Albert had not been into the orchard in years, and when he came upon the pavilion, he did not recall ever building it. He circled it slowly, but it was empty. Deeper into the orchard, he went. The sweet scent of the cherry blossoms sickened him, but the orchard brought in extra income.
Albert heard the girl’s laughter again; this time, the sound came from behind him. He spun around, aiming his rifle, but there was no one there. Staring into the darkness, a shiver of unease passed over him.
“Who’s there,” he called out.
In the darkness ahead, a tiny flame sprung to life. Pressing his rifle against his shoulder, Albert approached it carefully. He had thought it a torch, but as he neared, he saw it was a naked flame, hovering freely in mid-air. Disbelieving, he moved his hand below it, and over it, and walked in circles around it.
The flame grew. Albert stepped away, suddenly afraid, his curiosity forgotten.
A shadow formed behind the flame; growing large and menacing. Albert tried to run, but his legs would not listen. He stumbled and fell; the rifle dropping from his hands. Behind the glow of the flame, the dark shape of the monster hovered, its luminous eyes judging him. Albert cowered in the dirt, tears streaming down his face.
As the dark shadow’s eyes judged him, memories flooded his mind.
Albert thought of his arms deals; his opium trade; his sex slave trade; and his various investments in dubious companies in America. He also thought about every boy he had ever been with; remembered every one of their cries of pain as he entered them; saw their blood spill from them after he finished.
“How do you plead?” the shadow spoke, shaking him to the core.
“Guilty,” he whispered.
“What is your punishment?”
“To burn in hell.”
“As you wish.”
Albert rose off the ground and walked on shaking legs towards the flame. For the first time in his life, he felt regret. There was no salvation for him. He had been judged, and he needed to be punished.
With an anguished cry, Albert stepped into the flame.
The orchard smouldered into the early hours of the morning. Patrick was as soot-covered as the servants who had spent the entire night putting out the fire.
The servants rested now, while Dorien and his men walked the rows of charred trees, looking for any sign of the Alaric household, holding their lanterns high. The grotesquely burned branches of the trees did nothing to allay Patrick’s fears. Sweating feverishly even in the cool of hours before sunrise, he thought he’d lost Angelica forever.
“Over here,” Lawson shouted.
Patrick’s heart jumped into his throat at the call, and he dashed between the blackened trees towards Dorien’s cousin.
He noticed the pavilion had burned down to the ground as he ran passed, but Patrick did not stop to look. The others also converged on Lawson, who stood within a bare circle, staring downward.
The trees here had burned away completely, forming a circular glade, charred black. In the centre of this ring rested the white bones of one person, its skull staring sightlessly into the sky.
The men stood around the edge of the burned glade, unwilling to step into its centre. No one said anything for a long while until Edward saw something glinting in the light of their lanterns.
“What’s that?” Edward asked and, taking a charred branch, poked at a spot not far from the grotesque skeleton. “It’s what’s left of Albert’s Brunswick Rifle,” he finally said, eyes wide.
Patrick stared at him. If that was Albert Alaric, then they were wrong; he was not the monster.
“Keep searching,” he ordered, first to recover from the shock. “If Alaric came in here with his rifle, he may have been protecting his family.”
Dorien nodded and sent them all back along the rows. The sun rose over the horizon, but even after they had walked the orchard for near on four hours, they found no further bodies.
“They are not here, Patrick. The men need to rest. Let us regroup this afternoon. I will tell the priest to make arrangements here,” Dorien said to him.
“He’s right, Patrick. There is nothing further you can do here,” Edward added. “Let us go home, and we can come back to this later when we are rested.”
Patrick knew they were right, but leaving somehow felt as if he was giving up on Angelica. With a heavy sigh, he agreed.
The servants brought their horses; which had all wandered back to the stable yard during the night. The men split up; each riding their own way home. Edward and Patrick rode in silence for most of their way, too exhausted to talk.
As they crossed the boundary line to Blakesley Farm, Patrick felt a familiar pull. His stomach knotted with excitement, and his stallion pranced beneath him.
“Looks like we are not the only ones happy to be home,” his father commented, looking at the stallion.
“Father, I think Angelica is here.”
“How do you …”
Patrick did not wait for his father to finish. Giving his stallion his head, he galloped down the road towards the manor. Caught in the excitement, his father’s horse raced after him.
A servant saw them coming and took their horses from them as they came to a halt in front of the steps. Without a pause, the men ran up the stairs.
“My Lords,” Winston whispered urgently as they entered. He stood at the entrance to the parlour. “Lady Blakesley is in here with the other ladies, but I must beg you to be quiet. They are sleeping, you see.”
Patrick and Edward exchanged a look and then stepped silently into the parlour. Lillian waved to them from the settee against the far wall. Angelica and Mary Alaric rested on the sofas near the fireplace; blankets draped over their slender forms.
“What happened, Mother?” Patrick asked softly while Edward went to sit by his wife.
“It was almost midnight when they stumbled onto the property,” Lillian replied. “They were both pretty shook up, and didn’t make much sense. Angelica was the first to calm down, but it took us until four this morning to settle Mary.”
“We need to get cleaned up,” Edward said to his wife. “Let the ladies sleep for now, and we can tell you what happened once we’ve changed into something fresh.”
Patrick left with a longing glance at Angelica. Her head rested peacefully on the frilly cushion; not even the slightest of frowns marked her face.
The bathwater ran black with the soot that washed off his body and was cold by the time he was finished. Winston had to rinse the tub out twice to afterwards.
Dressed in clean clothes, he met his parents in his father’s office. Edward was mid-explanation on how the night had transpired, when Emma, Lillian’s Lady’s Maid, came to tell them that the Alaric Ladies had awoken.
Patrick immediately rushed to Angelica’s side, but Mary was frightened when she saw him; hysterical even.
“Stay away,” Mary yelled, clutching the blanket to her chest. “You are the beast. You are to blame. This is your fault. You killed him. You killed him. You killed him.”
Emma and Lillian hastened to Mary to calm her down, while Angelica snagged Patrick’s hand and dragged him out of Mary’s sight. Edward followed them out of the parlour.
“Angelica, I was so worried about you. Are you all right?”
She cast a shy glance at his father, nervously letting go of Patrick’s hand. “It was terrible. We could hear my father’s screams from where we stood on the porch. It took all my strength to get my mother away from there. I didn’t know where else to go.”
Patrick took her in his arms. “You did well, my love. You can stay here for as long as you need.”
He looked over Angelica’s head, seeking approval from his father.
Edward nodded. “My condolences to you and your mother, Miss Angelica,” he said. “I assure you we will do everything in our power to determine the cause of the fire.”
“Thank you, Lord Blakesley.”
With a curt nod, Edward returned to the parlour, leaving Patrick
and Angelica alone in the hall.
Immediately, Angelica collapsed against Patrick’s chest, clinging to him. “Oh, God, what have I done?” she whispered.
“You did the right thing, my love. Your mother will be safe here. My father will call Doctor Roy and ensure she gets the best treatment.”
Angelica looked up to him; her eyes shifting from blue to black, and back again. “Are you sure this isn’t too much of a burden on your family?”
“Nothing is too much of a burden when it concerns you,” he replied.
She considered him seriously, and he sensed her power of the alpha over him. It still disconcerted him that she was able to do so, but he trusted her.
“The hunt for the beast continues, then?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes, of course.”
“Where will we meet now that we live under the same roof, but you spend your nights away from here?”
Patrick considered her question. “Ashford Manor will need supervision during the day while your servants restore the place for you to be able to move in again when you are ready.”
“Indeed,” she mused. “If you could fetch me my horse, then I could ride there daily.”
“If you so wish, I could accompany you. Considering what you have been through, you would need support in this endeavour.”
Angelica smiled for the first time, and it brightened her entire face. The prospect of spending every day with her without having to sneak out lightened even Patrick’s heart.
“Could we go there now?” she asked.
“No, my love, it is too soon. You need rest, and so do I,” he said firmly.
“I need closure, Patrick. Please take me there as soon as you can.”
Angelica’s eyes changed colour again as she pleaded with him, and he noticed a vein in her neck darken. Patrick gently stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead.
“Aye, my love. As soon as I can.”
She visibly relaxed, and her eyes changed back to blue. Patrick did not know what brought on the changes, or what they meant, but he did know how to control them. Angelica’s mood flares grew in frequency and intensity, and it concerned him that it might happen while he was not there to gentle her. It was a surprise that Angelica had managed to get through last night without an incident. At least, Patrick guessed there had been no incident, for else Mary would have been afraid of Angelica, too.
“Does your mother still think I am the beast?”
Angelica looked up at his change of subject. “My father always said it was you, and my mother believed it.”
“Ah.”
“I am sorry, Patrick.”
“What do you think the beast is, Angelica?”
“Me? Why would you ask?”
“Everyone has a theory. I don’t think I have ever asked you before.”
Patrick watched her eyes change again, but she remained calm.
“It is a beast with a fair sense of judgment, is what I believe,” she finally said.
“That is true for most of the men it has killed. What about your father?”
Angelica considered him with her black eyes, tilting her head ever so slightly to the left. It sent a shiver down Patrick’s back.
“My father had many faces, not all of them kind. He would show himself to you as the man he wanted you to see, but that was not always the man he was.”
“What are you saying, Angelica?”
“Maybe my father wasn’t innocent. If the beast burned him, he must have deserved it.”
Angelica’s eyes had gone hard; her mouth a thin line. Patrick could see her lack of emotion at her statement, and he suddenly thought that she mourned her father’s passing little.
“We arrived at the manor around half-past ten, or maybe closer to eleven o’clock,” Patrick said. “The orchard was ablaze, so I went looking for you in the manor, and at the stable yard. You must have left by then already. Tell me, what woke you? How did you find out the orchard was burning?”
“It was the screams, Patrick. Oh, he screamed so loud, begging for mercy even as he burned.”
Chapter 14
The silence drew out as Patrick watched Angelica kneel on the foot-end of her bed, eyes closed in concentration.
He could sense it even now - the underlying tension within her; the secret she was hiding. If he was honest with himself, he had known for a while that there was something different about Angelica; he had known even before she started to manifest the darkening of her veins.
During their discussion yesterday, Angelica’s words, although spoken with innocence, had sent cold shivers along Patrick’s spine. When he opened his wolf senses to her, he noticed something slumbering deep within her.
Patrick had known they would not find the beast that night. The men rode out into the forest, and the surrounding area of the Alaric property, but came home with no trace of the creature.
After catching up on a few hours of sleep, Patrick brought Angelica here, and he now watched her think about the events of that fateful night. He wanted her to relive it; not to punish her, but to trigger what he thought was hiding within her. Angelica was frightened at first, and hesitant, but now that she was committed, she was trying her best.
Half an hour passed, and Patrick thought that maybe asking her questions might be a better option when she spoke.
“And the hour of judgment will come for those who have sinned,” she said in a deep voice.
Patrick stared at her serene expression; her eyes were closed.
“Angelica?”
“For there shall be no redemption for their sins. I have come to right their wrongs.”
“Angelica,” Patrick said again, gently taking her by the shoulders. “Tell me who you are.”
She opened her eyes and, as she focused on him, they changed from black to blue.
“What?”
“Do you remember what you said?”
Angelica shook her head, but then her eyes widened as the memory came to her.
“I am a monster,” she whispered, her body trembling.
“No, we don’t know that for sure, my love.” He took her in his arms. “We will find out together. I will be here for you.”
Angelica let him hold her for a moment, but then she went rigid within his arms. The wolf within him screamed to come out to defend itself, and he let her go.
Black eyes flaring, she turned on him. “I remember!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Leave me. Go. Go, before I hurt you, too.”
“Angelica …”
“OUT!” she roared, black veins crisscrossing her face.
Patrick took a step back as Angelica lifted off the bed and came towards him. “No, Angelica,” he growled, the hairs on the back of his neck already changing.
With ever-darkening eyes, Angelica kept pushing him backwards; hovering inches off the ground.
Patrick’s hands began to contort as the change took over - the wolf within him would no longer be silenced.
“You will not hurt me.” His voice came out as a hoarse rasp. “You love me, as I love you.”
“I have hurt others,” her voice boomed.
Patrick’s back hit the wall. He snarled and dropped to the floor. Fabric tore as his body grew, bones broke and mended. His claws ripped the carpet beneath; spittle soiled the expensive curtains. Through a haze of vicious red, the wolf saw the ghostly, black form of Angelica floating before him. His hackles raised. The wolf was so much more sensitive to the paranormal world, but he had never beheld anything like this.
Angelica stretched out her arms - dark tendrils of black smoke - and reached for him. Fear and anger combined, and the wolf snapped. Launching himself into the air, the wolf went straight for Angelica’s throat.
Cold enveloped the wolf as soon as he touched the black apparition. Icy shivers travelled along his body. His teeth met with stone when he clamped them shut on the throat. The blackness closed around him; driving the air from his lungs. Pain crushed his ribs; his legs hung limp
; his head throbbed.
The wolf heard the beating of his heart slow as he struggled through the excruciating pain. Growling, he fought the inevitable.
If he were a cat, he would have purred. Contented, the wolf rested safe and warm in the sun, someone scratching his fur in all the right places. He wagged his tail.
Patrick blinked. Wagged his tail? He was no dog to be petted. Opening his eyes carefully, he took stock of his surroundings.
Sun shone through Angelica’s bedroom window, shining onto the spot of the floor where he rested with his head in Angelica’s lap. She was tenderly stroking his fur.
“Welcome back, my love,” she whispered. “I am sorry I had to hurt you, but you were going to bite me.”
Patrick sat up and stared at her.
She reached out and stroked him behind the ear. “I like your wolf. You are very handsome.”
He growled.
“And you can’t argue with me. I like it.”
Patrick made to move away so he could change, but she stopped him.
“No.” The tone of the alpha rang through him, pausing his step. “Sit.”
Growling, he sat down, hackles raised. No one had ever told him to ‘sit’ before.
Shyly, Angelica looked to the floor. Even now that he had seen what she was becoming, he thought she was the most beautiful creature in the world.
“I want to explain, Patrick, and it is better if you don’t interrupt me, or I might lose my nerve.”
He dipped his head.
“On my sixteenth birthday, I had a dream. It showed me all the injustices of this world, and what mankind truly is. I was horrified to see such things, and I woke up crying. The dream did not leave me that entire day, or the next, or the ones that followed until I started to research the matter.”
Angelica took a deep breath and toyed absently with the shaggy hairs on Patrick’s throat.
“I’ve always loved to read, so my parents didn’t notice when I started taking other books from the library when we went to London. The only one who noticed my new-found interest in politics, law and crime was my tutor at the time, and he indulged my curiosity with extra lessons on the subject.”
Playing With Fire Page 60
