chapter Sixteen
"Arthur says it's a show cave from the 1960s," the younger boy - Malcolm - was telling her. Bliss followed them out of the car and inside a dark cavern. She didn't see that she had a choice for now. She was their hostage, even if the older one - Lawson - didn't want to admit it. She only hoped he would take her to Jane; at least they would be together.
Bliss wasn't sure she believed his story about not being a hellhound. Even though she'd witnessed his wrath at being called such, she knew he'd meant to hurt her back at the butcher shop. Hellhounds are uncontrollable, violent, and vicious - yeah, he'd been all that.
Lawson. She hated him a little for being so strong - she was jealous, she supposed. She used to be a vampire, immortal, powerful; now she was just an ordinary girl with two broken legs. Bliss was annoyed with herself as well, for even noticing that he was attractive - handsome, with a strong jaw, a high forehead, and thick, dark hair. He was a killer - she'd seen it in his eyes. He was dangerous, brutal. She would have to watch her step around him - why had she told him so much about herself? Best not to reveal anything more, she decided.
The cavern was one long space that wound in an arc like the crescent of the moon, with a makeshift kitchen in the middle and a few scattered and dark utility rooms off to the side. Bliss followed Malcolm, who was still talking. "Arthur said back then they didn't care about preserving natural beauty, instead they put in linoleum and charged admission, whatever that means. But they've got some cool exhibits in the back."
"Who's Arthur?" she asked.
"He sort of ... takes care of us - he moved here after the attack. Thought it would be safer if the hounds returned."
"The hounds? They attacked you too? Why?"
Bliss noticed Lawson giving his brother a hard look, and Malcolm grew quiet. She looked around at her new surroundings. The whole place smelled of mold and dust; it made her nose run and her eyes water. The cavern was cold and humid, like a basement with a broken steam pipe.
"We're back," Lawson called as they approached three figures sitting by the fire. "This is Bliss Llewellyn. We found her in the shop. That's Arthur," he said, pointing to an old gentleman in the corner, who smiled at her gently. "That's Rafe," he said, pointing to the stockier boy. "And that's Edon."
Bliss greeted them with a nod. None of them seemed to be surprised to see her. They must have known about the trap back at the butcher shop. She gazed at the four boys together. There was something savage and untamed about all of them, but something fierce and splendid as well. If Lawson was handsome, with the rugged good looks of a frontier cowboy, Edon was beautiful - his features were just a little finer, with an aristocratic cast, deep violet eyes and golden hair. Rafe was olive-skinned and almond-eyed; built like a rock, his body looked as if it could stop a Mack truck, but he had a sweet smile.
The boys were dressed appallingly. Their clothing was dirty, too small or too big, mismatched, and oddly chosen. Malcolm was wearing a yellow hooded sweatshirt, green corduroys, and pink Crocs. Rafe wore a flannel shirt and worn tuxedo pants. Edon, for all his hauteur and aloofness, was wearing a silly boy-band T-shirt and surfer shorts over long underwear. All their clothes were holey and worn, dirty and torn. Not even thrift stores would take them; they looked like things they had found in the garbage.
Rafe shook her hand while Edon appraised her coolly. "So this is the ex-vampire," Edon said. His voice was beautiful as well, smooth and melodic.
Bliss started - how could he know? The wolves must be able to communicate without speaking, she realized, able to use the glom just as the vampires did. "I like to think of myself more as newly human," she said, smiling thinly. "So you guys are wolves, are you? Escaped from Hell, Lawson says."
"Lawson says a lot of things," Edon said. "Why should we believe that you no longer have your fangs?"
"The same reason you want me to believe that you no longer do the work of the devil," Bliss retorted.
"We never did his work. We ran before we could do any harm. Do not speak of that of which you know nothing," Edon threatened, his voice a low and chilling growl.
"So what kind of name is Bliss?" Malcolm asked, changing the subject. "Is it a family name?"
"No." She shook her head. "The people who raised me weren't even my parents. Bliss isn't even my real name. At least, not where it matters. I found out that my real name is Lupus Theliel."
Malcolm gave her a curious look. "Lupus Theliel. Wolfsbane."
"Yes."
The younger boy exchanged looks with Lawson. "You must be part wolf, then ... but you're one of the Fallen, which doesn't make sense," he said.
Bliss did not respond. There were things she couldn't tell them about herself yet, and the identity of her immortal father was one of them. She didn't know how they would react to hearing she was Lucifer's spawn, and wasn't sure she was ready to find out. "It's not much better than Bliss, but what are you going to do?"
"Change it," he replied. "Your name, I mean."
"Is that what you did?"
Malcolm raised an eyebrow.
"Your real name is Maccon, right?"
"How'd you know?"
"Because Maccon means 'wolf.' Just like Rafe. And Edon. You all have wolf names. Except for Lawson," she said, taking a seat as far away from his as possible.
Malcolm grinned. "I'd rather be called Lawson too if my name was Ulf."
Everyone laughed and Bliss found she could not suppress a smile. Maybe they were telling the truth; maybe they weren't hounds after all. "So - what happens now? If you don't have Jane, and you aren't hellhounds, then why am I here?" she said, looking at Lawson in a challenging manner. "Because of some girl named Tala? I told you, I've never heard of anyone ... "
Lawson tossed her a piece of paper and she caught it in midair.
"What is this?" she asked, annoyed, looking at the picture in her hand. "The Abduction of the Sabine Women? What does that have to do with anything?" She glared at the postcard, which showed the famous painting by Nicolas Poussin that depicted a violent scene in history, of a group of women taken captive by Roman soldiers. They were throwing their arms into the air, calling for help or running in terror.
"Oh, sorry, wrong one," Lawson said, taking it back and handing her another picture. Then she saw that it was a photograph of a girl.
She was small, with a simple, narrow face, bright blue eyes, and pink streaks in her hair. Bliss thought she looked familiar - she had seen this girl before, but the hair was different - and with a dawning horror she realized it was the broken girl she had seen at the mental institution. "Lawson - " she said softly. "Is this Tala?"
Lawson was about to answer when Malcolm suddenly bent forward, clutching his stomach, and vomited violently all over the floor.
In a moment, the boys were standing, Arthur was mumbling incantations, and Lawson was barking orders.
"What's wrong? What's happening?" Bliss asked, feeling their panic.
"The hounds," Edon hissed. "They're here!"