The Hidden Truth (Shadow Claw Book 7)

by Sarah J. Stone

  His head turned to study the dense shrubbery. Every time he looked at it, it seemed that it had been placed there almost deliberately. It piqued his interest. After so many years of just going through the motions of living, anything that stirred his bear’s curiosity was worth checking out.

  He nosed his way through the barrier and muscled his body out of it. The sound of something snapping back into place had him turning around.

  The shrubbery looked like nothing had disturbed it. The broken twigs and leaves were back in place, having grown back immediately.

  The bear cocked his head.

  Sure smelled like the handiwork of a witch.

  It was then that he got a proper view of where he stood – a large clearing that was surrounded by a circle of trees. A few steps ahead of him was a body of water, something akin to a pond. The sunlight reflected on the water, giving it a shimmering appearance.

  A small, gardening patch was just a few feet away from the pond. As Samuel padded closer, he saw that it was a vegetable garden of sorts. He sniffed at a cabbage that protruded from the ground. It smelled fresh and raw.

  He wouldn’t mind having cabbage stew at this very moment.

  Turning his head, he looked at the small cottage that sat there. It wasn’t very new, meaning that either someone had been living here for quite a few decades, or had inhabited the stone building and built a life around it.

  Fresh flowers in the window showed that whomever it was considered themselves well protected, enough to leave an access point into their home, open and unguarded. There was no sign of life in this place, and if it hadn’t been for the flowers and the lingering scent in the air, he wouldn’t have thought that anyone…

  A soft humming.

  Samuel watched, motionless, as a young woman emerged from the back of the cottage. Her skin was an earthy tone with freckles spread all over her dainty, little nose. Those cobalt eyes did not seem surprised to see him, neither was there a shift in her scent to reveal any fear.

  She did not stop walking even when she saw him, and he could swear he saw some measure of annoyance in her gaze. She breezed past him to the vegetable patch. A woolen cap covered her head and ears, and the bear considered the two flaps that hung by the side of her ears with a considerable amount of interest.

  He wondered what would happen if he were to tug on them.

  The woman clearly did not see him as a threat as she turned her back on him and started pulling out some cabbages.

  Samuel approached her warily and sniffed at her experimentally, waiting to see her reaction.

  The woman did not turn around to pay him any attention.

  The shifter wondered if he should feel insulted at that. He poked his nose at her and sniffed more vigorously, only to have her push at him with an annoyed look on her face.

  Miffed at the way she swatted at him the way one would a fly, Samuel sat on his haunches and studied her. He saw the way she shivered in the cold. She stuffed the cabbages in the basket that hung on her arm and stood up abruptly.

  One glance at the sky had her repressing a shudder. She hurried toward the cottage and opened the door.

  “Well?”

  Was she talking to him?

  She was certainly looking his way, wearing that same expression of annoyance on her face that was starting to become a trademark of hers.

  “I’m not going to wait all day, you know?” She tapped her foot impatiently.

  Samuel moved toward her slowly, and then when she frowned at him, he entered the stone cottage.

  “It’s bloody cold outside.” the woman muttered as she took off the floppy hat and hung it on a stand next to the door. Her long, black hair tumbled down into a glorious mane, and Samuel wondered if it was as silky soft as it looked.

  The heavy coat that she wore was next, and it was tossed over a chair.

  The room was not that large. A small fire, that provided the warmth in the room, blazed happily. A small pot sat next to it with the top of a spoon poking out of it. A mattress, on which the blankets were piled, lay in the corner of the room. Although there were two chairs, there was no table or a toilet of any sorts.

  The woman was quite untidy, Samuel noted.

  “Sit next to the fire, before you catch a cold,” she called out to him as she washed the cabbage.

  Samuel wandered over to her and watched in silence as she sliced the vegetables and starting preparing a stew. When he saw that all her attention was focused on the meal she was preparing, he started exploring the room, sniffing at the various scents.

  Hers was the freshest, as if she had been living here for quite a while. But it was also odd that it was only her scent that he could find. Any faded scent he could locate was quite old.

  A dead mouse in the corner caught his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder to see whether she was paying any attention. Her slim back was turned toward him, and Samuel batted at the dead mouse. It would have been more fun if it had been alive. The predator in him was sadistic and would have enjoyed the activity of chasing it down.

  He was about to chomp down on it when he heard the cross voice from behind him, “If you want to eat that, you can do it outside. And stay there while you’re at it.”

  Guiltily, Samuel dropped the mouse and heard a sniff as the woman turned back to what she was doing. He moved over to sit next to her and wondered why she wasn’t scared – or at least wary – of him. Had he lost his touch over the years? It had been a while since he had last been around humans.

  He put his head on his paws, his eyes matching her every movement. But then again, this one wasn’t a human, was she?

  As the stew cooked, she fetched two bowls and put them in front of the fire.

  “Rather nasty for November,” the woman commented.

  Was she talking to him?

  She didn’t seem to expect a reply as she continued, “Lost a lot of my harvest due to the rain last week. I hope you like cabbage stew.” She stirred the mixture.

  “I apologize for my crude manners. It’s been a while since I talked to someone other than the birds and the animals.”

  So, she knew he was a shifter.

  “I don’t have anything to offer you to wear, so I’d suggest you maintain that form until tomorrow.”

  Samuel just blinked.

  She didn’t seem to expect anything of him, and they sat in companionable silence. He found it quite agreeable to get out of the biting cold for a while. The cottage was cozy and warm, and when she poured out the stew in a bowl for him, he let it cool down a bit before lapping at it.

  It tasted quite nice, and when he was done, she poured him some more.

  As he downed the remains, she pulled the mattress closer to the fire. It didn’t escape Samuel’s notice that she didn’t bother putting away the dishes or washing anything. As soon as her meal was done, she climbed into bed.

  He had always been a neat freak. It hadn’t bothered Clara much, as she hadn’t been much different from him. But right now, he found this mess intolerable. Had no one taught this woman to pick up after herself?

  He wandered over to her and saw that she was fast asleep.

  An odd woman.

  He glanced at her. If she was asleep, she surely wouldn’t mind…

  A shimmer of light, and he shifted.

  The man that took the place of the bear was tall and lean. His brown hair and black eyes were a result of his heritage. His pale skin held marks from before his time as a Councilmember. Samuel usually preferred a younger form. He had been in his eighties when he had left his pack to wander. One of the gifts of being granted this privilege of immortality was that he was not restricted to his form.

  Oberon was quite fond of this little trick, but then again, the ladies loved him in every form. The fairy king was an attractive man.

  Samuel had never bothered with women much. He quite liked his books and scrolls. Of course, the need to be touched sometimes forced him to seek contact of the sexual nature.


  He studied the sleeping woman. Her scent reminded him of Morrigan, but not quite.

  Leaning down, he picked up the dish she had left. He cocked his head.

  There was not an ounce of dust anywhere. And yet, it seemed as if she deliberately chose to be untidy.

  As he moved about, clearing up the room, he saw the small table tucked to one side. It held a bowl of herbs and different dried powders.

  He recognized some of them.

  Morrigan used to carry them in a small bottle that hung around her neck. The witch had always been an oversexualized being. Her low-cut bodice had given away the secrets that she carried.

  So, this young woman was a witch. But if she was, shouldn’t she have been warier of him, him being a shifter and all?

  As he neared the window, his eyes detected something which made him still. Something watched the cottage.

  He looked out and saw nothing. A heavy fog had covered the open area, but Samuel was not one to doubt his instincts.

  Something was out there.

  His eyes fell on the ring of strangely colored powder that lined the base of the walls of the room.

  So, the witch was aware of it.

  Feeling uneasy with how exposed the witch was, Samuel shifted and laid himself in front of the fire. He may not know her, but this woman had offered him a hot meal and a place to sleep.

  He didn’t sleep that night, his eyes fixed on the door.

  Chapter 2

  A clatter of pans woke him up.

  “You cleaned,” his host said distastefully.

  Samuel blinked his eyes sleepily and watched her bustle about. She was about to approach the door, and his hackles rose.

  She stared at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He growled.

  A brow raised, and she shook her head. “I need to go out and get some firewood. The fire’s dying and it’s too cold.”

  Samuel got up and followed her out.

  It wasn’t early morning. The sun had been up for a while now, and he trailed after her as she moved in the outskirts of the clearing, picking up any dead branches. He also saw the way she touched some trees here and there. If his eyes weren’t mistaken, the leaves seemed to glow a little brighter after her touch. It was as if she was reviving them, giving them some energy.

  He looked around but didn’t feel the malevolent presence he had felt last night.

  A curse had him looking up, and he saw the witch hopping on one foot, her face scrunched in pain. The colorful stream of curses had him wincing at their descriptive nature. Were women supposed to use those words?

  He came over to check what had her so worked up and saw a large stone that was protruding out of the ground. The scorch marks on the rock had him inspecting it for a closer look.

  Dark magic always left its mark.

  And this was definitely some dark magic.

  The woman knelt down, hissing out a pained breath. She touched the stone and muttered something. The scorch marks faded.

  She rocked back on her heels, a trail of sweat slipping down her temple.

  Samuel just studied her and, this time, walked next to her, seeing how unsteady her gait had become. He hadn’t thought that that would have taken so much out of her.

  But she was definitely slower, and her movements were stiffer.

  “Wild mushrooms,” he heard her say. “I haven’t seen these here in a while.” She leaned down to pick them and stuffed them in a pocket of her dress.

  Samuel followed after her, and when she had collected enough firewood, they made their way back. As they reentered the clearing, Samuel saw the same powder that had been sprinkled along the inner walls of the house, also lining the cottage itself.

  The vegetable garden was also surrounded by that powder, as was the pond.

  Samuel turned his head to study the woman. She was walking toward the cottage. He paused for a second and looked for the window. His instincts warned him that he was up against something dangerous as he studied the burnt ground just outside the window. The scorch marks were prominent here, as if whatever had touched the stone had done more than just pass here. It had stood here and watched and waited.

  Samuel sniffed the spot and turned his nose up in distaste.

  The smell was disgusting, almost pungent.

  Brimstone and fire.

  It was almost familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  “What are you doing?” She had rounded the corner of the cottage and was staring at him.

  Samuel put his paws on the windowsill and peered inside.

  A perfect view of the witch’s mattress.

  He turned around to study the woman who had her hands on her hips as she waited on him. “We’ll freeze outside. Hurry it up.”

  The Council was meant to serve and protect.

  But there was no Council now.

  However, he had been bound to those vows he took. Serve the people. Protect the people.

  And this woman needed to be protected from whatever the hell was after her.

  Because something was.

  He followed her inside, and when she shut the door behind her, he evaluated his options. Coming to a decision wasn’t that hard. He had nothing to do in life, and this was the most activity he had had in over a century.

  As the witch knelt down and tossed some of the wood into the dying flames, a shimmer of light behind her had her whirling around. The cold determination in her eyes took the man by surprise.

  “Thank you,” he managed to say.

  She nodded sharply, and it amused him that she refused to turn around to look at him.

  “I haven’t seen another human being in a few years now. It’s a little unnerving,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “Samuel.” She blinked, and he ran a hand through his hair. “My name is Samuel,” he clarified.

  “Oh, I’m Rowena.”

  “You’re a witch.”

  It was more of a statement than a question, and Rowena just inclined her head, her braid falling to one side of her shoulder.

  They stared at each other in awkward silence for a few moments before she turned around “I’m going to heat the stew for breakfast. Would you like some?”

  “Yes.”

  Even reheated, its taste did not diminish, and as Samuel ate his share, he wondered how to approach the topic.

  Samuel frowned when Rowena left her bowl on the floor, and he picked it up and went to wash it in the basin along with his own.

  Rowena didn’t say anything. She just watched him in silence, before commenting, “You’ve got a thing for cleanliness, don’t you?”

  Samuel did not remove his eyes from the bowl he was scrubbing clean. “I like things in order.” A scoff from her had him narrowing his eyes. “You have something to say about that?”

  “You’re a neat freak.” She grinned.

  That smile held so much mischief that it transformed her entire face. It had him stopping for a heartbeat and just looking.

  The smile slid off her face when she saw the intensity with which he was studying her. “What?”

  “Nothing. You’re not…You’re strange.”

  A chuckle. “So I’ve been told.”

  The short laugh held hints of pain as well that had him looking away. The gentle sorrow in her eyes felt like a private thing, and he wished he hadn’t said anything.

  Wiping the bowls, he looked down at her where she sat on the floor, cross legged. “You knew I was a shifter.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  Samuel gave her a hard look, and she offered a lopsided smile, “Yes. I know.”

  He sat down next to the fire, his eyes transfixed on her face, waiting for any deceit. “And yet you let me into your home?”

  Rowena raised a brow, “Are you asking me–”

  “I’m a shifter,” he said, cutting her off. “Witches and shifters don’t exactly mix. Why didn’t you consider me a threat?”

  She shrugged, and he smelled nervousness fr
om her. What didn’t she want him to know?

  “I just knew.”

  Samuel crossed his arms against his chest, “I don’t believe that.”

  “Maybe I saw it in my Scrying Ball,” she challenged, two red dots on her cheeks.

  “I was not born yesterday, Rowena. Scrying balls don’t exist.”

  She glared at him, obviously unwilling to depart with her secrets.

  Samuel just looked at her.

  They sat in silence so thick that it could have been cut with a knife.

  “Prophecy,” she said, finally. “I see prophecies. I saw you in the role of a protector, a friend, a savior.”

  Samuel absorbed the knowledge she had just hit him in the face with. “A seer?” he said finally. “You’re a seer?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded.

  “I thought they were a myth.” Samuel stared at her. “I’ve read about your kind, but I never thought that seers existed.”

  Rowena frowned and clasped her hands that lay in her lap. “I don’t think there are many of us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She looked at him. “I’m the only one of my kind that I know about.”

  The scholar in Samuel was sitting up. This was a discovery for him. To find out that seers actually existed was an outstanding find. And to think there was one before him. He had once asked Morrigan about them, and the witch had coldly rebuffed him, telling him to get his mind out of his fantasies.

  Then something struck him. “If you’re a seer, shouldn’t you be protected? You’re a rare species. There aren’t…” He stopped when he saw how pale her face had become. “What? What did I say?”

  Rowena wrapped her arms around herself, her tone bitter. “I’m a person, you know. I left my home because I knew somebody was bound to find out soon enough about what I was. People had already started to give me strange looks with doubt in their eyes. How did Rowena know this would happen? How did she know the storm would take out the lightning poles and destroy the shelters?” Her fingernails dug into her arms as she continued. “They already thought of me as unnatural, but there was a huge storm a few years ago. I saw it in my prophecy and this time I didn’t tell anyone, but I started preparing for it. I stocked food and clothes and essentials.” The bitterness in her eyes grew, along with desperation when she looked at him. “’If I didn’t tell them, they would have no reason to point their fingers at me,’ I told myself that so many times that when the storm came and we were all holed underground. Then I brought out the supplies.”