Guardian of Werewolf Keep (Werewolf Keep Trilogy)

by Nhys Glover

  ‘Not here. This is no place for you.’

  She didn’t have the breath to deny him, as he dragged her up the stairs toward daylight and sanity. When they both stood at the top of the stairs, Phil found their gazes immediately meshed once more. The intimacy of the dark was still with them in the light. Their breathing was harsh.

  ‘You found her. Damn! She was down there?’ Will’s melodic Scottish burr came from behind them. They both jumped, but said nothing.

  ‘Right then, I’ll leave you to it. I seem to have interrupted you…’ The big man looked from one to the other, as if sizing up the situation and the pulsing tension between them. Phil and Byron made no comment. It was as if he had never been there. All that existed was their awareness of each other.

  ‘Where?’ she managed to whisper. ‘If not there, where?’

  Byron shook his head, like a dog shaking water from its coat. It seemed to bring him to his senses.

  ‘Not now. Too much is happening. You need answers, and they will change everything.’

  ‘Later, give me answers later. Just hold me. I need you to hold me…’

  The groan that was ripped from him then was worse than that of the injured man. He shook his head, and stepped back away from her.

  ‘Not now. And probably not ever, after you know the truth. Go to the morning room, and have some lunch. Jasper said you missed the meal. When I have finished with my duties, I will find you there. I will try not to be too long.’

  And before either of them could change his mind, Byron turned and stalked away.

  Phil tried to put order into her crazed senses. In those moments of heightened awareness, something had shifted between them. This morning he had been the needy one. She had felt her power over him then. But, this time, it was he who held the upper hand. In those moments, he could have asked anything of her, and she would have done it. Totally adrift in a world gone mad, her only stability was this tall, enigmatic man. And to keep him in her life, to keep those incredible feelings surging between them, she would do anything.

  What did that make her? A brazen hussy or a woman without moral fibre? Or worse, a clinging vine – one of those abhorrent women who gave up their identity to be what their man required. She had seen so many of them over the years – anonymous decorative additions, brood mares, with no personality or desires of their own.

  Did this helpless feeling that was overtaking her, where Byron was concerned, mean she was becoming one of those? She shuddered, and straightened her spine. No, never. No man would take her sense of self from her. No man would reduce her to a powerless, mindless chit, awaiting his favour.

  But did that mean she had to go against his wishes now? She was hungry, now that he’d reminded her of the fact. And she hadn’t eaten breakfast. It would not be giving up her power to go and eat luncheon, as he suggested. There would be time for re-establishing control later. In this moment, she would eat.

  With a determination that was only partially real, she strode off in the direction of the morning room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The food set out on the buffet was warm and substantial. It was covered with silver domed lids, and was kept heated by warming coals in the cabinet beneath. With much relief, she selected a meat and vegetable stew and a thick slice of chunky bread. It was not the meal of the gentry, but it served her purpose. She needed hot, filling food that would sustain her after her nightmare morning.

  As she chewed, she looked out the window at the garden. She could see Charlotte, a wide brimmed sun hat on her head, cutting roses from the bushes. For the first time, she looked like a normal lady of the house, busy about her tasks. No one would guess at the violence that lay just beneath the surface.

  What had she said? It is unwise to cross us. We are dangerous. She had to assume the ‘we’ were the residents of the Keep. But how much danger could there be? The image of the claw marks flashed into her mind. No, they were not the work of a person. The longer her mind had to ruminate on them, the less like the work of a madman they seemed.

  She was drawn from her thoughts by the arrival of the young lad, Jamey. He helped himself to the stew, and at her gesture, took a seat next to her. His pale cheeks flushed red with shy pleasure.

  ‘How is the patient?’ she asked, as she poured Jamey some fruit cordial from a stoneware jug in the centre of the table. Then she poured a glass for herself and sipped at it appreciatively. It tasted like dandelion and burdock.

  ‘Seems well enough, for now. He’s sleepin’.’ The boy seemed anxious to talk to her, unlike the other members of the household, and now he had calmed down, she had no problem understanding him. Maybe she could find out something of the mysteries by asking him.

  ‘Byron and Will have returned from their investigation. Did they find what they were looking for?’

  ‘Oh yes, Ma’am, shot dead by a farmer protecting his sheep. Luckily the farmer hadn’t gone out this morning to check on his kill. He’d have got a rude surprise, if he had, sure enough.’

  ‘Surprise?’

  ‘Well, he thought he shot himself a big wolf didn’t he, ma’am?’

  ‘And he didn’t?’

  ‘Cause he did, then. But that wouldn’t be what he found this morning, would it?’

  The boy seemed to think she knew more than she did. She played along.

  ‘No, I suppose not. What did Byron find? I assume they reached the site early enough.’

  ‘An old lady. No one knows nout about her yet, but the constable will make more inquiries.’

  ‘Old lady? They found an old lady?’ She couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down her spine. The farmer shot an old lady he thought was a wolf attacking his sheep? How could that be? She had expected him to say a hound or a lion, or some other animal that would have looked like a wolf in the darkness. There was no way an old lady could have been mistaken for a wolf.

  ‘Yes Ma’am. Sad she had to die. But better that than her on the loose. She’s already turned one. And that may not be all. Some don’t report attacks. Don’t know what’s happened until it’s too late.’

  ‘Turned one?’ she asked, starting to feel as if she was drowning in slow motion. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and the picture they made was of a nightmare that had no place in the brightness of day.

  ‘Yes Ma’am. The lad with the claw marks. That’ll have done it. He’s turned now. Lucky for him the constable brought him here, straight off.’

  ‘The claw marks have turned him?’ she spoke very slowly, trying to get the dawning realisations crystal clear before she reacted.

  ‘Yep. It only takes a bite or a clawing. Sometimes no more’n a scratch. Something catchin’, the Prof says. It passes from them into the victim’s open wound.’ Jamey spoke as if he was talking about the weather. It made the subject of their conversation all the more surreal.

  ‘So he will turn at the next full moon?’

  ‘No doubt, Ma’am. Would have been better if he’d been a woman. There’s more room in the women’s wing. The Capt’n had plans to put in more cells. Our numbers keep growing. ‘Spect Byron will have to start on them pretty quick, if things keep going the way they are.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she answered neutrally. ‘So this is the only Asylum for Werewolves in the country?’

  ‘Yep. In the world, we’re thinkin’.’

  ‘Werewolves…’ Her voice caught in her throat as her head began to grow light, and the world began to spin. The last thing she heard was Jamey’s anxious cry, as darkness took her away from the nightmare.

  The next thing she knew was the sound of thunder and a bright flash of light. The storm has come, then, just as Jasper predicted. Then her mind focused on what was around her. She was lying on a soft bed. Although she could not see much more than the ceiling above her, she thought it was the room where she had spent the night.

  It was the night when she had been kept awake by the howls of werewolves. She whimpered as the memories resurfaced. Werewolves! She was
surrounded by werewolves!

  ‘Oh good, you’re awake. I was starting to worry.’ Byron’s face, all serious concern, came into her field of vision. Her heart leapt at his presence, even while her mind rejected him angrily. How could he have let her come here, into this danger?

  Her innate fairness immediately raised its head to counter that accusation. He had not let her. She had pushed her way in. And he had done everything in his power to keep her safe.

  So, what else could she be angry with him for? Not telling her immediately what she had come to? No, that didn’t work. She could just imagine her reaction if he had said ‘Go away, come back tomorrow when the werewolves are human again.’ That would have gained a reaction from her. But not a useful one.

  ‘Phil?’ he said, looking into her eyes with familiar intensity.

  ‘Yes. I am awake. I wish I wasn’t, but I am.’

  He placed a warm hand on her forehead, and then stroked it down the side of her face. The caress felt so natural, so familiar, that she closed her eyes and sighed.

  ‘I am so sorry you had to find out that way. Jamey didn’t know.’

  She opened her eyes, and looked into the brown depths of his eyes. ‘You should have told me. I had a right to know.’

  His face disappeared from her vision, and so she sat up. For a moment, she was a little shaky, and was in danger of falling backwards again. But her determination came to the fore, and she willed herself to be strong.

  Byron was now standing on the other side of the room, looking out at the wild storm that was beating against the window. It seemed to perfectly reflect her own inner turmoil that was pounding against her ribs.

  ‘I know. I am sorry. But every time I started to tell you, I was diverted. In truth, I wanted you to see this place as normal for as long as possible. To see me as normal…’

  ‘Normal. Nothing about my arrival at Breckenhill Keep has been normal. And these people… these monsters… even when I didn’t know what they were, I knew they were not normal. How could my father be involved in something like this? How could you?

  ‘You aren’t one of them are you? You said that you and Jamey were the only people here last night. That means you aren’t one?’ She hadn’t realised how important it was to her that Byron was human. How could she love a monster?

  That thought floored her. When had she started thinking of Byron in terms of love? She barely knew him. They had shared a few intense kisses, certainly, but that wasn’t enough for love. Was it?

  ‘No, Jamey and I are fully human. And the residents are human, nine tenths of the time.’

  ‘Nine tenths? Nine tenths? They are werewolves! I cannot believe I am accepting something so bizarre, so easily. But what else could they be? All the clues led to that end. Next you will be telling me that vampires live in the manor on the next moor!’

  ‘Phil, please. I know this is all too much to take in, but there is no need to be flippant. Lycanthropia exists. We do not understand it properly yet, but we get closer every day. It is a contagion anyone can catch, like the plague. These people are not monsters.’

  ‘They turn into beasts on the full moon. That is monstrous!’

  Unable to keep still any longer, she threw herself off the bed, and began pacing the room. ‘Why would my father be a part of something like this? Why would he choose to be here, and not with the family who loved him? It makes no sense!’

  'I will tell you the story of this place, so that you can understand fully. Will you sit down?’ Byron gestured to the overstuffed chair by the empty fireplace. Phil couldn’t have kept still, in this moment, if her life depended on it. She simply paused in her frantic pacing to stare at him and wait.

  'Your father was badly injured on the battle field of Balaclava. As he lay as one of the dead that night, too injured to move, he saw horrifying beasts moving amongst the fallen. He thought they were hyenas or wolves, but they were far too large for that.

  'When one creature reached him, and attacked, he was able to raise his pistol and shoot. It scared the creatures away. But he was injured by the beast.'

  'Hearing the gunshot, someone came to find him. He was taken to the makeshift hospital, and eventually shipped home. But before he reached these shores, he realized just what had happened to him. At the full of the moon, he changed. He became something else... something more horrendous than you can imagine in your worst nightmare.

  'He was not the only one. There are secrets that no man who witnessed the horror of that bloody warzone would ever share. More men were killed by those creatures than on the battlefield. But men at arms take care of their own, and your father was protected from himself, and the worst of his bestial urges, until he returned home.' Byron paused, and looked out the window at the grey, watery world outside. He sighed heavily before going on.

  'He allowed himself to remain listed as one of the dead. He knew he could not inflict what he was on his loved ones. And then he set about creating a place for himself, and the others like him, where they could live out their tortured lives without inflicting pain and death on others.'

  'How...how could such a thing happen and none of us know?' Phil interrupted vehemently, desperate to find fault with the outlandish tale.

  'The beasts exist only for three nights a month, over the period of the full moon. The rest of the time they are themselves – normal human-beings. But let me finish...

  'One of the other officers in his regimented was also turned into a beast. The Captain convinced this man's wealthy relatives to support the establishment of an asylum, as far away from civilization as could be found. With a loan from the family, and continued payments to house their son, your father was able to create Breckenhill Keep. It was uninhabitable when he first bought this place. But, over the years he restored it, so that those who joined him here could experience some semblance of comfort.

  'In the early days, it was difficult to keep the inmates under lock and key while he was one of them. You see, when they turn, they have no sense of themselves as humans. They are wild creatures; intelligent beyond that of normal beasts, but wild, nevertheless.

  ‘Some would escape and rampage. That was what happened to my parents. Our carriage overturned, not far from here, and an escaped monster tore their injured bodies to shreds. The Captain brought me into all this because of my … compassion. Unlike so many others, I did not want the creature responsible for the death of my parents killed. As I came to understand their plight, I realized that, had my mother and father not died, they would have become like him. I knew that it was unjust to blame a victim for what they had no control over. If I had been injured that night, I would have become one of them. There by the Grace of God go I.'

  He seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, and Phil tried to digest what he was telling her. It was all just a jumble of information. The only part of the story that stood out with any clarity was that her father had been one of these monsters.

  'My father was a Werewolf,' she murmured in dawning horror. She came to Byron’s side, so she could look up into his troubled eyes, and read the truth there.

  ‘Yes. Except for Jamey and myself, everyone who lives here, or has ever lived here, is a Werewolf. Your father and his network were able to bring others like him from all over the Empire to this sanctuary. Those who could pay for their place did so. Those who couldn’t became servants of the household, to pay their way.'

  'But if you are not one of them, why do you stay here?' she asked in utter bemusement.

  'Because I am needed. As I said, in the early days there were escapes. People died, and more werewolves were created from those who managed to survive an attack. It is not enough to have cells to lock them away. It requires someone, who is not one of them, to lock them in and keep watch, in case of breakouts. I was assigned the task nine years ago. Young Jamie will soon be old enough to replace me. His father is one of our inmates. Jamie chose to join him here, when the rest of his family turned against his father.

  'You have to u
nderstand. These are all people like you and I for nine tenths of their life. They are not to blame for what they became. But not one of them believes that. The self-loathing experienced by these people is pitiful.'

  Phil reached over, and took one of Byron’s hands, drawing his attention back from whatever hell he was reliving. She stroked the long square tipped fingers with care. Her admiration for what he had chosen to do with his life knew no bounds. To choose to imprison himself with these monsters, to care for them... it was so selfless as to be saintly.

  The bud of love she felt for him began to open its petals a little more. But what good would such feelings be? He had committed himself to this monstrous place, and she could never do the same. How could her father ever think to bring her here? Knowing what these people were, how could he put her in this kind of danger?

  Byron gently extracted his hand from hers. His sadness was so complete she felt like crying for him. But the more she allowed herself to feel for him, the harder it would be to leave this place. And the harder it would be for him to let her go. He knew that.

  'I'll leave you to think on what I've told you. I have a letter from your father. He asked me to give it to you when I thought the time was right. I think this is that time. When you are ready to face more, come down to the study. I will await you there.'

  Phil was sure she heard resignation in his tone. He expected her to leave now. And he was right. How could anyone, who had discovered what she had discovered in the last few hours, consider staying here?

  She wished she had never come to Breckenhill Keep, had never found out her father had not died a hero in the war. She could have lived her quiet little life as a governess, safe in a world she understood and accepted.

  If that life was a colourless existence, it would at least have been ‘normal’. In just a few short hours, everything she had ever believed to be ‘normal’ had changed forever. She would never be able to see the world in exactly the same way again. And if all her senses were now on high alert, if the world seemed oddly more real, even while it bordered on the surreal and fantastic, it was not the kind of reality she wanted. Not even if that meant having the pleasure being in Byron Carstairs’ arms could bring.