“We cannot allow William’s clan to become any stronger.”
“Don’t tell me what I already know.” It was the most irritating habit Tavernier had. He acted as if he was the one in charge. Tavernier was a lackey who answered to him. Absolon was in charge of this operation. He needed Tavernier to do the legwork for at seventy-two, although quick in mind, Absolon was no longer spry in body. I am still strong but not strong enough to defeat my enemy. The younger man was needed to do what Absolon could no longer do. “I have employed the Scott woman to make sure the clan is crippled.”
Tavernier snorted in derision. “She is a joke.”
Some people never saw the bigger picture. “We both know that but she has the genetic ability to bring down William’s peaceful little world. Add that to the flighty Simpson woman and those werewolves are doomed.” Absolon had employed Joan Scott under false pretenses. He knew the woman advertised as tracking down supernatural beings. That she could, Absolon doubted. Though her lineage was impressive, she did not strike him as someone who could organize a grocery list let alone track down a werewolf or the like. The important thing about Ms Scott was her blood. She was descended from the being known only as the Destroyer who had terrorized mankind in the sixteenth century. All his blood kin could kill on contact if they chose to. Most were unaware of it or their connection to the Destroyer. Some learned of it by fluke, while others had been prepared from birth to harness their power. Many became no more than common murderers and thieves. No one had descended to the depths of evil the Destroyer had. Not for one second did Absolon think the Scott woman would either. He had traced all the descendants and she was the only one left. While she would not sink to the level of her ancestor, she did have his blood and the ancient enemy to all his descendants was the werewolf. Although she may be unaware of the connection, Absolon knew the minute she came into contact with one she would change. It would be impossible for her to do otherwise. Unbeknown to the woman, she was about to cause the downfall of William’s clan of werewolves.
“I still can’t see how she is going to do anything other than make us laugh our asses off at her antics. For God’s sake, she dresses in black. It’s so clichéd.”
“She may be an unlikely hunter but she will be compelled to act against the werewolves. It is her nature.”
“Maybe, but she’s hardly going to mate with the one called Montague if she has this inherent dislike of werewolves.”
“She will. This one did with the Irishman. It’s their nature to do so. Like most people these two women believe in soul mates. These men are theirs.” Absolon knew that only too well about kindred spirits. The connection was so strong that breaking away from it could kill a weaker person. While Absolon was still standing, he had paid dearly for a love that could never be his. He knew that now. But back then, I was a fool.
“Soul mates?” Tavernier looked disgusted. “They are nothing but sluts.”
“Well, clearly you have no soul or you would know differently. It’s human instinct to recognize your mate and act upon the mutual lust you feel. Besides women who are mated to the clan are not sluts.” No one could ever call Bess Calvert a whore. How I loved her. Absolon closed his eyes once more as a vision of the woman in question came to mind. How I still love her.
“Are you okay? You sound like you are defending them.”
Absolon opened his eyes and sighed. Explaining his thoughts to this man was not something he was about to do. Tavernier was beneath him. He was a flunky. He was expendable. “I understand them. There is the difference.”
“You never said why we were going to destroy them. Surely it’s not worth all this effort. Why can’t we send real hunters with guns in to break up this wolf pack?”
“You are about as subtle as a sledgehammer.” Absolon had his reasons. He wanted William dead. Killing his clan would do that. Tavernier did not need to know the specifics. No one did. He absently ran his hand down his thigh, flinching at the pain. I have lost so much to William. Now he will lose. It had taken half a century to get to the point where Absolon knew he could defeat William. Werewolves were at their weakest every fifty years when vital, life-changing blood was welcomed into to clan. While lovers met their match in the clan, only every fifth decade were the matches so powerful that they could change everything around them. In the shake up, weaknesses were uncovered and bonds created. But like every moment of great change there was a period of flux when people were caught off-guard as rules were relaxed to allow entrance to their clan. It was the only thing that kept them alive. That was what Absolon had been waiting for. Catch the werewolves while their shields were lowered. Normally werewolves were ferocious enemies who could not be fought and the pain they inflicted when angered was terrible. “But we are not in normal times,” Absolon murmured to himself. And how I live with that constant pain.
———
Fifty years ago, almost to the day, William and Absolon met in battle. Each loved the same woman but only one could have Bess. Although Absolon knew Bess did not have the same feelings for him, he wanted her and he always got what he wanted. The only person in his way was William. This meeting in the forest would remove him from Absolon’s goal.
“She will never be yours, Absolon. Bess loves me.”
The knowledge of that was galling to Absolon. “You’re not even a real man. You’re a thing, a monster who can only be with her in the day. What about the nights, William, when a woman needs a man and not an animal?” Absolon could see that the other man flinch momentarily. Absolon beckoned one of the two henchmen he had brought with him. He did not require them for this battle but he did need the two swords they carried. One for him, one for his enemy. Although the low growling of nearby wolves could be heard, Absolon knew William would never call on them to fight his battle.
William stood tall and looked at the other man is disgust. “I’m proud of who I am and the clan I belong to.”
“Clan? A bunch of salivating wolves?” He took the swords and threw one down at William’s feet.
“Leave now, Absolon.”
“Or what?” They were evenly matched. Both men were strong and toned.
“Or I will make you leave.”
Absolon smiled. This was what he had waited for. This was his chance to kill his enemy and take his woman. “Fight or die. Unlike you, William, honor does not mean a great deal to me when I want something.” As soon as the noble William was dead, Bess would be his.
William picked up the sword. “So be it.”
Absolon had been fencing since he was six. His father had beaten into him the need for a man to be able to survive at all costs and maiming or killing a foe was the only way to ensure survival. He sneered at William. “What are you waiting for?”
“For you to attack.”
Absolon raised one eyebrow cynically. “Is that all?” He charged William, sword in hand. He was driven on by sheer, red hatred.
William lifted his sword and deflected the volley of hacking blows. “You cannot kill me.” He moved back lightly, never taking his eyes off Absolon.
“Watch me.” That William made no move to attack him back infuriated Absolon. His sword swung hard and wild and anything he had learnt as a young man about patience and sword fighting was forgotten as he attacked his victim. “You are a freak. Bess will be glad to be rid of you.” Absolon’s words were hard and breathless as he threw all his strength at William.
“Bess loves me.”
Those three simple words made Absolon crazy. Even though his arm ached and sweat poured off his body, he renewed his attack driving William farther and farther back into the forest. He smiled as William stumbled under the assault. “Poor William. I guess they don’t teach wolves to fight like men.” One of William’s knees buckled slightly under the onslaught, urging Absolon on to the final kill. He knew his strength was depleted. His arm ached and his chest hurt from the exertion. Unlike in the movies real sword fights did not last long. Absolon slashed out at William. The man lost his
footing and fell yet he kept his sword up as he scrambled along on the ground trying to recover. “Goodbye William.” The sword blow Absolon delivered was designed to cut through William’s chest and ribs. It was a death blow.
With a sudden burst of strength, William rolled, his sword thrust out. As Absolon tried to regain his balance from his forward momentum, he ran straight into the razor-sharp edge of the other man’s sword. An intense burn almost like fire shot into his upper thigh and groin as the blade sliced into his genitals. The pain was so horrific that Absolon could barely breathe. His hands went down to his cock. He felt nothing but useless, ragged flesh being held together by bare sinews of flesh.
Absolon clutched at the wound to his groin. The blood flowed freely from it. “I do not need your help,” he said spitting in the direction of the hand his enemy held out to him. Though he was in terrifying pain, Absolon dragged himself to his knees, the sword now useless on the ground.
“I’m a werewolf Absolon. You could never have killed me.”
“You’re a freak and every freak can be killed.” Absolon could not stop the cry of pain that burst from his lips as he staggered up, making the blood flow more. “I will kill you. I will find your weakness.” He waved a trembling hand at the other two men. “This is not over.”
William threw the sword down and sighed. “No, I know it’s not.”
———
“What?” Tavernier looked confused at the sudden silence from the other man.
“Never mind.” I have waited most of my life to kill you, William, for taking my manhood. I will destroy your woman, then your clan, then you. “They will find the body soon.” Absolon cared not for the man he’d had Tavernier kill. His life was forfeited to serve Absolon’s cause. He needed to panic the townsfolk of Ludlum. They’d co-existed too long in peace with the wolves. He wanted them panicked and distrustful of the vermin who inhabited the bush around them. While Absolon was sure he could take out most of William’s pack, the fewer he had to deal with the better. “The lovely thing about fear is people overreact.” The idea of William’s clan running panicked through the night to flee men with guns amused Absolon.
“You really hate him don’t you?” Tavernier observed, not appearing to be the slightest bit fazed by the situation he found himself in.
“You have no idea.”
Chapter Two
“I am not putting a red ribbon around its neck.”
Truro raised her eyebrow in surprise. Gillard Montague, Gil to his friends, was the most obliging man she had ever known. He helped everyone with any errand no matter how big or unusual. “Why not? A bow would look jaunty.”
“Truro Simpson you have lost your mind.”
Like I haven’t heard that before. “And your point is?”
Gil pointed to the large wire cage. “This is a possum.”
“Hell, I know that. He’s the pesky little bastard that has been keeping me up at night rooting around under my van.” While it was true that the Rambling Rose caravan park was positioned in possum territory, Truro, having no understanding of nature, felt that possums should have enough sense to stay in the trees and not create havoc under her van. “Anyway, he’s a gift.” For Rodney the big, fat rodent who treated her like crap and broke what little was left of her heart. That was probably the thing that hurt Truro most. Rodney had gotten through her defenses and crumpled the one little piece of her heart she still had hidden. Asshole. Call me ugly? Call me fat? Make me feel lower than a snake’s belly? Well fuck you. “I think Rodney will like a feral possum for a pet. It could be his little brother.” Truro leaned down and looked into the cage. The possum charged at the wire. “I can actually see the family resemblance. Same beady eyes, non-existent chin and no balls.”
“Jeez, he really did a number on you.”
Truro waved her hand dismissively. “I’m over that toerag.” It was six months ago yet the chance to say “I think you’re a prick” with a possum should not be passed up.
Gil snorted in disbelief. “Sure you are. Everyone sends a possum to an ex-lover. Remind me never to piss you off.” Gil slid one finger in between the wire bars and stroked the fur of the possum. “I’m letting it go.”
“Well, it was just a thought.” Truro watched as Gil, local handyman who did just about anything and everything in Ludlum, petted the possum. Truro was sure if she did that it would bite her finger off. But Gil was someone who had a definite affinity with animals. If the town vet was busy people came to Gil. He always knew how to treat the sick and injured, and not just animals. Truro often thought he was the most peaceful, healing man she had ever met. Just his presence soothed her and that was unusual for generally Truro was on edge. She wondered once more why there was no woman in his life. He was a sweet, attractive man. It seemed odd. But he was alone and seemingly it did not worry him. Some women are blind to potential.
“He’s not worth it, Tru.”
“I know that.” Now she did. If only she had back then but then she had been lost and wounded and open to the power of sexual persuasion. Dummy.
Gil smiled. “I have to admit I would have liked to see his face when he got the possum—and no, I’m not changing my mind.”
“Spoilsport,” Truro muttered, grateful though that someone could counterbalance her wild temper and make her see reason.
“There is someone better out there for you.”
Truro rolled her eyes. “Oh please, spare me the soul mate crap.”
“I believe it.”
And the thing was, Truro could see in his clear blue eyes that he meant it. That was the thing with Gil. He was not the slightest bit fake. “So where’s your woman then, young Gillard?”
“She’s already here.”
“In Ludlum?” The town was so small. It had barely three hundred people. Truro pretty much knew everyone. In her capacity as manager of the Rambling Rose, which the reclusive Bess Calvert owned, people either ended up living at the caravan park or visiting someone. She wrinkled her brow trying to work out who Gil could possibly be interested in. Sure, there were the Burnett twins who had been after him for months. Though, to be fair, any man who was breathing and had an operational cock was Prince Charming material to them. “Wait a sec—you’re not talking about the Lara Croft wannabe staying at the Red Kangaroo?” It was the only pub in town and the main accommodation apart from the caravan park. Truro could see by his eyes and easy smile he did. “Seriously? Her?” Truro had only seen the woman a couple of times but the whole wearing black thing was weird. “I guess she’s attractive in kind of dark and weird way.” As opposed to me, I’m just weird.
“She is mine. She is my soul mate.”
Whoa. Shades of the wolf man there. Once more an image of her one-time lover came to her mind. Truro shook her head. That was last night. He was gone and she was alone. And fantasies do not come true. “Have you met Lara?” It was better to focus on the here and the now and someone else’s problems.
“No.”
“What do you know about her?”
“Only that she is mine.”
“Oh please, don’t get all mystical on me.” Gil was freakishly good at that. It was almost like he had a seventh sense no one else did. Gil knew stuff before others did. Old Bess said he smelled it in the air. Only thing Truro could smell was burning meat from caravan number twelve. The serial renters—she liked to call them the barbeque boys—liked to drink and barbeque. There was nothing wrong with that but for the fact they got so drunk, fell down and left the barbeque hot plate on and Truro always had to go turn it off. “Why her?”
“You can’t deny the one who is meant for you.”
“Now you sound like Bess,” Truro scoffed.
“She’s right.” Gil left the cage and came to stand before her. “Burying the need to feel is wrong.”
“And yet, it’s been working perfectly well for me so far.” When Gil looked at her she sometimes felt like he could see inside her. Her mind flashed back to the other man. The one w
ho had made her come alive under his touch. That touch of feeling was okay. Anything deeper or long term was too hard and had to be avoided. “Besides feeling stupid and vulnerable isn’t all that crash hot.” Been there, done that.
Gil’s hands came to rest gently on shoulders. “Soon it will be different.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Trust me, Tru.”
If there was anyone on the planet she could trust, Truro knew it was Gil. She looked back at the cage. Gil saw too much and his touch was too relaxing. Truro felt safe hiding and remaining tense letting nothing in. Gil had a habit of getting under her skin. “So, no red bow around his neck?”
“Nope.” Gil’s smile was soft was amusement. He turned and picked up the cage. “I’ll let this little guy go somewhere he can find a home.”
“Lucky him.” She’d never had a real home. There were times she longed for one. And other times, she told herself to get on with life and expect nothing more than what she had earned.
“Everyone has a home, Tru. It comes to them when they least expect it.”
Truro swallowed hard. It was spooky having someone who could hear your unsaid thoughts. “Okay, mystical man,” she said as she pushed her hands against his arm. “Go and check out Lara Croft or something.”
“Her name is Joan.”
“Really?” Truro was about to ask Gil how he knew her name when he hadn’t met her but sometimes it was better not to ask. Gil just knew stuff. Without even telling him her life story Gil had simply wandered into her world applying a gentle pressure until Truro had felt strong enough to confide in him. “She doesn’t look like a Joan.”
“You know people hide behind facades.”
Truro was a great advocate of doing that. Never show your true self because when you did you got hurt. She had learned that lesson a long time ago but every so often, like with Rodney the rodent, she showed a part of herself and got hurt. “But it doesn’t matter anymore,” she mumbled to herself.
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