The Count of Wolf Blood Castle

by Laurelle Lewis

  They fell into a lover’s embrace, both laying intertwined in the dark, each lost in their own thoughts; silently they knew that their relationship had changed and that this was probably their last moments together. Briette closed her eyes and drifted into worried dreams of how she would betray Bastien. While Theo lay there wondering what Bastien Von Croy could want with his pendant and were there more sinister, unrealised powers of the jewel?

  ***

  Briette opened the safe, her heart beating faster than she thought humanly possible, any moment any member of the Von Croy family, including Bastien, could walk through the door and catch her red-handed in the family jewel vault. Then, all her prospects of becoming a princess would be lost forever.

  But Theo was the most honest person she had ever known, and honesty was something of a luxury in her world. She knew Theo wouldn’t ask her to do this unless it was really necessary, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if Bastien had stolen it from the Baertschi family as Theo said -Bastien did what he liked. She believed Theo, she believed that deep down, he did the best he could.

  Inside the safe there must have been millions of Oopas worth of jewels, and gold and all sorts of precious metals. Some looked like they dated back to the days of King Curtis and Queen Miranda, others looked like ancient metals and artefacts from Nothangria in the days of old. She reached inside, snatching the emerald pendant, she hesitated a second too long! Five seconds had elapsed, and the alarm began to sound. Briette ran from the room and down the stairs and into one of the closets seconds before a troop of guards ran past.

  ‘Damn you Spyro and your technology!’ she hissed.

  Briette handed the pendant over to Theo, who was waiting in the bushes outside the mansion. Briette had cast an invisibility spell over him to keep him safe. She had lied and told him that she had bought a powder from a specialty shop while away out of the town, but she had merely taken it from her own spell rack. She had never revealed her powers to Theo. She leant over and kissed him. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered.

  ‘Thank you, you have no idea what this means.’

  Briette suddenly sensed that something awful was going to happen. She threw her arms around Theo and they kissed passionately. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll talk to you soon.’

  ‘No,’ Briette stammered, fighting back the tears. ‘We can’t see each other anymore, I’ve helped you—and in doing so I have betrayed Bastien—my future husband, my future…full stop.’

  Briette paused looking up at Theo, he looked so hurt, but deep down he must have known this could not go on forever. ‘Perhaps in another time, another place…’ But Briette couldn’t go on, her throat hurting, her eyes blocked with tears.

  Theodore knew there would be war to pay if the Von Croys ever found out. He kissed her one last time and then he disappeared into the dark and starless night.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  Chapter Eighteen: Revelations

  Vivien sat in her chair, staring at the moon disdainfully. She longed so much to live to see a cure for her last living son. She sighed, realising the reality of the situation, that she would most likely die before such a thing ever occurred. She had seen Eduard almost driven mad by it, and she had seen Theodore try to live a normal life in spite of it. She knew it was a hopeless, pitiful situation.

  A knock came at the door. ‘Come in!’ she snapped.

  ‘Mrs. Baertschi,’ an old man, rugged and time worn presented at the door, his countenance stressed, ‘It’s Count Dashiell, he’s not in his….’ he choked.

  Vivien sat up straight, clutching her heart.

  ‘He’s not in his room and …’

  Vivien felt her legs go weak, as her eyes locked on what the old man was holding in his hands. It was Dashiell’s pendant. she lived in fear that this would happen.

  ‘There’s a full moon tonight,’ she moaned, looking at the old man and his companion helplessly.

  Jolkins was a loyal and faithful old man who had worked at the Baertschi home for more than thirty years. He and his work partner were responsible for locking Dashiell in his room from the outside whenever the moon was full. Then they had had to sit guard by the door with a silver bullet in case Dashiell ever escaped. It was a job that the old men didn’t take lightly, and the first few times they had done it, the sweat had fallen from their brows fast and heavy. They had also done it for Eduard and Theodore.

  ‘What do you want us to do, Ma’am?’ Jolkins asked.

  ‘There is nothing you can do.’ Vivien sighed. ‘Now, we wait…and pray.’

  Hours passed, and Vivien sat on the edge of her velvet chair, tense and ligneous, anxiously wringed her hands. The hours seemed to pass like days, as she prayed that Dashiell was not out on a murderous killing spree in the village and that he wouldn’t be murdered by the terrified villagers. The sound of creatures howling in the night, sent shivers down Vivien’s back, as she and the guards looked at each other, not game to say a word.

  ***

  Finally, day had broken, and Vivien’s face was feeling weird as she tried to force her eyes open. She had drifted in and out of a strange slumber, and she thought she heard sirens, but perhaps it was part of her dream.

  The two men headed outside to explore the parameters of the grounds.

  ‘Hello!’ a voice called out, heading over to the trio. It was a stern, willowy man dressed in uniform. Vivien clutched her heart; it was a police sergeant from Callibria. ‘Good morning, Countess Vivien,’ he said solemnly. ‘I am sure you know why we are here.’

  Vivien gulped. ‘Please do explain, as I do not know at all!’ she stammered weakly, her body rigid, determined not to be intimidated by this man.

  ‘We were called out last night, by villages, who reported screaming and wild noises in the outskirts of town—just were the woods begin. Then, we were also called to patrol the museum, as there was a break in there…’ here, he paused.

  ‘I might as well inform you, as you will see it in the paper—there was also a murder. Your son, Dashiell Baertschi, visited the museum, a few weeks ago, he had been the exhibition—enquiring about the exact same book that was stolen.’

  Vivien felt her legs give out beneath her, as Jolkins turned to catch her, along with the other guard. The officer eyed her suspiciously. He decided to leave, knowing full well the rumours of the Baertschi family.

  ***

  The guards helped Vivien back to the castle, her legs weak, her shoulders slumped tears began to trickle down her checks. She conceded to go back to the dining room and have a hot drink to settle her nerves.

  She stopped in her tracks, seeing Dashiell at the head of the table, chugging down Junip Bean Brew and toast. He was just about to read the local paper; it arrived at the large, wooden breakfast table, via one of the maids at quarter past seven every morning. It always came on time; the new delivery man was very reliable.

  ‘Where were you last night?’ Vivien asked, her voice tight with fear.

  Dashiell peeked out from behind the paper. He felt uneasy with her question. ‘Why?’

  ‘The guards, they found your room unlocked last night…’

  Dashiell froze.

  The world around was quiet as a few small birds chirped away merrily in the gardens, and the maids buzzed around happily cooking a scrumptious breakfast. It was a far cry from the savage beast he had transformed into last night.

  He sipped his coffee, soaking up the aroma of brew as it calmed his headache; he always drank it black and strong, with no sugar. He felt he needed the hit of caffeine to make it through most mornings.

  He had no recollection of what had happened last night, but had woken up muddy, naked and covered in blood. He had looked around desperate to see that he had harmed no one but had only found a few slaughtered sheep. His stomach churned with guilt, but at least, it had not been a person, or a child, the Goddesses of Talir Faye forbid.

  Dashiell looked up at his mother. ‘I have no recollection of what happened last
night’ he began.

  ‘Damn it, Dashiell!’ his mother cried. ‘Why were you even outside? Why were you not wearing your pendant?’

  Dashiell looked down at the floor. ‘It was an accident. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘No, it won’t!’ his mother shrieked. ‘Next time, I’ll, I’ll…’ Vivien threw her head into her hands and started sobbing uncontrollably. Jolkins handed her a strong drink laced with a sedative. It was her favourite drink when times were stressful. Her doctor had prescribed it to her many years ago.

  Dashiell felt his heart sink, at his mother’s distress. But what was done was done. Didn’t she think he felt bad enough as it was? He reached over for the paper, his drink in hand, he took a hearty mouthful almost spitting it out, and spilling it all over himself. The headlines of this morning’s paper read:

  ‘Slaughter of the Innocent in Callibria’

  There was a giant full-page photograph to accompany the headline and Dashiell recognized the face of the man on the front cover. He leaned over intently as he read the story:

  ‘Last night, police were called to a scene when locals reported distressed and urgent screams for help down at the local museum. The museum was commissioned and is owned by the Baertschi family. Police arrived too late to find the bloodied remains of the victim, who was later identified as Thomas Alberdeen, the museum’s security guard.

  The man was mutilated and murdered in what can only be described as a savage and brutal attack. It is speculation that the man was killed by a wild animal. It is believed that the officer heard a disturbance at his place of employment, interrupting the burglars, as a book of great historical value was found to be missing from the location.

  While police were searching for clues, in the surrounding areas, they later stumbled across the body of another victim, who is yet unidentified.’

  Dashiell felt sick, this is why his mother was so distraught? She feared that he could have been the one responsible for the attacks. Dashiell couldn’t even search his own conscience, his own soul…what if…

  He downed his Junip Bean Brew and ripped the paper in half in disgust. He decided to take a walk to calm down, getting up from the table, it seemed to be in his way, so he turned and with one mighty swipe of his hand, lifted it in the air as the breakfast dishes flew.

  Dashiell stormed out of the room and into the hallway, leaving the maids to whisper as they cleaned up his mess. As he stormed off, he heard his mother begin to wail again.

  ***

  Briette sat by in front of her vanity. She had recovered from her shock after Bastien had tried to kill her. He had awoken the next morning with no memory of the night’s events, and she had luckily woken before him to clean up all the paper. She had sent a burst of flames at the pile of pretty pink love notes from her hands, and she had smiled, knowing her powers were becoming more and more helpful.

  Briette had succeeded in destroying Florina’s reputation, and now she was one step closer to securing her position as the future wife of Bastien Von Croy.

  There was a knock at her door, it was her mother. ‘Briette?’ she asked, ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Her mother looked solemn, strange. ‘There is something I need to tell you. There was an incident last night, in the village and again in the forest.’

  ‘Oh?’ Briette mumbled, fixing her hair up in the mirror.

  ‘There was an attack, two actually…one of the victims…was Florina…’

  Briette’s heart froze.

  ‘Well.’ Her mother smiled as she pulled the door shut. ‘That’s one less flossy you have to worry about stealing your throne.’

  Briette’s mind was whirling. Florina had run out into the night because of what she had done and ended up dead…probably butchered and torn to shreds by the claws and fangs of some unholy creature. Her stomach churned; her reputation would suffer badly if anyone ever found out the truth. Briette suddenly felt as though she couldn’t breathe. She had never intended for Florina to die! She just wanted to discredit her, to make her look like a drug addict, a thief, anything that would have her future destroyed, so that she had no hope of stealing Bastien away! She started breathing heavier and heavier, and tears started to roll down her red face.

  ‘Oh, Gods of Tailir Faye!’ she screamed, shaking and ripping off her tight clothes, she needed air! She placed her head out the window, but just than she felt a sharp tug from behind. Her mother was pulling her hair.

  ‘You stupid little girl!’ she shrieked. ‘Why are you screaming? Aren’t you glad that little wretch is dead? We all saw the way she batted her eyelashes at Bastien, and we all know he can’t keep it in his pants!’

  ‘Mother!’ Briette cried. ‘I don’t want people to die! Esp…’

  ‘Especially what?’ her mother sneered.

  ‘Especially, like that!’

  Her mother let go of her hair and pushed Briette to the ground. She looked down on her daughter panting and sobbing in her underwear.

  ‘Oh Briette, honestly—get up! You’re marrying into a family of royal werewolves—do you really expect to not have any blood on your hands?’

  Briette looked up, at her mother’s cold and narrowed eyes. In all honestly, it had never occurred to her. She had always thought that she would live this fairy tale life—and Bastien, well what he did at night was none of her business. Afterall, he was doing it for the good of the Kingdom, wasn’t he? Or were these just lies she was telling herself? Look at what had happened to Theo, as much as she had loved him, she had convinced herself the Baertschi family must pose some real threat to Bastien, otherwise he wouldn’t have had him killed?

  Briette got up, wiping her face. Her mother raised an eyebrow, picked up her dress off the bed and threw it at her.

  ‘Put some clothes on,’ she moaned.

  As she stood up, Briette let a few last small tears escape her eyes, as she suddenly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she really was beautiful, the potion she had been taking for years had been working nicely, but was it really enough? Maybe her mother was right—maybe—she was just as cold and as callous as Bastien. She had after all, orchestrated the party stunt against Florina.

  ‘Alright, Mother,’ she said suddenly, without any emotion, telling her mother what she wanted to hear. ‘You are right. We must triumph at all cost.’

  Her mother smiled. ‘That’s my girl.’

  Chapter Nineteen: The Witch in the Woods

  Briette knew she had made her bed, and now she must lie in it. She knew she would never gain any sympathy or protection from her parents. If she were to survive in this world, then she would need to look out for herself and play them all for fools.

  Briette knew there was only one thing she could do. If she was able to drink a potion to make herself exceedingly beautiful, then surely, there must be some magic spell or elixir to keep her safe from Bastien.

  Tonight, she would make a journey to see an old friend of an aunt’s deep in the heart of the woods.

  It was a good solid hour walk, but Briette would have walked all night to stay safe from Bastien. As she walked along in the dark, his actions that night kept going over and over in her head. She kept asking herself, why? Why did he do it? He loves. He loves me. He must have just been too drunk, too high. He wasn’t really going to kill me. He just lost control. Afterall, I did betray him.

  Briette had been so deep in thought, she hadn’t even realised she was at the foot of the forest. She sniffed the air, her olfactory sense hit her like little shards of light, zapping her brain filled with memories, and emotions long forgotten. Her heart began to beat wildly, too many painful memories came racing back and she tried to take a deep breath, but it wouldn’t come.

  It had been a long time since she had visited the old lady who lived here—and her visit here had marked the death of her childhood—and her innocence.

  Her tears kept rolling down her cheeks as she approached the old, gothic-style mansion. It was located in the heart of
the woods, at the bottom of a ravine, just below her parents’ mansion. Dark, black vines covered almost every inch of it, and Briette had to push them aside to find the front door. She banged the solid, iron knocker that sat ready to let in the house’s next guest.

  Briette took a breath, long ago, she had bargained with the darkness, and it had served her well up until now. She had been pushed into it, she had been desperate—and now, it was her only hope.

  The door creaked open, Briette breathed deeply. A short, stout little women answered the door. Her eyes shone in the darkness, as she looked up and recognised her visitor.

  ‘Come in, dear child!’ she smiled. It was Magali, a woman who was as ancient as the hills, and who knew how old the hills were? She was a legend in these parts of Talir Faye, ‘A wise woman’. For the right price, Magali would tell you what you wanted to hear, whether you wanted to hear it or not!

  She was an old woman, who did not venture from her home, but to scavenge in the woods for things for her spells and potions. Many believed her to be nothing but an old eccentric, but others believed her to be a demon, a witch incarnate. Whatever she was, she had powers that others longed for, and she made a good fortune from it. Although, money mattered little to Magali, it was what she could get from manipulating others, that truly inspired and rewarded her.

  Briette stepped in, her heart was racing.

  ‘Hello, Magali,’ she said solemnly.

  Briette looked around, in all this time, the house had not changed one bit. The décor of the house was quaint, and strange—not unlike the owner herself.

  ‘I have often wondered about how you are,’ Magali said, pushing her greying hair from her eyes to see Briette better. ‘Come into my spell room—and tell me how your life has turned out.’

  Magali lead Briette down a long corridor, and into the darkened room. She lit some black candles, Briette talked about her situation. Magali nodded sweetly, seemly into sympathy with Briette.