Dirty Blood by Heather Hildenbrand Page A

said Jack.
    “Hello, Tara, it’s nice to meet you,” she said,
smiling in a way that reached her pale eyes and let you know that
she meant it.
    “You too.” I could feel the adrenaline draining out
of me. I was really glad I hadn’t gone for the plunger handle.
Though the tingling remained, the sense of anxiety and danger had
passed as soon as Fee had spoken. She obviously wasn’t a threat and
I actually felt guilty over what I’d been about to do.
    I watched as she perched on the edge of the couch and
poured liquid into each cup. Her movements were fluid and graceful,
and something told me she made a beautiful wolf. “Tea?” She asked,
offering one to Jack. He took a cup and downed it in one long gulp.
“Wes.” She handed him a cup. “Nice to see you, as always.” She
leaned over and kissed his cheek when he reached for the glass. He
smiled at her, affectionately. Then she turned to me. “Any friend
of Wes’ is a friend of ours. Tea?” she asked, holding it out.
    I accepted the offered glass. “Yes. Thank you.”
    Jack set his empty glass on the table and smacked his
lips together, appreciatively. “Tara’s that Hunter, Fee. The one
Wes found last night. We were just talking about the possibility of
training her. What do you think? Are you up for it?”
    “It’s been awhile since we took on a new student,”
mused Fee. She turned to me. “Jack’s known for being kind of a hard
teacher but I think we balance each other out. Besides, it’s all
just an act with him anyway. He’s really a big softie,” she said,
with a chuckle. “Oh, and it would be so much fun to have another
girl around.”
    Jack stroked his beard again, either ignoring or not
disagreeing with her description of him. “It would be a lot of
work, of course, but from what I’m hearing, you’ve got enough raw
talent that I think we could make up for lost time.”
    “Okay, wait.” I set my glass down and put my hand up.
“Slow down. I never agreed to any training.”
    Jack looked surprised. “I assumed this is why Wes
brought you here.”
    “It may have been. But I didn’t get a vote in that
plan,” I said, throwing a warning look at Wes. “Mainly, I just
wanted answers. Which I still don’t feel like I’ve gotten.”
    Fee gave Jack a scolding look and then turned back to
me. “Let me guess, he made you tell him everything he wanted to
know, and hasn’t offered anything in return.”
    “I was about to,” Jack said, defensively.
    Fee rolled her eyes at him and then turned to me.
“Come with me,” she said. She stood up and strode away without
waiting for an answer. I glanced at Wes and then got up and hurried
after her.
    She led me down the narrow hall and stopped in front
of a scarred wooden door with a brass knob. She fished a small key
out of her pocket and turned it in the lock underneath the knob and
then stepped back to let me enter. I did so cautiously – half
expecting to find a torture chamber or something equally horrifying
– but stopped after a few steps, relieved and surprised at what I
found. The room was old and worn, as was everything in it. It
smelled of dust and old paper but no hint of violence or torture
jumped out at me. Unless you counted heavy reading as torture,
which I didn’t. The walls were lined with bookshelves, interrupted
only by heavy, ornate wall sconces that served as dim lighting.
Antique looking chairs were scattered around, in front of the
bookshelves. In the center of the room was a wooden table that was
scarred with age and use. The room, and everything in it, was
charming in an ancient, classic sort of way; I felt like I’d
stepped into a castle.
    Behind me, Fee hit a switch, flooding everything with
bright overhead lighting that added a touch of modern, and then
went straight to the back wall and retrieved a worn leather bound
book from the middle shelf. She brought it to the table and
gestured for me to pull up a chair.
    “This book is called the Draven,” she said, using