by Violet Heart
New Dawning International Bookfair
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A New Paranormal Novelette
by
Violet Heart
Copyright © 2012 Violet Heart
~ Bitten ~
Chapter One
A charge of excitement in the chill air teased Amelia's nostrils. Her heart began to pound. She ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip and inhaled deeply as her coach emerged from a break in Alpine mountain range. She approached her destiny. She'd never been surer of anything.
On the opposite bench seat, an older man in a dignified gray houndstooth greatcoat stared at her mouth then into her eyes. A thrill of challenge raced through her, and she refused to look away. She sent him a suggestive smile and swallowed a chortle of delight when his pale face went red. Beside him, a middle-aged woman sent Amelia a scathing scowl then squeezed the man's arm.
The chortle made a second attempt into Amelia's throat, but she kept her lips closed to keep it from escaping. Yasmine would be scandalized by my boldness.
The coach tipped onto the mountain-pass road into the Rift River Valley. They passed through a cloudbank and came out the bottom into bright sunlight. Each minute of their steep descent saw a rise in temperature by a full degree. By the time they reached green, flowering hills outside her friend's town, Amelia was desperate to get out of her cloak. With the coach wall at one shoulder and a rotund mother of two pressed against the other, however, she couldn't move. She settled for propping open her wrap, leaving the clasp fastened at her throat.
Still, none of her discomfort detracted from her happiness. For the first time in over a year, she wasn't bored.
The coach wheels rumbled over the wooden arch of a creek bridge, and buildings came into view. She searched eagerly for a sign. She had no idea what awaited, but she sensed the promise of a thrill.
Since entering Pembroke's Academy for Ladies at twelve, Amelia had suspected she was meant for more than teas, balls, embroidery, and shopping. Now she knew it. She just knew it.
Cottages with straw-thatched roofs and pretty pastel wash brightening their walls gave way to colorful two-story townhouses and shops crammed side by side. The dirt road became a cobbled street that shimmied the coach. The older man stared at the jiggle of her breasts above the lace-trimmed neckline of her bodice.
If his wife hadn't appeared ready to leap over and scratch her face, Amelia might've been tempted to tease him. Maybe a slight lowering of her gown, or perhaps a leisurely caress along the plump round of her cleavage. But, no. Poor man. She'd done enough to put him in a bad way with the woman.
She turned her attention to the window in time to catch a glimpse of gleaming orange eyes in a handsome face. Her stomach leapt into her chest. She pressed fingers to the window and tried to turn, to get a second look, but the heavyset woman had her wedged too tightly.
She closed her lids in an attempt to bring his image to mind. There was something about him… something otherworldly, yet familiar. In the split second their eyes had met, she knew…what? Only that he drew her as nothing ever had. She experienced a sense of meaning deeper than she could comprehend, and she liked it. It reeked of adventure.
The coach came to a halt at a post station platform. Now that the wheels had stopped, the town's quiet hit her. The passengers exchanged uneasy glances.
The door opened and the driver offered his hand. He had to give her a tug to dislodge her from her corner. She sent the older man a playful wink and tiny wave, ignoring his wife's outraged huff, and alighted to the platform.
"It'll be just a moment to get your trunk and bag off the rack, Lady Fairforth," said the coachman, his German accent thick.
None of the passengers stepped out to stretch, despite their three-hour ride from the last post station in the Alps. She glanced along the street. People moved from shop to shop, and some stood talking in small groups. A cursory glance might've assured her all was well. Everyone spoke in whispers, though, and none of the children ran or played. A heavy, somber mood permeated the scene.
She refused to let it deter her. She belonged here, even if she wasn't sure why.
"Amelia!" Yasmine, a vision in lavender, exited the station building and stepped onto the platform. Her enormous satin and lace hat filled the doorway, brushing forest-green painted wood on both sides as she passed. It concealed her hair so completely that her dark eyebrows were the only clue she was brunette. Her silk and organza gown hugged in all the right places, and her organza-trimmed parasol knocked in time with her steps.
"You came. I'm so glad." Amelia unfastened her sable-lined, black velvet cloak and draped it over an arm.
Yasmine's gaze darted, and Amelia glanced over her own shoulder. What had her friend so nervous? It wasn't like her, especially since a burly manservant followed close at her heels. "It's good to see you, but didn't you get my letter?"
"I got it." You'd think me crazy if I admitted I had to come. That I've dreamt of nothing for the last two months but running free and wild here in the Rift River Valley. "But it's all I've had to look forward to."
"It's not safe for you." Yasmine placed a soft, warm hand on hers.
I'm meant to be here. She dared not admit such a notion aloud. "Well, I'm not returning to England anytime soon."
The coachman delivered her belongings to the platform, and Yasmine's servant immediately collected them. He lifted her trunk, with her satchel atop it, as if it weighed no more than a picnic basket.
While he headed for the station door, Amelia cast a glance down the street, hoping she'd glimpse the man with orange eyes.
"I really wish you hadn't come," said her friend.
"Why? Don't you want my visit?" She half-joked. Yasmine and she were like sisters since their early days together at the ladies’ academy.
"Of course you're always welcome. I love you. It's just that now isn't a good time." Her friend led the way through the station house and out to where her servant strapped the trunk atop a stately black and gold carriage bearing Yasmine's family coat of arms upon the door.
Her driver assisted them inside then took his seat. The conveyance jostled as the manservant climbed off the roof and onto the back. A horse snuffled, the reins snapped, and they rolled from the station.
Amelia grinned at her friend. "Did you miss me?"
Yasmine's anxiety softened to a gracious smile. "You know I did. I think of you every day. Your bold mischief. Your brilliant quips. Your quick mind. I can't tell you how often I had wished you were beside me when I needed a fast comeback or a witty retort."
"And here I am. So why isn't it safe?"
Her friend lost her smile. She stared at passing landscape while tension pulled her pretty mouth tight. Then she sighed. "Shortly before I sent my letter, bad things started happening in the valley town of Schwarzberg. A single mountain range is all that separates us, so we were concerned."
"What do you mean by 'bad things'?"
"First, livestock were found dead, ravaged by a predator of some kind. Sheep. Goats. An occasional cow."
"Upsetting, certainly, but this sometimes happens."
Yasmine shook her head. "Two months ago, a man was found in the same manner as the livestock. We couldn't stand by any longer. Some of the men formed a hunting party and went after it." She took a shuddering breath.
"Go on," urged Amelia, reaching across to grasp her friend's hand. It was the same time period in which her dreams had started. Unlikely as it seemed, could that hunt have something to do with her?
"The attacks had always been at night, so they went during a full moon for the best light. It didn't help."
"Why?"
"Nobody knows what happened. That is, nobody but Ebenoral Malveaux, the son of Lord Sir Malger Malveaux. He was the only one who returned
."
The name, Ebenoral Malveaux, sent a tremor of pleasure low in her belly. "What does he say about that night?"
Yasmine's chocolate-brown eyes went wide, her lashes reaching her arched eyebrows. "Nothing," she whispered. "All I can figure is it must've been horrifying. Eight men rode out on horseback, but one returned – injured and on foot. Upon his return the next morning, Ebenoral fell unconscious near town, his neck mangled on one side. He suffered a terrible fever. He was too weak to leave his bed for weeks."
Amelia scooted to the edge of her seat. "Then what?" But some part of her knew already. He began to hunt.
Her friend shook her head. "It was miraculous, really. We all thought he'd die of his wounds, but the servants said he disappeared from his bed one night. The next morning, he called upon his staff to serve breakfast in his sunroom. I saw him yesterday, and he didn't have a single mark on his neck. Not one. For the most part, though, he's kept to himself. You see, Lord Sir Malveaux was in that hunting party. Ebenoral has been grieving."
Amelia hadn't even met him, but her heart broke for him. "Is that why he refuses to talk about what happened?"
Yasmine hugged herself. "He says he can't recall." Her voice went quiet, making it difficult to hear her over the crunch of the wheels. "But we need him to remember."
"So the families mourning the other men can have closure?"
Yasmine slowly shook her head. "Because the livestock attacks have begun here in Rift."
* * * *
Ebenoral hid in shadow as the Hanswald carriage rolled by. Who was the lovely stranger, and why did she cause both a stirring in his loins and a burst of adrenaline? When her coach had entered town, he'd sensed her arrival. Desire burned through him at the sight of her blond curls. Her bright blue eyes had met his gaze, and he'd gone instantly hard.
His cock still ached, though he'd regained control. A growl grumbled at the base of his throat. Okay, so he'd mostly gained control.
He needed a drink, damn it, not some ninny girl straight out of deportment school. His body disagreed. It took umbrage to his thinking of her as a girl. The memory of lush breasts and flaring hips pushed to the fore. She was all woman.
He turned on his heel and somehow managed a calm walk to the tree line edging the rear of town. From there, he raced through the woods at a speed still alarming to him. Ebenoral approached the castle-like manor his great grandfather had built. It belonged to him now, but at the price of his father's life. Too high a price.
He fought a tightness in his chest. Without conscious intent, he brought to mind the newcomer's sensual features. Her full lips. Her large eyes. Her blond curls caressing high cheekbones and alabaster skin.
The tightness faded, giving way to tense neck muscles and sweaty palms.
He feared what he might do. Feared waking once again with a sense of, but no memory of, horrors he'd committed. Feared the full moon in two days.
Chapter Two
Amelia woke in a sweat. Her gaze went to her chamber window where a nearly full moon shone, bathing her bed in white light. She flipped off her covers and landed bare feet on a rich Persian rug. Her heart thumped insistently, partly from her most vivid dream yet, and partly from an overwhelming need to run, barefoot, in the night.
She fisted her hands. Why could she never remember the details of these dreams that left her body throbbing? That left her wanting to escape the confines of her room?
Snippets of the Rift River Valley. Flashing canines. Red eyes. It wasn't enough.
She rose and went to her washstand. Tonight, the cool water washed away her sweat but offered no relief from her mysterious impatience. She went to her window and peered at the bucolic valley her view afforded. She needed to be out there. Now.
At her door, she stopped with her hand on the knob. Only a fool would go out after such a tale as Yasmine told me. "And I'm no silly chit," she whispered, mesmerized as her hand turned the knob as if by its own will.
I should go back to bed. The frilly hem of her white nightgown kissed her ankles with each step she took toward the grand staircase. "I'm not stupid. Why am I doing this?" Because every needy, thrilling dream I've had led me here. Led me to this.
She gripped the banister and lowered her left foot to a cold marble step.
Led me to him.
Staring at her toes, she stood still a moment and soaked in the silence. Then she lifted her gaze to the shadow-encased front door.
She was outside, running across the manicured lawn without a memory of descending the staircase.
She had no idea where she headed, though she seemed to know exactly where to go. An incredible joy filled her, and she smiled.
It felt right – the cool moisture of soft grass under her bare feet. The chill air on her hot face. The smell of pine and flowers and…lust.
She sprinted through a narrow wood, the prick of roots and downed branches somehow not bothering her in the least. Then she broke into a grassy glade where a swirling pool fed by the nearby river glistened in the moonlight. She halted, panting. Waiting.
The cry of a hawk took her gaze skyward. Every nerve in her body thrummed. I should be afraid. I should feel hunted. She grinned. "I'm the hunter."
* * * *
Hot. Hungry. Sniff-sniff-sniff. His ears perked at a leafy rustle. Wind, not prey. He glanced at the moon but didn't feel the need to howl. Not lonely tonight. Not tonight.
He leapt into a full-on run, enjoying the bunch and stretch of muscle. Cool air felt refreshing on his tongue, in his throat, and in his lungs.
Hunt. Kill. Eat.
A hawk issued a whistle-like call overhead, and he came to a sliding halt. Sniff-sniff-sniff.
Easy prey. He licked his chops.
He moved slowly into the open. Plump and juicy flesh. Human. Baring his teeth, he growled at the woman standing at the glade's far end. Run. Make this fun.
She did. Delighted, he let out a bark and raced after her.
Closer. Almost have you.
He nipped toward her heels. He imaged her writhing under him and it stirred his blood. He pictured her head thrown back on a scream.
Yes.
But not in pain.
Huh? He stumbled and slowed. No blood? He wanted to rip into her flesh with his teeth. No, he didn't.
Then she laughed.
The world tilted and he tumbled. As if through a dark tunnel, he came to himself - not a wolf, not a man.
A man in wolf form. Werewolf. Cognitive thought and reason. All his memories intact. All his perception whole, yet modified.
She stopped and turned. In a refined English accent, smooth and sweet, she said, "I thought you were going to jump on me." Her breathy voice dipped in disappointment. She still bunched her gown in her fists, baring her legs from the knees down.
He took a menacing step forward and growled. Run for your life. I'm dangerous.
Her features went kind and soft, her light eyes gentle and inviting. "I know you," she said quietly. "Ebenoral."
He growled louder and made her wish come true. He knocked her to the ground and straddled her, snarling and trying to intimidate her with a show of his canines.
She chuckled, lifting a bit, and touched her nose to his.
Her show of friendship and welcome startled him. Then pain, wracking and deep, gripped his spine and twisted. He cried out as his entire body burned in agony. His voice went from a whimpering yelp to a man's shout, and the pain ceased.
"Well, hello there."
Ebenoral opened his eyes. She hadn't moved. She lay under him, her golden curls fanned out on the grass and her eyes bright and warm.
She touched soft fingertips to his cheek. "I'm glad you came out to play."
Chapter Three
"What have you done to me?" he asked, staring into her eyes, his arousal pressed against her belly.
Stunned, she blinked. "Me? It's you who've done something to me."
"Are you a simpleton?" He cocked his head like a dog that heard a strange noise
.
Immediately offended, yet strangely titillated, she placed a tentative hand to his chest. Yes, he was real. She wouldn't wake from this without recollection of the night's events. And she couldn't blame him for wondering. What kind of lady went wandering at night and laughed when a wolf came stalking? "You don’t know me?"
"No." He made to move, but she grasped his shoulders.
"Think about it a second. You have to know me because I knew you before I arrived in Rift. Maybe not your name or circumstances, but… Haven't you dreamt of me?"
Heat radiated from him, settling about her like a blanket. "I don't dream."
"I must sound insane." She studied his dark, deep-set eyes and strong, square features. He was handsome in a rugged, manly way she found irresistible. She only wanted for better light.
"It's almost a full moon." His eyebrows lifted. "Isn't that when the lunatics come out?"
Did he bait her on purpose? "Lunatics, yes. And wolfmen, apparently."
His shapely lips quirked into a half-smile. "Is that what I am?"
She laughed outright. "Don't tell me you hadn't noticed. I might be the one calling you crazy."
He frowned. "Is this real? Is any of this real?"
"If not, then we're sharing this insanity, and I don't think that's possible. Then again, two months ago, I wouldn't have thought wolfmen possible, either." She dropped her gaze to his mouth. She'd never wanted to kiss a man so badly. "I can accept it. Two months worth of dreams prepared me for tonight. For you. Can you feel it?" Excitement surged like electricity through her veins.
"Yes," he whispered. "But I don't understand it."
She snaked a hand to his tense nape and gently urged him down. "Don't try," she whispered. "Just accept."
His lips met hers, and she closed her eyes. Something told her she had done this, night after night, in her sleep. Those dreams didn't compare to the sheer, raw power of need that ignited within her now.