Stroke of Midnight

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  The cook's eyes widened, then, without another word, she began to fill a clean pot with water.

  Certain her orders would be obeyed, Shanara returned to Reyes's bedchamber. Crossing the room, she threw open one of the windows, then dragged all but one of the blankets off the bed.

  It took her a moment to realize he was awake and watching her through narrowed eyes.

  Filling a glass with water, Shanara lifted Reyes's head and offered him a drink. "Slowly, now," she admonished.

  He drained the glass and asked for more.

  "Why is there no one here to tend you?" she asked, surprised that the lord of the keep would be left alone when he was obviously ill. "Why do you not call your physician?"

  "I sent him away."

  "Why?"

  He glanced at the open window. "The moon will be full tonight."

  She nodded her understanding. "But surely, when you're so ill, the curse will not come upon you."

  "I do not know. It is a chance I cannot take. There are but few who know that the curse is more than just a fable told to frighten children."

  Frowning, she looked at him closely. His face seemed hairy, but it was only because he had not shaved. Wasn't it? "Why did you summon me?"

  "I may have need of your help later."

  "You have need of help now," she muttered.

  A knock at the door drew her attention. When she opened it, she saw Alyce standing in the corridor. The maid's eyes widened when she saw Shanara. When Shanara reached for the tray in Alyce's hands, the girl stepped back, pulling it out of reach.

  "Give me the tray," Shanara said, irritated by the maid's behavior.

  "Nay. I have come to look after my Lord Reyes."

  Shanara did not miss the possessive tone in the girl's voice. "I shall attend him," she said imperiously.

  " 'Tis not a job for a lady," Alyce retorted, the word "lady" dripping with disdain. She leaned to one side, trying to see past Shanara and into the room beyond.

  "Perhaps not," Shanara said. She fixed the girl with a hard gaze. She was Lord Montiori's daughter. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to give orders and have them obeyed. "Give me the tray and be gone."

  For a moment, it seemed the girl might refuse; then, lips pursed in silent mutiny, she handed Shanara the tray.

  Using her heel, Shanara shut the door in the maid's face.

  Reyes eyed her balefully as she set the tray on the table beside the bed. She drew the blade through the fire to clean it, then she cut the old stitches from his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she pierced the edge of the wound with the tip of the knife. Thick yellow pus mixed with blood that looked almost black oozed out in the wake of the blade. Taking the poultice, she placed it over the wound to draw out the last of the poison.

  An oath hissed from between Reyes's clenched teeth as the hot poultice touched his skin.

  While the poultice did its work, Shanara poured a cup of willowbark tea, then, lifting his head, she held the cup to his lips. "Drink."

  He shook his head.

  "Drink, you stubborn man. 'Tis good for what ails you."

  When he still refused, she tugged on a lock of his hair. "Drink, I say!"

  "Shrew," he muttered, but he drank the tea, grimacing at the bitter taste.

  Lowering his head to the pillow once more, Shanara lifted the poultice, surprised to see that the wound looked much better already. She had intended to leave it in place through the night, but that no longer seemed necessary. Was he by nature a man who healed quickly, she wondered, or was it a by-product of the curse?

  Threading the needle with a length of silk thread, she endeavored to put everything from her mind but the task at hand. She tried to ignore the whisper of the needle passing through flesh, tried to pretend it was no different from sewing a piece of cloth, but cloth did not bleed. She paused frequently to wipe away the blood that oozed from the edges of the wound as her needle moved in and out, drawing the ragged edges together.

  As he had before, Reyes endured her stitching in silence. Sweat beaded his brow. Using a corner of the sheet, she wiped it away.

  She didn't know who was more relieved when she took the last stitch and put the needle aside. After wiping her hands on a scrap of cloth, she sat down in the chair beside the bed and blew out a sigh of relief.

  Reyes looked at her, one brow arched. "Want to change places?" he asked with a wry grin.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. " 'Tis not so easy, putting a needle to a man's flesh."

  " 'Tis not so easy to be the man whose flesh you are sticking, either."

  She laid her hand on his brow. "We need to bring your fever down."

  He nodded.

  "Perhaps I should call your steward…"

  "No."

  She glanced at the blanket where it covered his hips. "Are you… ?"

  In spite of the pain of his wounds and the fever burning through him, he grinned roguishly. "As the day my mother bore me."

  With a nod, she carefully folded the blanket down to his waist, then folded the other end up to mid-thigh. She felt herself blushing under his regard.

  She found a length of cloth, poured water from the pitcher into a basin, and began to draw the cool cloth over his heated flesh. The task should not have caused her any embarrassment. He was sick and she was caring for him. It was no more than that, and yet it was much more than that. She was acutely aware of his every breath, of the way his eyes followed her every movement. She couldn't help but admire the spread of his shoulders, his flat belly ridged with muscle earned from long hours of battle practice. His arms were well muscled from years of wielding a heavy sword, his legs from years of hard riding. When she ran the cloth over his neck, his hair brushed against her hand. It was softer than she had thought it would be.

  She wet the cloth again and again, drawing it over his chest and belly, down his arms and legs. She wiped the sweat from his face, offered him another drink of cool water.

  The room gradually grew darker, making her acutely aware of time passing. She lit the candles on the mantel, added wood to the fire. She glanced at the window, her heart pounding.

  A startled cry erupted from her throat when Reyes laid his hand on hers. "I need to go outside."

  "What foolishness is this? You've a fever."

  His gaze captured hers. "I cannot stay inside any longer. I need your help."

  "Wh-what do you want me to do?"

  "Help me down the stairs. Later tonight, when the servants have gone to bed, I want you to leave my robe by the back door. Will you do that for me?"

  She nodded, wondering at her willingness to help him. She turned her back when he started to sit up, listened to the sound of his body sliding over the bedding, the soft thud of his feet on the floor, the whisper of the blanket as he wrapped it around his hips.

  She wondered how he had kept his secret so long and then realized that it would be an easy thing for the lord to leave the keep whenever he wished. He didn't have to answer to anyone or explain where he might be going in the middle of the night should someone see him. Most likely, anyone seeing him would assume he had a midnight tryst.

  She turned when he took her hand. "Let's go."

  With her arm around his waist, they made their way down the steps, through the keep, to the back door located in the kitchen. He opened the door, then paused to look back at her.

  "Be careful," Shanara said.

  "Do not run away again," he warned. " 'Tis not safe beyond the walls. Promise me you will be here when I return."

  She glanced past Reyes to the yard beyond, her need to go home burning within her, though she couldn't say why. There was nothing for her there, no one who wanted her. No one who needed her.

  Reyes took hold of her arm. "Promise me!" he said again, his voice almost a growl.

  She looked up at him. The change was almost upon him. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the air around them. "I promise."

  As soon as the words were spoken, he was m
oving away from her, loping toward the shadows beneath the trees.

  She watched until he was out of sight, wondering what had prompted her to promise him that she would be there when he returned. She owed him nothing. He was the enemy. Lying to the enemy was not the same as lying to a friend. She glanced at the wall in the distance. Freedom was just a short distance away. There, behind one of the shrubs, she had found a hole in the wall just big enough for her to squeeze through.

  She stared across the yard for a long time; then, with a sigh she closed the door and went up the stairs to wait for Reyes to return.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  « ^ »

  Montiori leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed, as he read the missive from his daughter, sent at the order of Reyes, the Lord of Black Dragon Keep:

  Father

  I am being held hostage by Lord Reyes. It is his command that you present yourself at Black Dragon Keep before the next full moon and surrender yourself and your arms. If you refuse, my life will be forfeit.

  Your obedient daughter, Shanara.

  He read the note again, then crumpled the parchment in his fist. Did Reyes think him a fool, that he would give up his own life in exchange for that of his youngest whelp? It was nothing to him if the girl lived or died. He had five sons to carry on the family line, and more daughters than any man needed.

  Montiori turned his attention to the man who awaited his answer. "How do I know my daughter is still alive?"

  "You have my lord's word on it."

  Montiori snorted derisively. "As if I would believe anything that wretched beast has to say."

  Mergrid took a step forward. "My Lord Reyes says he will send the girl back a piece at a time until you surrender, or she dies." He withdrew a small bundle wrapped in cloth from his pocket. "This is so you will know that my Lord Reyes means what he says."

  Taking the bundle, Montiori removed the wrappings. Inside, he found the first knuckle of a woman's little finger. Grunting softly, he tossed the bloody bit of bone and flesh into the fire. "Return to your lord."

  "I was told to wait for your answer."

  "He will know it when he sees it."

  "As you wish," Mergrid said. Bowing, he turned and left the hall.

  Montiori waited until Reyes's servant was out of the room, then motioned for one of his knights to follow the man.

  With a nod of understanding, the knight drew his sword and followed Mergrid from the hall.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 7

  « ^ »

  Shanara stood at the window staring out into the darkness, waiting and wondering. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he running through the deep shadows of the night in search of prey, or running just for the sheer joy of it? She knew he remembered being a wolf when he was a man, but when he was clothed in the skin of the wolf, did he remember being a man? What a sad and lonely life it must be for him. She knew now why he remained apart from the others in the keep, why he had never married. Why he would never marry. A pity, when he was such a handsome man!

  She thrust the thought from her mind. He was the enemy! Why did it grow ever harder to remember that?

  She dozed, then woke abruptly, wondering what had awakened her. And then she knew. The moon was setting. He was near.

  Rising, she grabbed a long hooded robe and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. But she didn't leave the garment by the door. Instead, she carried it outside and walked across the yard, following the path he had taken earlier.

  She looked up at the moon, so beautiful against the black velvet sky. She wondered if Reyes saw the beauty of it anymore, or if it was a constant reminder of the curse that plagued him.

  Frowning, she paused under a tree. If his affliction had been caused by a curse, then there must also be a way to undo it. But how?

  A rustle in the underbrush drew her attention. She held her breath as a dark shape materialized out of the shadows. If it wasn't Reyes… but it was. She recognized him immediately.

  He trotted to her side, stood there looking up at her. If she had thought it possible, she would have said he was grinning at her.

  She held up the robe. "Are you ready to change back?"

  He whined softly, his body convulsing, muscles rippling beneath the thick black fur as his body transformed, paws becoming hands and feet, fur receding to become human skin.

  It was fascinating and yet frightening to watch as bones and muscle and sinew rearranged themselves until Reyes stood before her, his body sheened with perspiration. She looked at him standing there and thought him the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  It was only when he reached for the robe draped over her arm that she remembered to be embarrassed by his nudity. With a gasp, she put her back to him, but by then it was too late. She had seen all there was to see.

  "Why did you come here?" he asked, his voice sharp with disapproval.

  "I… because…" She frowned. Why had she come?

  "Because you wanted to see the monster?" he asked quietly, but she heard the bitterness in his voice.

  "Is that how you see yourself?" she asked, her back still toward him. "As a monster?"

  "Do you not?"

  She turned to face him. "I see only a man who is being made to suffer for something that happened before he was born."

  His gaze searched hers as if seeking to know the truth of her words. Unable to help himself, he took a step forward, his hand stroking her cheek. When she didn't recoil from his touch, he moved closer. And then he lowered his head and claimed her lips with his. As he had the first time he kissed her, he expected her to resist, but once again her response took him by surprise. Her eyelids fluttered down and then she was kissing him back, her innocence and her eagerness more powerful than any aphrodisiac. Her lips were sweeter than a honeycomb, more intoxicating than spring wine. Putting his arms around her, he drank from her lips like a man dying for sustenance. He plunged one hand into her hair, his fingers delving into the thick mass. Her scent filled his nostrils, the heat of her body turned away the chill of the night. She was the reason he had never married, he thought, the reason he had shunned the wagons of the camp followers.

  He kissed her again, reveling in her sweet response. For a moment, he let himself pretend he was a normal man, let himself believe that she could be his, that he could take her as his wife and safely spill his seed within her womb. He imagined children born of their joining—strong sons and beautiful daughters, imagined the sound of their laughter filling his dreary keep. He would stop seeking battles to fight and spend his days in peaceful pursuits, and his nights… ah, his nights would be spent in Shanara's arms… Shanara. She was here, in his arms, and yet forever out of reach.

  With a low growl, he released her and turned away.

  Shanara stared at his back. "Reyes?"

  "Go back to the keep."

  "Have I displeased you?"

  "Displeased me?" An anguished laugh rose in his throat. "Go from me, Shanara, now, before it is too late for both of us."

  She started to reach out for him, needing to comfort him, and then lowered her arm. She didn't know what madness possessed her to let him kiss her but there could never be anything between them. He was going to kill her or her father. How could she have forgotten that?

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, she ran back to the keep, grateful for the darkness that hid her tears.

  She woke to the sound of shouts and harsh curses. Rising, she went to the window overlooking the courtyard. A number of men surrounded a horse. Reyes was easy to pick from the crowd. He stood head and shoulders above the others.

  Curious to know what had caused such a tumult at such an early hour, she donned a robe and hurried down the stairs and out the door.

  As though sensing her approach, Reyes turned to face her, his expression grim, his eyes hard.

  She slowed her steps as she drew near, then came to an abrupt halt when she saw the source of the commotion. The horse she had seen
from her window carried a burden on its back. She stopped, one hand covering her mouth, when she saw the headless body draped across the saddle.

  She looked up at Reyes. "Who… who was he?"

  "The messenger I sent to your father."

  His words sent a shiver through her. Caught up in the horror of what she was seeing, she hadn't realized that Reyes had come to stand beside her.

  She looked up at him. He had sent her plea for help to her father and this was her father's reply. Coldness settled over her, leaving her numb. Her father would not save her. She had known all along that he would not, yet she had clung to some small scrap of hope, and now that, too, was gone.

  As he had been the first time she had seen him, Reyes was clad all in black. He had reminded her of Death on that day not so long ago. And now that her father had abandoned her, Reyes would, indeed, be her death. Because her father would not take her place, her life would be forfeit, and then there would be another war, with more death and more killing.

  "How soon?" she asked, her voice a choked whisper. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live, to marry and bear children, to watch them grow, to hear their laughter and dry their tears.

  He frowned at her. "How soon? How soon for what?"

  "Until you… until you…"

  "Speak, woman, what are you trying to say?"

  "How soon until you… you take my head in exchange for his?"

  Reyes blinked at her. "Is that what you think I'm going to do?"

  "Are you not? You said my life would be forfeit if my father did not surrender to you."

  Reyes snorted. "I may be a monster but it is not my habit to slay women or children."

  She stared at him, feeling suddenly dizzy with relief.

  Reyes pulled her into his arms to steady her. Had she truly thought he would take her life if her miserable cur of a father refused to surrender? Reyes knew he would as soon cut off his own hand before he raised it in violence against her. He spat into the dirt. He had known all along that Montiori would never sacrifice his own life for that of his daughter, or for any of his children. Still, he had hoped that Montiori would fall for his bluff, that some spark of fatherly devotion existed in the man. He should have known better. His bluff had failed. To his regret, the finger that his physician had amputated from the diseased hand of one of the serving women had not fooled Shanara's father.