Souls to Heal

by Tilly Wallace

  “I’m sure he would do all he could to be of assistance.” Ewan raised his mug in a silent salute to the poor excise man.

  The other man nodded. Satisfied, it seemed. “I offer a proposal then, to see if we can trust him. And you. I’m Crufts, by the way.”

  A test. Luckily, he was prepared for such an outcome. “Pleasure to meet you, Crufts. I shall go see my friend tomorrow for a friendly chat. Perhaps we will talk about how his garden grows or if he has any favourite fishing spots.”

  “You do that. And you let us know if he has anything to pass on tomorrow night.” He drained his ale and nodded to Ewan. Then he left, stopping at the far corner for a brief conversation in the shadows before he joined his friends at another table.

  The atmosphere grew louder as the ale flowed freely and the music kept playing. Ewan caught sight of Alice with the large man’s arms still around her. The oaf held her a little too close for Ewan’s liking, one beefy hand on the side of her waist as he guided her through the throng.

  Fire flared through Ewan’s veins as the wolf fought the silver to growl and snap at the man holding his Alice. The poison in his system tore through his bones and stabbed into his chest as he struggled against it, trying to shift form. Ewan dropped his tankard to the table as the wave of agony crashed through him. His hand spasmed as claws tried, futilely, to break through his skin.

  Alice caught the sudden movement and left her partner to rush over. She laid a hand over his clenched and shaking fist. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  He could lie. Say he was fine. He could tell her to go back to the dancing. But for once he was going to be selfish. He didn’t want another man touching her. He wanted her quiet companionship all to himself, and he wanted them both out of the overloud inn and away from the all-seeing gaze of Forge.

  “My injuries pain me. Would you help me back to the cottage?” he said.

  “Of course.” She stepped aside as he rose. Alice slipped her arm around his waist and he drew her close as he leaned over her shoulders. They walked around the edge of the crowd and towards the door. His limp was heavy and, for once, he let the grimace of pain show on his face. May as well put on a good show for those who watched. No one would reconcile the crippled man with the creature who used to glide across a ballroom floor.

  It might have been petty of him, but it felt so damn good to have her pressed against him. Lavender and sage wafted from her silken hair next to his cheek. Eilidh shot out of the tavern and ran yapping after moths. The terrier dodged back and forth as they walked across the yard.

  A question burned through Ewan, as hot and bright as the pain coursing through his veins. “How did you find dancing?”

  She paused and looked up at the pale sliver of moon. A cloud covered part of it and shadowed half her face. Then she flashed a brief smile. “I rather enjoyed it, once I shut myself in the room where fear could not reach me.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time.” He smiled, and it came so naturally to the muscles of his face. But he wasn’t glad. He hated every second of it. It rankled to see another man holding her. No one should lead her across the dance floor but him.

  They carried on to their cottage. He drew the large key from his pocket and unlocked the door, then gave a bow to Alice.

  With a murmured thank you, she headed inside.

  Ewan locked the door once Eilidh had raced inside and scooted under the table. Alice lit the candles on the table with a match, and Ewan dropped heavily into the chair by the fire.

  She poked the embers with a poker and tossed on a fresh scoop of coals. “Now will you let me apply a hot poultice to your leg? I want to try drawing the silver out with herbs.”

  He rolled his shoulders. His whole body ached and almost made him wish for the peace of death. Almost, but not quite. “I can see resistance would be futile. You may have at me.”

  While Alice fetched a bag from under the bench, Ewan tugged off his boots. The pain down his leg amplified once free of the constricting leather. He ground his teeth to hold in his reaction as he slid off his trousers and stockings. Given how high up his thigh the bullet was lodged, there was no other way to do this except mostly naked. Only the hem of his shirt provided a small amount of modesty.

  He dragged the other chair out and rested his right foot on it. Then he tucked his shirt around his manhood. Never before had he felt so vulnerable and exposed.

  Alice worked at the bench, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle. Once satisfied, she tipped the ground herbs into a larger bowl. Using a cloth wrapped around the handle, she carried the boiling kettle over and added it to the herbs. She stirred for a few minutes and then spread the hot mixture over a cloth. She folded it into a rectangle and then came to sit on the floor beside him, the fragrant poultice in her hands.

  She looked up at him. “This will smart as it’s very hot. I don’t know if it will work, but I am hoping the poultice will attract the silver and draw it from your body.”

  At a nod from him, she laid the cloth high on his thigh and pressed it around the sides so it encompassed as much of the area around the bullet as possible. He sucked in a breath—it was hot, but not unbearably so.

  “What’s in it?” he asked, to distract himself as his body acclimatised to the poultice.

  She smoothed a hand along the cloth, ensuring the herbs were evenly distributed. “A number of things of my own creation. Firstly wormwood, otherwise known as Artemisia, after Artemis, the Greek goddess of the moon. I thought her a good starting point for any spell to be worked on a wolf.”

  Alice sat back on her heels at his side. “Next I added yarrow, associated with Achilles and said to heal soldiers.”

  Ewan chuffed at that one. She had carefully thought of legend and mystical associations as she wove her spell.

  “Then sage, or in Latin salvere—”

  “To heal or cure,” he finished her sentence. Plants meant as much to him as he was sure rattling off munitions would mean to her. But the ancient lore she knew about the herbs she selected fascinated him. “Where did you learn this?”

  “I read whatever books Ianthe could supply me with that covered botany. The three ingredients I selected are all known as silver plants, and I hoped their affinity for that element would help draw the substance from your blood. I have woven a spell upon them, asking the silver within you to find the poultice.”

  She smiled, a haunting thing that stole his breath. She was more than outward beauty. Her soul sang to him with a refrain that he found irresistible. He might be an Unnatural, but she was unearthly. A creature from another world dusted with grace by the moon.

  “You said to create a room to keep myself safe when the fear attacked, but I have found other rooms within me, as though I explore a house I had forgotten I owned. As I found pieces of my soul and stitched them back together, it has unlocked more rooms. One contained the knowledge my mother passed to me of how to weave herb lore with our gifts to heal others.” She ran her hand along the poultice, helping the heat to seep through.

  He shifted in the chair. The heat sank through his flesh and deep into the bone, but he felt a pull and tug in the opposite direction as something was eased free of his body. Inside him, his wolf let out a deep sigh. “I’m finding I am rather fond of witches and all they can do.”

  He reached out and cupped her face. She possessed such haunted eyes that he saw them in his sleep. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. Then he leaned forward and drew her to him. She rose up on her knees, her lips a hair’s breadth from his. He took a moment to judge her demeanour. He didn’t want to cause her distress or ask for something she was unwilling to give.

  For months she had tested his control, and now he would toss it all aside to know the taste of her sadness.

  While he pondered what to do, Alice closed the gap between them and kissed him.

  17

  Alice

  * * *

  Once before, and emboldened by too much wine, Alice had tried to kiss
Ewan. But a combination of their friends watching and trying too soon in their acquaintance had contributed to a humiliating rejection. He had pushed her away and stormed off into a snowy night. Now, that attempt seemed a lifetime ago. Since then, he had called her an ethereal beauty and said she cast a spell on him. Surely that meant he felt something for her?

  Their time together nurtured familiarity into a sense of peace with one another. For Alice, over the past few weeks that comfort had transformed into something deeper and stronger. An ache took root in her belly as night after night she lay in his arms with nothing more than a stroke of his hand to feed a growing hunger. Sitting at his feet, willing the poultice to ease some of his pain, all she could think about was having his body pressed next to hers.

  When his hand tangled in her hair and he drew her to him, her heart stuttered and her limbs tingled. Finally he signalled that he, too, felt the heat growing between them and was ready to act upon it. Then he paused.

  That would never do.

  What if he changed his mind?

  She leaned up and kissed him.

  Her lips glided over his, teasing, hoping he would respond. His hand tightened at her neck, holding her to him as he deepened the kiss. Ewan’s touch was a lightning strike that destroyed a dam. A flood of emotion poured through Alice as his tongue first licked the seam of her lips and then danced into her mouth.

  She was a child drunk on her first taste of liquor as she pressed into him, her arms winding around his neck. As they kissed, never had she known such desire. The ache inside her bloomed in fiery life and flowed outward through her body.

  As a lass, she had tasted enough pleasure to be easy with it and had moved to London to find her fortune as a courtesan. She had experienced a few dalliances before Hoth seized her. The men who went before Ewan were flickering candles compared to the power of the summer sun.

  She moaned, wanting more. The taste of him in her mouth was sweeter than any wine and far headier. He used practised flicks to drive her mad with longing in the briefest of contacts. Her hands slid down his chest and her fingers curled in the bottom of his shirt, intent on removing it from his torso. Her body screamed for his naked skin next to hers.

  Then he captured her hands in his good one and lifted his head. “We cannot do this, Alice.”

  Her fuddled mind didn’t understand. They desired each other, so they most certainly could do it. Indeed, they were doing it, right up until he stopped.

  “Yes,” she whispered, still catching her breath. “Yes, we can.”

  He leaned back a few inches, but it may as well have been miles, such was the distance in his eyes. “No. We cannot be, Alice. The pain this evening has fuddled my thinking, and I am sorry if I led you to believe there could be something between us.”

  Of course. She was a fool. Sleeping in his arms was part of their pretence, the mirage they threw up so that the people of Seabrook believed them to be a married couple. In actuality, it meant nothing to him.

  For a second time, he had refused her.

  How many times did he need to reject her before the message made its way through her dense skull? He was the son of an aristocrat and she a mere common girl, good enough for a brief diversion but nothing more. Wolves found their mates among ladies of breeding, not rubbish dumped in Bedlam. One Highland Wolf was even married to the daughter of a duke!

  They played roles within the walls of this cottage and nothing was real. Did it prove her mad that she thought the pretence was something tangible? She followed her part as an actor, but like a simpleton, she had believed what happened on the stage and she had forgotten her lines were scripted.

  Her soul curled up and wept, but the stronger Alice nodded her head and never let her internal agony show. “Of course. I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. Alice, look at me, please.” His hands cradled her face.

  She wanted to look away, to hide the pain simmering within her, but a tiny part of her still obeyed a command and she raised her eyes to his.

  “Never doubt the strength of my attraction for you, Alice. But I do not want to take advantage of our situation. I would never use you.” He searched her face, seeking her understanding.

  But she couldn’t understand. It made no sense to her. Her body craved his touch, her soul calmed in his embrace, and he understood her as no one else ever could. Her mage blood tugged at her, telling her that what she sought was within him.

  Ewan claimed he was attracted to her and yet pushed her away at the same time. His actions said one thing but his words another, and her mind couldn’t make any sense of it.

  “I need to go back to the tavern. Daisy will need an extra set of hands with the mood the men are in.” She rose and held her back stiff as she walked towards the door.

  Behind her, the chair creaked as he moved but there was no shuffle of his feet. He did not attempt to stop her leaving or follow her. “I never want to hurt you, Alice; that’s why we need to stay apart. You would be harmed if you got too close to me.”

  But he had hurt her. Like a knife slicing into her stomach, his rejection cut her open.

  Alice unlocked the door and walked out into the dark. She headed across the yard, not wanting to be near the cottage, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk back into the loud and crowded inn. She paused at the halfway point and took a moment to embrace the silent night.

  The moon hung low in the sky, as though it weighed down the heavens and would tumble to Earth. Alice held up her hand and wrapped her fingers around the glowing orb. It appeared that it should be easy to pluck the moon from the stars, like taking a jewel nestled in velvet. Yet the celestial body resisted her attempts to grasp it, just as Ewan gave the appearance that he welcomed her touch and kisses and then turned his head from her.

  “Would you capture the moon?” a voice whispered from the dark.

  Alice gave a start and jumped. “Who is there?”

  A man detached from the stable wall and advanced a step. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet out here when I saw a woman trying to grab the moon.”

  “It’s so full tonight that at times, I think it is within reach, only to have it dance beyond my fingertips.” She dropped her hand. He probably thought her mad. Did one suddenly become sane when one left the lunatic asylum, or would the taint of Bedlam linger within her forever?

  She glanced back towards the cottage and the man hidden within its walls and sighed. So many things were unattainable and yet she kept trying over and over, even when it was pointless. She was like the turnspit dog, running like mad in its wheel but not going anywhere.

  “You set yourself up for failure. I prefer to keep my sights on things I know I can grasp.” He walked to the edge of the well and sat down.

  He was an odd man, with nothing remarkable about him. Of average height and build with regular features and short, cropped dark hair. At least he didn’t smell like Jimmy. There was a soft edge to his voice, as though he never raised it but expected others to fall silent to hear him.

  “It seems I have always pined for the unreachable.” She thought affection had built between her and Ewan. He admitted he felt something, but it must be a scant thing that he could so easily deny his feelings. She didn’t want to live her life in disappointment. Didn’t she deserve a small measure of happiness after all she had endured?

  The man crossed his ankles and glanced up at the stars. “Perhaps you need to lower your sights and stop gazing at the moon. Try reaching for something closer to hand.”

  “Perhaps.” A stranger reinforced what she already knew deep down. Stop wishing for Ewan when the most she could hope for would be a rough man like Jimmy. “Thank you for your insight, but I must return inside. Daisy and Gaffie will need a hand in the tavern.”

  “You’re the new girl, Alice.” He still pitched his voice so low that she strained to catch his words.

  “Yes, I am.” It was no surprise he knew her name. In a small community, word would spread like wildfire that a new coup
le had moved into the cottage behind the Dancing Sow. Two weeks were a long time in village gossip.

  “I saw you serving tonight, and I am told you are responsible for the delicious pies my men can’t stop talking about.” A brief smile touched his face, and his teeth flashed in the dark. Oddly long and sharp teeth that flashed a warning through her brain.

  “I am glad the men like them. It’s good to be useful.” Her pies disappeared in short order once they were placed on the counter. The men fell on them like hungry wolves on a rabbit.

  “Oh, I suspect you have many talents the men would appreciate, Alice.” He crossed his arms and watched her with a predatory stare.

  Shivers washed down her spine. His black eyes were dull in the moonlight and flat as though there was no life behind them. Just what did he mean that the men would appreciate her talents—did he know of her history? Another question rose in her mind. “May I know your name, since you are familiar with mine?”

  “You can call me Callum, and I look forward to getting to know you better, Alice.” He stood up and melted back into the dark like a shadow that moved with the shifting of the night.

  Chills washed over her skin and she brushed her hands up her arms to dispel it.

  Callum? Why did that name niggle at her mind and make her wish that Ewan stood at her back?

  Callum Forge. The vampyre they sought to capture.

  Alice drew a deep breath to dispel the fear that raced over her. She rotated one ankle simply to feel the weight of the knife on her leg. She reinforced her mental defences and then flung open the door to the tavern. Inside, the atmosphere had become more chaotic. Men were cheering and yelling as couples danced to a manic tune. Daisy raced from table to table topping up tankards, and even Gaffie was doing her bit.

  “Oh, Alice, everyone is so thirsty with all the dancing,” Gaffie said as she pushed the pitcher into Alice’s hands. “You keep pouring and I’ll draw off more pitchers.”