The Wolf's Pewter Priestess

by Michele Ryan

  On the massive table in the middle of her room sat her favorite book. The worn leather edges and scuffed spine showed how loved it was. How many times it had been cracked open to be read and studied. Clara picked up the book she had been reading earlier and flipped it to where she left off before settling in.

  A slight shuffle to her right confirmed her suspicions, Emmitt had been there. The poor man did everything in he could to ignore the females who now populated the mansion, but every single one of them went out of their way to draw out the ever-quiet man. She had immediately liked him when she met him. She thought it was because of the books. They both enjoyed them and spoke a common language other people might not understand like they would.

  “Emmitt,” she remarked without even glancing to where she suspected he sat. She smirked at the long, drawn out sigh she heard from him.

  “Miss Fitzpatrick,” he finally said, his voice low and soft. “What brings you to my library?”

  On more than one occasion, she’d asked him to call her Clara. Yet, he continued to be stubborn, using her formal name. Even after residing in the mansion for the last six months. She also had not missed the emphasis with regards to the library being his.

  Poor Emmitt. I bet he must be missing his solitary life.

  Emmitt had a pattern. He might grumble, and act put out, but eventually he would amble over to where she sat then take his spot across from her. It was like clockwork now. An expected action she could practically count down to.

  “According to Jonah, Ezra had the situation firmly in hand.”

  “He did,” Emmitt answered.

  “No reason to hover then.”

  Honestly, she would have liked to wait for Ezra to step inside the mansion before taking her leave. She wanted to see with her own eyes that he had fared well. Not as if she’d tell anyone though, especially not Emmitt. Before long, Ezra might expect things. Things she wasn’t too sure she could give, especially with his monthly needs of the pack. The words were a bitter pill to swallow. In a perfect world Ezra and I might have had a chance. Unfortunately, their world wasn’t normal. Not by a long shot.

  The chair where she assumed he’d been sitting creaked, announcing he’d stood. She glanced at the fireplace, and found him, in the shadows, a little to the right of her. One day, she hoped he wouldn’t hide as he did. The light wouldn’t hurt him as it seemed to. And, if his friend Mr. Lawson had been any indication, the love of the right woman could perhaps do the trick.

  It wasn’t as if they didn’t know what he looked like, on the contrary, they did. He was...different. Pitch black hair hung in a stringy mess. The many scars, indicating where he’d been put together stood out against his pale flesh. His imposing frame carried at least two-hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. Not bulky by any means but stout as it was. And his eyes, one brown, one green. The right side of his head exposed his Tesla coil brain.

  Annabelle speculated the gentle man hid because he assumed the woman of the household had delicate constitutions and could not bear to look upon him. Silly man. Annabelle was the Beloved of a vampire and she, well, she was in love with a werewolf. A reanimated man was nothing compared to those two facts.

  “You know, I see you, Clara,” he said. Out of everything he could have possible said to her, his words startled her. What exactly did he think he saw? “Jonah does too.”

  “Really?” She arched a brow, not willing to provide any of her history to anyone other than Ezra, when the time was right and Annabelle, who’d been aware of her background. “What exactly do you see, Emmitt?” Clara understood prior to the zombie horde showing up, he had a heart to heart with Annabelle. Now, apparently, was her turn.

  “You conceal your true self.”

  She snorted. Look who is talking. Pot meet kettle.

  “You have no reply?” Emmitt prodded when she didn’t respond to his question.

  “Not much to say, Emmitt,” she answered.

  The snap of the closing book in her hands filled the quiet room. It mixed with the hiss of an overabundance of steam from the vent in her mechanical arm. Over the last several days it had been doing it more. Charlie would need to look at it and adjust so it worked as it was supposed to. Laying the book down, she squared her shoulders, then took a deep breath and looked Emmitt straight in the eye. “Why now?”

  He snorted. “Because one would have to be blind not to notice the tension between Ezra and you. We’ve been ignoring it, allowing you to continue to hide. I firmly believe this has been the wrong course of action and I’m moving to correct it.”

  “Why thank you,” she replied. One would think a man, made up of several other men, wouldn’t speak so eloquently. But he did. She had no doubt he could hold his own with any Head of State, including Queen Victoria and never once embarrass himself. “For noticing our discourse.”

  “You misunderstand the tension I speak of, Miss Fitzpatrick.”

  What other tension could he mean? Emmitt’s expression shifted, and an odd little smile floated across his lips. Her eyes went wide, her cheeks went warm when she realized the tension he spoke of.

  Sexual.

  “You continuing to deny the attraction between Ezra and you might cause some issues with the upcoming days.”

  Sometimes she really hated how this man beat around the proverbial bush. Why could he not just say what he meant? “You speak of the full moon?” She cut right to the heart of the matter

  He nodded.

  In the last six months, she had made sure she knew the cycles and what days would be the worst for Ezra. She suspected she did it, so when he disappeared, she could use it as her excuse for not pressing the matter betwixt them. However, since the Dreadfuls saved London, Ezra never left. Not even when the moon shone brightly in the dark sky.

  “I believe he has a pack full of she-wolves he can service when it occurs,” she said, her tone caustic. The thought of Ezra going to the females of his pack for that, had her heart breaking and her stomach souring in distaste.

  “We both know he hasn’t left the mansion or your side once in the last half year, even when it pained him.” Emmitt removed himself from the shadows and sat before her. “Do you wonder why this is, Clara?”

  She suspected, but she’d be damned if she told him. “Why would this time be any different than the last?”

  “Do you know, Mr. Dunn, Mr. O’Keefe. Dr. Brew and Mr. Tinnin have a bet going on when Ezra will finally succumb to your allure? Mr. Dunn and Dr. Brew are the only two remaining in the wager.”

  “Again, why is the approaching moon any different?”

  “Because now, Ezra has rogues in his pack and they made the mistake of showing up at our door. Endangering his son, his friends and most importantly, you.”

  Clara rubbed at her forehead. “Could you for once say exactly what you mean, Emmitt, without hidden meanings? It’s more than a little frustrating.”

  Emmitt just shook his head. “He will need to protect us. All of us. Including you and Grant. The big question is; will you allow it? Will you, the girl who was never supposed to survive, to find love or be safe, accept everything he wants to give you? Which brings me back to my original question. Why do you hide who you are?”

  And they had come full circle. Back to where she knew Emmitt wanted them to be.

  “It is simply safer for all those involved to be unaware of the identity of me, my family and where I come from. I have never lied to anyone about who or what I am. I simply refuse to encourage this line of conversation or provide hints on where I come from. Those who need to know, do. For now, it’s only Annabelle.” More steam escaped from the vent, as if her arm was relaying her feelings of distress and unease.

  “And how do you know Annabelle has not informed Jonah?” he inquired.

  “She would never,” she assured him, ignoring the tiny seed of doubt trying to bury itself into her thoughts. Annabelle would never betray her. Not even to her beloved.

  “What about Ezra?” he hedged.


  “To be truthful, Emmitt, I am unable to understand why you think my past is any of your concern.”

  “It is all of our concern. Omer has done some research on this Baron.”

  Clara held up her hand. “We can stop right there. I am finished with this conversation. If at any time, something should change, and I feel you need to know about my past, I’ll let you know.” With that, Clara turned and stormed out of the library. She needed to clear her mind. Without a second thought, and without any sense of self-propriety she headed for the back gardens.

  As far as she was concerned, Emmitt had no need to know she was originally from New Orleans. Or, that she’d been sent away in secret to France at the age of ten, to stay with a distant cousin for protection from the Baron and his evilness.

  Going to France turned out to be her saving grace, since she met Dr. Olen McDermott who specialized in disfigurements and more importantly, prosthetics. Dr. McDermott had made her pewter arm and taught her how to maintain it if something happened.

  She no longer did the upkeep on her arm, Charlie took care of it. He was better equipped, having way more patience then she did. He resolved problems and repaired her arm in half the time she could. He also seemed to enjoy tinkering with it.

  At eighteen, right before relocating to London, Clara learned of the arts, both white and black magick and how powerful her granmé truly was. Power had radiated through her body and Clara quickly realized she required help in learning to harness what she felt pulsing at her fingertips. In the weeks that followed, she found a small, but powerful coven and called it home before meeting Annabelle by accident.

  Annabelle had, in her mind, changed her life. Clara found a soul sister in the other woman and they quickly became friends. Although she had hidden who she was for years, she spoke openly to her new friend while they sipped tea at a nearby tea room after leaving the bookstore.

  Annabelle returned the favor, telling her of her master, Elijah Dapp.

  A sneer formed on her lips thinking of the mean, vindictive man. He never liked Clara, never thought she would fit his group. Annabelle saw the future and realized Clara was an asset and not a freak. Something Elijah often referred to her as.

  Annabelle, unhappy with Elijah’s treatment of her friend, stood up to him, and he fled. Neither of them had ever seen or heard from him again. They had speculated, on several occasions, Dapp was out forming a new, perhaps in his mind, a better team and would appear to cause issues when they least expected it.

  Her past, what she could do and more importantly her ancestors, Emmitt had no right to question. Maybe Omer did, but the man had barely said more than a dozen words since she arrived.

  Clara continued walking briskly through the gardens, stopping only when she reached the two-seater marble bench at the back of the property. Slumping onto the cool stone, Clara inhaled the sweet scent of the first flowers of spring.

  Emmitt had the library, she had this little area.

  After wiggling her shoes off, she ran her toes along the grass, and giggled as the soft strands, tickled the sensitive undersides of her feet. The sound of something moving behind her pulled her from musings. It wasn’t until she heard the distinctive growl, she had second thoughts about going outside. Of course, she’d have to be the stupid one to venture away from the group alone.

  A grey and white wolf appeared in her periphery. Its hackles were up as it growled again, showing Clara sharp, yellow-tinged teeth. Three more emerged from the dense bushes at the back of the property. One red, one grey and the last one, a pure, snow white. Clara gulped, seeing the patches of fresh red blood, and old brown blood on its fur. She suspected the white wolf was the leader in the small group. When it began to yip softly, the others followed.

  Running wasn’t an option and would get her nowhere. Werewolves were paranormal, with lighting quick reflexes and speed. The second, she began to move, one or all of them would tackle her to the ground, tearing apart her exposed back. Her best defense in this situation? Stay calm and if one of them attacked, use her mechanical arm to block their sharp teeth from sinking into her flesh. Charlie could always repair, rebuild or replace what they destroyed.

  Deeper, commanding growls came from the direction of the house and in a blink of an eye, a massive black wolf with yellow eyes joined in the fray. Clara knew immediately it was Ezra, even with only seeing his wolf less than a handful of times.

  The moon glinted off the pure black of his fur, making it look almost blue in some areas, and those yellow eyes. Clara swore she could see in them what Ezra would never utter aloud to her. He snapped, lunging for the white wolf, wrapping his massive jaws around the back of the other wolf’s neck. Clara wondered if he would kill the majestic creature or simple assert the dominance she could feel rolling off him in waves.

  It was heady experience. Causing Clara to clench her thighs as a pulse of need flowed through her body. It really wasn’t a good time to get sexual. Especially, since it was one against four. Ezra was a powerful wolf, but those weren’t exactly great odds. The wolf stopped applying pressure to the neck of the wolf in his jaws and sniffed the air. Those eerie yellow eyes found hers and Clara swore if he had been in human form, he would have been smirking at her.

  Pretentious ass.

  He didn’t kill the other wolf, instead he pinned it to the ground, growling fiercely. The other wolves took off, leaving only the white wolf to defend itself against a powerful Alpha. The smaller wolf, rolled, exposing its belly to Ezra. It was a sign of submission, indicating Ezra had won the fight, even before the battle. He should have retreated, instead he snapped at the animal’s hind quarters. Clara heard the distinctive snap of a bone breaking, yet the animal regained its feet and limped back behind the bushes.

  Ezra preened with male smugness and pride as he approached her. Clara eased away from him as best as she could, but stopped when a snarl of warning emanated from him. Without preamble, he sniffed her, nudging her long gowns to the side to get a better smell. Clara snapped at her skirts, displacing his nose, perturbed by his antics after such a display of dominance.

  He whined at her then nudged her good hand, before licking it. Damn him for being so tempting. She used the fingers on her good hand, to run through the dark, inky silkiness of his fur. “What am I going to do with you, you old hound?”

  Chapter Five

  Ezra realized, after the attack, he would have to explain everything to Clara, but the timing had been off. He hated it too. Their courtship shouldn’t have to start due to an attack orchestrated by Marbella. He should have figured the she-bitch would have done something like this, especially since Grant and Dell left the pack lands.

  After last night, though, the choice had been taken out of his hands. He had to tell her everything, now. He waited patiently for Clara in the kitchen, a favorite spot of hers, besides the library. He even made her a cup of tea with one of her favorite blends Miss Jemmy said she liked the most. Nervous energy crawled through him. He had nothing to worry about, yet he did. After scenting Clara’s arousal and finding the attraction mutual, he also understood Marbella would smell it too, which meant the beast would go on a tear.

  “What’s this?” Clara motioned to the table he’d set especially for her.

  “I thought we should speak about last night.” He motioned for her to take a seat then poured her a cup of tea. “Miss Jemmy said you prefer honey to sugar and heavy cream to milk.”

  She gave him a polite smile before adding the confections to her cup. “Thank you.”

  “As I was saying, we should speak about matters.” Ezra fidgeted in his chair.

  “Of course.” Clara placed her cup back on the table. “Which part?”

  He cleared his throat growing more uncomfortable. He had to push the subject of mating and doing it during this full moon. It seemed presumptuous on his part that she’d be willing or felt as he did. “The wolves, first.”

  She nodded. “Ah. The one you held by the neck?”

  “Marbe
lla,” he supplied. “See, as the Alpha, I have to have an Alpha female. Marbella is the Alpha female.”

  “I figured as much,” Clara said. “She came last night because of Grant. I anticipated such when he arrived. No way he left without having a tail.”

  “Yes, of course. But, there is more. Remember what I told you about mates? I could give up everything if I have a mate. No more sex with pack females...”

  She took another sip of her tea. Tension filled her lithe form. The soft scent of curiosity and arousal he enjoyed last night while he pushed her skirts aside, vanished. “I see.”

  “No, I don’t think you do.” He eased forward in his seat and placed his folded hands on the table.

  “Ezra, I do. You have to find a she-wolf. I accept this. You have to do whatever it takes to protect your pack.” Though she said the right words in a situation like the one they faced, the truth, as she knew it, hurt.

  “Clara, I understand how confusing this must be,” he started. “But, I’m talking about you.”

  “What?” She tilted her chin up. A look of disbelief filled her features. “I think I misunderstood you.”

  No, she didn’t. “Clara, you have to realize you’re the reason I haven’t gone back to the pack for so long. I know I should have explained it all months ago. We’ve had case after case.” Even to his ears, his excuses were hollow. “I apologize for not saying anything to you sooner.”

  “What do I need to do? What’s the catch?” Her words were soft, taking on a faraway quality.

  He had to have sex with her. Mark her. Claim her on the full moon so those in his pack knew their places and accepted his mate as their Alpha female. “This is where things get complicated.”

  “Spit it out,” Clara said, her thick Creole-French coming through.