“No. Thank you, Jolie.”
“You ’member my name, Massa?” She seemed pleased, and Leon wondered if it was because she’d never been thanked before.
“Yes, I know all of your names,” he answered easily, passing her a friendly smile. He lifted the whiskey back to his lips, and tilted the glass. As the welcomed burn moved over his tongue and into his body, he sighed. Alcohol didn’t affect werewolves unless downed in great quantities, but the woodsy taste of whiskey had always comforted him.
“Clarisse says you’s from France, from across the river, Massa?” Jolie continued.
Leon nodded. “Across a very large ocean.”
She stepped closer, moving forward in a way that made Leon tense. Just inches away, she stopped. At this distance, he could easily see that her eyes were a vivid gray with little flecks of green.
“Is you sure you don’ need nothin’ from me tonight, Massa?” Jolie repeated, and this time, he read her intent as clearly as he smelled it. Along with the faint scent of sweat and of the trace of perfume, was lust. She wanted him.
“I’m sure, Jolie,” he said firmly. While Leon was a lover of the fairer sex, and the pleasures found between their thighs, he had no intention of bedding any of the slaves, not even the tempting beauty he’d met hours ago who’d confused him. If she was were, what was she doing living as a slave on a plantation? Most of the colored werewolves avoided America, and if they chose to come, paid passage to the North.
“I only want to please you, Massa,” Jolie said softly, her eyes lowering as she hastily stepped back and turned away.
“There is something you can do.”
Jolie turned around with a large smile, and began approaching him once more.
“Penny.” She halted, and the smile disappeared. “Send Penny to me.”
She scowled, but eventually made her expression blank. “Mr. Pleasant done lock up the cabins by now, Massa.”
Leon nodded. For a few moments, he’d forgotten it was night. “Well…thank you, Jolie.” It was a dismissal, and Jolie turned to leave before she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Before the accident, Massa Thorn say Penny difficult, that she too uppity for a nigger. She not gon’ to listen to you, Massa.”
Adam Thorn had been the previous owner of the plantation. It had gone to the banks after he’d died, in heavy debt, after being thrown from his own horse during a drunken night ride. That was all Leon needed to know about Thorn to decide he disliked the man.
Curious about his connection to female slave who was also a werewolf, Leon asked, “What else did Thorn say about Penny?”
“That she no good for nothin’,” Jolie said enthusiastically, making Leon wonder how old Jolie really was. The vehemence in her voice at that proclamation made her seem much older. “Old Massa was goin’ sell her to Mr. Ryder.”
“Ryder?” Leon asked, pushing away his unreasonable rage at that statement.
Jolie nodded. “Mr. Ryder is massa to the other Big House over the river.”
So, he would be meeting this Mr. Ryder at some point, it seemed. “How old are you, Jolie?”
“Clarisse says I somewhere between sixteen and eighteen.”
With a nod, Leon lifted the glass to his lips again. “Go to sleep, Jolie.”
“You sure, Massa?” A slow smile lit her face, making her eyes sparkle. She really was beautiful, he thought in a mechanical way.
“Yes. Very sure.”
She left him to his thoughts. He’d been alive long enough to scent out his own kind, and Penny was definitely kindred. She was a wolf living the life of a slave. He didn’t know why, but he was determined to find out the reason.
***
The next day was as hot, if not hotter, than the previous one.
He’d been in Louisiana for four days, and already dreaded the heat. He’d gotten out of the stuffy traveling suit, and was back to wearing his cotton shirts and light trousers. He’d ridden into the field to oversee the overseers. Leon wanted to make sure they were heeding his new rules. They were. He watched in sympathy as slaves, especially the elderly, labored in the hot sun, picking cotton with their bare fingers. A young child carried water through the rows, offering it to them.
Unconsciously, his eyes searched out Penny. He scented her before the glare of the sun cleared enough for him to locate her. She was hunched over next to a few older women, talking and laughing with them as she went through her tasks. His ears picked up their conversation easily. They were discussing him, that he seemed different from the last master. Penny was against getting hopes up, while the older two weren’t. A little smile curved his lips when one of the women referred to his physical stature, saying that he was “a sight for bad eyes”. Penny rolled her eyes and shook her head, even as she laughed at the term.
She stood suddenly, stretching her long arms skyward and twisting her neck from one side to the other. When she opened her eyes again, they locked on his. They both froze, before she looked away hastily and went back to her tasks.
“Pretty for a nigger, ain’t she?” Pleasant asked, hacking and spitting into the grass to the side of him. It was a disgusting habit, one that made Leon want to ram his fist down Pleasant’s throat before washing his entire arm.
Instead of answering, Leon dismounted from the strapping stallion and headed into the rows of cotton, passing humans who “Massa”-ed him and got out of his way. He headed directly to her, saw her tense as she sensed his approach. When he stopped behind her, she turned slowly, lifting her head to his.
“Penny,” he began softly, aware of the dozens of eyes that watched him although they pretended otherwise. There was collective anticipation, a fear for her. “I would like a word.”
Although her eyes narrowed in suspicion, she nodded. “’Course, Massa.”
“At the house,” he clarified, when she stood there waiting for him to begin.
Thick lips thinned out, and she seemed on the verge of protesting before she dipped her head. “Yes, Massa.”
Turning on his heels, he walked back to his horse. He was reaching for her when she recoiled and stared at him as if he’d grown another hand. In that moment, he recognized his error. She was a slave, and he was her master. He could not lift her onto a horse as if she were his equal.
Leon vaulted onto the animal easily, and nudged him into a slow walk. She moved beside him. When they were out of earshot, he looked down at her and demanded, “Who are you?”
“Penny, Massa. I tell you yesterday.”
“You’re like me,” he charged.
She looked at him like he was insane before a short laugh spouted from her lips. He wanted her to do that more often, laugh. It softened her features, brought out the twinkle in her eyes. “If I’s like you, then won’t be no slaves, Massa.”
Leon inhaled deep. He’d know that scent anywhere. “How old are you, Penny?”
She tensed again, and it was a while before she answered. “Dunno. Old Ma says I’s somewhere between twenty-four and twenty-six.”
Even as he nodded, he knew that was impossible. A twenty-six year old werewolf female looked like a teenage human, and acted similarly. Such a female could be in no way as mature as the female before him. As such, Penny had to be at the very least thirty—twenty-eight, in light of her circumstances. Biology sometimes gave way to grueling circumstance.
“Were you born on the plantation?” he prodded, wondering if she were some sort of spy. Was she from the North, or from another country, like him, and trying to help the slaves? What could she do as a slave, though? Maybe protect them from cruel masters?
“Close to,” she said, lifting a hand to hide her eyes as she turned and pointed in the direction of the swamps. “Old Ma say me real Ma died tryin’ to run. Massa Thomas shoot ’er in ’er ’eart.”
It was a sad story if true, which seemed likely, yet Penny didn’t bat an eyelash or seem in any way saddened by it. She stated it factually.
“And you’ve been here since?”
&n
bsp; “Yea, Massa.”
When they arrived at the plantation, he leapt from the horse and began moving to the front. Penny stepped away from him and began walking in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?”
She stared at him in confusion. “Field slaves not allowed through the front, Massa. Got to go through back or side.”
Leon frowned at yet another ridiculous rule. “Well, I am Master here now, Penny, and I’d like you to come through the front.”
Her stare only grew more confused but she followed him into the house and along the hallway until they came to the large room, which served as both library and office. Leon opened the door for her, and now accustomed to her peculiar glances, waited for her to enter. When she did, he closed the door and turned to face her. She stared at him with a skittish look, her gaze alternating between him and the door. He smelled her fear, and didn’t like it.
“I won’t hurt you, Penny. I swear that is not my intention.” Nor would it ever be.
She swallowed and stood ramrod straight, eyeing him levelly. “Tha’s wha all massas say before they hurt us.” Her voice was quiet and factual.
Holding up a hand, he walked past her and took a seat in the high-backed chair behind the large oak desk. “You can stay over there if it makes you more comfortable. I won’t move from this seat.”
She nodded, eyeing him carefully.
Leon stared right back. She wore the same dress from yesterday, a drab gray thing that was probably stifling her in this awful heat. “Can you read or write?”
She looked even more terrified, and for the first time, he tried to enter her mind. There were no shields against him, the first sign that he dealt with an amateur, and he slipped in easily. She could. She could read, write, and knew her numbers well. She could even speak properly, although she chose not to for fear of someone finding out. Educated slaves were not only rare, but dangerous to the plantocracy. Slavery was justified as “helping” the Negroes, who couldn’t help themselves because they lacked the capacity to learn as whites did. An educated slave spat directly in the face of such theories.
“No, Massa.” Penny didn’t bat an eyelash at the lie. It rolled off her tongue as smooth as molasses. “Slaves don’ know nothin’ ’bout read an’ write.”
“Penny,” Leon began gently. “If you’re honest with me, I will be honest with you.”
She shook her head, clasping her hands over her belly. “Slaves not ’posed to know how, Massa.”
“Will you call me Leon when we are alone?” he inquired, waiting for her slight nod before continuing, “I only ask because I need someone smart to be something of an assistant.”
He didn’t really need an assistant. He wanted her in the house and away from Pleasant. There was something in the way the overseer looked at her that didn’t sit well with him. He had no doubt Pleasant lusted after her—she was a beautiful woman—but there was something else there, something mean that made his wolf bristle in anticipation of tasting the man’s blood.
“Assistant?” She asked as if the term were foreign to her. It probably was.
“Yes. I have many account ledgers, and I need someone who can read, write, and do numbers to help me.”
“Only that, Mass—Leon?” she finally asked, looking skeptical and unsure.
He nodded, barely holding back a large grin at her use of his name.
“For ’ow long?”
“Two days a week, maybe three.”
“And I gon’ still be in the fields too?”
“Would you like that?”
She nodded. He found it strange, that she wanted to stay in the fields, in the merciless sun, when given the option of working in the comfort of the house. “Yes.”
Her eyes fell to his lips as he spoke, and hidden as he was in her mind, he felt the spark that marked her budding desire for him. It confused her, and she tried to push it away, but it was still there. It made him happy that he was not alone in that sentiment, although it would not be acted on.
“I’s gon’ go back now, Mas—Leon,” she said quickly, hurrying out of the office. As she pulled in the door, he leaned back in the chair and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. He had forty-seven slaves to send north, one who was a werewolf and didn’t know, and to whom he was attracted.
Leon groaned, then sighed. He would have to make the arrangements soon.
Chapter Two
She found it hard to concentrate with him in the room.
Penny was good at numbers, had always had a head for them. Hyacinth, “Old Ma” as she was affectionately called, had taught her to read, write, and do her numbers, as she did with all slave children willing to learn. Old Ma wasn’t afraid of anyone, possibly because of her age or because she was considered a voodoo priestess, and had decided before she met her maker that she was going to share the knowledge she had with the children.
Penny blinked as the numbers on the ledger seemed to jumble into one another, and stole a peek at Leon. He sat directly before her, on the opposite side of the large desk. He was busy writing a letter, his strong, tanned fingers holding the quill secure as he neatly scratched something on the parchment before him. Her eyes moved up his hand to the thin white cotton shirt he wore, up to his neck, and finally to his face. The girls in the slave quarters liked to joke about how handsome he was “for a white man”, and while she always scoffed at them, Penny could not deny it while staring at him from such a close distance.
He had a full head of dark brown hair, which was always tussled because he ran his fingers through the thick strands frequently. His lips were thin and they looked soft; his nose was long, with a slight bump at tip that only made him more handsome. Leon chose that moment to look up and green eyes arrested hers. Of his features, she probably liked them the most. Not only for their color, a vivid forest green that darkened and lightened depending on his mood, but because she sensed many things in them. Warmth, kindness, respect. Old Ma had always told her that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and she’d always thought the white man’s soul evil, until him. Leon Arnaud was unlike any man, white or colored, she’d met before.
“Do you need something, Penny?” Leon asked. The sound of his voice, low and husky, shocked her. Hastily looking back to the numbers, she shook her head. A muffled sound touched her ear and she lifted her gaze. His expression was warm, his eyes twinkling in mirth as his lips upturned. He was finding humor at her expense!
“No, Massa.”
His grin faded, and Penny smiled. She looked back to the numbers, but within moments, found herself peeking out at him. His eyes were still trained on her, and he was grinning once more. Quickly, she looked back to the ledger.
Leon Arnaud was too much of a distraction. It would do her no good to encourage him.
***
The next week flew by quickly for Leon. He’d sent out cryptic messages in the form of slave-listings and the prices he wished for them to his contacts in the North, especially New York, and was waiting for word. He’d also advised Pleasant and Hollis to begin looking for ten more slaves. He intended to send them out in batches of ten or fewer, to avoid suspicion. As he waited, he watched the slaves, grew to understand them.
They were a strong people, perhaps among the strongest of the human race. They’d suffered much, and still their sufferings continued, yet they remained deeply affectionate to their own. When he passed the kitchen, he’d observed Clarisse singing to the two young boys who roamed the house, and he’d seen Julia and Jolie laughing and giggling while dusting the staircase. It was perhaps because they’d known no different from birth, but Leon found their resilience incredible. They were better than him.
At nights, when all was quiet, he slipped from the plantation house, moved into the deep thicket of the trees that marked the untouched parts of the plantation, and allowed his wolf free rein. Life on the plantation made him feel caged, restless, and he usually worked it off by giving his wolf freedom at nights. The run allowed him to stretch his mus
cles, keep his skills sharp, and forget briefly everything but the wind whipping through his fur and the prey he chased.
He was returning from such a run when the familiar scent of wild honeysuckle wafted under his nose. It didn’t take him long to find her. She was in a clearing hidden by clusters of trees. Like him, she was in her wolf’s body, lying on her side with her eyes closed. The slow but uneven rise and fall of her belly told him she was awake but relaxing.
Although shocked, as his theory that Penny was unaware of her heritage was shattered, Leon couldn’t help but admire her beauty in this form. She had a glossy, sable-black coat, with a pristine, white underbelly. He’d been staring at her for no more than ten seconds before her eyes snapped open, and she stood, bristling as she did so.
Leon knew she couldn’t see him. She lacked the skill. It was a weakness he’d have to address. She scanned the trees, looking for movement that would tell her what her instincts already knew. He stepped into the clearing slowly, halting when she took quick steps, head lowered, as she prepared to defend herself. Despite the fighting stance, he read the fear in her eyes and hoped she would not flee. She didn’t. Even as her terror washed over them both, she held still, lips curled away to reveal sharp fangs.
I told you that you are like me. He tried to use humor to lighten the mood, but she still seemed skittish.
She didn’t respond for long moments. Instead, she took a step back, before taking two cautious steps forward. Shock radiated from her being. I thought I was the only one with this curse.
He nodded, pleased she spoke, as he knew she could. So Penny knew she was a were, but thought it a curse. Leon knew many who would take affront at that thought.
It’s no curse, Penny, and there are many more like us.
Her body, which had lost some of its tension, seized up once more. Her lip curled up revealing sharp, gleaming white teeth. Who are you? Why are you here?
Colorblind (Moonlight) Page 2
