Soon Dorien and the other riders could be seen, and then their horses milled in front of the closed gates of the estate. Patrick could see the groundskeeper talking to them through the bars.
After a long moment, Dorien got off his horse, and the groundskeeper admitted him through the gate, before locking it securely again.
Patrick rose, and walked to the edge of the steps, looking down along the gravelly path. Usually the gates were open, and he was sure Dorien had not expected to find them closed today.
The path that led from the gate to the front of the steps measured at least five hundred yards and Patrick took some pleasure from the fact that Dorien had to walk the entire way under Patrick’s glare.
The milling around the gate stopped when Dorien was about halfway. Patrick glanced that way and found half the riders had gone. The rest sat their horses quietly, rifles across their laps.
Uttering a low growl, Patrick gave Jasper a signal, and the man took off around the side of the manor.
A stone wall circled the entire manicured grounds of the manor, including the area surrounding the orchard. Although a deterrent for wild animals, this had never stopped Patrick from entering the property. Servants manned this wall now, and Jasper had gone to warn them that Dorien’s men were on approach.
“Give her up, Patrick,” Dorien greeted him.
“I wish to speak with you first.”
Dorien grimaced. “Even love cannot hide the things she has done. How can you even stand by her?”
“Angelica is not what you think she is. She …”
“No? Did she not make Hector relive his worst nightmares? Did she not flay the skin off Alexander’s body? Did she not mutilate Edgar’s privates beyond recognition? There is more I could list, but I am sure you remember.”
Patrick cringed; he remembered. He also remembered what had been done to the five killed in the woods, and those that had ‘killed each other’ while on patrol.
“I beg you to listen to me, Dorien. She will kill no innocents, I swear it.”
“Innocents?” Dorien raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying she will continue to kill if there are sinners among us?”
“That is not what I meant,” Patrick said quickly, but then wondered if she would. He had neglected to ask her.
“What did you mean, Patrick? You broke the bond with your father. Do you know what that did to him? You betrayed the wolf council. Do you know the punishment for that?”
Patrick growled. He had no time for Dorien’s games or eloquent arguments.
“I never said it was right, or that I condoned her actions, but it does not change what those men did,” Patrick said. “I called you here so I could tell you that Angelica is not the monster you think she is, and I want you to see for yourself.”
“Murdering those people makes her no better than them,” Dorien countered. “She cannot undo what she has done.”
“Dorien, enough,” Patrick growled, and he saw the mayor flinch. “Come with me,” he ordered, and Dorien obeyed.
Patrick waited for Dorien to climb the rest of the steps up to the manor and then escorted him inside. He had debated long on how to do this, and in the end decided not to reveal Angelica outside. Should the others see without knowing what was going on, Patrick thought they might fire on her, and he could not take that risk.
Opening the door, Patrick ushered Dorien into the ballroom; its ample floor space and high ceiling ideally suited for Angelica. When they entered, she sat demurely on a chair in the centre of the empty dance floor, still covered in her robe. She couldn’t have looked more innocent had she tried.
“What is this?” Dorien asked.
Angelica looked up and straight into Dorien’s eyes. The mayor took a step back as Angelica’s face darkened, but Patrick restrained him. Shrugging off the robe, Angelica spread her wings. The chair toppled over as she rose into the air.
“I came here to seek justice for those that cannot defend themselves,” the angel spoke. “I came to restore the balance of nature, and take vengeance upon those that have defiled the Earth.”
Dorien whimpered.
“My wrath knew no bounds until I fell in love,” Angelica’s voice softened. “I have seen through the eyes of a human. I have seen through the eyes of a woman loved. I have seen through the eyes of a father who loves his son. I have seen through the eyes of a mayor who cares for his town. And, I have seen the error of my ways, and wish to atone.”
Dorien’s mouth gaped open, and Patrick could feel him tremble. Patrick nudged him.
“I … my Lady,” Dorien stuttered. “How?” He shook his head; disbelief in his eyes. “You will not kill again,” he finally managed to say.
“I will not,” the angel promised.
“Patrick, I …”
“All I need from you, Dorien,” Patrick said, for he knew the mayor had no words, “is for you to call your men off. Tell them to stand down. Let us explain to them as well.”
Dorien nodded.
Patrick looked up at Angelica and smiled. Suddenly, the fine hairs all along Patrick’s skin tingled, and the hairs at the back of his neck stood erect. A growl escaped his throat.
Dorien looked at him with wide eyes. “It’s too late.
“Fly!” Patrick shouted at Angelica.
Together, Patrick and Dorien ran to the door. A commotion came from the main entrance, and Patrick heard glass shatter from the kitchen. As they ran down the hall, the front doors burst open.
Teeth dripping saliva, and growling fiercely, three werewolves jumped over the broken remains of the door, stalking towards the two men.
From behind, another two werewolves came out of the kitchen, closing the trap.
Chapter 21
The hallway vibrated with the growls and snarls of the wolves as they closed in on Patrick. His body reacted to the danger, but he fought the change.
“Wait!” Dorien yelled, but it was too late.
One of the younger wolves - Patrick guessed him to be a Clell - launched into the air, directly for Patrick’s throat. At any other time, Patrick would not have had the time to change to defend himself, but ever since his encounter with the angel, he had learned to do so faster.
In the blink of an eye, Patrick met the young wolf head-on and brought him to the floor before the other could even graze him with his teeth. The other wolves backed away carefully, snarling as they went, eyeing the massive, black wolf warily.
“Listen,” Dorien tried again, but his voice was drowned out by howling from outside. “More are coming,” he said to Patrick, instead.
With his head low, Patrick barrelled through the werewolves blocking the front doors. They snapped at him, but he was too quick.
Outside, the two wolves on the veranda followed him down the broad steps immediately, and down below, four wolves converged on the road from across the property.
Patrick assessed the situation. He could not see his father. Lawson was close on his heels. Dorien had not changed and remained in the house. Richard now came to a sliding stop on the road before him.
Swerving to the left, Patrick darted over the stone wall flanking the steps. He dropped the six foot down to the ground on the other side lightly and carried on running. Patrick’s aim was not to run away but to get into a defensible position, from where he could make a stand, change, and explain.
The werewolves’ growls sounded loud in his ears as they chased him over the grounds, and then on into the orchard. His one consolation was that they were after him, giving Angelica a chance to get away.
Finally, Patrick reached the boundary wall. Six men he found upon it, armed with pitchforks. He yipped at them, and then turned his back to the wall, facing the oncoming wolves.
The men behind him drew closer together, gathering, aiming their makeshift weapons. The werewolves hesitated, growling. Patrick knew the wolves could not harm people; thus, as long as the servants kept their courage and stood by him, he had a chance.
Snarling, and drip
ping saliva, the werewolf that was Lawson stepped forward and approached slowly.
Patrick wished there was a way to communicate while in this form, but it was not so. In danger, as he was, it would be difficult to change back into human form to talk.
“Leave him be. He’s done no wrong,” a quivering voice behind him said.
Lawson growled, and the other werewolves advanced. Hackles raised, and his teeth bared, Patrick glared at them as they approached. He realised now that they would not stop. Lawson inclined his head to the right - a signal - but Patrick was ready for them.
Those with Lawson sprang at him, even as more wolves materialised from between the orchard rows. Patrick had no time to think, as the first set of teeth clamped shut on his shoulder.
Snapping and biting, the werewolves worried at him, tearing into him, ripping his skin.
Patrick spun, grabbing the nearest wolf by the scruff. The wolf yelped as Patrick applied pressure, but he stopped himself from breaking the other’s neck. How could he defend himself without killing them? They kept tearing into him without mercy; blind with rage. Patrick snapped and bit, inflicting only enough damage to loosen their hold on him. Still, they kept coming. Five of them, ten of them - they were all around him, driving him to the ground.
Pain and anger mingled within him, and Patrick saw no escape from his suffering. Harder and more vicious, they came at him, pinning him. A red haze clouded Patrick’s vision, and the sounds seemed to come from far away. His pain dulled to a low throbbing, and his breathing evened out.
Closing his eyes, he gathered himself.
“Stop!”
The werewolves whined and scrambled backwards as Patrick struggled to his feet. His black fur hung in tatters from his body, but the alpha exuded strongly from him.
Lawson stared at him with disbelieving eyes. Richard hung his head, and some of the younger wolves all took several steps back.
“Follow!”
The commands were simple. They were neither spoken, nor heard, but an intuitive knowledge of what the alpha wanted them to do.
Patrick now led the way back to the manor. He seethed inside at their betrayal and held them fast within his command.
On the edge of the orchard, he found Dorien and Edward coming towards them, carrying rifles. They stopped when they saw Patrick leading the procession of werewolves.
Patrick growled at the two men and ordered them to follow, too. Dorien looked shocked, but his father inclined his head in grudging respect.
The men sat in silence around the kitchen as two of the maids saw to Patrick’s wounds. Blood pooled beneath the chair he sat on, and the stench of it was strong in the air.
Patrick glowered at them, but his anger abated with every passing moment. He could see the regret on their faces as they looked upon the wounds inflicted on him.
Covered in bandages and with a piece of his left ear missing, Patrick finally stood. The others mirrored his movements and then followed him into the study.
“We did not mean for it to come to this,” Lawson started.
Patrick growled.
“He wanted to talk,” Dorien spoke quietly, suppressing his anger. “Patrick was in no way threatening until you attacked. Is this how we handle matters within the council?”
Silence.
“Aye, we’ve been searching for answers, but had you given Patrick a chance, you would have gotten them,” Dorien continued.
A buzz of voices now filled the room.
“What you have done here today is hardly any better than the crimes committed by the men that the beast punished. Think about that,” Dorien spat.
Silence.
“For I have seen the beast and I am surprised any of you are still alive.”
Guiltily, the men looked over their shoulders, whispering, excuses flying.
“Patrick,” Dorien turned to him, “I think it is safe, now, to release the men from your command,”
Patrick growled again but complied. He was ready for them.
“Are there any questions?” Dorien asked the men now that they had their free will.
Eyes darted around the room, and the men shuffled their feet. It was Edward who raised his hand to speak.
“You say Angelica is no beast, and Dorien says she has sworn not to kill again, so where is she now?”
Sadly, Patrick looked up into his father’s eyes. “I told her to fly at the first sign of danger. She has left, never to come back.”
This was the statement that finally opened the floodgates. Feeling braver with the knowledge that Angelica had left, the men dared ask all the questions they had to ask, and Patrick was ready to answer them; he owed them that much.
He would leave anyway. Thus he could at least depart knowing they knew the truth. His wounds healed even as he sat there throughout the night, telling his tale; although he would forever be missing a piece of his ear.
The men were slow to believe, but Dorien reinforced his claims, and by the time the night was out, everyone accepted the fact that the murdered men had deserved it, even if it had been gruesome. They also believed that under Patrick’s influence, Angelica’s need for balance could be contained, and Edward reluctantly agreed to look after Ashford Manor in light of Patrick’s leaving.
“What of the servants?” Elder Randel asked.
“They are loyal to me,” Patrick said, “and will keep the secret.”
Dorien nodded. “It is agreed then. The town will be told that the beast has been slain, and Ashford is safe once more. Patrick and Angelica have decided to travel the world, and Edward will maintain Ashford Manor in his absence.”
The wolf council agreed. It was done.
“When will you be coming back?” Lillian asked, handing Patrick another shirt.
“I don’t know, Mother. I don’t even know where to start looking.”
“Oh, my boy.” Lillian put a hand on his arm. “You were drawn to Angelica from the moment she was born. I never saw a little boy be so kind to a baby.” She smiled warmly, and Patrick turned to her, listening to her story. “It broke your heart when Mary forbade you to play together. It’s what triggered your temper to flare as it did. It only got worse when your wolf came into being, and it took the war to calm it.”
“I didn’t know,” Patrick said.
“I wasn’t surprised when you told me about Angelica once you were back,” Lillian continued. “It was as if you were fated to be together from the moment she was born. Maybe …”
“Maybe what, Mother?”
“Maybe a powerful werewolf was needed to cope with her exceptional powers?” Lillian mused. “Maybe you are the balance?”
Patrick blinked. It sounded preposterous, but it felt right as if he knew it with every fibre of his body.
“I love you, Mother.” He embraced her. “I will not forget you.”
A slow tear rolling down her cheek, Lillian helped him pack the rest of his clothes, and then they went downstairs together. Edward and Dorien were on the veranda having drinks. Jasper was already leading Patrick’s stallion, and another horse was carrying supplies, across to the manor.
“You will always be a son of Ashford,” Dorien said. “Come back to it soon.”
“Aye, Mr Mayor,” Patrick agreed.
Edward came up to him then, and the two stepped aside from the others to talk in private.
“I know you will be fine out there, for I have never seen a wolf like you before.”
There was so much pride in his father’s eyes; Patrick hated to disappoint him.
“My strength is not all my own, Father, for I have touched an angel.”
“No,” his father shook his head, “I noticed it that first night we ran together after you came back. I felt it again when you broke the bond. A son cannot merely break the link to his father with his mind; it is impossible. You have an extraordinary ability, and you deserve to be called alpha.”
Patrick wondered if he was right. When the wolf council ran as a pack, the others yiel
ded to him without him even trying to give orders. He had severed the bond with his father before Angelica had transferred some of her power. Had what happened in the orchard been of his own strength?
“I hope, then, to be worthy, Father,” Patrick finally said.
“I know you will.” Edward embraced him. “Find your wife, and hurry back to us.”
Before Patrick descended the steps to the horses, he turned once more to his mother to hug her.
“Follow your heart, Patrick, and you will find her,” she whispered in his ear, tears falling from her eyes.
He kissed her on her cheek, and then quickly ran down the steps, lest he shed tears himself.
With his stallion prancing beneath him, and the gelding carrying his goods following behind, Patrick rode down the drive and out the gate, leaving Ashford Manor behind.
Patrick took the road west leading out of Ashford, for he hoped Angelica would have travelled towards the centre of England. He doubted she would go anywhere near the cities.
His heart ached for her, for after speaking with his father, he came to realise that when he had told Angelica to fly, he had commanded her to do so. Not so long ago, Patrick had wished for a way to control her, but now that he had it, he wished he didn’t.
He tried to connect with her through the alpha bond a father and son had - which was how Edward had called him when he needed him - but it didn’t work on Angelica.
The refrain that kept playing over and over in Patrick’s mind was his mother’s words ‘follow your heart’. A thousand places he thought of that she could be, yet his heart told him she would never leave him. It made no sense to him. How would he ever find her?
He had ridden for near on five hours when he reined in his horse. The stallion snorted and stamped his foot; aware of Patrick’s sudden shift in mood. Hastily untying the packhorse’s rope and letting it fall to the ground, Patrick turned the stallion’s head.
“Ha, ha,” he yelled, urging the big horse into a gallop.
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