The priest said the final amen and Erik watched as his mother embraced her new husband. Never had he seen his mother look so happy, so serene. She smiled as she turned toward him.
“Be happy, my mother,” he murmured, and enfolded her in his arms.
“Thank you, Erik.”
He held her close for a long moment, regretting again that he had sent her from him, that he had denied himself the comfort she might have offered him. One more regret, when he already had so many.
He released her so that Kristine could offer her own good wishes, and then they left the chapel to partake of the supper Mrs. Grainger had prepared.
Erik sat at the head of the table, his mask again in place in deference to the priest and the household staff. He declined anything to eat, merely sipped a glass of wine.
He knew, without knowing how he knew, that the curse would be fulfilled before morning, and so he sat there, his gaze on Kristine’s face, imprinting her image firmly in his mind, memorizing the sound of her voice, her laughter, knowing he would have only his memories to sustain him in the long, lonely days ahead.
Kristine woke slowly, smiling as she felt the baby move. Soon, she thought, soon her child would be born. Knowing how Erik loved to feel their baby move, she reached for his hand, only to realize that she was alone in bed.
Where had he gone off to so early, she wondered and then, with a sigh, she closed her eyes, remembering the night past. He had held her tenderly, his dark eyes filled with love. He had caressed her, his hand gentle, not to arouse her, but simply, he had said, for the pleasure of touching her. They had looked at each other and smiled as the baby gave a vigorous kick. Though the curse was much in their thoughts, they had not spoken of it. Instead, they had spun dreams for the future, dreams they had both known would not come true. Later she had fallen asleep in his arms.
Suddenly overcome by the need to see him, she slid out of bed. She was reaching for her robe when she saw the note on her dressing table.
Her name, written in Erik’s bold hand, was written across the top. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she picked up the letter.
My dearest Kristine,
My time grows short and so, while I am still able, I take pen in hand to tell you how much I love you, how I have cherished these days as your husband, how sorry I am for the grief and pain I have caused you. Be assured that your future is secure. I have made full provisions for you and the child. Hawksbridge is yours for as long as you wish.
Should you marry and wish to leave, then it will go to our child.
Do not grieve for me, beloved. It is my wish that you be happy always, that you will remember your promise and find another husband to protect you and be a father to our child. Know that my every thought will be only for you for as long as human reason remains. Know that . . .
The words ended in a scrawl and a splash of ink.
She frowned, wondering why the letter ended so abruptly and then, with a cold, clear certainty, she knew. Slowly, feeling as though she were caught in the icy grip of a nightmare, she turned around.
He was lying on the floor at the far side of the bed, his great black head resting on his paws.
The letter fell from her fingers as she wrapped her arms around her belly. A sob rose in her throat as she stared down at him. His eyes, still gray, still his eyes, looked up at her.
“Erik, oh Erik.”
He whined low in his throat.
She shook her head, not wanting to believe, praying that she was having a bad dream, that she would awake to find him sleeping beside her.
Dropping to her knees, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Erik,” she whispered.
He whined again. The sound tore at her heart and she buried her face in his fur. Tears stung her eyes and burned her throat, coming faster and faster, until she thought she might cry into eternity.
He whined again, and then she felt the rough velvet of his tongue on her face, licking her tears.
Slowly, she sat up. “It is you, isn’t it?” She shook her head as she stared into the dark gray eyes she knew so well. He was there, inside the wolf’s body. “All this time, I knew it was going to happen, and still I hoped it would not.”
How did it feel, she wondered, to be able to think like a man, to know you were a man, and be trapped inside the body of a wolf? She could not imagine the horror of it.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, her mind numb, tears running down her cheeks as she stroked the thick fur. She couldn’t seem to stop crying. It seemed so impossible that this huge black wolf could be the man she loved.
A knock at the door propelled her to her feet. Dashing the tears from her eyes, she called, “Who is it?”
“Nan. Mrs. Grainger sent me to tell you that breakfast will be ready shortly. She asked me to see if you would be coming down to join Lady Trevayne, I mean Lady Caddaric, and the wizard.”
“No. Please send something up. And Nan, would you ask Mrs. Grainger to send up a good portion of the roast beef we had for dinner last night?”
“Roast beef, ma’am? For breakfast?”
“Just do it, Nan, please.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Feeling numb inside, Kristine took off her sleeping gown and put on a day dress of dark gray silk. She was ever conscious of the wolf—of Erik—lying on the floor, his eyes watching her every move.
How long would he stay here, she wondered. How long before he forgot who he was? Would he seek out Valaree and her family? It pained her to know that he would probably be happier with the werewolf clan than here, with her.
She placed a hand over her belly as she felt the baby’s lusty kick. Poor little babe, she thought. Never to know your father. How shall I ever explain it to you?
“Lady Kristine?”
She opened the door to Caddaric. His gaze searched her face. “It’s happened, hasn’t it?”
She nodded and stepped back so he could enter the room.
Caddaric drew a sharp breath as Erik stood up. “Have you tried talking to him?” the wizard asked. “Does he understand you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Erik, bark once if you understand me.”
The wolf barked once, his gray eyes filled with frustration and anger.
“I cannot bear it,” Kristine said softly. “Is there nothing you can do?”
“I’m afraid not.”
There was another knock at the door. Kristine blinked back her tears as she crossed the floor to admit Nan. The maid’s eyes grew wide when she saw the wolf standing beside the bed.
“It’s all right, Nan,” Kristine said, taking the tray from the girl’s hands. “Thank you.”
Nan pointed at the wolf with a hand that trembled. “Where did that come from?”
“He is my pet,” Caddaric said smoothly. “You needn’t be afraid. He won’t harm you.”
“Your pet? I’ve never in all my life seen a wolf that big! Why, he’s as big as a pony. How did he get here?”
Caddaric raised one brow. “I conjured him, of course. I am, after all, a wizard.”
Nan glanced at Kristine, at the wolf, at Caddaric, then hurried out of the room.
“Do you intend to tell the staff about this?” Caddaric asked.
Kristine shook her head. “No. I shall tell them that Erik was called away on business.”
“Yes, perhaps that would be best,” the wizard agreed. He let out a heavy sigh. “I do not look forward to telling Edith.”
Kristine nodded, glad she would not have to tell Erik’s mother that the transformation was complete.
She set the tray on the table and removed the lid. The sight of the roast beef somehow made it all real. She put the plate on the floor and stepped back.
The wolf looked at it, then looked up at her. With a shake of his head, he ran out of the room.
Moments later, there was a scream from the kitchen followed by the crash of crockery.
Caddaric and Kristine hurried downstairs to find Erik
scratching at the back door. Mrs. Grainger stood with her hack to the wall, her face as white as her apron.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Grainger,” Kristine said. She opened the door and the wolf ran outside. “He’s harmless.”
“Harmless! I’ve never in all my life seen a wolf as big as that one. However did the beast get into the house?”
“He belongs to Caddaric. Didn’t Nan tell you?”
Mrs. Grainger shook her head. “Will it be staying here, in the house?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Grainger sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs. A moment later, Yvette came bursting into the room. “There’s a huge black wolf in the yard!”
“It’s all right, Yvette,” Kristine said. “He’s quite tame.”
Caddaric grinned. “I think I had best go and inform the rest of the staff.”
Kristine nodded. “Thank you.”
“Talk to the staff about what?”
All heads turned as Edith appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Whatever is going on?” Edith glanced at Mrs. Grainger’s pale face, at Kristine’s red-rimmed eyes, at the grave expression on her husband’s face. “Oh,” she exclaimed softly.
“Come, my dear,” Caddaric said, and wrapping one arm around Edith’s shoulder, he led her out of the room.
Kristine patted Mrs. Grainger’s hand. “I doubt if anyone will be having breakfast this morning,” she said. “You might send some tea up to Erik’s mother.”
“Yes, my lady.” Mrs. Grainger stood up.
Heavy-hearted, Kristine left the kitchen and returned to her room. Finding a sheet of paper, she sat down and began to write.
It was the most difficult letter she had ever written.
He ran effortlessly, tirelessly. Two days had passed since the transformation. The reality of it was his worst nightmare come true. He ran for miles. He killed a rabbit, devouring the poor creature in three quick bites. The meat and blood were sweet on his tongue. He drank from the stream that ran behind the castle, basked in the sun. And all the while his mind screamed that it could not be true. Each morning he woke in Kristine’s room, hoping it had all been a dream. And each morning he faced the truth in her eyes.
He had thought himself prepared for the final transformation. For days before it happened, he had known it would soon be upon him and still he had not been prepared for the reality of it, the sheer unadulterated horror of it. The pain of it. He recalled the look of shock, of pity, in Kristine’s eyes when she had first seen him. He had yearned to tell her he loved her, that he was sorry he had involved her in this nightmare, but of course he could not.
A low whine rose in his throat as he recalled the sight of her tears, the feel of her hands gently stroking his fur. Charmion had said he would always remember that he had been a man; now he prayed he would forget, prayed that the beast would take over his mind as well. As much as he feared losing the memory of his humanity, he knew it would be a blessing. It was too painful to be near Kristine, to see the pity in her eyes, to know he would never again hold her in his arms, that he would never be a father to their child.
He had promised to stay until the transformation was complete, and he had fulfilled that promise. He rose each morning with the intention of leaving Hawksbridge, and each day Kristine begged him to stay until the babe was born. And because he had nothing else to give her but his presence, because he could not bear the sadness in her eyes, he stayed. As soon as the child was born, he would leave. He would go to Charmion, and he would destroy her, or be destroyed himself.
Throwing back his head, he began to howl, the feral cry filled with all the grief in his heart, all the anguish in his soul.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Caddaric and Edith stared at Kristine in stunned silence.
Edith shook her head. “You did what?”
“I thought you should know. I sent a letter to Charmion, offering to give her my child if she would break the spell.”
Kristine took a deep breath. She had torn up the first letter she had written. And the second. Three days had passed since the awful transformation, three long days, and lonely nights. This morning, she had written a new letter. Even now, Brandt was carrying her missive to Charmion.
“You cannot mean it,” Edith said, her face pale with shock.
“I do.”
Caddaric stroked his beard thoughtfully. “You do not intend to invite her into the house?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that. I only know I cannot go on like this. I cannot bear to see Erik as he is. I cannot bear to see the pain in his eyes. It’s worse than anything I ever imagined. He’s so unhappy.”
“And what of Erik?” Edith asked quietly. “Do you think he would approve of this?”
Kristine shook her head. “I’m sure he would not.”
“Have you asked him?”
“No. I know what his answer would be.”
They were able to communicate with him, so long as they asked him questions that could be answered yes or no. But she would not ask for his permission. This was something she had to do, even if he hated her for the rest of his life.
She pressed a hand to her back, massaging the dull ache that had been plaguing her since early morning.
“And if the witch agrees, what then? Do you think she can be trusted?”
“I don’t know,” Kristine replied. “I only know I have to try.”
“Caddaric?” Edith looked at her husband.
He shook his head. “I have never known her to have any honor.” He began to pace the room. “She wants the child. She will know that, should she revoke the spell, Erik will not rest in his efforts to get the child back.” He stopped in front of Kristine. “You cannot bargain with her. We can only hope that, should she come here, the wards I have placed around the castle will be strong enough to repel her.”
“I cannot believe you made this decision without consulting us,” Edith said.
“I’m sorry.”
“How long ago did you send the letter?”
“I sent Brandt early this morning.”
Caddaric grunted softly. “I think we must lock Erik up.”
“What? How can you even suggest such a thing?”
“It’s for his own good,” Caddaric explained. “He spends most of his time outside. Brandt will have arrived at Cimmerian Crag by now. Charmion could arrive here at any moment. I do not think it would be wise for wolf and witch to confront each other.”
Kristine shook her head. “I cannot. I cannot lock him up.”
“I will take care of it. Call him.”
Kristine left the room and went out the back door. Was there no end to this nightmare? Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called Erik’s name.
Several minutes passed, and then she saw him running toward her. She forced a smile as he rubbed against her legs.
“Come,” she said, “Caddaric wishes to see you.”
The wolf looked up at her, a question in his dark gray eyes. It was disconcerting, seeing Erik’s eyes in the face of the wolf.
“I don’t know what he wants.” Fighting back tears, she laid her hand on his head. “I love you.”
Whining softly, he licked her hand.
Caddaric was waiting for them in the library. He closed the door once Erik and Kristine were inside.
Erik stared up at Kristine.
“It’s all right,” she said.
“Erik, look at me,” Caddaric said, his voice soft, hypnotic.
The wolf looked at the sorcerer, his eyes filled with suspicion.
“Erik, you must trust me,” Caddaric said. “Listen to my voice.”
The wolf shook his head, his hackles rising.
“Erik, it will be all right.” Kristine knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please, you must do as he says.”
The wolf looked at her, a look of such love, such trust, she thought her heart would break.
She heard the wizard’s voice, speaki
ng in a language she did not understand, felt his power coalesce, felt it brush against her skin. There was a gentle whooshing sound, and Erik was gone.
She looked up at Caddaric, her eyes wide with panic. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, my lady. I have only sent him to the dungeon. It is the only place I could think of where he cannot escape. We dare not keep him in one of the rooms. One of the maids might accidentally open the door, or he might leap through a window.”
“The dungeon,” Kristine said, her voice tinged with despair.
“He will be comfortable there. There are furs for him to rest on. Fresh meat. Water. Clean straw on the floor.”
“But to lock him up . . .”
“Kristine, it is for his own good. I had promised not to tell you this, but now I fear I must. It was Erik’s intent to go to Charmion, to become her pet, to let her think he was fully her creature, and then try to destroy her. He had asked me if I could find a spell to protect him from her.” Caddaric shrugged. “I found one that might have worked, but there is no way to be sure.”
“What kind of wizard are you, anyway?” Kristine cried.
Caddaric drew himself up to his full height. “I do the best I can, Lady Trevayne, but the truth is, Charmion is the most powerful witch I have ever known.”
Erik paced the cell, his anger growing, spreading, until he thought he would vomit it up. So she had decided he was nothing but an animal after all, to be locked away in a cage.
He howled his fury until the cold stone walls echoed with his rage, all the while remembering another dungeon, one filled with mirrors.
He had to get out of here, had to find Charmion, had to destroy her before the child was born.
He heard the sound of the dungeon door opening, footsteps on the cold stones. Her footsteps.
“Erik?” Kristine knelt at the door, her beautiful green eyes glistening with tears. “I’m sorry, so very sorry.”
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