by Michele Ryan
Annabelle released the latch, opening the window. “Good evening, Mr. Tinnin.”
The big man lowered himself. “Good evenin’ luv. There’s someone—a wee bit of a thing and a woman heading this way.”
A knock came at the door moments later. No one came to the house. Or hadn’t. Since Annabelle moved into the mansion things had grown...complicated. The soft murmurings of Miss Jemmy gave way to the excited chatter of a boy-child. No. It can’t be. The sound of quickened footsteps, filtered down the hall before the kitchen door swung open and the excited exclamation of, “Dad,” came from the child.
Grant. Ezra caught the wriggling mess of his son. Why in the world was he there? A few moments later, Miss Jemmy appeared with Miss Dell, Grant’s grandmother. Rage clawed at his insides. His son never left pack lands, his mother, the she-beast who trapped Ezra in his forsaken form, forbade it. How did they get there? How did they get away without Marbella giving chase?
“Whoa, Dad!” Grant climbed out of Ezra’s arms. “They’re all here. Grandmother, do you see? They’re all here!” He went to Mr. Tinnin first. “You’re him.” He stuck his hand out the window. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tinnin and Dr. Brew, I’m Grant Howell Blakely.”
The deranged fellow appeared taken aback by the forwardness of Ezra’s son. “Evenin’ boyo.” He took the boy’s hand in a light grip.
Grant then turned his attention to Jonah. “You’re the leader here. Mr. McRae, Jonah McRae. You’re a vampire and this...” Grant’s lips curled into the biggest smile Ezra had ever seen on the boy’s face. “Is your Beloved, Miss Annabelle Craig.”
“Well aren’t you a fountain of knowledge,” Annabelle teased.
Then, he spotted Clara. Grant went straight to her and bowed like a proper gentleman. “It is a pleasure, Miss Fitzpatrick. I am honored to meet you.”
Clara placed her hand to her chest before curtseying to the young boy. “The pleasure is all mine, young sir. It seems you have taken us all off guard by your appearance and your acceptance.”
Grant blushed. “I know all of you. My grandmother has told me all about your adventures. One story a night before bed.” The boy grew very serious as he leaned in. “Did you really fight a horde of zombies?”
“We did,” Andres said from across the room where he sipped his tea while giving Ezra a pointed glare. “You didn’t tell us about young master Grant, Mr. Blakely.”
Ezra rubbed the back of his neck. “Protecting what’s mine, I suppose. I didn’t want anyone to think they could go after my boy.”
Omer’s form became more corporal. “Well it certainly has been working.”
“Amazing,” Grant whispered. “Are you really as old as my grandmother says?”
Omer’s lips twitched. “Perhaps much older.”
“Where are the others?” Grant glanced at his father. “There are a few missing.”
“They are out tonight, protecting the city,” Annabelle answered. “Can’t leave London unprotected, can we?”
Grant shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
Miss Dell cleared her throat and gave Ezra a pointed look. “Is there somewhere Grant may sit while we speak?”
“I’ll help settle Master Grant in the library,” Miss Jemmy said. “Come along, young master Blakely.”
Grant held up his hand. “Wait.” He scanned the room then seemed to settle on where he thought perhaps someone sat or stood. “Mr. Enright, will it be okay if I share your library for the night?”
Emmitt sat forward from the corner near the fireplace. A bit of shock filled his features. “It would be my privilege, Mr. Grant.”
“Thank you.” Grant wrapped his arms around Ezra. “I missed you, Dad.”
“I missed you too, boy. Do as Miss Jemmy says; and I’ll be to see you in a minute.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned from Ezra and gave a final wave. “It’s an honor to meet all of you.”
Grant took Miss Jemmy’s hand and exited the room. The sound of his excited chattered echoed down the hall until they were alone once more. The curious looks his teammates gave him would have to be addressed first. He opened his mouth, but Dell beat him to it.
“I had to bring him here, Mr. Blakely,” Dell said. “His mother...”
The scent of sorrow and anguished rolled off of her in sickening waves. Omer was by her side in a blink of an eye. He guided her into a chair then placed a cup of tea in her hand. “Tell us, Miss...”
“McIntire,” Dell answered.
“Miss McIntire, what happened?” Omer stayed close. The ancient had a penchant for helping ease those who were mentally and physically distraught. He could soothe away the fear while giving them a chance to explain why they needed help. Seeing Omer’s work, always left Ezra a bit in awe of him. Tonight, unfortunately, he wanted to break shit.
“I had gone to the meat market to buy the boy something for dinner. When I returned...” Dell cried. “Mr. Blakely, I had no idea this was going on. Had I, I would have brought Grant to you months ago.”
“What was happening,” Omer hedged, glancing between Ezra and Dell.
“Grant is still a little boy,” Dell whispered. “He doesn’t understand his reaction to...things. Marbella is taking advantage.”
“Oh God,” Annabelle murmured. “Are you sure?”
Dell nodded. “I returned at the tail end of the situation. Grant had been crying. The woman with him seemed thrilled to achieve such a reaction from him.”
“And the body does, what it does, willing or unwilling,” Jonah added with a hint of sadness.
A red haze settled over his vision. He’d fucking kill her. He’d rip her apart. Ezra clenched and unclenched his hands as a low growl built in his chest. How dare the she-beast do this to his son. It was bad enough on the full moon, he serviced all of the females of the pack, but his son? His flesh and blood. No. Never. His boy had been a child. “I’ll kill her.”
“Ezra,” Miss Clara whispered beside him as she placed her hand on his forearm. “I believe you should tend to your son first, don’t you?”
The soft way she spoke to him, cleared away a bit of the fury. “Yes, you’re right.” He looked up to where Mr. Tinnin stared dumbfounded at everyone. “Mr. Tinnin, may the good doctor come back and evaluate my son, make sure he’s physically healthy?”
It took the monster a second to process Ezra’s words. “Yes, yes of course. Ratty bitch deserves a slow death. It would do my soul good to extend the hand of help to you.”
“I appreciate the offer, but for now, I need Dr. Brew, sir.”
“Of course,” Mr. Tinnin answered. “At once.” None of them, especially Ezra had ever seen the deranged fellow agree so readily. He usually fought giving back over to Jerome much harder. Did he have a heart after all? Or at least a conscience? “He will be in the library with Miss Jemmy and young master Blakely.”
Clara squeezed his arm. “I believe I will bring him some cookies and a bit of warm milk. Would you care to join me, Annabelle?”
“Yes,” she answered, standing. “I would.” She stopped in front of Ezra. “Take the time you need to work this anger out. Don’t let your son see it. He’ll think it is directed at him, even though we all know who it is truly for.”
“Thank you, Miss Annabelle. I appreciate all of you.”
The women left with the exception of Dell. He loved the older woman. She’d been Marbella’s human mother before Marbella became whatever she’d turned into over the years. He guessed though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. She’d always been a sadistic bitch. Anything she could use to get ahead, she would. It would seem it also included his—their son. He couldn’t get the image of his little boy being tortured such. It made him sick to his stomach.
“How long,” he whispered.
Dell opened her mouth, then hesitated. “Since after the horde.”
The icy tendrils of dread slid down his spine. “Has it ever taken?”
She shook her head. “No. Not that I am aware of.”
A bit of the constriction around his throat eased and he could swallow once more. “Good. Good.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay here, Miss McIntire,” Emmitt announced. “Both of you will be quite safe, and the boy has space to run if he needs.”
“Yes, I agree,” Omer said. “It would be best.”
“If the boy needs to talk,” Andres stated, surprising Ezra with the ease in which he said the words. “I am here as well. Whatever he needs it will be taken care of. The same for you, Miss McIntire.” The usually jovial man appeared quite stricken by the idea of what happened to Grant. Ezra had never seen such a sight.
“For now,” Omer murmured. “Why don’t you and Miss Clara begin tonight’s exploration of the park, and we will help Miss McIntire and young master Blakely get settled. When you return, I am sure Dr. Brew will have his assessment for you as well.”
Yes, work. He needed to clear his head. He had to wrap his mind around the thought of what Marbella had done to their son. It was bad enough he went through it every month, but he’d be damned if Grant would ever... A low growl built in his throat. “I need to go. I have to focus on something other than this or I fear I will do things I’ll regret tomorrow.”
As if on cue, Miss Clara appeared at the mouth of the kitchen. “I am ready, Ezra. We’ll do this together.”
His gaze met hers and he swore his heart slowed, his mind cleared, and a bit of his soul sighed in relief. He didn’t know if it was him doing it or maybe Omer or the witch herself, but it helped. “Together.” He strode to her and took the hand she’d stretched out to him. “Omer, please contact me if anything should happen.”
The ancient man nodded. “I shall, Mr. Blakely. Concentrate on the mission. We will be here for your family.”
“Good evening,” Ezra grunted before heading out with Clara. If he ran into Marbella this night, he didn’t know if he’d have the control necessary to keep from injuring her. He snorted, drawing Clara’s attention. “Sorry.”
Who was he kidding? Marbella would die at Ezra’s hands if came too close this night. There were no if ands or buts about it.
“Focus, Ezra,” she murmured. “Later, we’ll figure out the best way to torture Grant’s mother.”
Fuck, he loved Clara. His mind stilled. Did he love her? Ezra glanced at the petite mistress of the house. He’d follow her to ends of the world if it meant being able to stay in her presence. The idea of loving someone, before, scared him. Could they accept the man and the beast within him? If not, then what? However, with Miss Clara, he didn’t have those fears or dilemmas. She assisted a monster hunter, been a witch herself and fought beside him in both his human and wolf form. Yes, he supposed, he did love the woman, even if he couldn’t verbally acknowledge it. “Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Two
“Ezra,” Clara called out from the base of the stairs to the shifter who dominated most of dreams since arriving at the mansion six months ago with Annabelle and the rest of the Misfits. Even from this slight distance, she could feel the rage rolling off him, nevertheless there was a spicy undertone to his anger. She couldn’t quite put her finger on simmering nuance or why it called to her. One thing she knew for sure though, being in a confided space, even for the short ride to Hyde Park, might be detrimental to those around them. “Perhaps it would be best if we forgo the carriage and instead took a leisurely stroll to the park.”
He stopped at the end of the walkway, then turned on his heels, she thought, to address her, but with his rangy form looming over her, she took an involuntary step back. Unease slid down her spine. Her breath hitched, lodging in her throat at the anger she saw in his whiskey-colored eyes. None of it was directed at her, she realized this, however knowing it and accepting it, were two completely different things.
“It’s dark,” he growled.
If she even hinted at the reason why she wanted to walk, or if he suspected it had anything to do with him, he’d balk, and say she’d been foolish. Clara decided to lie a little. A white lie won’t hurt anyone. “I need to stretch my legs. After spending most of my day in the library, hunched over ancient spells Omer recently located then napping on the cramped window seat, I’m a ball of knots.”
“Whatever,” Ezra snarled. “Are you coming?” Clara followed at a safe distance as he paused to talk to the growler’s driver. “You’re burning moonlight, Miss Clara.”
He waited for her. Barely.
She no sooner made her way through the front gate, then he slammed the gate shut. His long strides ate up the sidewalk, leaving Clara to hurry after him. Though not short by any means, she still had to take two steps to his one.
“Slow down,” she huffed, struggling to keep up without tripping on her long skirt.
Ezra stopped abruptly, turning to face her so quickly she almost ran into him. Large, strong hands wrapped around her shoulders, steadying her.
“I’m sorry, Clara.” His voice had been laced with regret and the rage she’d glimpsed in his eyes dimmed.
“I understand, Ezra.” She meant it too.
Grant’s treatment at the hands of his mother did not sit well with her either. She couldn’t even fathom how Ezra felt. If she went by the constant growls coming from him, she’d bet, if the boy’s mother showed herself now, Ezra would tear her apart with his bare hands without a hesitation. “It might be a good idea to control your growling though. We are starting to make people uncomfortable.”
It’d been understatement, to say the least. Those still out enjoying the spring night air, making their way home or to work quickly relocated to the other side of the street, giving them a wide berth. If Ezra noticed, he gave no indication.
“Fuck!” He groaned, closing his eyes as he released her abruptly. Then he ran his fingers through his long, dark hair before fisting it.
Clara watched in fascination as a wide range of emotions played across his features. Finally, when it seemed to gain control of his out of control emotions the growling ceased...thankfully.
“Sorry for my language,” he apologized.
She smiled. “Everyone’s allowed a fuck or two, sometimes.”
Although Ezra had been in England for many years, his language, manner of speech and gestures showed he was still an American. Add in the coarse, rough edge, the tone that allowed the unsuspecting fool who crossed him, to hear the beast lying right under his skin...Clara shivered. She suspected it had been what drew her to him. He reminded her of herself.
No matter how much she tried to cover it, a little bit of home always came through. Once, after she arrived in London, a woman asked her if she’d been a Jamaican servant and if so, who could she could call upon to inquire of her services. Or find someone like her.
“I don’t understand why you have to be so rude. It was only a question.” The woman had lifted her chin so high, Clara feared the woman would get a nose bleed. The woman’s steps were measured, like she had a stick wedged up her ass. Clara’s lips twitched at the memory. Oh, how she missed her feel of New Orleans. Nothing in England could even compare to her home—besides slavery and the oppressive heat.
She was still trying to adapt to the winters in England when it seemed like the cold and dampness seeped down to her bones, leaving her chilled till summer. Annabelle often teased her about her need to stand directly in front of the fire to get warm. No one understood what it felt like to have an icy coldness set up in their spine, like she did. A side effect of her affliction. She could change the limb, but not the disease.
Clara smoothed her hand down the front of skirt to prevent herself from reaching up and pushing back the piece of wayward hair covering his right eye. “I believe your language is completely appropriate, under the circumstances,” she assured him.
“Yes, well, the park is waiting, and we have a job to do,” he stated, offering her his left arm.
Clara ignored the shiver of need racing through her body as she placed her hand on his bicep. She observed Ezra through her lashes, des
perate to find out if he had a similar reaction to their closeness. Her heart broke when he showed no indication of such a spark. It only seemed to reinforce the attraction she felt for the him, was one-sided.
Besides, wolf shifters didn’t mate with witches. Nor did white men mix with mulatto women. It just wasn’t done, unless the man in question was looking for a mistress. She’d be no man’s hidden secret. Clara desired love, a family and one day children to continue the legacy of her family name. Which you were entrusted to keep secret.
It would be best for both if she pushed her wayward thoughts and feelings down and focused on work and helping Ezra’s son recover his recent ordeal.
“Clara?” Ezra’s deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Yes?” At this pace, it would be sunrise before they made it to the park.
“Are you alright?” The deep concern she heard in his voice had the recent walls she had been working on, tumbling down.
“I was just wondering why haven’t you told us of your son before today?”
Ezra shrugged. “Didn’t seem important. I thought he was safe and protected. Guess I was wrong.”
“And his mother?” Clara finally voiced the question she had been dying to know.
“Is not my favorite person right now,” he answered.
“Enough to father a child with her though?” Clara quipped in a tartly tone. She realized quite abruptly, she’d been more than a little hurt by his secret. More than once since meeting Grant, she wondered if he had any more children running around, he’d neglected to tell them about. Not that it was any of her business or her right to feel as such.
“It makes no difference if I like a she-wolf or not. Being pack Alpha requires me to engage in physical dalliances with all the unattached females to provide heirs for the pack.” Ezra’s words were wrapped in trepidation and weariness as his cheeks were tinged pink with what appeared to be...embarrassment. “I’m actually shocked Grant is the only child I have managed to father in the almost fifteen years I have been here.”
