by Nhys Glover
They sat across the table from their hosts and the Scot poured water into cut glass goblets for them. Juan’s mask fell away for a moment as he downed the whole glass of clean, clear water in a few thirsty gulps. Wordlessly, the glass was refilled, and this time it was consumed more slowly.
Charlie’s hunger evaporated at the signs of Juan’s obvious distress. It was too easy to forget what horror he’d experienced so recently. Picking at the food Juan had served her, she watched him closely as he began to devour his meal as elegantly as his hunger would allow.
‘You are, of course, wondering what has happened to you. Not just since you arrived here, but since this whole nightmare started,’ the Scot said.
Juan nodded silently. She realised that he hadn’t said a word to anyone but her since she met him.
‘Let me first make the introductions. This is Mr Byron Carstairs and I am Mr William Mc Manners, his… assistant. ‘
Juan nodded in acknowledgement of the introductions and then, after emptying his mouth gave introductions of his own. ‘I am Juan Hernando Alvares and this is my …’ He paused briefly before finishing the lie. ‘… my wife Senora Charlotte Alvarez.’
‘Senor, Senora, we are pleased to make your acquaintance. Although finding your wife in the hospital ambulance was rather unexpected.’
‘I slipped into the vehicle outside the Old Bailey. I did not know where you were taking Juan.’
‘You are lucky you chose the right vehicle. You could have been in quite a predicament had you not.’
Juan frowned and nodded his agreement. She smiled weakly and looked down at her food.
‘Our first question to you, Senor, is this: Did you sustain an injury during the attack? Was you skin broken?’ The austere gentleman sitting next to the Scot spoke for the first time.
He was a big, dark haired man like his companion. However, where the Scot had a wild, dangerous edge to him, Carstairs was more the well-breed Englishman, for all his features looked to have been carved from granite.
Juan frowned between hungry mouthfuls and looked at Carstairs as if he were mad.
‘I am not sure. I had injuries when I awoke, but they could have come from the manhandling I received from the constabulary.’
‘You cannot remember being bitten or clawed?’ Carstairs asked more intently.
It was then that Charlie started to believe Juan’s description of what had happened that night. And from the expression of cautious hope she saw on his face, she thought Juan was also starting to wonder if his monster might not be wholly the product of his insanity.
‘I tried to drag the beast from the man and it turned and snapped at me. I am not sure if its teeth caught me or not. Then I slipped on blood and hit my head. That is all I remember.’
Carstairs and Mc Manners exchanged looks.
‘We will need to quarantine you for the next week to ascertain whether you were infected or not,’ Carstairs announced.
‘Infected by what? What was that monster I saw that night? You have to tell me. I have been going mad wondering whether what I saw was real.’
‘It was certainly real, Senor Alvarez. You had the unhappy misfortune of coming into contact with a werewolf.’
Chapter Three
Charlie began to laugh. She had been convinced of their sincerity up until then. But with the word ‘werewolf’, she realised they were simply playing some outrageous joke on them. The part of her that wasn’t laughing was feeling offended for Juan. This was not a joking matter to him. It was criminal that they would perpetrate such a hoax on him after all he’d been through.
Charlie turned to look at Juan, the man who had become so important to her in such a short time. She hoped he would see their explanation as an insensitive joke rather than a cruel insult.
Juan was not laughing.
‘Senora, I am not joking. What your husband came in contact with was a werewolf. And if he was in any way injured by that creature he will have been infected by the lycanthropic contagion. This is why he must be quarantined,’ Carstairs said slowly, as if speaking to an annoying child.
‘Do not be absurd, werewolves are fiction, like vampires. They do not wander the streets of London, or anywhere else for that matter, attacking defenceless people,’ she stated angrily, rising to her feet. She didn’t know where she was going, but she didn’t want to stay in this room, listening to this nonsense a moment longer.
‘Charlie, please sit down,’ Juan’s voice was quiet, but his words stilled her.
‘Juan, do not listen to them. This is some kind of hoax. We must leave here at once.’
‘No, Charlie, this is no hoax. I saw the creature with my own eyes. Now I know its name.’
Charlie sat down heavily and leaned over to place her head on Juan’s shoulder. She wasn’t sure if she was seeking comfort from him or giving it. His arm came around her, drawing her closer.
‘It will be all right, Charlie. It will be all right.’
‘No, it will not. Not if you were infected. I have read stories of werewolves. If you are attacked, you become one of them. You cannot be a werewolf, Juan, you cannot!’
‘I think you might need to go to your room, Senora, while we discuss the details of the quarantine with your husband,’ Carstairs said gently.
‘No, I need to hear this.’
‘Charlie, you do not need to hear this. It is not your concern.’
She felt as if he’d hit her. In one short sentence he’d clarified her position for her. Charlie was not really his wife; she was a stranger who was trying to pass herself off as his wife out of some crazy, misguided sense of connection. He didn’t want her to continue having any part in this.
‘No. You are right, of course. I will go now. Take a hansom back into London,’ she managed to get out as her lungs emptied of air.
‘It would be better if you took time to think things through, Senora,’ Carstairs said in that same slightly patronising tone. ‘There are issues of confidentiality to be considered. You cannot tell anyone about what we have told you.’
‘Tell anyone? Oh, I certainly will not be telling anyone. If I did, it would be me that was locked up in a lunatic asylum. But then, after the way I have behaved today, maybe that is where I belong.’ She tried to catch the sob before it broke free, but it escaped nonetheless, and she began desperately searched her reticule for a handkerchief.
I am not going to cry. I am NOT going to cry!
‘Charlie, please just go upstairs for a little while. I will come up soon. I promise you.’
She lifted her gaze from her purse and met his. Juan’s brown eyes were filled with gentle understanding. That look made her feel even worse than she already did. He was the one in trouble and yet she was the one performing like the heroine in a melodrama. Juan deserved her support not the added burden of her histrionics. This was no concern of hers! She wasn’t really his wife; she wasn’t anything to him but a woman who had forced her way into his nightmare.
Jumping to her feet, she dashed from the room and made for the sanctuary of the stranger’s bedroom on the floor above.
‘Charlie?’ his beautiful voice stroked her senses, waking her from the doze she had fallen into on the bed. He had been gone some time.
‘Charlie? Are you all right?’ She hated to hear the sad concern in his voice. She opened her eyes and nodded.
‘Poor senorita, it has all been such a shock to you.’
‘Did you tell them why it was none of my concern?’ she said with a sniffle.
‘Do you mean did I compromise you by telling them we were not married? No, I would not do that to you, Charlie.’
‘You must think me a silly little idiot to have started all of this. Maybe you think I am a lunatic. My behaviour certainly supports such a conclusion.’
Juan took her hand, which was no longer covered by a glove and kissed each finger in turn. It was the most intimate thing that anyone had ever done to her. Something strange started to happen between her legs and she clam
ped her thighs together, fighting the delicious weakness that was overtaking her.
‘I think you are an impulsive, kind-hearted young lady who takes far too many risks for her own good. But I am grateful those risks were taken for me. When I kissed you earlier, it was because I had convinced myself that I was delirious and that you were not real. I thought that the image of the beautiful blonde woman I had obsessed over in the courtroom had become twisted up in my crazy head. Become part of my delirium. Do you know that your green eyes are unlike any I have ever seen before? Like spring leaves. Truly lovely.’
He stroked her hair back from her face. Charlie couldn’t believe how much that simple gesture touched her.
‘I am not part of any delirium.’
‘No, you are not.’ He leaned down and brushed her lips with his own. ‘You are very real, just as all this is very real. That is why you have to go. I have to do this quarantine in the north. I have to find out if I am to become a werewolf or not. If I was not infected, I will come to you and we will do this properly, you and I. I will court you properly, if you will have me. I come from a good family and I have sufficient wealth to support you. Your father will approve, as long as he does not recognise me as his client.’
‘And if you are infected?’ She didn’t want to ask the question. It was too horrible to contemplate.
‘Then you will never hear from me again. But Charlie, I will be all right. This place, this Breckenhill Keep, it is not a mad house. It is a community where people with the condition live happy, worthwhile lives. I lost that sense of community when I left the priesthood. I will do well enough back in that environment again.’
‘Priesthood? You were a priest?’ For a moment she was distracted from the point of their discussion, but quickly returned to the subject.
‘How do you know? How do you know any of this is true?’ she demanded softly.
‘How did you know that you had to come to me? You just knew. That is how I know that these people are legitimate. That what they have told me is true. I knew it from the moment they gave a name to the monster.’
‘How do you know they will not put you down, if it turns out you are a … werewolf?’
‘The Scot tells me he is a werewolf. He has been since he was turned six years ago. He looks well treated, does he not?’ Juan laughed a little at his joke.
‘You want me to go home and wait for a week or more to see if you come back to me?’ she asked, rising up onto her elbows as she felt the stubborn resistance settle over her. She couldn’t just go home and act as if nothing had happened. She just couldn’t. How could he expect that of her?
‘Yes, beautiful Charlie, that is exactly what I want you to do. Will you do that for me, please? It is the greatest gift you can give me right now: to know that you are safely away from all this.’
‘I will not give you up. If you do not come back to me I will go to Yorkshire and find this Breckenhill Keep.’
Juan drew her up to him, so her head rested on his shoulder as he stroked her dishevelled hair. The feeling of helpless loss was overpowering. He was saying goodbye. It was in the feel of his hands, the tightness of his chest beneath her head. Even his breathing caught, as if he was holding back intense emotion.
‘I think you are going to be a headstrong wife,’ he said, with a little laugh. She felt him kiss the top of her head.
‘The Spanish do not like independent women, do they?’ She ran her hand along the silk of his shirt. They had certainly not spared any expense with the clothing they had provided for him.
‘You need not worry, I like independent women. And I would not expect you to leave your homeland to be with me.’
‘What do you do for a living? Did you say you were a priest?’ Her fingers found their way between the edges of the shirt to the flesh beneath. She knew he was aware of her touch, because he caught his breath as her fingertips found smooth skin.
‘I was a priest. As the youngest of three sons, I was directed into that vocation at an early age. For many years I was content with my lot. The contemplative life suited me and it gave me the opportunity to develop my gift. But I left the priesthood two years ago. I have made my living from my gift since then. My voice.’
She undid a button so her hand could fully slide into the warmth beneath. ‘Your voice?’
‘Yes, I am a tenor.’ His voice had taken on that husky gravel she liked so much. ‘I sing Opera at the Dramatic Philharmonic Lyceum in Barcelona. I was in London to explore the possibility of moving to Covent Garden when I met my fate.’
Her hands stilled as she considered his profession. It would be terrible if the world was denied his voice because of what had happened in that laneway. She had never heard Opera, but she admired anyone who took music seriously.
‘That sounds like a wonderful vocation.’
‘It should be wonderful. I used to love to sing. It was the times when my heart truly took wing. But even performing in front of large audiences, receiving accolades, all of it has felt… hollow. Singing no longer lifts my heart. Until my eyes saw you, nothing had lifted my heart from the pit into which it had sunk two long years ago. In many ways that prison cell was simply a physical manifestation of the hell I had lived in since losing my faith.’
Juan placed his hand on hers where it lay against his chest and encouraged her to keep exploring his skin. When she understood his unspoken request, she smiled against his shoulder and started to let her hand explore more confidently.
‘Why did you leave the priesthood?’ She popped another button so that she could move lower. His breath was ragged beneath her ear and she liked the feel of the scattered, crisp chest-hairs beneath her palm.
‘Querida, you should stop,’ he said huskily, but made no move to restrain her. She popped another button, higher up this time, so that she could kiss the smooth skin her hands explored. He groaned, combing his fingers through golden locks that had finally fallen completely free of their sober chignon.
‘Why did you leave the priesthood, Juan? How did you lose your faith?’
She kissed his warm skin that smelled so good. It was hard to imagine that only a few hours ago he had been ragged and filthy, a man whose humanity had been stolen from him, destined for a mad house. That no one but she had seen what lay beneath the filth, amazed her. That no one had seen this beautiful, gentle, and special man beneath the blood and rags stunned her.
But she feared for him. Feared for them both. Because, if she were to lose him now, she didn’t know how she would continue to live. It would be like she had lost her faith.
How is it possible to fall in love so quickly and so intensely?
‘One day I came upon a vile scene. It was beyond my comprehension to imagine a priest doing what I saw. I reported it immediately, and the priest was sent away. But no punishment was assigned him. It was brushed under the carpet as if it had never happened. That poor child was expected to act as if nothing had happened…
‘I realised then that if there was a God, He would not permit one of his priests to commit such an abomination. Nor would He allow that abomination to be ignored or go unpunished. So, God either does not exist or He is an uncaring monster. I could not serve the latter and there would be no purpose in serving the former.’ His voice was flat and emotionless, as if this was well-worn territory that he had no desire to traverse again.
She slid her mouth higher until she found the spot where his neck joined his shoulder. He was so thin his bones were small hills over which her lips needed to climb.
The place between her legs had become an aching hollow. ‘I am sorry men let you down. It might be that God, in His Infinite Wisdom, allows men free will, even his priests. I remember hearing something like that at school.’
‘Enough talk of God, Querida. I cannot concentrate while you are… touching me like this.’
He dropped his head down to claim her lips with his own. For Charlie, it felt like coming home. His mouth felt so familiar now, so natural. When his tongue soug
ht hers, she welcomed it, feeling the excitement growing inside her, the ache becoming delicious.
The sense of desperation was back. He took her mouth as he drank the water at the table, like a man deprived, craving, unable to quench the thirst that consumed him.
‘Querida,’ he groaned, ‘I burn for you.’
His mouth made hungry trails down her neck, biting gently into the sensitive juncture where it met her shoulder. She arched her neck to give him access. He pulled her hair away from her throat and deepened the kiss so that she felt delicious pain. His soft curls stroked the side of her face and her neck, driving her on.
‘Juan, I do not want you to leave me.’ She didn’t know where the words came from, but she meant them with all her heart. This was all so fresh, so intense. She didn’t want to lose him now, not yet, not so soon. He had to be all right. He had to be.
‘I do not want to lose you, either,’ he moaned into her neck as his hands found their way beneath her blouse and smalls, as hers had slipped beneath his shirt, and curved around one soft, upthrust breast. She gasped and moaned at the touch.
‘I have to stop,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I cannot treat you this way…’ He slowly began to remove his hand from her breast and she shook her head, not wanting this to finish yet; loving what he was doing to her and what he was making her feel.
‘Do not stop, Juan. Please, do not stop.’
He jerked her blouse out from her skirt and unbuttoned it hastily. His fingers were clumsy and he swore softly when he could not manage the little pearls.
‘Mierda! I cannot do this, my hands shake,’ he swore in frustration, pulling away to run his hands through his hair.
Unafraid, Charlie quickly raced down the tiny buttons, undoing each until her blouse could be pulled apart to reveal the corset that pushed up her lawn-covered breasts, high and proud.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he moaned as he reached out to push the cotton from her breasts. Charlie had never been looked at with such devotion and awe before. She had never been touched so intimately, or in such a way that made her feel as if she was a precious treasure Juan couldn’t believe was his. She had never considered her small breasts worthy of such wonder. But, as the sensation between her legs grew stronger and more incessant, she gripped his hands over her breasts, confident for the first time in their power to bring this man to his knees.
