"So you eat human-food, but you don't know how to cook?" I teased.
"We enjoy human-food more than our less-human counterparts," Mason explained as he sliced garlic beside me in his family's spacious kitchen, "But we don't go out of our way to eat human-food."
Dimmed, overcast light filtered through the kitchen windows. Particularly over the sink where leafy herbs sat in a carefully cultivated and pruned tin hooked to the sill. The vast marble counters were hardly cluttered in spite of the fact that I'd laid out all my ingredients helter-skelter.
Kira, sitting at the kitchen table researching, snorted shortly at our conversation.
"Leo and I regularly enjoy human-food," she argued.
"You are strange. And Leo is-"
A light woosh of air and the horns appeared. He alighted at the kitchen table, his black curls bouncing across his forehead as he grinned.
"Leo," Mason finished.
"I heard my name."
"You're going to try some of my Italian cooking," I instructed, pointing a knife at him.
"Yeah sure."
He turned to stare at the array of scattered and overlapping papers Kira had before her on the table.
"You're not going to ask what it is?" I pouted.
"Nah..."
"It's carbonade valdostana with polenta. Well, it's as close as I can get to it with small-town ingredients. Catalina's bringing homemade guacamole and chips as an appetizer and Alissa's trying her hand at making cream puffs."
"When's everyone arriving?"
"Around seven."
"Plenty of time to talk about all this," Kira said eagerly, rustling the papers like a kid testing out a pile of autumn leaves.
"Where's Anne?" I asked Leo, then of Kira, "And Samuel?"
"Samuel's out hunting with Paul and Claire. He's worried about the amount of humans in the house. He may find other, temporary accommodations for the night."
"Anne's upstairs, pretending not to be interested," Leo snickered knowingly, his cheeks dimpling, "But she's sewn matching silk pajamas for you girls -" he mimiced a flamboyant wave of the hand - "to wear for the sleepover tonight."
I lobbed a discarded onion heel at him. He caught it and promptly popped it in his mouth.
"Ew!"
"Ignore him," Mason sighed, shuffling the minced garlic with his fingers.
With a deft motion, I cupped his knife hand in mine, drawing in close to reach over him. His cool skin kissed my palm. I plucked away the fingers trying to trap the garlic and shuffled the bits smoothly onto the blade with a scraping motion.
"I knew that," he murmured.
He ran his fingers along the blade to drop the minced garlic into a small, waiting bowl.
"What does human-food taste like to you?"
"It can be good, but usually it doesn't have much flavor."
"I've noticed that, on Paul's diet," Kira added thoughtfully, "some of the flavors come back."
"Huh."
The hair on the back of my neck prickled at the allusion to her previous feeding habits. Mason ran the back of his knuckles along the exposed skin of my forearms, where I'd pulled my sleeves of my rosewood Henley-dress up my arms. He paused, his breath catching, and I saw him tilt his head out of the corner of my eye to inspect my olive skin.
A little jump of realization shocked through me and I moved to quickly roll down the sleeves. We'd reached the first quarter of the lunar cycle and the silvery-white tattoos were starting to become visible to supernatural eyes. Mason stayed my fingers, thumb rubbing over the back of my hand briefly before he returned to his cutting.
I watched his expression, but it betrayed nothing. I'd become a little too relaxed. But... I wanted to relax. At least a little bit.
Mason drew a little closer at my hesitation, the outer curve of his arm brushing mine and sending tingles up to my shoulder as he worked. The navy sweater he wore was folded over just a bit at the wrists, but the thick fabric didn't stop the paradoxical warmth I felt at his cool touch.
"I think-" Kira mused and the pair of us flinched "-that these knots could mean a bajillion different things when put together."
"Go through the overarching themes across all the knots that you researched," I prompted.
"The Triskelion; symbolizing earth, sea, sky."
"Also the spirit, mind, and body," I supplemented, moving the garlic and onions around the pan, "But more generally, the rule of three. Perhaps this refers to the union of Carmen and the two creatures that make up the hybrid. An acknowledgment of three beings in the system... but then again, the hybrid is now one being, however mutilated."
"Alright, then the witch's knot?"
"I think that's a coincidence. A witch's knot is more likely to repel Carmen than to be something she can employ. It's similar to the Serch Bythol; that's likely why."
"Then that leads us to the Serch Bythol; everlasting love."
"The way that symbol is used in that knot is likely an inversion or perversion of its original intention."
"So... 'temporary hatred'?" Leo wondered.
"No... Some things can be literally inverted and still make sense, but I don't think this is one of those things. I'm thinking she wanted the aspects of the knot in a slightly different application."
"What if it's used exactly how it's meant," Leo offered instead, draped lazily over the chair and staring at the ceiling, "What if that thing is meant to love her for all eternity."
"I don't think it's got the capacity for love," Mason said doubtfully, "It can't even think."
"That's where the sailor's knot comes in," Kira decided, shuffling her papers, "Symbolizes close friendships and bonds."
"An everlasting bond," Mason surmised.
"That makes some sense," I agreed, pouring out wine for the beef stew into a measuring cup.
"Yikes," Leo sucked air through his teeth.
"An everlasting bond can mean anything," I murmured, adding in a dusting of flour until the pan's contents were foaming, "But to be frank, it sounds like a linking spell."
"Enlighten us."
"Linking spells can link all sorts of things together. You can link your senses to that of another; to see, hear, smell, touch, and taste what they're experiencing -"
"Ooo," Leo chuckled with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
With a deft flick of the wrist and nothing else, Mason spun his knife at Leo. Leo, quicker than a blink, raised a lazy hand. The knife slotted bloodlessly between his two up-raised fingers. Mason clicked his tongue.
"Oh, good, throw my cooking tools."
Mason ducked his head, moving to retrieve the knife and I continued.
"You can link together consciousnesses to increase mental capacity. In addition, you can share life force. If one becomes injured, the pair can distribute the brunt of the injury."
"Well, hold on," Kira frowned, "What happens if a human were to link with a vampire? A vampire just heals from the majority of injuries, so if a human - or witch - were linked to a vampire, would that give them vampiric healing?"
"Yes!" I yelped, clapping my hands together in realization. The others jumped, "I've never seen it pulled off before, so it didn't even occur to me! Linking spells between a witch and supernatural are risky: over-stimulation, domination, and even death are all on the table. The spell isn't usually worth that! But I've seen Carmen heal near-instantaneously from wounds: when we dealt with Margret's ghost."
"Domination?" Leo echoed.
He looked about to wiggle his brows again. Mason's hand twitched toward my spatula, but I pulled it out of reach.
"One personality within the linking spell overrides or bullies the other," I explained.
"That's it then," Kira breathed, settling back in her chair, "Carmen's using a linking spell to control this thing and protect herself... say, can she achieve immortality this way?"
"It would be imperfect. Something's got to give; it's linked to a creature that's functionally human. That could explain the rotted-state of that creature. It's probably weakened over time since it linked to a mortal."
Leo's lips puckered in thought, "Why does she let it roam around killing if she's got it on a linking-spell leash?"
"At the end of the day, it is part-vampire, part-werewolf. It still has the drive to feed and there's likely not much Carmen can do about that unless she's willing to get between it and its meal."
I moved the carbonade into the oven to simmer. Turning to Mason, I dusted off my hands and set them on my hips.
"We have forty-five minutes. What would you like to do?"
"I'll read up on more symbols," Kira offered.
"Then the next step should be figuring out where they 'store' these things."
"They don't just roam the mountains?" Leo asked.
"Everything needs a safe place to rest. Since its makeup is creatures of the night, it likely hides in the sunlight. We ought to pinpoint where that could be."
"I'm better at geography than mysticism," Leo volunteered, popping off of his chair easily, "I'll pin all the deaths on a map, take note of sightings... the whole shebang."
"Thanks," I breathed, relieved.
"What's my task?" Mason asked.
"Help me relax."
"Ooo!"
Both Leo and Kira crooned in unison this time.
"That's quite enough," Mason growled and, quicker than a blink, swept me off my feet, "Where to?"
"I hadn't thought that far," I said, flopping over the sides of his grip and grinning at Leo upside-down.
"There's the cabin out in the woods," Leo started.
"I don't think that's-"
"A cabin in the woods?" I enthused, sitting upright again and throwing my arms around Mason's neck, "Let's go! Sounds mysterious."
Mason's brows bowed and his teeth clenched in awkward indecision. Leo snickered.
"Come on," I insisted and Mason sighed.
"Fine, but it's not what you think."
"Won't know until we go!"
He flitted out the back door, holding me firmly to his chest as he dashed across the expanse of the backyard. Looking up into his face, I noticed the smattering of freckles across his nose was still nervously scrunched. He slowed abruptly in a copse of ferns, likely already a couple kilometers from the main-house, and began to walk at human pace.
"What's the matter?"
"Just let me know when you realize what the cabin's for and I'll take you right back to the house."
"Hmm," I frowned, peering through the last of the trees as we approached a gentle slope. At the top sat a cozy-looking structure, nestled among a beautifully manicured set of native species. Many of which looked like they'd flower given the right season. "Very cute."
I patted his shoulder and he set me down, quick to intertwine his fingers with mine instead. My feet found solid ground beneath the scant leaf rot; had someone raked out here? Mason let out a shaky sigh and I shot him a perplexed glance.
The cherry-wood door was inlaid with decorative, frosted-glass with some gold detailing visible in the design. The vibe of this place was like night and day compared to the main house; romantic, in a word. Mason twisted the knob and held it open for me to enter.
Just inside was a cozy living area with a stone fireplace, various stuffed bookshelves, and, oddly enough, a set of roomy-looking lockers just to the left of the door. On closer inspection, I realized that the names on the plates corresponded to each of the Wardes.
"May I see inside your locker?" I asked, pointing to it.
"Uh..."
His cheeks were slow to darken.
"It's fine," I shrugged, raising an eyebrow, but probing further into the house instead.
There was a quaint kitchen with a two-burner range and very small toaster-oven inlaid in the cabinetry above it. The amount of counter space was severely disproportionate in comparison to the lack of appliances. A quaint two-seater table sat in a breakfast nook area, just beyond the strange kitchen.
Mason stayed deathly silent as I walked about, watching my face as if he were waiting for me to freak out at any moment. Admittedly, there was a strange sterility here. Even my feet made a muted, cottony passage across the floors.
"It smells like a hospital," I noted mildly.
I doubtfully eyed the many unlit scented candles as I moved toward the back room now. Inside sat an ocean-sized king bed; the largest I'd ever laid eyes upon. It sat across from the, apparently, two-sided fireplace that I'd seen in the living area. There were linen cabinets, night stands, little poufs by the fire, but the most striking thing was the expansive mirror on the ceiling directly above the bed.
"That's not really a good thing; having a mirror over where you sleep. There's all sorts of spiritual nonsense with regard to mirrors."
"Mm," Mason agreed noncommittally.
The plush comforter looked extremely inviting, but it was easy to ignore the urge to jump on it. Mason radiated too much tension. Visible through the sliding-glass doors was a little pond and waterfall setup; its trickle tickled my ears, but I turned my back to finish exploring.
I was floored by the bathroom. This space was as gigantic as the bedroom. Each surface was a cream-marble slab inlaid with a pair of sinks, and carved with a beautiful triple bevel along all tapered edges.
In the middle sat a gigantic basin with an elegant gold spigot to signify that it was, in fact, a bathtub. A shower the size of a walk-in closet with multiple heads sat along the far wall, and through the set of glass doors into a tall-fenced, personal garden was a stone outdoor shower as well.
"This..."
I breathed in sharply, realization finally dawning on me. My family had similar cabins, after all, used primarily during mating season when pheromones ran rampant. I'd never been to one. Needed one.
Technically we had one here, somewhere, at the Homer location, positioned somewhere out in the park. But I hadn't thought to visit it. All safehouses had one, just in case an extended stay was required.
A blush rose up hot in my cheeks.
"So, uh, it's all the way out here because of the enhanced hearing, huh?"
"We can head back," Mason said quickly.
"I have questions."
"Alright."
He clasped his hands behind his back in a businesslike manner.
"What do you have a locker for?" I asked suspiciously.
The deep blush returned to his cheeks after a few, long seconds.
"It's more suspicious if you don't answer."
"You can look inside, if you want," he sighed, backing from the bathroom and reentering the living area, "I don't have much."
Unphased, I approached his and lifted the latch. There was a series of shelves in the bottom and some hooks up top. There were only a few things inside. Now that I had context, I found that I could understand what a single man might use those for.
"Ah. I was thinking bondage or something."
"What? Why?"
"Your embarrassment seemed severe. I thought it would be bondage equipment or something."
"I don't know if that'd be any fun to do alone. Probably would be dangerous, actually."
"To each their own. I know humans have gotten rather creative with sex toys. A few of my patients surprised and subsequently schooled me from time to time; I've never been personally interested so I was behind the curve there."
He wasn't looking at me, leaning uncomfortably on the counter top with his arms crossed instead, "Let me know if it's too much."
"This is fine. It still feels... clinical, right now. But this makes me wonder about that claim you made a while back."
He cocked his head, brows furrowed.
"That you'd be fine if all I ever wanted was your company."
"I still hold to that. I can take care of myself."
Disapproval crooked my upper lip and wrinkled my nose before I could control it, "That won't be necessary. I'll want you."
"Take your time," he answered.
His bass rumbled low as his expression finally softened a bit.
"I suppose most of it hinges on whether you can control the impulse to bite when you're close to me."
Mason trapped his lower lip with his teeth, eyes glinting with reservation and doubt.
"You can acclimate to the taste."
The doubt turned to horror, "I don't think there's any acclimating to that."
"You can never become wholly immune to the effects, but you can train yourself to stop once you've started. In battle, those of the Theous that we've faced across centuries have learned this. Some can even turn away at the scent of our fresh-blood."
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, gaze dropping to the floor.
"You won't," I promised. I paced tentatively over and placed my hands on the counter top on either side of him, "You're far-more at risk of injury than I am. I can stop you if you can't manage it yourself. It won't be pleasant, I'd have to break something, but it would be long enough to allow the bite wounds to close."
His arms were tightly crossed and his gaze probed my expression intently.
"You're also likely to be drunk for the next couple of hours, depending on how much you imbibe."
"It's been a while since I've gotten drunk," he chuckled, the sound an octave higher than usual.
"We don't have to do this."
One of his arms unraveled so he could run fingers through his coppery hair, "What's the worst-case scenario?"
"I can't stop you, you drink too much, and you die," I said straight, feeling an ache in my stomach at the voiced thought, "But I'm perfectly capable of stopping you. Snapping your neck is a last resort, but I don't think I'll need to go that far."
I set a hand upon my chest then behind my ear in-turn, supplementing myself. With a quick swallow, I adjusted to the welling of sensation and strength.
"I'm ready when you are," he whispered, jaw tense and green eyes jittering.
"Put your arm out," I instructed, taking it in my hand, stretching it further, and twisting it gently at an odd angle.
He frowned at it, shifting a little bit in discomfort, but I stepped forward, pinning him to the counter with my hips in front of his. A little inhale gusted through his lips at this. His eyes snapped back to my face in an instant.
My other arm I lifted to his face, wrist exposed to his lips. The cool air of his breath ghosted across my skin setting it alight with an electric tingling. His adam's apple bobbed and his emerald-eyes crackled brightly, as if entranced.
"Alright," I murmured, meeting his gaze unwaveringly.
His breath fanned over the thin skin again, unsteady and shivering. From behind his lips, I could see the already-sharp canines elongating and pushing forward from the line of teeth.
I was close enough to see the groove that twisted the length of all four top fangs, a dual function channel to allow for flow of blood into the mouth and injection of venom from the glands. His teeth were damp with saliva, glistening in the romantic-gold light.
An instinctual edginess pulsed in my chest when he pulled his lips back ever-so-slightly, but his eyes on mine kept me grounded. His dilated pupils gauged my expression from second to second, still cautious. Then tips of his fangs grazed my skin and I gasped as a little shiver trickled down my spine. He pulled back.
"I'm fine," I breathed, my voice lower and slower than usual.
He nodded, a deep rosiness slowly flushing behind the freckles over his nose and cheeks. He regained lost ground and more decisively set the point of his fangs on my skin. With one last cautious analysis, he flexed his jaw in one strong pulse.
The pinch elicited a little flinch from me, but not enough to jar his grip. Mason's face, on the other hand, entirely relaxed in milliseconds. I heard him take a deep, luxurious inhale through his nose. His eyes unfocused and closed entirely as he gripped my forearm like a lifeline.
All of this, I'd expected. What I hadn't expected, was the deep, guttural moan he loosed from deep in his chest. The bass sound made my stomach tremble and, suddenly, I was more aware of how closely pressed our bodies were. I heard him take a couple of heavy swallows.
"That's enough," I said, but my voice was oddly raspy. I reigned it in. "Mason, enough!"
I gave him a warning squeeze on the twisted arm, but he began to unravel it in spite of me. His powerful jaws flexed, pinching down on the vein and his free-hand grip became tighter.