After The I Do

by Autumn Breeze

  Benjamin leaves to check on the others. Father waves his glass of whiskey at me, determined to be as uninvolved as possible. I leave, following the hallway toward the stairs. Just before reaching them, I pause a few feet away from one of the linen closets. Something—someone—is banging around the inside.

  They sound trapped.

  One of my maids does have a nasty habit of getting herself locked into the oddest of places. Over the course of her employment for me, I have freed her from many closets and other small places she was attempting to clean or organize. The woman is a hazard but she is putting her only child through college, and it isn’t cheap. I can’t find it in my heart to fire her.

  Shaking my head, I try the knob. It turns under my palm, so I pull the door open and freeze, along with Mason and Erian. The three of us stand in surprised silence, with wide eyes and open mouths, until Erian uses her hands to cover her naked chest.

  “My apologies,” I mutter, slamming the door and briskly walking away. My ears burn with the uncomfortable and foreign sensation of embarrassment as Mason’s laughter chases me out of the house. No matter how quickly I move, I can’t get Erian’s wide-eyed expression out of my mind—or the way her breasts swayed to and fro with the motion of their action.

  “Sir,” Ben calls from behind me, his voice urgent. I slow my escape to the stables just enough for him to catch up with me. “I cannot find Mason or Erian.” My ears blaze and the heat even spreads to my cheeks. My shirt collar feels too tight and I reach up, slipping my finger between the fabric and my neck to give it a little tug.

  “I saw them before leaving the house—” though I wish I hadn’t. The sight of my former sister-in-law's breasts is one I don’t need. “They are . . . occupied with other tasks.”

  Benjamin clears his throat, instantly understanding I have seen something . . . unpleasant.

  “Everyone is accounted for,” he says.

  The change in topic is more than welcome.

  Stopping at the stable doors, I turn to Ben. “Keep an eye on everyone ‘til I am done here.”

  “Sir.” Benjamin turns away, crossing back toward the house. I wait for him to disappear before traveling deeper into the stables. Luke meets me at the head of the stairs, his expression pinched.

  “He is erratic, sir. I think he may be doped with something.” Luke’s tongue flicks out against his lips. I move forward, and he slides in front of me. Lifting an eyebrow, I look him over. He is nervous . . . scared, maybe.

  “What else?” I inquire. This is not the time for him to hold back. We are at war.

  “He’s feral.” I inhale sharply. Feral wolves are the most dangerous. They are more monster than man—outcast among their own people for crimes so unspeakable, they cannot be forgiven.

  “Are you sure?” I question.

  Luke nods. “He’s got a brand.”

  Closing my eyes, I pinch my nose. Evaline is bringing the exiled back into the fold, using them to do her dirty work, no doubt.

  Why did I not know this sooner? How did I not see it coming?

  Evaline is ruthless. She has no qualms about embracing rapists, child molesters, murders—maybe worse if such a thing is possible—to further her ends.

  “Has he said anything?” I ask as Luke finally lets me pass.

  “Mostly the things you’d expect,” he warily answers.

  I start to ask, ‘like what,’ but the feral’s voice carries down the hallway as he screams, “I’m going to kill that fucking bitch! She’ll beg to die before I’m done!”

  “Who?” I ask, rounding the corner into the room his cell and four other empty ones occupy.

  “Susan,” he snarls. I laugh, my chest shaking softly as I tuck one of my hands into my pocket. “Then Charlotte,” he sneers. “I’ll take my time with her, though. Enjoy her body while I enjoy her screams.” A shiver of disgust rolls through my soul, but I hide it from this beast.

  “I assure you the last person who needs my protection is my mother. She is her father’s daughter in many ways.” The man—although I can hardly think of him as such—rattles the cage bars, a scream ripping through his throat. His bloodshot eyes can’t focus as he fights against his transformation but fails to stop the change from coming over him.

  Dropping to the ground, he chokes in pain as his skin ripples. Bones break and reshape as matted black fur sprouts down his back; dry patches of dark skin appear to be infected with mange. If he could scream, I imagine he would have, but Everett has explained the voice box is one of the first things destroyed during the transformation.

  “Is it true, what they say about feral Vârcolaci?” Luke asks. He’s never encountered one, and neither have I for that matter. Father used to tell me stories, though.

  “Everything I’ve ever learned seems to indicate so. Since the animal rules them, they can’t control the transformation. Because they can’t control the beast, it rips through them like . . . this, I suppose.” My gaze moves back to the bars, to the wolf within. It foams at the mouth, growling and snapping at the bars with wild eyes.

  There is no man anymore—just a trapped animal. It is pathetic and . . . sad.

  “Do you think they are born like—” Luke looks back to the cage “—this?” I shrug.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Luke shakes his head as I cross my arms over my chest and watch the creature circle the perimeter of his cage.

  “What do you want me to do with him?” A feral will be no use to us. Evaline will not have told him anything of value. No doubt, she sent him here to die, to test our defenses and measure our response time.

  We’ll need to be on guard.

  “Do away with him as humanely as possible,” I mutter. The beast howls, tossing his body at the bars in a desperate bid for freedom. His head slips through the gap in a set of the bars as he snarls. Stepping back, careful to avoid his powerful jaws, I shake my head.

  There is no helping him. He twists and turns, his shoulders ramming against the bars as he paws at the ground and howls. The sickening snap of his neck is followed by silence.

  Luke looks green. I know this isn’t the first time he has seen a dead body but this time . . . it’s different for some reason. Maybe because this is not a just death, it isn’t fair or earned or hidden with a mask of supposed honor. This is just . . . succumbing to madness, letting the insanity win. Dying. This is just dying, for no good reason other than to die.

  “Burn the body,” I order. “Tonight, so the others don’t see the smoke.” They don’t need to know what has happened.

  “Sir . . . we could discard of his body in the city; leave him for Evaline.”

  I shake my head at Luke’s suggestion. “She will expect that of us. Evaline thinks we are monsters, much like herself and this . . . feral, but we are not. Burn him. I will ask if Susan would like to settle his ashes.”

  He may have been feral, may not have been part of her pack, but he is still a Vârcolac. He was still a man at some point in his life, possibly. As such, he deserves a proper resting place. We will see to it that he has one. Because we are men, and men bury their dead.

  41

  Rain pours from the sky. The torrential downfall promises to flood the world, drown all man and monster alike—which might not be a bad thing considering the poor state of the world.

  Standing at my window, I watch smoke curl into the night sky from the stable chimney. Like a poisonous snake, it dances in the heavy waterfall before being blown away by a gust of wind—away from the estate and toward the city glowing in the distance, just over the horizon.

  Considering the weather is so bad, I am hopeful no one can smell the scent of death in the air. The last thing I want to do is explain to Lilith, Mason, Sophia and the Dawson daughters what is burning in the stables. Those who need to know what occurred do already.

  None of them are happy about it.

  Father had pressed his lips together, rubbed his temples and muttered a dozen swear words he usually reserves for moments when his wif
e wasn't around when I told them earlier in the day. Mother sighed, closed her eyes and left to make tea after kissing Father on the temple.

  Susan sat in stunned silence as her eyes filled with tears. Before they could fall, she excused herself. Everett . . . he apologized again, explained once more how foolish he was before seeking out his mother—most likely to offer comfort.

  Duke squeezed my father’s shoulder after I delivered the news and took a call from Valentine, who thinks he is dealing with a family emergency on the other side of the wall. It has been well over two weeks since he called into work and requested emergency time off.

  Considering right afterward shit hit the proverbial fan, I figure Valentine knows he isn’t ‘out of town’ dealing with a ‘family emergency’ but is letting it slide for unknown reasons.

  Whatever her reason, I am grateful.

  Just as I will be grateful when Everett and Mason return from their run.

  Checking my watch, I shake my head.

  They had left before it started to rain almost two hours ago. No doubt the fools have realized it isn’t safe to attempt to run through the storm and hunkered down at the river—if that is where they went. I didn’t bother to ask either of them what their route would be, which was unwise considering the events of the day and the war we are engaged in.

  Turning from the window, I move toward my desk and the cup of tea mother brought some time ago. Lifting the mug, I bring it to my lips and shutter with displeasure before sitting the cold liquid down. Pausing, I raise the cup once more and roll my eyes.

  Mason—it has to be his idea of a joke.

  Either Mother didn’t notice, or she didn’t actually care.

  Or she simply thought it was funny and purposely brought me the cup.

  With her, who knows?

  Shaking my head, I set the cup down just as my study door bursts inward with a sharp bang. Slamming against the wall, the heavy wood shakes on its hinges and seems to debate if it is going to detach from the frame that holds it in place.

  A picture of Everett wobbles on the shelf closest to the door before collapsing. Sliding from its place, it crashes against the floor and shatters. Glass pools on the carpet as I lift my gaze to Duke.

  “Thanos,” he pants, raising a bloody hand toward me. My heart seizes as he rocks forward and crashes against one of my office chairs.

  Rushing to his side, I grasp his shoulder to steady him. “Are you hurt?”

  Shaking his head, he clings to the back of the chair. Water cascades from his clothes, pooling on my floor as red rains from his fingers. “Get downstairs. Now.”

  I open my mouth to protest his order, but he shoves away from the chair, spins me toward the door and pushes me out of the room. I stumble forward, catching myself on the stairs railing.

  Benjamin thunders up the stairs, his face a pale mask of unreadable emotion.

  “Sir,” he squeaks, his usually calm eyes a turbulent roll of undefined . . . something. “Help—”

  “Show me,” I demand, straightening my back even as my heart cracks.

  Something has happened—something bad.

  Turning, Ben descends the stairs as quickly as he ascended them. Hurrying behind him, I swallow hard. From the dining room, behind the closed doors, I can hear violent sobs. Blood is thick in the air, hanging heavy like a perfume.

  One scent among the two thick irons, I know instinctively.

  Everett—what has he done?

  Shoving past Ben when he reaches for the door, I toss them open and stumble into a mad house. Everett, standing on the far side of the room, is soaked to the bone and covered in blood, sobbing with all the force of a monsoon. Some of the blood is clearly his, but the heavy smell is masked, almost entirely hidden by the second source of blood.

  My gaze snaps around the room and everything . . . stops.

  The whole world simply freezes. Then it shatters around me like a snow globe.

  “Mason,” I coo, stepping toward my brother—my baby brother, my first best friend who wasn’t of the opposite sex.

  He doesn’t stir. In fact, he looks right through me as I step toward the table. Reaching toward him, my fingers tremble as I brush his wet hair off his forehead.

  “Mason,” I call again, grasping his shoulders, giving them a shake but . . . nothing. “Mason. This isn’t funny.” Digging my fingers into his shoulders, I know it is a biting grasp, the kind that causes pain, but . . .

  My heart shudders in my chest. What I don’t want to accept cannot be denied.

  Tears gather in my eyes, and I feel their burn as they spill over, roll down my cheek and drip to join the water pooling on my kitchen table. My knees knock together, and every breath is like inhaling napalm—the jelly an explosion in my lungs that courses through every nerve ending, scorching them until I can hardly breathe.

  “Please . . . little brother, I will do anything—” I will sell my soul, give up every day of the rest of my life if only . . . “—don’t do this.”

  But, it is too late. He is gone. Mason is dead.

  Falling to my knees beside the table, my chest rocks as a sob tears its way through my chest and bursts between my lips as I cry in pain—pain that until this moment was unimaginable. Grasping my brother’s hand, I bring it to my cheek.

  He is like ice, frozen from the rain and from the lack of life. A boy on the cusp of being a man should never be so still, so frozen, but this is death—this is war.

  “I am so sorry, Mason. I am so sorry. I am so sorry.” Pressing my lips to the back of his hand, my fingers dig into his wrist as I apologize for every time and every way I have ever failed him.

  There are so many times, so many ways in which I wasn’t the big brother he needed or deserved. I was so much less than perfect. I never even tried. I settled for mediocre at best.

  “Sir,” Benjamin’s voice cracks behind me as his fingers land on my shoulder. Glancing back at the old dragon, I see tears tracking down his cheeks. Mason is his family, too. My little brother, like his nephew since he is like an uncle to us all. “We need—” his voice breaks; his chest shudders and for a moment, an ancient beast flashing across his face.

  “My parents,” I whisper, grasping the edge of the table with my free hand and pulling myself to my feet. My knees tremble. “Sophia . . . Lilith.” Closing my eyes, I squeeze the unresponsive hand cradled in my own. “Erian.” Mason loved her. She loves him.

  This death—no one is going to take it well.

  “Of course,” Benjamin nods. His gaze moves over my shoulder before he leaves, shutting the dining room doors behind him. My eyes swell as I turn and peer down at my brother. In the corner, a heartbreaking sob shatters the silence.

  Everett, collapsed now, he’s hugging his knees and rocking in the corner. His naked feet curl into the carpet as his bare body leaves an uneven dirty imprint on the wall. From his shoulder, blood runs at a surprising rate. I hesitate at Mason’s side before releasing his hand.

  Mason is gone—hopefully in a better place.

  We will deal with his body accordingly. I will have to deal with everything else, too.

  “Everett,” I speak softly, slowly approaching the hysterical man. “You’re hurt.”

  He shouldn’t be bleeding. He should be healed by now.

  “Aconitum,” he mutters, his fingers going to his shoulder, digging into the wound.

  “Wolf’s Bane?” I crouch near him, reaching for the injury.

  “No!” he screams, slamming back against the wall, pushing away with his feet as if there is an escape to be had. “Leave it,” he whimpers. “Mason.” His eyes fill with tears again and he buries his head in his knees. “Mason. Mason. Mason. I tried. I tried. I told him to run. I told him he was faster. He came back. Why did he come back? Why? Why? Why?”

  Grabbing his hair, he yanks on the strands, pulling out chunks before I grab his wrist. The thick blond clumps stick to his fingers, matting to the mud and the blood he is covered in.

  “What
happened, Everett?” I ask, drawing his hands to his sides. He shakes his head as I sit back, pull my shirt over my head and press it against his wound. He whimpers, turning his head into the wall as he trembles.

  “We crossed the creek. Mason wanted to see that old tree, the ones with the knobs and hole under it.” I nod, pressing down on his shoulder. He cries out, jerking away but I follow. The blood flow must be stopped.

  “Go on,” I mutter, my stomach tightening. I know where the tree is because I showed it to Everett some time ago. He’d instantly loved it. There were times when I knew if he wasn’t at the house or surrounding fields, I’d need to cross the creek just to find him. It is miles away from the estate, deep into the woods.

  “There was this . . . this . . . He was . . . I never saw anyone like him before. There were so many scars,” Everett whispers, his eyes going dark. “I could smell it on him, the Aconitum—he must have been soaked in it.” Inhaling sharply, he reaches for his shoulder.

  He is still bleeding. Aconitum is poisonous to everything, monsters and men alike, but especially Vârcolaci.

  “He came out of the hole mad, swinging and lunging for Mason. We ran, of course, we ran,” Everett mutters more to himself than anyone. My heart starts to pound, banging against my rib cage in a bid to escape. “How could we not? He was insane, out for blood. When we got to the creek . . . it must have been raining upstream for a while because it was flooded.”

  Everett peers at me, but he isn’t seeing me.

  He is with Mason again, reliving what must have happened.

  “You know I can’t swim well. I’ve never been able to swim good, so I told Mason to go, to get help. I’d find another way around. He could take the direct path, but he pushed me in. We got swept downstream. I couldn’t breathe; I thought I was going to drown. Every time I broke the surface, he was there—the . . . thing, that man. He was following from the bank, snarling.” Shaking his head, Everett's fingers push into his hair and he tugs.

  My mouth goes dry. Mason must have been terrified. He was no fighter.