***
Waking, Sonja sat bolt upright, a tingling along her spine. Unable to fathom what seemed wrong, she shook off the chill slithering over her skin. The quilt provided some warmth, so she huddled under the heavy cotton cover. "Oh God! It had been only a dream." Her hand shook as she threaded her fingers through her hair.
Her gaze swept the room as relief flooded her system. She recognized the tiny room as the bedroom she had shared with her late husband, Robert. Now, she sat alone trembling in her frayed flannel gown. Robert had been dead and gone for more than three years, she reminded herself as she snuggled deeper into her blanket.
She had the dream again. The strange tingling in her hands began once more as well. She looked down to see her nails growing distorted and bluish-green. Reminded of the first time the change had happened, she simply sighed, no dream was capable of such magic. A tiny drop of something crimson clung to the nail of her index finger. Sonja brought the digit closer to examine. The droplet glowed in the darkness with only the light of the full moon. She gave her finger a good study. The witch's words came back to her. "As the moon grows fuller, you will evolve into a creature with great power."
Sonja cried out in frustration. She frantically snatched up the tale of her old gown to try wiping the droplet off. The stain remained the whole while mocking her effort. The dream repeated itself more frequently of late. The sensation of her blood coursing through her veins forced her from the warmth of the wedding quilt over to the room's tiny window. She looked out on the small farm Robert, and she had struggled to build.
Time seemed to stop as she considered the man she had married the year she had turned twenty. Her mother had worried she would be an old maid, but Robert Brooks had ventured into her life one bright summer day. Before Sonja could reconsider, he'd asked her father for her hand. The wheels of time turned, and they'd been married.
Robert had been a blacksmith by trade. Saving every penny, he'd managed to acquire a small parcel of fertile bottomland in the foothills of Pennsylvania. Their plans had included pigs, chickens, and cows as well as a goat for milk. They raised their own food and sold what they didn't need. The farm would be an ideal place to raise a family.
Robert, being a determined man fed his dream well. During the first couple of years of their marriage, their dream flourished. Then The Civil War started. Their world changed forever. Robert had volunteered within the first days of the conflict between the Union and the "upstart" Confederates. He'd assured Sonja the uprising would end within weeks. Soon they'd get back to raising a crop and starting a family. Three years had passed. Sonja was now twenty-four.
The surging of blood in her veins drew her back to the present. Sonja leaned against the cool glass of the window to subdue the wave of anxiety, which gripped her when the sensation swept over her. Oh, why couldn't she be rid of this thing trying to take over her life? How could she remove the damned thing without killing herself? Perhaps, she couldn't. Perhaps she would become like the one the witch had spoken of, the one called "Guardian." Could her dream have been real? The signs were all there. Whenever she grew frightened or threatened, Sonja realized her fingers grew long talons at the ends. She carried the healing wound of a dog attack. Now she had the persistent stain, which wouldn't leave her hand.
Sonja sighed heavily before returning to the bed once more. What if she had already become a werewolf? What if she had already changed without knowing? She could not completely remember what she had done once she laid down to sleep? Could she have walked in her sleep? The witch had told her Sonja would be capable of terrible acts of violence and murder if she ventured out under a full moon. If the words of the witch were more than a figment of her overactive dream world, then she could expect to change without any control over the act. When the towns' people found out of her bite, and she and now carried the curse of the werewolf, they'd hunt her down. She would be trusted up and burned at the stake. Silver killed werewolves. She could count on a great silver knife piercing her flesh, stabbing her through the heart.
She needed answers. Panic started to swell her throat shut, sending Sonja off the bed and into her meager stash of clothing to dress. Deciding to go to Hortence's cottage again, Sonja shoved her bare feet into her only pair of boots before throwing a long cloak over her shoulders and leaving the warmth of her cabin.
The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1) Page 3