by Diana Ballew
Edward cleared his throat and cocked his head toward the back of the house. Craning his thick neck he called, “Maggie, we need more wine in here!”
Frederick’s brows knitted together, and he leaned toward her, whispering, “Perhaps we can discuss this later.”
Erin glared back. “Yes, perhaps we should.”
“Oh, Erin, I almost forgot,” her father said. “David tells me you ran into the elusive Mr. Derek Rudliff. Is this true? I have always wanted —”
Frederick slammed his fist on the table, and his face glowed crimson, quickly turning to purple.
“Oh, my Lord, I think he’s choking!” Erin shouted.
Edward shot up and came behind the younger man. With a balled fist, he hit Frederick between the shoulder blades repeatedly, but nothing seemed to be working.
Erin stared into Frederick’s face, turning a deeper shade of violet. “Father, he’s still choking! Do something!”
Edward growled and hammered harder against the younger man’s back. Suddenly, Frederick’s entire body stiffened like an iron rod, and he fell backwards in the chair to the hardwood floor. A loud grunt followed, echoing across the room, just as a wedge of potato soared from Frederick’s mouth, landing on the center of the dining table with a lifeless thud.
Frederick lay coughing and gasping for air at Erin’s feet. She stood over him, hands on her hips. “My heavens, are you all right?”
Frederick growled and looked away. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Edward thrust his hands in his thick gray hair and darted for the back of the house calling out, “Perhaps you should lie on the sofa a moment or two, Frederick. I’ll get you a fresh glass of water.”
Erin helped Frederick up and led him toward the sofa.
He jerked away and smoothed his vest. “I said I’m fine.”
“My heavens,” she murmured under her breath, irritated at his abrupt manner. She tilted her chin high, fanned out her skirt, and sat on the sofa. “Well, it’s just that you gave me a fright.”
He exhaled in shallow breaths and sat next to her. “I just swallowed wrong, that’s all. I’m fine now.” A wry smile slowly spread below his shiny mustache. “I must say, it was worth the discomfort to see you fret over me.”
He took hold of her hand, his clammy grasp moistening her palm like a tepid wet rag. She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I wasn’t fretting. I merely —”
He squeezed her hand and leaned closer. “Now tell me more about this chance meeting. Who did you say it was, a Mr. Rudliff, was it?”
Erin frowned, caught off guard by his interruption and sudden change in demeanor. “Well, all right. Where was I?”
“You said you saw Mr. Rudliff. Derek Rudliff, is that correct?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, Mr. Derek Rudliff. That’s him. I wanted to arrange a photograph of him for the paper. Perhaps write a story on the man and his business, but he wasn’t the least bit interested.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed, and the muscle along his jawline pulsed. “I see. And what did you think of him?”
Careful not to stir up his protective nature, she frowned and waved her hand. “Oh, he was pleasant enough but a dreadful bore. Not at all my sort.”
Frederick’s grip loosened. She seized the opportunity, snatching her hand back in a flash.
The lines on his forehead smoothed to a polished sheen resembling damp clay. He leaned closer, smiled, and whispered, “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that, my dear.”
Chapter Three
Bedburg, 1589
I awoke at the break of dawn praying that what happened in the forest the night before had been nothing more than a horrifying nightmare.
My senses told me otherwise.
As I surveyed the room, my surroundings appeared more vibrant and detailed. I could hear the soft rustle of nature stirring in the forest in the distance; feel the warmth of the rising golden sun upon my body, though no rays of sunlight entered the small room. Somehow, I felt more alive.
I looked at Ersule sleeping beside me, and my stomach twisted into a knot so taut I thought I would retch. I gazed at her peaceful slumbering form, amazed that such a beautiful, loving creature was mine — all mine. Thinking back to Koenig’s words, I sighed heavily. Ersule was my world, and all I desired was to spend any remaining time I had left as a mortal man with the love of my life.
But Ersule had other plans.
“I’m going to the creek to wash clothes today,” she said.
My fingers stiffened, and I dropped the spoon in my bowl of porridge. I seized Ersule’s hand, keeping her from rising from the chair. I swallowed hard and said, “The early morning chores were particularly demanding today. Perhaps the wash can wait another day.”
“Perhaps not,” she said, smiling. “Have you seen your clothes of late? With the autumn rains and the grueling harvest there’s much to wash —”
“Then I’ll go with you,” I offered far too quickly. I silently cursed my abruptness, hoping I didn’t arouse her perceptive nature. I forced a smile. “We can take a long walk while our clothes dry. Perhaps pack some food and —”
“That’s a lovely idea, but … ” She rose from her chair, came behind me, and wrapped her lithe arms around my neck.
“But?” I urged, keeping my voice steady.
“But you promised me you would go into the village and bring back the flour from the mill.”
I patted her hand. “Surely that, too, can wait.”
She rested her chin upon my shoulder.
“I truly need it, Derek,” she said in a teasing, pouty voice. “Not a bit remains after yesterday’s loaves.”
Ersule rose up and sauntered past me. My gaze followed the delicate sashay of her willowy hips defying the modest brown skirt and soiled apron.
She crouched by the fire and placed a log among the fading embers. Gazing over her shoulder, she said, “I’ll do your wash, you get my flour, and then we’ll have time together later. ’Tis a bargain?”
Gazing into her emerald eyes filled with tender love, I was her prisoner. My eyes shifted to the floor. I cleared my throat and whispered, “’Tis a bargain.”
I carried the basket of laundry upon my shoulder as we walked to the nearby creek past the rolling meadow. Ersule’s widowed mother and several of the neighboring women had already arrived at the pebbled banks, scrubbing laundry and laying out the wet garments to dry on large rocks and stumps warmed by the sun. I smiled and nodded, joining in the feminine banter, but I remember not a single word I uttered, for the gentle sounds of the natural world had changed, grown louder, sharper, more succinct. I wanted to cover my ears, for the harsh, steady hum surrounding me hurt them.
Ersule busied herself beside her mother on the sun-filled bank with a brush and bar of lye and urged me on my way. “Go on now,” she said with an impish glint in her eyes.
With a heart as heavy as the sack of crushed grain I was sent to retrieve, I left her side and hurried toward the village. The sooner I arrived, grabbed the flour and returned, the more time I would have with my wife.
As I neared the village square, I heard a commotion. Following the noise, I came upon a large crowd shouting curses.
I nudged Fritz, the village butcher, and asked, “What’s happening?”
Frowning, he mouthed the long-stemmed wooden pipe dangling from his lips and fingered his long beard. “Haven’t you heard? The wolves attacked again in the middle of the night. Just this morning, bloodied livestock and human body parts were found in the woods, in meadows, even in garden beds.”
My throat went bone dry. “I see,” I murmured. I hemmed in closer, my heart twitching like that of a wounded hare. I listened as frightened citizens talked of hunters running into the forest with crossbows and flintlocks, shouting in fury with their bloodhounds on the trail of the ferocious wolves.
Fritz plucked the pipe from his mouth and leaned in. “This is bad. Very bad, indeed.”
I forced a nod, excused myself, and headed fo
r the mill. Just as I retrieved the flour and thrust the heavy sack over my shoulder, the miller’s elderly wife poked her head inside the door.
She fingered her tattered woolen scarf. “He’s coming back!”
The old miller’s cloudy-gray eyes widened. “Ah, the boy’s returned,” said he, before hurrying toward the boisterous crowd with his wife on his heels.
Curious, I followed and made it just in time to see a lad of no more than three and ten emerge from the woods.
Tired and winded, the slender boy brought word that the bloodhounds had finally cornered their prey. He told how the hunters and barking hounds had given chase and come upon a solitary large wolf. As the breathless huntsmen stood with hoisted bows and flintlocks aimed squarely at the creature, the wolf suddenly stood on two legs and removed a belt of thick fur from around its waist. Then, before the huntsmen’s eyes, the wolf miraculously transformed into a mortal man.
Demanding answers and reckoning, the panicked crowd erupted into roars and shouts.
While trying to absorb the boy’s incredible revelation, I curled my shoulder forward and lowered the sack to the ground. I thrust my hand through my hair, waiting for the hunters to emerge from the forest.
Could this man-wolf the hunters cornered be Koenig?
The time waiting passed swiftly, for my mind raced in a flurry of frightening thoughts and horrid images. Finally, the hunters emerged from the forest. To the crowds’ astonishment, as well as my own, the hunters brought forth a neighboring farmer, and a story of unimaginable evil began to unfold.
Peter Strubbe, a man of about forty years and average in every possible way, told of a fondness for blood and black magic from the time he was twelve years of age. He had sold himself to the devil, body, mind, and soul, and the wicked devil made him a promise in return: to bestow upon Peter whatever his twisted heart desired. He declared his wish had been to become a creature capable of satisfying his bloodthirsty desires.
Horrified, I stood in place and listened as he told of dozens of rapes of women and young children, even murders, including his own son, which he committed in the guise of a mighty wolf.
A rush of heated blood pounded in my veins. His words stung my ears until they burned like fire, and I shook in my shoes with such fear and dread.
Dear God in heaven. What will become of me?
Unable to face Ersule, lest she perceive the consuming terror in my eyes, I placed the flour in the root cellar, made my way to the fields, and busied myself with the hoe and spade. Soon thereafter, a neighbor approached me in the backfield.
“Can you believe it, Derek?” asked he.
I assured him that I had not heard the latest news.
“Ah, the magistrate ordered Peter be bound and laid out on a large wheel. With burning pincers, his flesh is to be ripped from his bones. His arms and legs are to be crushed with the blunt end of an axe, and his head chopped off and placed upon the town pole. And, to ensure every speck of evil is eliminated, his carcass will be charred to black ashes.”
Bile rose in my throat, and the darkening clouds above seemed to close over my head. If Koenig had spoken the truth, I would undoubtedly face the same fate if caught.
I bid my neighbor farewell and set out on heavy feet to bathe in the lake and gather my wits before returning to Ersule.
Sitting upon a boulder at the water’s edge, I watched the ginger glow of the setting sun as it dipped below the horizon. My heart sank as I envisioned my precious wife, gone from my life for three hundred years.
Three. Hundred. Years.
I needed to see Ersule. I needed to touch her, feel her. I needed to know she was mine.
With weighted arms, I shook out my garments, dressed, and walked home. Soon I would know if what Koenig spoke was truth or lies.
Ersule greeted me at the door with her customary smile, but her expression instantly turned into a puzzled frown. “Where is the flour?”
The flour! I waved my hand. “Oh, yes, I … I left it in the cellar. I’ll get it in the morning.”
The hound looked into my eyes, yelped, and darted out the door.
“Come back inside!” I shouted.
Ersule pressed her hand to my arm. “Let him go. He’s acted in a disturbed manner most of the day.”
She crouched near the fire and placed a skewered chicken above the flames. “Ale?”
Dancing firelight lit the room, sending finger-like shadows clawing at the stone walls. With my head held low, I nodded and removed my shoes.
Ersule whisked them away and laid the shoes by the glowing hearth to dry. “Tonight I would like wine,” she said merrily as she proceeded to pour a tankard of ale for me and wine for herself.
I gazed out the small window at the rising silver moon. Instantly, my stomach twisted as I turned toward the other window and watched as the last trace of the glowing sun set below the horizon.
Then I heard the wolves.
“Do … do you hear that?” I asked.
She arched a raven brow. “Hear what, my love?”
“Do you hear the wolves in the forest?”
She tilted her head, listening. “I hear no wolves. Drink your ale. You must be tired.”
I was never surer of anything in my life. It was a pack of wolves and they were calling me.
With each somber howl from the group, I felt the marrow quiver deep within my bones. I ate heartily, but the more I ate, the hungrier I became; the more I drank, the thirstier. I was thankful Ersule sat enjoying her wine, humming a cheerful ditty, filling her tankard twice more.
She rose from her chair and took my hand in hers. “It’s time for you to join me,” she said with a playful lilt in her tone.
I gulped the last of my food and washed it down with the remaining ale. I cleaned my face and scrubbed my hands in the bucket.
She dried my hands with the linen cloth, blotted my face, and led me by the hand to our bed. “Come,” she whispered.
Guided by the sultry cadence of her words, I found comfort in the familiar play of seduction we had shared since our wedding night. I lay upon our bed, folded my arms behind my head, and watched as she unclothed herself down to her sheer nightdress.
With delicate, unhurried fingers, she pulled the pins from her long hair and sat next to me on the bed. With a smile upon her full lips — the same smile that had melted my wary heart so long ago — she gently removed my socks, then my trousers, undressing me as though I were a helpless child. The deep glow of rising passion grew within her gaze as she ran her hands inside my tunic, fingering the hair on my chest.
I lifted my neck from the pillow as she guided the tunic over my head. “You’re a vixen tonight,” I said.
“Your vixen,” she whispered in a tenor as sweet and spicy as honeyed mead.
She slipped into bed next to me. My hot skin against hers felt like flames scorching satin, causing me to instantly stiffen. The moment she whimpered with yearning, blood charged through my veins, rippling through muscles, surging like errant sparks of fire into my limbs. The chicken carcass, the stale ale, the wine, my sense of smell and hearing, all seemed to grow tenfold. The taste upon my tongue and the slow increase of saliva suddenly intensified.
I flinched and pressed my back into the bedding. The fragrant scent of her hair, the sight of her dusky nipples beneath sheer fabric, the subtle curves of her body, all called to me. And the moment she pressed her lips to mine, I trembled.
The transformation Koenig had spoken of was happening. I could feel it, altering me from the inside out. I slammed my eyes shut and summoned strength to fight the crushing physical urges threatening to overwhelm me.
But the growing wolf clawed inside my belly, begging to emerge.
She guided her hand between my legs. With every ounce of my body and soul, I tried to silence the rising beast, but the creature within took hold in a sudden, violent jolt.
I grabbed a thick strand of Ersule’s hair, wrapped it around my hand, and pulled her head back, exposing her bar
e neck. She moaned, aroused by the intensity of my desire.
In a flash, my hunger for her grew fierce. I stared at my trembling hands and watched in horror as my fingernails grew thick, long, and brown. Spiked hairs thrust forth from my knuckles like blades of dark golden grass.
Ersule shut her eyes as her body gave way to rising passion. With her neck laid bare and only a whisper away from my quivering lips, I salivated, drooling like a mad hound as I stared at the thick cord of blood pulsating inside her neck, beckoning me.
“Derek,” she murmured. “Such an animal you are tonight.”
Such irony!
“Do you love me, Ersule? Tell me you love me and only me.” I swallowed hard. My voice had grown deeper with the visceral changes threatening to consume me.
She moistened her full lips. “’Tis only you I love,” she whispered against my neck in a voice as passive as that of a mourning dove.
My thirst for the taste of her flesh was rivaled only by my instinctual desire to take her — to claim her — to keep her mine for all eternity.
I spun her around face down on the bed, and spread her arms wide across the quilt. She yelped playfully, and I was thankful beyond words that she had drunk liberally of the wine.
I cried out as my body tightened and teeth grew within the bone of my clenched jaw. She flinched at the sounds above her and tried to turn, but I pushed my morphing hand down, keeping her head pressed firmly against the bedding.
“Derek!” she whimpered, her voice muffled against the bedding.
“Ahhhh!” I groaned as my limbs swelled into mounds of smooth muscle beneath growing trusses of fur. My hands changed before my eyes into the mighty paws of a wolf.
Ersule’s nightdress slid up, exposing her smooth buttocks.
It was more than I could bear.
In one swift move, I grabbed her by the waist and forced her toward me on all fours. She cried out my name, but as the mighty beast within me burst forth, her distressed voice was drowned out by my deep growls of pleasure as I slid inside her. I plunged her sweet depths, repeatedly, sparing my innocent wife no mercy as I continued my fierce ravishing.
