The Willing by Aila Cline Page A

meet
the closest thing to a grandmother he would get.

    “Don’t touch that.”
    I drew my hand back automatically
though I internally rebelled against the thickly-accented order
that cracked into the air like that directed at a child. Since
Micah was currently with Maria (she had taken instantly to the role
of grandmother and wanted time to bond with the child), I knew that
the voice spoke only to me. She would permit Luka to stay, but not
me. Maria obviously had a grudge against me—still.
    I turned to the authoritative male
voice. It could only be one other person since Luka was with Maria
and Micah. Maria’s third husband—technically my child’s
non-biological grandfather, an ill-mannered prick whom I avoided at
all costs. As the masculine interpretation of Maria, I found him
distasteful. How shocking, right? Would I ever find a Lycanthrope
other than Luka I liked? And most importantly, would one ever be
able to stomach my existence as Lycanti? Judging by his sneer, this
man obviously hadn’t.
    He sidled up next to me, obscenely
graceful for his age. Not that he was old at that time, about forty
or so, but hunting every night for murderers in the dark of Mexican
streets should have made him stoop a little more or walk a little
slower. Instead, he seemed as if he could outrun me.
    “It’s valuable to us,” he said. I had
almost forgotten that he came in only to scold me.
    “It’s just a vase.”
    “It is la sangría ,” he corrected harshly.
“No Lycanti may lay hands on it. No human will ever go near
it.”
    “Because?” I asked sarcastically. The
Lycanthrope had a slew of scary ghost stories/traditions that
governed their everyday lives. Will would tell me stories of how
they would cleanse the house of spirits at least once a y ear. At
this point, it leaned on annoying.
    “Never you mind,” he hissed lowly.
“Just know that you may not touch it.”
    “I’m American,” I said haughtily. “I
have to have a good reason to desist in an action.”
    His English wasn’t good and I could
tell he struggled with my vocabulary. I felt a small point had been
made towards proving my superiority.
    Finally, he grunted. “Arrogant
Americans. You think you own everything, deserve
everything.”
    “Maybe we do,” I offered.
    “Not until your government remembers
its duty to its people.”
    “I don’t argue politics,” I grumbled.
“But I know your government is just as corrupt.”
    He smiled. “I agree. And you would do
well to remember that many of the Clan hold important offices.
Perhaps your country suffers the affliction of Lycanti overrunning
its judiciary process also. A few more pure bloods would fix that
since no one but mangy Lycanti would live in America.”
    Now I looked at him as if he spoke
Mayan. Politics did not interest me at all, but I had no desire to
look stupid.
    “You don’t honestly believe our
government could have werewolves in it, do you?”
    He growled. “You have been told
repeatedly that word has no welcome here.”
    I caustically waved his words away.
“Sorry. I just can’t believe that someone wouldn’t
notice.”
    “Maybe someone has,” he
suggested.
    “Ridiculous,” I insisted. “The Lycanti
stay away from people unless hunting or whoring.”
    “You spent half a year
with Joshua and
you still believe that?”
    My lips moved involuntarily as if to
spit. It’s sad how even an old fuck like Maria’s husband could
torture me with just a few words.
    A very unexpected voice crawled up my
spine.
    “Oh, surely I'm not that bad. And I
can't help that I have such influential friends who desire my
favors.”
    “Hola, Joshua,” Maria's husband said
gruffly. “Welcome to our House.”
    “Gracias, mi amigo,” Josh replied with
his casual, fluid accent. “Will the lady of the house see me
today?” A surge of anger rose up, and I fumbled to keep myself from
the Change.
    “I should kill you.”
    “Well don't let me stop you,” he said
playfully, drawing even closer