by Diana Ballew
He tilted his chin, examining me from head to shoe tip.
I thrust my chest forward. “Why do you look at me in such a manner?”
A lean finger wiped the last of my blood from his chin.
“I am amazed at my great fortune tonight.”
“Great fortune?” I scoffed. How in God’s heavenly name could he say such a thing? I fought back stinging tears, threatening to surface.
“You will understand, I promise. After you kill your wife, you will wait for her rebirth. You will know the instant she is reborn. From the moment she enters this world again as an infant, you will sense her whereabouts at all times. Her scent will cross great mountains, oceans, and continents. And while you may lie in wait to reclaim her, you may not do so until she has reached the age when you took her life.”
My head pounded as though a mallet were striking my weary brain with each word he spoke. I swallowed hard, demanding the screams forming inside my throat cease.
He studied my face. “How old was your wife at her last birthday?”
My mind racing in every direction possible, I raked my hands forcefully through my hair. “It was only a week ago. She turned three and twenty.”
“Any children?”
I sighed and lowered my head. “No.”
“And so it shall be. You will wait until she has reached three and twenty, and then you must win her once again.”
My sweet young wife, to die at such a young age and by the hand of her husband? Such an unspeakable nightmare.
“Look at me, Derek.”
I forced myself to look into his eyes.
Koenig raised a slender finger. “When she returns to the human world again, she will have no memory of you. She will be drawn to you for reasons she does not understand, but you will have to fight for her and win her love once again.”
I laughed hideously, in a tone I didn’t recognize as my own. “Ah, but you are wrong. Ersule could never forget who I am, not in this life or the next.”
Moisture formed in the corners of Koenig’s eyes. “You will be up against many odds, Derek. This is a harsh world. Beware. You have heard of wolves among sheep. The opposite is true, as well. Watch for sheep among wolves, for they can be just as deadly.” His gaze narrowed. “Above all else, you must never forget you are man and wolf. My royal line has merged with your warrior blood, and I have allowed you to live. From this day forward, you will be a noble among wolves.”
Warm tears sliced my chilled cheeks. “I am no warrior.” I bounded toward the comforts of home and yelled into the darkness, “It is not true — none of this is true!” But as my veins pulsed with the rhythm of an ancient tribal drum, I knew, deep within my soul, Koenig spoke the truth.
“There is no fighting this!” he called into the darkness.
I refused to turn around as I ran home, for I heard the terrifying sounds behind me of the man-beast transforming once again, howling like a great wolf in the shadowy forest.
I made a dash for the creek and washed the sticky blood from my face, neck and shoulders. When I reached home, I paused before opening the door. Crouched over, hands upon buckling knees, trying to catch my breath, I heard my hound growling behind the door, inside the house.
“What is it, Hund?” Ersule asked the hound. I rose up, stiffened my spine, and thrust open the door.
Ersule sat crouched by the fire stirring the cauldron and smiled. “Ah, you are later than I expected. I was afraid something might have befallen you.” She smiled. “Sit. I have prepared a meal.”
My wet tunic stuck to my skin and smelled of blood and creek water and God only knows what else. “One moment, my love,” I said, walking swiftly to the bedside.
Hund followed me, sniffing at my heels, his ears flattened. I reached down to pat him. He yelped and his tail drooped, arcing between his trembling legs as he cowered like a newborn lamb to the floor. I frowned at his strange behavior and promptly changed into clean garments before my wife came to investigate.
Ersule rose from the fire and walked toward the hound and me. She placed her hands on her hips and stared down at the mangy beast. “Hund, what troubles you?”
I swept my wife into my arms and hugged her close to my chest. I buried my nose against her head and breathed in the sweet scent of her freshly washed hair, hinting of rose water. I wanted to shout, to cry, to tell her of my plight, but words would not form.
“You smell of the damp woods tonight.” She pulled away, holding my hands at arm’s length. “Come sit. I have cooked us a delicious rabbit.”
Ersule led me by the hand to my chair at the small table and served me a plate of stewed rabbit and a tankard of ale. Numb, disoriented, lost within my own body, I grew instantly famished by the smell of freshly cooked meat wafting into my nostrils.
“You seem especially hungry tonight.” She sauntered behind me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Nuzzling the nape of my neck, she asked in the spiciest of tones, “Perhaps it’s not only food you desire?”
I stuffed a wedge of warm bread in my mouth to silence the scream forming inside my throat. I patted her arm, avoiding her gaze, and guzzled two warm tankards of ale while she left to freshen herself.
My heart burned with sorrow. If the man-beast spoke the truth, by the end of tomorrow, my wife would be dead.
A sudden flush of fever surged through my limbs. I desired Ersule, craved her more than anything in the world. Her warmth. Her touch.
Her love.
She had lit a candle next to our bed and lay waiting under the quilts, gazing at me with eyes like smoldering emeralds.
“Is something troubling you tonight?” she asked.
I unclothed myself and slid into bed next to her. Unable to meet her inquisitive gaze, I pulled her head against my chest. “No trouble, my love.”
Ersule flinched. “You’re burning hot. Are you not well?”
Fever. But not from the horrendous, dreaded epidemic, I assured her. I lied and told her a simple ague had set upon me from my long day in the fields in the damp cold of outdoors.
She eyed me with suspicion, smiled impishly, then snuggled closer. “It must be fever. Your eyes are a deeper shade of blue tonight.”
Ersule’s cool body against mine sent warm blood hurling through my veins, forcing my heart into a frenzied dance inside my chest. Muscles tightened; my groin heated, and I instantly grew rock hard. I exhaled in jagged breaths as I slid my hand along the gentle curve of her waist, working my way up to her full breasts. Relishing the feel of her soft nipple pebbling against my palm, my breath hitched deep within my throat as I turned to face her.
She breathed against my throat. “I missed you today.”
“I love you, Ersule. I will always love you.”
“And I you, my love,” she whispered.
I slid my hand down the small of her back, memorizing her soft skin against each callused fingertip. Trailing my fingers across her smooth buttocks, I found my way to the plush center between her warm thighs.
With a touch as light as a cloud, she brushed her fingers along my shaft, and I instantly quivered.
I gently slid a finger inside, readying her, and climbed above. I looked deeply into her arresting gaze, committing to memory the green eyes framed by lashes as fine as ebony lace, and thrust myself within her depths.
I gripped her bottom, plunging deeper, nuzzling her supple neck she so generously exposed for me. Tears welled in my eyes. “You are my life,” I managed to whisper.
“And I’ll love you for all eternity,” she breathed against my throat.
For all eternity! My heart soared when I heard those words from her sweet lips. Surely, this was proof that Koenig was mistaken. My Ersule would always love me — love me — for all eternity, for she had said so herself.
Chapter Two
Everett, Washington, 1910
Erin pressed her back against the upholstered chair and laced her fingers across her lap. “Father, I’d like to speak to you about —”
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br /> The new employee poked his head inside the office door. “Excuse me, sir. Do you want me to go ahead and cover last night’s shooting on Hewitt Avenue?”
Edward Richland frowned as he contemplated the question. “Yes. Yes, go ahead and cover that one, too, David.”
“Right, sir. I’m on it.”
Edward nudged his wire-rim glasses upward and busied himself at his desk with pen and paper, clearly ignoring his daughter’s determined glare.
“Father?” Erin asked, tapping the toe of her shoe on the floor. Regardless of the excuse her father would undoubtedly furnish, she intended to plant herself in his office until her position was made clear.
“Mmm hmm.”
“Father, I’m talking to you.”
He peered over the edge of his glasses. “And what’s with that tone?”
She heaved a sigh. “You know what I want. How many times must I ask?”
He removed his glasses, placed them on the desk in the designated spot, and rubbed his thick eyebrows. “Erin, we’ve been through this a dozen times.”
A slice of autumn sunlight slanted through the window, illuminating the colorful braided rug near her feet. She rose from the chair and paced to the large window facing the snowcapped Olympic Mountains beyond the bay.
“I’m tired of these trivial pieces you’ve been sending my way.” She pressed her forehead to the cool glass and sighed, fogging up the window. “A cow wandering into McGinty Hardware — please, that’s not news.”
Her father’s usual pessimistic retort did not come as expected. The contemplative pause filled the small office.
She smiled and turned toward him. “I hear all the papers in the county have women on staff now. For heaven’s sake, Father, Missouri Hanna herself started the Edmonds Review and look at her now with her Votes for Women magazine. Do you really want to be a man behind the times?”
He inched his chair away from the desk and stood next to her. “Seems these women’s suffrage rallies have put a lot in your head.”
Erin smoothed an errant ebony tendril back into place and glared into her father’s eyes. “Nothing’s been ‘put in my head.’ I attend the meetings and rallies, yes, but that’s because I choose to do so. I’m for the women’s vote because it’s right and just. Our voices need to be heard, just as much as a man’s does.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “My daughter, the suffragist. What next?”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her throbbing temples. “Why must we constantly go back and forth about this?”
“Is this what you want? A career? Does it mean that much to you?”
She opened her eyes and studied the deep lines traversing his forehead. Clearly, he had her best interests at heart, but his outdated misgivings about a woman’s place in a man’s world irritated her.
“It does mean that much to me. You know it does. Why did you send me to the university if you had no desire to see me succeed? You know I can work as hard as your male employees and do just as good, if not better, work.” She resisted the urge to jerk away when he placed his hands upon her shoulders.
“You know why I sent you back to New York. Getting you out of Everett was the best thing I could do for you at the time, considering —”
“I know. You’re right about that.” She slipped away and gazed out at the foam-covered waves greeting the rocky shore below. “I’m not disagreeing. Leaving here was for the best. But I’m back now, and I wish to work. But not if it means you’ll only send me on simpleminded pieces. At least rotate me in with the men on important news.”
Her father opened his mouth to speak, paused, then said, “Are you sure you don’t want to find a successful husband, settle down, and have children? Most women your age are content with such a life.”
“Father, do stop. Haven’t you realized I’m not like most women?”
He gazed out the window. “Of course I’ve noticed. You’ve been blessed with your mother’s beauty and an air of sophistication beyond your years.” He shook his head and sighed. “But you have a restless temperament.”
A restless temperament.
Erin struggled to keep from blurting the words forming in her throat. If yearning for more than the usual trappings of marriage that befell most females her age was considered restless, then yes, he was right. Women like her, desiring a career and to make it in the world on their own rather than disappear into domestic oblivion, were often frowned upon, considered impudent and selfish by much of polite society. It was a constant uphill battle with conventional men, and even some women, for that matter, but it was a fight she was determined to win.
“Well, you’re very old-fashioned, Father. Just because you married Mother when she was eighteen doesn’t mean I’m a spinster at the ripe old age of twenty-three.”
She didn’t wish to rock the boat with him, but standing her ground on this matter was important. She had already offended him the week before after refusing his offer to throw a grand party for her birthday, where he had planned to invite the “finest eligible bachelors” Everett had to offer. Wanting no part in his last-ditch attempt to marry her off, she refused with a resounding “absolutely not,” causing a heated grimace in reply, but it was he who was behind the times, not she.
“Sometimes I’m at a loss for words with you.” He sank in his chair, placed his glasses back on his thick nose with a flick of his finger, and thumbed through a stack of papers on the desk. Exhaling heavily, he said, “All right. Have a seat.”
“Seriously?” She dropped in the chair in front of him and leaned forward. “What do you have for me?”
“David’s already on top of the shooting.” He examined a piece of paper then extended it across the desk. “Here are the possibilities for today. Take your pick.”
“Take … my pick?”
“That’s what I said. Take your pick.” A single bushy eyebrow rose above the wire rims. “But I’m agreeing to this on a temporary basis, and we’ll see how you do.”
Before he had time to change his mind, Erin snatched the papers he extended and examined them. Let’s see: Fire at Kennedy residence on Hoyt. That’s sad. Loose pigs from Baylor farm seen swimming in the slough. So what? Everett Elks hold fundraiser. More of the same. Wolf prints spotted at Evergreen Cemetery, graves disturbed. Vandals paint bridge. Wait. What was that? Go back.
Wolf prints spotted at Evergreen Cemetery, graves disturbed.
She pointed at the paper. “I’ll take this one.”
He leaned across the desk and examined her choice, his brows knitting together. “Are you sure? It’s cold around there — lots of walking, not to mention possible wolves.”
“I’ll be fine! I —”
“All right.” He raised his hands and smiled. “No need to bite my head off.”
She folded the notes, stuffed them into her leather satchel, and kissed his ruddy cheek. “I’m on it. You won’t regret this.”
* * * *
A gentle mist fell from the steel-gray sky. Erin was glad she had chosen to wear her leather boots to the cemetery as she sidestepped the copious puddles. While gloomy weather often kept citizens indoors cozied up by a warm fire, she tended to be just the opposite.
Arriving in the bustling mill town when her father founded the local newspaper, The Everett Messenger, the new surroundings had taken some getting used to. Accustomed to the vibrant metropolis of New York, the budding young city of Everett, Washington, with its fertile farmlands, abundant timber, and constant clamor of buzzing sawmills, felt as far from civilized society as one could get. She hadn’t realized just how much she enjoyed the cool, marine weather of Washington until she had gone back to New York for her studies.
The East, with its sweltering summers and freezing snow had grown tiresome and predictable. And as each college term blended into the next, she had longed for the biting winds sweeping across Port Gardner Bay, chilling her face; missed the scents of lush green ferns growing in damp earth below overgrown fir and cedar trees humming
an ancient tune as she walked below. Yes, the Pacific Northwest had grown on her.
As she approached her mother’s graveside, she noticed the small granite tombstone had acquired a hefty dose of moss within the engraved rock since her last visit. She bent low, holding the flowers she had purchased earlier, and laid the fragrant bundle at the foot of the headstone.
Ella Mae Richland. Loving wife and mother.
She traced the etchings with her gloved fingertip, scooping out the green lace clinging to the carved stone. Glancing around the grounds, she noted the cemetery appeared nearly deserted. At the entrance, an elderly couple exited the grounds. In the distance, a figure stood near the large pyramid-shaped Rucker Tomb on the hill above.
She examined her notes. Now where are the wolf prints?
She followed the directions, leading her to a section of freshly-dug, unmarked graves piled high with loose brown dirt.
“It’s a dang soggy mess today, ain’t it?”
Erin spun around and came face-to-face with the disheveled cemetery caretaker. “Oh, you surprised me. Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Avery.” She pulled a notepad and pen from her satchel. “What can you tell me?”
He scrunched his nose and scuffed his boot in the moist dirt. “Well, this ain’t the only time I’ve found wolf tracks, mind you, but it’s the first time they got into graves.”
“Coyotes, bobcat, it could be anything besides wolves, don’t you think?”
He snorted. “Oh, no, Miss. It’s wolves all right. Come take a gander at this.”
She followed as he walked over a section of inlaid headstones several yards away from the path.
He stopped, crouched low, and pointed. “See, they start here. These ain’t no coyote or bobcat — these here are wolf prints, and big ones at that.”
Erin hiked up her skirt a few inches and bent down. She inserted her entire hand within the paw print and still had room to spare. “My goodness.”
He cocked his head south. “I think they come in through them thick woods.”
She turned, surveying the well-kept grounds. “And the disturbed graves are where?”
