Patrick growled; he could do no more, forced to sit before the angel.
“I am not yet powerful enough to kill nations,” she continued. “The most I have had the strength to judge at once was five, and only because they were weak-willed. With you by my side, we will be unstoppable.”
“No.” Patrick forced the thought out.
“No?” the angel raised an eyebrow.
“I … will … not.”
“You must. I command you.”
“I am … man. Why not kill … me?”
“You are not of mankind,” the angel thundered. “You are born of a breed much nobler than that. Your lineage can be traced back before the age of man even existed.”
The wolf’s muzzle snapped shut.
“I am Ariel, archangel of God, and I am here to restore the balance of nature. I have foreseen what mankind will do to this world and each other. There is no other way. Mankind must die.”
Patrick cowered as Ariel’s power washed over him. He growled, and the hairs all along his spine stood erect. He could not let this happen. He needed to get through to Angelica.
“Please, hear me,” he tried again, struggling to push his thoughts out.
The angel regarded him with dark eyes. He knew, without doubt, she could kill him, and he would probably not even know about it.
“We have work to do,” Ariel said.
With a swish of black wings and swirling smoke, the angel turned and sailed down towards the exit of the shed.
Patrick had no choice but to follow her - not to help her, but to stop her.
Once outside, the angel paused halfway across the river. She held her hands up in front of her face, tilting her head sideways. Patrick wondered what she was doing when he noticed the sunlight reflecting the light off her hands.
“It is not wise to go outside during the day,” Patrick said, finding it more comfortable to think now that the angel was distracted. “You always hunt at night, archangel; now is not the time.”
She turned her head to look at him. Patrick calmed his heart as it raced in his chest, and lifted his head, looking back at her.
“It is so,” she agreed.
Without another word, she flapped her wings and flew straight over him back into the shed. An icy shiver passed over Patrick, and he cowered as her shadow covered him.
Patrick stayed outside on the dock for a long while. He could not leave, for somehow, the angel had bound him to her. He could not change, for he didn’t know if his human form would be strong enough to withstand her presence.
Tail tucked between his legs, he eventually followed Ariel into the shed. Padding silently up the stairs, he dreaded what he would find up there. As he reached the last step, he saw Angelica’s naked form lying on his blankets.
Gently, Patrick stroked the sweaty hair out of Angelica’s face. Her eyes were sunken into dark shadows, and her lips trembled slightly in her sleep.
No matter what he had seen, what happened in the past hour, he could not leave her now. Angelica was, and would always be, his wife.
How were the two bound - Angelica and Ariel? Did one possess the other? Patrick remembered Ariel saying that she had waited eighteen years for this body to grow. He knew nothing of angels, and archangels, or any other heavenly creatures. He should speak to the priest; maybe he had answers.
As evening approached, Patrick began to worry. Not only would the servants expect them home soon, but he expected Ariel to awaken to hunt. If the servants came looking for them while Ariel was present … Patrick did not want to think about the consequences.
Thus far, their secret hideaway had remained undiscovered. They should be safe at the boat shed.
Angelica stirred beneath his gentle touch. Her eyelids fluttered open, and by the light of the candles, he could tell their colour to be blue. He sighed.
“Patrick,” she gasped, her throat dry.
He hurried to get her some water and then helped her to sit up. While she drank, he gathered the blankets around her and wrapped her up.
“Where are my clothes?”
He shook his head. “They did not withstand your transformation. They are but tatters on the floor.”
Angelica did not show surprise at his statement, making him wonder anew about the relationship between Ariel and Angelica.
“Did I frighten you?” she asked instead.
“Indeed, you did,” he admitted. “Why have we never spoken about this?”
“I have not known,” she said. “It is all so clear now. Everything I have learned while in this world has been for a purpose. Now I am ready to fulfil the reason for my coming here.”
“You want to restore balance.”
Angelica’s eyes lit up. “Yes. You understand, then?”
“Not at all. I find it a cruel notion that you should want to punish all of mankind for the sins of a few.”
“A few?” Angelica shouted, shrugging off the blankets. “Never have I seen a crueller and eviller race than that of mankind. Their sins are atrocious.”
“Angelica, not all of us are bad; surely you can see that.”
She laughed. “I have spent long enough on Earth to know different. I have known cruelty at the hands of my father, indifference from my mother, and disdain from my town. Show me the good in that.”
“I am sorry you were treated such, Angelica. I can understand your anger. But, not all of life is as cruel as that. Look at the love we have.”
“I told you, Patrick; you are not human.”
“Humans can love like this,” he argued.
“Can they? I have yet to see it.”
“Angelica,” he pleaded, “I cannot share this point of view with you. Please, do not make me do your work for you. It will make me no better than those sinners you speak of.”
The moment he said it, he regretted it. Angelica’s face darkened, as did her eyes.
“You would defy me?”
The alpha voice rang sharply within him, and he cowered before it. He desperately wanted to deny it, but he ground his teeth, holding his tongue.
“Answer me,” she commanded.
“I would,” he choked out.
The pressure of the alpha command became unbearable as she leaned over him. A hand touched his bowed head.
“Look at me.”
As if by an invisible force, his head lifted until his eyes met hers. Angelica stared at him.
“I would defy you,” he rasped again.
She dropped him, a sudden release of her alpha hold over him, and he crumpled to the floor.
“Very well. I will hunt alone tonight. Stay here, and cower until I return, for we will have words when I do.”
Rising into the air amid swirling black smoke, Angelica grew her black wings until they spanned half the distance between the walls. A single flap, and then she folded them, diving straight for the exit.
Patrick watched the angel disappear through the wide doors, trailing a long tail of swirling smoke. The setting sun cast an orange glow off the water of the river, bathing the scene in an eerie light.
Gathering his wits, Patrick extinguished the candles and ran back to Ashford Manor. Avoiding the servants, he managed to get to their bedroom unseen.
After changing his clothes, he went downstairs and told the servants Miss Angelica was not feeling well, and was not to be disturbed for the rest of the night.
Patrick then went to the stables, saddled his stallion, and rode over to Blakesley Farm.
“Son, what brings you here at this hour? Should you not be with your wife?”
“Father,” Patrick said urgently, “please, order me to tell you what is happening.”
“Order you?”
“Yes. Command me,” Patrick urged.
“Is everything all right, Patrick?”
“No, Father. Please, I am bound and cannot tell you unless you command me. Help me, Father.”
Edward’s face darkened. Patrick felt the force of the alpha settle in his chest.
Taking a deep breath, Patrick collapsed on the chair opposite his father’s desk in his office. The tight hold the angel had around his chest was gone, and Patrick now felt loyalty only to his father. He knew, once the angel uttered a new command, the roles would be reversed again, but for now, he was free to tell his father the truth. Although Patrick hated to involve Angelica, he was left with no choice.
She was out there right now, looking for her next victim, whoever it might be. Patrick had no way to tell, and no way to forewarn them.
“Father, I have met the beast, and it is killing again tonight.”
Chapter 18
The men stared at each other in silence. Outside, the wind howled around the building, and the fire crackled in the grate.
Winston entered, carrying a tray with glasses. He set it on the table, then produced a bottle of scotch from a cabinet, and put it beside the plate. After adding another log to the fire, Winston left the room again without a word.
It was a surprisingly cold night for summer. Strong, icy winds, and rain. They had closed the outside shutters over the windows to keep the din out. Dorien and Lawson had arrived mere moments before it started.
“She must be hunting nearby,” Patrick said. The others looked up. “I have experienced this wind before. It’s her.”
“Who are your neighbours, Lord Blakesley?” Lawson asked.
“It’s the Buck farm to the north of here, and the Clarke farm to the west,” Edward replied.
“What do we know about them?”
“They’ve always been good neighbours,” Edward said. “I’ve known old man Clarke all his life, and know his sons well. Hector Buck moved here with his family about thirty years ago. Never had trouble with them.”
Lawson narrowed his eyes. “If I were to hazard a guess as a lawman, I’d make Buck my suspect. Where did he come from, and why did he move here?”
Edward shrugged. “I don’t recall why he chose Ashford, but he moved here from London.”
“Now what would make a man relocate his family to a backwater town like this when he had a life in London, I wonder?”
Patrick thought Lawson had a point. Angelica, or rather Ariel, would know the man’s history, and if it were dark enough, she’d certainly go after him. Strangely, Patrick experienced a moment of hesitation. If old man Hector had committed crimes in his younger days, did he not deserve to be punished? He shook his head. The man moved here to change his ways. Hector now had a family, a son and two daughters, and lived a peaceful life. Surely, he had repented.
“Patrick,” Lawson startled him out of his reverie, “is it safe to go outside during this storm?”
“It has never harmed me before,” he admitted, “although it is unpleasant.”
“Then, I say we ride to Buck Farm. Maybe there is a chance we can stop this.”
Uncertain, the men looked at each other. After what Patrick had told them about the angel, none had much confidence in their ability to prevent it from attacking.
“Let’s ride,” Dorien agreed.
The horses flattened their ears against their heads and ploughed on against the wind with their heads low as they rode off the property.
They moved in darkness, knowing the way, and able to see even without a lantern. The horses trusted them, but they didn’t like it. Ears back and nostrils flared, they snapped at each other in irritation.
When they reached Buck Farm, the storm was the same as everywhere else, and the farmhouse appeared peaceful with the yellow glow of lights behind the windows.
Finding shelter behind a wall for the horses, they dismounted and approached the front door. Nora Buck answered on their first knock.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I thought you’d be my husband.”
“Is Father back?” Angus Buck shouted from further inside the house.
“Mrs Buck, may we come inside?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, Mr Mayor.” Hastily, the woman let the four men through the door, and then shut it firmly behind them. “How may we help you, Mr Mayor?”
“Where is your husband, Mrs Buck?”
“He said he needed to check on the animals, you know, because of the weather, but he has been gone near on an hour. Angus has been outside but seen so sign of him. We don’t know where he is.”
“Are any of your animals missing?”
“They are all accounted for within the stables and the paddocks,” Angus replied. “All I can think is he went to check the fields.”
“Please, Mr Mayor,” Mrs Buck pleaded, “I have a bad feeling. It is unlike my Hector to leave without letting us know. Please, will you find him for us?”
“We will do our best, Ma’am.”
Bracing themselves, they went back into the storm. The horses rolled their eyes until their whites showed as the men turned their heads into the wind.
This time, Patrick led the way. Although untethered from Ariel’s command, he could feel her now - they were close.
The wolf pack of four rode around the dark farm for what seemed to be an hour before Patrick called a halt. The wind was dying down fast, and the air around them cleared.
“She has left,” Patrick said. “I think we may be too late.”
Defeated, the men sat on their weary horses. The wind dropped altogether, and the night was peaceful once more.
“Do you hear that?” Lawson asked.
“I do,” Patrick replied.
All listened now; even the horses pricked their ears, turning their heads to the right.
“Ha,” Dorien shouted at his horse, urging him into a trot across the field.
The others followed.
Two hundred yards from the path, almost in the centre of the field, sat Hector Buck. He sat on his haunches, completely naked. He had urinated and defecated where he sat, and tears had dried in streaks on his dirty cheeks. A look of horror remained frozen upon his face.
“Hector,” Dorien called, even as he jumped off his horse.
The man stared straight ahead, with no recognition of their presence in his eyes.
“Hector, it is me, Dorien. Can you hear me?”
As the others climbed off their horses, Hector Buck kept staring ahead, his eyes unfocused. Patrick recognised the shock of seeing horror on the man’s face - he had seen it many times during the war.
“He’s in shock, Dorien. Let’s get him off the ground. Does anyone have a blanket in their saddlebags?”
“I do,” Lawson replied, reaching for the buckle.
Patrick wrapped the blanket around the naked man and gently lifted him to his feet. Hector did not resist.
“Help me get him on my horse,” Patrick said to the others.
With some shoving, they managed to put Hector on Patrick’s stallion. Hector sat the horse silently, clutching the saddle with a white-knuckle grip.
When they reached the farmhouse, the Buck family came out to help carry Hector inside and make him comfortable. Once in front of the fire, and with some tea in his belly, Hector started talking.
He was so torn. Patrick could feel his loyalties split as he rode up to Ashford Manor. He looked up at the stately house, its windows shining in the morning light.
“Is Miss Angelica awake yet?” he asked a servant when he entered.
“No, Sir.”
Taking a deep breath, Patrick climbed the stairs. He paused on the landing, before walking down the passage to Angelica’s door. With his hand on the doorknob, he paused again.
His heart hammered when he eventually found the courage to push the door open. It wasn’t fear for his safety, but fear that he might lose his love that made him hesitate.
The warm glow of the morning sun streamed in through the window; dust motes dancing in its rays. Angelica rested peacefully within her sheets; her dark hair a beautiful mess around her head.
How? How could someone so petite and beautiful become something so … Patrick blinked. So what? Ariel was by n
o means less beautiful. Her power and strength enhanced Angelica’s beauty. Could he love someone like that? Someone more powerful than him?
Cautiously, Patrick approached the bed. Sitting on its edge, he put his hand on her shoulder.
“Angelica?” He was unsure of how to address her.
“Mm,” she mumbled.
“Wake up,” he said gently, stroking her arm.
“Morning,” she yawned, smiling at him, her eyes sleepy.
This was the person he had fallen in love with. Everything about her at this moment radiated that which had attracted him to her in the first place. A silent shiver passed through him, and his loins tightened in response.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Still tired,” she complained, but with a smile. “What time is it?”
“Early,” he admitted. “I’ll call for some tea for you while you get dressed.”
This was going to be hard. Patrick waited downstairs while the servants prepared the tea and only went back into their bedroom after the servant had delivered it.
Angelica sat by her commode, brushing her hair. Patrick came to stand behind her, and took the brush from her, continuing to brush her hair in long, smooth motions.
He desperately wanted everything to go back to how they were before, but as this could not be so, he now thought of a way to broach the subject. It was Angelica who decided for him.
“You have forgiven me, then?” she asked.
“Forgiven you?”
“You were mad with me last night, were you not? You disagree with my views. Yet here you are, still loving me.”
“I am in love with Angelica,” he hesitated.
“Patrick,” she said gently, turning to face him, “I am only me, the same as the wolf and you are but one. The angel does not steal my body. I am the angel.”
Patrick’s mouth gaped open. Had he not sought answers to those questions yesterday? Had he hoped for the answers to be different?
“Why, then, be a human at all?” he could not help asking.
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