Souls to Heal

by Tilly Wallace

  Alice smiled while inside she mentally practised her knife throws. Never again would she be a man’s property, to be shattered at his whim. “Sean has prospects. He just hasn’t found the right direction yet.”

  Forge made a noise in the back of his throat. “He has skills that add to my business, that is true. But his sort will always take orders, not give them.”

  “I’ve learned not to judge a man by his place in society, but by how he interacts with it.” Her days with Ewan allowed Alice to smile at this creature and endure his hands on her. She wore a mask, while inside she plotted how to ensure this Unnatural became a resident of Hell alongside the other demon that had tortured her.

  Forge’s flat gaze slid to the corner and settled there for a moment. “At times, I feel there is something familiar about your husband.”

  Alice hid her burst of fear. He couldn’t have recognised Ewan, surely? Every day she renewed the spell and even Ewan had trouble recognising himself in the mirror. “So many men have dragged themselves back to England with war injuries. I think a limp might be contagious, so many soldiers seem to have one.”

  A soft laugh shook his chest and then it stilled again. “Perhaps that is it.”

  The dance came to an end and Forge released her. Alice gave a small curtsey. “Thank you, Callum, you are a marvellous dance partner. But if you will excuse me now, I must return to my duties.”

  A scowl darkened Ewan’ handsome face as she picked up an empty tankard and walked back to the bar. The rest of the night passed in easy conversation and Alice ignored her pretend husband sulking in the corner. He could not have things both ways; if he wouldn’t touch her, perhaps she would find another man who would. Although she preferred one who had a beating heart in his chest.

  Once the last patron had left and Gaffie locked the door, Ewan rose from his seat to escort her back to the cottage. They followed the same path and routine, and once inside, Alice poked the remains of the fire and then tossed in a fresh scoop of coals.

  Ewan shut the door and the click of the lock seemed ominous in the quiet. “You shouldn’t have danced with Forge.”

  Alice straightened and met his gaze. He stayed at the edge of the light, where shadows fell over his face. “He asked. How could I have refused him?”

  His fingers curled into a fist and then relaxed again. “You took a huge risk.”

  She scoffed at him and waved her hand. “It would have been a bigger risk to say no. If he is interested in me, he will be asking fewer questions about you.”

  “What did he say?” Ewan walked forward to lean on the back of a chair, as though he used the piece of furniture to hold himself back from her.

  Alice shrugged and sat on the bed to unlace her boots. “He thought there was something familiar about you. I pointed out that some injuries are common among the returned soldiers.”

  Ewan tried to pace, but only managed a few steps before his injured leg caused him to misstep. “Blast. I’m sure your spell holds, but we do not know the extent of a vampyre’s abilities. At least my wolf is laid so low Forge won’t be able to scent the lycanthrope within me. Let us hope that he thinks no more on the matter. But I don’t want you to talk to him again.”

  Alice laughed. “If I ignored him, that would look decidedly odd. Besides, I will talk to whomever I please. You do not control me.”

  He turned, reached out a hand to her, and then paused. He closed his fist and dropped the hand back to his side. “He is a cold -blooded killer. I would rather not have you in his path.”

  “Your mission is almost at an end. We have found him, and now you have simply to tie the noose around his neck. Or plunge a knife into his body and remove his liver.” Even as Alice said the words, a chill wind blew through her soul.

  What would happen once Ewan brought the murderous traitor to justice? No doubt he would he ride off, never to glance backwards at her again. She would trek back to Ianthe alone and continue her work on the farm.

  Her chest heaved as she pulled off her boots and dropped them to the floor. She wriggled her toes in her stockings. It seemed hard to imagine going back to a rural life. If she wanted to stop men like Hoth, then she needed to stalk them in their favourite hunting ground—London.

  Ewan dropped into the chair and pulled off his Hessians. “I bide my time. All I need is Forge alone, without Jimmy at his back. I only lack the right opportunity.”

  Taking the man on by himself sounded incredibly foolish to Alice. When Ewan was fully healed and able to shift into his wolf perhaps, but as an injured man?

  She bit her lip. There must be another way, one that included her. Her gaze rested on the mortar and pestle sitting under the window. Some ways of dealing with an enemy were quieter but as effective as a direct assault. She needed a way to use the vervain.

  “Give me the chance to see if I can work a spell to increase the effectiveness of the vervain. I just need to think what it would need to find or hide within him.”

  Ewan’s full lips spread in a smile. “Are you worried about me?”

  Some things she couldn’t hide, like her fear for him. “Yes. I’d rather not be a pretend widow.”

  He huffed a short laugh. “You would look stunning in black. Men would flock to you like moths to a dark flame.”

  “Don’t.” She held up her hand to silence his words. “Don’t play with me like this. You cannot pretend to care, to dictate my actions, and then push me away. You toy with me like a cat with a frightened mouse. Do not be so cruel. Please, just stop.”

  She drew a deep breath and willed the tears away.

  Ewan moved to sit on the bed next to her, but kept a distance between them. “I’m sorry. There is no future for us, Alice. Whatever path I walk after this, I will walk it alone. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you.”

  Ewan’s torture was worse than the agony of Hoth shaving a flake from her soul. The only difference was that Ewan whittled her away with kindness. “How can you say you care for me and in the same breath announce that you will walk away without even a backwards glance?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away. She didn’t understand.

  Ewan reached out and caressed her face. “Did I ever say that? Don’t think that I do this without regrets, Alice. If I had the capacity to love, I would give it all to you. I would spend my life pleasing you, if only I could.”

  She shook her head and balled up her fists. “Stop it! Just stop it! Do you not see that your words are a knife blade to my heart?”

  He slipped an arm around her and drew her to him. By instinct, she wrapped her arms around his torso and buried her face in his shirt. Why could he not see that they fit together? She saw the boy deep inside him who wanted to be loved. Beside the lad stood his wolf, and like the turnspit dog, it was desperate for a kind word and gentle touch. She just had to figure out how to reach them.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I will treasure every moment of our time together, Alice, but I know it must come to an end.”

  She tried to blink the tears away, but it hurt too much. She let them fall and soak into his shirt. “Why? I don’t understand.”

  He stroked her face. “Because monsters are real, and I am one of them.”

  Such a ridiculous thing to say when she knew he was a lycanthrope. She had seen Quinn’s wolf and was more fascinated than scared by the creature. There was no prejudice against the Unnatural within her. Alice drew a breath, ready to sally forth with an argument, but he laid a finger on her lips.

  “Let’s just go to bed, please. Let me hold you, and let us both pretend that we are simply Sean and Alice Evans, a married couple who will grow old together.”

  Her heart splintered at his words and reformed, as when she had re-stitched her shredded soul into something new. From the ruins of the old Alice broke free the new woman. One who wouldn’t be stopped when she set her mind to something.

  “Very well.” She lay in his arms, her head resting on his chest as she listene
d to the steady thump of his heart. How could he say he didn’t possess one? Here was all the proof she needed. It beat within him and lulled her to sleep.

  Many weeks ago, in the Christmas snow, she had stood in the waterfall glade and made a promise to a spirit that she wouldn’t give up on Ewan. She vowed to find a way to heal his wolf and let both halves of him come together again.

  There was only one thing that needed to be shattered now—Ewan’s belief in his lack of a heart.

  22

  Ewan

  * * *

  Ewan rose early. He took Alice’s hands and pressed them to the sides of his face. As though she spoke from a trance, the half-asleep woman whispered the words to renew the hiding spell and obscure his features. Then he slipped away to spend an hour or two gazing out to sea. His thoughts swirled with the mist rising off the ocean, not that he found any solution hiding among the waves.

  Alice’s words had been a punch to his gut. He tortured her by playing with her affections, but that was never his intention. More than catching Forge or figuring out his future, he wanted to protect Alice. Even though his wolf whimpered that it would protect her. What could the beast bound in chains of silver do against the other monster?

  Once Alice might have been broken, but not anymore. Every day revealed her new strength, and it drew him like a siren’s song. He wanted her, and only having her near soothed the fractures in his soul. Now he knew how Tantalus felt. His throat was parched and Alice was the wine he would drink, but she stayed eternally beyond his reach. Frustration made him want to scream.

  His desire for her was an assault on his resolve to stay away. As he watched the sun feebly battle dark clouds, he admitted his fight was doomed. With his wolf unable to fight the other demon, it would soon break free. Would he shatter Alice’s body like his father had done to his mother? For that was all he knew of love, crushing a woman in your fist until the light faded from her eyes.

  The damp of approaching bad weather made his broken bones ache. He needed to swallow his pride and let Alice continue to apply the poultices to draw out the poison from his blood. Except her touch was an addiction, and each time she left him wanting more. Her concentration as she lavished care upon him, purely for the sake of trying to heal his body, had become his opiate.

  Since his mother died, Ewan had spent his life keeping others at a distance. He had learned independence and self-reliance. He needed no one and no one needed him, a mantra for his life. The only exceptions were his brothers-in-arms, who had become his pack.

  When it came to women, he used them for physical release and then moved on to the next one. He didn’t linger and he had no regrets.

  Until now.

  He should have kept physical space between him and Alice. But his body was a cowardly traitor. The chill in his soul could only be alleviated by her touch, and only Alice soothed his wolf so it could snatch a few moments of peace. To hold her at night was to touch something infinitely human and precious. Things he could never be.

  For the first time in his life, he desperately wanted something he couldn’t have, and it confused him. The small boy who still dwelt deep inside him longed for the guidance of his mother. She would have known what to do. He pulled the slim volume of Robbie Burns from his pocket and ran a thumb over the cover.

  What would his mother have advised? She would have smiled and read a poem. Although the advice a ten-year-old boy needed was quite different to what a thirty-year-old lycanthrope needed to hear.

  The book fell open in his hands at “Tae a Moose.” Or, “To A Mouse.” The poem was about a mouse’s nest in the field that the farmer ploughed up by accident, destroying its safe haven for winter. The last two verses touched him most, for he couldn’t help casting his mind backwards over troubled events and dreading he would repeat them in the future.

  But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,

  In proving foresight may be vain:

  The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men

  Gang aft agley,

  An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,

  For promis’d joy!

  Still thou are blest, compared wi’ me!

  The present only toucheth thee:

  But och! I backward cast my e’e,

  On prospects drear!

  An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,

  I guess an’ fear!

  A roll of thunder made him glance up. Offshore, a storm rolled over the ocean from France. Black clouds amassed on the horizon and set course for England. They churned and moved above as though they contained a living thing trying to break free of its constrictions. Once it hit, they would be in for a cold, wet, and miserable afternoon. Alice might have time to draw more of the silver free before she had to work in the tavern.

  He growled deep in his throat. Another night of watching other men take her in their arms to dance. Another night of watching other men with lust in their eyes as they gazed at her form, wondering if one would make her an offer. Their marriage was a pretence for the purposes of his mission, and she was free to bestow her affections elsewhere. So why did the idea of another man touching her make his mouth go dry?

  Because she was his mate.

  Bile rose to the back of his throat and he stared at his hand curled into a fist. He was the worst sort of monster. He’d thought the process of becoming a Highland Wolf would burn all trace of his father’s blood from him. Instead, that demon merged with the wolf and urged him to use violence to mark Alice as his and to ensure no other man cast glances at her.

  This was why she could never be his; just as she recovered, he would break her anew.

  Ewan tucked the book back into his pocket and led the gelding to a fallen tree. He used the ride back to the inn to plot. All he needed was to get Forge alone. Perhaps he would head down to the hidden cave on the pretence of doing more bookkeeping. Then he could peek at whatever hid in all those barrels.

  Back in the barn, he unsaddled the horse and wiped down its damp coat. The rain arrived in fat, heavy drops. Ewan patted the gelding’s neck and, seeing Alice’s horse eating hay next door, he walked to the cottage to find her.

  “Alice?” The fire crackled in the grate, but she wasn’t there. Perhaps she was making more pies in the kitchen. He stood outside and glanced around as the rain fell heavier. A bark drew his attention from the neighbouring field. Turning his back to the warm tavern, he headed to the open paddock instead.

  The rain pounded the ground and the odour of damp earth rose into the air. Sitting amid the lush grass was Alice. She rubbed her arms as her thin dress became soaked.

  Ewan raised a hand to attract her attention. “Let’s go inside before you catch your death of cold.”

  She shook her head. When she raised her face to him, he couldn’t tell if rain or tears ran down her cheeks. “No. I cannot do this anymore, Ewan. I cannot move until you tell me why you can never love.”

  “What?” That wasn’t the question he expected. Nor was it one he ever wanted to answer, let alone in the middle of a field with a storm about to burst overhead.

  She still didn’t move, and the terrier huddled into her mistress, either seeking or trying to give warmth. “I need to know. You are so adamant that you don’t have a heart, but I think the fault resides in me. I am too broken to be loved.”

  “Never!” The answer flew to his lips. How could she ever assume that? Her fractures, scars and the sheer resolve she used to overcome them were what attracted him to her.

  “Come inside. We can talk about it once you are warm and dry.” Or preferably they’d never broach the subject. Stubborn woman. He shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and tried to wrap it around her.

  Alice pushed it away as she rose. Her hair was plastered to her face and water ran down her neck. “Tell me, Ewan, or I shall stand here all day. If the fault is not mine, why can you not offer me the smallest scrap of affection?”

  He wanted to reassure her, to spill the whole terrible truth, but what could he tell
her that wouldn’t scare her? His history was no fairy tale but a nightmare. He wouldn’t burden a woman with his story of woe. “Because the men of my family are monsters, worse than Hoth or Forge.”

  Her eyes widened but she held her position in front of him. “You keep saying that, but I do not believe you. I know you are an Unnatural, but there is no flicker of Hoth’s evil residing in you. I would know.”

  He shook his head. He had years of practice at hiding his foul creature from anyone’s view. “Come back to the cottage, please?”

  He needed to get her out of the rain before she caught a chill. He shook droplets from his eyes. The scenery blurred and distorted in the rain. Memories threatened to push in from the sides and he wiped them away.

  Tell her, his mother urged.

  One tiny sliver, that’s what he could give her. The smallest glimpse into his black soul to make her stop asking and to lure her back to the cottage. “My family are entirely natural demons, not Unnatural ones. When I was ten years old, my father killed my mother. That violence runs through me. I would kill any woman who got too close to me. I thought the lycanthrope curse would remove it from me, but it only made it sink deeper into my soul.”

  Her gaze never left his face. “You’re wrong. You wouldn’t hurt me. There is more to your story than that. Tell me what happened.”

  He ground his jaw as he regarded her. He could scoff, say he had only been ten and didn’t know why, but he did. The knowing sat at the bottom of his heart and weighed him down. Truth was an anchor embedded in the ocean floor, holding the ship above immobile. Until he pulled it free, he could never move on.

  “My father was a brute. A true bastard who wielded power like a weapon and enjoyed beating women, children, and the servants. My mother stood between him and me, and I hated myself that she took my blows and that I could not protect her.”

  Alice laid a hand on his arm. “You were a child. Any mother would do the same.”