Playing With Fire

by Adrienne Woods et al.

  “Indeed, Sir.”

  Patrick climbed the stairs to the bedchambers, smiling to himself. His father always trained his own horses, to accustom them to the smell of the wolf.

  In his room, he emptied his satchel while he waited for Winston to bring water for him to wash. From his wardrobe, he took fresh clothes to wear. Winston soon arrived with the bucket of water and Patrick stripped naked. The servant took his dirty clothes away while he bathed.

  Feeling refreshed, Patrick stepped into his finery - clothes he had not worn in over three years - and found them too small. Frowning, he stood in front of the looking glass, eyeing the stretched fabric.

  “Would Master Patrick like something from his father’s cupboard?” Winston asked, poking his head into the room.

  “Indeed, Winston. It seems I have grown.”

  “And not just in height, Sir.”

  Patrick struggled out of his old clothes and donned his father’s much larger garments when Winston brought them. Looking suave, he made his way back down the stairs.

  He could hear female voices coming from the entrance hall, and Patrick knew his mother was saying farewell to the ladies she had over for tea. Leaning casually against the door frame, he watched them button their coats and thank his mother for her hospitality.

  His mother looked good; her hair piled neatly upon her head and a flush upon her cheeks. Patrick smiled fondly, waiting impatiently to greet her. Unexpectedly, he saw a flash of dark, sparkling eyes within a pale face, and it sent an icy shiver over his skin.

  Straightening, Patrick tried to get a better look, but the pale girl was whisked out of the door by the other women, and he lost sight of her. Startled, it took him a moment to realise his mother had seen him.

  “Oh, Patrick,” she breathed, hand on her chest.

  It was good to be home; the familiar smells and sounds of the manor; his father’s deep, reassuring voice; his mother’s soft, yet steady manner.

  They sat around the dinner table for hours that night, telling stories of the years past. Ashford had not changed in his absence - neither had his parents - but his father noted the many changes he saw in Patrick.

  Calm, confident and well-mannered were merely a few words his father used to describe him. Patrick felt awkward under his father’s praise, but his mother glowed with pride.

  It had been a long time since Patrick had slept as well as he did that first night he was home.

  Chapter 2

  Pensively, Patrick looked up at the stately manor house as they rode up the drive.

  “Do not fret, my boy,” Lord Blakesley said. “Lord Alaric is a strict but fair employer. You will learn the trade quickly.”

  “I was not born for pen and paper, Father,” Patrick replied gruffly, knowing there was no changing his fate.

  His father made a noise in the back of his throat but did not deign to reply. A servant came forward to take their horses’ reins as they dismounted.

  “My Lords,” the man clad in the Alaric colours greeted them, “you are expected.”

  “Thank you, Jasper. Come, Patrick; your first day of work awaits.”

  They climbed the broad stairs side by side, their satchels under their arms, although Patrick’s was decidedly empty. Another servant opened the front door for them and bade them enter.

  Their boots echoed on the polished tiles of the cavernous entry hall as they crossed towards a door at the far end. No one came to greet them, and Patrick glanced around with interest at several closed doors leading off the hall, wondering where they went.

  His father admitted him into a large room filled with bookcases on three sides and windows on the fourth. Two desks stood facing each other in the centre. Side tables, heaped with papers, perched seemingly at random within the space.

  “It is stuffy in here, Father.” Patrick dropped his leather satchel onto the desk his father assigned him. “How can you work like this?”

  “You may open a window.” Lord Blakesley replied simply.

  Four arched windows let in plenty of light. Twisting the lever of one of the windows, Patrick pushed it open, some of the tension falling off him with the motion. He took a breath of the fresh morning air and looked out over the orchard that this side of the house faced. The first of the cherry blossoms were starkly white against the black branches of the trees.

  Patrick turned away, ready to begin the dreary task his father had set him for today when his ears picked up a sound. Faint. Soft. Feminine. Sending shivers down his spine.

  Looking back out of the window, he searched the orchard for the source of the quiet humming. His hairs stood erect as his wolf senses engaged in pinpointing the sound. There. A flash of a white skirt. A swing. Within the trees.

  “That be Lord Alaric’s daughter,” Patrick’s father called from behind his desk. “Now, if you are ready, let us begin.”

  Patrick laughed; it had been a long time since his father had caught him looking at a girl. “Indeed, Father, I am ready. Let’s get to it.”

  He moved back towards his table, but could still feel her voice stir the fine hairs on his skin.

  “Patrick did well for his first day,” Edward told his wife proudly as they sat around the dinner table.

  Lillian smiled.

  “It is unusually dull work, Mother,” Patrick complained. “Do you always work alone, Father? I mean, does Lord Alaric never come down to see you?”

  “Rarely. The documents are mostly delivered by servant. It is only when I give my monthly reports that I will see him in his study.”

  “Hmm, he must place a lot of trust in you.”

  “He has no reason not to. And we shall keep it that way, Patrick,” his father glowered at him.

  Patrick held up his hands. “I meant nothing by it. You know I would never do anything to jeopardise your position with Lord Alaric.”

  The thought of being an accountant made Patrick shudder. He had always been good with numbers, something that obviously ran in the family, but the dry subject matter of analysing financial reports and accounting records held little to no interest for him. Still, it was his father’s life’s work, and he would never do anything to jeopardise it.

  “Good. Now, how about a bit of sport to work off this lovely dinner?”

  “Oh, must you?” Lillian asked.

  “Darling,” Edward said softly, “he is grown now. Trust him.”

  “Fine, then.” His mother shot Patrick a warning look.

  “Come, son. The moon is bright tonight. I want to see the wolf you have become.”

  A drizzle accompanied them as they crossed the fields towards the woods. They carried no lanterns; capable of seeing in the dark even while human.

  Edward let Patrick lead, watching to see what he had learned. It did not bother Patrick. He had seen too much, been through too much, to be unsettled by his father’s test.

  Confidently, he selected the perfect hollow underneath a fallen tree for them to hide their clothes. Naked, he quickly erased their footprints around the tree and then instructed his father to fall back along the game trail heading west.

  They walked a hundred yards before Patrick gave the instruction to change. His father nodded, impressed.

  Patrick fixed his eyes on a tree in front of him, embracing the pain as it moved through his body. He had learned, in detail, the anatomy of the wolf while on the Iberian Peninsula, and understood the changes taking place.

  As his lungs expanded, his ribs broke to make space. His arms and legs broke to take on the new shape of the canine. His jaw dislocated to extend. The coccyx grew to form the tail. Fingers retracted to form claws. The fine hairs on his body turned to fur. All of this happened in under a minute, and then it took another few seconds for all the bones to heal, and the tendons and muscles to reattach.

  Patrick stood panting, fur bristling, his black eyes alert and watchful. His father was only halfway through his change, and Patrick assumed he had waited, watched Patrick first, before initiating his own transf
ormation. It was a dangerous gamble. Patrick had always been in awe of his father, and now that he had seen other werewolves, that awe was reaffirmed, for his father was truly the largest werewolf he had ever seen.

  The brown wolf watched him with interest, waiting.

  When Patrick did not get the alpha signal from his father, he assumed the role and asked his father to fall in line behind him. Obediently, the brown wolf complied.

  They trotted along the narrow game trail, enjoying the night air through their fur. Once or twice they caught the faint scent of a deer, but it held little interest for Patrick. He was looking for something more challenging.

  An hour later, and deep into the forest, Patrick finally picked up the trail. He growled low, giving his father orders, and the hunt began. Staying downwind, they circled, with Patrick’s body sleek and ready for the kill.

  When they finally came within sight of the massive wild boar, Patrick did a routine check of the surrounding area and potential escape routes, and then fixed his gaze on the target.

  The boar lifted its head, its tusks glinting dully in the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. Patrick charged, his father moved to the left, cutting off the boar’s escape.

  Patrick was upon the beast before it could turn. Sinking his teeth into its throat, Patrick hung on, dragging the boar to the ground with his weight.

  The animal put up a brave fight; nicking Patrick in the shoulder with a tusk. Its hot, salty blood spilt into Patrick’s mouth, wetting his tongue. His jaw clamped tighter, crushing the boar’s windpipe. It finally lay still and struggled no more.

  “And, I am telling you, Lillian, he is even bigger than I am and almost as black as the night itself.”

  His mother laughed delighted.

  “He took that boar down by himself, even if he thought I helped him.” Edward ruffled the top of Patrick’s head.

  “Stop, Father, enough,” he laughed.

  Patrick was glad it went so well. He delighted in making his father proud, even if he did not believe half of what his father told his mother. He didn’t think there could be a wolf bigger than his father.

  “I am proud of you, son,” Lillian said. “I am sorry I doubted you.”

  “You had a right to, Mother. It is I who am sorry.”

  She patted his hand.

  “Come, Patrick, your second day of work awaits.” His father broke the moment.

  Grumbling, Patrick rose from the breakfast table to fetch his satchel. He honestly did not know how he would endure another day in that stuffy room, let alone an entire career.

  When they rode up the gravelly drive, a carriage stood before the steps. Two chestnut horses snorted restlessly in their harnesses as Patrick and his father approached.

  Suppressing the wolf within them as much as they could, they passed the harnessed horses and then handed over their own mounts to Jasper. Only horses trained by the Blakesley’s remained calm with the smell of the wolf in their noses.

  As they climbed the steps, the front door opened. A man led the way out, followed by two women.

  “That is Lord Alaric, his wife and his daughter,” his father whispered.

  Patrick eyed the dark-haired man with the hooked nose suspiciously. There was something decidedly untrustworthy about the man, and Patrick had an immediate dislike for him. He recognised the older woman as one that had been at their house the day he arrived back home. Patrick estimated her to be in her early forties, and she was still a beautiful woman.

  Then, as the family descended the steps towards them, the daughter came into sight, and Patrick almost tripped on the steps. The pale girl he had seen at their house on his first day almost robbed him of his breath now that he could see her clearly.

  “My Lord,” his father greeted Lord Alaric, and the men shook hands. “May I introduce my son, and your newest employee; Patrick.”

  “Ah, Patrick, it is good to meet you finally. Your father has spoken highly of you. Welcome to Alaric & Co.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “We are on our way to London, and will not be back for a few days. There are new accounts on your desk, Edward.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The family swept past them without another word. Patrick could not help looking at the achingly beautiful girl with the pale skin as she descended the steps without glancing up. He could smell her faint perfume, and it sent tingles down his back.

  “What is her name, Father?” Patrick asked as they settled in the office.

  “Do you not recognise her?” Lord Blakesley asked.

  “I know her?”

  “You used to. When you were children, you played together. Mary Alaric put a stop to it when you were eight, deeming you too old then to play with her little girl. You were three when she was born. Your mother and Mary were very close once.”

  “Are they not anymore? I saw them at our house the day I returned.”

  “Yes, they are still friends, but Mary has become withdrawn, and does not like to socialise often. It is not my place to guess at the cause of it.”

  Patrick was silent then, busying himself with filing the documents his father had given him, but his mind was on the girl. He remembered now; her name was Angelica. She had been like a little sister to him.

  Over the next few days, Patrick fell into a routine at the office, and the tasks became easier. They were by no means stimulating, however, and he longed for the evenings.

  Every night, after dinner, he would run in the forest, enjoying the freedom of the wolf. His father was content to sit at home with his wife now that he knew Patrick was in control. Thus Patrick ran alone.

  On Friday, after work, Patrick was especially delighted to be out, as there would be no work the next day. He stayed out longer, roamed farther, and hunted for the first time since he had killed the boar.

  Sometime past midnight, he found himself close to the main road, and a familiar scent set his senses on full alert. Sprinting through the forest towards the road, Patrick soon saw a carriage through the trees.

  It was odd for the Alarics to be travelling this late at night, but as he neared Patrick noticed the patched carriage wheel, which accounted for their slow pace.

  He could hear soft voices from within the vehicle, and the next moment Angelica began to sing. Her song, although sung quietly, rung clearly in Patrick’s ears, and he followed, listening.

  Distracted as he was, it took him longer than it would have otherwise to notice the two riders coming up from behind. Snarling, he turned in their direction, trying to determine their intent.

  Patrick heard the driver call down to Sir Alaric, and Angelica’s singing ceased. The sound of galloping hooves drew nearer. The riders carried no torches and, even in the moonlight, were near indistinguishable from the dark surroundings in their black clothing. As they approached the carriage, Patrick knew they were not of the friendly kind.

  “Stop the carriage,” one of the men yelled as they drew level.

  “What do you want?” the driver asked.

  “Valuables. Everything you have.” The rider looked inside the window. “And a pretty lass, I’ll take.”

  Patrick howled, a sound so loud and clear in the still night air, it travelled for miles in all directions. The horses on the road became restless.

  “What was that?” the other rider asked.

  “Wolves.”

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  One of the riders rode around the back of the carriage to the other side. As he turned, Patrick launched himself out of the shadows, over the horse, taking its rider clean out of the saddle. With his jaw firmly clamped over the rider’s throat, the man died without making a noise.

  The horse galloped away in panic, causing the other rider to look up. Not seeing his companion, he called out and fell back a few yards.

  It was to his detriment. As the carriage rolled on, it was the last they saw of the man, for he now lay in the ditch beside the road, bleeding to death from the wound in h
is neck.

  “I tell you, Edward, there are wolves in these woods again,” Lord Alaric said on Monday morning.

  “I am only glad my Lord and his family made it home safely,” Patrick’s father replied.

  “We haven’t had wolves around these parts in decades, Edward. I am in two minds about it. They certainly saved us that night, but if they come closer to town, our herds may be in danger. I shall have to speak with the townsfolk.”

  “As you wish, my Lord.”

  Albert Alaric strode off down the passage, his shoes clacking hollowly across the tiled floor. Edward waited until the man was out of earshot before he faced Patrick.

  “What were you thinking? You could have endangered us all.”

  “They were bandits, Father,” Patrick defended himself. “They not only wanted to rob them, but also take Angelica. I could not let that happen.”

  Edward glowered at Patrick; he could feel his father projecting the power of the alpha on him. Patrick had to fight the pressure, but he did not back down. He knew right from wrong.

  “You have become strong, my son. I am proud of you,” his father finally said. “I am, however, still your alpha and, in this office, your boss, so in the future, I request that you consult with me before making a decision whenever possible.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Now, it was wrong of me to accuse you without questioning your motives first. Please, tell me about the incident.”

  “Thank you, Father. I would never jeopardise the secrecy of the wolf, no matter the situation. The Alarics were in mortal danger, and the only way to help them was to kill those riders. Lord Alaric does not suspect anything, so let him believe there are wolves in the woods. There are always wolves around; the story is believable.”

  “Indeed, it is, Patrick. I must advise you to be careful. The Lord is a clever man, and this town is suspicious of everything. Whatever you do, do so with care.”