by Nhys Glover
If not for Byron, she might have chosen to stay on at the end of her three months. But it would be too difficult to do that now. No matter how much time passed, she knew that the wound he had inflicted would never heal while ever she had to face him day after day. No, she would go after the next full moon. And her first stop would be Fidelia’s. A dose of her best friend’s common sense would be just what she needed to reorientate her life.
After all, nothing had changed. She was still a rich young heiress who could do anything she wanted, and go anywhere she wanted, from now on. Fidelia would remind her of that, and encourage her to start considering her options. Maybe there would be young men who would offer for her, now she was wealthy.
Phil cringed at the very idea. If those milksops had not wanted her when she was poor, she certainly did not want them now that she was rich. If ever there was another man in her life, he would be one who loved her for herself. As she had thought Byron had loved her.
How wrong she had been.
With poker straight back, she walked down the passageway to the bottom of the stone stairs. Just as she entered the small anteroom, with its blazing furnace, Byron was coming out of the other tunnel. He had the decency to look embarrassed and chagrined, she noted. But she didn’t pay him any more attention. She nodded her greeting politely, eyes averted, and started up the stairs to the Keep above.
The first sight of her threatened to unman him. His legs shook beneath him. Over the month of his absence he had convinced himself that she was not the glorious being he had taken her for. It was the fact that he had been so long without a woman that had made her so appealing. Surrounding himself with pretty debutants had shown him there were many beautiful women around. And many of them were quite intelligent, in an insipid sort of way.
He had even visited a high class bordello, at the insistence of an old school friend, who had assured him the best way to recover from one woman was by taking another. And there had been many beautiful women in that house, although he had not felt inclined to take them up on their offers of companionship. His heart was just not in it, even when he drank himself into a more receptive state. None of them were Phil. But they were certainly as beautiful as she was.
So, by the time he was making his way home, he was sure that when he saw her again he would be over his infatuation. That he would see her more rationally. Yes, she was a pretty woman, and an intelligent, brave and compassionate one. But that did not make her any more remarkable than a dozen other women. He was no longer starved for choice, as he had been when he met her.
That was until he saw her coming down the other passageway, her back stiff, her beautiful face lifted so that she was looking down her nose at him. God, she was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Every other woman he had met in the last month paled into insignificance beside her. Only this one glorious female was the light to his darkness. How could he have been foolish enough to try convincing himself otherwise?
Her coldly polite snub was just what he expected after the way he had treated her. He had wanted it that way. It was easier that way. But he never thought it would hurt so much. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn a dagger now protruded from his chest, the pain of her polite rebuff was so extreme.
It was a bad idea coming back. He should have made some excuse and stayed away, even though he knew he was needed. Even though he knew it was the coward’s way out. But he hadn’t expected it to be this agonising. This hard.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Phil stood at the top of the stairs, breathing hard. She felt as if she had just climbed a mountain, and the rarefied air at the summit was too thin to sustain life. Beads of perspiration had broken out on her forehead, and were, even now, trickling down into her eyes, making them sting with more than just unshed tears.
It had been too hard. Seeing him again had been too hard. It had brought back memories she had tried to forget. Memories of being held and kissed and treated like she was the most special woman in the world. Memories that were as beautiful as they were agonising, now that he no longer cared for her.
I cannot do this! Not now. Not ever. I have to get away!
With no clear idea what she would do, Phil races up the stairs to her room, changed into riding clothes, grabbed her reticule, and flew back down to the back entrance. The house seemed oddly quiet. She wondered where Jamey was. She wondered where Byron was. No, not Byron, she would not think about Byron!
The moon was already rising as she made her stumbling way down to the stables at the back of the Keep. Riding had never been her favourite pastime, although she learned to ride at school, as all upper class ladies did. Since coming to the Keep, she had only ridden out a few times, with Jamey as her companion, down to the village in the valley below the moor. On those occasions she had been given a quiet grey mare with a soft mouth and accommodating ways.
Now in her desperate need to escape the Keep and its guardian, she hurried down the stalls until she found the mare. Saddling and bridling a horse was not something she had done, but she had watched it often enough. After several missteps, she found a side-saddle, bridled the mare, and led her out to the mounting block where she juggled the weighty saddle into place, and cinched up the girth. By the time she was ready to mount, she was panting.
But undaunted, she gathered the reins, and used the block to clamber into the saddle. She didn’t even take the time to straighten her skirts, before she was racing the mare into the dark moonlight. For a moment, she thought she heard a wolf’s howl, but she dismissed it. The sound of the wolves didn’t extend past the outer walls of the Keep. It was simply her imagination that conjured that all too familiar, blood-curdling sound.
Byron stood at the base of the stairs looking up to where he knew Phil must be. Every particle in his body drew him to her, and it was a physical struggle just to keep himself in place. His hands were shaking, and his heart was beating at what felt like twice its normal speed. So close, she was so close. After a long lonely month, they were once more in the same place. Only a few walls separated them. It would be too easy to…
‘Sir!’ Jamey cried, racing in through the front door. The boy had been to the village to visit friends, and was late back. Byron hadn’t minded. Last month Jamey had done more than his share. He deserved to have time off from the harrowing task of guarding the wolves.
But the boy looked terrified as he scrambled toward him, gasping for air.
‘What is it Jamey?’ The lad was not prone to histrionics. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
‘I was just getting to the front stairs when Miss Phillie galloped past.’ He paused to draw in another painful breath. He had obviously been running to get back to the Keep in time for sunset. What was Phil doing riding out at night? ‘Then a wolf ran past, close on her tail. Is it one of ours?’
Byron’s blood turned to ice in his veins. A wolf? Surely not. They were all locked away safely. Had he double checked tonight, or had been too preoccupied by thoughts of seeing Phil to do such a simple thing?
Without a word, he raced back down the hall to the dungeon door. He leapt down the stairs, caring nothing for their uneven, slippery surface.
First he checked the women. No, all seven were accounted for.
Then he went to the men’s cells, his heartbeat escalating with each stride closer. Nine cells occupied. One cell door open, a key in the lock! How had this happened? Who was it who had escaped?
In his mind he saw each of the men before their transition. They usually took the same cell each month, and he was used to their positions. It was the last cell that was empty. The last wolf to join them.
Bobby was missing!
Trying not to think of how it had happened, or even why, Byron turned on his heel, and dashed back down the tunnel. Jamey was at the bottom of the stairs, his breathing finally back in control. But his eyes were wide with fear.
‘It is Bobby! He may be after Phil. Stay here and stand guard. I will go after them!’
‘The rifle is at the top of the stairs,’ Jamey said with a nod.
‘Good. I will take that. You get another from the gun rack. Check the cell doors first. I must go!’
He was already half way up the stairs by the time he finished speaking. There wasn’t a moment to spare. It was dangerous for Phil to be riding out at night like this. Her horse could miss a step in the moonlight. If she toppled and fell, she would be a perfect target for a wolf on her trail. What had she been thinking? Was she insane!
But he knew what she was thinking. She was trying to get away from him. Just as he was struggling seeing her, she was obviously having the same level of difficulty seeing him. But to leave on horseback on the night of a full moon! Surely he hadn’t driven her to such dire straits.
By the time he reached the stable, he was gasping for breath. With shaking hands, he bridled his black stallion, Hawk, and threw himself onto his bare back, rifle in one hand. He was at full gallop before he cleared the stable doors.
There was only one way Phil could have gone. She would follow the track down to the village in the dale. With any luck, she would stop there, and find shelter from the wolf on her tracks. With any luck!
But there was no sign of Phil or the wolf as he approached the village at full gallop. He looked up the moonlit road, which ran alongside the beck toward Harrogate. Just at the very edge of his line of sight he saw a shadow moving. It was enough.
Driving his mount even faster, he checked the rifle. It had one bullet. Only one bullet in the chamber. If he didn’t down the wolf with that first shot, he didn’t have a chance.
Hawk’s sides were white with foam, and he was breathing harshly when they started gaining on the fleeing woman. Then the worst possibility occurred. He saw the mare stumble, and Phil pitched forward over her shoulder. In slow motion, she flew through the air to the shadowed ground, as the mare raced on without her.
Where was the wolf? He was not on the road between Phil and himself. Maybe he had been diverted by a sheep in the fields nearby. It was his only hope. If Phil had survived that fall she would not be so lucky to survive the wolf.
As he galloped toward where her crumpled body lay, he saw the shadow streak from the tree-line at the base of the moor. A sick jolt shot through him. Not distracted then. Just keeping to the shelter of the trees. The beast was ever the cautious, dangerous predator, watching and waiting its chance.
Only one bullet! Why hadn’t he taken the time to load more, or at least to drop a few bullets into his pocket? Nothing he did this night was like him. He was always so prepared for every eventuality. He always kept his calm, even when a wolf was on the loose. But not tonight. Not with Phil’s life at stake. All his cold resolve had vanished, and panic threatened to sabotage his every action.
By the time he reached them, the big black wolf was sniffing at the fallen woman. When he heard the horse approaching, he turned and snarled at the challenge.
Would he break and run for cover? Wolves were never willing to take on a superior foe. But the fallen woman was his prey, and it was possible he would fight to protect it.
Byron heard Phil gasp, as she tried to sit up. Not dead then, thank God! But the terrified sound drew the wolf’s attention back to her. If he as much as grazed her skin, Phil was sentenced to a living death. How could he stand it, watching her transform into one of these creatures month after month, watch her eaten away with self-loathing, preferring death to life as a monster?
He yelled a harsh, guttural cry to attract the wolf, as he threw himself off Hawk’s back. If he was to have any chance of taking the creature down with his one shot, he needed steady ground beneath him.
The wolf turned back to him with a jerk and another heart-jolting snarl. His muzzle was drawn back to reveal rows of sharp yellow teeth. Byron could see them shine in the moonlight.
Phil made a move to stand, and the wolf turned back to her, his body facing midpoint between the two humans, ready to lunge in Phil’s direction or his own.
‘Keep still!’ His voice was loud and harsh, and Phil immediately stopped moving. The wolf focused his gaze back on him.
Slowly, so very slowly, he raised the rifle to his shoulder, and took aim. He was close. Too close to miss. But if the wolf bolted, as he fired, it might not take him down. A wounded wolf was an even more dangerous creature.
As he fired the rifle, the wolf dived at him. Yelping, as the bullet struck him in the chest, the animal was thrown backwards by the force of the impact. He dropped to the ground, only feet from Phil’s side.
‘Oh no!’ Phil cried, as she saw the dead wolf transform back into human form. The naked body of Bobby, thin and white in the moonlight, lay where the black wolf had been, only seconds before. A red bloom was forming in the centre of his white chest.
‘Oh no, no! Not Bobby! How could it be Bobby?’ She was scrambling to the lad’s side, reaching for him, trying to find life where there was none.
‘He’s gone, Phil. He would not have changed back if he was still alive.’ His voice sounded harsh to his own ears. This was his fault. If he had remained focused on his role as guardian, this would never have happened. The lad had clearly not been as resolved to his new life as they had thought. Somehow, he had planned his escape. There was no way Byron would have left a key in the lock, no matter how much his thoughts were on the woman before him. The boy had hidden a key, and used it the moment Byron’s back was turned.
Phil was crying now, deep jagged sounds of grief and pain. Dropping the gun, he fell to his knees at her side, and reached for her. It was the most natural thing in the world to do. She belonged in his arms. Even in moments of terrible calamity, she belonged in his arms.
Phil must have felt it too, because she came to him easily, eagerly, desperately, seeking comfort, seeking stability in a world gone mad. She had cared for this boy, had seen him as her responsibility. Now he was dead, and it would seem so terribly wrong to her.
To Byron, who had been forced to kill before, it had always felt wrong.
She sobbed out her grief against his shirt. He held her tightly, until the tense waves of pain began to recede. When the crying had finally stopped, he gently drew her from him, so he could look into her eyes.
‘How did this happen?’ Her voice was hoarse and brittle, like broken glass crunching underfoot.
‘I do not know. I did not double check the doors after I locked them. Sometime between when I turned the key and took it away, and he transformed, he must have placed a copy into his lock, and edged the door open just enough so that when the wolf pressed against it, it would open.
‘How he found a key, I have no idea. How he was able to get out of the dungeons, and then the house, I do not know. Maybe I left the door at the top of the cellar stairs off the latch…’
‘I may have left the back door ajar when I left. I was not thinking clearly, I must admit. All I wanted was to get away…’
‘From me.’ He didn’t phrase it as a question. He knew the answer already.
‘Yes… you. And because of it, Bobby is dead. I will never forgive myself.’
‘You did nothing wrong. I was the one who was not here to monitor the lad during the last month. He seemed so accepting of his situation when I left. To be honest, I did not give him another thought, until I saw the cell door ajar. He must have come back with us, determined that he would find a way to escape when the wolf rose. The others would have been watching him closely over the last month, so there would have been no chance of escape before the full moon. But once they were all locked away… well, it was his chance. Foolish, foolish boy.’
‘What do we do now?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘Now we put his body across Hawk’s back, and walk him home. It will take at least an hour, and we will have to pass through the village. But it is late. The chances of anyone being about will be small.’
Hawk didn’t like the smell of death. And he certainly didn’t like having a dead body slung over his bare back. But h
e was well trained, and so he stood, his skin rippling, nostrils flared, as Byron loaded him up.
By the time they had climbed the last rise, and the craggy heap of stones stood silhouetted on the moonlit hilltop, Phil was hardly able to drag one foot in front of the other. Her fall had bruised her badly, but at least she hadn’t broken anything. But the further she walked, the more she limped.
But her thoughts were not on her own physical pain and exhaustion. Her thoughts were on the boy who flopped limply against the horse’s damp sides. She had never seen anyone die before. Her mother had died when she was out getting groceries. When she had come home that day, the flat had seemed oddly silent. The sound of her mother’s hacking cough was a constant, by that stage.
Seeing someone die was far worse than finding them dead. It was as if the fine line was between life and death came into clearer focus. One moment, there had been a living, breathing creature in mid-jump, its ferocity terrifying beyond belief. In the next moment, the creature was a lifeless lump of bone, muscle and fur. Harmless, pathetic. And, it became even more so, when it had transformed back into the long, lanky form of a teenage boy. Even more harmless. Even more deserving of her pity.
They walked the horse around to the stable, and Byron gently lowered the boy onto a pile of hay, while he saw to Hawk. While the man brushed the sweat from the animal’s coat, gave it a drink from the trough, and put it back in its stall, Phil stood vigil over the body. She couldn’t drag her eyes from it. Bobby had been a good looking boy, in an unremarkable way. He had seemed to be looking forward to the muscles he would develop, when the wolf fully came into its own. There was a girl who cared about him back home. He had seemed so content with his lot, in the last month.