Instinct

by J. A. Belfield

  Had I not been so content with the situation, I might have given a low groan of frustration.

  Minutes of walking took us to our regular meeting place. Moss coated the bank-hugging mulch, giving off a pungent aroma not altogether unpleasant, as I set her back on her feet near our trunk.

  “So, what would possess you to behave this disobediently toward your mother?” I asked, ensuring her steadiness before releasing my hold.

  Although her breathing had long before eased, the smile sparkling her eyes had yet to vanish. “Because I believe she is wrong in her opinions of you.”

  “And what would those opinions be?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

  “Which version would you prefer?”

  Wary that Jem knew of my secret, I frowned, my pulse lurching, as I said with caution, “The worst.”

  “She says you are a cad and a philanderer ... amongst others, of course.”

  When she sat and patted the bark beside her, I took my place and turned to lie back until my head rested upon her lap. “Yet, you disagreed?”

  “Not at first.” Working her fingers into my hair, she peered down at me, her expression growing serious. “But you have changed, somewhat, since our first meeting.”

  My breaths calmed with her therapeutic tousling. “In what way?”

  “I am no fool,” she said. “I do not doubt you have treated women with disrespect, merely to suit your own needs, or that you have taken as many as your reputation suggests, yet ... I have received no behaviour from you to cause me alarm.”

  “Perhaps I find your conversation, alone, entertainment enough.” Of course, her scent had a lot to do with it, also. “I am never bored by your words.” Her voice often remained with me even after darkness fell. “It feels almost a misdeed to steal the dignity of one who—”

  “Who amuses you so?” She smiled.

  “There is that,” I said with a small laugh. “But, if you let me finish, I would have said, it feels wrong to steal the dignity of one who has become so much a part of me she consumes my every waking hour.”

  Her smile vanished, her eyebrows arching, before she looked away. “I, too, have feelings for you, Mr Holloway, and fear they will only continue to grow, as long as we spend time in each other’s company.” She turned back to me. “Yet, I do not know why I fear this. Love is surely an emotion to be embraced. Is it not?”

  Heat surged through me at her words—not from desire, but from her admittance of her feelings for me—and, despite her grim delivery, I grinned. “Yes, it is.”

  ***

  She had laughed on her entrance into the forest, looked excited by her mischief even once we’d reached our special place, but the telling off she had coming must have concerned her as the day wore on. Each time I suggested returning home, Jem pleaded to remain a little longer.

  How could I refuse? By telling her The Goat and Compass housed a whore who expected my presence? I doubted the excuse would be well accepted, however short or innocent a time I spent with Mary.

  By mid-afternoon, we admitted it would be best to return, having put off the inevitable for long enough.

  The breeze swept through as though giving chase, on our walk back, sending branches bowing to our passage. Announcing its entry upon the high leaves, the rain broke through to pattern the ground.

  Pimples dotted Jem’s arms, even where she rubbed. Her shoulders shuddered, as the rain found her, dampening her clothes and her hair, small beads coating her brow.

  I touched her arm, hoping to lend heat. “You are cold.” In cotton, almost transparent with moisture, no chill bothered me—a trait I often took for granted.

  “A little,” she said.

  “Would you like me to warm you?”

  Her quiet laugh told me she had not taken the offer in the manner intended. “And feed Mother’s dislike for you? I am certain she will be waiting. To approach her whilst wrapped in your arms would not help our cause one bit.”

  “You are right.” I went to smile, until an unwelcome scent drifted over me, drawing my eyes away, and the expression died on my lips. “Especially as your mother awaits you within the forest boundary.”

  The uncertainty in Jem’s gaze held me, before she turned toward where my eyes were aimed.

  Not more than thirty feet ahead, Mrs Stonehouse stood silhouetted by light from beyond the forest, hands wringing at her waist as though afraid to take a step closer.

  Moments later, the sighting stretched from mother to daughter, and Mrs Stonehouse’s eyes filled with both fury and despair, as we weaved through to where she waited.

  Jem reached out her hand. “Mother, I—”

  “Go home, Jem.” Mrs Stonehouse’s glower sliced through me.

  “But, Mother—”

  Her head spun toward her daughter. “Now, Jem. We will discuss this later.”

  Jem opened her mouth, but closed it at the lift of her mother’s eyebrow. With her hems dragging through mud, Jem stomped around the older female and walked away, throwing a backward glance toward me.

  My mouth upturned, and Jem’s glistening eyes held the same smile, holding me to her for a few breaths longer, as she exited onto the path—until a face filled with anger disturbed my view.

  “I asked you to stay away from her,” Mrs Stonehouse said with quiet ferocity in her voice.

  I sighed a deep breath. “And I requested you give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “You have not earned the right to make such a request, Mr Holloway.” She spun away, but went only a few steps before spinning back to me. “Leave my daughter alone, or I will ensure she sees you for what you truly are.”

  “What, exactly, do you believe that to be, Mrs Stonehouse?”

  “An animal, Mr Holloway.” She returned to her departure, muttering her final closure of, “You are nothing more than an animal.”

  ***

  James’s musk hit my senses before he came into sight. Hands on hips, mouth set in a straight line, he glared at me, as I pushed from the forest. “Where have you been?”

  My brows scrunched, and when he strode toward me, I ceased to walk. “You know where I have been, James.”

  His hand gripped my throat, and beneath his shove, I stumbled backward until my shoulders slammed into a tree, sending rain to shower us from its branches.

  He leaned in close. “Do not lie to me, Sean.”

  My head jerked to the side with the thrust of his arm, my body following. I threw my hands out to break my landing, but I didn’t have the chance to push up before he crouched afore me.

  Rain slid across his brow from the tips of his hair, bypassing his dark eyes filled with fury. “Why would you put your pack at risk for some human?” He spat the word as though he considered them below us. “For a female of no importance?”

  Before meeting Jem, I would have agreed with him. “You know not a thing about her,” I said.

  “They provide nothing but sex, Sean.”

  “I choose not to take Jem that way.”

  A frown expanded across his brow, his expression incredulous. “What other possible use could we have for them? What else could she have to offer?”

  “Companionship,” I said quietly.

  His stare narrowed, as he shook his head.

  I looked him in the eye. “I am in love with her, James.”

  His roar told me to expect the blow, yet did nothing to soften it. Pain vibrated up from my jaw and shot through my head as it whipped backward. Moisture from the grass soaked the back of my shirt, when I landed with blood pooling in my mouth.

  James stood over me, giving only a moment’s pause before he extended his hand.

  Of course, I had no choice but to accept. To offer resistance to the Alpha would bring a disagreeable outcome.

  With a tug of his arm, he brought me upright and rubbed at my hair as though in regret of his actions. “You know, and understand, pack rules. The second you became a member, you agreed to abide by them.”

&n
bsp; “I never agreed,” I said. “We were born into this life, with no option but to obey rules thrust upon us.”

  His jaw set into a rigid jut, and his shoulders tensed. I braced for another attack, but he merely said, “Whilst you are a member of my pack, you will live by the rules.”

  I should have stood up to him, told him that, as Alpha, he had the power to alter those rules, but the still-smarting flesh from his contact forced me into silence. Allowing him to believe his ‘lesson’ had been received, I trailed him back to the house.

  Giles and Philip occupied the table, as we entered the kitchen, and their expressions told me they’d known James had been waiting for me. Philip’s gaze held disappointment, whilst Giles’s offered pity—yet only for a second, lest James understand his part played in it all.

  As I tried to relay to Giles he need not worry, James tossed a cloth to me.

  “Clean yourself up, Sean, before you spill blood on the table.”

  His stare turned hard, his audience and reputation requiring he live up to the scorn. “Then you will prepare dinner.”

  I did not meet his eyes as I pressed the cloth to my seeping lip—another fight would only waylay my thoughts. After our dispute, getting out to see Jem would be nigh on impossible, as it was.

  With only a week to find a way around it, I continued as my Alpha demanded of me, yet that did not stop my mind from chasing the formulation of a plan before I had even cleared the blood from my face.

  My heart left me no choice.

  7

  Throughout the week that followed, if a job needed doing, James passed it to me. Wood chopping for a fire we wouldn’t need for months. Tending to a lawn none had ever taken pride in. Laundering for clothes that did not belong to me. Those, and many more, kept me occupied.

  At least the tasks could be done without thought, leaving my mind free to plot.

  Not that it did any good. Giles refused to help any longer, understandably so—which meant, as Tuesday morning dawned, I still had no plausible excuse to offer for leaving the house.

  From the moment I woke, James’s attention greeted me—I found him standing in the doorway to my room when I lifted my lids.

  No smile coated his lips, nor did warmth meet his eyes. “Good morning.”

  I nodded once and swung my feet to the floor.

  “You have breakfast duties,” he said.

  I had prepared breakfast every morning for the past six. I rubbed at my face. “I will be down shortly.”

  “I will wait.” He folded his arms across his broad chest.

  After hauling myself from the bed, I tugged clothes on beneath the watchful eye of my brother, only to be tailed by him when I headed downstairs.

  Getting out, I suspected, would not be easy.

  By nine, the other pack members had arrived from our second property, giving us a full house, and James’s relentless scrutiny extended to the rest of the pack. I walked to the kitchen; they watched. I sat; they watched. I toileted; they watched. Ten eyes observed my every move, with a tenacity of which they should have been proud.

  At nine thirty, more than ready to be rid of the staring, I offered to tidy the barn.

  The narrowing of his eyes gave away James’s distrust, but he nodded for me to go.

  I pushed back my chair and got only as far as the door before he stalled me.

  “Edward will accompany you,” he said.

  At sixty-four years of age, the last surviving older-generation pack member, Edward stood little chance against me.

  Leashing my smile to conceal it, I nodded.

  ***

  Not much actually needed to be done in the barn. A handful of tools littered the floor, which I tidied under Edward’s observation, and we had a few bales of hay left from the time we kept livestock. The goats had lasted only until Philip ventured too near the house on his first full change. None had been permitted to live once he had tasted the initial spillage of blood. The bales had remained ever since, though, and often got kicked around from one side of the barn to the other, away from whatever they happened to be blocking.

  I nodded to Edward, where he sat propped beside the open door. “Climb up to the loft, so I can pass these to you.”

  Suspicion clouded his hard stare.

  Ignoring it, I lifted the first bale, stood ready beneath the overhang, and urged him toward the ladders with another nod.

  His attention remained on me, as he pushed away and climbed up the ladder. At the top, he took the bale from my uplifted hands. When he turned to place it near the rear, I reached for a second, and he smiled on his return.

  I handed him the second bale, followed by a third.

  Before he had opportunity to deposit the fourth with the others, I took advantage of the diversion and shot for the door.

  The trees accepted my arrival before I heard his first call of confusion. Picking up speed, I burst through brush and ducked beneath branches. To throw them off my trail, I took a circuitous route through the forest, ending my flight at the east, where the river entered.

  Zigzagging, I located a narrower stretch and, drawing a deep breath, took a run up and leaped to the far side, landing with a small grunt.

  From there, I raced in a pattern of insanity, before retracing my steps and diving into the cool water to swim along with the current.

  When I climbed from the river at the northeast, none of them had intercepted me in my escape, making me wonder just how long Edward had paused before breaking the news that he had lost me.

  Bent over at the waist, I rested my hands on my knees as I recaptured my breath, eyes scouring the forest for approach. My saturated shirt, once wrung out, became a makeshift cloth for drying my exposed body, before I lay it across the fallen trunk to dry aside my soaked, and quite possibly ruined, boots and stockings.

  Although warm on the inside, only coolness emanated from the surface of my body. The moisture from my hair weaved through the downy ones of my neck to my shoulders, and a good shake of my head sent droplets flying. After being cooped up indoors for so many days, the action felt liberating, helped by being surrounded by natural vastness, body coated by air.

  After a final check for the pack, I took the first step toward finding Jem, eagerness soon broadening my strides, whilst smugness widened my victorious smile.

  My palms rubbed across knotted bark, as I passed trunks. Fallen leaves and bracken crinkled underfoot, scratching at my soles, whilst the light breeze refreshed the naked flesh of my torso.

  I walked only half of the usual journey before I caught Jem’s scent. I thought it had carried in as a tease until I captured the flutter of pale blonde.

  She halted, fingers pressed to her lips below her widening eyes. “Mr Holloway.”

  The expressive whisper of her voice brought me up short. Following her shocked stare, I rubbed a palm across my damp hair and gave a small laugh. “My shirt and boots became wet in the river. I did not think.” I tried to sound apologetic, but her reaction filled me with too much amusement.

  Her hand lowered to clasp the other at her waist, and she took a couple of steps to the side. “Why were you in the river?”

  “It looked inviting.” I leaned back against a trunk and folded my arms.

  Chin dipping, she took another step, again to the side. “It looks rather cold to me.” Her gaze met mine, but appeared to struggle to remain there.

  I chuckled. “It was.” I searched beyond her to the forest she had passed through. “Are you sure your mother does not follow?”

  She nodded as she toyed with a locket she wore on a chain around her neck. I had not seen her adorned by jewellery before, and it seemed out of place.

  “How do you know?” I discreetly inhaled, checking for an unexpected advance but finding none.

  “She told me I would soon understand the mistake I am making. That some of the best lessons learned are the ones which we learn for ourselves.”

  I tried to hide my frown but fell short of the effort. “Unusu
al words.”

  “Mother can never be accused of being conventional.” She smiled. “This is good news for us, though, is it not? That I come here today, without a fight?”

  “It is, yes.” My lips twitched. “Yet, you refuse to come closer.” When she turned to take a few more steps to the side, I added, “Or maybe it is reluctance?”

  “Could you, at least, replace your shirt?”

  “I could ... except I left it beside the river.”

  Another dip of her head preceded a few more sidesteps. Had she noticed each movement brought her nearer? When she turned back to me, I curled my finger and beckoned to her. She shook her head but not before her cheeks heated and a small smile appeared.

  With a chuckle, I pushed away from the trunk, taking a few paces forward.

  Her face lifted. “Why do I suddenly feel so small beside you?”

  “You are no smaller than you were Tuesday last, nor I any bigger.”

  With a slight coyness, she reached out. My hand stretched to greet hers, and fingers, dainty and slender, entwined with mine. When I gave a gentle tug, she breathed out a laugh at her inelegant step forward, tilting her head to the side, as though to allow my inhalation of her scent. She seemed accepting of my behaviour—maybe she presumed it a quirk of mine—and no longer questioned my reasoning.

  Nose to her throat, I drew her scent deep into my sinuses. Detecting the alien scent at the same moment that it located me, I pushed away with an aggression I did not intend.

  Her eyes widened, as mine skimmed over her, searching for the source. It had to be upon her—the tingling that darted from my fingertips and toes, through my forearms and shins, told me as such.

  “Mr Holloway?” Her voice sounded unsure.

  “Where is it?” I demanded, still scouring her body. “Where did your mother put it?”

  “Put it?” She stared at me. “Put what?” When her hand lifted to unconsciously twist at her pendant, I suspected I had my answer.

  “Your locket—where did you get it?” The tingling spread upward toward my shoulders and thighs, joined by a prickle at the base of my skull that worked into my first vertebra.

  Her forehead creased into a frown. “It was a gift from Mother. Why—?”