Red: The Untold Story

by Angela M Hudson

  I grinned. “Love makes anything possible, Katy.”

  “Does it?”

  “It does.” I sipped my fresh tea. “Just wait and see. One day, Theo will do something to prove his love. They call it a grand gesture, and his grand gesture might just be to sweep you up and run away with you—far from here.”

  “And what about you? What will you do without us?”

  “You won’t worry about that,” I said. “Because I won’t let you. There’s your life and there’s mine, and just because I signed up for a lifetime of misery, that doesn’t mean you should have to as well.”

  “We’re friends, Red. We’re in this together.”

  I shook my head. She could say what she wanted, but if it came to the crunch I would not let her stay here because of me.

  ***

  The early morning arrival of the old green delivery truck marked this as another Sunday. A whole week and two days had gone by since my run with Luther and, so far, I was starting to wonder if the gift he said he had for me was just more time as a virgin.

  In my time here, I’d become pretty familiar with all the sounds, the comings and goings of wolf and animal and person alike; the birds on the feeder in the garden at six in the morning, the padded sound of voices after a heavy snow, and the scraping of shovels on ice to allow cars up the driveway. But I’d never heard the delivery truck stop outside the front of the mansion.

  I threw my covers back and ran to the window just in time to see Luther take a large box from the driver and thank him, then he ducked away under the entrance and I didn’t see what he took. Something told me that might be this elusive gift I was just thinking about.

  I darted into the bathroom and pinched my cheeks, tidying my hair quickly before I leapt back out to my room and climbed into bed as if I’d never gotten up. Sure enough, Luther burst in a second later. His two henchmen stayed out in the hall and I was glad when he shut the door on their harsh faces.

  “Are you awake?” he said, but it was obvious I thought.

  I stretched sleepily and looked at him, squinting in the bright light. “Good morning.”

  “I have something for you,” he said, but before he got to tell me what it was I smelled it.

  “A puppy!” My covers flew back so fast that they came off the other side of my bed. I ran to the box and snatched it from Luther’s arms, laying it carefully on the floor. Inside, as I drew the cardboard flaps apart, a tiny, almost pathetic ball of fluff looked timidly up at me, whimpering. He had a white chest and paws, and a small dash of white on the right side of his nose, but the rest of him was a mix of beige and black, tiny hints of orange around one eye and in patches over his back. He was so small he fit in the palms of my hands, his fur wiry and scraggly, but he was so trusting.

  “I had him sent over from the shelter. He was the runt of his litter—abandoned by his mother, they say.”

  “He’s beautiful,” I said, accepting his wet kisses all over my chin and neck. He whimpered, nuzzling into me, and my heart just grew three times larger. “I love him. Thank you, Luther.”

  “You are very welcome.” He squatted down with us, but didn’t touch the puppy. He looked cute squatting, very human and more from this time. I liked him like this. “I know you’re unhappy, April, but I want you to know that I am willing to try, at least, to see that you live a good life here. And if that means putting up with a rancid smell, then so be it.”

  I smiled up at him, basking in the warmth of the little guy on my chest.

  “Just do not walk it around the manor, and if I call you to my bedchamber, be sure to shower first.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” He stood up, rubbing the grossness of a dog into his hands. “And another thing.”

  I looked up to the changed tone of voice.

  “If you think for a second that I did not see you outside in the common attire of your modern time the other day, you are wrong. This is your final warning, April.”

  “Can you call me Red please? I hate being called April.”

  “Did you just listen to a single thing I said?” he asked, a slight smile on his face.

  “Yep. Got it. No more jeans.”

  “April,” his tone commanded my attention. “This is not a joke. No more modern attire, or I will have you flogged. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As a bell.”

  “The correct response is ‘Yes, husband’.”

  “Yes, husband,” I said distractedly, giving all my attention to the adorable little puppy as he jumped from my arms, eager to explore his new world.

  “Good. See that you remember that.” Luther backed away and without prompting his goons, they opened the door for him. A larger box slid into the room then and Luther toed it. “Supplies,” he said.

  The door closed and I crawled over to inspect the box, since I couldn’t be bothered getting up to walk. My new canine friend came complete with a bowl, but no food, a brush, some dog shampoo and a towel, and a square of fake grass on a tough plastic tray thing. I studied it for a moment, reading the name on the packaging: The Doggy Doody?

  Oh. Right. I understood. I decided to put that one in the bathroom, then I took his bowl and filled it with water, placing it down by the bedroom door. The puppy followed me around the room as I worked to set things up, stumbling and tripping over his giant paws. I could tell he’d be a big dog one day, but he had a lot of growing to do until then, and I would be here to love him and squeeze him and snuggle him the whole way through. They say dogs can live for about fifteen years, and since Luther took a new bride every twenty years, I hoped this little guy would be around for at least as long as I would.

  He whined then, pawing at my bare foot. I bent down and scooped him up, my whole world brighter and warmer suddenly. “What shall we call you, huh?”

  The name Alex came to mind, but I needed to forget Alex. I’d never see him again and I didn’t want to say his name every day, and yet a big part of me wanted to honor my friendship with him and the love for my mom by using their names for my new best friend. But who would call a dog Mom? Or Mom Alex? Or Alex Mom? Or Malex?

  The puppy had a scruffy, kind of street-smart look to him. He needed a doggy type name, a kind of cute but sassy name I decided, but what?

  I held him up in the air to get a good look at him. “What’s your name, little guy? You’re not an Alex, are you? And Mom isn’t a good name for a dog. But what can I make out of Mom and Alex?” I said those two names to myself again and again until my mind put the two in the air in front of me, and split them apart like ‘Mom and Alex’, and I saw it. MoM And AleX.

  M. A. and X.

  “Max! Hey, Max.” I rolled him onto his back and cuddled him like a baby, my hand warm on his belly, like a fluffy glove. “You are the best thing that’s happened to me since I came here, Max.”

  Part Three: Chapter Five

  The Archetype of a (Not So) Bad Prince

  Katy was busy, and Max yelped every time he was more than a foot away from the fireplace, so I took to the fresh air and the morning chill alone. And because I was appreciative of Luther’s sweet gift, I decided to follow his rules today—sort of—and wore the hundred stupid layers of regency clothing, but added my warm red coat to it. I still passed as a Jane Austen character, so when I spotted Luther playfully crossing swords with a man in the garden I walked over to watch, rather than panicking and hiding behind a tree. It was about darn time I got to know my husband better. I had grand parties in mind and some semblance of a decent life to live—both of which required that my husband actually like me. There was good in Luther, after all. I’d seen it. I mean, he bought me a puppy, how bad could he be? So, I decided, it was my job to draw the good Luther out of him. It was my job to walk over and say hello.

  In the soundproof inch of snow around us, Luther’s grunts and roars as he danced back and forth with his opponent didn’t reach my ears until I stood by a park bench closer to the cleared circle around them. They made a dizzying sp
ectacle of themselves, getting all sweaty and breathing heavily, even in loose shirts gaping open at the chest. Their swords were thin and light, with elaborate gilded hilts that shielded their hands, making high pinging sounds as they connected across the divide. It was beautiful, the entire scene. One of my favorite movies, The Count of Monte Cristo, had become so because of the sword fighting, and standing here in this time hop, watching it happen live, I started to wonder if my hair might be messy or my cheeks too pink from the cold. He’d finish soon, and then he’d walk back over to where his jacket lay neatly on the bench and I’d get a chance to talk to him. To be in his presence.

  If someone had told me last month that I might one day be standing here worrying if I looked pretty enough to impress my alpha, I’d have flicked them in the ear and laughed. Suddenly, the old feelings I had for Alex held nothing in comparison to this, and I felt silly for thinking I loved him.

  Luther won the round and left his skilled opponent clutching the scrape on his arm as he walked away, a victorious grin sweeping his lips up and revealing all of his teeth. He threw his sword to the ground and started unrolling his sleeves as he approached, and I stepped back so he could get to the bench without asking me to move.

  I liked his hair that way—messed and curled with the damp of exertion—hanging in his eyes a little. It made him seem younger, maybe by a century or two.

  He stood by the bench and put on his vest and coat, not giving me so much as a glance, then he sat down and laughed once to himself, shaking his head as he relived each glorious strike in his own mind.

  “Hello,” I said, trying to decide if my hands should go in my coat pockets or by my sides, or maybe folded. I opted for propping them behind my back, then thought better and let them hang loosely by my sides.

  Luther looked up at me, a thin ray of white sun making his face bright, reminding me of his wolf form and the way the moonlight lit his fur. His dark lashes narrowed around interesting eyes, reading this moment of silence between us and converting it to thoughts, opinions maybe.

  “You are bold, girl.” He slid sideways to make room for me. “I will give you that.”

  I sat down on the very edge of the seat, my knees turned slightly to face him. “What’s so bold about saying hello to my husband?”

  “Our marriage is a formality,” he said. “I am not, by any definition, your partner in this life and therefore I do not owe you so much as a greeting. You know this.”

  Gosh, could he make it any more impossible to like him? I was starting to feel like a bi-polar bear: I like him; I don’t. I like him; I don’t. Sheesh. “Well… you say that now, but… you kind of have to be my partner in at least one thing.”

  “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  “Making babies,” I stated, raising one brow. “Unless you plan to do that alone, too.”

  He cracked a half smile and released a short puff of laughter through his nose.

  Satisfied that I’d reached him in some way, again, I sat back beside him and folded my arms, taking in the mile-high trees framing the garden and the block of ice that was once a pond.

  Luther’s hand came up in my periphery then and he pinched the sleeve of my coat. “What is this?”

  “It’s cold, Luther,” I reasoned. “I know it’s not your style, but I hate walking out here in those scanty jackets, freezing my butt off.”

  He hadn’t expected me to be so defensive, I could tell from the way he flinched and averted his eyes. “I am sorry. It did not occur to me that you would require clothes for walking in winter.”

  “Did you expect me to stay indoors all year?”

  “As all my previous wives have preferred, yes.” He nodded, smiling. “But I shall order the dressmaker to return and design something warmer, if it would please you.”

  “I’d appreciate that. And a pair of gloves.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

  “You do not have your—” he stretched his hand apart to shape my muff, as if he couldn’t think of the name. “Your muff?”

  “Those things suck.”

  Luther laughed, his sharp teeth showing in the cute half-smile. “Very well then. Gloves.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded once, satisfied. “So does that mean that I can wear my coat around until the dressmaker delivers my new warm clothes?”

  He didn’t want to say yes—given that it was against his rules—but he spat it out, reluctantly. Coldly. Which I knew was because, though he had his rules and his ways, deep down inside he was good. He had to be.

  In the awkward silence that followed, the cold vibe extended past his words and rested between us on the seat, making me feel like I should leave. I made myself stay—to fight through it to reach him. I would spend my life here with him, and I was certain we could at least be friends. Not master and property. Like with Theo. I still respected him enough to obey him—most of the time—but we could still laugh and talk and make jokes with each other.

  But to build a bridge with Luther, it wasn’t enough for me to look past the hard exterior and see how good looking he was, or how his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and how warm it made his whole face. He needed to see that in me. I needed to figure out a way to make him attracted to me, to care about me. To relate to me. And yet he was stuck in the 1800s. How could he ever relate to me?

  He did say once that he hated that world out there—that it was a cruel place. Maybe people had been unkind to him. That, I could relate to. But how would I get that message across?

  “I can feel you thinking, April,” he said, keeping his eyes on the empty trees across from us, a hint of amusement coloring his tone.

  “And what do you think I’m thinking?”

  His restrained smile tried to creep out again. He flicked his eyes sideways onto me for a split second and then allowed the smile to warm his face. “Others have tried before you. They have never been successful—for long.”

  “At what?”

  “Winning my favor.”

  Well, they weren’t me. I had ways of making him like me. I just had to… figure them out. “But why? Why won’t you let yourself love anyone? You might actually enjoy it.”

  “There is little to be enjoyed with love, April. You are mortal. I am not…”

  “And if you fall in love, you eventually lose that person.” I nodded to myself. That would certainly be enough to make me avoid love. “Well, what about being friends?”

  His eyes moved onto me again, this time lit with curiosity—the kind he obviously tried to reason away in his mind.

  “I mean, life can suck sometimes, right?” I offered. “People can suck. But what if you had one close friend that you could tell anything, and she would never judge you for it?”

  I’d reached him. Bingo! I saw the idea move in through his ears and trigger something inside of him that stretched out, connecting with me. “And what if this friend were to hate me for the things I told her?”

  “What if she made a promise not to?” I used the smile in my eyes to make them sparkle. “Ever.”

  Luther’s jaw tightened. He rolled his chin down and drew a long breath through his nose. I watched, waiting for his reply as he unfastened the gold button on his blue coat and parted it, revealing the intricate details of his nineteenth century vest and high-waisted pants. He drew out a pocket watch and checked the time, flipping the case closed and dropping it into a small pocket in his vest after.

  “It’s time for my walk.” He stood.

  I sighed despondently, regretting that missed opportunity to connect with him. It would be another lonely few days before I saw him again, I figured, and I dreaded it deeply; dreaded the loneliness and the isolation. Dreaded not progressing with my husband. Until I saw his hand, palm up.

  “Would you care for a walk, Miss Redwood?”

  I placed my small, cold hand in his and stood up cheerily. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Reave.”

  As we walked in each other’s company Luther didn’t talk about his problems, but he did stroll al
ong beside me in anticipated delight as I told him of the story worlds I’d written about in my room. He didn’t care much for the modern details of those worlds, but he liked the idea of being someplace else. And I liked that he liked that.

  “It sounds as if you might one day have made a marvelous writer,” he offered, stopping beside a bushy tree, its naked friends clothed in snowflakes beside it.

  “I still could,” I suggested carefully, and when Luther didn’t immediately reject the idea my heart leapt with hope. Until he crushed it.

  “I cannot allow that, April. I am sorry.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you are my wife, and wives do not… it is not ladylike to work.”

  Oh boy. And I thought for a moment that he could be reasonable. Maybe it would just take more time. “But you will ‘allow’ me to write as a hobby?”

  “I will,” he said with a nod, moving both hands behind his back as he stepped under the boughs and out of the lint-like snow.

  Well, I sighed to myself, it was better than nothing. For now. Small battles, right? “Would you like to read one sometime?”

  Luther looked right into my eyes then: not the Luther whose heart was broken and lost in another century, but the Luther who had never been stuck there to begin with. “I would. Very much so.”

  I smiled. He smiled too. And I liked that he smiled.

  “What?” he said, sweetly nervous as he took in my expression.

  “You have a nice smile,” I offered, heart fluttering as my eyes went to the right corner of his mouth, deeply indented to form a sort of shadowy inlet. There was personality there—maybe even a modern personality—and I wanted to know more about it.

  The smile grew, showing teeth shyly for just a moment before he tightened it again, revealing a much younger version of the alpha wolf—like maybe he really was only twenty-five. Not a few thousand years old. Or like maybe he was at college studying drama, and had a knack for seventh-century prince archetypes.

  “Well,” he said shyly, looking down at his boots for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I won’t say I haven’t been told that before, but, strangely, it has not mattered to me in years. So… thank you.”