by Lola Gabriel
“Have you ever heard of the princes in the tower?”
“The tower of London?” Claudia asked, a little nonplussed.
“Yeah, heirs to an ancient throne…or something,” Cayden replied, still looking. “Apparently, we got them out! And the whole city key keeper thing was part of the reward.”
When Cayden was concentrating, he looked like a small boy doing math homework. His mouth was ever so slightly open, his eyes so very concentrated they looked vague and unfocused.
Claudia wanted to kiss him. Instead, she turned to the wall on her side of the tunnel.
“Cay,” Claudia called, and Cayden made an irritated I’m busy sort of a noise. “Cay,” she tried again, “would they look anything like this?”
Again, Cayden sounded irritated. “They’re quite specific, you’ll mess up my rhythm,” he said, and turned to her, followed her finger to two long, faint scratches that ended in kind of a zigzag.
“Well, shit!” Cayden said, “That is them!” And, seemingly quite on a whim, Cayden stepped forward happily and kissed Claudia on the side of the head. Then, as suddenly as he had shown affection, he stepped back, stiffened up. “Sorry.” He put the tips of two fingers into the old claw marks. There was the sound of stone on stone, and a new kind of light began shining into their tunnel. Cayden moved his fingers and stepped back, almost bashing into Claudia. As he did so, he came so close that she couldn’t help but grab his hand.
“Claudia,” he began, stiffening, but she just squeezed, pushing their knuckles together. He didn’t make more of an effort to pull away.
When the doorway, or whatever it was, was fully open, there was a set of curving stairs visible. Cayden walked forward, his hand falling from hers, and mounted them. She followed. She wanted to ask him what was going on, was about to, when suddenly there was a clanking of metal on metal from the steps above. Cayden jumped visibly when a suit of armor came into view.
“What the—”
The visor was lifted by an equally metal-coated hand. “Forgive me,” came Matherson’s voice, muffled, from within, “but I wanted to be the first to greet the enemy if that’s what indeed was coming up from the tunnels.”
Cayden shook his head. He had one hand on the rail and looked stiff and tense. Claudia came up a couple of steps to stand beside him. “Just us,” she said. “Nice armor, sir, is it original?”
Matherson tried to look down, but was, of course, hindered by his get-up. But he wasn’t embarrassed. Didn’t really seem like the embarrassment type. “It is,” he said, “good eye,” and then he about-turned and called over his shoulder, “Hop to it, follow me, and we must be sure the entrance is secured behind us!”
He was trying his best to move at pace, but the clank, clank, clank of his armor added to the bow-legged way it was forcing him to walk were utterly hilarious and also slowed him down a lot. Claudia put a hand on Cayden’s arm to tell him not to stay behind and to let Matherson have this time as rescuer. He looked at her with an understanding she hadn’t expected.
At the top of the stairs, Matherson paused. “Hurry, now, slowpokes!” he called to them, a couple of steps down.
“Sorry,” Claudia said, “steep stairs, don’t know how you do it in all that metal.”
Matherson held up a silver pointer finger. “Regular training!” he declared. “Really, it should be compulsory to all.” And then, after a few tries, he hit a series of stones in the wall at the top of the stairs they had just climbed, leaving only smooth flags as the flooring of the giant, cold hallway.
“My wife is in the great hall,” Matherson announced, as though they were normal guests coming over for…well, a banquet, she supposed. He had said great hall after all.
“I will accompany you there, and then I’ll be back to my post.”
Again, they followed the clanking man down a few corridors, and it was only when they had reached an ornately carved set of double doors, propped open, which led to a grand vaulted room, that Claudia thought to ask, “Wait… how did they know we were—”
As soon as they were in the great hall, Matherson about-turned and said, “Cayden, you are my alpha. I hope you know that I intend to defend you to the death if I must.” And he put a hand out to lay it on the taller man’s shoulder. Cayden winced slightly.
“Thank you, Matherson.”
“And I know you will join me in battle as soon as you can!” Matherson finished. And with that, he turned and clink-clanked off.
“What was…” Claudia looked up at Cayden with wide eyes. But, quite suddenly, Gertrude Matherson stepped out of the shadowy hearth to the left, where she seemed to have been waiting.
“Very sorry,” she said, and she was genuinely either blushing slightly or pink-cheeked from the fire crackling away close to her. “There are a few undesirables outside. My husband went to face them, as he does sometimes, even with tourists, but this time he was right, they were up to no good. Started raving about you, dear Claudia, and how they knew we were keeping you safe. I must say, he wasn’t pleasant at dinner last night, but I didn’t expect this. And your housekeeper, dear Cayden, she’s out there too. She doesn’t look hurt, but they have her bound. They’re outside the walls, by the river—”
“Oh!” Claudia said, and she snapped her fingers and grinned an inappropriate grin. “We’re inside the Tower of London! Cool!”
Gertrude’s eyes flickered to Claudia. “Naturally,” she said. Cayden tried his best to cover a laugh. That was inappropriate too.
“Thank you so much for having us,” Claudia added. “Gertrude, really, you’re a savior. We’ll get them away from…” She had switched back to her pleasant society-girl mode. But she stopped, her face clouded with something. “What do you mean, at dinner? Who was at dinner? Your husband wasn’t rude, so who was ru—”
Gertrude put a hand to her chest, an Elizabethan air of surprise overtaking her. “Well,” she said, “the one in the loud shirt. You know, the one that left after we did. He’s rather new money, but his father is in the masons or—”
And, in comedy-duo fashion, both Cayden and Claudia at just the same moment shouted, “Brice!”
Gertrude nodded. “I believe so,” she said. “Was there a drinking mishap after my husband and I left? Is this a game gone wrong?”
Cayden was visibly annoyed.
“I knew Brice was no good. I only invited him because of his damn father. I’m going to—”
But then, Claudia’s hand moved to his back. He was hot, as if the anger were really boiling. “Cay, we have to wait for my father. We have to think of a plan.”
Cayden let himself relax. Let Claudia guide him toward the fire.
“Gertrude, can I trouble you for some water? Maybe coffee?”
The noblewoman dipped her head and rang a small bell beside her. In moments, a servant in coat-tails was in the room. Cayden sat, and then Claudia was in front of him, one of his hands in both of hers. His hand was large, dry, lying there motionless, trusting, and alive. She wanted to hold it forever.
“Do you know how long we were walking?”
Cayden shook his head, and then he actually thought about it. “About two and a half hours, give or take,” he said. The fire was mesmerizing, the sparks catching and crackling and being sucked up the chimney. Beautiful and real but only alive for a moment. To Claudia’s surprise, he lifted her hands to his lips. Kissed her thumbs.
“Is that…” he whispered, and met her eyes.
“It’s okay,” she said. “But we have to wait on my dad. We’re going to have to fight. I mean, if you want Mrs. Cruikshanks back.”
Cayden dropped her hands. “I love her like family,” he spat, his eyes hardening even as her face softened. “Why do you keep—”
“I hoped you would say that,” she said. “Cayden, I just want you to be the best you possible, and bloody well admitting you care about your old nanny… maybe promising to see that she is okay, letting her have some time off, and not acting like a spoiled brat, is a key p
art of you being that person!”
9
Cayden
Like a spoiled brat… the phrase rang in his head
Cayden heard himself make a noise like a disgruntled child. He heard himself. And then he felt tears rolling down his cheeks. Claudia leaned forward and her sweet, soft lips kissed them from his face.
Cayden had stopped breathing. He was sure he had stopped breathing.
Until, that is, he heard Gertrude clearing her throat. “An emotional time for all, I’m sure,” she said, “but given that, this may be pertinent information. Claudia, your father is arriving by enchanted carriage. Our ears on the ground have sent word that he wishes us to attack from both sides.”
Cayden cleared his throat and wiped his cheeks. Both he and Claudia stood. He could feel her shaking beside him, and he wanted to put an arm around her, but Gertrude had already seen too much.
Gertrude put out a hand. “Will you stay with me, dear?” she asked Claudia, but Claudia shook her head.
“No,” she said, “I’ll fight. I’m strong and I’m young and this is really all my fault anyway.”
Cayden opened his mouth to argue with this, but Claudia shot him a look that shut him down. “Whether I was followed or not,” she said, “this has a hell of a lot more to do with me than it does you. Do you want to stay behind?”
For a moment, Cayden didn’t know what to say. He simply opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Gertrude, on the other hand, could barely suppress her smile.
Gertrude left them at the side door, which spat them out onto a high, green bank. Below them, Brice was standing with his men. He was still wearing his stupid pink shirt. They were too far to shout to, and facing in the opposite direction, facing…
“Dad!” Claudia shouted, and she began to run down the slope. Cayden started after her, and soon they were both slipping and sliding in the mud until eventually he managed to throw his arms around her and have them roll to a halt.
“Oops,” Claudia managed, breathing heavily. “Sorry, I…”
“I know,” he said, “I know, but let’s walk down?” His arms were still tight around Claudia as she nodded at this suggestion. They got up from the mud and, for balance, held onto one another as they picked their way down.
All of Brice’s men looked a little like him, badly dressed, meaty, angry.
“I’ve got your servant!” Brice shouted, as soon as Cayden and Claudia were close enough to hear. “Want to swap her for the girl?”
Cayden felt every muscle in him twitch, but Claudia had a discreet hand on the small of his back. It centered him, somehow.
“Claudia isn’t mine to give!” he shouted back, and Brice grinned. He had bags under his eyes. That was difficult for an immortal. He must party harder, even, than Cayden. An achievement, Cayden thought, before he dismissed that as a bloody juvenile thing to cross his mind at a time like this.
Cayden’s feet hurt. He was still wearing his slippers, and he looked to Claudia to tell her to slip hers off, but her feet were already planted, bare, in the grass.
“Perhaps her noble father will do me the honor, then,” Brice suggested. “Your daughter’s hand, sir?” He turned to Ali. “You don’t even have to die right away if you grant me that.”
Ali gave a humorless laugh. “I’m not the one dying today, son,” he barked, and despite the context, Cayden’s heart gave a little leap when he heard his friend’s voice.
In the middle of the circle, Mrs. Cruikshanks was tied up. She looked as though she had been beaten, but she was conscious. So conscious, in fact, that Cayden noticed her look at his feet, and then up at him, and shake her head.
He tried not to laugh.
Brice, between Ali and a footman he had brought along, and Cayden and Claudia, was walking in circles. “Very well,” he said, almost as though he were talking to himself. “I suppose it’s time for a duel. Are you ready, boys?” Brice’s men looked excited at the prospect.
“Pack rules,” Cayden found himself shouting, “all of us against all of you, no one-on-one, and no magic!”
Brice looked irritated at this. “Very well,” he said, “agreed.” He turned to Ali. “But the outcome is final, yes? This is a fight for your daughter’s hand!”
Cayden could see that Ali was shaking with rage. He was wearing an overcoat, but every single muscle was tensed beneath it. And he… it took Cayden a moment to realize… Ali wasn’t just tensed, he was shifting. They had practiced together, for hours, when they were young. The sneaky shift, they had called it, laughing about it, shocking humans in taverns, and now it was going to win them an unexpected battle on a damp spring morning at the Tower of L—
He hadn’t been looking at Claudia beside him, but evidently she had been reacting to Brice being an asshole about as intensely as her father. She barreled past him, creating a back wind with her speed. She was screaming, and when she reached Brice, she had barely begun to shift.
“No one gives away my fucking hand—you can’t win. My. Hand. You. Bastard!”
This angry, shouted sentence was punctuated by blows from Claudia’s fists. Cayden felt himself grinning. Brice, with Claudia clamped to him, her knees around his waist and punches raining down on his head, was wobbling backwards. The last thing Cayden saw, before the pain of transformation took over and his vision blurred with his eyes stretching and reforming, was Brice falling on his arse in the mud, Claudia becoming a wolf on top of him, gnashing at his stupid pink shirt.
As a wolf, Claudia was silver, slim, orange-eyed. Her tail was full and bushy and flicked often back and forth and back and forth. She stalked Brice and his men. Stalked her prey, moving around the outside of the circle of fighters with elegant purpose. She was, Cayden thought, magnificent. Brice’s men, on the other hand, were a mangy lot, and Cayden took one of them out with a claw to his eye, ripping it from the socket in an explosion of blood and reddish string that had previously held it in place. After that, the wolf ran, and the big brownish wolf who was Brice, already scratched all over from his encounter with Claudia, ran only a few steps after his man before turning back to the melee and letting out something like a bark.
Cayden used this time to free Mrs. Cruikshanks, tearing at her ropes with his mouth. She lay a hand in his fur. Squeezed. He licked her arm. And then she was changing too, joining the fight. Mrs. Cruikshanks unleashed. She was a big wolf. Strong, her boxy human frame translating to pure wolf muscle. She took out one of Brice’s men, no problem. He hadn’t even known she had turned, and his neck was snapped.
All the while, Claudia was circling. Closing in the lines of battle. Pushing them together. She was a damn strategist! Cayden should have known. She had run the dinner party with precision when she had needed to, had run rings around him, and now this.
A kill for Ali, a kill for Claudia, smashing the wolf against a tree, and then, finally, it was just Cayden and Claudia, Mrs. Cruikshanks and Ali, and in the center, Brice, backing off, hackles raised. Cayden went for him. He couldn’t help himself. He was so angry, he was tearing off chunks, fur and blood and animal squeals were flying until finally, the human part of his brain switched back on. He looked at Brice. He was battered. And Cayden had a gash on his face; he was panting. He could see his hot, lupine breath gathering between them, and behind Brice, he could see Claudia’s breath, could see Claudia, pacing back and forth, orange eyes on him. She was talking to him—nonverbal communication.
Cayden stepped back, his soft paws barely squelching in the mud. Brice was done for, and he could see that Claudia wanted the last blow. Wanted to bat or gnash the life from this slug of a man who had tried not only to kill her father, but to own her. And so, yes, Cayden stepped back, and Brice made a sad-dog moan that Cayden thought was fear of death, but perhaps was a laugh.
Claudia was smiling, if a wolf could smile. She stepped forward daintily, closing in on the injured Brice, looking as though she might circle him before she struck.
And that was when it happened. Out of nowhere,
one-eye was back, still trailing blood, clearly weakened, but strong enough for a last leap, with his claws out.
His aim was true. His claws dug into Claudia’s fur, and through her fur into her flesh, and as he fell to the ground, his weight ripped her from chest to midriff, opened her up like she was being unzipped.
Cayden reacted immediately, moved toward the scene, bit at the throat of the dying assailant, but killing him wouldn’t help her. Already, she was changing back to her human form, her heart pumping human blood right out of her body.
Cayden had her in his lap before her fur was gone. He heard a snap, heard Ali growl,
taking care of Brice. He knew he should look up, should explain, but he couldn’t. He held her close to him. Her eyes were open, she blinked up at him, but she couldn’t quite talk.
Then he felt Mrs. Cruikshanks’ hand on his back. Knew it was her by the weight of it. By its older skin. “Son,” she said, “do him the courtesy.”
Gingerly, carefully, afraid and yet not afraid because there was no room for it, Cayden looked up and met his best friend’s eye.
Ali was looking at them both, looking at Cayden knelt over his daughter, at the way he was cradling her in her arms, crying over her, into her, into the gash across her front. His clothes were soaked with blood. His nostrils full of its stink. But still he held her, he cried, and he kissed her cooling lips.
And Ali, back in human form, his beard dripping with the rain that had begun to fall and nothing but a tied cloth covering him, held out a shaking hand to point. “You!” he said, and there was no doubt he meant Cayden. “I swear, Cayden, I trusted you, and you were blinded by lust as usual. If she dies…if she’s dead, I will never speak to you again!” And this was it. The worst-case scenario for how this could have gone. Cayden’s head hurt. That scar, the one that had been supposed to teach him to be a better person…well, it ached. He ached all over too.
