Immortal Prey

by Diana Ballew

  And I was deeply in love with both of them.

  Sweet Ersule of my past had emerged into the modern world as Erin Richland, a young lady with her own dreams and aspirations, a strong woman with her own rules in life. And declaring her love to a man simply because he had bedded her was clearly not one of those rules. The sheer weight of forbidden, unattainable love hovered like a dark angel whispering over my shoulder.

  The day I had longed for drew near — I could feel it. Just as Koenig had prophesied, Erin was drawn to me like a bee to honey, and at twenty-three, she was mature, ripe, a passionate woman giving herself to me willingly.

  I had played by the rules, and yet, tonight, a nagging question lingered. Would Erin give herself freely if she knew I would follow her proclamation of love by sinking my teeth into the slender column of her ivory throat?

  I doubted it.

  Earlier, I had tugged her chin to one side, pressing it firmly against my bare shoulder. I had grazed upon her smooth neck, felt her bounding pulse quivering against my persistent lips and tongue. The wolf inside had beckoned, clawing like a wild beast trapped inside my gut, threatening to emerge.

  Torture.

  As we made love, I had cleverly hidden my torment as my pulse coursed like fire through my veins, and the sheer willpower to resist shifting and inflicting the premature mortal wound had nearly pushed me to the brink of insanity.

  But I had managed restraint, managed to keep control, for I knew if I had dared draw a solitary drop of Erin’s sweet blood before she declared her love, my long-held dream of eternal life together would have vanished in the blink of an eye.

  “Erin, wake up.” I brushed my lips across her tousled raven mane and whispered, “You must send word home.”

  She moaned sleepily. “What time is it?”

  “After six o’clock.”

  She slowly sat, and I watched as the sheet slipped low, brushing against her nipples as the satiny fabric slid to her waist.

  She bit down on her bottom lip. “Yes, you’re right.”

  Her agile ivory fingers loosened small tangles in her ebony mane. She rose and retrieved the chenille robe.

  “I’m just so tired.” She sighed.

  “I’ll instruct Franz to deliver the message to your house. But are you sure you don’t wish a hotel room —”

  Her gaze snapped to mine. “No, no hotel room. I want to spend the whole night with you.”

  Pale light reflected in her eyes as she turned toward the rising silver moon glowing through the towering bedroom window. Accepting the fact that she wished to be with me the entire night, my heart soared. “As you wish, darling.” I sat up and stretched. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be writing about the election.” She frowned. “Why?”

  “Can you take time away from the office? I have a surprise I think you would enjoy.”

  She sank on the bed and inched close to me. Smiling she asked, “Business or pleasure?”

  I cupped her chin. “Both.”

  “Hmm. You have me quite intrigued.”

  Against the glowing firelight in the hearth, her eyes sparkled like emerald gems. I drew her to my chest. “Nothing pleases me more than to intrigue you, my dear.”

  * * * *

  I awoke in the dead of night with a start. I slid from Erin’s arms encircling my waist as she slept, dressed quickly, and ventured to the front windows. A shadowy figure stood across the street.

  Enough.

  I opened the door and marched down the porch steps toward the figure swaying beneath the glowing street lamp.

  “You!” the man screeched, waving his flask so violently that liquid spilled down the front of his crumpled trousers.

  “Go home,” I growled.

  He teetered toward me. “You’ve ruined everything for me, Rudliff. Everything,” he shouted.

  “Good God, Frederick. Have some dignity.”

  Marching cockeyed, he advanced toward me and said, “Don’t you talk to me about dignity, you — Oomph!”

  I caught the wretch as he tripped over his own feet and fell forward.

  “Unhand me!” he bellowed, plucking at the lapels of his wrinkled jacket.

  I did just as Frederick Dimsdale requested and let the wretch fall like a sack of potatoes to the ground. He managed to haul himself up on all fours, then proceeded to bawl in heaving sobs at my feet.

  “I know she’s here. I just know it. I love her,” he said, wailing at my feet. “Don’t you see? She’s mine. You hear me, Rudliff?”

  Over the past several weeks, it had become obvious Frederick Dimsdale was determined to lure Erin into his heart and into his bed. I rolled my eyes heavenward. Christ Almighty. The man was a disgrace.

  “I’ll see you dead, Rudliff. Do you hear me? Dead, before I’ll let you have her.”

  I’d had enough of the lout’s spying and lame attempts to come between Erin and me. I left him in his puddle of misery and contempt and went inside to wake Franz.

  I touched Franz’s shoulder, and he sat up like a shot.

  “What? What is it, King?”

  “There’s a drunken fool out front. I’ll help you load him into the carriage. I want you to haul his inebriated carcass down to Madame Delacour’s.”

  Franz flashed a crooked smile. “Madame Delacour’s parlor, huh?”

  I rummaged through my trousers. “Absolutely. Here’s a hundred dollars. Make sure he gets his money’s worth.”

  Franz’s steely eyes widened. “A hundred dollars. Damn, you want the man to die?”

  I snorted and smiled. “No, not death. This one just needs to be knocked off his high horse.”

  We loaded the semi-conscious Frederick Dimsdale into the carriage and plopped his hat on his head.

  “Oh, and Franz,” I said, “make sure you give the ol’ boy a good tug or two of the cocktail before handing him over to Madame Delacour.”

  Franz nodded and quietly urged the horses forward down the darkened, deserted street.

  I undressed and crawled back into bed.

  Erin stirred and dreamily said, “I thought I heard voices.”

  I pulled her body against mine. “It’s nothing, darling. Go back to sleep.”

  She moaned and snuggled closer. “I had a dream,” she said in a sleepy, faraway voice.

  “Was it a good dream?” I whispered in her ear.

  She rubbed her eyes. “It was very good. I was a young girl running barefoot in a wheat field under the bright sun. I stopped when I saw something lying on the ground up ahead. I placed my hand above my brow to shield the blinding sun. Regardless of my trepidation, something urged me forward. I sprinted as fast as my bare feet would carry me. When I arrived, I saw a boy, a handsome young man, really, lying on the ground. He looked up at me with the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. It was you, Derek. It was a much younger version of you.”

  God in heaven. She dreams Ersule’s memories.

  Erin lifted her face to mine, but I quickly pulled her close, lest she witness the tears welling in my eyes.

  “Go back to sleep, my angel. Rest yourself,” I managed to choke out.

  I lay awake the entire night, holding her in my arms, listening to her soft sounds of sleep, watching her chest rise and fall with each slumbering breath, just as I had done when she was a wee young girl in New York.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Waking to the peaceful light of day, wrapped securely within his warm arms, Erin could not deny the obvious any longer. She had fallen deeply in love with the mysterious man who had somehow managed to topple her sensible world.

  “You awake?” Derek whispered.

  She rolled over and faced Derek’s soulful gaze. “I am, and I’m wondering what it is you have planned for us today.”

  He smoothed a stand of her hair between his fingers. “If you don’t have to rush into work today, I’d like to take you some place special after breakfast.” He tugged on a long tasseled rope hanging near his bedside.


  “What’s that?”

  He smiled. “You’ll see.”

  Within minutes, Hannah’s voice called from behind the door announcing breakfast was waiting outside the bedroom door.

  Erin trailed a finger along the silky mass of curls on his chest. “My, my. What service. Is this something you do every morning? Breakfast in bed?”

  “Good Lord, woman. No.” Derek rose and donned his robe. “I wish I could, though.” He opened the door, wheeled in a rolling cart, and placed two cane chairs at each end. “This I arranged with Hannah late last night.”

  Gazing at the plates smothered in eggs, ham, biscuits, and gravy, she all but salivated with hunger. “I can’t believe how famished I am this morning.”

  Derek’s eyes paled as he surveyed her. “Eat, my dear. The damp chill of winter is in the air these days. You need to stay healthy.”

  Erin frowned. “Heavens. I’ve always been healthy as a horse all my life, chill or no chill.”

  “Be that as it may —”

  A knock rattled the bedroom door.

  Derek sighed. “Yes, what is it?”

  The long pause coming from behind the door filled the large bedroom. Finally, a voice laced with melancholy announced, “Franz has informed me that the horses are hitched to the carriage, sir.”

  “We’ll be there shortly, Mrs. Schauss,” Derek said.

  Erin squished her nose. “She seems even more sinister than your man Franz. Have you ever thought of hiring cheerful staff?”

  Derek choked on his coffee and smiled. “You know, that’s rather funny. Hannah, my cook — you met her — she’s cheery.”

  “That’s true. Seriously, though. Franz scowls like a ghoul, and Mrs. Schauss, well, I don’t know what her —”

  Derek raised his hand. “That’s just it, my dear, you don’t know. Mrs. Schauss, and I, well, let’s just say we go back a long way with one another.”

  His gaze snapped from hers in a flash. Erin knew when to leave well-enough alone. Perhaps his current staff had been in his employ when he was married to his wife. Further, maybe they viewed her presence as a lame replacement for someone they had once cared about.

  Brushing the troubling thought aside, she sipped her coffee, wondering if there was any word on the women’s vote from the day before. Normally, she would be rushing off to work, hot on the heels of the city’s biggest stories. But after the heated argument with her father and Frederick, followed by the night of passionate lovemaking with Derek, her restless curiosity felt tethered by her conflicted heart.

  Franz met them out front and opened the door to the carriage. Erin scooted in and tucked the ends of the cumbersome coat under her bottom. Turning to Derek, she said, “This huge coat you’ve insisted I wear today tells me we must be going somewhere outdoors.”

  Derek scooted in next to her and slid a hand over hers. “You’re right.”

  She stroked the smooth fur on the garment. “What is this thing made from anyway — wolves?”

  “Wolves?” Derek snorted and shook his head. “No, I can assure you it’s not made from the fur of wolves. The coat you’re wearing, my dear, is made from one-hundred-percent sheared beaver fur.”

  Erin dropped her chin to her chest, examining the fur more closely. “Beaver. Hmm. You don’t say.”

  Once the carriage drove outside of the city limits, they headed toward east, toward the forest. Muddy water from recent rains filled the numerous potholes along the way, making the lengthy trip exceedingly bumpy.

  She squeezed Derek’s arm. “You’re taking me to one of your logging camps, am I right?”

  “You’re a perceptive little thing, aren’t you? You’re correct. You asked me for a story. I think you should see another place I like to call home.”

  The earthy aroma of moist soil laced with evergreen drifted up her nose. She breathed in deeply, letting the cool, fresh air linger inside her lungs. Tall green canopies darkened the narrow road the deeper into the forest they rode. Sword ferns and wet, lichen-covered rocks dotted the earth between huge tree trunks, and pinecones lay scattered amid brilliant hues of jade moss woven in a low bed of fog.

  Sunshine illuminated a clearing directly ahead. The coachman wound along the muddy path, stopping when they reached the sunny patch. He descended the carriage, unhinged the horses, and tethered the handsome beasts to a weathered, gray stump.

  Derek exited the coach and extended a hand toward Erin. “This is as far as we can go in the carriage.”

  Glancing at the surroundings, she said, “I have absolutely no idea where we are.”

  “We’re near one of my logging camps. This one in particular is special to me.”

  She surveyed the lush surroundings, inhaling the cool air hinting of distant wood fires. “It certainly is beautiful out here.” She looped her arm within Derek’s. “What is it that makes this particular area so special, other than the obvious beauty?”

  “Here you be, sir,” said Franz, holding out a wicker basket.

  Derek grabbed the carrier and waggled his eyebrows. “First, my dear, we’re going on a picnic.”

  “What? A picnic — in this cold?”

  “You didn’t think I had you wear that huge beaver coat without a damn good reason, did you? Come on.”

  He grasped her gloved hand, and they walked in the ray of sunshine illuminating a path, stopping when they came upon a rustic log cabin with gray smoke swelling from a stone chimney.

  “Who are we going to see?”

  He smiled and squeezed her hand. “This little place happens to be mine.”

  A narrow, river rock pathway led to a small covered porch. Derek opened the door and gestured for her to go inside.

  After looking at the cabin from the outside, Erin was surprised how much bigger it truly was inside. A smoldering wood fire graced the stone hearth, creating a cozy atmosphere within the rustic bungalow.

  Derek leaned in. “The cabin is comfortable, but I should warn you, there’s no indoor plumbing.”

  She hung the massive coat on an iron hook and meandered down the hallway, poking her head into each of the small bedrooms. “It’s really quite cute.” She glanced at the hearth and frowned. “Who lit the fire?”

  “Gregore. You remember him from the party, yes?” he asked, busily opening the picnic basket and setting out the food. “Hannah makes the best fried chicken and potato salad this side of the Mississippi.”

  “Gregore. He was the man dressed as a monk?”

  “That’s him. He’s here from time to time and helps watch over the place for me.”

  Derek rummaged through a drawer and brought back knives and forks. “Have a seat, my dear.”

  Erin studied Derek’s handsome face. He appeared especially calm and comfortable. The forest, the cabin, the hissing wood fire in the hearth — it seemed a more natural environment for him than his palatial home on Grand Avenue.

  Derek moistened his bottom lip and spread a linen napkin on his lap. “I have an idea. Suppose after we eat, instead of walking, if you’re up to riding horseback, we can venture up the road and see the men working at camp. You’ll have a good idea of what goes on around here — for the newspaper.”

  She smiled. “I may have spent my early years in New York, but once I came to Everett it was though I’d been born to ride a horse all my life. Sounds wonderful, Mr. Rudliff.”

  While they finished their meal, Franz saddled the horses. Derek eased Erin up onto the smaller gelding, and he climbed on the larger steed.

  After slowly venturing along a sun-filled trail, they made a sharp turn onto a narrow path enveloped by thick green canopies of hemlock, cedar, and fir, blocking out the bright light. The sudden damp chill sliced her cheeks. She gazed up at the treetops that appeared to ascend into the heavens.

  “Derek. How tall are these trees? Some appear to go straight to the stars.”

  “The tallest we’ve taken down was well over four-hundred feet tall. A mighty Douglas fir about four-hundred-and-fifty years
old.”

  “Amazing,” she murmured.

  The soft sound of trickling water resonated from somewhere nearby. They followed the path leading to a clearing. Thick gray stumps and stubs of timber, as far as she could see, dotted the landscape. She swallowed a gasp. Having just come out from under the towering lacy green canopy moments earlier, the land before her now appeared ravaged and desolate. As they headed farther, shouts and the steady buzz of hissing machinery grew louder, echoing across the hills.

  Several men tending a fire in front of a row of wooden bunkhouses came into view. A slovenly woman hung wet laundry on a weather-beaten rope secured between trees, nodding her head as they rode passed.

  Derek tipped his hat. “Ma’am,” he said. “Gentlemen.”

  “Good afternoon, sir,” the men said.

  As they drew closer to the increasing noise, dozens of brawny, thick-chested men with muscles all but bursting from their woolen shirts came into view. Some sharpened axes while others held giant, toothy saws.

  Derek explained the noise she was hearing came from the “steam donkey” up ahead. Operating the machine required the services of several men. The choker-setter attached the cable to a log; a donkey-puncher tended the steam engine, and a spool-tender guided the whizzing line over the spool with a short stick. Erin murmured each job, hoping to commit his words and imagery to memory for when she wrote her article later.

  An especially tall young lad the men called “Little Timber” was what Derek referred to as “the whistle-punk.” His job was to communicate the choker-setter’s position among the logs to the steam-whistle on the donkey engine. When the choker-setter secured the line, the whistle- punk tugged his wire as a signal to the engineer, letting him know the log was ready to be hauled in. As soon as one log was yarded, it was removed from the line. Horses then hauled the line back from the donkey engine to the waiting choker-setter and the next log.

  They rode deeper and stopped. Derek thrust his arm back, gesturing for her to hold back. “Stay right where you are, and watch this.”

  Shouts rang out. Derek identified the two men as “fallers.” One fellow shouted, “Down the hill!” and men quickly scattered like fleeing rats. She looked up at a massive tree quivering and swaying just before it fell like a mighty beast on the sodden earth in a monstrous, deafening thud, causing the very ground to tremble. Then as quickly as the men had dispersed to get away, they scrambled toward the fallen tree, and the process started anew.