by Jan Delima
The girl eyed the cookie, Luc, and then the cookie again. He pretended to look away. By the time he turned back she had the entire thing shoved into her mouth; her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk after finding a bowl of sweetmeats.
He gave her time to chew and swallow before holding up another. She went to grab it but he moved it from her reach. “For your name,” he said. “I know you speak English well, and that you understand what I’m asking, unless you don’t have a name.”
But he suspected that she did.
She ogled the cookie with indecision. “I’m called Audrey.”
“Thank you, Audrey. My name is Luc.” He handed her the reward and swung the rest of the sack back and forth. Her head moved with the pendulum motion. “These are all yours if you do just a few things for me. We are going to wash you because you are part of our family now. Then you’ll dress in fresh clothes. And then you’ll be sleeping in this room. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Her gaze moved from the cookies, brownish-green and too old for her age. She gave a tiny nod. “William’s not coming back.”
“That’s right.” Luc kept his voice calm but firm, kind but dominant. “You’ll be staying with us from now on. Tesni will sleep in your room tonight. If you need anything she’ll help you.”
“William said you stink like humans. He said you were all filthy pigs who slept in hovels. He said I needed to keep quiet or you would eat me for breakfast and suck my bones for dessert.”
Rosa slid into the bathroom and crouched down next to Luc. “You smell worse than we do, Audrey. And we eat cookies, not children. And bread with thick cream and strawberry jam. And roasted tarts with gravy fillings. And we sleep in beds with fluffy pillows and warm blankets.”
Honesty had a scent and Rosa’s was as sweet as her words.
In true Wulfling form, it didn’t take Audrey long to decipher friend from foe, even if her senses were hindered by her human skin. “And if I take a bath, I get to have all the cookies?”
Rosa nodded. “All of them. And then afterward, if you’re still hungry, we’ll make you something else.”
“A roasted tart with gravy filling?”
“If you like.”
The girl looked down. “Can I change?” she whispered. Luc could hear the frantic beats of her heart for daring to ask what she obviously wanted most, to change to the form where she felt the safest. “William gets mad when I change. I go in a dark room and I get so hungry. He says I must be like the Hen Was. He says I mustn’t change so the Council will not take me away.”
Startled, Rosa looked to Luc for advice. William had kept Audrey’s ability to shift a secret from the Council. To protect her? Or to keep her for himself? Maybe both. Lona, if indeed that had been the tutor’s name, had good reason to run for knowing William’s secret.
Luc couldn’t help but wonder about the identity of Audrey’s parents, though he had little doubt they were dead. “You’ll never go hungry here.” But he didn’t want her to revert to her other form entirely. “I have an idea. Why don’t you stay as you are now while the sun is up, and change to your wolf when the sun is down?”
Audrey heaved a sigh larger than her chest should hold. “I can do it.” She padded to the side of the tub, stood on her toes and reached her hand into the water. Her stern expression faded into curiosity. She picked up a bar of soap, smelled it, and went to take a bite.
Snagging the bar, Rosa said, “We use that to make bubbles to wash you with.”
Audrey frowned. “Smells like food.”
“It’s made with rosemary and mint.” Rosa turned to Luc. “Don’t ever use the soap made with lavender.”
Curious, Luc asked, “Why?”
“It has an extra ingredient in it from Mae. She makes it special for the Guardians. It will cause sores on your skin.”
“Noted.”
As if handling a sack of golden eggs, Rosa gently removed Audrey’s soiled clothes and tossed them in the corner. There were no welts on her body, or shyness—a blessing in light of how she’d been found.
Rosa lifted the girl into the water, lathered soap in her palms and worked on the child’s hair. Audrey allowed the process with attentive eyes, testing the bubbles with her tongue and wrinkling her nose, while Luc stood back and watched his wife.
He recalled Rosa’s initial reaction to the Wulfling; she had faced Guardians without fear and yet an innocent child caused her to panic. Instinct tightened his spine then; an assumption, but one he suspected was true. Something, or someone, had been harmed in Avon, an innocent that Rosa had been unable to keep safe.
After the bath, they wrapped her in a thick towel. The child’s eyes fluttered closed but she was determined to finish all her cookies. By the time they tucked her into bed, she had succumbed to sleep.
“I will watch her through the night,” Tesni said, nodding to Luc. “Cadan will relieve me in the morning and bring the child her morning meal.” Her expression was still guarded though less critical.
Rosa went to leave but paused as Tesni grabbed her hand. A meaningful look exchanged between the women. “All is well,” Rosa reassured her.
With a nod, Tesni dropped her hand. “Then try to get some rest.” The last comment came with a teasing note, although a slight one.
Once in the hallway, Rosa turned to Luc, her eyes wide with awe as she whispered, “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Handle children.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “We do have a few in Rhuddin Village.” If only eight. Children were rare blessings for their kind. He cherished every one, with their bright eyes and curious questions. “And you handled her well. They are resilient little creatures. With love, our Wulfling will be okay. You’ll see.”
“Our Audrey,” she said, sparing one last glance toward the tiny form on the bed before softly closing the door. “The Guardians are gone and in their place we’ve been given a child.” Concern and awe weaved through her voice, as if awarded a gift she dared not accept for fear it would be taken away—or destroyed. “We have a child in Avon,” she said again in disbelief. “A child without being mated to a Guardian.” Her haunted gaze lifted to Luc. “We must protect her.”
“We will, Rosa.” He wanted to say more, but hesitated. Now was not the time to pry into her secrets; nor was he ready to talk of his.
A silence stretched.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, we will.” And then her whisper became hushed laughter and it was a glorious sound. “I don’t want to go to bed for fear I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream.”
Watching her like this, spontaneous with joy, triggered other desires. “There’s more to do in a bed than just sleep.” He immediately regretted his words when her posture stiffened and her laugher vanished like skipping stones on a lake, their circles dissipating into a smooth surface, leaving the turbulence hidden beneath.
“You promised only the once.” Now that they were alone, she let her accusations flow. “I didn’t think we would be sharing a room.”
He had surmised as much earlier. “We’ll share a room and sleep in the same bed. You trust your Hen Was but I don’t. There may be spies in our midst. For all eyes but our own, we’ll appear to have a healthy and active marriage. What goes on in our bed behind closed doors is up to you.”
Thirteen
Luc’s words tempted her more than they should, and as Rosa made her way toward Cadan’s rooms, she couldn’t help but picture the night to come. She had never slept in the same bed with a man, let alone one she was attracted to. Likewise, her infertility regimen needed a reapplication since she had shifted and was now fully healed.
Cadan’s rooms remained next to Math’s old chamber. She knocked and waited. When there was no answer, she tested his door, finding it unlocked. Decorated simply in shades of black and gray, his bed
remained empty while steam wafted from the bathroom, fogging the terrace doors.
“It’s just me,” she announced from the open bathroom door before peeking her head around the corner.
“Over here.” His voice came from the direction of the vanity where he sat with a thick towel wrapped around his waist. Clumps of red hair formed a tangled pile on the marble floor. His eyes found hers in the mirror, haunted and challenging, with shears held midair as he hacked away his beautiful hair.
Walking over, she covered his hand with hers and gently pried the shears from his fingers. “Let me.”
This was Cadan’s first act of freedom and she would assist him in any way she could. And as he sat quietly on a carved seat before her, she removed the tresses Math had cherished.
Afterward, she combed her fingers through his shortened hair and smiled at his reflection. “If possible, I think it makes you look even more handsome.”
“Better,” he whispered thickly. “Mae hasn’t woken yet.”
“I know.” Setting the shears on the vanity, she rested her cheek on the top of his head. Before Luc, Cadan was the only other male whose touch didn’t bother her—because it was brotherly and pure and came without demands.
“The Council will return for me,” she eventually said. “But one of us can be free. Take anything you want from Math’s vault,” she offered, knowing Cadan had always wanted to live in the mortal world. “And I have some modern currency—”
He stiffened, and she sensed both temptation and regret. He didn’t belong within stone walls to serve the whims of kings and Council. Like an exotic animal, he deserved to fly without broken wings, to live as he chose, and to love whom he wanted.
“I’m not leaving you, Rosabea. Not until after summer and I know you’re safe.”
“Cadan—”
“Has your new husband been kind to you?” he interrupted, changing the subject. “It’s only us now, so be truthful with me.”
Looking up, she met his gaze in the mirror. She noted, too, that he made an effort to lose the formality of his speech. They were a pair still, were they not, taking their freedoms in the steps of babes?
“Luc has been very”—she searched for the right explanation—“considerate.” Heat crawled up her neck then, remembering how considerate.
“Didn’t you just return from a run?” Green eyes darkened with alarm when she nodded. “Your wolf has risen again.”
“I like Luc,” she admitted. “And my wolf . . .” She let her voice trail off, shaking her head as she caught the burgundy reflection that had warranted her cousin’s worry. “My wolf wants him . . . that way. It’s very disconcerting.”
A teasing glint entered his gaze but he swallowed whatever he was about to say when a dark shadow loomed in the doorway. “Gareth,” he greeted.
Silently, the guard assessed the situation, his scars stark around his features as he checked his frustration. “It suits you,” he offered in reference to Cadan’s shortened hair.
“We did it,” Rosa said with triumph, holding out her hand. Was not a small collaboration in order with the three who had begun this journey of defection from the Council? “The Guardians are gone from Avon.”
Taking her hand, Gareth pinned her with a single-eyed glare. “But at what cost?” His concern softened his censure.
“I’m satisfied with the terms of my second marriage,” Rosa assured him once again, squeezing his fingers briefly before letting go of his hand. He knew her reasoning behind the arrangement and she wouldn’t waste words trying to justify her actions. “We need to prepare for the Council’s retaliation. I’ve made this decision and I’ll answer for it. But I’ll understand if you want to leave before—”
“Don’t insult me,” Gareth snarled. “We began this together. We’ll end it together.” In a softer tone, he added, “And Avon is my home . . . such as it is.”
“Such as it is,” she agreed. “I wish you could see Rhuddin Village.” A meager offering in face of his continued loyalty, she described the town and the fairness she witnessed under Dylan Black’s leadership. Cadan and Gareth listened intently, wanting the same for Avon, united in their goals—just not in her methods of acquiring them.
They remained silent for a while, a quiet harmony in a small space—and her seedling of hope reached out a few more branches.
“Luc asked me to remain on as porter,” Gareth eventually conceded. He hadn’t referred to him as the Beast, which was progress.
It had been her request. “As you should.”
“The Norseman is watching me,” he added with a grumble.
“As I know you’re watching him,” she returned. “Concessions must be made to strengthen Avon. And respect won’t come in a day.”
“No,” Gareth agreed. “You will tell us if he’s unkind to you.”
She smiled at an order similar to Cadan’s. “I will.”
“You need to run,” he said.
“She already has,” Cadan supplied. “Her wolf has risen again.”
Gareth scowled with suspicion over the cause.
“Good night,” she said, squeezing Cadan’s shoulder as she left, not willing to discuss at length her wolf’s apparent admiration for Luc. That was a private matter, as was the unpleasant task of what needed to be reapplied in light of her ill-timed attraction to her new husband.
* * *
Gripping the empty vial of Mae’s potion, Rosa leaned over the toilet and tried not to retch. Her mouth filled with saliva, thin like water, forcing her to spit or swallow.
Stay down, she prayed with watery eyes, because it was her last dose. She sagged in a miserable heap, resisting the urge to cool her forehead against the sweating porcelain of the tank, and this was just the first phase of destroying her fertility; the second phase was much worse.
In the bedroom beyond, she heard Luc walking about, opening drawers, touching her things—invasive man. He seemed perfectly comfortable in her room while she swallowed poisoned vomit behind a closed door.
Her wolf pranced and rolled, stirring up the nausea, because the disobedient creature liked Luc—as did Rosa. Even she would admit that Luc was becoming a dangerous temptation, and now that Avon was secured, reminders of their time in the cabin weakened her resolve.
Luc made her want impractical and womanly things. But staying fertile was too much of a risk among all these new guards, and until summer’s first moon waned, the prophecy mustn’t be discounted.
When—or if—she ever conceived a child, she would choose the father.
In stark contradiction to her vow, another roll twisted her intestines. The potion burned like firewater, making a slow crawl back up her throat.
The gag came all at once. Her stomach muscles clenched in wave after wave, emptying its contents. She tried to be silent, but liquid heaving into liquid made a distinctive splash.
“Rosa . . . ?” A brief knock, that was all he gave before shoving open the door. “You’re sick.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and snapped, “It happens.”
His nose turned. “What’s that smell?”
“Vomit,” she offered in her most sarcastic voice. Math had never come to her room before midnight; he had never been this close to the process. If he had, perhaps he also would have scented the malevolent contents of the potion.
“It’s more than sickness,” he persisted. “It’s aberrant. It’s . . . unnatural.”
“Do you mind?” Rosa huffed, hoping to keep his attention away from the counter beside the wash sink where the second dosage waited in plain sight. “I deserve privacy in this room.”
Ignoring her outrage, Luc’s nostrils flared. He reached out and grabbed her hand, prying the empty vial from her fingers. Scowling, he brought it to his nose, snarled—then sneezed.
When his gaze lifted to hers, it burned bright with ind
ignation. He might not know for sure the potion’s intent, but he had made a good guess. “What is this?” He threw the vial against the wall. It bounced and rolled on the mosaic-tiled floor. “What have you done?”
She lifted her chin. “What I put into my own body is none of your concern.”
“If it makes you ill, it is!” His eyes landed on the second item that destroyed all possibility of her carrying a child, the one administered through a different portal. He stalked toward it, gripped the bladder with a growl and contracted his hands. For a moment she wondered whether his claws might actually emerge.
She rushed over in a frantic grapple with his arms. “Don’t—”
But it was too late. The bladder ripped and the contents spilled across the marble countertop in a pale greenish hue.
Luc tested it with a touch, rubbing the concoction between his thumb and forefinger. “It burns, like acid.”
“It is acid.” Denying it now was pointless.
“You would put this inside you? Why?” But then he stilled, like the air around the Walkers’ tombs, cold and unmoving around living graves. “Is carrying my child so repugnant that you would burn your insides to prevent it?”
“How dare you look at me with scorn in your eyes, or think this is about you,” she spat, “when you have never felt the heat of Guardian leers.”
“I’m the Beast of Merin! I’ve been judged by Guardians far longer than you.”
“I’ll take their judgment over their lust any day.” Rage threatened to consume her, fueled by mounting fear as the consequences of his actions swam before her with vile possibilities. “You’ve never lived among them. You’ve never had to stay silent while they whisper putrid threats in your ears, while they tell you how they’re going to tie you up and shove their cocks against your womb so hard that their seed is bound to take root.” She advanced on him, daring to poke her finger in his chest, which was bare, because not only had he barged into her space, but he had done it half-nude. “And you’ve never had a fertility ritual planned where you’re the main event.”