The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

13th October 1307, Scopwick, Lincolnshire

  Galeren woke before the dawn and felt the danger hit him like the impact from a mace. Quickly he reached for Catherine,

  “Wake up, we’re leaving.”

  “What is it?” she asked half asleep.

  “Hurry up Catherine.” He said already half dressed. She looked at him frowning but then came to her senses.

  “Is it him?” she said, throwing the covers back.

  “Yes, no…I don’t know. Just hurry, I don’t want to find out like this.”

  Catherine dressed quickly and when she was ready Galeren took her hand in his and led her from the room cautiously, his sword drawn and ready in his other. They slid quietly down the flight of stairs, stepping over some of the slumbering residents who had not yet made it to their beds.

  Outside the sky was still dominated by its nightly shade but Catherine could see a hint of gold marking the presence of the approaching dawn. Without releasing her from his grasp, Galeren headed to the stables for his horse and only then let Catherine go in order to saddle him up. He helped her into the saddle and mounted behind her, gripping her tightly.

  “Allow me to breath!” she complained.

  “Sorry,” Galeren said, and loosened his grip as they rode from the stable.

  They rode with haste away from the inn and after some time Galeren drew rein and looked about.

  “I don’t understand this,” Galeren said, his voice full of frustration. He gently nudged Red’s flanks and they moved on slowly.

  “What?” Catherine said.

  “It comes in waves, a feeling, a sense, a smell, but nothing solid. This morning I sensed danger but I cannot be sure of what. It might have been De Floyran, but then again it might have been farther reaching. I don’t know if we are moving away from it or towards it. What do you sense?”

  “I don’t know if we are moving towards him or away from him either, but I sense he is close. My heart speeds up with the beat of fear.”

  “Jesu,” Galeren cursed, “my senses are usually as sharp as a freshly forged sword, but since . . .” Galeren broke off.

  “Since what?” Catherine asked.

  “It’s you,” he shrugged, and drew rein once more. “You are a distraction. It is why I didn’t sense his mark on you when first we met. My senses were filled only with you. I heard that love made you lose sense but I didn’t think it was literal, or that a werewolf could be affected thus. It must be the human in us.”

  “I’m sorry.” Catherine said with genuine sentiment.

  “Don’t be, ’tis not your fault. It just makes me afraid that I might –”

  “Galeren!” Catherine cried out in terror before he could finish his sentence. His senses returned to him suddenly and crudely. There was no confusion now and no mistaking their disclosure. He reached for his sword but stopped short as he felt the cool steel tip of a blade thrust with force into his back, penetrating his clothing, the links of his mail and piercing his skin. He arched his back and felt a warm rivulet of blood begin to course down it.

  “I could skewer the both of you like suckling pigs,” a familiar voice said, “I would fucking eat you as well, but the pleasure would be short lived.” It was the voice of Esquin de Floyran.

  Raymond Caradas stepped out in front of them and grabbed Red’s reins. Galeren quickly looked about them and saw that they were surrounded by a grim looking group of ex-Templars, of whom all he recognized. His heart sank and he cursed his failure. He pulled Catherine against him protectively and felt her heart beating out of control with fear. De Floyran passed control of the sword that was in Galeren’s back to one of his men while he stepped around to survey his quarry.

  “How are you Galeren?” he said with fake gaiety, “you cannot imagine how much I have been looking forward to this reunion my old friend.”

  “I can assure you the feeling is not mutual.” Galeren said grimly as he looked at his foe, still only half believing that the bastard stood before him. How had he survived when he had been so sure that the man was only good for the crows? He should have taken his head, but he hadn’t and was now paying for his lax actions.

  Esquin de Floyran smiled at Galeren and motioned toward his face. “You still bear the scar of our last meeting,” he said smugly.

  “As do you,” Galeren said unemotionally.

  De Floyran nodded and his hand involuntarily went to touch the disfigured flesh that was the remnant of his torn ear.

  “I have more scars than that to thank you for. I could bellyache for some time about my misfortunes caused by you and your Templar brethren, but ’tis of no import now. Your time for scarring has come and I can promise you it will be more severe than mine.” He smiled and looked at Catherine.

  “Mmm,” he cooed, “of course, it will be all the sweeter for me now that we share something in common.”

  Catherine allowed her gaze to fall upon De Floyran and she saw for the first time the werewolf that had made her. She had seen nothing of his features on the night he had attacked her, only felt his grip, malevolence and his fateful bite. To her surprise and horror he did not exactly look like the monster that he was.

  He had handsome features, which was a surprise, yet his dark looks and green eyes bespoke of the evil of which he was capable. He smiled at her like the wolf who’d found his prey and she looked away. De Floyran turned his attention back to Galeren whose icy eyes fixed on him a look of indescribable rage. Galeren had killed Templars before, been outnumbered by them, but he knew this was different. Catherine was here and he knew for that reason he would lose.

  “Come to me.” De Floyran held out his hand to Catherine and beckoned her to him while his eyes remained fixed on Galeren’s.

  “No!” Galeren growled through gritted teeth and pulled Catherine even closer.

  De Floyran flicked a glance at Botolf Wardard who drove the sword deeper into Galeren’s back. He felt its bite and drew breath sharply.

  “Come on Galeren, if Botolf is forced to run you through he may injure sweet Catherine, besides how would you save her stuck on the blade of a sword?”

  “I’ll take my chances as you did.” Galeren said.

  “Run us both through!” Catherine cried out finally finding her voice. She was afraid but that fear was overruled by Galeren’s torture. She looked at De Floyran defiantly.

  “Mmmm,” De Floyran said smiling, “fear and defiance deliciously combined. I remember it now the night we met. She is such a tease Galeren, but she cannot tease me forever. I am afraid she belongs to me now.”

  “She will never be yours.” Galeren said. “Run me through and before the blade splits my spine in two I will have broken her neck, which would be her preference to being in your hands.”

  “It is.” Catherine confirmed and straightened up against Galeren to show their unity.

  “God’s bones, I knew you’d be like this you sanctimonious bastard. Having anticipated it I am well prepared to turn the tide in my favour.” He nodded and swiftly Botolf removed the sword from Galeren’s back and drove it upwards into his left thigh, not stopping till the tip of the blade came out the other side. Galeren threw his head back as he cried out in agony and rage.

  Caradas lunged for Catherine, seized her out of Galeren’s arms and pulled her into his own.

  “Submit!” De Floyran cried at Galeren, “or I will hurt her. I will hurt her so badly.”

  “No, don’t Galeren!” Catherine screamed as the rest of De Floyran’s men moved forward and dragged him out of his saddle. They threw him face down onto the ground and restrained him. Botolf placed his foot upon the back of his neck, while the other two stood on his arms and legs and drew their swords above him. He could not change, not while they had hold of him.

  “See how quickly things alter?” De Floyran said smugly, motioning to Raymond Caradas. He took Catherine from him and turned her round to face Galeren. He roughly pulled the veil and wimple from her head and caressed her hair. Catherine tried to pull away an
d looked at Galeren lying upon the dirt, bleeding and defeated. Her heart tightened and her senses deadened.

  “Such soft hair; so sweet smelling,” he said filling his lungs, “she really is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Galeren.” He could hear Galeren growling into the dirt.

  “You cannot change, though I know you are desperate to. You cannot save this one Galeren.”

  “I swear De Floyran,” Galeren spat into the earth, “do not touch her or –”

  “Or . . . or . . . come on Galeren you must admit defeat. You weren’t on form today. I expected a bit of resistance, but this was easy. You really have lost your touch, rotting off the battlefield since Acre.” He laughed. “Making meaningless threats into the ground is pointless if not pathetic. Besides, I have already touched her in a way you can never undo.

  It’s a novelty really. No-one has lived with my mark before. I will enjoy her all the more for that. I may even keep her a while before giving her to my men for their amusement.” His men all grunted their approval and one dug his foot into Galeren’s wounded thigh.

  “Stop!” Catherine cried out as Galeren groaned through clenched teeth, “I’ll do whatever you want, please!” she begged.

  “Really?” De Floyran said thoughtfully, “I’d prefer a little fight, Catherine to be honest. I’d go to a whore if I wanted a willing partner.” He grabbed her by her neck and looked down at Galeren who strained to look up at them.

  “Her neck would be easy to break,” he smiled, “but I do not intend to kill either of you. This is just a little taster of the torment to come. Your brethren are about to come undone and I have a merry hand in it. Sixteen years I have waited for such a moment.” He wrapped his arms around Catherine and rubbed his rough face against hers.

  “Now you lie injured on the forest floor and I have your mate. I would love to stay and catch up but I have important matters to attend to. I will leave you with this though; I am taking her to France. That will give you a head start after you have recovered from your injury and I promise I won’t kill her, not yet. However, I cannot promise what state she will be in. I would like to say that I could resist her, but my prick has grown hard at the very thought of her these past weeks and she will have to pay her way.”

  “I swear –” Galeren begun.

  “You can swear all you like.” He laughed. “I understand the desperateness of your rage and agony of despair but unfortunately it is all I have yearned for all these years. I must admit though, I never imagined it would be this sweet. The coincidence of Catherine. You cannot imagine my anger when she escaped me. But now I thank that hapless peasant for saving her. Little did I envisage that my early loss would be my later gain.”

  Catherine tried to pull away from his hand as he ran the back of it down her face and her eyes locked with Galeren’s. She saw the anguish in his look but also his determination and strength. She knew then that she must show the same. She could play the victim and add to Galeren’s angst or she could be strong and assure him that this was not over.

  De Floyran said his purpose was not to kill them but rather he meant to torment them. She would survive this and so would Galeren and they would be reunited. She also knew that the Temple brethren were in danger and that this was only the beginning of a long struggle. Galeren’s look told her that he would come after her and she acknowledged that with her own look of assurance.

  “I leave you then with your wound and your imagination. Let your imagination run wild,” he chuckled as he stroked Catherine’s face again. He then snapped his fingers whereby Caradas slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of Galeren’s skull. Catherine gasped but composed herself quickly to show strength.

  “Is he out?” De Floyran snapped.

  Caradas lifted Galeren’s head by his hair and inspected him. “He’s out,” he replied and let his head fall back into the dirt.

  “Wounded and outnumbered and yet you still appear to be afraid of him.” Catherine said with scathing sentiment.

  De Floyran grabbed her face and turned it toward him, “Careful how you speak to me little flower. I am your master now, your true master.” His eyes narrowed as they tried to penetrate hers. She was aware of the danger Galeren was still in, but also knew that De Floyran had another agenda and so she said bravely,

  “I have no master, only a mate and you will be neither.”

  He laughed and patted her on the head as he motioned to one of his knights, “I am beginning to like this attitude of yours. I can smell your fear and yet you dare to spur me. We can play this game but I will break you in time.”

  He took what were to be her bonds from the knight and tied her hands in front of her and then had her veil and wimple retrieved which he carefully arranged back on her head.

  “Now remember this,” he said, his voice becoming low and sinister. He pulled her close so that her face was only inches from his, “I care not for women, only for what pleasure I can gain from between their legs and, apart from the occasional whore, none survive the experience.

  I have no qualms about killing you, and Galeren would not know for months, yet he would still race gallantly into the trap I have set for him. If you want to see him again then watch your clever little mouth and do my bidding and I will not mistreat you. Anger me or attempt escape and I will hurt you and I will enjoy it, it’s from where I derive my greatest pleasure.”

  His look was dark and Catherine felt a chill enter her soul, her eyes darted across to Galeren’s unconscious body and then back to De Floyran’s menacing glare. She tried to hide the despair that entered her heart so she closed her eyes and nodded her acquiescence.

  “Good.” De Floyran said. “Now let’s go, I am over this part.” His men nodded and they moved out.

  When Galeren initially regained consciousness his first waking thought, other than the acute pain in his leg, was that he had to get off the road. He was in wolf form and must have changed while unconscious. Change often came involuntarily in times of pain, fear or stress. It was a survival mechanism. Wolves dealt with all the former more adeptly than humans, with logic and a powerful resilience. However, lying wounded on the road put him in danger. Any passing rider would run through a wounded wolf without a second thought.

  He tried to get up but just fell back down again. The fur of his left leg was drenched in blood and the earth about it sodden with it, his head swam. Too weak to stand and unable to change back into human form, he willed every nuance of strength in his wolf body to drag himself off the road. Growling, he bared his teeth to ride the pain and slowly began to crawl, heading to the tree lined edge of the road.

  Progress was slow and arduous and the trees weren’t getting any closer. Come on! he willed himself but froze as he sensed the approach of riders. Two or three, he wasn’t sure, but it mattered not for it only needed one to finish him. He tried to move faster but the injured limb prevented him and he felt himself lose consciousness.

  “It’s a wolf!” one of the riders screamed seeing him. The voice sounded familiar but his weakness confused him. He was done for and as he slipped away he called for Catherine.