Souls to Heal

by Tilly Wallace

  The babble of the water as it spilled over the rocks held a special charm. He crossed his arms over his chest, subconsciously flexing his right hand. Every day, the fingers obeyed his command a little better. If only Alice could remove the silver from his blood and reunite him with his injured wolf.

  He never thought he would miss hunting in his lupine form. He thought being a lycanthrope made him a beast, but each day he wondered if the wolf was his humanity and the handsome face he wore was the true beast.

  A yip echoed through the trees and caught his attention. Alice walked on silent feet, but Eilidh could not contain her excitement and gave away her mistress’s presence. The little terrier had to give a greeting when she spotted him and the dog jumped up at his knee for a pat. Then Ewan opened his arms and Alice walked into his embrace.

  She leaned her body against every inch of him, her face resting on his chest. They stood like that while time slowed around them. He wondered if he was truly healing her, or if Alice worked arcane magic on him, for he found he needed to hold this broken woman in his arms. Only then did he feel complete, as though she were some missing part of him.

  The aroma of grasses and herbs drifted around her as he stroked her damp hair. She must have been lying in the meadow, despite the rain clinging to the foliage and soaking through her clothes. Her body had grown stronger. Muscle and curves enhanced her form. Others would sneer at the faint colour to her face, but he thought it added to her wild appeal.

  “Are you sure you want to come to Kent? You could stay here with Ianthe for longer.” He had to give her a chance to re-evaluate her decision.

  She placed a hand on his jacket and drew circles with a fingertip. “Did you know that despite their delicate appearance, spider webs are very strong? They can be used to bind wounds and stop bleeding. I am like the spider web; others think I am fragile, but my fibres are made of steel. I just need to remember that.”

  In that heartbeat, he knew she would survive their mission. She had been consumed by fire and then rose from the ashes like a phoenix.

  “Very well. I’ll not doubt your decision again.” He drew her closer and her warmth seeped into his frozen chest. His mother’s voice whispered in his mind, repeating the words he heard as he waited to die on the battlefield: What if tiny shards from a broken woman pierced the cracks in your soul?

  “How do you go, building a sanctuary in your mind?” he asked while he wondered how to protect himself before her broken pieces found their way into him.

  A sigh rippled through her body and she turned her face upward to regard him. Eyes the colour of a lush meadow stared at him. “I am finding it easier to calm my mind. When the noise and fear overwhelm me, I am able to retreat and close the door until they pass.”

  “Good. Your resolve will be tested in Seabrook. Village life can be loud, smelly, and obnoxious.” Had he done a good thing in teaching her how to shut away her emotions? Should a creature like Alice be unable to feel? While she needed a way to cope with the events of her past, a part of him wondered if making her an emotionless shell like him was the best course of action.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered.

  Alice might be ready for the challenges awaiting them in Kent, but was Ewan ready to let her into his life?

  9

  Alice

  * * *

  Deep within Alice’s mind, the caterpillar stirred in its chrysalis, testing if it was ready yet to emerge. She’d spent two years roaming the countryside and conversing with the shades that lingered after death. She preferred ghostly company to real people, as the deceased couldn’t harm her. Or at least ghosts couldn’t. Vampyres were probably considered deceased since their hearts no longer beat.

  If she wanted to become a blade and be the instrument of downfall to monsters and demons, she would start by hunting this Forge in Kent.

  Shame that Ianthe didn’t share Alice’s convictions. Her friend seemed beset with worry, almost as bad as when Constance had a difficult foaling. Ianthe wrung her hands and looked from Quinn back to Alice. The normally composed woman oscillated between jiggling with excitement and sombre worry.

  “Have you had a vision?” Alice finally asked. A vision of her grisly death would explain her friend’s concern.

  While the mission to Kent loomed, a more immediate concern was what tempered Ianthe’s excitement with concern. “No. The sight has not shown me anything, and that is what worries me. Are you sure you will be all right, here on your own?”

  February gave way to the promise of an early spring as out in the fields long green shoots from daffodils pushed through the frigid ground. Quinn’s three months of leave were over, and he and Ianthe were venturing out to secure more broodmares for their growing enterprise before he had to journey to London and return to his regiment.

  Alice suppressed a smile. “I will hardly be alone. Ewan will be here, and Sarah and Perkins are only across the yard in their cottage.”

  Ianthe embraced her friend and whispered in her ear, “You know what I mean. You will be alone tonight with Ewan, but I promise we will only be gone overnight and back by supper tomorrow.”

  “I intend to travel to Kent with Ewan as his wife. I believe this will be a marvellous chance to work on our fictitious history. Perhaps I will practice throwing pots at his head to add a touch of realism to our marriage woes.” The levity felt foreign over her tongue. If she were truthful, it did worry her a little. Tonight she would be alone with Ewan in the farmhouse. Would she be able to sleep tonight, knowing it was only the two of them under the same roof?

  “Go, Ianthe, before Quinn explodes with anticipation. You know he can’t resist the offer of a close up inspection of an exquisite mare.” Ewan nodded towards the younger man, who was fidgeting with the reins to the horses.

  Ianthe tapped him on the shoulder as he helped her up into the cart. “Rogue,” she muttered under her breath.

  Quinn cracked the reins against the horses’ rumps and they trotted off down the road. Ianthe waved and Alice waved back until the curve of the road stole them from view.

  “Shall we practise throwing knives in the parlour and leave mysterious marks in the wainscoting for them to puzzle over on their return?” Ewan held out his left arm to Alice.

  Alice looped her hand under his arm and they headed back to the farmhouse. The dampness from recent rain threatened to soak through Alice’s boots. The dark sky promised still more rain to be released, possibly a thunderstorm. The air was charged and a rumble sounded through the hills.

  “I was thinking through the railings on the staircase, to increase the difficulty,” she said.

  Ewan huffed, as though considering her idea. “If only we had a way to make the railings march up and down the stairs to give you a moving target.”

  He had such a dry sense of humour Alice couldn’t tell if he was jesting or not. Once she had seen a carnival performance where a man threw knives at a spinning wheel that had his assistant lashed to it. That might be a trick to try when she was much more proficient.

  He paused and looked up at the gathering dark clouds. “Or perhaps before this weather turns, you could show me the potager?”

  Her heart stuttered. Show him the garden? To reveal her love of herbs would be like undressing before him and asking him to pass judgement on her naked form.

  “I confess I know nothing about what grows in the earth and I am keen to expand my knowledge. Do you grow vervain? It is one herb that is said to incapacitate a vampyre and would be handy to have on our mission.” He awaited her response as though they stood in a ballroom and he had requested a dance.

  He appeared genuine in his interest, and Alice had to acknowledge that to date, he had been nothing but curious and understanding despite their differences. “Vervain? We have grown a small quantity but have none at the moment. I will grow it from seed later in spring. My mother used to brew it into a tea for desperate women who wanted to clear their wombs.”

  They changed course towards the la
rge garden laid out on the south side of the house. Naked apples and pears stood around the edge of the potager. Branches showed off the beginnings of fat buds that would soon be white and pink blossoms. A large quince occupied one corner all to itself, its branches covered in soft green leaves already. Amongst the orderly garden beds, Perkins worked with a hoe, dragging dirt over low-growing plants. He touched the brim of his hat and then carried on working.

  “Why is Perkins burying those plants?” Ewan asked.

  Alice pointed to the thin green stalks jutting out of the ground. “He is mounding the leeks. It makes the lower part white, which is the bit we eat. When we need them for a meal, we can dig them back up.”

  “What an ingenious idea. What else do you grow?”

  “Leeks and cabbages in winter with a few left over buried potatoes.” Alice ran her hand over a willow frame in a bare bed. “Soon, we will plant the beans and peas that will scramble all over the frames.”

  “And what of herbs, Alice? What will you grow here that will ease the aches and pains of others?” The blue of his eyes turned darker, reflecting the growing storm over their heads.

  Unnatural creature or ordinary man, there was one sure way to ease his pain—laudanum. But somehow she doubted a man like Ewan would embrace the befuddlement that the poppy syrup would wrap around him. There were other remedies that would keep his mental processes clear but still blunt the sharp edge of pain.

  She smiled and tapped the side of her nose. “I cannot disclose my arcane art except to another witch.”

  “Ah, well, I cannot ask you to breach the rules of your sisterhood.” They carried on their slow walk around the paths encircling the gardens. Alice pointed out other plants that were covered for winter but would soon be revealed once the late frosts had passed. Strawberries were nestled in pine needles and hay to keep them warm and happy.

  “Do you spend much time out here?” Ewan asked.

  “Every hour I am not roaming the hills.” She had so much to learn, and the more she learned, the more she wanted to do or try. The books Ianthe found fed her thirst for knowledge. They also expanded her horizons about plants and herbs in other countries and used by other cultures. If she could summon as well as find, she could use her gift to obtain seeds from far off lands. “It must seem silly to you, my interest in unassuming little plants.”

  He stopped and turned to face her, his gaze so serious she had to look away. “Do not make assumptions about what I do or don’t find silly. Your blood carries a magical ability, and you constantly display your desire to augment that gift with knowledge to benefit others. That is something I would never regard as silly.”

  It would be easier to be thought silly and unimportant by Ewan. When he turned that solemn regard on her, it overwhelmed her. To be the focus of his attention made her feel like somebody of importance, as though her thoughts and ambitions mattered. But that was a dangerous path.

  Day by day, she longed to be of worth and for him to see her as more than a broken doll. But what if he did? She didn’t think she could ever withstand the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to crash through her if he returned just a tiny portion of what she felt for him.

  Hoth had broken her with violence, and magic had fractured her, but Ewan Shaw had the capacity to destroy her with kindness.

  Ewan

  The storm broke that night as Ewan blew out the candle. Thunder rattled the house and flashes of bright light lit the interior.

  “Just like sleeping during a cannon volley,” Ewan muttered as he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

  His dreams were fractured, much like the rent heavens above his head. Deep inside, his wolf howled at the obscured moon and strained against its silver bonds, desperate to escape the pain.

  At one point, Ewan dreamed of a particular widow—a countess much admired by the ton for her sombre disposition. In private, she had liked to lick his fingers and toes. Odd woman, but he never complained since she paid him most generously for his company and for the pleasure she received.

  Funny thing though, he didn’t remember her tongue being quite that small. Or rough. As the tongue tackled the webbing between his fingers, he realised it wasn’t so much a dream as a damp reality. He pushed himself up on one elbow and vaguely recognised the small dog sitting by his bed.

  “Eilidh?” he whispered her name. Strange that she came into his room if she needed to go out. Why did she not wake Alice?

  A whimper drew his attention as the dog darted to the door and out into the hallway. The cold of the night was nothing compared to the shiver that snaked down his body. Had something happened to Alice?

  He cursed his inability to call his wolf forth. He could have used its enhanced senses to feel the night for any sign of trouble. He grabbed a robe to cover his naked body and followed the dog as fast as he could with one uncooperative leg. Thanks to the unleashed weather, cracks of lightning illuminated his way. Eilidh shot down to the other end of the hallway and paced outside Alice’s door, waiting for him to catch up. Then she dashed inside.

  He paused for a moment before he invaded Alice’s room, but if the dog had sought him out, it was for a reason. Ewan pushed the door open, dreading what he would find within. Eilidh had jumped onto the bed and nosed against her mistress.

  Another flash of jagged lightning revealed Alice with her arms flung out—to strike the dog? No. The young woman tossed back and forth, her arms held up as though she tried to protect herself from phantom blows. The terrier had been trying to wake the woman in the grip of a nightmare and had fetched Ewan to help.

  He padded across the floor to where she slept. Or didn’t sleep. Her body jerked in time to the claps of thunder, as though someone rained blows upon her. She made no noise, her teeth gritted together as though she tried to hold in her cries. The storm crashed above the house as another echoed below.

  He didn’t want to add to her distress, but she needed to wake from the torment that held her in its grip. He touched her shoulder and gently shook her.

  Alice cried out as though he burned her. “Alice will try to hold still,” she sobbed.

  Damn Hoth for what he had done. Not content with peeling slivers from a woman’s soul, the demon liked to beat them into submission as well. Ewan wished he could resurrect the creature and kill him anew.

  “Alice, it’s a nightmare. Wake up.” This time he laid his palm against her face and gently stroked her cheek. The dog burrowed in, throwing her small body against Alice. Between the two of them, they should be able to rouse the woman’s mind from the dark corner where it was trapped.

  Her lids fluttered open in the gloom. “Dark. It’s so dark.”

  That, at least, he could remedy. Another crack of lighting showed him the candle on the bedside cabinet and the small tinderbox. He lit the wick and the gentle yellow flame flickered across her face.

  Alice sat up and hugged her knees. Her body shook as though cold and Ewan did the only thing he could think of to help. He climbed onto the bed and drew her to him. The sobs dried up in her throat and her body went rigid.

  Possibly this wasn’t his best idea, but previously she had sought his embrace. Would she recognise him in her sleep-fuddled state?

  If he talked to her, his voice might filter through. “It’s dark because of the storm outside. The clouds are covering the moon and stars, but you are not alone. Both Eilidh and I are here for you. Your fierce wolf has guarded your sleep and fetched me to help chase away the nightmare.”

  He was about to let her go when she let out a sigh and her body relaxed. Her arms slid around him and her head dropped to his chest. He pulled the blanket up over both of them and then stroked her hair.

  Eilidh settled next to them, her head on his legs as she kept a watch over her mistress. Minute by quiet minute, Alice stopped shaking.

  “Sometimes it helps to talk about it, if you want to,” he said.

  She was quiet for so long he thought she had slipped back to sleep. The thu
nder eased away but rain pelted the house. Then she began to talk in a low whisper that would have been inaudible to a man, but his wolf raised its weary head in her presence and listened with acute ears.

  “I usually sleep with the curtains open so there is always some light from either stars or moon. He kept me in the dark. That was my punishment when I resisted him or displeased him. He called it the box. A small room with no windows. I would press myself into a corner and cry. Sometimes I was there for days but it felt like eternity. Only reaching out to find the hands of a clock in his bedroom reminded me of the passage of time.”

  Ewan laid his cheek against the top of her head. “Did he ever rape you?”

  Her body heaved with a deep sigh. “No. I used to fight him, and he would beat me until he managed to tear a fragment from my soul. Then, as he savoured the piece of me, he would find release and spill his seed on my flesh as I curled up in pain at his feet. He only wanted my soul, not my body.”

  Ewan was conflicted. While relieved that she hadn’t been raped, he was outraged at how the demon had damaged her self-worth. For that infraction alone, Ewan would have delighted in taking days to shave slices from Hoth. It was cold comfort that Lady Miles’ magic had served excruciating justice on the soul eater. She had concocted a spell that whittled away Hoth’s flesh and bones for every slice he took from his victims’ souls.

  "No man could find me desirable anymore," she whispered.

  How could Alice think that? He had refused her mistletoe kiss not because he didn’t want to, but because with the wine flowing in his veins, he hadn’t thought he would be able to stop once he started kissing her. When she had dangled the greenery before him, it had sparked a raw hunger that had charged through his body and roused his wolf.

  Thinking back through the years, he remembered the season the young Alice came to London. She had been so fresh and vibrant. Like a flower about to bloom, and men had fought for who would be the one to pluck her. Hoth won and instead of cherishing a rare treasure, he had almost destroyed her.