He relaxed and smiled with a look of understanding. “Well, La Rue Sauvage is a wild place,” he said. “I can adapt.”
He leaned toward me and kissed me, long and tender, as his strong arms cradled my shoulders. I let him carry me into his passion, into this beautiful dream for several seconds before I finally broke away.
“There are more of them,” I said in alarm.
He looked quizzically at me. “Well, I would hope those weren’t our last ones.”
I blinked and almost laughed as I realized he was talking about kissing me again. “No, I don’t mean – that. Two more of the Lycanthru. Simonet and the other wolf who left the ball. They’re still out there. I have to go after them.”
He didn’t release me. “They can’t do any more harm tonight. They were after the Queen and they’ve lost her. And everyone else is preparing to defend themselves. You can stop them tomorrow.”
He leaned in to kiss me again. I let him. It suddenly felt natural and right and perfect. As if we were always meant to be together. As if we had never been apart.
“You love me,” I said, half-choking with relief as he held me close. I shut my eyes, barely able to believe it. “You love me.”
“Forever,” he said, peeling back my hood and nestling my hair.
Pierre was right. In time, we found Simonet and the remaining wolves and destroyed them, removing their plague from our province. My nightmares eventually passed, as they did for the rest of La Rue Sauvage.
I still search for heroes. But now I find them.
Whether I find them in my overprotective father, who taught me to be strong and prepared for trouble. Or in my elegant mother, who taught me I could be beautiful, in spite of my scars, and even because of them. Or my enchanting Suzette, who taught me how to love life.
In a brave neighbor like Francois Revelier, who taught me to stand up and take action to protect those in need. And in the service of Gerard Touraine, who risked his life and reputation to help me however he could.
In less noble actions, like Jacque Denue’s final attempt to protect a woman he loved. Or Celia Verdante’s willingness to help a girl she despised, to stop the monsters that threatened her village.
In the patient prayers of a priest like Father Vestille, who continued to protect and guide me, even when he disagreed with my actions. And in the loyalty and courage of Pierre Leóne, who always stood by me and believed in me, and loved me in spite of my scars.
In a God that remains unseen, but not silent or inactive.
And the hero I find in myself.
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R e a d y f o r m o r e ?
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R I S I N G
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Little Red Riding Hood
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16-year old Helena faces her deadliest Lycanthru wolf yet, in a war she might not survive.
THE RED RIDER
Book 1 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B088ZS1ZPN
When no one rises to stop them, 16-year old Helena vows to hunt down the deadly Lycanthru wolves that threaten to destroy everyone she loves.
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R I S I N G
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RED RIDER
REVILED
RED RIDER
REVILED
1.
The laughter and shouts in La Maison de Touraine abruptly died, as if someone had sucked the wind from each man’s lungs. At the bar counter, the tavern’s owner, Gerard Touraine, paused in the middle of polishing a mug. He gaped, like everyone else, at the oak double doors that stood open, ushering in a chill night wind.
Siegfried Simonet stood there, flanked by four other rough-looking men. His belly had grown since the last time anyone saw him, though his face remained gaunt as a ghost. He stared back at the men, surveying each horrified face as they fidgeted in their seats to shrink away from him. Finally, Simonet stepped fully into the tavern, letting his friends shut the doors. He moved, almost glided, to the center of the room and turned slowly, addressing everyone in a calm voice.
“You may all leave,” he said.
There was a moment’s hesitation. Then everyone stood and moved out the front door as quickly as Simonet’s men would allow them.
The entire room cleared within a minute, leaving Simonet and his band alone with Touraine.
One man locked the front doors.
Simonet strode toward him. “Gerard Touraine. No doubt this visit comes as a surprise.”
Touraine polished his mug slowly. He cleared his throat with a slight stutter. “Y-You were the Duke’s advisor, weren’t you? Haven’t seen you since –.”
“Since the royal ball, two months ago,” Simonet finished. He patted his protruding belly. “I’ve been preoccupied since then.”
He stepped closer to the counter. Touraine stiffened and lifted his chin.
“You’ve – had business elsewhere?”
“My business remains here, regardless of the other places I travel to conduct it. I’ve been preoccupied with the events of the past few months, leading up to that night at the masquerade ball.” He fixed his gaze. “You were serving there.”
It was not a question. Simonet had a keen sense for details.
“Yes.” Touraine cleared his throat again. “Yes, the Duke asked me to serve, since the people know me well.”
“And you know them. You probably know something about every common man, woman and child in La Rue Sauvage.” He sat at a stool and leaned across the counter. “Even Helena Basque.”
Touraine quivered. He licked his lips, recovering. “Eh – of course. ‘Course I do. Helena Basque, the, uh – the girl who lost her family.”
Simonet nodded with a slight smile. “They were killed by wolves. – If you recall.”
Touraine wiped his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I heard that. Her parents and her sister, right?”
Simonet lifted his chin, as if waiting for more. He folded his hands with a look of waning tolerance. His bulky companions spread out around the room, two of them approaching opposite ends of the counter. “You surely remember how she reacted.”
“Yes,” Touraine confessed. “She, ah – she told everyone that, uh – they weren’t really wolves. She told people they were some sort of monsters.”
Simonet studied him quietly. He leaned forward again, his fingers still interlaced. “She told you.”
Touraine took a step back, looking alarmed and confused. “Me? What makes you think --?”
“I’ve thought about it a great deal, Monsieur,” Simonet said. “It occurred to me that for a sixteen-year old like Mademoiselle Basque to learn about those so-called ‘monsters’ and find them, she would have needed information. Someone to go to for town gossip. Someone whose information she could rely on, on a regular basis.” He offered a grim smile. “Someone like you, Monsieur.”
Sweat trickled from Touraine’s forehead. He made no move to wipe it away. “Monsieur Sim
onet. I don’t know what – what your business is with Duke Laurent or these wolves, and I don’t want to. But I’ve had no dealings with Helena Basque except to give her some water here at the counter a couple of times.”
“You were also there at the royal ball, Monsieur Touraine. You saw me there.”
“Yes, well – I never saw you as a wolf. I have no reason to believe you’re one of them.”
“One of who, Monsieur?”
Touraine paled. His mouth hung open, his lip quivering.
“The word you’re searching for, Monsieur Touraine, is ‘Lycanthru’. That’s the name of our order. Those of us who can transform ourselves into wolves.”
“Monsieur, I don’t need to know anything about this.”
Simonet rose, planted both palms on the counter and leaned across it. “You already know, Monsieur.”
The men flanking Touraine moved behind the counter. They each took a step toward him.
“But you have not had firsthand knowledge, apart from the Duke’s party,” Simonet continued casually. “To experience for yourself what others described.”
The other four men reached inside their waistcoats. Each one produced a thin flask and uncorked it, releasing a sulfurous odor into the air. They gulped down their serums and grinned at Touraine.
“Until tonight,” Simonet finished.
The man by the window set his flask aside and stood with his arms apart to greet the moonlight shining down on his face. Then his face changed, his grinning lips widening, his ears extending toward the top of his head. His nose and chin grew, stretching over his chest to form a canine snout. His fingers sharpened into claws that tore away his clothes, shredding them until he stood naked. Dark brown hair bristled from his jaws as he fell to his knees and a furry animal tail sprouted behind him. He lowered his head as pointed ears appeared on top of it. Then he raised his yellow eyes and stood on his hind legs as an enormous brown wolf. He whirled at Touraine, grinning like a demon.
“You see?” Simonet said, as Touraine tried to gather his breath. “You will now tell us where to find Helena Basque and tend to her. It is your choice whether to tell me in a calm voice or between screams.”
Touraine shook his head. His feet shuffled backward on the wooden floor. “Monsieur, you’re – you’re mistaken. I – I haven’t been talking to Helena Basque. About anything.”
“In fact, Monsieur, you have told her everything. Every piece of information you gathered to help her in her little war against us.” He grinned at Touraine. “How else could she have known where to find us?”
I had seen enough. I stepped into the room from the entryway behind the counter, my red cloak wafting from my shoulders.
“Perhaps I’m smarter than you think,” I said.
Simonet and his men turned to gape at the scar-faced, red-hooded girl they had been searching for, as I aimed my repeating crossbow in their direction.
Hooves thundering
through the forest.
Cloak billowing
in the wind.
Repeating crossbow
armed and ready.
She’s back.
You can relax now.
THE
RED RIDER
WILL RETURN!
in
BOOK 4:
RED RIDER
REVILED
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Red Rider Redemption (The Red Rider Saga Book 3) Page 18
