by Michele Ryan
A growl echoed around them. The exact location she couldn’t be sure of. But, she’d heard it before in the mansion garden. She touched Annabelle’s arm. A silent warning for what was to come next. “I know who it is,” Clara whispered.
“I do too,” Annabelle answered. “But, how are they able to do this?”
It was obviously a spell. Whoever chanted it had to be close by, however with the thickening mist closing in on them at a rapid pace, she couldn’t tell from which direction it came. “An enchantment spell using the weather to power it.” Though the days were warm the nights still held a bit of a chill, allowing for fog to roll in from the river.
A second growl came from the direction of the first and a darkened form appeared out of the haze. The light from the gas lanterns illuminating the street caught the beast’s eyes, giving them an iridescent glow. A few seconds later another appeared. Then another and another. Annabelle and Clara were surrounded. The white furred wolf led them once more. Their angry snarls and excited yips chilled Clara’s blood. They meant to kill her and Annabelle. Like her granmé said, her bones never lied.
Were they so crazed, they didn’t realize they were standing in the presence of a vampire? The thought also struck her, that Andres and Donavan hadn’t caught up to them. They’d been cornered on purpose. What message were they hoping to send Ezra and worse, Jonah? It was quite obvious if either returned harmed, the pack would be decimated. Did they not care? Anger replaced the edges of terror seeping into her blood. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t take it lying down.
Annabelle aimed for one of the closest wolves and shot it with the silver tipped arrows she’d grown fond of using. The animal screamed, writhing in pain as it lost its wolf form and returned to her human body. Vines of grey spread outward from where the arrow pierced her heart, turning her skin a sickly shade of grey. Her mouth hung open on a silent scream and her eyes were wide and unseeing.
Everything stilled. The air. The rush of adrenaline pulsing through Clara’s body. Her heartbeat. It was as if they were frozen in time. Stuck between this moment and the next. Then, it became a flash of activity. She crouched, grabbing for the silver pistol she kept in her garter. The bullets were blessed by holy water and tipped with magick infused silver. One layer of protection was good, but two was always better.
Now, she wasn’t the fastest draw or the best shot, but she could hit the target when need be, and tonight she had to. Clara pulled the hammer back on her gun as she stood. When one of the wolves jumped at her, she fired. Her finger never came off that trigger nor did she stop slapping the hammer on the gun until she ran out. She’d seen the way Annie Oakley shot and she wanted to do the same. It came in handy when dealing with paranormal beasts. The quicker she could fire the more likely she’d hit the target.
Annabelle and she stood back to back, defending themselves as the group of wolves seemed to grow in size. It was then she realized they were fighting apparitions. Mirrored images. Instead of firing on the wolves lunging at them, she began to aim at the ones standing still. She’d never seen this type of incantation before. At least with the necromancer, she knew it’d been dark. It left a spot on her soul, one she’d spend years trying to erase. This had a kick, as her granmé would say, of something extra.
“Aim for the wolves not moving,” Clara yelled to her friend. “It’s all an illusion.”
“What kind of tomfoolery is this?” Annabelle hissed before releasing another of her arrows into a gray wolf.
“A trickery of the mind. I can’t concentrate to find the culprit.” Clara targeted another of the wolves inching closer to her Annabelle.
Fresh hell ripped through her body as she pulled the trigger. The burn of acid crawled up her leg and settled in her groin before roiling her gut. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her body went cold. The Colt revolver fell from her hand with a loud clatter before she crumbled to the ground. Clara stared down at where the pain emanated from and couldn’t reconcile what she saw. The white wolf had her jaw wrapped around her ankle while its teeth were buried in her flesh and muscle. The wolf shook her leg like she’d been a rag doll, drawing its teeth deeper into the flesh.
Fire replaced the acidic burn. Her skin felt as though it melted from her bones and she worried the next time she opened her eyes she would be a skeleton of her former self. It hurt so bad. She heard a distant, agonizing sob and quickly realized it came from her. She couldn’t move. Every breath hurt. Every movement became impossible. Far away she could hear a howl of outrage, but she didn’t know where it came from, only wishing for the sweet release of death to claim her. Instead, she continued to live in the torturous hell of reality. She glanced down at her leg to find the blooded remains still attached to her foot, but the wolf who’d bitten her gone.
The fog lifted, exposing a yelling Andres and Donovan, and Mr. Tinnin who held a lit stick of dynamite in his hand. The deranged man doused the wick of the explosive and if she’d felt more like herself, she’d have asked where he’d gotten it, but even thinking hurt. Off in the direction from where they came, a set of yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. The massive form hurdled itself down the lane toward them. Instinct told her it was Ezra and she would be safe now to give in to the darkness tugging at her. Yet, she couldn’t do it. She feared if she gave over to anything happening to her body, she’d die. Already her insides were ready to explode like Pompeii.
“Clara?” Annabelle pushed Clara’s springy curls from her face. “Stay with me. Ezra’s coming. Hang on.”
Yes. She must. The rushing of her blood through her ears had been a welcome music, however for the last few beats, it’d grown slower. More uneven. Finally, the pain ebbed, and she relaxed. The cold stone beneath her eased the burning in her body. The activity surrounding her drifted away as she blinked several times. Everything had become too much for her. Her eyelids were too heavy as were her limbs. Breathing became a chore.
“Creole Queen.” Ezra’s rough tone rubbed against her sense, nudging her back to the here and now. “What did you go getting yourself into?”
“Don’t touch her gun,” Clara heard Annabelle whisper. “It’s pure silver.”
“Wolves and fog,” Clara slurred. “See.” She tried to point to the dead girl in the middle of the road, but she wasn’t there. “How?”
“Easy,” Ezra murmured. “This is going to hurt, but we have to get you to the mansion. Omer can help us.”
“I’m dying,” she croaked.
“No, you’re not,” Ezra stated.
“I’ll carry her,” Jonah said, appearing in her line of sight. “It’ll be faster.”
“Don’t you dare hurt her,” Ezra growled.
“Stop fighting.” She didn’t want to hear two bitty hens clucking over her. She wanted to die in peace.
“Go,” Ezra urged we’ll follow shortly.
Jonah’s gaze met hers. “I have to do this my way, understand?”
No, but she had a feeling she might not like it. She blinked at him and groaned. “Leave me to die.”
Jonah chuckled. The soft sound did nothing to ease the worry. “Look at me, Miss Clara.” Her gaze met his. “Sleep. Sleep until you are healed and well rested. Relax into my arms...”
Her body grew heavy and she closed her eyes. Yes, sleep. Sleep would be good. She was, after all, exhausted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a nap or slept a full night. She whimpered as they took off. The cold air bit at her flesh, creating a new sensation to crawl along her skin. She didn’t know if it had been pleasant or not. Again, Jonah reminded her she was very tired and needed to sleep. Shattered, she gave a weak yawn and allowed the darkness to engulf her.
***
One month later...
Clara’s fever broke five days after being bitten. Ezra and Grant never left her side. During her more lucid moments, she was able to convey what happened behind the wall of fog. What she couldn’t remember, Annabelle filled in the holes. According to Andres, he and Do
novan followed them the whole way, and saw nothing. They claimed the fog didn’t exist, however they heard the repeat of Clara’s Colt. There were no bodies, nor was there any blood.
The only evidence they had to prove something happened had been the bite on Clara’s leg and the fact Ezra could smell the stench of his wolves. Omer came to her a day later and claimed her for the Dreadfuls. He considered her more powerful than her werewolf counterparts. She had to promise to not use her abilities for anything evil and of course, keep the biting to a minimum. She giggled at his request.
Charlie had already designed and began to make her new arm. No, Ezra reminded her it should be considered a leg and a paw. He wanted her to remember the wolf and the human were two separate beings and to never confuse the two. She on the other hand, beside feeling like warmed over death for a few days after the fever broke, didn’t really think she’d changed any. She didn’t have any unnatural inclinations. For all they knew, she wouldn’t become a wolf, or anything in between.
A soft knock came at her door before it opened. Ezra stepped inside. Prior to her life altering event, she’d promised to give him an answer. She’d seen how Jonah cared for Annabelle and Mr. Nealy seemed smitten with Miss Jemmy, but she still had questions. Jealousies. With the bite and almost dying, she hadn’t taken the time to work through her difficulties. They didn’t revolve around Marbella anymore, no; it was more about duty over substance.
“How are you feeling today?” Ezra crossed to her, his hands were behind his back, his demeanor was completely at ease, almost playful, something she’d never seen before. A slow, devastating smile filled his rugged features, transforming him from an intimidating beast to a softer, kinder man.
“Much better,” Clara answered. She found, since the incident, she also liked napping. Her energy levels weren’t what they were, but Ezra promised after her first full moon, she’d regain it all, and then some.
“Good.” He sat beside her. “I thought we could speak.”
“About my answer.” She sat up a bit more then leaned forward. She caught it then, the subtle scent of something wild mixed with a hint of a wheat field on a hot summer day. The warm air catching the sweetness of the ripening grain. She inhaled again and caught the spicy edge of his shaving cream. Her mouth watered. Her heart gave a heavy thump of anticipation while she tingled from head to toe.
A soft growl passed his lips. “Yes.” His gaze locked with her. The wolf she’d seen several times over the last several months lurked within his heavy-lidded eyes.
“I’m...what did you do to me?” She put her hand to her throat, trying to still her rapid heartbeat.
“Your wolf knows mine,” he answered, closing the distance between them. “Smells mine.” He nuzzled her neck and groaned. “You smell like fresh cotton, sage and magick. It’s changed since you are a werewolf like me, but under the wilderness, you’re right here.” He pressed a kiss to her pulse.
She whimpered, reaching for him to steady her. “Will I be like you? Insatiable? Unable to control myself? Mindlessly lost to lust and sexual heat?” She didn’t think she could bear any of this if she were. She didn’t want to be controlled by the wolf within. She needed her own autonomy.
“Easy, my Creole Queen.” He kissed her neck again. “You won’t experience anything I did. I promise.” He pushed her blankets out of the way then grasped her hip. “A wolf’s main goal when created is to procreate with their mate.”
“How can you be so sure, you didn’t have a mate when you were created.”
“No, just a bunch of female wolves in heat, desperate for male attention,” Ezra answered. “This attraction will grow stronger until the full moon, Miss Clara. There is no doubt about it.”
She took a shuddering breath. “Is this what you’ve been fighting all this time?” She lifted her gaze to meet his.
“Yes,” he replied. “I wanted you to come to me because you wanted me, not because the wolf demanded it.” He didn’t give her a chance to say anything else, as his mouth covered hers.
She made two quick observations. His lips were firm and they were warm. Very warm. She sank into his kiss, allowing him to dictate it course. She moaned, and he advanced, rubbing his tongue over hers. She’d never experienced anything so risqué or decadent before. The drag of his nails across her scalp as he fisted her hair in his grasp, added to the liquid arousal flowing through her veins. She drowned in the sensations, enjoying the way her body responded to his.
Without a thought to what she was doing or what she was accepting if they went further, she worked his shirt from his trousers. She yearned to touch his flesh. Her fingers itched to claim their prize.
“Wait,” Ezra whispered. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? For what I’m offering you?”
He was giving her a way out. To bide her time until she would come to him on the full moon. She should take it, make him leave. Yet, she couldn’t. The words sat on the tip of her tongue to reject whatever was happening between them and wait out the coming storm still brewing within her. Instead she said, “I understand. What about the biting thing?”
Ezra chuckled. “Null and void. You’ve been changed.” He pushed back her blankets further, then pulled at the top ribbon holding her nightdress together.
The top part of her gown fell open. Her breath quickened. “I-I-I’ve never done this before.”
His advancements stopped. “Never?”
She shook her head and grabbed her pewter arm. “I didn’t always look like this.”
“Gin accident?”
It would have been so easy to say yes and move on. America was still far behind the British when it came to innovations and the wave of steam powered engineering. They liked their rudimentary inventions and working children long hours in the fields. Though her family came from well taken care of slaves, it didn’t mean others were. She’d heard the horror stories. Been told about the men and women who’d never made it home.
“No,” she answered. “A product of birth.”
“You’ve hidden your whole life, haven’t you, Miss Clara?” He tipped her chin as she tried to conceal her shame. “I believe you won’t be needing to do so any longer.”
A flood of relief imbued her. “Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Blakely.” She giggled when he growled at her.
Ezra kicked off his boots before covering her body with his. He kissed her again while fumbling with the second tie holding her shift together. When he got it open, he worked the linen over her hips then her head. She lay completely naked below him. She could feel the heat of his gaze rake across her exposed skin. The coolness of the room pearled her nipples into tight points while an unfamiliar ache built between her thighs.
“You’re beautiful,” Ezra murmured. “Stunning.” He kissed a path down her neck and between her breasts.
A shock of pleasure rippled outward from where his mouth encased her nipple. The warm wet heat of his mouth sucking on the point had her belly coiling with a foreign sort of anticipation. She threaded her pewter fingers through his hair and held him to her, not wanting to lose this new sensation. However, when he added his other hand, palming and teasing her neglected breast, she didn’t know which she should focus on or accept it all. She let out a soft cry and Ezra’s rough chuckle vibrated along her skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh.
“Ezra,” she whined, not exactly sure what she wanted, only the growing knot of expectancy in her lower belly became painful and needed some kind of relief.
“Easy, my Creole Queen. I’m right here.” He sat back momentarily to remove his clothes. A completely naked Ezra was as glorious if not more so than a fully clothed one. The thick length between his legs jutted upward, and the ruddy, red tip glistening with his essence.
Clara licked her lips. What would it taste like? What would it be like to take him in her mouth and give him pleasure? Would he enjoy it? Would he allow her?
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but your scent just became a spicy mix of arousal and cur
iosity.” He cupped himself and squeezed.
“I wondered what it would be like to touch you,” she answered. “Would you let me?”
“Yes,” he said, a bit breathlessly. “Later, though. The thought of your hands on me right now, would unman me.” A hint of blush colored his cheeks as he joined her in bed. “For now, let me take care of you.”
His mouth covered hers once more as he slid his fingers down her belly to her sex. He groaned into the kiss as he traced the seam of her slit. His touch glided over her and her clit pulsed with need. Instead of continuing in the direction he’d been going in, he backtracked and began his pattern once more. He slowly drove her insane and when she thought he only meant to tease her, he grazed the hard nub.
Sparks shot through her body as a cry of pleasure fell from her lips. It took the edge off of the pressure growing inside her, but not enough to settle the rising tide. She needed more. Ezra rubbed it again while pushing his middle finger into her vagina. The sudden sensation of being filled overwhelmed her senses. Clara jerked in his hold and flexed her hips, riding his finger as she tried to get more of his ministrations. It felt so good. She trembled in his arms, clinging to him as the last waves of her climax ebbed from her.
Ezra positioned himself between her legs. He fixed her thighs around his trim waist. The muscles of his stomach bunched as he pressed the tip of his cock to her entrance. “Stay with me, Clara.”
He eased forward, entering her a little bit at a time. The pinch and burn had been too much, though when he circled her clit, she moved with him, taking him deeper. The soft grunts he made added to the atmosphere around them. His fingers dug into her hip as he thrust one last time, pushing the rest of his length into her. He groaned her name, resting his forehead against hers.
She was over-filled in a pleasant way. Internally, she could feel her muscles ripple around him, hold him within her in the most intimate of ways. In those few seconds where neither of them moved, it seemed as if everything was right in the world for her. As though she made the right decision to accept his mating and to accept the man now connected to her. Ezra began to move. His strokes were slow and measured. They made her feel good. Needy. The ache from before started again, and this time she recognized it.
