A long blur of faint light appeared before me. Then quickly took the distinct shape of Duke Leopold Laurent, striding toward me.
“Good evening, Helena,” he said with a wicked smile.
I stepped back.
“No, no, no,” he said, reaching for me.
And suddenly I was in his grip, his hand closing around my arm. I felt his painful squeeze, yet I couldn’t move either of my arms, wherever they were beneath me.
“You can’t escape this time,” he said, smoothing my hair. “Here, you’re completely helpless. A puppet on my string. Or, I should say, on our strings.”
More blurred images approached from behind him, taking the shape of the other Lycanthru serving Laurent. His royal advisor, the gaunt and stoic Simonet. The stern, vengeful Lieutenant-General Sharrad. The cocky and burly Brocard, grinning broadly beneath his dark moustache.
“We meant to feast on you last night, Helena,” Laurent continued. “We also meant to do this. To render you helpless and torture you for hours on end. Does that surprise you? Did you expect to die at our hands last night, the way you killed off our companions? No, no. We didn’t intend to finish you all in one night, my dear. That would be too simple. Too quick.”
He seized my hair and yanked my head back sharply, the way he had done after they captured me last night. “You’ve caused a great deal of trouble to our order, Helena. More than anyone has ever dreamed possible.” He leaned close to my ear. “So you’ll need to suffer more than anyone has ever imagined. We might not manage to kill you this way, Helena. But we can torture you. Night – after night – after night. Enough to slowly drive you insane. Then we’ll torture you some more. Until you die of sheer terror.”
My heart pounded. I struggled to slow my breathing.
“We should begin,” he said. “Helena cannot picture the levels of pain we’re describing. It’s best if we simply demonstrate.”
He reached into his breastcoat pocket, and the others did the same. Each of them drawing vials of sulfurous golden liquid.
Lycanum.
“This is more of a formality,” Laurent said, waving the vial as he uncorked it. “You see, here in this realm, we don’t need to drink our serum to transform. It’s more for your benefit, to help you grasp what we’re doing to you. We need your faculties to catch up to us, in a sense. The truth is, while here …”
He and the others drank the foul-smelling potion. Yet instead of their usual practice, not one of them removed their clothes or tore them off. And their transformation took only a second. In the blink of an eye, they had all sprouted long pointed ears and tails, wide paws and sharp fangs, with bristling fur across their backs. As if it took only a thought for them to change into savage six-foot wolves.
I gasped as Laurent stepped toward me again, his long jaws nudging my neck. “Nothing to say, Helena?” he goaded. “No? Perhaps you’ll scream something for us, then.”
He spread his claws before my eyes, then shoved them into my side. I cried out, my ribs burning like fire. My body wouldn’t move, even to twist away or block his paw – as he pushed deeper.
I squealed in agony, squeezing my eyes shut. Yet somehow I could still see them all, leering at me, mocking me, celebrating my pain.
“Only the beginning, Helena,” Laurent said, yanking his claws out suddenly as he stepped aside.
His advisor, Simonet, stepped forward. Unlike the others, he had not transformed into a wolf. He strode toward me with his hands behind his back, a humorless skeleton of a man. He cocked his head silently, examining me.
“You’ve surely noticed that Monsieur Simonet rarely smiles,” Laurent said. “Which might lead you to believe that he takes no pleasure in punishing young upstarts like you. But you would be mistaken.”
Simonet continued to study me. I found myself trembling as I waited for what he might do.
“You see, Simonet is the most patient man you will ever meet,” Laurent continued. “If he intends to torture someone, he’s not content to simply claw or bite at them, like the rest of us. He wants to know, for certain, what will cause his victim the greatest damage.”
Simonet reached out for my face, slowly, as I trembled more. He spread three fingers to touch the edges of my triple scars, then traced them. I struggled to catch my breath as his fingers crawled across my wounded face.
“Here,” he said, before stepping back and standing aside to watch me.
“Excellent. Thank you, Simonet,” Laurent said. He stepped before me again, his fangs grinning with delight. “So. If we were to focus our attention here, on your childhood wounds –.”
His claws settled on the top ends of my scars. I tensed and released a strange whine of protest.
“Yes. That fits. Now you understand how Simonet operates, eh, Helena?”
His claws poked into my face, piercing the skin where my scars began, above and below my left eye and at the center of my left cheek. He began to cut diagonally, tracing the scars at a snail’s pace. I shrieked, less from the pain than from the horror of having my face cut open. I couldn’t hope to survive another wound like that!
“No,” I whimpered, shutting my eyes as my whole body trembled. “No, please. Don’t open them again. Don’t open them again!”
He stopped.
“Yes, that’s magnificent. We will save that for last,” Laurent said.
I gasped, grateful for the relief. Wondering how profusely those fresh cuts would bleed. Yet I felt nothing trickling down my face. Even the sting felt nothing like when the wolf slashed my face as a child. Was any of this real? Did he actually cut into me?
Laurent turned to the others. “Her face belongs to me. You may have the rest.”
Laurent stepped aside. He and Simonet watched, as the other wolves advanced on me, claws spread and glistening, fangs dripping saliva. They dug into my paralyzed arms, legs, and sides like fiery knives as I screamed and screamed.
11.
Images came and went, along with pain and screams and terror. Wolf claws reached out for me, sliced at my face over and over again. Wolf fangs bit into my thighs, ankles, neck and back. Duke Leopold Laurent loomed over me several times, smiling in sadistic triumph.
But sometimes Laurent’s eyes grew wide with astonished anger and his image quickly disappeared, like a candle being blown out. Only to reappear some time later, though his features often tensed as if he was struggling to concentrate and maintain his presence.
The pain of bites and clawing throughout my body eventually subsided, along with the images of the wolves. Everything turned black as night.
I suddenly felt strange. Relaxed. I was lying on a soft bed. I opened my eyes.
I could see clearly, my sight restored. It was my room. My house.
I blinked. The sunlight hurt my eyes, breaking through gaps in my shuttered window. How late was it? How had I gotten here?
“Helena! Helena, wake up!”
It was a child’s voice. Small footsteps came scampering to my door and a tiny fist pounded on it.
I flinched.
“Come on, come on!” the child urged.
The door flew open. A small blond girl came rushing across the room at me, then stood at the foot of my bed with her fists on her hips.
It was my four-year old sister, Suzette.
Alive.
“Come on, get out of bed, lazyhead,” she ordered with an impish grin. “Mama’s got the lamb cooked already.”
“Mama’s got – what?”
“What’s wrong with you, Helena?”
“… Suzette.” I opened my arms and she rushed into them. I pulled her in close, locking my arms around her tight as I shut my eyes. “Suzette. I’ve missed you so much.”
She pulled away a little and I let her ease out of my grip. “Well, that’s what you get when you don’t get up. Now come on, grab your cloak!”
She whirled away, her blonde hair spinning about her neck as she ran out on her squat legs.
“Grab my –?”
I turned to the nightstand.
My red hooded cloak lay across it. Not the one I wore now, but a smaller one. Exactly like the one I had worn as a child, but sized for a teenage girl.
I pushed away my blanket, expecting to see my legs. Instead, I saw a nightgown covering my knees. No trousers. I grabbed the cloak. Felt its fabric. Just like the one Grand’Mere had made for me, but large enough to fit. I laid it on the corner of the bed, pondering it, my head feeling clouded.
I didn’t remember ever wearing this cloak.
I stood and moved to open my trunk in the corner of the room. There were no trousers there, either, and no weapons of any kind. Only some linen chemises and dresses – a pile of beautiful dresses in various colors.
I withdrew a pink one, with a large scarlet bow that tied at the back of the waist. It was beautiful, like something that had been made my Madame Leóne. Or –
Or by my mother.
I shut the door that Suzette had left wide open, then removed my nightgown and laid it on the bed. I slipped on a chemise and some stockings and the pink dress that flared out beneath the waist. It seemed to flare even wider once I finally tied the awkward bow. I turned toward the shuttered window to see myself in the wall mirror. When had we purchased a mirror? I gaped at my reflection, seeing how pretty I looked in the intricate chiffon dress, and touched my face.
I had no scars.
“A dream,” I said out loud. “It was all a horrible dream.”
What had happened to me?
“Helena!” a woman called.
I hiked up my dress, snatched up my cloak, and threw open the door. I ran across our front room, where everything was in order once more. Mama’s latest sewing project on the center table. Papa’s musket leaning against the wall beside his chair and spittoon, where he always smoked his pipe. I could hear Suzette running about our front yard, giggling as our sheep dog, Valiant, yapped at her and our sheep bleated nearby.
It had all been a dream.
I stepped out onto our porch, and gasped.
Our yard was lush and beautiful. Sheep nibbled on the bright green grass as Valiant chased after Suzette, running in wide circles and laughing to herself.
Our carving table had been cleaned for dining. Papa stood above it with Mama, both setting out plates. An enormous pile of lamb meat had been laid in the center.
“About time, sleepyhead,” Papa said, smiling through his dark moustache.
Papa was actually smiling.
Mama beamed at me, radiant even in an apron. “Hello, darling. Come have some lamb.”
I stepped off the porch and trudged forward in a daze. “Mama,” I murmured. “Papa.”
I strode forward and leaned across the table to hug them both, choking back a sob. “You’re alive,” I gasped. “You’re alive.”
“I sure hope so,” Papa said. “That’ll make it easier to enjoy your mother’s succulent dinner.”
“How – How do we have so much meat? We’ve never eaten this much at once.”
“Well, we certainly have enough sheep for it,” Papa said.
“Besides, it’s Sunday, dear,” Mama added. “We have company.”
“Oh,” I said. “Father Vestille?”
“No, he’s away,” Papa said with a dismissive wave. “Hello, old friend.”
“Looks like enough meat,” a gruff voice boomed from behind me. “What’re the rest of you gonna eat?”
I turned to look up into the burly figure of Francois Revelier, smiling through his thick beard.
“Francois,” I whispered.
“Hey, Helena. I swear you look prettier every day,” he said.
I lunged against his broad belly, clutching him tight. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He didn’t return the hug. Instead, he patted my head lightly, then my back. “Well – I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart. Always glad to see your pretty face.”
He broke the hug and stepped around the table, parking himself on the middle of the bench as Papa made room for him. “Ah, the perfect spot,” Francois joked. “Everything in reach.”
Mama looked past me, brightening. “Hello, Mama,” she said.
I turned.
Grand’Mere Marie smiled down at me, her eyes and mouth crinkling at the corners. Her silver hair shining. Her burgundy dress exquisite.
“Helena, dear,” she greeted. “I’m so glad the new cloak fits you.”
I swallowed. “Grand’Mere …”
She hugged me, her frail hands firm on my back. Releasing me, she looked me up and down. “And what a handsome dress your mother made for you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Are you all right, Helena?” Mama asked, moving a platter of biscuits to the end of the table. “You seem distracted. Did you sleep well?”
“She certainly slept enough,” Papa joked, nudging Mama’s arm.
“I – I’m sorry,” I said. “I just – I’m just so glad to see you all.”
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” Papa said casually.
“Suzette, come to dinner,” Mama called. “You’ve played with Valiant long enough.”
I looked around the yard, thrilled at how pristine everything was. My family was whole. My friend alive. Everything was beautiful and perfect.
I scanned the yard, narrowing my gaze. “Where’s Crimson?” I asked.
Papa blinked. “Who?” he asked. “Ah, never mind. Here’s our guest of honor.”
“I hope I’m in time, Henri,” a sharp voice said at my back.
I turned. Duke Leopold Laurent stood with a bouquet of flowers, grinning like the devil. “These are for you, my dear,” he said, stretching forth to hand the flowers to Mama.
“Oh, they’re beautiful,” she said, sniffing them close.
“Stop,” I said. I glared at Laurent. “You’re not welcome here.”
Grand’Mere soured at me. “Helena. Don’t be rude. Duke Laurent’s the whole reason we’re all here.”
“We’d hardly be thriving here in La Rue Sauvage without his brilliant leadership,” Papa said.
“Oh, really?” I challenged. “And what has he done about the wolves?”
Mama and Papa stopped and squinted at me. “Helena,” Papa said. “There are no wolves in La Rue Sauvage.”
I stared at him, my nerves on fire.
Laurent reached across the table, shaking Papa’s hand. “Henri. How have you been, my friend?”
“Don’t touch him!” I snarled, slapping Laurent’s hand away. “You were never his friend. You only pretended to be!”
“Helena, please,” Mama said with a touch of sternness. “You’re embarrassing us.”
“Relax, Mademoiselle,” Laurent said, smooth as oil. “I’m sure you’ve heard, Helena, but the war is over.”
Papa laughed. “The day our daughters have to go to war for us, we’ll all be in trouble,” he joked.
“Oh, my, I’ve forgotten something,” Grand’Mere said, rising from the bench. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t be gone long, mother,” Mama told her, returning her focus to the table.
Grand’Mere waved her off. “Of course not, dear. My house is just on the other side of the woods and up the hill.”
“No,” I said, half-strangled. “Grand’Mere, don’t leave.”
“Don’t fret, dear,” she said, patting my arm. “Just sit here and show off that pretty dress.” She stepped away, but instead of walking toward the woods or a wagon, she strode toward the flock of sheep gathered beside the barn.
“Grand’Mere, no, please,” I said. “Where are you going?”
“I just need another lamb for the feast,” she said, wading between the sheep in her burgundy dress as they all huddled together.
“Grand’Mere, wait –.”
One of the sheep growled.
I stared at it, as its mouth opened to reveal sharp fangs.
“Grand’Mere, stop!” I shouted, standing. “They’re not sheep!”
The sheep gre
w pointed ears, as the others also started to change. Growing dark fur and angular features.
“Grand’Mere, run!”
The wolves snarled and leapt on top of her. I saw a spurt of blood as she sank beneath them.
While everyone else continued eating at the table.
“You know, I should go help Marie,” Francois said, rising from the table.
“Francois, no,” I said. “They’ll kill you –.”
He chuckled at me. “You’re certainly in a state today, Helena. Have something to drink. That always helps me.”
He took a large mug from the table and threw his head back, taking a large swig as he wandered toward the crowd of wolves. The entire pack turned and watched as he strode toward them.
“No,” I said. “No, stop. It’s happening again.”
“Please, dear,” Mama said. “Stop talking nonsense and eat. There’s plenty of lamb.”
Suzette continued racing about in circles. Only a few yards from the wolves that were now pouncing on Francois. Valiant barked, chasing after her. Mama and Papa bit into their lamb, ripping the meat away with their teeth in a savage manner. As the sky grew dark and cold.
“Yes,” Laurent said, standing by the end of the dining table. “Time to feast.”
The lamb pieces on the table quivered, then began to move, seeming to struggle their way upright. They grew larger, becoming dark shapes that transformed quickly into wolves and leapt up to devour Mama and Papa whole.
“No!” I screamed, clutching my temples. “Nooo!!!”
12.
The horrific images dissolved into white hot pain. Grand’Mere Marie. Francois. Mama and Papa. Suzette.
Gone.
The all-consuming blackness returned.
Wake up, Helena.
It was Laurent’s voice again. I clenched my teeth, feeling my anger rise. Yet my breathing turned shallow again. Whatever he planned next, I could do nothing to stop it.
His face appeared, then his body beneath it, out of the darkness. He remained human, yet the sight of him made my heart race. Simonet, Sharrad, Brocard, and other Lycanthru appeared behind him, approaching as a small mob. I struggled to lift my arms in defense, but my body remained paralyzed.
Red Rider Redemption (The Red Rider Saga Book 3) Page 7
