“Theo, he is a horrible man. He has done unspeakable things. I know it’s dangerous for you to even risk disloyalty, but just ask around. Just put it out there. You might have a few more supporters than you think.”
“Supporters? Supporters of what, exactly?”
“A coup.”
“A hostile takeover?” He backed away from me in one broad step as though I was diseased. “Are you mad?”
“What else can be done? I—”
“Red, this ends here.” He wiped the air clean with one hand. “I only told you this to make you aware—so you weren’t fighting some son of a god in your mind, but rather a very old and jaded man. Fight him with wit and will, girl. Not a sword.”
I shook my head. “He needs to be stopped—”
“Then reason with him!” He grabbed my arms and shook me. “He is my father. He is the only family I have left.”
“And what about all the families he’s torn apart—and for what? More sons, when he has a perfectly good and loyal one right here.”
Theo let go of me, closing his eyes as he turned away.
“Just think about it, Theo,” I said, but he shook his head and left through the front door. A cold winter chill moved in and blew the edges of the tasseled parchment on the wall, and I looked up at the modern family crest above a coat of arms: a lone wolf howling at the moon. A statement, I was certain, that Luther was the alpha; the one and only, the remarkable and godly son of Carne. But I saw it for what it was: a lonely wolf crying for help. Yet there was no one to help. Everyone he loved was dead, and anyone that loved him would soon enough see his true face and betray him as Anora had done. I’d make sure of that. With or without Theo’s help.
Part Three: Chapter Ten
Death and All His Friends
Luther returned, bringing with him an invitation to dinner. And with that came a spear of worry. Tonight he would ask me to his chamber, and our union would be complete. But I needed more time. Only three days had passed since I spoke with Theo, and I still hadn’t come up with a plan. Worse still, Katy was nowhere to be seen this afternoon, so I couldn’t ask for advice; and since it wasn’t Sunday, I couldn’t run to the green truck and escape. I had to face it: I would dine with Luther tonight, and after I would return to his chamber.
Knowing this, even though my hands were shaking, I dressed well in a lilac silk gown and fastened the silver dagger around my neck. It was my only hope. Luther was not a god, which meant he could be killed, and it didn’t go over my head the fact that there was no silver anywhere here in this mansion. I was certain he was allergic to silver, and I’d have tested the theory on Theo if he’d been around—on a small, unnoticeable patch of skin. Despite not knowing for sure if silver would kill him, I had to try. I would never give myself to Luther now, but I was smart enough to know that he would not tolerate defiance from his property. It was commit, or die. Was I scared? Heck yes! Would I take this lying down? Only over my dead body.
When I met Luther in the Great Hall and took his hand, painting on a smile, my heart went around the room to all the portraits of the past wives, gathering support. I had to believe each one was watching over us tonight, on my side. I knew Anora would be, and so she, with her portrait overlooking the room, became my icon of hope and strength.
Luther looked as gorgeous as ever; his hair brushed back, a five o’clock shadow grown in wildly over his jaw, making him beastly and sexy in a way I’d never noticed before. It was almost a shame to kill him. If only he was as pretty on the inside as he was on the outside. I tried to push back memories of him fencing and smiling as I plotted out hurriedly, frantically how this tiny silver dagger would kill him.
“It is lovely to see you, Red.”
The informal name caught me off-guard. I played it cool though, sitting down when he pulled out my chair. “You’ve been gone for a while,” I said, by way of asking where he’d been.
“I had business to attend to a few counties over.”
I nodded, laying my napkin in my lap. Luther sat at the opposite end of the table to me—fifty seats away—instead of the place set out beside me. I rolled my hand out to it, projecting my voice down the room. “Are we expecting company?”
“My son will be joining us.”
Thank Carne! “Where is he?”
“Late.” His voice echoed all the way down to me. “He had a matter to attend to for me earlier, and I believe the mess it left took some time to clean up.”
“Mess?”
Luther smiled reassuringly, laying his napkin in his lap. “Nothing to worry about, Red.”
My worried gaze shifted to the largest portrait in the room, taking cues from her. Anora didn’t look at all worried, so I mimicked her face, my heart thumping with eagerness to get this dinner over with, get back to his chamber, and stab him. If he didn’t die, I’d be as royally screwed as a wing-nut. Maybe even dead. But so be it. If I went out trying to take the most vile beast known to man off this earth, then it was a noble death. And if it did nothing more than inspire a coup, it would be a worthy outcome. If it did nothing at all, then the journal I left hidden in my room would hopefully inspire future wives to fight for freedom.
Luther said nothing as the slaves moved about the room serving our dinner. I knew some of them, had seen them plenty of times, but tonight they looked as if they’d seen a ghost, their hands shaking as they served soup.
I pushed the disconcertion aside and started in on my food. After all, I’d never dined with Luther. Maybe the slaves were always like this in his presence. Either that or they were forced to poison my food and I’d be dead any second now. But that wasn’t Luther’s style. He’d be more likely to serve Max up to me first. Thankfully, my beautiful little guy was sleeping safely on my bed.
“How is your soup?” Luther asked.
“Good,” I said, not meaning to sound so icy.
“I have news for you.”
“Mm?”
“Tonight, we will make a son.”
I rolled my eyes to a close for a moment to compose myself, fighting the urge to give him a biology lecture. “And how do you know that?” I said casually. “It might be a girl.”
“The runes have foreseen it. The time is right. Provided you lay with intention to bear a son.”
“Right, so my thoughts will determine the outcome?” I said sarcastically. “And science has nothing to do with it?”
“Whether a woman has sons or not has nothing to do with science, April. It is magic,” he demanded, his oration stilted with conceit. “A child conceived under the full moon, in the right conditions, will be born a boy. If it is not, it is because the mother did not want it.”
“So what you’re telling me is you’ve found yet another way to blame women for everything?” I put on a hatful of sass as I said that. “Adam ate the damn apple too, Luther!”
“What on earth are you talking about, woman?”
“Facts.” I hit the table with my index finger. “Cold, hard facts. I got an A in biology. The moon and the woman’s intentions have nothing to do with the gender of a baby. And anyone that thinks so is grossly undereducated.” Grossly? Wow, all those century-old books were rubbing off on my vocabulary.
Luther was either lost for words or preparing a counterattack, so I headed him off with a massive probe.
“What happens to the girls?” I said.
“Pardon?”
“They don’t become soldiers. They aren’t ever seen. What happens to them?”
I could tell from his face that he didn’t want to answer, but the gate had been swung wide open. If he were to keep me here, willingly, he had to say something.
He put his fork down and cleared his throat. “They become ravens.”
“What?”
“Deep in their ancestral blood, there is the blood of a shifter—from human form to raven. They turn at eight days old, and they do not turn back.”
I knew where that raven blood came from, but he made it sound like it was a
natural occurrence when he used the word ‘shifter’. So I played dumb. “What do you mean? How?”
“My wife was the daughter of a great king. Known as The Raven for his ability to transform into one.”
Which was a lie. Another big fat lie to make himself and his spawn look like gods. His wife could become a raven because she used raven blood in her spell. She was no ‘shifter’.
“And, as such,” he continued, “all my daughters transform unwillingly into ravens.”
My bones flooded with lead. Considering how many ravens we had around here, there could actually be some truth to that. But what about the sacrifices? And what about Anne’s daughter? Would that happen to her?
“The wife that escaped?” I started, treading on dangerous ground. “They say she took her daughter—”
“Yes, and without me there to give that child the kindness of death, it will be left to live its life as a black winged creature.”
My heart broke for Anne, but it made sense: that’s why he only let her have a week with the baby. Was he sacrificing them, as Theo thought, or was he showing mercy? “You kill them—all of them?”
“Not until after they turn.”
“But how do you know they can’t turn back?”
“They are cursed, April—with my first wife’s blood and the sins of her heart. They will walk this earth for the rest of their days as a miserable omen, whether they can turn back or not.”
“And the boys?” I said. “Do you kill them too, when they turn into wolves?”
He cleared his throat. “They do not turn into wolves until their sixteenth year.”
I bit my tongue, a rush of rage away from telling him what I knew: what I had seen in that tomb. But this had to be played cool. I had to end this tonight. And yet I couldn’t get Anne and little Red out of my thoughts. The baby would have turned by now. Anne must have been so scared. And what happened to her after that? Did she die? Did she turn back?
I would never know. Anne had run far away from here, never to be seen again.
We sat in total silence then as the slaves cleared our starters and served steak. I ate quietly, consumed by my own thoughts until, as I soaked up the last dredges of the creamy sauce and swallowed it down, Luther broke that silence.
“How is your steak, by the way?” He held up his fork, making a point then of putting a large bleeding glob of it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. I liked my meat rare, but not that rare.
“It’s um… delicious,” I said, nodding to my empty plate.
“The chef cooked it especially for you,” he said in a lilting voice. “He even named it after someone very dear to you.”
“Oh?” I said as a prompt to make his point already.
“Yes.” He sipped his red wine casually, holding his glass up with the kind of grin that should accompany a singular gleaming tooth. “He called it Steak à la Katy.”
My throat tightened. I dropped my fork hard on the china plate, the clank reverberating throughout the room.
“I know you helped Anne escape, April. And if you’re wondering how far I will go for revenge, if your mind hinted on the idea of cannibalism, you are spot on my dear; now eat up.” He motioned for a slave to slop another serve of Katy onto my plate.
I looked at the undercooked meat, trying to make sense of what he just said. Katy had been gone all afternoon. I thought she was kept busy preparing for the dinner tonight. I could never have imagined…
I tugged at my corset, trying to loosen its grasp. It was too tight, stopping my lungs from expanding. I wanted to get up, but the heavy chair caught on the rug and I couldn’t stand.
“Sit down,” he demanded.
I sat, taking deep, hurried breaths as the weight of her dead body tried to inch its way up my throat, hot and sour and tight.
“Eat!”
I looked at him coldly, biting my lip to force back the raging grief. “You can’t make me eat this.”
He just smiled into his glass. “Then it will be served to you for breakfast, and lunch, and every meal following until you are starving enough to eat it.”
My lip trembled, seeing Katy’s generous smile and the way she loved Theo dance around in my memory. How could anyone destroy something so beautiful? Everything about her was sweet; everything about their love was perfect. My heart broke for the pure unadulterated sadness of it all. “Does Theo know?”
“Know what, exactly?”
“That you killed Katy?”
“Now why would my son care what happens to a slave?” He put his glass down, but before it touched the table something must have clicked. Something he’d seen or heard, and it flooded him with rage. The fury was only visible in the changing color of his head. He bottled it up skillfully, displaying an ultimate, scary kind of calm instead.
“Mr. French?” he said docilely.
The butler appeared at his side.
“Has my son returned yet?”
“He has, Your Lordship.”
“Bring him to the drawing room. Have him wait until I’m finished with my wife,” he said, casting a cold look my way, one that creeped and crawled with bad intentions.
“Very good, Lordship.” Mr. French bowed and backed away, and Luther stood, unfastening his cravat.
“Leave us!” he demanded.
I wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but when he repeated it, louder, the men on the exits and a few slaves clearing food fled the room. I leaned back in my chair, racing blood carrying adrenaline, and watched with wide eyes as he slowly, calculatedly walked the length of the table, removing his vest and coat.
“What are you doing?” I asked, losing control of my voice.
He turned my chair out and cupped the arms, leaning right into me. “Consummating our vows.”
“No,” I said, my voice coming out steadily through caged teeth. He expected me to submit. He would use his experience with me—in my room, when he tortured Max—as a measurement for how I’d react to violence. But he was wrong. I’d learned from that, and I would never resort to flight mode ever again.
I screamed involuntarily as he ripped me from the chair and threw me toward the table, my arms and chin hitting several dishes and knocking food all over the floor. Sauce and wine soaked straight through the pink silk and muddied my skin, a few shards of broken glass cutting my forearm. I swiveled around and slipped out from under him, dashing for the door as it slammed into place behind the last servant.
“It is no good,” he called in a relaxed voice, picking up my wine glass to refill it. “They are locked. As are the windows.”
I looked at the windows, high and thick, pressing my back to the door as I calculated my chances of survival in here versus jumping out there.
“You are not the first wife I’ve had to take in this manner.” He put the glass down and took off his shirt, revealing the full impact his inner wolf had on his human form. “And you will surely not be the last.”
“Stay away from me,” I warned. “I said no. If you touch me now, that’s rape!”
“It is not rape. You are my property and I have every right—”
“I am no one’s property!”
Luther just laughed, standing tall as though he was showing off his hairy, muscled chest—as if I was supposed to be impressed. I wanted to throw up. Nothing about him would ever impress me again.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he added, walking toward me, “if you do not fight me, I will let your mother live. Do you submit?”
“Over my dead body,” I said through my teeth.
“That can be arranged, Miss Redwood. You would certainly not be the first corpse I’d—”
“I’m warning you!” I yelled as he got closer, clutching my silver necklace.
It didn’t deter him. He stalked over to me with a sickly look in his eye, and I just wanted to punch him in the throat. I could see it. I could see every sick thing he’d done to these women in the past and the horrible thing he did to Katy. I hated him for it. I hated him fo
r taking me away from my family and for killing all of his daughters. It was a pure hate—like nothing I’d ever felt before.
As he stood in front of me, everything slowed down. I saw his hand reach for me, his hip swing forward as he mapped out how he’d sleazily press it against me. Reflexively, I knocked his hand away. As it flung back, throwing him off, my fist shot up and it was in his throat before I’d fully committed to the punch. There was no turning back now. The plan to kill him had become necessity. Here and now, or never.
My fist only winded him slightly, even though it nearly broke my hand, giving rise to a raw kind of anger that drank the last vestiges of kindness in his eyes and bled out a lifetime of hatred. It was the ultimate betrayal—a disobedient wife—and if I didn’t make my next hit count, he would discipline me to within an inch of my life.
I lifted my hand to hit him again, but he caught it and shoved it downward, my entire body sweeping around uncontrollably until I landed on my hands and knees. The thump jarred me for a moment, so I didn’t notice him grab my arm until I was on my back, crying out as his knee pushed down hard on my stomach.
“You think me a villain, April,” he spat, his face bright red, foaming around his mouth. A squeal of agony ripped around the room as he bent my hand back, leaning closer, his weight forcing my backbones into the hard ground. “You take what you hear and you make assumptions about me, but did you ever consider for one moment that I’m not the bad guy? Did you ever think that maybe you’re the villain in my story?”
It was so ludicrous that it called on enough new anger to black out the pain. “I’m the villain. And yet you’re the one on top of me right now, trying to hurt me.”
“Hurt you?” he said, incredulous. “Hurt you? You’re the one that hurt me, April.”
I stopped fighting for a moment and actually looked at him, seeing past the rage and the spit to the tears in his eyes.
“You came in to my life and changed what I felt—changed how I saw the world, and opened me up to another century of suffering should you die. And then you betrayed me.” His voice trembled with hurt. “You broke my trust and, with it, you broke my damn heart.”
Red: The Untold Story Page 22
