for entry would be eaten.

Viktor glanced behind them. Irina kept walking, frowning at her injury until the blood stopped trickling out and she could tuck it back into her sleeve without smearing it on her cloak. She turned to say something to Viktor only to realize he wasn’t walking with her.

“Viktor?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw the huntsman standing still in the snow, staring back at the lake. She retraced her steps to stand beside him, following his stare.

Thanks to the thick spell Serafina had woven over the castle, all that met her eyes was a lake. The dark grey water was unmarred by a bridge or a castle, a powerful hesitation spell that Serafina used to keep anyone from stumbling upon her home. To get in, you had to know it was there to begin with. One misstep and you’d end up in the brackish water, a screaming feast for the monster swimming in the dark depths.