Forever Midnight

by Kate Hill

  Maggie sighed with relief. At least they were leaving the house alone. Suddenly she screamed as Edgar lifted her into the saddle.

  “Let me go.” She jammed her elbows backwards.

  Edgar grunted with pain but managed to press the nose of his rifle to her ribs. “Stop moving or you die right here and now, bitch.”

  Maggie remained still except for the furious rise and fall of her breasts. She’d had more than her fill of the damned Stratfords and the townsfolk.

  “You’re coming with me. I know the wolf will come for his slut. As long as I have you, more than likely I’ll be the one to kill him.”

  “Good thinking, Edgar,” shouted one of the men. “Let’s go.”

  The crowd kicked their horses to a gallop and dispersed.

  In spite of her rage, Maggie sat quietly. Keeping Edgar and the others riding over the countryside was better than having them lurk around the house. At least now, as long as the chains held, Samuel would be safe at home.

  * * * * *

  Samuel’s agonized scream turned to a canine wail as he strained against the silver cuffs cutting through his wrists. The change took several moments, but during that time he experienced pure hell. His throat ached from screaming. Every bone and muscle in his body burned like hot coals. His racing pulse filled his ears.

  Convulsions struck him as he writhed on the floor, unable to move far due to the bonds.

  As his thoughts and memories faded and pure instinct took over, the pain vanished, replaced by incredible power and savage hunger. He needed to run. He needed to chase down his prey. He needed to—

  The wolf’s gaze fixed on the man standing in the far corner of the room. The scent of his fear was heavy on the air, yet the hands clasping the rifle were steady.

  “Easy, Samuel,” the man said. “I made the cuffs solid this time. You won’t get loose. In a few minutes, Maggie will come down and we’ll break the curse. Just stay calm.”

  Though unable to completely understand the words, something in the man’s voice calmed the wolf’s rage just a bit before blinding fury overcame him again. Howling and growling, he flung himself against the bonds in an attempt to reach his prey.

  Suddenly the wolf paused, trembling, and sniffed the air. Through the layers of thick carpeting covering the little room and the wood ceiling dividing him from the main house, he caught the faint scent of townsfolk. Some were familiar scents, others were not. One stood out above all others. A beautiful aroma, feminine and sensual. He couldn’t think of her name, but he discerned one primitive and raw emotion—love.

  His ears twitched, picking up the sounds of arguing. Then the woman—his woman—screamed “let me go”. Hoofbeats pounded then faded.

  She was in danger. They were taking her away. Fresh rage overcame the wolf and he howled and growled, throwing his entire weight against the bonds. The silver burned through his flesh and hair, the pain almost unbearable, but not as unbearable as the thought of her in danger.

  With another massive pull, the chains ripped from the wall. He was free. Leaping at the door, he burst through and raced up the narrow steps, his back legs striking the man who attempted to follow and knocking him down the stairs.

  * * * * *

  Maggie’s nostrils curled at the reek of Edgar’s rancid breath blowing against her from behind. His attention focused on the path leading through the trees.

  She waited patiently for him to relax his hold on the rifle pressed to her side. If he did, then maybe, just maybe, she could escape and lose him in the woods.

  Suddenly a tall bearded man appeared from behind a tree. He gazed at her and Edgar.

  “Can I be of help?” he asked.

  “We’re looking for a wolf,” stated Edgar. “A big one. If I were you, Mister, I wouldn’t wander around these woods tonight.”

  “A big wolf you say? Haven’t seen any.”

  Edgar grunted and nudged his horse forward.

  The bearded man grasped the animal’s halter.

  “Get your hand off my horse.” Edgar turned the gun from Maggie to the stranger who grasped the nose of the weapon and jerked. Maggie managed to keep her seat as Edgar tumbled to the ground.

  “Ma’am.” The bearded stranger nodded at Maggie as he fixed the rifle on Edgar. “I got the feeling you didn’t want to be riding with him. You looked a bit upset.”

  “You bastard. I don’t know who you are, but you have no idea what you’ve done. I’m telling you there’s a mad wolf roaming loose and—”

  Edgar stopped speaking and stared in horror as his captor shoved the nose of his gun against his lips.

  “Why don’t we have some quiet?” the bearded man said. “These here are my woods. You’re invading my privacy. I don’t like that, Mister.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, sir,” Maggie said.

  “You can call me John. John Longmeadow.”

  “Mr. Longmeadow.” She smiled. So, they finally met. “I—”

  “Shhh.” He glanced in Edgar’s direction and shook his head. “Wouldn’t do to talk now. Why don’t you take that horse and find what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes. Thank you, sir.” She turned the horse down the path heading out of the woods towards home and Samuel. There was still time to break the curse.

  * * * * *

  The wolf had nearly reached the woods when he saw a rifle-toting man charging over the hillside.

  His feet flew, scattering ice and snow as he bounded through the drifts.

  Suddenly a shot rang out from behind. Pain exploded in the wolf’s shoulder, but he ignored it, focused on his prey.

  The man ahead glanced over his shoulder, his face stark with terror as he lifted his rifle, but he wasn’t fast enough. The wolf pounced on him. The pungent scent of the man’s fear and the wolf’s own blood filled his nostrils.

  “I don’t have her, you evil bastard,” his captive shrieked in fear. “Look for Stratford. He’s the one you want”

  Suddenly he caught her scent. Glancing up, he saw her standing just outside the woods. A horse loomed behind her, blowing icy breath on the night air.

  The wolf stared into her face. Love. Love. Love.

  He raced for her and several more shots exploded, ripping through his fur and flesh. The wolf howled in agony and collapsed onto the bloody snow.

  Moments later she was beside him, her tears falling onto his muzzle. “No, no, no.”

  He tried lifting his head, but weakness and pain overcame him. Above the agony floated the comforting sensation of her hands on his side, stroking and caressing.

  I love you.

  “I love you,” she buried her face in his furry neck. “I love you so much…”

  Chapter Twelve

  Pierce jerked awake, his heart pounding with such ferocity he thought it might explode. He panted hard.

  Pushing himself to his knees, he ran a hand through his wet hair. Disoriented, he glanced around the old-fashioned room and narrowed his eyes at the flames leaping in the hearth.

  “Whittle House.” He glanced down at his shirt plastered to his sweat-drenched body. For some reason, he’d expected to see blood. “God. That was—”

  There were no words for what he’d just experienced. Common sense told him it had been an intense dream, but the feeling in his gut told him otherwise. Somehow, he had been given Samuel Whittle’s memories and been allowed to experience his life through some strange, psychic experience.

  For a long time he sat, staring at the fire, filled with more emotions than he’d ever thought to experience. Most clear of all was love. Samuel’s love for Maggie, love that Pierce would never have understood without their help.

  “This is crazy.” He sighed, his throat constricting. The last time he’d cried he’d been six years old. His mother had dumped him off on his father’s doorstep with a kiss on the cheek and he’d never seen her again.

  Shaking his head, he fought for control and won—somewhat. At least he wasn’t going to sit here and cry like
a damn wimp.

  Suddenly, he remembered something. A snowy morning shared with a woman he cared for more than anything. Pierce’s eyes slipped shut as he imagined what it felt like sitting on the horse, his arms around Maggie, loving her, feeling her…

  He opened his eyes and noticed a flashlight shining in the foyer. The brightness struck him in the face.

  “My God, Pierce.” Tabatha approached, kneeling beside him. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded.

  “Here.” She slipped an arm around him and helped him to stand. “Are you sick? You look terrible.”

  “Not sick. I don’t think so.” He didn’t need her support, but for some strange reason, he wanted it. Her body felt good so close to his. Comforting.

  Her sneaker-clad foot kicked an empty bottle across the floor and her brow furrowed. “You’re drunk?”

  “Yes… I mean, I was, but not now.” He sat on the couch and drew a deep breath. She tried moving away, but he tugged her beside him and stared deeply into her eyes. Beautiful, brown, familiar eyes. “Tell me what happened to Samuel Whittle?”

  Her brow furrowed. “What?”

  “The guy who owned this house, the accused werewolf. What happened to him?”

  “Supposedly there was a shootout not far from here. Legend has it, he changed from wolf to man before the eyes of the local reverend and several of the townsfolk and the curse was broken.”

  “Yes.” Pierce closed his eyes for a moment. “That’s how it happened. She loved him. She touched him.”

  “Pierce?” Tabatha rested a hand on his knee. When he looked at her, he noted her eyes were wide and her face had gone a shade paler. “What are you talking about?”

  “After that what happened to him?”

  “It was said that he and Maggie Springfield, a free black woman working as his maid, moved to Pennsylvania where, at that time, interracial marriage was allowed. Thirty years later, they took a risk and returned to Whittle House where they spent a reclusive life with their son, Andrew. Records indicate that Andrew kept the house until his death in 1899. After that, the Jones Historical Society took possession of the house until they dissolved, then we at Philmore took over its care.”

  Pierce couldn’t help smiling. “He did marry her.”

  “What do you know about it? Pierce? What are you doing?” Tabatha followed him to the fireplace where he moved aside the clock and tugged at one of the bricks.

  “Oh God.” Tabatha covered her hands with her mouth as the brick came loose and Pierce reached behind it. He tugged out a pair of broken silver cuffs. They were tarnished with age, but the workmanship was excellent. Several tufts of coarse, gray hair were trapped in the chain.

  “How did you know about that?” Tabatha reached out a trembling hand and touched the cuffs. “We… I mean they hid them after that night.”

  “What night?”

  Tabatha stared into his eyes. She tried pulling away, but he held her fast. “The last night.”

  “Tell me something, Tabatha, and don’t lie. What were those cuffs for?”

  “To restrain the…the werewolf.” Her voice was scarcely audible. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  Pierce nodded slowly. He released her and cupped her face in his hand before tugging his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed.

  “This is Pierce. I’m calling off today’s auction at Whittle House. I know it’s short notice, but that’s how it is. Also cancel the contractors for the new building. Whittle House is staying.”

  Tabatha stared at him, her mouth open in shock. “Why did you do that, Mr. Durant?”

  “I have to get home and shower.” Pierce headed for the front door. “I need to talk to my lawyer and get things settled. You’d better get on the phone with whoever is in charge of Philmore.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like Philmore involved in the operation of it.”

  “Operation of what?”

  Pierce stopped in the foyer and smiled at her. Something about her tugged at his heart, a heart freshly awakened from a long, cold slumber. “I’m reopening Whittle House as a museum, so everyone can have a taste of post-Revolution history and remember the people who lived here.”

  “Why the sudden change?”

  Pierce took a step closer to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Because something happened to me tonight. I’m not sure what it was, but it woke me up. Life is short and I’m wasting it making and hoarding money that will be here long after I’m dead. I have to go. Thank you.” He kissed her cheek.

  Tabatha lifted a hand to the spot he’d kissed, a half-smile on her lips. “What did I do?”

  “You cared.”

  His heart pounding and his mind whirling with upcoming plans, Pierce jogged to his car and hurried home.

  * * * * *

  Tabatha glanced at herself in the full-length, brass-rimmed mirror in the corner of her room. Her hair hung, soft and full, around her lightly made-up face. A sleeveless pale green sundress draped provocatively over her generous curves. Gold sandals, reminiscent of those of an ancient Greek goddess, adorned her feet.

  She drew a deep breath and tried to control her racing heart. Any minute Pierce would be picking her up for dinner. A week ago, she was certain she’d never again go out with the arrogant self-centered bastard. Something inexplicable had happened to Pierce Durant. She didn’t doubt it had something to do with the morning she’d walked into Whittle House and found him, dazed, on the floor.

  His words and actions had been strange, yet painfully familiar. That same night, she’d had the most startling experience. She’d been so furious about the house being destroyed and its contents auctioned off that she couldn’t sleep, so she’d sat in the living room watching old movies to get her mind off her problems. The next thing she knew, she was living the life of Samuel Whittle’s maid, Maggie. The strangest thing was Maggie had no recollection of Tabatha. Only when Tabatha awoke, in tears and shivering as if in the middle of a frozen field, did she realize what had happened. Realize. She still couldn’t explain it. She tried passing it off as a dream, but the feelings had been too strong, the experiences too real. She had to go to Whittle House right then and see it before it was stripped of its contents and destroyed.

  When she’d walked in and found Pierce in a state of distress, she’d nearly panicked. Only when he’d gone to the fireplace and retrieved the silver cuffs did she begin to suspect the impossible. Was it true? Had she and Pierce somehow gone back in time and lived the lives of Maggie and Samuel? Perhaps they were Maggie and Samuel reincarnated?

  Tabatha shook her head and squeezed her temples. Thinking about it gave her a headache.

  Still, she couldn’t deny the possibility, especially since Pierce had changed so much. As promised, he’d called off Whittle House’s destruction and moved the new condos to an undeveloped location. He left the house in the care of Philmore Historical Society with the understanding that they would open it to the public as a nonprofit museum.

  Tabatha had been surprised when he’d phoned her with a humble apology and an invitation to dinner at a small restaurant outside of the city. Hesitantly, she’d accepted. There had to be something wrong with a rich handsome man who suddenly turned from the Big Bad Wolf into Prince Charming.

  She swallowed hard. Maybe that was a bad comparison, considering the history they were dealing with.

  Her doorbell rang and she drew a deep breath before answering it.

  Pierce stood, his super-long legs covered in black pants, his broad-shouldered, well-muscled torso draped in a dark blue shirt a shade lighter than his eyes. He looked like the cover model on one of those hot books that made her want to reach for a vibrator. His dark hair was arranged as neatly as the thick, curly mop allowed. A lock of it formed an endearing ringlet on his forehead. Those deep eyes, once cold and unwelcoming, had warmed so much.

  He offered her a bouquet of red roses. “These are for you.”

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Sh
e held the roses to her face and inhaled their scent. “Come in while I put them in water.”

  He followed her to the kitchen and leaned against the doorjamb, watching as she filled a vase with water and arranged the flowers.

  “I’m glad you agreed to go out with me again, Tabatha. I acted like a jerk before.”

  She glanced at him and smiled slightly. “It’s all right. We all get jerky sometimes.”

  “Not sometimes. I’ve spent most of my life being a jerk.”

  “Pierce—”

  “No. I have to say it. I don’t know why I felt the need to be that way. I guess it was because it was easier. It’s simpler to avoid feeling for people than it is to risk getting hurt.”

  Tabatha drew a deep breath and folded her arms beneath her breasts. She approached, her gaze on his. “Wow. This is some pretty deep conversation for a second date.”

  He chuckled. “I guess so. You must think I’m some kind of nut.”

  “I didn’t say I minded deep conversation.”

  His smiled faded and his eyes met hers with intensity that made her heart pound and her nipples tingle. God, he was handsome, and when he acted normal and human like this, she actually liked him. A lot.

  “Pierce, I want to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to tell me the truth as you know it.”

  “All right.”

  “Those silver cuffs from Whittle House?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were they used for?”

  “To restrain the wolf.”

  “And?”

  He swallowed hard and approached, stopping so close that she felt heat emanating from his body. His lips were so finely shaped and looked so soft and kissable. Please give me the right answer, Pierce. Please.

  “And Samuel used them to tie Maggie to the bed when they made love.”

  Tabatha’s head spun and she was filled with elation such as she’d never known. She slipped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as his mouth claimed hers. His warm lips moved gently against hers while their tongues loved and caressed one another.