In only four more long strides, pain shot through me, forcing me to my knees.
A downward glance showed ripples rolling beneath my flesh, and my chest muscles convulsing against the heavy pounding of my heart.
I shook my head in denial, my whispered, “No,” no more than a hoarse grumble.
Peering around, I searched for a sign: who, why? How?
No one loitered, not even Jem, who had disappeared behind the security of her door.
Another circuitous inspection of my surroundings brought still no answers. My change had come early, and I did not know why.
I tried to push to my feet, but my muscles cramped, demanding I do otherwise. As my body brought me lower, my eyes fell on the culprit.
Through my frown, I narrowed my stare to study the growth harder—to be certain.
The plants bordering Jem’s home pointed at me with their spiked leaves, waving at me with the lemon flowers that sat atop them.
“Wolfsbane,” I whispered, panic surging my adrenaline higher.
With a roar of self-encouragement, I forced my legs into action.
Spasms invaded me with each earth-pummelling step I took. My heart pounded against the effort to just keep moving. Sweat beaded the surface of my skin, my breaths blasting out in short spurts.
The forest appeared a ridiculous distance away, despite my knowing otherwise.
An invasion of burning through my left calf hauled me downward, whilst a kick of my right foot urged me back up. My right shoulder dipped in protest, as bone began its restructure.
With a cry of pain barking from me, I stumbled. My hands reached out to save me from the fall, but they no longer appeared human.
When I shouted out my objection to the speed of the progression, it arrived as a snarl, and a few yards from my sanctuary, I could remain upright no longer.
With muscles and tendons stretching before tightening, my skull cracking in agonising deformity, and the jaw-clenching affliction of a realigning spine, my hair thickened and lengthened to coat every inch of my body.
Weak from the agony, I finally crawled through brush to safety. There, I collapsed, my tongue lolling, breaths steaming the air for many minutes, as the shock of my forced change and after-tremors rocked through me.
Once I had gained control, what seemed like an eternity later despite being a short pause, I pushed to my feet, my paws creating little sound as I padded to the forest edge.
The responsibility to ensure there were no witnesses fell on each of our shoulders, as did the task of dealing with any such observers, so when I peered out across the opening, I almost staggered backward, my horror escaping as a small whimper.
Beside the third oak, staring straight back at me, stood Jem’s mother, and I growled without intention.
Eyes hard and cold, she appeared undisturbed by the threat. Rather, head held high, she spun to walk away with a defiant triumph in her steps.
Changed back, I stepped into the garden and paused on its periphery. From the kitchen window, James stared out, and seconds later, the door opened.
He strode across the lawn, his pace increasing the closer he came. “What happened?”
I opened my mouth but closed it again. My mind refused to produce the words it should.
James came straight to me, tugged at the tattered remainders of my clothing. His hands took my face. “Tell me what happened.” Placing his nose to my throat, he sniffed.
I stiffened. If he were to smell Jem upon me, there would be trouble—for her and for me.
“You changed.” He sniffed again, beneath my jaw, across my shoulder, before pulling back to look at me. “Why?”
Only a witch would know of the properties of Wolfsbane, just as only a witch could know to plant them when wolves were near. Jem’s mother must have known of our existence, and that should have been the point when I informed my brother of my knowledge.
“I know you have changed, Sean.” He growled. “You stink of it.”
If I told him of Jem’s mother, it would not only be her they tracked. By speaking alone, I would place Jem in danger, also.
“Why?” he asked again.
“I do not know,” I mumbled.
“Your clothing tells me it was not of your will.”
I shook my head, rubbing a hand across my frown.
“You shake your head in refusal to tell me? Do you dare—”
“I do not know why I changed, Brother. I lost my control. You advised me to remain here, yet I did not listen when I should have. Forgive me.”
His glare remained fixed on me. “You shall not leave this house on the full moon again. Is that understood?”
I nodded, dipping my head to the expected depth out of respect, before shrugging free and striding away.
His attention followed me across the grass and through the door. Past the stares of the others, I did not stop until I had mounted the steps to my bedroom and closed the door.
With little else to destruct, I took my already torn clothing and shredded it further, lips clamped to stifle the cries of anguish I so wished to give.
Another lie had been told.
Chapter 4
Time had never passed with such slowness before. Within the forest border, I awaited her the following week.
She did not arrive.
Stepping to the path, I peered toward the modest stone structure beyond the oaks.
Nothing.
My yearning for her would not allow me to walk away, though. Like an ensnared predator, I stalked left and right, eyes never once leaving where I suspected her to be.
On the verge of relinquishing hope, movement caught my eye from near the small cottage.
Moving closer, I watched the approach of the female, almost mistaking her identity in my eagerness, despite the subtle difference I detected in her scent.
She did not stop walking until she reached me. “I come only to ask you to stay away from my daughter.”
To see so much of Jem’s expressions reflected within her mother’s features did little to assist my yearning, and I peered beyond, to her home.
“She will not be coming any longer.”
“Is that her wish?” I asked, giving her my attention once more. “That she not see me again?”
“Go home, Mr Holloway.”
She turned to leave, but I rushed forth into her path, my heart beating out in panic. “Does she know of me?” Without allowing an answer, she went to slip past, but I sidestepped once again to stall her. “I implore you not to do this.”
She frowned, yet appeared unafraid. “I shall not allow an animal such as yourself to lure my daughter away.”
“If you are afraid for her—”
“Yes, Mr Holloway, that is exactly it.” Her voice held nothing but steel, piercing me with the implication of her words.
“How could I hurt what my heart holds so dear?”
“What your heart holds? Jem was never yours to take. Now, step from my path.”
Fisting my hands within the strands of my hair, I moved aside. I did not turn to watch her leave, though, but tracked the fade of her sweeping steps. Once she’d neared the house, my cry of frustration erupted from me, and I struck out at the nearest tree, oblivious to the unsettled leaves that rained down across my shoulders.
How could she expect me to walk away? Jem had become as vital to me as air, as water, as changing, even if I did not understand why. Prepared to wait, I dropped to the floor.
With the passing of time, and the waning of light, came the grumbling of my stomach.
I ignored them all.
As I watched the shifting of shadows, I did not move, even once coated in their shroud, and the day’s quiet eventually disappeared, to be replaced with the call of nocturnal creatures—as well as encroaching footsteps.
“Sean?” James’s low voice cut through the dark.
I remained still, praying he would leave. I could not answer his questions, nor deal with his searching stare—not then.
I dragged my attention from the break in the trees to look at him, and his eyes shifted toward where mine had left. When he heaved a deep sigh, and his fingers brushed through his hair, I knew realisation had sunk in.
“Come home,” he said.
“I cannot.”
He blew out a long breath, raising his face to the sullied and darkening sky, to the almost black leaves hanging overhead, before settling his gaze on me. “I order you to come home.”
I shook my head. “Do not—”
“It was an order, Sean.”
The force in his deep voice left no room for argument, and my groan of despair joined the rough rub of my hands across my face.
When I pushed to my feet, James stood, his hand providing support. I stared for a moment through the night, at the cottage standing in darkness, until my brother’s prompt urged me along.
We did not speak throughout the walk back. That, and the tension in his shoulders, indicated his weighted disapproval.
I intended to wake early but did not sleep to begin. On my return the eve before, James had asked of the purpose for my behaviour. I had met his questions with silence, and, huffing with exasperation, he told me to turn in. Yet, I knew that would not be the end of it, knew he would insist I tell all.
For that reason, my departure came before sunrise.
Once more, I sat with Jem’s home in my sights, ignorant of the cool breeze calling for the downy hairs of my arms to stand tall, and of the dewiness of the ground dampening the seat of my trousers.
However, from morning to night, no one entered. No one left. If anyone came as far as the window, they did so undetected.
Unwilling to face his wrath, I ensured I returned home before James could seek me, hiding my despondency beneath the veil of hunger and a smile. His frowned stares suggested I did not hide it well.
Thursday turned out to be fruitless, also, as did Friday. On Saturday morning, exhausted from sleepless nights, I almost missed the quiet steps that kicked the dirt of the path.
Snapping out of my reverie, I leaped to my feet and raced out to see the rear of Jem’s sister, as she hurried toward the village.
Lest their mother see, I ducked back into the forest to pursue until alongside her, where I hissed out, “Miss Stonehouse?”
She did not look my way, as her feet continued to move, her head to bob, her hair to bounce.
I called a further four times before understanding her hearing would not bear the sharpness of my own and, raising my voice, barked, “Jessica?”
Her entire body jerked, her head snapping up and round toward my hiding spot.
Peeping around an obscuring trunk, the rough bark scraping at the skin on my arms, I gestured her to come nearer.
She glanced left and right before approaching. “Mr Holloway, you cannot be here. If Mother sees—”
“Jem—how is she?”
After a moment of quiet, she said, “If Mother knows you still loiter ... I am sorry, I can be of no assistance to you.” Although regret lined her features, she spun back for the path and continued her journey.
Darting around trunks and branches, I followed beside her in a refusal to give up. “At least give her a message.”
Her feet continued to move; her head remained facing forward.
A twig, twisted and gnarled, scratched at my face, but I persisted in my pursuit. “Please, Jessica. I need her to know this is not of my doing.”
Still, she failed to stop. Her pace increased, as did her breaths.
“Tell Jem I think of her.” I dismissed the blood I smelled upon my cheek with a swipe of my hand. “Would you do that for me? Tell her—”
Jessica stopped, and I almost went right past her as I stumbled to a halt.
Lips thinned and hands curled at her waist, she seemed to contend with an inner battle, before her eyes rolled to the sky and frustration blew from her mouth. She strode over, fast, as though afraid of changing her mind, and pushed past the low thicket to join me. “I know I should not tell you this, but ...” She expelled another breath. “She asks for you in her sleep, Mr Holloway.”
My smile followed my sigh. “Tell her I think of her, also. That my days appear quite meaningless without her. If she is able, I shall wait for her on Tuesday. Tell her—”
“I will do my best. That is all I can offer.”
I nodded. “That is all I ask.”
I returned home lighter that afternoon, though the scrutiny of the pack followed my movements from door to hall, to bathroom, to table.
“You seem better today,” James said, as I sat.
I reached for a lamb shank. “I was just fine to begin.”
“Do you have plans for the next few days?”
Studying him over the meat, I bit down and tore off a chunk, whilst he held my gaze, hand poised with food midway to his own mouth.
If I said yes, he would insist on the details; if I said no, I would be committed to staying home.
My shoulders shrugged, as I grunted out a sound which gave neither answer.
“Repairs are needed to the barn,” he said. “Your help would be welcomed.”
Three days until Tuesday meant I could give him a day or more, so I nodded and went back to my meal.
Clumsiness did not often visit me—an advantage to having heightened senses and reflexes. However, I, more than once, missed my target when hammering to fill the holes that winter had created.
At my fifth curse, Giles took the plank from my hand, the dropped tool from the floor, and proceeded to do the job given to me. “When are you going to tell me?” he asked between blows.
The cloying scent of damp wood filled the air, as I sucked on the flesh between my thumb and forefinger, remaining quiet.
With hammer poised, he aimed green eyes at me through the spattering of rain. “Who is she?”
“I do not know of whom you speak.”
His laughter contained no amusement. “You arrive home with a new tale every week. When was the last time you told us of a female you have taken as your own?”
“There are only so many females in the village,” I said, meeting his stare. “I have become weary of them.”
“I see it in your eyes.” He dropped his arm and turned to me. “You have met one, haven’t you? One who holds your interest?”
“You and I both know it is forbidden.” I wiped at the moisture cooling my brow and peered away.
“It does not mean you cannot find her, even if pack rules state you may not keep her.” When I did not answer, he said, “It is hard, but not impossible to walk away.”
I turned back to Giles, four years my senior. “You would know this, how?”
“You are not the first of us to find a female whose scent holds the appeal which others lack.”
My attention remained riveted to him. “Did you continue to see the one you found?”
He shook his head. “It is against pack rules, Sean.”
“What if the female in question was worthy of breaking the rules? Would you—”
“The rules are not only set in place for our safety, but also for theirs.” He hesitated before adding, “That does not mean it has never entered my mind.” He nodded before handing me my tools, and his rain soaked back faced me as he headed for the house.
Some of the heaviness hauling down on my shoulders eased as I watched him go.
Finally, I had found a possible ally.
Chapter 5
James found further repairs, shackling me at home throughout Monday, and I did them without complaint. When Tuesday morning arrived, it held hope of escape.
“I feel due some attention,” said James over breakfast. “I shall accompany you to the marketplace today, Sean.” His eyes locked on my own as he spoke.
From beneath my brows, I stared back at him, my left lifting with my arriving smile. “Of course.”
Walking am
ongst the stalls with James brought even more notice than usual. With our looks so alike, only his neatly secured clothing pegged him as my opposite—his polite mannerisms aside.
Female-wielded fans fluttered like butterfly wings, as eyes of all colours tracked our movement, whilst whisperings along the lines of, “Mr Holloway Senior is quite the catch, you know,” chased us.
As usual, James set his good example, dipping his head to all females who called out a greeting in their breathless tones, but the way his feet continued moving amongst the crowd, as though carried by purpose, told me he already had an agenda set for our day.
We had passed at least half of the stalls, and too many puffed-up bosoms and primped hairstyles to count, before he leaned in close. “I have found The Goat and Compass offers the most satisfaction of late,” he said in a low voice.
I had already anticipated that our destination would be one of the local establishments. James never took any of the local females, unless they advertised it as their ware, preferring a bed and hygiene over my choice of a backyard or alley. ‘Most satisfaction’ to James could probably be translated to ‘cleanest and most willing’. Of course, the detachment they offered held much appeal, also.
Veering off to the right, James did not release my elbow once—but then, he had not once parted contact since our very first step into the public realm. Obviously, I knew of his intention: to rid my mind of the one who consumed it.
Little did he know, I had already been advised of his plan.
As we pushed into the muggy foyer of The Goat and Compass, we were greeted by a rounded female, with breasts refusing to be encased by her dated garments.
James nodded to her, smiling with an underlying respect he rarely showed. “Miss Carson.”
‘Miss Carson’ stumbled in her haste to circle the bar, a mass of steel, wiry hair trailing behind from the back of her head. “Mr Holloway, ’tis a pleasure to find you in my establishment, sir.” Her gaze swung to me, and unenthusiastic disdain took over her features. “Must be the other—”
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