“Thank you.” Elinore paused at the back door and looked down at a pair of boots that had been left there yesterday by one of the men. “Do you think I could borrow these?”
Mrs. Thistlewaite nearly laughed. “I don’t believe the Mistress of Ravenwood has to ask permission.”
Elinore felt a surge of personal power at the title, the Mistress of Ravenwood. “Perhaps not, but she does anyway.”
“I’m sure the owner will not mind.”
Elinore slipped off her slippers and then slid her feet into the overlarge boots. They wouldn’t do for a long walk, but for a brief spell around the manor, they would suit. The air was crisp and cold in her nostrils as she stepped outside, still carrying the spice of the night air. The grass was wet with morning dew and Elinore was glad of the borrowed boots, too large though they may be. Feeling the eyes of Mrs. Davenport and Thistlewaite on her, she straightened her spine and started for the trees. She felt the truth of Mrs. Davenport’s words - her wolf wanted to check the territory. Elinore took cautious, even steps, not wanting to rush, but neither wanting to linger. Just as she was reaching the trees, a sharp sound caught her attention. She turned, facing the stables. An unkindness of ravens - four of them - circled high above the barn. She hesitated, wondering what it meant. A large, fat raven swooped down and careened to a halt on her shoulder, its talons pressing through the fabric of her dress. It didn’t hurt, but it was a definite pressure. She looked at the bird on her shoulder, its taciturn countenance not letting loose any of its secrets. It stared toward the stables, where the unkindness circled lazily.
To the stables it was, then.
Elinore paused to wave at Mrs. Davenport and Thistlewaite, both of them watchful and stoic at the back entrance. She wondered if she should have taken one of the weapons as she had yesterday. She could always go back and get one, she supposed, but the urge to continue forward, to the stables, pulled her along. The raven on her shoulder alighted once she was within five or so feet, and joined its brethren, black spots moving in an incomprehensible pattern against the pale morning sky.
The stable door was heavy and Elinore had to put all her weight behind it, yanking solidly for it to creak open. She had the urge to call out and announce her presence, and then had just as strong an urge to stay silent. Surely her arrival would have been noted by the loud crack of the door already. Should there be any human souls afoot, they would come to her. And should there be any non-human souls inside… well, they must already know she was there. The horses sounded slightly agitated, stamping their feet and huffing. Perhaps they were hungry? Truth be told, Elinore knew very little of animal husbandry and wasn’t sure if the horses were fed daily or if they always had food in their stalls. A few long snouts peered out from the corrals as she entered, watching her with dark, soulful eyes. There was a small lamp hanging from a nail next to the door with a box of matches on a shelf beside it. She lit the lamp quickly, hoping she had enough sense not to drop it in the dry stables and set the whole thing ablaze. With the lamp held aloft in front of her, Elinore headed deeper inside.
There was something she was following, but she wasn’t sure what. Elinore had a sense of moving in the correct direction, toward the back of the stables, but could not articulate why. She made her way past several occupied stalls and then stared for a moment at the empty one - the former home of Storm, poor beast, found only yesterday morning, slaughtered on the back steps. One of the other horses stamped its feet rather loudly and Elinore started slightly, her reverie broken. She was on edge, nervous, fearful. She kicked something with her foot and looked down to see the edge of a hay rake poking out, slightly in the way. Then, she saw something else in the hay, something dark yet wet. She crouched down and touched her fingers to it, raising her hand up and rubbing her fingers together. She’d known what it was as soon as she saw it, but needed to touch it to confirm.
Blood.
That was why she was so agitated, perhaps even why the horses were agitated as well. Elinore could smell blood and likely they could too. Now that she knew it was there, she could taste the metallic sensation in the back of her throat as she breathed. There was a trail of blood on the floor, covered slightly, haphazardly, with hay. Elinore kicked at the hay with the toe of her boot and continued to follow the trail until it abruptly stopped at the second last stall. She peered inside. The stall was empty of animal life and indeed looked as though it had not housed a horse in quite some time, if ever at all. The boards of the stall were pristine - no marks like the other stalls from horse hooves or tools or clumsy humans. But the smell of blood was pervasive. Elinore bent over nearly in half and sniffed, nose wiggling as she did. She could still smell blood, quite a bit, although she couldn’t see any. How strange. She turned in a circle, trying to make sense of it. She paused and then stamped her feet. The sound of the boots on the floorboards was different here, not like the rest of the stables. She stamped her feet again and realized what the difference was. She was standing above something hollow.
Heedless of the improperness of it, Elinore dropped to her hands and knees and started running her hands under the covering of hay, against the floorboards. Her fingers hit something metal, a ring or a latch. She grabbed it and heaved with all her strength, marveling as a section of the floor came up. Beneath her was a cavernous blackness, its depth barely penetrated by the light of the small lamp she’d set off to one side. Lifting the lamp and hovering it over the hole, she could now see there was a worn ladder descending; to what depth, she did not know.
There was blood on the ladder.
Elinore rested on her belly, shimmying herself forward so that she could bend, nearly in half, and peer into the hatch. Her ears pricked as she heard a low sound. Not quite a whimper, but definitely a pained noise. Her heart lurched in her chest and she lowered her arms, wondering for a moment if something would reach up from the dark and pull at her, snatching her down into a labyrinth, never to be heard from again.
Perhaps foolishly, she spoke, her voice soft and quiet. “Hello?”
A whimpering sound came from the dark and then, the blackness beneath her lamp seemed to shift and move, separating itself from the rest of the inky dark. A black snout appeared in her line of sight, followed by the rest of a dark wolf. A black wolf.
Caleb.
“Oh dear heavens,” she breathed, almost dropping her lantern. The black wolf, Caleb, came out into the pale circle cast by her light and then fell onto his side. Elinore’s eyes widened even further as she took in the shiny wetness of his flank and tried to make sense of what she was seeing. He was covered in blood. Long slashes in his fur revealed viscera - pale and nauseating. The more rational part of her brain froze and she opened her mouth to scream, to call for Mrs. Davenport and Mrs. Thistlewaite, Alice, the men of the manor, the women of the staff - to anyone and everyone that may hear her. She meant to call for help, call out her dismay and distress, but from her lips, another sound came out.
She howled.
Chapter Nineteen
Elinore’s howl brought help. The help of the pack, she realized. She’d howled and the pack of Ravenwood came to assist. Mrs. Davenport, Mrs. Thistlewaite, Jonah and two other staff members, Mary and Stefan. They found Elinore already descended down into the hidden space, her fingers carefully searching through Caleb’s fur for more injuries. He lay on his side panting, still in wolf form. Elinore was sick at the sight of the blood, his blood, glistening in his fur, spread across his belly, sinking into the dirt floor. With her lamp set on the ground now, some eight feet below the hatch, she could see how much had already escaped his body and seeped into the earth below.
She tore at her petticoat, trying to rip off a strip, but the garment wouldn’t rend. A frustrated sob broke through her throat and she clutched at the fabric, her hands shaking. Another pained sound came from Caleb and he moved his head slightly, pressing his soft pink wolf tongue against her wrist, a gesture of comfort. It made her throat hurt even more and then she felt the shar
p press of her fingernails rip through the fabric she twisted in her hands. She looked down to see small claws extending out from three of her fingers - two on the right and one on the left. She was able to tear the fabric now, ripping off some strips as Jonah and Stefan came down the ladder, followed by Mrs. Davenport.
“It’s Caleb,” Elinore said lowly, not sure if they knew him in his wolf form. “He’s hurt,” she added, feeling summarily useless.
“Aye,” said Jonah lowly, checking over Caleb’s wounds just as Elinore herself had done moments before.
“We best get him to the house. I can treat him there,” Mrs. Davenport said and Jonah nodded.
“It would be best to carry him. We’ll need some kind of sling or stretcher.”
Elinore tipped her head up to see Mrs. Thistlewaite’s face in the open hatch above. “Mrs. Thistlewaite? Could you get us some of the horses’ blankets?” Elinore turned to Jonah, “Will that be sufficient, to carry him up the ladder?”
Jonah nodded. “Yes, miss. But we needn’t get him up.” At Elinore’s confused look, he continued, his head nodding toward the darker area still beyond her small circle of light. “This is an access point to the tunnels that run beneath Ravenwood and empty out into passageways in the house. He came here because he was trying to make it home. To his den.”
Elinore swallowed, wondering how long Caleb had been here, so close to her at Ravenwood, in pain and unable to go any further.
The men managed to get Caleb, still as a wolf, onto one of the blankets, carrying it like a hammock. As they jostled him a pained whined escaped from his jaws, and Elinore darted forward, smoothing her fingers over his muzzle and ears. Caleb blinked up at her drowsily, still so recognizable to her, even in his four-legged state. Mrs. Davenport led the way through the dark tunnels, away from the stables to the manor. The air was cold, but surprisingly fresh for something so deep underground. The walls were damp and Elinore trailed her fingers against them as they went, two claws still extended on her hand. Mrs. Thistlewaite nodded firmly and Elinore quirked her head in question.
“You’re scenting the tunnels,” Mrs. Thistlewaite said, looking to Elinore’s claws and back again. “Running your fingers along them. Leaving your mark. So that if other wolves travel down here, they know the tunnels belong to you.”
Elinore hadn’t known that’s what she was doing, but hearing Mrs. Thistlewaite articulate it, it felt right. She kept her fingers pressed lightly against the walls as they continued to press forward. She could feel once they were underneath the house, the familiar presence of the manor pressing down on her - a welcome and wanted weight. She exhaled in relief once she saw a set of stairs, knowing they were well within the manor now. They came out in the cellar, far beneath the kitchen and worked their way up old, but solid steps, through the main floor, and finally upstairs to Caleb’s room. Mrs. Davenport rushed off once in the house to grab her medicines and ‘kit.’ Though Elinore didn’t know exactly what she meant, she rather suspected the housekeeper had quite the medical arsenal at her disposal. Sure enough, by the time the men set Caleb down in his own bed, Mrs. Davenport was back with small satchels, bowls and vials, setting her wares up on the nightstand. Elinore felt like a fairy-tale maiden, wringing her hands as she stood in the corner and watched. The men had to hold Caleb down as Mrs. Davenport washed his wounds and at Elinore’s pained gasp, Mrs. Thistlewaite led her out of the room to the hall.
Elinore’s ears were still sensitive to noise and she swore she heard the very sound of the sinew Mrs. Davenport used as it was threaded through Caleb’s flesh and then pulled his wounds shut. Her noise twitched as she smelled herbs and spices mixed and then applied to prevent infection. She then heard the painful, awful sounds of transformation - shifting bone, muscle and skin and then a long, relieved, yet pained, exhale. The sound of human lungs breathing. Elinore realized Mrs. Thistlewaite was watching her. No doubt she wore a tense expression on her face.
“He’s… shifted. He’s human now.”
Mrs. Thistlewaite was relieved by the news. “That’s good to hear. He’ll heal faster as a human and if he can still shift it means he’s not mortally wounded.”
Elinore took comfort in her words and wondered yet again if she would turn tonight, during the full moon. She gripped her arm, where she’d been bitten. The wounds no longer pained her, though she still had the black lines spreading far up her arm and across her chest. She needed to turn. She would be in far better a position to defend Ravenwood. Her home. Her den. At least, she hoped she would be able to defend Ravenwood. Caleb was a wolf and something awful had happened to him. Though she’d not yet heard it from him directly, Elinore feared she knew exactly what, or rather ‘who’ had happened to Caleb.
Hayter.
It seemed interminably later that Mrs. Davenport and the men came out of Caleb’s room. Elinore tried not to stare at Mrs. Davenport’s hands, covered in blood, even as she wiped them on a rag.
“He’s taken some awful wounds, but I daresay, he shall heal.”
“Before nightfall? Before moonrise?” Mrs. Thistlewaite asked, her voice tight. Elinore found herself waiting for the answer just as anxiously.
Mrs. Davenport pressed her lips together tightly. “I do not know.” She turned to Elinore, her face going slightly softer and warmer. “He’s asked to see you, dear.”
Elinore nodded. “Of course. Yes. Of course.” She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair and skirts - a nervous gesture that did no good since she was quite disarrayed and covered in dirt from the stable and Caleb’s own blood, but it gave her the precious seconds she felt she needed to collect herself.
Entering the room, she took one last moment to stall for time, turning and closing the door securely behind her, instead of simply pushing it shut. Inhaling another deep breath, she could smell more strongly now the metallic scent of blood and the sharp tang of the Mrs. Davenport’s herbs. Elinore focused on the floorboards beneath her feet as she walked, afraid, she supposed, of what she would see if she looked up. She made it to the bed, saw the feet of the chair next to it and managed to set herself down in it primly. Finally, slowly she raised her eyes to the form on the bed.
Caleb’s eyes were slitted open, the stunning clear shade of his irises sharper against his stark pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. She heard a quiet whining sound and realized it had escaped from her. She moved closer, taking one of his hands in hers and he made a quiet shushing sound as she struggled not to cry.
“I will heal. I’m healing now.”
His voice, normally soft and quiet, was softer still, as though he had to work quite hard to force the words out. She supposed that was true. She looked down at his body, wondering what kinds of wounds were under the blankets placed carefully over him. She was in awe at the strength and skill of Mrs. Davenport - able to work under such duress. Elinore leaned over the bed, resting her head against the mattress even as she clutched Caleb’s hand between her own. She wanted to crawl into bed with him, curl up around and him keep watch over him, but wasn’t sure if any movement would hurt him.
“I will be fine, Elinore,” Caleb said, his other hand resting on her mussed hair and almost petting her scalp. She took a steadying breath and then raised her head, seeing his eyes still focused on her.
“Hayter?” she asked.
His face was like that of a child’s - pained, hurt, and almost shamed, as though he were somehow responsible for his uncle’s behavior.
“Yes. It seems I’ve been quite the fool. Trusting him. Thinking him family when…” Caleb’s voice trailed off and his expression became even more pained. Elinore squeezed his fingers, hoping he found comfort in her presence and touch. She wanted to weep for the look on his face.
“How did you know?” he asked.
Elinore shook her head. She couldn’t tell him of the omega just now. Not when he was injured, lying in bed wounded. “It’s not important.”
“He killed my parents.”
“What?” Elinore breathed
, a crawling feeling spreading over her skin.
“He… I was looking for him and he…. I stumbled across him in the woods, at night. He was…” he swallowed, his face grim and full of disgust. “There were animals all around him. Dead, disgraced. And he… he was there, covered in blood. He’s mad.” Caleb’s fingers intertwined with hers. “How long has he been mad and I’ve not noticed?” he asked, and Elinore sensed it wasn’t a question directed at her to be answered. “He laughed when I found him. I thought he’d been hurt. The blood… there was so much blood. And he laughed. He called me foolish. He took such glee in that moment. I asked him what had happened, why he was surrounded by such… death and gore and he laughed again and said that this was what it meant to be an Alpha. He could do as he wanted, as he wished, with no consequence. And that’s not…” Caleb shook his head. “My father was never an Alpha like that. There are some wolves that are. Of course, there are. Such great power is often a corrupting force. But my father…” Caleb paused again and Elinore waited silently, not wanting to interrupt. He seemed to need to gather strength to continue. She did not know if it was physical or emotional strength he tried to rally to continue. Perhaps both. “My father was a kind Alpha. A protector. I said as much to Hayter and he… he… got this look. About his face, about his entire being and he said… he said that’s why my father never saw it coming when Hayter killed him. He was too kind.
“I thought I must have heard wrong or misunderstood, but then I remembered my father’s death and how shocking it was. How I never could puzzle out how he’d come to be killed so close to our home. We’re so much stronger when we’re close to our den. How could my father, the strongest Alpha that I’d ever known, be killed so quickly, so quietly, so near our home? But if it had been by someone he trusted, by his own brother…” Caleb shook his head. “He wouldn’t have had the time to fight back. He would have been too surprised. We’d been so grieved, so hurt and when I think of how we relied on Hayter then! How he comforted us.” Although Caleb’s face was dry of tears, Elinore felt her own tears escape from her eyes, thinking of a Caleb and his mother, in the clutches of Hayter. “And then my mother dying from grief and he was all I had. Hayter was all I had then, and I… I was so grateful to him.” Cable’s fingers tightened around Elinore’s - the tensile strength in his grip so fierce and powerful. “I let him be my Alpha even though something in me recoiled against it. I thought it was grief and guilt - for having another Alpha than my father. But all wolves need a pack and I was so grateful that Hayter was there, to be an Alpha when I did not feel ready for it. I let him be my Alpha,” Caleb repeated. He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath.
Ravenwood Page 29
