“I see now why you were scared the first time you encountered this being,” Edward said.
“What is it?” Ray asked again, calmer now that it had moved on.
“I don’t know, Ray. It approached me twice before in the forest. I have seen its eyes, too. It is terrifying, but it has never done me harm.”
“So, it is not the beast, then?” Edward asked.
“I cannot say for sure, Father. It certainly portrays evil, and it feels powerful enough.”
“Then why did it not attack?”
“Maybe because we are good people,” Ray said.
Patrick considered it. Ray had a point. The beast only attacked sinners, and if none of these men had committed a crime, it would stand to reason that it would not attack.
“Indeed, it is possible. If it is the beast, then we should warn the others. They may not be as lucky as we were. Get these men back on their horses. Let’s ride.”
Patrick chided himself for not speaking about the bizarre presence before, even if his father had told him to keep it quiet. Maybe if he had mentioned it earlier, the wolf council could have offered some explanations.
Riding hard along the dark forest road, a feeling of dread grew within him. His senses told him there was blood ahead, and he urged his stallion to higher speed.
They reached a clearing where another team had stopped to build a fire; its smouldering remains were scattered around the centre of the clearing. Three dead men sat cross-legged in a circle, facing each other. Their heads rested on each other’s shoulders, keeping them upright. Knives had fallen from their hands to rest beside them; bloody.
“Where are the others?” Edward asked.
Patrick ordered some of the men to look for the team while he got off his horse to investigate the scene before him. He could only deduce that the men had stabbed each other to death, and then fallen forward to come to rest as they were now.
“What could make men do such a thing?” Edward asked. “What was their crime to be punished like this?”
The campsite yielded no clues other than that the other men had fled in a hurry, leaving most of their possessions behind. There were footprints and hoof prints, but no sign of any different kind of beast.
Dorien’s group came riding back into camp a short while later, looking about warily. They were all pale and hesitant to approach.
“It is safe now,” Patrick assured them. “It has moved on.”
“I have never encountered anything like it,” Lawson said. “In all my years hunting the supernatural …” He trailed off.
“This is more spiritual than supernatural,” Patrick said. “I don’t think it is a beast, or person, we are dealing with. Whatever it is, it is more powerful than we imagined.”
“It came upon us so quickly,” Dorien said, his voice still shaking. “Scared us witless. Even with the fire, the clearing became completely black. We could not see. We panicked.”
“We encountered the being before it came to you,” Edward said. “It passed us by, but we felt its terror.”
“It passed you by?” Lawson asked.
“We were not its intended target.”
“That means it plans its killings in advance. It selects its victims, and then hunts them down,” Lawson said.
“How do we hunt it?” Dorien asked. “How will we know where it will strike next? I have never been so afraid in my life; how do we fight something like that?”
The men stared at each other. They had prepared themselves for dealing with magic once they caught the creature, but this was something different altogether. A witch would be preferable to this. Hell, they’d take on a coven right now, if it meant they didn’t have to deal with this creature.
When the morning dawned, and the teams rode onto Blakesley Farm to regroup, a heavy mist hung low over the ground, mirroring the men’s mood.
Tired as they were from the night’s event, Dorien called a meeting to inform the other men what had happened. Blakesley Manor provided breakfast for everyone, but it seemed all had lost their appetite.
It wasn’t until noon that Patrick managed to sneak away from the property, with barely an hour’s sleep. Although Angelica did not use her alpha voice, Patrick could feel her distress, and it called to him as surely as if he was ordered.
When he reached the dock, he saw muddy footprints leading to the boat shed. He sensed no other but Angelica, so he rushed up the stairs to find her naked and dirty upon his bed.
Angelica shivered from cold and mud had caked on her legs. She slept, but fitfully, with what had to have been disturbing dreams.
“Wake, my love,” Patrick called to her. He covered her with a blanket and draped his arms around her to keep her warm. “Please, wake up, Angelica.”
Her eyelids fluttered, and when she opened her eyes, they were the deepest blue. The moment she saw him, a sob burst from deep within her chest, and she clung to him as she cried. He could do nothing but hold her while she wept.
“My love, please tell me what happened. Why are you covered in mud? Did someone hurt you?”
She shook her head. “I had such a strange dream last night. The men that came to our house the other night were arguing with my father in my dream. I could not abide by their yelling, so I left the house.”
She rested her forehead against his chest, and he could barely hear her next words.
“When I woke up, I found myself floundering in the river, naked. I struggled to shore and made my way here. I must have fallen asleep again, for exhaustion had taken hold of me.”
“You remember nothing of how you came to be in the river?”
She shook her head, but Angelica’s body tensed ever so slightly, and Patrick thought she was hiding something. He could tell she was afraid, thus he held her for a while, before trying again.
“Come, let’s clean you up; it will make you feel better.”
Wrapping her in a blanket, he picked her up and carried her down the stairs. Angelica clung to him; her haven in this storm that was her world.
Patrick sat her down on the grass at the edge of the river. Hiking up the blanket to around her waist, he moved her forward until her feet dangled in the water. Wiping gently, he washed until her legs were clean once more.
Sunlight streamed through the trees, warming her. Patrick spread the blanket out on the grass, and Angelica laid back on it, enjoying the warmth of the sun’s rays.
He watched her for a while; her perfect, pale body. So petite, and young. Had he not experienced it for himself before, he would not believe the strength this small body held.
Trailing his fingers over her breasts, and down her stomach, the fine hairs on her skin reacted instantly to his touch. A smile appeared on her lips. He circled her firm breasts, playing with them.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“I am, indeed,” she replied.
“Do you remember who those men were that came to your father that night?”
She remained relaxed under his caressing touch, but her brow furrowed as she thought. “I don’t know their names,” she hesitated, “but they often do tasks for my father. I believe they are part of your hunting party.”
Patrick forced himself to remain calm and continued stroking her. “Do you know how many there were?”
“Three came to see him,” she said confidently.
“And you say they argued with your father. Do you know what the argument was about?”
Angelica opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Why are you asking all these questions?”
“I am trying to understand what triggered your nightmare. There must have been a reason.”
Angelica’s eyes darkened dangerously as she frowned in thought. He could see the frustration on her face.
“I don’t recall exactly what they were arguing about, but I remember not liking it. My father ordered them to do something, and I …” she paused, her frown deepening. “I think I thought you were in danger.”
“They talked ab
out me?”
“I think so.”
Patrick sat up, pulling Angelica with him, and wrapping the blanket around her naked frame. “My love, you need to listen to me very carefully,” he said, making her look at him.
She nodded.
“Three of your father’s men were killed last night by a creature such as we have never encountered before. If three men argued with your father the night before, I am led to believe that either your father is, or is involved with, the creature.”
“No,” she whispered, eyes large.
“I tend to believe that it is your father, who is the creature, for it would explain how you are manifesting these changes within you.”
“Oh, Patrick, what are we to do?”
“I will have to let the wolf council know. I am sorry, Angelica.”
“Can I stay here? I don’t want to go back home.”
Patrick thought about it. He wanted nothing more than for her to be safe, but if she went missing, Alaric would be alerted.
“No, my love, you have to be brave now. Go home and be the daughter you always are. I will come for you tomorrow, I promise.”
Angelica pressed herself to him, and he held her.
It suddenly seemed evident in his mind. It was no wonder Alaric had been adamant about blaming the killings on Patrick, for it diverted attention from the lord.
Lord Alaric also had access to the information necessary to know what these people did in their private lives, as the man had his spies everywhere. Maybe, as Lord of Ashford, he saw it as his duty to rid the town of sinners. Patrick shuddered at the thought of what kind of warlock Alaric had to be. That kind of power did not come for free. This was dark magic; evil and vile.
The thought that Angelica had to go back there revolted him, but she had no reason to fear for her life. There was probably no safer place for her. He held her tight, wanting to hold onto her for as long as he could before she had to leave. When her slim fingers found their way under his shirt, he did not deny her.
With the dappled sunlight playing over her naked body, Patrick watched her as he took his clothes off. When she licked her finger and then touched herself, he struggled to control his throbbing erection.
Lying down beside her, he continued to caress her breasts while she toyed with herself. He could smell her arousal, driving him to distraction. The sounds of her finger massaging her node matched the rhythm of her soft moans. Her hips moved gently upward with every downward play of her finger.
Patrick thought he would lose control when she bucked, twitching beneath her hand, giving in to her release. He moved down and tasted her pleasure, feeling her swollen lips with his tongue.
“Come,” she said, and the command settled deep in his chest.
Never had an alpha spoken to him during lovemaking, and he now fought for control as he had not needed to before. He reached up and plunged himself straight into her wet fold.
Swollen and moist as Angelica was, and with the cry of ecstasy she uttered when he entered, there was little he could do to hold himself back. Upon his third thrust, he lost all control. Crying out with her, he released his flood within her, thrusting and pumping for longer than ever, before he lay spent.
For once, she held him in her arms afterwards, stroking his hair as he rested with his cheek against her breast.
The silence in the room was deafening as Patrick glanced around at the men. He waited, giving them more time to comprehend what he had told them.
“We need to act right away if what you say is true,” Lawson finally said. “I never liked the man to begin with, but I never suspected him.” The lawman shook his head.
“I don’t believe any of us did,” Dorien cut in. “The evidence speaks against him, though. There are too many coincidences for it not to be true. These last three men must have betrayed him, or worked against him, which is probably what the argument was about. It then stands to reason that he would have made them betray each other and therefore kill each other.”
“There is no time to lose,” Lawson continued. “He could kill again tonight, so tonight we must go. Patrick, Edward, you know the layout of the manor best. From which direction should we approach?”
Edward fetched some paper, and drew a rough sketch of the manor, then used items on his desk to denote critical elements around the property, such as the stables and the orchard.
Lawson divided them into a group of six men, and a pack of twelve werewolves. The men would approach the manor, while the wolves would circle the property, keeping guard.
They decided against summoning any of the other hunters, as they did not know who they could trust. As far as they knew, all of them were not only paid by Alaric but were also spying for Alaric.
At ten o’clock, they rode out, the werewolves fanning out behind, running in near silence through the darkness.
Reckoning was coming, and it was coming with teeth.
Chapter 13
They could see flickering orange flames through the trees as they approached, and panic rose within Patrick’s chest. Worried for Angelica’s safety, he spurred his stallion towards Ashford Manor without regard to the men around him, or the plan they had.
“No, Patrick,” his father commanded.
“Argh,” he yelled, reining in his horse.
“We stick to the plan, Patrick. This could be a trap,” Lawson said.
As they neared, they realised it was the orchard that was on fire; the manor stood untouched. Servants formed a line with buckets, trying to douse the blaze.
“Do you see him?” Edward asked.
They halted their horses at the beginning of the drive, watching the spectacle unfold. The cherry trees popped and cracked as they burned, and no amount of water the servants brought to it could still the flames.
The manor remained in darkness, with only the porch lantern lit.
“No. Let’s ride up and ask,” Dorien proposed.
The horses had the smell of the fire in their nostrils and pranced unhappily beneath them. Even from this distance, they could feel the heat.
When they reached the steps of the manor, Jasper came running over to help them with the horses.
“My Lords, we need your help, please.”
“When did the fire start, Jasper,” Edward asked.
“Half an hour ago, My Lord.”
“And where is your Master?”
“In there, My Lord.”
All looked towards the flaming orchard.
“In there?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Richard, Dorien, get the others. Patrick, Dale, search for the ladies. Edward, you come with me,” Lawson ordered. “Let’s help these people.”
Patrick did not wait for further instructions. He turned his stallion and cantered up the steps to the manor. He did not look to see if Dale followed him. The horse snorted and threw his head as the smoke from the fire wafted over them. Patrick jumped from the saddle and let the animal go.
Running into the house, Patrick called out Angelica’s name. Thick smoke hovered in the entrance hall, and he soon coughed, his throat too tender to carry on calling. He climbed the stairs two at a time, then ran down the passage on the second floor to Angelica’s room, but it was empty. Frantically, he searched the other rooms, but found them deserted, too.
“There is no one down here,” Dale choked out as Patrick came back down the stairs. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
“No one upstairs,” Patrick replied. “Let’s check the stables.”
They both coughed and struggled for breath as they ran across the yard. The air was hazy with smoke, and they saw the buildings surrounding the stable yard only when they were almost upon them. The animals screamed with fear within their stalls; bumping against their doors and kicking walls.
Dale ran into the yard and opened the doors. Horses fled wildly through the archway of the yard towards the paddocks, and the farm beyond.
Patrick ran through the rest of the buildings; the barn, the feed
room, the saddle room - Angelica was nowhere to be found. He wished to use his wolf senses to find her, but the smoke burned his nose and stung his eyes. Although the fire seemed contained to the orchard, the flames flickered high, and smoke billowed in thick, grey clouds. Patrick’s heart hammered hard in his chest, and panic threatened to overwhelm him.
What if Alaric had taken the women into the orchard with him?
Maybe Alaric had started the fire to burn them; to punish them. Perhaps he had learned of Angelica’s affair with Patrick. Cold dread froze the sweat on Patrick’s forehead, and he turned towards the blaze.
Albert tossed in his bed, unable to sleep. He considered seeking out Mary in the other bedroom, but then reconsidered; she was not to his taste.
Eventually, he climbed out from under the covers and went down to his office. After pouring himself a whiskey, and lighting a cigar, he sat on the veranda, looking out over his property.
Some of the servants were still awake, and he could see the glows from their houses shine through the trees on the other side of the property. It was still early; maybe nine-thirty.
Albert took a long sip of his whiskey and then sat back to enjoy his cigar. One hand travelled down into his trousers, toying with his over-sized cock. He’d always been particularly proud of its size; even limp it rivalled any man’s erection.
Albert was thinking about the cries of the last boy he’d been with when he saw a strange light within the orchard. Sitting up, he squinted towards it.
The light flickered and danced erratically through the trees.
“Damn peasants,” he muttered and put the rest of his cigar in the ashtray.
Albert went back into the house, put on his boots, and fetched his rifle. If servants were messing around in the orchard with torches, he’d teach them a lesson.
Striding purposefully through the rows of cherry trees, Albert searched for the flicker of the torch. The stars above cast enough light for him to see where he was going.
Soon, he heard the soft laughter of a girl, and his irritation rose. How dare the servants defile his orchard in the middle of the night? Cocking his rifle, he pressed on.
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