Chapter 4

Ariel 

I realized that now my half-sister and her lover wanted to kill her, now I had to save my life and ran away from there. When I was running away from the forest, there I was stuck with Alpha Darius Clive and I ask him for help. I was very frightened my legs were shivering. I was so scared.

"Why are you running so fast," he asked me surprisedly.

"They want to kill me, will you help me in saving my life," I asked him curiously.

"Why do they want to kill you"? he stunned.

"Actually, Gulther want my pack that is why he did so" I am not telling him about my rebirth, it’s a big secret.

"Why does Gulther want this?" he was stunned again and secretly happy that now she disliked Gulther and will be his mate happily.

"I don't know, but he betrayed me, he loves my sister, and he killed my senior pack members, now I am determined for revenge." I was determined.

"Ok, I will help you in your revenge. You will get your pack again. But you stay with me in my pack. In my pack you will be saved" he said to me.

"But that beast must follow me, I am pretty sure" I was stunned.

"You change your identity, you will hide from everyone that you are Princess Ariel, you use Sam as your name and live an ordinary she-wolf. No one touches you even Gulther." Danius is a strong Alpha King with vampire qualities because his mother was Vampire. That is why Danius Clive is undefeatable.

I agree with him and stayed in his large pack.

***

Gulther

When I know that my men didn't find Ariel, I am going mad, "how can she run?" he asked his Beta.

"Alpha on the way she stuck with Alpha Danius Clive, and left with him in his pack".

"Oh God, that is so bad now how can I kill her and sign the documents, Alpha Danius Clive never give her to me," I am upset, but determined too. Now, I get help from a witch to kill her, definitely, a witch can do this she has a large community of vampires.

***

They are fearless, invulnerable, insidious and immortal. Fairy tales are written about them and terrible legends are composed. They say that if you meet one of them, you will die, because they know no mercy, do not feel pity. But fate has its own quirks, and maybe so it may happen that even the most terrible monster will have a good heart, and you are his true couple. So who are they? Werewolves? Under the protection of your tenderness you can't hide from fate! Trapped in your paws

“Give me a break, Sam,” grinned Owen, my faithful Friday boy and witcher extraordinaire.

“I'm just saying that zombies have undergone a huge transformation over the years. Hiding a smile, I blew on my tea and watched the waves crash against the glass wall of my bookstore-bar.

“Speed, maybe,” he retorted, stacking the glasses under the counter.

Sitting on a stool, I sipped my tea while Owen checked the bottles of alcohol, replacing empty ones. I am running a books bar in Danius Clive'S Pack. Tables, most with small stained-glass lamps, were scattered throughout the bar, green leather chairs surrounding them. 

I looked around the room, checking to see if anyone needed refills, but it was a ruse. Danius Clive, the confident, absurdly handsome Alpha, pulled me in like a zombie to my brain.

“Nope,” I continued. Remember the whisperers in The Walking Dead? Speech requires thought.

"I beg to differ." Ignoring him, I rushed further to prove my point.

“In I Am Legend they could reason, but in 28 Days they were damn fast. Modern zombies don't have any more waddling and bumping into trees.” I hesitated for a moment. “You know what," I changed my mind.

Clive sat at a corner table, completely immersed in shadow. His gaze was like a soft caress, and an unfamiliar shiver ran through me. As I stirred the tea in my cup, I allowed myself a quick glance in his direction. He took a sip, watching me, his storm-grey eyes narrowed, smiling slightly.

“Are you kidding me right now?" Owen tossed the empty whiskey bottle into the wastebasket and pulled a new one from under the counter. Owen's hair shone in the light, natural black with bright blue streaks. Or maybe it was the piercings in the ears and eyebrows. The guy was all over the place. He reminded me of the brilliant Chris Pang.

"Again, what are we talking about?" Clive dispelled my thoughts without even lifting a finger. He was the Alpha King, the highest ranking Alpha king who rules on many packs. He showed up once a month, had a glass or two, and I began to think about things that I had no right to think about. I wasn't good romantic material. And yet Clive made me wish things were different, that I was different.

"Sam?" Owen waited for an answer.

"No, I mean, I doubt that zombies have changed the most in pop culture; I think women have changed."

This argument was the last in my arsenal. Clive leaned forward and cleared his throat. "Do you believe that people's perception has seriously changed?"

Clive never took part in our games of chance. For a moment I sat dazed, his voice booming decadently in the quiet room. Shaking off my shock, I said: “I was just joking around with Owen about zombies. He is horrified..."

“And who wouldn’t be afraid? They are zombies!"

“But here's the thing. In Romero's 1968 Night of the Living Dead, Barbara is worthless. She's a walking cliché. Weak as a child..." Heavy footsteps rumbled down the stairs to the bar. I could continue arguing, but I clearly already won the argument. Clive and his crazy sexy face made it difficult for me to concentrate.

"Good T-shirt."

Dave, my half-demon appetizer chef, walked behind the bar, interrupting a wonderful thought I forgot to say. He was staring at my chest. Today I was wearing a Zombie Survival Guide T-shirt. This is what caused the argument with Owen - the image of supernatural beings in pop culture.

I hid under shapeless, sexless clothes to avoid attention. It's been seven years, and I still cringe when I notice the way my eyes flicker over the scars stretching from under my sleeves or collar.

I used to be considered pretty, long wavy brown hair, bright eyes, lean athletic build. So it was before. However, my efforts to be androgynous were in vain with Dave. He liked making fun of people too much. My problems have made me easy prey. He smirked, knowing his gaze was making me sweat. Grabbing a bottle of cinnamon schnapps, he poured himself a glass.

“Glad you like it,” I said. “Caution never hurts. You need to be prepared for shuffling zombies."

Dave made a contemptuous throaty sound. "Please. They are just as dangerous or focused as the demon that summons them. Most will give up before the fight gets interesting."

I never knew how serious to take Dave. He was a good guy, even with dark red skin, purest black eyes, and occasional bouts of uncontrollable anger. But nobody is perfect. “I swear,” he continued. “Most demons have ADD2. As soon as things start to get better, they leave to start some new shit. That's why they never finish anything."

He winked at me and went to the kitchen.

I turned to Dave's massive back. "I will remember it. Thank you."

Clive, immaculately dressed in a dark suit and white shirt, tapped the table with a long finger.

 "Weak as a child..."

"Hm? Oh yeah."

My brain blacked out as I watched him take another sip. The man took a good sip.

"Em."

And that British accent was doing strange things to my stomach. Clive was recklessly handsome, with dark blond hair, piercing gray eyes, a strong chin and broad shoulders. It's good that he only looked here occasionally. I will not be able to communicate with him every day in my life.

"Sam?" How could one single syllable ruin me?

"Barbara was weak as a child, she stumbled and fell. In the 1968 film, she is almost comatose with fear. When Romero directed the remake in 1990, Barbara became a fighter. She strapped on her ammo and started blowing up the zombies."

He tilted his head, studying me. “Is it better to be intimidating than intimidated?”

"Yes." Seven years of fighting the fear that wanted to engulf me, that wanted to drag me back into the darkness, forced a harsh sound from my lips.

Nodding slowly, he stood up. "Glad to hear it. Good evening."

I watched like a servile zombie at the luscious frontal lobe of the brain as he climbed the stairs and left. What was it about today's conversation that prompted the usually thoughtful vampire to speak? Zombie? More like it was the women who resisted that aroused his interest.

The sky was bright purple today, the water almost black as it hit the bar windows. My bookstore-bar is nestled in a cliff near the waterline. At low tide, the waves swirled around the bottom of the window. And at high tide, the window wall was almost completely flooded.

My house was hiding under one of the most picturesque places in pack. There was a long staircase at Land's End that led down to an observation deck. When people reached the bottom step of the stairs, they found themselves on a platform that overlooked the bay and the Pacific Ocean. 

When the supernatural creatures descended the steps, they passed the magical entrance and continued down deep underground into my bookstore-bar.

As much as I considered my bar a work of art, it was the view that attracted all the attention. That's why I decided to use dark wood throughout. When you had a solid glass wall overlooking the ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge, the extra eye-catching décor seemed pointless.

To the left of the stairs was a bookstore. Hanging from the carved entrance was the old-fashioned sign of the Killed Sheep pub. An exact copy of the one that was in the movie "An American Werewolf in London". It was my abstruse allusion to the American werewolf behind the bar. "The Killed Sheep" was meant only for the supernatural. After all, everyone needs a strong drink and a good book.

"Samantha." When I looked up, I saw two bright yellow eyes staring at me intently.

“Ole, good to see you.” Thank God his cup was full. “I see Owen pleased you tonight." The brew smelled bad, and I had no desire to refill it. Owen was brewing some sort of rodent tea for clients like Ole, the were-owls.

"Do you need anything else?"

He looked down at his cup for a moment, and then his large, unblinking eyes met mine again. "No."

I knocked on the counter and smiled. "We had a great chat."

Something big hit the window. “Oh my God,” the worried voice of the witch attracted the attention of everyone present. She looked out the window at the black, seething water.

Something was carried away by the tide, but then rushed back again and crashed into the glass. Body. A woman, naked and torn. I walked around the bar in horror. Well-hidden scars blazed at me, responding to the recognition. The tide threw the body back out the window and I jumped.

The body jerked in the seething water in some grotesque ballet. Closing my eyes, I felt my nausea rise. I couldn't leave her there alone. I knew what it was like to be torn and alone.

Turning around, I looked at one of my regular customers, a selkie. He was small and dark, with translucent hair and eyes as brown as a seal's skin. With a trembling hand, I pointed to the window.