The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance

by Wanrow, Laurel

  * * *

  “Help!”

  The shout pierced Annmar’s sleep. She rolled from the bed and stood, uncertain in the unfamiliar room.

  “Some help down here. Right now!” called the boy with the lilting accent.

  Annmar’s head cleared—she was at the farm. She grabbed a throw from the end of the bed and opened her door. Downstairs, the gas lamps glowed.

  Footsteps pounded somewhere else in the bunkhouse. “Rivley? That you?” asked a man.

  “Hurry,” Rivley yelled from right below her. “Something attacked Daeryn.”

  Oh, no. Annmar raced down her staircase, beating a farmworker to the pair huddled on the floor. Rivley held the curled Daeryn by the shoulders. Bleeding slices crisscrossed one arm and shoulder, a gash at his forehead and another across his chest—

  Daeryn was naked. Only a silky coating of hair covered his bloody but otherwise gorgeously muscled body, and though she knew she shouldn’t, Annmar stared.

  She’d never seen…and he was so… Oh, my!

  She dragged her gaze up, wincing at the twisting silver piece circling Daeryn’s navel, and made herself continue to his face.

  “Not just me,” he gasped. “Terrent’s leg got ripped and… The wolves arrived to help us, but Maraquin’s bad off. Edge of the orchard. Send someone for Zar if he’s not there. And watch yourselves. Take something to whack away the vermin.”

  “Got it,” said the man who’d arrived behind Annmar. He whirled to a pair jogging down the hall. “Let’s go—”

  “Great Creator!” the girl yelped. “Did those pests do this, Dae?”

  He nodded, his eyes scrunched closed in pain, his skin oddly dark. “S-size of a hare and black. I s-sound off my rocker, but I swear it had teeth at both ends.”

  “Come on,” said the first man. “Let’s find the others.” They ran through the open door.

  Annmar jerked out of her stupor. “Uh, here. A blanket.” She squatted and covered Daeryn. “What can I do?” she asked Rivley.

  He tugged at the fabric, twitching it to some blood on Daeryn’s neck and patting with shaking fingers. “Run to the house and ring the bell. You know where it is?”

  “The dinner bell?”

  “Right. Mistress Gere will answer. Tell her—no!” Rivley thumped Daeryn’s chest. “Dae. Stay with me. Don’t change.”

  Change? What—

  Good heavens! Annmar shot upright, stumbling back. Fur covered Daeryn’s reshaping face, his ears rounded up above his crown, and beneath the blanket, his body squirmed and shrank.

  Grr-aaargh! The long, low growl switched to a groan as his face cleared of fur and his ears dropped down the side of his head. “The pain,” he gasped. “I can’t hold my form.”

  A dream. This had to be a dream.

  “You can, Dae. Otherwise these cuts will bleed out worse.” Rivley pulled Daeryn’s uninjured arm from under the cover and grasped the brown paw at the end. It transformed into a hand with sturdy fingers. Rivley laced his slender digits into them, freckles dotting his white knuckles. “You can.”

  Daeryn grunted. His body extended and filled out under the blanket.

  No, not a dream. Her head stuttered at the thought, but it was true: Daeryn, the handsome, exotic boy who’d winked at her, had partially changed into an animal.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Annmar stared at the fellow who moments ago had been a…cat? Daeryn’s eyes flicked open and met her gaze. His jaw tightened in determination.

  “Girl?”

  Her gaze shot to Rivley’s ashen face. He sucked a breath and swallowed. “Run. Ring the bell. Tell them to get Miriam and the town surgeon. Quick.”

  Annmar spun and ran from the workshop. The dark closed around her. The only light visible was a faint yellow pool under the back door porch. She slowed when the sharp stones bit into her feet. Above the pounding of her heart came the barking of dogs far away…and yelling…screaming.

  Oh, Lord in the heavens above.

  She stumbled to a stop, glancing back over her shoulder to the safety of the workshop. Light poured from its big doorway, where the boys…strange boys… But nice. Not as scary as anything out—

  Annmar shook herself. Daeryn won’t get help if I stand here like a ninny.

  Ring the bell, Rivley said. She would do this.

  She ran, her nightdress wildly flapping. In seconds she reached the light. Her fingers found the rough bell rope. She pulled, and the bell was clanging, clanging, clanging…

  Shouts came from the loft of the bunkhouse behind her. But where was Mistress Gere? Dash it all. Annmar grasped the latch and shoved the door open. “Help! Daeryn needs help,” she shouted into the hall. Then she startled backward upon seeing a figure running down the stairs.

  It was Mistress Gere, in her nightdress. “What has happened?” She spared Annmar just a glance before bending to grab a boot from the pile under the coat pegs.

  Annmar stepped inside. “Daeryn is”—what was he?—“bloody with bites. Rivley said get Miriam and the surgeon.”

  “Miriam!” shouted Mistress Gere.

  “I heard,” said a woman from the floor above. “A minute to collect my supplies.”

  Shouts came from closer outside, footsteps running.

  Both feet clad in boots, Mistress Gere straightened and pulled a cloak off a peg. “Where is he?”

  “The mechanic’s workshop. And others are hurt, he said.”

  Mistress Gere gave a curt nod. “Wait to direct Miriam, please.” She strode out the door as several tall men ran up. She gave them directions—going for the surgeon, finding the others who were injured—then she left, her footfalls across the flags replaced by others on the floor above.

  Annmar looked at the line of boots, the many robes piled onto the pegs. Why not? She shoved her feet into boots too large for her and donned a robe to cover her nightdress, tying the sash as a thin woman in a robe herself trotted down the stairs. “Miriam?” she said. “I’m Annmar. What can I carry?”

  The lady’s pale eyes—possibly gray?—lit on Annmar as she descended the last step. They were the same height, but the healer was middle-aged and looked far stronger. Her body seemed all angles, from her long nose and pointed chin, to elbows poking at her red robe sleeves and the protruding tendons on her hands gripping a basket handle. Yet her gaze, which only briefly held Annmar’s, conveyed gentleness. She handed Annmar the basket and bent to step into another pair of boots. “Thank you.”

  “Do you have a stretcher?” Annmar asked.

  The woman blinked at her in surprise. “It’s that bad?”

  “Horrible. Rivley asked for the surgeon, and Mistress Gere has already sent men for him.”

  The woman shook her head, swaying her brown braid, but pointed to the door. “Catch someone.”

  Annmar darted outside. A number of people with lanterns were crossing from the bunkhouse’s middle, so it was nothing to hail two and bring them back to the farmhouse. At the door, Miriam had the stretcher. She handed it over and said, “Let’s go.”

  The crowd in the workshop parted, though several people kept their hands pressed to the blood-soaked throw still covering Daeryn. Miriam took her basket, squatted and lifted a corner. She blotted a wound with fresh bandaging and peered at the ragged flesh. With a shake of her head, she dropped the cloth and replaced Rivley’s hand on Daeryn’s shoulder. “Keep pressing. This is the worst? He arrived under his own power?” When Rivley nodded to each question, she waved to the stretcher carriers. “Move him to the sickroom, please.”

  Along with the others, Annmar stepped aside to give room. Whispered conversation surrounded her. Some worried for Daeryn, or the other injured guards a wagon had been sent to bring in. Others debated what kind of dark pest roamed the farm fields. Farmhands circled the farmyard now, carrying sticks, ready to beat them off.

  A shiver ran down Annmar’s spine. She’d run through the dark, alone. But listening to these workers sharing the same fears set her mind at ease as
much as the promise of protection. She wasn’t so different. Like half of them, she was dressed in nightclothes and trying to help, as any normal human being would. Daeryn’s body, though cut and bleeding, stayed a human figure when four of the men lifted him to the stretcher under Miriam’s direction. The men carried Daeryn out of the workshop. Miriam picked up the basket of supplies and, finding Annmar, gave a wave of thanks before she followed them.

  Annmar wanted to go with her, to see what else might happen, but as several of the others were now saying, they’d only be in the way. “Likely as not to cause more trouble by being bit ourselves,” one woman said.

  So when they said good-bye and walked down the bunkhouse’s hallway—clear of storage and dirt—Annmar turned to her own circular stairway. She stood at her room’s window and watched the lanterns coming and going across the farmyard. A livery wagon arrived, then the farm wagon, and after that there was nothing to see. With a sigh, she pulled off the borrowed boots and crawled between her flannel sheets for the second time.

  Lying in the dark, she committed each detail of Daeryn’s furry body to memory. Had he really changed, or was that another vision?

  * * *

  Daeryn tried to turn over. Stabs of pain shot through his shoulder, his foot and a dozen other places in between. He stopped, body rigid, but the throbbing hurt melded into one pounding— “Damn,” he gasped.

  “Take it easy there,” Rivley said.

  Daeryn blinked his watering eyes open. Sickroom. The night’s attack, every nasty tooth and claw of it, came back. “Hell,” he muttered. “Can you find me some willow twigs?”

  Rivley snorted. “Miriam skipped that and poured one of her more serious remedies down you. You don’t remember?”

  He didn’t want to remember. “Hardly. I suppose if she said it’d stop the pain, I took it.”

  “Nothing else to do. Be back in a minute. Stay there.” Rivley left.

  Ha. Like he could manage…anything. Daeryn closed his eyes. Somewhere distant, voices murmured. It was morning…mealtime. Closer, a fire crackled. They’d lit a fire? It warmed the room…nice…if only he didn’t hurt so much. He moved just the arm that hurt less.

  How could he lead the team like this? Not able to run, or even be in the fields to watch and ensure the others stayed on task. Dash it, he didn’t even know who could still hunt.

  How? How…how… The question bounded around his head, echoing with each throb of his foot. He had to get up. Otherwise how-how-ow-ow— “Ow!”

  “What are you doing?” Rivley grabbed his arm, and Daeryn’s body seized in pain. Rivley maintained his hold long enough to shove another pillow behind him, then eased him back.

  Daeryn collapsed into it, squeezing his eyes shut against the fiery stings.

  “Eh, you needed to sit up anyway. Here.” Rivley handed him a fork and a bowl of scrambled eggs. “Eat. Miriam says you need food in your stomach first.”

  Steadying the bowl hurt. Lifting the fork hurt. But once he ate he could lie down again. Damn, one night as lead and poof. Done. Jac would be thrilled. There went proving himself. Rivley would be—Daeryn glanced at him, folding a blanket next to a wing chair and footstool. Riv had been here all night. Ah, he was a friend no matter what, and didn’t need proof of Daeryn’s abilities. A burst of gratitude flooded Daeryn. “Thanks for watching out for me.”

  “Sure.” Rivley put the blanket away in the wardrobe where Miriam kept other sickroom supplies. A knock came at the door. “Thank the Creator,” Daeryn muttered. “Think she has something to let me sleep off the pain?” But it wasn’t Miriam.

  “Can I have a word with him?” Jac asked Rivley when he opened the door.

  The avian glanced around, blocking Jac’s view to the bed.

  Daeryn briefly closed his eyes. Here it came, Jac pushing to take the team lead. No point in avoiding it. He nodded.

  “As long as it’s a civil one.” Rivley swung the door open.

  Jac brushed by him, a scratch on her cheek and another—deeper and swollen—extending from her rolled shirtsleeve along her forearm. “Believe me, I’m feeling nothing but grateful. Zar and I might be the only nocturnal guards left, but I’d rather be hunting than down like Maraquin, Terrent and…you look like hell.”

  Daeryn shrugged one shoulder—the wrong one. He fought down a grimace. Behind Jac, Rivley shook his head and stepped into the hall, closing the door.

  “Anyway,” Jac continued while coming to stand at the end of his bedstead, “Miz Gere is trying to find us some help. She sent me to talk to you.”

  He’d guessed right. With his foot and shoulder like this, he wouldn’t be running for days…er, maybe a week. By then Jac would consider the position hers. This stunk, but it was Miz Gere’s choice. If he wanted to stay good with her… “You’re taking over the lead. Probably a—”

  “Don’t think I didn’t suggest that,” Jac snapped, “but Miz Gere said it’s up to you to decide what you want to do.”

  Jac was kidding. No, from the twist of her lips, she wasn’t. He got to decide? Daeryn bought some time spearing the remaining egg bits. He had a chance to keep the lead—if he could think how. Already, it was different than how he’d run the pack back home. He’d talked things out with Jac yesterday, and it’d worked. Daeryn scanned his bandaged shoulder and the salve-smeared cuts crisscrossing his arms and chest. Talking to her was all he had.

  He looked up at Jac. “With over half the team out, what is there to do?”

  Her eyes narrowed, studying him. Maybe looking like hell paid off, because after a moment she shrugged. “Pick someone to train whatever temporary hires Miz Gere is able to find today.”

  Oh? His surprise must have shown, because Jac smirked.

  “Yessiree. Dumb idea to bring on anyone new. That’s what I thought.”

  Daeryn clenched his one good fist. No, they needed help, but Jac was too proud to admit it. Fine, he’d hang on to the lead. If his foggy head managed not to botch this conversation with Jac. “They’ll need showing around. Direction in how we rotate and where to meet.”

  Jac shook her head. “Who’s gonna be up to handling what we dealt with last night? Look at the three of you. Experienced hunters. Agile. I told Miz Gere anyone she hired had to be fierce. Wolves or better.”

  That attitude was the heart of why Jac grated on everyone’s nerves. Yet, this time she’d slipped up. Tired, he bet. “Or better? Are you saying there are ’cambires better than wolves?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You know what I mean. She won’t find anyone good enough.”

  Daeryn grinned, then winced as one side of his face complained. “Say she does find someone, and listens to your recommendation. We both know Zar won’t keep anyone tough in line. He’s not the pushy sort. You are.” Ouch, that didn’t sound complimentary. He rushed on. “Will you do it, Jac?”

  She crossed her arms. “Only because I’ll suffer if I don’t. Suffer more, that is.” She turned to the door and reached for the knob.

  “Wait,” he called. “What happened after Terrent, Maraquin and I were brought in?”

  “Zar and I spent the rest of the night darting anywhere we heard them, then trying to avoid getting mauled while chasing them off. Miz Gere ordered us not to get torn up, just figure out what they are.”

  “Did you?”

  Jac favored him with one of her most exaggerated snorts. “We saved our skins. ‘The better part of valor is discretion’ and all that. It’s a dumb idea. By the time we identify them, Wellspring will be overrun. I told her that and my theory that this pest isn’t from the Basin. She said she’d get help.” Jac flung open the door. “Consider this your morning communication.” She stalked out.

  Daeryn sank into his pillows and allowed himself a small groan. Morning communication? Right. He’d had to pull the news out of her. Even as mad as Jac was about the whole lead thing, they had an arrangement. But how long could he keep the lead? Relying on Jac to listen to him when she didn’t agree would become trickier the
longer he stayed down. Yet until he was back on his feet, talking was his only plan.

  chapter fourteen

  Sunlight streamed through the window of Annmar’s golden room. She closed her eyes to it and rolled over. The images from her restless night rose again: Blood. Copper skin crossed with yawning gouges. A blur of naked form and furry paws.

  Daeryn.

  She’d seen something happen, but what? Which parts were real? Which visions? How could she determine if this was her Knack at work?

  Annmar needed answers. Artistic Knacks couldn’t be common, otherwise Mistress Gere wouldn’t have sent for Mother, nor told Annmar they hadn’t seen a talent like hers since Mother left. Too bad she’d never persuaded Mother to give her information about her family. When Mother fell ill, Annmar had pressed her again and again to tell her someone she could go to if circumstances worsened. “Don’t look for them, duck,” Mother said. “Either family will only bring you sorrow, and I don’t wish that upon you.” And because she knew what was in Annmar’s heart, Mother added. “The name we use—Masterson—is made up.”

  Was that last part true, or only meant to discourage her? Annmar might never have the answers to questions she’d been asking all her life: What had kept her parents apart? Why did her mother leave? What had happened to her father?

  But right now she didn’t need those answers.

  Tangled thoughts hammered at her, but so did the throbbing of the bottoms of her feet. She threw back the covers. Dirt coated her tender soles. The borrowed boots lay tumbled at her chair. This morning a memory was clearer: Before she had run for help, Rivley said to Daeryn, “Don’t change.” Because he also saw his change. The animal wasn’t her imagination. Rivley had seen it. She’d seen it…and more. At the thought of what she had seen of Daeryn, heat flooded her torso, leaving a funny twist low in—