The Devil's Wolf
Chapter 4

She started to close the door.

"I am not a human," Ashlynn stuck her foot in the door.

The vampire curled a lip, and her eyelids sunk to half mast, bored. "You may feel that you are not a human, and that your purpose in life is to be a vampire, but that is due to mental illness. You should seek psychological counseling. We do not turn anyone until a full psychological analysis has been performed to ensure that the individual requesting turning is of sound mental health."

"Incendio," Ashlynn summoned fire to her fingertips, and saw the vampire recoil. "I am not human, I am not hoping to be turned, and I don't need psychological analysis. What I need is a lift home." "Surely your coven..."

"Not a witch," Ashlynn smiled tightly. "Either. Who is in charge here? Can I see them?"

She looked dubious but moved back from the door. "You will need to wait."

"I am perfectly happy to wait," Ashlynn replied. She stepped into the entrance hall and shivered as she looked around. It was, she thought, like a movie set for a vampire movie. The windows were hidden behind heavy velvet drapes, the walls clad in dark wood paneling, the floor in rich red-toned carpet, and the furniture heavy, dark wood and upholstered in dark fabric. Even the art, she saw with amusement, was horror-movie-like - old fashioned portraits of pale, grim faced people in dark clothing. "Who does your interior design? I was thinking of having my apartment done in just this way. Vampire-gothique, isn't it called? So, on trend."

"Wait here," the woman's lip curled.

"No central heating?" Ashlynn shivered as she threw herself into one of the upholstered chairs.

"We are vampires," the woman closed the door and arched an eyebrow. "We do not feel the cold."

"You have guests," Ashlynn pointed out, although the entrance hall was bare of anyone other than them. "It would be polite to keep things temperate for them."

The vampire dragged her eyes from Ashlynn's ill-fitting shoes to the tip of her head and down again. She met Ashlynn's eyes, her lip curling in a sneer. "We apologize for your discomfort." She turned on the red-sole of her high heel and sauntered down the hallway towards the double doors of an elevator.

"Fair enough," Ashlynn muttered.

She wondered what her mate was doing. Her mate, she repeated to herself with satisfaction. She might not have a wolf-self, but at least she was wolf enough to recognize her mate when she came upon him.

It seemed to take forever, and Ashlynn began to get fidgety. She changed seats to one that looked down the hall to the elevator door, and then went to the bookcase and trailed her fingers over the spines of the books there. Fake, she grinned. Fake books, in a fake room designed to cater for human expectations of vampires.

She wondered if every embassy was the same, or just this one.

She heard the ding of the elevator bell and turned guiltily, caught snooping. A male vampire walked into the room, shoved his hands into his pockets, paused to stare at her for a long moment, before turning and walking back away. She heard a door close down the hallway.

She tiptoed down the hallway, pausing by an opulent flower arrangement, to examine a stack of brochures as the pretty face of Elior on the cover caught her eye. "Why not?" She folded one and tucked it into her pocket feeling like a fan-girl. She returned to her upholstered chair and rested her head against the wing with a yawn, her fingers tapping on the arms of the chair.

The ding of the elevator bell had her jumping to her feet. The woman had returned. "Come."

Ashlynn stood and followed her down the wood paneled hallway, and a series of closed doors, to a double set of doors against the far wall which opened into an elevator.

The vampire selected the top floor and the doors closed behind them.

"Not busy, eh?" Ashlynn couldn't resist.

The vampire glanced over her shoulder haughtily. "Vampires are remarkably self-sufficient and rarely require the intervention or aid of an embassy. It serves more as a base for visiting dignitaries, and a tourist attraction, than a resource of aid for foolish travelers."

"Okay," Ashlynn raised her eyebrows. She was sure that she fit into the classification as a foolish traveler according to this vampire.

The lift doors opened into a plushly carpeted and elegantly decorated hallway, rich in reds and golds.

"Homely," Ashlynn commented, as they made their way down the hall. She was sure the woman before her sighed heavily.

She opened a door into a small room, and Ashlynn made a sound of appreciation as she stepped into it. There was a fire in a hearth, and it was a heavenly warmth. "Oh, god," she moved towards the flames, holding her frozen hands out to them.

"You look enough like your father," the man in the armchair observed. "That one might overlook the similarities to your mother."

She turned to look at him and felt a shock of recognition. "Elior," she said, astonished. "I have seen you on TV."

He chuckled as he rose to standing. Tall, she thought, taller than he looked on TV. He had less gloss than when he was on TV though, his dark hair was loose around his shoulders, and his cheeks wore the stubble of several day's growth. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved cotton top, the top buttons left undone.

Prettier in person, she added, feeling the kick of desire. Well, she thought, if there was ever an excuse to scratch an itch...

Elior walked up to her fencing her in against the fireplace, and she looked up at his grey eyes, the red glow of the Other picking up the dancing firelight. "You don't look this tall on TV," she commented, feeling apprehensive for the first time. It was one thing to be told the nature of vampires, and quite another to share a small room with one. He leaned over and inhaled. "You smell like her," he murmured. "The font. It has been a long time since I have seen her. About," he leaned back and evaluated her. "Twenty odd years."

He turned and walked back to the armchair. "What brings you here, child of Raiden Grenmeyer and Cecelia Alexis?" He asked as he sat back down. He lifted a brandy glass full of thick, red liquid that she was certain was blood.

She understood, suddenly, the purpose of the fire in the room when its heat made no difference to him. It kept the blood in his glass at a temperature he enjoyed. The vampire version of a brandy to wind down with, she speculated, a woodfire and a glass of room-temperature blood.

"I seemed to have gotten myself into a situation," she said. "And attracted the attention of the Wingless. My car was totaled two days ago, along with my purse and phone, and my apartment was attacked tonight, so I cannot go back there. I need to get home, to the pack."

He gazed at the dancing flames. "And you decided that a vampire embassy was your means of a ride home?" He turned his grey eyes to her, a frown pinching his brows. "Did your parents not speak to you about what your bloodline was to us?"

"Of course, they did," she resisted rolling her eyes like the woman vampire who had showed her into the embassy. "Did you think my parents let me out of pack lands without the means to protect myself?" She asked him.

He rose and moved to her so quickly that his passage was nothing more than a blur to her vision, until he stopped so close to her that had she leaned forward only slightly, she might have planted a kiss between his pectorals. She tilted her chin up to look at him. He raised a hand and laid it along her cheek.

"You are prettier than your mother," he murmured, and leaned down until his lips brushed against hers. His lips were soft, and his tongue held the faint tang of blood. He drew her up against him, his hand against her hip, and explored the contours of her mouth in an entirely leisurely way. "Quite beautiful, actually." He said against her lips.

She slid her hands up the cotton of the shirt, noting the muscles that lay below it, and threaded her fingers into the heavy fall of his hair, slightly warmer nearer to the scalp. He groaned, his hips pressing against hers.

He eased the jacket off of her shoulders, so that it hit the ground behind her heels. "What the f-k are you wearing?" His lips were against her cheek.

"I was on my way to bed when I was attacked," she replied. "And I needed to adlib on my way here. It is cold and wet out, and, unlike you, I feel the cold."

"Hmm," he worked the buttons loose on her pyjama top, before peeling it off of her. "Mhm," held another tone as her breasts were revealed. "Are you not going to stop me, daughter of Raiden Grenmeyer and Cecelia Alexis?" He wondered as he released the button holding her stolen jeans up.

"I am waiting to see where you go with this," she replied, letting her head fall back on her neck. His lips rested against the pulse point in her throat, fighting the temptation to pierce through her skin with his teeth and taste her. He laughed, his teeth grazing her skin. "Where do you think this is going?"

"Mmm," her eyelids were heavy. "I am hoping you remove some of your clothing soon. It seems only fair."

He drew in a breath she knew that he didn't need. "I don't think your parents warned you strongly enough about vampires," he observed.

"I was never very obedient," She admitted as she hooked her fingers under the hem of his top and lifted it. He didn't resist, his expression vaguely confused, even as she peeled it over his head.

"Oh, yes," she murmured, leaning back against his grip on her hips. She had been right. His broad shoulders tapered into a v of muscle disappearing into the waistband, and his stomach muscles stood out against his skin. "Very nice." "You go much further," he replied, his voice dark. "And I am not responsible for what happens."

She released the top button of his jeans. "Oops."

The Other flared hotly red in his eyes, picking up the firelight, as she eased the fly down and took him into her hands, and then his eyes closed, a muscle ticking in the corner of his jaw, his head tilting to the side. "F-k," he groaned. "Yes," she agreed, and dropped to her knees to take him into her mouth.

His fingers closed in her hair. "Oh, god."

She stroked her tongue over the tip of him, exploring the lines and textures of him, replaceing the sensitive points until he cried out, his hips rocking involuntarily. She closed her lips over him and took him to the point of gagging. His moan was filthy with desire.

The door opened. "Get out," he snarled ferociously, turning his head, his eyelids at half-mast. "Get the f-k out."

The door closed again firmly.

She sucked in, and his knees buckled. "Oh, f-k," his voice was thick. "Oh, f-k."

His hand cupped the back of her head, and his hips bucked into her. She swallowed and he cursed in another language, one native to him she suspected from the way it was accented. He pulled back suddenly, and she complained. "No," he said heavily. "No. I want to f-k you."