“And you, Colonel?”
Roulet rose and kept his back to Wesley as he poured himself another drink. His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips to take a long swig. He ran his hand over his chin before letting it drop as he slowly turned back to face Wesley.
A brittle smile crept across his features as he said, “I’m the only English werewolf as far as I know.”
“I imagine that’s very lonely.”
“It is. You must understand, I’m a soldier. I’ve always been a soldier. I know nothing of creatures or magic.” He huffed a laugh, his tongue tracing his teeth. “I never would have believed someone if they told me they could turn into a wolf, but it happens to me. The others all seem to have known this was in their family, but I knew nothing of my parents’ past. My family died when I was small, and I lived with a friend of my parents until I joined the army. I had no interest in learning their past, and I still don’t. I just want—” He took a long, steadying breath. “I just want to know how to control it. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“You haven’t yet, right?” Wesley asked cautiously.
“No, no. I’ve been very careful. We moved out here to make sure I couldn’t hurt anyone when I turned. My wife sleeps in her own room with the door locked, and I make sure the servants stay out when I sleep, just in case. For a long time, I didn’t sleep. I was too afraid. Now, if I feel it happening, I run out to the woods until it passes.”
“How often is that?”
“It depends. If it’s a bad week, every few days. Other times I can go a fortnight without an urge.”
Wesley nodded. A fortnight was far too long to keep the wolf at bay. If he did that, it felt like a nagging itch he needed to scratch or he would go mad. It was slow torture for both the human and the wolf. The nervous glint in the colonel’s eyes gave him pause. He had to tread carefully.
“Do you remember the first time it happened, Colonel Roulet?”
“It was during the Siege of Khartoum. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“It was in eighty-five. I was stationed in Sudan to suppress a Mahdist uprising. We never should have been there.” He refilled his glass a third time with quavering hands. “General Gordon refused to leave until every Egyptian soldier could get out, like he cared a jot about the bloody Egyptians. He still wanted to fight, even though we were ordered to leave.” His voice grew tighter and his words quicker as he continued, “We holed up in the city of Khartoum with forces surrounding us for nearly a year, and there wasn’t enough food to live on if we couldn’t get out soon. Then, it was too late. Help couldn’t get to us and we couldn’t leave. When the Mahdists finally got in, we didn’t stand a chance. Cholera had been going through the camp, and we were so hungry and tired.”
Colonel Roulet’s eyes unfocused, his mouth working silently. Sitting very still, Wesley watching him with his eyes downcast. Energy rolled off the older man in heavy waves that bordered between panic and horror.
“The smell still haunts my dreams. The Dervishes slaughtered them all. The last thing I remember is the smell of gun powder and shit and the screams of men. Death, and then the crack of my bones breaking. I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t know how I got out of Khartoum. I remember waking up in the grass covered in blood and my body ringing with pain. At first, I thought I had been hit on the head and lost consciousness or that I had gone berserk and blacked out.”
“But?” Wesley asked when the colonel had fallen silent.
“I started to dream I was seeing through the eyes of an animal. I would be running through the desert, eating lizards and birds. One night, the creature went to drink from a stream and I saw a wolf staring back at me, but I thought nothing of it. Even though I would wake up exhausted and end up sleeping during the day, I felt stronger—better—than I had before. Somehow I made it to another British camp and lied, telling them I had been sent out to scout and had avoided the battle. I feared they would think I had deserted since no one else had survived. On the way back to England, the dreams stopped, but when I returned home, they came more frequently. When I awoke, I would find dirt under my nails and on the soles of my feet or leaves in my bed. I wrote it off as sleepwalking. Then, the wolf went after a farmer’s sheep. He heard the ruckus and shot at it. That was the first time I remember being aware of the transformation. I ran off, naked and bleeding back to the house. The bullet had grazed the wolf’s flank, and I awoke with a shallow wound on my thigh. That’s when I knew for certain.”
Wesley licked his lips and schooled his features in hopes Colonel Roulet would see the sympathy in his features rather than the horror at what he had to face all alone. If he had been part of a pack, they could have softened the fear and made certain he was safe. But it was so much worse than that.
“You were hot-housed,” Wesley finally said, his voice steady but still tinged with regret.
“You aren’t the first to say that, but I hate that word.”
Early in human history, humans realized they could force people’s magic to appear if they were exposed to extreme circumstances. Most often this involved violence or near death. The body reacted to protect itself, and their dormant powers appeared to save them. It’s why so many people’s powers appeared during battles like gifts from the gods. But it’s effects far out-weighed its usefulness. The victims were scarred and unstable, even if their magic was stronger. More often than not, they became a liability and had to be killed. Les Meutes had outlawed the practice when the packs had still been in France, and his father had told them stories of their grandfather killing hot-housed wolves who appeared after battles during the War Between the States. With the chaos of a war and there being so many appearing at once, the packs couldn’t handle taking in so many strays. Killing them had been the only merciful option, for them and the locals. It made Wesley sick to think about. Inquisitors had used torture to bring out the powers of those they suspected to be witches, and what they had done hadn’t been much better. Nights when he couldn’t sleep, he found himself wondering how many had been broken at the Inquisitors’ hands never knowing they were a witch or wolf until the moment when their bodies betrayed them.
It was enough to make him sick. He wouldn’t let Colonel Roulet be a victim of circumstances. “I can help you. You have nothing to fear from your wolf, but you will need to learn how to connect with it. That way you don’t lose consciousness anymore.”
“But you can’t get rid of it?”
“No, it’s too late for that.”
Roulet nodded and look thoughtfully at his drink. “Am I dangerous? I don’t want to hurt my wife. I bought this house because I feared what might happen if I was surrounded by too many people.”
“Wolves aren’t man-eaters by nature, Colonel Roulet. Being hot-housed might make it harder for you to get a grip on your wolf, but you can do it with practice. We could try to practice shifting tomorrow when you have time. I’ll make certain you’re safe.”
“So soon? With all the guests around and my—”
A cough ripped from Roulet’s throat as a tremor passed through him. The chords in his neck strained and his eyes clenched against the pain. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists as he gripped the arms of his chair. Wesley leapt to his feet, his wolf coiling defensively around him.
“Colonel, resist it. Look at me. Meet my eyes, hold them,” Wesley commanded, his voice ringing. “That is an order.”
Colonel Roulet’s breaths came in heavy, ragged drags under the shifting of his ribs between wolf and human. Slowly forcing his head up, he met Wesley’s eyes. His pupils had blown out and dots of red appeared in the whites of his eyes under the pressure of the wolf’s hold. Wesley angled his body toward him and leaned back a fraction. Erect but nonthreatening. Like a tree standing against a storm, his father had told him. Don’t dominate, just be. A deft leader could keep them in human form through sheer force of will. To react with teeth or growls could startle them into transforming, and the last thi
ng he needed was a hot-housed wolf tearing through the house in the middle of the night.
Wesley stared Roulet down even as the hair on the other man’s arm bristled and lengthened and his face contorted with pain. Guilt nagged at Wesley for keeping the man in pain for so long. The shift to wolf tore the body apart and regrew it anew, and he could only imagine how horrible it felt to be trapped between two forms. Subtle shifts in Roulet’s face and back warned Wesley the colonel might lose to his wolf and he might need to shift and fight. Please not in my good suit, he grumbled, but as he tried to relax his stance, he felt his wolf nudge him. He let it come as close to the surface as it could without breaking through in hopes that primal energy would be enough.
For a tense moment, neither man moved or breathed as Roulet’s body stilled. A low whine issued from his throat as he slumped back in his chair. Wesley released a tense breath and gave his body a little shake to release the bottled energy. Colonel Roulet’s hands shook as he rubbed his cheeks and arms. His body trembled and his attention locked on the study door. Looking away, Wesley poured him a small glass of brandy. If he were at home, he would have gotten him water or coffee to help settle him, but more liquor would have to do.
“That could have gone badly, couldn’t it?” Roulet asked, his voice rougher than it had been before.
Wesley kept his voice steady and low as he placed the glass before him. “Yes, but it didn’t. That’s why we need to work on getting you more connected with your wolf as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, for everything, Mr. Bisclavret.” He took a sip and then set the glass aside. “These past few months, it’s gotten worse. I’ve contemplated— But I can’t leave Caroline alone.”
Wesley’s eyes widened at the implication. Is this what they wanted? To drive people to suicide instead of guiding them to acceptance and maybe even love? The wolf was a part of them both, and Wesley couldn’t imagine hating it. He knew others wouldn’t understand. They would be afraid it would hurt them or that he was no longer in there when it appeared. But they were two parts of a whole, and he would never let anyone forget that.
***
As Emmeline reached the top of the tight stairs, she extinguished her hands and trotted up the last few steps in darkness. Pausing with her hand on the wall, she listened for any sign of life on the other side but heard nothing. Emmeline bit back a cry at the caress of spider webs across her cheeks and in her hair. How had she walked through them again? The moment she closed the door to the crypt, Emmeline ran her hands frantically through her hair, a low keening issuing from her lips.
“Spiders. Spiders, in my hair,” she cried under her breath at the feeling of things equally crunchy and sticky clumped in her plait.
“Need a hand, Miss Jardine?”
Emmeline froze. Heat tingled over her fingertips even as a pulse of pain arced across her brow. A man sat at the dining table, his posture languid and overly comfortable as he read a book by undulant candlelight. Leaning closer, Emmeline could make out a prominent, straight nose, warm teak skin, and a cocky smile.
“You’ll ruin your eyesight reading like that, Mr. Talbot,” she said as nonchalantly as she could muster, ignoring the itch of spider corpses in her hair. “What are you doing here?”
Rising, he came closer until the candle flame cast stark shadows across his cheekbones and jaw. Emmeline swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat. In the dark, he looked otherworldly, dangerous even, if she hadn’t known who he really was. How must she look to him with her hair tangled around her face, riddled with spider webs, and tired bags already forming under her eyes from using her fire?
“I could ask you the same thing. I’m not the one who appeared out of a wall. Where did you come from, sprite?” he asked softly, picking something from her hair.
The words caught in Emmeline’s throat at the graze of his fingers on her scalp. She kept her head very still as he pulled out more debris and it was only when her lungs seized that she realized she had been holding her breath. When she covered the gasp with a sigh, he cocked an eyebrow.
“Unwillingly communing with the spirits, actually. The dead are very chatty tonight, unfortunately. You?”
“Reading. Colonel Roulet mentioned a library, but it is sadly lacking. Mostly history and military books. A few Medieval tomes locked behind glass. I doubt those would be any more interesting. At least Mrs. Roulet has decent, if outdated, taste in novels.”
“Why sit here in the dark? I doubt anyone would have complained if you left your light on.” As the words left her mouth, the realization hit her. “You saw me go in. You were the one with the light.”
A grin spread across Nadir’s features. “Guilty.”
“You’re such a snoop,” she huffed, swatting his arm.
“And you weren’t going to spy on your brother?”
“You told me to do it! And he’s my brother to spy on. I’m surprised you didn’t follow me in there.”
Beneath the self-assured smile, Emmeline caught him blench. “I don’t like tight places. I assumed you slipped into a servants’ entrance. I decided to wait in case you came out and wanted company.”
“Oh, I had plenty of company. There was a hoard of spirits waiting for me in the crypt.”
“Crypt?”
“Yes, a crypt. It’s probably leftover from an old church.”
“And there were spirits?”
Irritation burned through Emmeline’s gut as she looked away from him. “You don’t believe me.”
“Oh, no, I do. I’ve seen too many queer things not to. I may need to pick your brain regarding talking to the dead for a story I’m thinking about.”
Emmeline swallowed and cleared her tight throat. “Of course, but you had better dedicate your book to me.”
As Nadir opened his mouth to speak, the study door slid open with a screech and light spilled into the hall. Gripping Nadir’s arm, Emmeline tugged him toward the other side of the dining table. She pulled at the flame on the table as she squatted behind a chair, and the candle winked out in time with a pulse of pain in her brow. She didn’t need Wesley or Colonel Roulet knowing she had intended to eavesdrop on them. Nadir Talbot’s breath tickled her cheek and she resisted the urge to clamp her hand over his mouth as Wesley and Colonel Roulet spoke in hushed tones feet from the threshold. When the men finally parted, she watched between chair legs as Wesley lingered outside the door. Please don’t smell us, she prayed silently, but after a moment, he turned and strode toward the foyer.
Tension uncoiled in Emmeline’s stomach as Nadir sank onto the carpet beside her with a soft chuckle. Emmeline smiled at their luck and at the strange sense of comradery that had grown between them as an easy repartee. As she shifted, her eyes fell upon where her hand still gripped the sleeve of Nadir’s blue floral robe. It was only then that it hit her how they must look. Her nightgown suddenly felt thin and her purple dressing gown inconsequential. Warm brown skin dusted in black hair peeked from the gap between Nadir Talbot’s lapels. Emmeline hazarded a glance lower and was equally relieved and disappointed to find a pair of silk trousers covering his legs.
She still hadn’t let go of his arm, and her gaze drew his to it. He was so close she could feel the whisper of his sharp breaths. She should let go and go to bed. But she didn’t want to. She wanted him close. Close enough to feel, to touch. Nadir Talbot with his wicked smiles and ink speckled hands was alive, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of his skin beneath her hands. He met her gaze in the near dark, curious and open as his attention faltered to her mouth and throat. Did he want her, too? Panic squeezed the air from her lungs until her breath hitched. No one had ever truly wanted her before. Lord Rose had been a childish delusion, Lord Hale had wanted her more for a dynastic line than a love match, and Mrs. Richmond had wanted someone to warm her bed. She had come to terms with that, but this felt different. It was as if the world ended beyond their feet.
Emmeline forced down the thoughts of how soft his s
kin would feel beneath her own. His rejection would crush her. It was better to get out now while she still could because if he did want her, did it mean all of those flowers had been more than a game? Guilt rose in her breast, dowsing her fire enough to keep her from closing the gap between them. Before she could say a word, a low whine that grew into a howl traveled on the wind and sent a shiver down Emmeline’s spine.
“We should go,” she whispered, the words sticky on her tongue, “before anyone finds us.”
Nadir drew back slowly, searching her face. She hoped whatever he saw written in her features made him understand. After a moment, he nodded slowly and rose to his feet. When he offered her his hand, she gratefully took it. The callouses on his thumb and forefinger from where he held a pen scraped across the smooth flesh of her palm. At the impulse to squeeze and grip, she let go of his hand and kept her eyes from his face for fear of what she might see reflected back.
“Go first. I’ll be a few steps behind you,” he whispered as he peered into the darkness of the hall.
With his steady, comforting presence at her back, Emmeline wound her way through the foyer and up to her room. At her door, Emmeline felt him wait. Not to enter her bed but to see with his own eyes that she had made it inside. Her abdomen tightened as she whispered a good night and closed the door without waiting for his reply. Releasing a shuddered breath, Emmeline turned the lock and sank into her bed. Her fingers absently traced the pattern of vines and alien flowers from his dressing gown until she fell into dreams of lips and arms where their meaning was as clear as his bouquets.
Chapter Twelve
Into the Woods
Not long after sunrise, Emmeline awoke with Nadir’s name on her lips and a scowl on her face. This wouldn’t do. There was too much at stake to fall for another person who might only want to use her. Even if he truly wanted her now, there was so much he didn’t know, so much she couldn’t explain. When they had first met at the Spiritualist Society for a reading, she had fallen over speaking in tongues and Nadir had asked her, “What are you?” She still didn’t know the answer, but if he knew of all the death and magic and darkness still clinging to her, he would leave. Staring at the canopied ceiling, tears prickled her eyes. Life would finally crush her beneath its boot if another person she cherished left her, so she would keep him at arm’s length to protect them both. In her mind’s eye, she watched her hand settle between the lapels of his dressing gown where warm skin stood unguarded.
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