by Lynn Lorenz
"Perhaps he was ill and unaware of it."
"No, I think it broke his heart. His only son, damned to this shame. He had such hopes for me. Eventually, I had to leave home to relieve him of his burden." Rolf threw the last of his drink down his throat and rose for the decanter. "More?"
"Yes." Stefan held his glass out. Rolf topped it off and then filled his own glass and sat.
"What about your mother?" Mothers, Stefan thought, now that's a subject I should avoid like the plague.
"Ah! My mother." Rolf shook his head and took a sip. "She goes to chapel daily, lights a candle to the One God and prays for my death. To release me from my curse, of course." He stared into the fire. "My two younger sisters live in terror of me, refusing to let me in their houses, or see my nieces and nephews."
They each downed another sip of the whiskey.
"And you, Stefan, what of your family?"
"My father died when I was a child. My mother remarried." He took a pull on his glass, unwilling to say more. No need to open old wounds.
"No brothers or sisters?"
"A half-brother." He could tell Rolf was on the verge of another question. He sat up and slapped his thigh. "Well, I should contribute something to this evening's work. Firestone!"
"Sir!" The addler arrived. "Inspector Creel, good to see you." He bowed to Rolf.
"You, too, Firestone." Rolf used an earth addler named Moss, but they both knew all the addlers serving the inspectors since they filled in for each other on occasion.
"Bring my humidor, please."
"Aye, sir."
A moment later, Firestone returned and held a polished dark wood box out to Stefan and then disappeared. A lighter wood, representing of curls of smoke, was inlaid around the sides.
"Do you smoke, Rolf?" Stefan offered the open box. Brown cigars lay in a neat row, with the clipper tucked into a red velvet pocket in the lid.
"Long ago, in my youth, I tried a pipe. Thought I would look dashing. I didn't." He chuckled. "Never these. Thanks." Rolf took a cigar and waited for Stefan to show him how to light it.
Stefan clipped off the end, placed it in his mouth, picked up a kindling stick from the hearth's box, and held it to the fire. The end caught. Holding it to the cigar, he cupped his hand over the flame, and pulled in draughts of air until the cigar's end glowed.
He leaned back, blowing out a stream of smoke and passed the stick to Rolf. Mimicking Stefan, he lit his cigar, and then tossed the stick into the fire.
"These are very good, Stefan. I've never seen you do this. Do you smoke often?"
"Sometimes, late at night when sleep eludes me, I walk down to the lake and smoke. Sometimes, when there's a problem I'm working over, I smoke in my room. I find it helps me to slow down and think things through to their end." Another stream of smoke exited his slightly parted full lips. He sank deeper into the chair and stretched out his legs toward the fire.
"And what problem are you working on tonight?" Rolf took a sip of his whiskey.
"Sarah." Stefan stuck his hand holding his cigar toward the fire and flicked the ash off with his thumb, then took in another lungful of the sweet, woodsy smoke.
"Ah, our new trainer and fledgling patroller. What's your problem with her?"
"She's infuriating! Headstrong!" Stefan spat out. He burned, not with anger, but with desire.
"Have you kissed her yet?" Rolf raised an eyebrow.
Stefan closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "Aye. We kissed." He hadn't planned to tell anyone about it, but Rolf had this way that invited confidences from him.
"Good man. I'd have been very disappointed in you if you hadn't." He gave Stefan a wolfish grin.
"So glad I didn't let you down," Stefan drawled, then took another pull on his drink. "I'm not sure what to do. She has me completely off my stride. Why Thatcher brought her here I'll never understand." He puffed hard on the cigar and its tip glowed hotter.
"Really? You have no idea?" Rolf looked at him in surprise.
"No." He shrugged, his thumb rubbing against his bottom lip.
"For a man who is going to take over the patrol one day, you're quite dense." Rolf laughed now.
"Take over? Don't be ridiculous, Rolf. Damon isn't going anywhere. And why assume it will be me?" Stefan shook his head. "Dense, did you say?"
"Aye. Damon brought her here for you. Don't you feel it?" He leaned forward. "She's your match in every way!"
"For me? Why would he do that?" His eyebrows frowned.
"For your happiness, man. Aren't you tired of being alone? Sleeping alone? I certainly am." His eyebrows rose up and down in an unspoken suggestion.
"I'm fine." Stefan jerked his chin up and took another sip.
"You can lie to yourself all you want, but it's clear to everyone else. There's no denying it. Can't you feel how she completes you?" Rolf blew out smoke and pointed his cigar at Stefan. "If you don't claim her, someone else will."
Stefan's eyes grew dark. "Perhaps, it would be best if someone else did, for her sake." He couldn't help but think of his vision, of how he tried to kill Sarah and their child. "I'm not the right man for her, Rolf."
"Then you'd stand by and watch as Gareth Watkins or some other man snatches her up? Tell me you wouldn't go mad, knowing another man was touching her." Rolf's voice dropped and he glared into the fire.
"Are you talking of me or yourself, Rolf?" Stefan finished his drink. This time he stood to refill the glasses. He poured his full and then filled Rolf's outstretched tumbler.
"Both. At least, with Luci, if I don't marry her, she'd be far away from me, not a daily reminder, wearing some other man's ring, going every night to his bed. But, for you, think of the torture." He groaned.
"I have, Rolf. Trust me, I have. But, there's a danger--"
"Danger? She's in the patrol, man. She'll face danger every day."
Stefan looked into the fire. "From me. From my past."
"You mean, when you followed the Sorcerer?" Rolf took another pull on the cigar.
"Aye." The smoke trickled from Stefan's mouth. "For some reason, he wants me to join him or die." Stefan leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. "Recently, I had a dream. Only, I think I was awake. Perhaps it was a vision...I don't know."
"What was the dream?" Rolf leaned back in the chair.
"I was in a meadow. Tall grasses all around. It was familiar, but I couldn't place it. Sarah was there. She was..." He took a drag on the cigar and then a deep pull of his drink. "She was with child." His eyes darted to Rolf.
"A child? So it's the future you saw?" Rolf's voice held awe.
"I don't know. I hope not." His hand slashed through his hair. "We were not alone. He was there, although I couldn't see him. I heard him speak to me. He took over my body, got into my mind somehow. Guided my actions."
"And?" Rolf leaned forward now, intent on Stefan's words.
"He made me, forced me to... I couldn't stop myself." Stefan closed his eyes and shook his head, as if refusing to go on. "I tried to kill her." He took a sip. "And our child." It came out in a hoarse whisper.
"Suffering bastard, Stefan! Did you?" Rolf's hand reached to Stefan, but stopped before he touched him.
"No." His gaze fell to his feet. "I found a weakness in his hold on my mind and broke through. I shot myself instead." Stefan's hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips.
"But you're here. And she's safe. It could only have been a dream." Rolf stared at him, his face a grimace.
"Aye. I thought I'd fired my wand on myself, my head hurt so badly. However, the pain soon passed, like in a dream where the hurt seems real, but, on waking, nothing remains of it. My wand was holstered. The glade empty. Just me and the poor, terrified horse." He gave a weak laugh and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Stefan, even if he gave you that vision, got into your mind somehow, it means nothing. He's trying to scare you."
Stefan smiled, grateful for the attempt at reassurance. "Well, he's done a damn fine job o
f it." He raised his glass in a mock toast. "I made a decision tonight. It's too big a risk. Too dangerous for Sarah. I have to let her go."
"Well, don't you think that is something Sarah should decide, too?" Rolf leaned forward in his chair.
"That's what she said about you and Luci Greenwood." Stefan laughed and pointed his cigar at Rolf.
"Really? We're going to discuss our situation tomorrow."
"I have to tell you, Rolf, putting Luci's life in danger is no small decision." Stefan eyes were serious as he looked at Rolf.
Rolf laughed. "Stefan, did you ask Sarah 'why Luci'? Why she knew Luci is the right woman for me?"
"Not really. Why is she the right woman for you?" Stefan picked a small piece of tobacco from the tip of his tongue, glanced at it, and then flicked it into the fire.
"Because she's a shape shifter, Stefan. She shifts into a wolf." Rolf's lips curled up in a smile. "And she's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."
"A wolf!" Stefan sat back and contemplated the new information. "You've found your match then. I owe Sarah an apology. Just one of many." He rubbed his eyes.
"Yes, well...I want desperately to ask her to marry me, Stefan. But like you, the danger is great. What about yourself? Will you ask Sarah?"
"Ask her what? Did you not hear me?"
"To marry you, of course. And I heard you. I just didn't believe you."
Stefan was silent. He blew out smoke and then leaned his head back against the chair. "I have no intentions of asking her to marry me." His voice was quiet.
"What do you mean?" Rolf was shocked.
"Honestly, Rolf, what do I have to offer her? Nothing. I have no house, no title, not much money. She's too headstrong. I'm older. We fight constantly." He shook his head furiously. "It would never work."
"Are you mad? Forget the fights, Stefan, and focus on the making up! I might start an argument just to be forgiven." Rolf laughed and slapped his leg. "Admit it, old man; waking up to Sarah every morning would be worth dying for. I, for one, am tired of waking up alone. I want a wife and I want a family, too! But let's face it, those two women deserve better than the likes of us," Rolf announced as he tossed back the rest of his whiskey.
"That's true enough. Besides, marriage is not for me. I've been alone for too long. I'm too set in my ways." Stefan hunched down in his chair.
"Your list of excuses is impressive. Perhaps, Inspector, you're merely afraid?" Rolf pointed at him with the nub of his cigar.
"Afraid of what?" He slouched even lower in the chair.
"Of loving someone and being loved. Well, if that's what you truly want, you can have it. Not me, Inspector Bane." Rolf stood, took a final drag on his cigar, and tossed it into the fire with a flourish. "It's late, Stefan. I'm tired, and the drink has gone to my head."
Stefan rose, flicked his cigar into the fire, and poured himself another shot. He tossed it down his throat. "Aye, it's late. I have a briefing with Damon in the morning." He took unsteady steps to the door, then turned to face Rolf. "Thank you for the drink." He gave a curt nod.
"Thank you for the smoke." Grinning, Rolf gave him a bow.
Stefan opened the door, then stepped out into the cool, clear air of the hall. His head spun. He walked unsteadily across the hall to his door and went inside.
Damn, I'm drunk.
After taking off his jacket, Stefan unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. It seemed very warm now. He slumped into his chair, looked around the room and his eyes fell on his narrow cot. Jumbled thoughts seemed to pop in and out of his mind.
Room for only one. For the rest of his damned life. She deserved better than him. Younger. More handsome. Someone who can give her things. It's too dangerous. It's too selfish. Yet, she'd sworn herself to him willingly. She wouldn't do that if she didn't care, didn't love. What kind of husband would he make? Or father? What if the vision came true?
But, by the One God, he burned for her.
With a lurch, Stefan got to his feet and wiped his hand over his face. He closed his eyes and 'ported.
Stefan stood by Sarah's bed, watching her sleep. In the back of his very fuzzy brain, he knew it was wrong to be here, but after the whiskey, he didn't care if he was found out or who knew.
If he stood there much longer, swaying on his feet, he would just crawl into bed next to her, pull her into his arms, and take her. Where would his precious honor be then? He turned away and staggered toward the fire, burning low at the other end of the dimly lit room.
His foot connected with a solid object. "Damn!" He sidestepped and tripped over her dressing table chair. It fell over, and he staggered. "Damn," he repeated, softer this time.
* * * *
Sarah rubbed her eyes and sat up, throwing back her covers. She could make out the silhouette of someone against the light from the fire.
Not again.
She got out of bed and padded over to him.
She stood behind him, her hands on her hips. "Stefan, what are you doing here?"
He swung around to face her and steadied himself on the back of the chair he was trying to upright. "Sarah. Good. I wanted to talk to you."
She could hear the slur in his speech. He took a step toward her, and she found herself reaching out to grab him before he fell over.
"Stefan! What's wrong?" She looked up into his face and the smell of the whiskey hit her. "You've been drinking." She jerked away. "What were you thinking? If Thatcher finds you like this..." She held him around the waist as she maneuvered him to the large chair by the fire.
"You must take it back." His eyes tried to focus on her face.
"Take what back? Sit down, Stefan, please." She helped him fall into the chair.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "Take it back! I want to hear you say it."
"What are you talking about?" She knelt in front of him and looked up into his face.
"You swore yourself to me, Sarah. Take it back." He took her face in his hands.
Sarah sat back on her heels. "I won't Stefan. I can't. It's how I feel. You have my heart and my oath."
"Take it back. I don't want either." His voice rose in anger.
"No, I won't. You can't control how I feel." She sat back and stared at him.
He took her by her arms, pulled her to him, and searched her eyes. "Damn you, Sarah. I'll take it back from you myself. I..." His mouth covered hers.
She could feel his hunger for her and taste the whiskey on his tongue. Even drunk, he stirred her. As she pulled away from him, his hand snagged the strap of her gown and it ripped. "Stop it, Stefan! This isn't like you. What's wrong?" She clutched her gown to her breasts to keep it from falling.
Stefan fell silent and wiped his hand over his face. He looked into the fire. "I lied when I said there were no other women." His voice was hard.
"What?"
"I have women, Sarah."
Sarah's forehead creased with her frown.
"Several, in fact. And each of them is more than willing to let me come to her bed." His gaze never left the fire as he spoke, low and quiet.
"No, Stefan. You said there were no women." Sarah's stomach dropped out from under her.
"I lied. I'm good at it. Pretending to be someone that I'm not. It's what I'm known for." He barked out a laugh. "And I've fooled you."
She shook her head and tears filled her eyes. As she tried to stand, he caught her hand and held her.
"I don't want you, Sarah. You're too much trouble." His voice was rough and hard. He let her hand drop from his, as if to touch her hurt or disgusted him--she couldn't tell which--but his words hurt as if he'd struck her.
"You're drunk, Stefan, and don't know what you're saying." Tears spilled.
"I am drunk, aye. But I know exactly what I;m saying." He leaned his head back in the corner of the chair and closed his eyes. "Please, take it back." His hand went to his face, covered his eyes, and rested there.
She backed up, sat in the chair at her dressing table, and star
ed at him. She tried to think straight, but it was as if she was spinning around and around like a child and the world was a blur of colors and shapes. Closing her eyes against the dizziness, she tried taking long, deep breaths. The only words that she remembered were the ones that hurt her heart.
When she looked again, Stefan was asleep, his snoring soft.
"Men." She stood. "Firestone!"
The addler appeared before her. "Patroller, I am not assigned to you." He crossed his arms and frowned.
Sarah sighed and waved her hand toward the fireplace. "But you do serve him."
Firestone turned and saw his master sprawled in the chair, head back, jacket open, shirt unbuttoned, and either asleep or unconscious.
"By the flames be damned! What is he doing here?" He turned to look at Sarah and his eyes traveled over her. Her hair was loose. Her ripped gown was held up by one strap and her hand. She knew it must look bad.
Firestone stood very still.
"He's drunk." Sarah sat on the chair again.
"Not Inspector Bane, Patroller." Firestone shook his head in denial. He leaned toward Stefan and sniffed. His eyebrows shot up.
"He doesn't drink often?"
"I've never seen him like this. But, then, much has changed about him"--he shot his gaze at her--"since you arrived."
"I know," she whispered. Sarah's eyes filled. What am I doing to this man?
"Did he...harm you?" He glared at her bare shoulder.
"Of course not!"
"Are you going to report him? This is a very serious matter." Firestone searched her face for any sign of her intentions.
"No, Firestone, I'd never do that to him." She almost added, "I love him," but the addler didn't need to know.
Firestone nodded, walked to his master, and touched Stefan's hand.
"I wish you'd never come here. He was not happy, true enough, but it was better than this hell." Firestone's words were so soft she could hardly hear them. Then, he was gone, taking Stefan with him.
Sarah went back to her bed. As she pulled the covers over her, she replayed Stefan's words. In the moonlight, he'd spoken of wanting her, but he'd never said he loved her. Never swore himself to her. He'd lied to her about the women.