The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 19: The Crown Pack

AURORA'S POV

"You want me to leave you here?" Graham asked, his thick brows drawing together.

He couldn't see what I could see. The vaulting castle on the waterfront, a disgustingly English thing with stones pale and glossy as a dentist's smile. There was a carefully cultivated hedge maze that flanked it on the left and an equally tortuous rose garden on the right, probably for taking turns about when courting a prestigious young lady. Pretty flowers and tangled thorns climbed up the trellises, rendering my plans of sneaking in through a window void.

No, all Graham could see was windswept heather and rolling green hills. A cold, grey sea and nothing for miles around.

He mistrusted the sea. I could see it in the furtive glances and the hard set of his jaw. There had to be a reason he lived so far inland, with so little to pass the time.

"Here is perfect," I said, pulling out the grimoire as I unbuckled my seatbelt. When Graham's eyes went cloudy, I ordered him to go home and forget all about my sister and I. And to make his brother get up off his arse and do some chores, maybe even get a job, just for good measure.

The pride I felt at getting my way without question was undoubtedly heady, though something about it prickled under my skin. Just subtle sense, like it was wrong, somehow.

But nothing was wrong so long as it helped Ophelia and I to survive. We'd always done whatever we had to, without question. Shaking off the strange premonition, I trudged along the road to the castle, clutching my grimoire to my chest. It hummed with power, the sensation travelling up through my arms, into my brain.

I lost count of the fountains I passed along the way, coming in increasingly ridiculously shapes. One featured a man pissing into the pond, his drooping member bringing to mind a string of overcooked pasta. The next was a crying mermaid, only the water was leaking from her bare nipples, and the one after that a vomiting angel, with gilded wings and everything. And of course, naked.

These guys are weird, I thought, shuddering at the thought of what we'd gotten ourselves into. Hopefully Ophelia was safe somewhere inside; if she could keep up the ruse of presenting to be me a little longer, we might be able to find a quiet moment to slip away into the night. All I'd need was my trusty grimoire and —

"Halt!" cried the guard by the door.

My instincts made me falter, but I held up the book reflexively. "You'll let me pass."

The young man snorted. "I'll do no such thing without your name and signet, ma'am."

"My name and..." I froze, trailing off. "I'm here with the princess Aurora. I'm her... handmaiden?"

"A stray, more like." That was when he noticed the book in earnest, his too-bright armour flashing as he leaned back in disgust. "You're a witch."

"... Yeah. You could say that."

"You either are or you aren't," he said hotly. "And you're carrying the devil's diary, so I'd wager you are."

It had to look bad, but I waved it in his face, to the great amusement of the second guard. "You don't feel anything when you look at this book? Fuzzy? Spacey, even?"

He snorted. "Of course not. We're the King's Men. All our armour and weapons are spelled to repel your heinous sorcery."

The second guard stepped in. "Enough," she snapped, stepping forward with a cold glint in her eye. "What's this you're saying about the long lost princess?"

I almost winced. Yep, that's me. "You mean to say she isn't here?"

"She's been gone for ten years," the pompous man interjected. "I'd wager a bounty hunter killed her years ago and tried to cover it up."

The female guard grunted. "Lord knows they ain't the brightest."

"And they're blood thirsty," he added. "Though the last group that supposedly went after the van Arsdale sisters got pretty roughed up. Had the audacity to demand money from the Crown in exchange for information on their whereabouts, too."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that," she said, cocking her head. "Pretty sure he just stuck his hand in a jaffle maker. Alpha Reginald cut it off as punishment for lying, right?"

This was getting worse and worse. I felt a spike of fear at the thought of my sister dead in a ditch somewhere, after luring the bounty hunters away from me while I slept. I wouldn't put it past her to try and kill them all on the road back to Dornoch.

Tears burned in my eyes. Why the hell did I come straight here? It was as stupid as trying to push open a door with a pull sign.

"Sorry for bothering you," I mumbled, turning around. Graham was already long gone; I'd have to walk until I found a bus stop, and hope the grimoire glamour worked on the bus driver.

"Where do you think you're going?" the female guard laughed. "You've got work to do."

I whipped around, affronted. "Excuse me?"

"They need another set of hands in the kitchens," she said, grabbing my shoulder and digging her fingers in hard. "Lost another one to a hanging last week."

"Another one to a — I'm sorry, what?"

I gasped with indignation as she marched me around the side of the building, through a nondescript door that led into a servants stairwell. It was dank and dusty back here, like a a rabbit warren mixed with a dungeon. The lighting was electric and seedy, plastered with bugs that gave in to the false hope of light and never made it outside.

I hoped I would be spared that fate.

"A hanging," the guard repeated, a little more grimly, this time. "Sometimes it's a stoning, or a beheading. They like to light the occasional pyre for the really bad criminals."

"That's barbaric," I muttered, pressing a hand to my stomach.

"That's court for you. A word of advice, love; try not to fall into bed with a lycan. Especially not a noble. If anyone catches wind of a halfbreed pup cooking, they'll have your head."

My mouth fell open, and it was still hanging like that when she shoved open a hidden door, dragging me into a blinding wall of light and heat. The sounds of sizzling and chopping carried on, and as my eyes adjusted to the onslaught of information, I realised only one person in the entire kitchen cared enough — or perhaps dared — to pay heed to our arrival.

"What's this?" the monstrous cook growled, crossing her beefy arms.

"Sicily's replacement," the guard retorted. "Don't say I never think of you."

"I'm honoured you'd spare a thought for us, when ye have so few," the cook replied. "What'll you be wantin', then?"

"Beef casserole," the guard replied. "With extra bread."

The cook grunted. "I'll have it brought out to yer post."

"Thanks," the guard said, turning heel. "Good luck, whelp!"

I swallowed hard, all too certain I was going to need it.