“’Course, Mr. Arnaud.”
As he walked away, Leon looked around. The slaves who’d gathered before the stables had returned to their quarters. Only Jolie remained, looking like a broken thing without its source of sustenance.
“Jolie,” he called, approaching her. She jumped and blinked, looking at him as if he were a stranger. Her pupils dilated slowly as her eyes tried unsuccessfully to focus. “Jolie, the heat is getting to you. Take a few hours to rest.”
“I’s fine, Massa…” she began in a weak voice, attempting to move. She almost fell, but caught herself as she wobbled.
“You are to go inside and rest,” Leon said firmly. He kept his hands at his sides, remembering his promise to Penny. He was beginning to realize that this promise would have to be amended, very slightly.
Jolie stared at him for a long time and he saw tears well again before she nodded jerkily and walked toward the plantation house. Turning around, Leon sniffed the air, trying to catch the honeysuckle scent that would put him at ease. Where was his mate?
***
As Leon had known he would, Hollis returned with the information that Pleasant had not made it home. Hollis had dismissed it, saying he’d probably had too much to drink and was passed out at some whorehouse in Baton Rogue. Leon had pretended to accept that, although he’d made obvious his distaste for a man who could not hold his liquor. When the next day arrived, and Pleasant still did not show up for work, they decided to check around the plantation to see if something had happened to him.
Evening was falling quickly as Leon, Hollis, and Hollis’s brother, Dale, seated upon horses, headed from the plantation. Before they could follow Pleasant’s trail, another party of men approached from the side.
In the lead was Patrick Ryder, toting a large musket, and a grim smile. Narrowing his eyes, Leon watched him approach.
“Heard your overseer is missing, Arnaud,” Ryder said as he brought his horse to a stop next to Leon’s. “Either that or he’s decided to part with this job, Mr. Ryder,” Leon answered easily.
Ryder smiled but replied, “If he’s in these woods, my boys and I are gonna help you find him.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I insist,” Patrick Ryder replied. “We’re neighbors, Arnaud. I’d like to think you’d do the same for me.”
“I would,” Leon replied automatically.
“It’s settled, then.” Ryder turned and looked around the seated circle of men. “There’s six of us so I suggest we split up.” He turned and pinned Hollis with a glare. “Which route does Pleasant use to go home?”
After Hollis rattled it off, Ryder nodded and turned to Leon. “Hollis will show you that route, and my boys and I are gonna use the other, just in case.”
Nodding, Leon turned to Hollis as Mr. Ryder spoke again. “And just for good luck, put these in your guns.”
Turning around, Leon looked down at the box being handed to him.
“What are those?”
“Custom-made bullets,” Ryder replied, jerking his hand forward. Leon took the box, peering at it as if able to see through to the inside. “I’ve been having them made for years. I call them my good luck charms.”
He flipped the cover and resisted the urge to glare at Ryder. Silver. Patrick Ryder had silver bullets.
“I didn’t know you were a superstitious man, Mr. Ryder,” he said instead, turning his attention back to the man.
“When you’ve lived around these parts long enough, Arnaud, you’ll probably get superstitious, too.” He tossed Leon a grin before shaking his head and saying, “I’ve seen things here you wouldn’t even imagine.”
“Really, Mr. Ryder?” Leon asked, wondering to what the man referred.
“Stories like those are for another time,” Ryder replied, turning his horse. “Hold on to them bullets in case you need them.” He turned to his own overseers. “Come on, boys. If Pleasant’s in these woods, let’s find him.”
***
Even Leon admitted that what had been done to Mr. Pleasant was very vicious. Not only was Pleasant discovered in numerous locations—an arm there, a foot there—the man was missing vital organs, including the one he’d used to abuse Julia. His eyes were still there, wide open in death, and on his face was a look of absolute horror. “Shame,” Ryder muttered, coming up beside Leon and the largest-still-together part of Pleasant’s body, the head and torso. “He was a good man.”
Leon resisted the urge to smirk and nodded instead. Pleasant was about as good as the devil.
“Coyotes,” Leon said, standing to face Ryder. “Or some other type of wild animals.”
Ryder stroked his beard slowly and withdrew a silver flask, which he promptly brought to his lips. After a lengthy drag, he held it out to Leon, who refused.
“You’re right about some other type of wild animal.” Ryder replaced the flask, and looked back to Pleasant, wincing as he took in the state of the body.
A chill sneaked up Leon’s spine. “What do you mean, Mr. Ryder?”
“I mean, when you’ve been living in the Bayou as long as I have, you see things that are definitely wild animals. They’re just not the kind of animal you’re accustomed to.”
“So these aren’t coyotes?” Leon probed.
Ryder shrugged. “Could be coyotes, could be something else.”
“What else could it be?” Leon struggled for patience.
A dry laugh left his throat. “If I told you, you’d probably think I’m crazy.” He looked back to Pleasant’s fly-ridden body and a slight shudder racked him. “You take care of this, and come over to my place tomorrow night. I’ll tell you everything I know over a pint of whiskey.”
Chapter Ten
“You don’t believe me.”
The statement came from Patrick Ryder, seated across from the casually dressed Frenchman whose brows were quirked and whose lips seemed close to rising in amusement. It was late evening and they were in his study. He’d just shared some—never all—of the details of that fateful night almost thirty years ago, when they’d hunted two slaves, and had instead found themselves hunted by a rampaging wolf. He’d spoken of the size of the wolf, bigger than any Ryder had ever seen, its strange endurance after being shot numerous times, and its final death—a silver bullet through the head that had brought it crashing to the ground, and even then, it had taken a few more to finally still its breathing. At that time, he’d had silver bullets because they showed status. Not every slave owner could afford to have bullets made of pure silver, but his father had.
“You will excuse my reaction, Mr. Ryder. If you’re being serious about this story, I apologize, but if this is some form of rite of passage for new slaveholders, I am thoroughly impressed.”
Arnaud grinned and lifted his whiskey-filled glass to them.
Feeling a tingle of irritation at the younger man, Patrick struggled for patience. “It’s the truth, Arnaud. I don’t have time for silly initiations.”
The grin immediately faded from Arnaud’s lips but his eyes still twinkled, showing he was still very amused.
“So, you truly believe there are slaves who can transform into animals when threatened?”
“It’s the only explanation,” he replied immediately, and then he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We never found the male, just the dead body of the wolf—”
“Don’t you think it’s possible, Mr. Ryder, that he escaped?”
“Without the girl? I’ve thought about it before and no. Thorn was…particular about the girl, and his nigger didn’t like it. It was probably why they ran. The buck wouldn’t leave her, especially as she was pregnant.”
“Pregnant?”
“Yes. She was big. Stupid idea they had to run. Might have escaped if not for her slowing them down.”
Arnaud lifted a brow and leaned slightly forward in his chair. “For argument’s sake, let’s say the slaves somehow found a way to change into animals—”
“It is,” he interrupted, glaring at t
he other man. “Even the nigra folklore talks about it.”
“What does the unfortunate death of my overseer have to do with this?”
“Possible he was killed by one of them.”
“By a slave?” The disbelieving expression on Arnaud’s face told of his feelings on that theory.
“Not just any slave. By one of them…shifters.”
“Shifters, Mr. Ryder?”
Angry the discussion was not going as he’d planned, Patrick stood, ready to dismiss the man from his home. “I know you don’t believe me, Arnaud. I just wanted to tell you so you don’t end up like the Thorns or Pleasant.”
Leon Arnaud seemed in no great hurry, and instead of standing, he swirled his whiskey in his glass and asked, “Were the Thorns killed by these shifters as well?”
Although there was no smirk, no laughter, not even a smidgen of amusement, Patrick had the distinct impression he was being mocked.
“It’s possible,” he answered elusively. Thomas Thorn had passed years after the incident, from a supposed heart problem. While Patrick could indulge that reasoning, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Adam Thorn had been thrown from his horse in the very woods his father had hunted those slaves years past. Coincidence? He thought not. And then Pleasant’s death had confirmed what he’d always suspected. Shifters were either on or around his plantation. “It’s growing late, Arnaud….”
Pushing himself to his feet, Leon Arnaud nodded and placed the whiskey glass against the table.
“It is, Mr. Ryder.”
He walked the younger man to the door and asked if he wanted an escort home. Even before the Frenchman answered, Patrick knew he would not take any escort. Leon Arnaud still did not understand the dangers of walking alone, especially at night, in places like these, and at the moment, Patrick wasn’t inclined to explain it to him.
Still, he couldn’t help but add a final warning. “If I were you, Arnaud, I’d invest in silver bullets.”
Although Arnaud turned to face him, he did not speak. He only smiled slightly, dipped his head, and strolled down the path that would take him to his own plantation.
Patrick Ryder in the doorway for long moments, staring out into the darkness even after his guest had disappeared. Pleasant’s death had only confirmed what he’d long suspected, that the child of the runaway slaves was alive and more than likely responsible for the deaths of Adam Thorn and Pleasant.
Now, he was more determined than ever to find out who it was. It wasn’t just his curiosity he wished to fulfill; he wanted to prove he was not insane, that what he’d seen had happened. With Thorn and Pleasant dead, no one would believe him without proof. He fully intended to find it.
***
Leon forced himself to relax, to retain the cool he’d projected to Patrick Ryder not moments ago.
Patrick Ryder knew of the existence of werewolves. Or at least, he knew—or believed he knew—of the existence of humans who could take the shapes of animals.
He’d gone to Ryder’s plantation that evening primarily because he wanted to know why the man possessed silver bullets. While silver wasn’t as deadly to werewolves as it was to vampires and warlocks, it weakened them enough that their naturally fast regeneration of tissues and bones became slower. If the bullets weren’t removed quickly, they left a werewolf open to serious injuries, even death. A bullet—be it silver or lead—to the head, however, which was what Ryder had ultimately done, was almost always fatal to a wolf. Although it was difficult to kill a werewolf, especially a mated one, as the slave had to have been, it was possible.
While Ryder had spoken his theory on shifters, Leon had attempted to penetrate his mind and had found himself blocked. It was a subtle shield, but there all the same. He’d heard of humans strong enough to put up mental shields, but he’d never imaged Patrick Ryder would be one. Still, he could break it. However, as doing so could kill the man, he would have to use that option as a last resort.
Stepping onto the land that marked his plantation, he inhaled the night, unconsciously searching for Penny. Unless there had been another family of werewolves living on the plantation as slaves over twenty years ago, which was doubtful, the wolf Ryder had killed must have been Penny’s father. He remembered asking Penny where her parents were when he’d first met her. She’d mentioned that her mother had been shot.
Once he entered the house, he dropped his calm, slightly-bored-slave-owner mask. His canines cut into his lip. He parted them slightly to reduce the pressure as his fingers worked the buttons of his shirt. His clothes were stifling him. The wolf was restless, pacing inside his body, demanding release. Tonight would have been a good night for a run, but with the knowledge Ryder had just imparted, he was wary to do so. He doubted the other man would be out and about, patrolling for, as he called them, shifters, and even if he was, Leon knew that he would be watchful enough to scent and in his mood, kill, Ryder before the human could see him. His reasons for refraining from the change lay with the questions that now haunted him. Who else had Ryder told? Who else believed him?
Not only did Patrick Ryder know of the existence of his kind, he knew how to kill them, and that information in the hands of a human, a human like Ryder, would result in no good. He forced himself to calm as he stepped into his bedroom. Penny was not there but her scent lingered from last night. He inhaled deep and waited a few seconds before inhaling again. The wolf had retreated slightly.
Immortals had coexisted with humans for centuries because most humans did not know of their existence. The select few who did were usually in some way descended from immortal beings. Patrick Ryder would have to die. But first, Leon needed to know who else he’d shared this information with.
***
Penny quickly and quietly made her way from the slave quarters to the plantation house. Not that it would have mattered had she made enough noise to rouse the dead. They treated her as if she wasn’t there. People she’d known all her life now pretended that she didn’t exist.
Last night had been bad, but she’d expected that as the slaves were mourning the loss of their families and friends. Tonight was no better. Ray couldn’t have made her more outcast by branding into her skin “Massa’s whore”. The only person who treated her the same was Old Ma. And perhaps “the same” was too strong a phrase. While Hyacinth didn’t ignore her like the others, she now made a point to be next to Penny, to sit next to her during breakfast, lunch, and supper, so Penny didn’t feel the brunt of the exclusion. Penny didn’t believe she could love the older woman more had she been her biological mother, but the expulsion from the group still hurt. She considered them her family, and to be cast out for loving someone of a different race—though she understood the reasons—still hurt.
She paused outside his door as she went over her last thought. She loved him. A half-smile lifted her lips, brightening her mood. Although she hadn’t known him for a long time, they were mates. He knew her better than anyone, had access to her deepest thoughts and feelings, and she his.
Her hand was moving to the knob when the door swung open. Leon’s eyes scanned her quickly before he spoke directly into her mind. Why are you standing out here, ma louve?
His hair was rumpled, as if he’d run his fingers through it countless times. He’d removed his shirt, and the top buttons of his trousers were undone, leaving the material to hang low on his waist. He looked restless but comfortable, and very…delicious.
With a quick smile, she stepped past him and waited for him to close the door.
“What’s wrong, Penny?”
“Nothing,” she replied immediately, which only made green eyes narrow suspiciously on her. She was prepared when she felt the familiar intrusion of his mind into hers, and gently pushed him out before lifting her mental shields.
That only earned her a glare, which she ignored. She made her way to his bed and perched on the edge. Penny knew her mate well, and she knew if she allowed him to see how hurt she was by her treatment in the slave quarters, he would move
her into the plantation house. If she moved to the plantation house, she’d be forever exiled from the only family she’d known since birth. As it stood, it was possible that in a few days, or weeks, they would forget. Perhaps.
“What did Ryder say?” Leon had told her of his encounter with Patrick Ryder yesterday, and had explained to her why it was so dangerous that the man had silver bullets.
Leon didn’t answer for long moments before he said, “He knows of our existence—of the existence of werewolves.”
Eyes widening, Penny shook her head before asking, “How? How could he know?” And then her eyes widened even further. “Has he seen me? Is that—?”
He shook his head immediately, before he moved over to her. He came close, stepping between her legs and placing a large hand against her face.
Her breathing quickened automatically, but she recognized the seriousness of his gaze, and tampered her need down. Leon wasn’t trying to seduce her; he was trying to tell her something.
“What do you know of your parents, Penny?”
Brows furrowing, she blinked and shook her head. His hand remained at her face, caressing gently.
“I know they were slaves, that my mother died because she tried to run, and Thomas Thorn shot her. Why?”
“And your father?”
Penny shrugged. “I don’t know much of my father, Leon, just that he, too, was a slave here, and was killed trying to run away.”
She’d been much more curious about her parents when she was younger. As she’d aged, they remained in her mind, but the constant urge to know all she could about them had faded. Old Ma and the others had filled that void.
“Who told you this?”
“Old Ma—Hyacinth.” Brown eyes searched his face for answers. “Why are you asking these questions?”
“I think Ryder knows of our existence because he helped Thomas Thorn kill your parents.”
Her body instantly grew cold. She’d never liked Patrick Ryder. He leered at her whenever he visited the plantation, and said inappropriate things she hadn’t even understood because she’d been so young. But now she had more reason, better reason, to hate him.
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