The Wolf's Pewter Priestess

by Michele Ryan

  “You have to have sex with me.”

  She snorted. “If you wanted to start a tiff, you could have said as much.”

  She didn’t believe him. “There are rules.”

  “Sure there are.” A slight smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Out with them.”

  “Clara, please. You must hear me. You are my mate. I should have said something sooner. I wanted you to fall in love with me of your own free will, not because we are betrothed.”

  It dawned on her then. He saw it in her eyes. A spark of some kind of recognition. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought.” She covered her mouth and swallowed hard. “I thought you had to have a wolf.”

  He assumed the same, until he talked to Omer. It’d been after Clara and their team moved in. The sensation of coming alive with bolts of electricity, he figured it must have been what Emmitt experienced once before. He relayed his observations to the ancient ones; he’d been surprised like Clara. It was then he also realized what Marbella told him had been a lie. He didn’t have to service the pack every month. The last six months had been hell for him. He’d conditioned his body to act for so long, not doing so, caused withdrawals.

  “I did as well. Mr. Cause said it’s not so. A wolf knows its mate by their smell. Yours hit me square in the chest the first day I met you. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t figure out why my wolf went momentarily insane any minute you were in my presence. It attacked me. Grabbed me by the groin. Then, Mr. Cause explained it and I learned the truth.”

  And you’re sure of this?”

  “As sure as I am that I turn furry once a month,” he replied. “I can give you time to think on this. Not much, but enough.”

  She let out a wobbly breath. “I believe I’ll require it.”

  “Take your time. I must return to the pack lands.” Her face fell and a whiff of sadness rolled off of her. “Now, now. It’s not like what you’re thinking. I can’t have her coming back here. I won’t have her coming back here. It’s my duty to protect you and my son. Do you understand?”

  She inclined her chin yet refused to meet his gaze. “Yes, be safe.”

  “Always.”

  The trip to Hyde Park gave Ezra time to reflect on what happened the night before and how close he’d come to losing Clara. As adept and powerful as she was, cornered by three wolves, she’d been out matched. He thought he’d chased all of the wolves off after killing one of them; however Marbella liked to push her luck. Well, it was about to run out with him.

  He crossed over the cobblestone lane to the entrance of the park and stopped short. The scent of death and blood assailed him. When he glanced around, the humans filtering in and out of the area seemed oblivious to it. Most were laughing. Some were carrying on in-depth conversations. Children squealed with delight as they played football or were hoop trundling. Courting couples sat on benches huddled together, speaking in hushed tones.

  The deeper he traveled into the park, the thicker the stench became. The woods farther away from the open grass fields housed where his wolves stayed. They’d built rudimentary tree houses far up in the canopies to live in. Not the best of conditions, or the safest to say the least, and of course now, he could see the error of his ways when it came to his son. They could live among the humans. London could have been their pack lands, instead, he followed not lead his wolves.

  The hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms stood at attention as a static charge clung to the air around him. He’d felt it before. Last night to be exact when he and Clara came to the park to investigate. This was worse though. His wolf howled in outrage as his gut clenched with revolt. Whatever was going on, the magick here had been powerful. Dangerous. It corrupted his lands.

  “You’ve come home. Good. You’re remembering your place within the pack.” Marbella descended the wooden ladder to her hovel, the limp from her broken leg no longer evident. “After last night’s little show, I wondered.”

  Ezra growled. “Stay away from my son and the house, Marbella. You have no permission being there.”

  Her lips twitched as she sauntered toward him, her hips swaying suggestively. “Wherever you go, I go. Pack laws.”

  Bullshit.

  “You’re not my mate. I have been servicing you and all the bitches in heat for the last eleven years. Only one time took. Now, you’re using my son to do what I’m not willing to do anymore,” he snarled. “Over my dead body.”

  She laughed. “That can be arranged.”

  Ezra wrapped his hand around her neck and she instantly grasped his forearm. “This is your last warning. Stay away from the mansion, my son, and Clara. I have no qualms with killing you.” He squeezed a little tighter. Her face turned a shade of crimson and her eyes grew wide. “Yield.”

  Marbella stared him down, and for a moment, he thought she meant to test him further before going limp in his hold. He released her with a shove. The sight of her made him sick, had for a while now, but it’d gotten worse since meeting Clara. The mere idea of Marbella touching him made him gag. This she-beast had taken so much from him. His human life and his free will. Well, no more.

  “I like it when you assert yourself,” she said coyly. “Makes me all wet.”

  He curled his lip in disdain before he turned his back on her. Standing in the middle of the furthest grove of trees away from prying eyes, he allowed the wolf to come to the surface. “I’m not playing with you.”

  “I wish you would.” She licked her lips.

  He lunged for her and she scrambled back. Her tittering laugh grated his nerves as she climbed back up the stairs of her tree house. “Remind them all to stay away.” He gave her his back as he stalked out of the woods, needing to get away from the stench of whatever evil crawled through there.

  Ezra knew when he returned to the mansion, he would have to explain what he sensed there and smelled there. It was worse than evil. Worse than the stench of the necromancer who’d built his lair within the crypt that led to the belly of London. In fact, he’d never experienced anything like it. Clara said it was the Baron, but what did he want on his pack lands?

  Well, you are a Pinkerton. Was. He’d been a Pinkerton before being bitten. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he came to the clearing. The sun glinted off of the pond where small boats floated, carrying their passengers. Humans, they never saw anything. Didn’t realize evil lurked in the corners. They were getting comfortable now. Newspapers were sending mixed messages, some said it’d been a hoax some said it’d been real. Words like hysteria and aberration were thrown around as though the greater population of London had found themselves in opium dens, drugged out of their minds.

  Sometimes, he wished he could go back to being so naive. To his parents’ farm. Wake up to the roosters crowing and the milking cows mooing till their hearts were content. To put in a good day’s work and know that he’d been a part of something bigger. He figured they’d be gone and buried by now, though. Some family would be tilling his father’s land, getting it ready to plant. Or, already had. He hoped if there were new people there, they enjoyed the way the sun greeted them in the east every morning and bade them farewell every night in the west. And, if by some chance, his parents were still alive and well, he hoped they knew how much he loved them. How much he appreciated everything they did for him.

  “You seem preoccupied friend,” Dr. Cantrel stated, joining him at the mouth of the park.

  “Did you follow me?”

  Victor blended in well with society. A rich man in a simple time. His clothes were properly tailored. His cravats were of the finest silks. He had an imperial mustache trained to curl just right for presentation. The knob on his walking stick gleamed in the afternoon sun, as did the copper googles affixed to his bowler hat sitting upon his head. In the right pocket of his black jacket rested his white leather gloves Ezra believed Victor coveted more so than his scientific contraptions. On his left lapel sat what he affectionately termed Madam B
utterfly. The strange pendent made of copper wire, cogs, wheels and a tiny black cylinder had been formed in the shape of a medium-sized butterfly body. The wings were covered in jewels to help power the device. He said he only utilized it when taking notes, but Ezra wondered if the Misfit had used it to spy on them.

  “I should say first, it wasn’t my idea. No man above the age of eighteen should have a nanny chasing him around.” He also had a verbose way of speaking as well. Always adding in way more words than needed. “However, when Miss Clara said there might be trouble. I gave chase. It appears you didn’t need me after all.”

  “No, not today, Doctor. Come, I’ll buy you a pint.” Ezra ushered him through the lingering crowds over to the pub nearby.

  “Oh, I can’t stay,” Dr. Cantrel answered. “I have work to do. People and things to examine.”

  The way he said things, had a niggle of worry crawling down Ezra’s spine. “I understand, but if it’s all the same, I appreciate your general worry.”

  The doctor grinned. “Of course. Anything for a Dreadful.” He tipped his hat, then headed in the opposite direction.

  Ezra bypassed the pub and took the back way to the mansion. He had to compile his thoughts which included mating Clara. When she agreed, he wouldn’t be able to bite her. He’d made a promise to Omer after Miss Jemmy’s mother’s death he’d never do it again, no matter how much he wanted it. However, he could still leave a mark on her without breaking skin, and he would too.

  Just the thought of his little mate, contemplating what might happen next, had him quickening his pace and his trousers growing tight in the groin. Once he talked with Omer he’d go to Grant and speak to him. Even though he wanted to scoop Clara up and take her away from all the madness, he couldn’t. One, he didn’t think she’d appreciate it and two he didn’t think she’d leave. She’d been with Annabelle and her friends for too many years, and going with him would take her away from what she knew.

  As he approached the house, the door opened. Omer rarely left the manor. If Ezra had to guess why, he thought it might be the passage of time. The world wasn’t the same anymore. He grew up as the son of a pharaoh and became one as well. He had servants and slaves. Statues were built for him. People were crushed under the stone used to build his tomb. More than eighteen hundred years had passed since Omer walked among the living.

  Ezra stepped over the threshold of the mansion and closed the door behind him. Omer appeared in front of him moments later. With the days growing longer, they had more time to speak without interruption. “Omer.” He nodded.

  “Mr. Blakely,” Omer greeted him. “What did you find?”

  They entered the parlor to the left of the main staircase. “I’m not sure I can accurately explain it,” Ezra replied. “It’s dark. It smells, and I get this foreboding feeling of danger. It permeates the area.”

  “And the blood?” Omer inquired, sitting in the chair across from Ezra.

  “I didn’t smell it this time. Just danger. It left a charge behind.” He couldn’t explain it properly. It was as if death walked across his land, cursing it in its wake. It didn’t feel right. It rankled his wolf.

  “And Marbella?”

  Ezra scrubbed his face. “I fear she might try something again. I warned her to stay away, but the bitch doesn’t understand. I have never wanted to take another’s life like I have with her.”

  Omer sighed. “The anger you have built up inside you will cause more issues.”

  “I realize this,” Ezra answered. “It’s irrational in some respects and I believe it has been in flux since last night. When Clara and I were in the park.”

  “Might I suggest you ask for a cleansing from Clara? It will wash away whatever evil properties are attached to you.”

  Ezra sat there for a minute chewing over what the ancient being said. “What causes this? What is the root of his disturbance? Surely you have seen it before.”

  Omer shook his head. “I haven’t. It’s not like anything I have ever seen. The one who knows is the one you should ask.”

  Clara.

  “What does she have to do with this?” He couldn’t, no wouldn’t believe she caused any of the darkness surrounding his pack lands or the Dreadfuls.

  “I believe it is time to learn who your mate truly is.”

  “And you know?” Ezra sat forward in his chair. “Have you known the whole time?”

  “I know of things, but not these particular arts. I believe she does.”

  “Because she’s a witch?”

  “Yes, but she is more than just an ordinary practitioner. You should feel it too. She has a warmth to her, something I am not sure she is aware of.” Omer folded his hands. “Did you speak of your mating?”

  He had. Ezra worried he’d scared her off more than anything. “She understands.” Even though she’d been around paranormal beings more so than most, he feared she might reject his proposals. As it stood she turned her nose up at the thought of him going to the pack lands to talk with Marbella. He’d say it was jealousy, but what if it was just hate? Hate for what he was and hate for what she’d have to endure with him.

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I’m not,” Ezra answered. “I gave her time to think about it. It should be her choice. No matter what.”

  The ancient man nodded. “You did the proper thing.” He stood. “Until something more happens, we are cautious. Do you believe the wolves will be back?”

  Knowing Marbella? Yes. Until she got what she wanted the she-beast would continue to show up and threaten his home. “Yes. Don’t let your guard down with her. This fight isn’t over. She is only after one thing.”

  “Then we will keep a watchful eye. Until then, spend time with your son and Clara. We will take care of the rest.” Omer’s form wavered. “If you don’t mind, I have a nosy wolf I must attend to.”

  “Shit. I should have told Grant to stay away from the basement.”

  Omer grinned. “It’s not Grant. Miss Dell is a nosey one.”

  Ezra groaned. “Do I have to keep you separated?”

  “Good afternoon, Ezra.” With a final nod, Omer disappeared in front of him, leaving Ezra to his own devices.

  Chapter Six

  Three days later...

  Everything had gone back to normal. Or, as normal as it could be, considering. Since the night the wolves invaded the mansion, they hadn’t returned. Clara also hadn’t sensed the Baron either. Which made the subject of the conversation with Ezra postponed. Yet, again, he didn’t leave the house to return to the pack for the full moons. He stayed.

  Ezra confounded her.

  He told her to think on his proposal, and she had. However, he didn’t push the subject of mating him even when she suspected he might. Mating, such a weird word. If, when she’d been a little girl, her granmé had told her there was more to the world than voodoo and witchcraft, she’d have scoffed. Things...beings, the supernatural, did though. In this great big world, there were all kinds of monsters and the wolves, so far, scared her the most.

  “Are you going take Ezra up on his offer?” Annabelle nudged Clara.

  “I hadn’t given much thought to it,” she answered. Liar.

  “He watches every move you make,” her friend prodded. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  Considering a year ago, they were content to dispatch the things they cuddled up to at night, Annabelle’s change of perception surprised her in some ways. Clara thought it would be years before she’d take the gift of immortality from Jonah. Or she would try to persuade her to do the same with Ezra.

  “He won’t bite me.” The admission tumbled out of her.

  He swore never to use his bite again, which only left her confused more so than anything else. How could someone profess to be a mate, then withhold the one thing keeping them apart? It didn’t make sense to Clara, and she supposed it had been one of the reasons she hadn’t answered Ezra. Add in the fact her deformity might also get into the way, and she didn�
�t think any of the nonsense would work out.

  “I suppose not after poor Jemmy. He has his issues, and he’s made his promises to Omer.”

  She could sense the ‘but’ in her friend’s tone. “But?”

  “He’ll break them. Jonah did with me. The soul wants what it wants and if you are his, Ezra will move heaven and earth to make it possible.”

  Clara didn’t answer her friend as they continued down the cobblestone path towards the heart of London. Tonight, they were patrolling the streets with Mr. Tinnin, Andres, and Donovan. Mr. Tinnin stuck to the shadows three blocks to the west of them while Andres and Donovan were behind them, on the other side of the road. For all intents and purposes, they appeared to be out enjoying the evening.

  Above them, the moon glowed brightly, almost completely full. Tomorrow night would begin another cycle. A part of Clara withered at the thought. All the anxious fears and trepidations would come pouring back in. She couldn’t explain the irrational feelings, other than wondering if her sense of foreboding had anything to do with what he proclaimed them to be.

  “You should answer him,” Annabelle hedged. “We’ll figure out the rest.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” The hairs on the back of her neck along with her good arm, stood on end. The atmosphere changed. “Do you—”

  “Yes.” Annabelle hissed as she whipped her head towards Clara. “What is it?”

  It wasn’t the Baron. He had a certain stench about him. Something she’d never forget. “I don’t know. But, it’s paranormal nonetheless.”

  Annabelle released her crossbow from her hip holster and raised it. The copper and wooden contraption had been a present from Elijah Dapp. She never went anywhere without it and it had served its purpose in more than a few scrapes they’d gotten into over the years. Clara projected herself using her magick and searched for any sign of what caused the disturbance. Nothing.

  The clip of their boots echoed off the empty alleyways. Empty? Clara glanced over her shoulder. A wall of fog separated her and Annabelle from Andres and Donovan. Fear tried to wrap its icy tendrils around her throat, but she wouldn’t give into the irrational feeling. Whoever was out there wielded the arts as well as she did, if not better and soon, they’d make their presence known.