Chasing Time

by Elena Lawson

  She nodded, sendin’ her thick brown curls bouncin’ as she turned back to her room. She turned back again just a moment before enterin’. “I’m sorry,” she said. “About before. If I hurt you?”

  I’d all but forgotten ‘bout the blow she gave me. The flesh of my abdomen was unmarked. Truly all she did was knock the wind from my lungs and set a rude cramp to wingin’. “Dinna fash. All is forgiven.”

  She smiled a sad sort o’ smile and I felt somethin’ in my chest tug at the sight. I lifted my hand, maybe to reach out—I didna know. But she flinched back, and I quickly drew away and cast my gaze elsewhere. “Sleep well, Rebecca.”

  “Beck,” she corrected. “You can call me Beck.”

  I was still reelin’ from our little encounter by the time I made it down the stairs, bowlegged like a pregnant mule with the stiffness of my cock and an ache of unrelieved pressure in my balls. What had the lass done to me?

  I’d need a bath of ice water if I was to get any sleep at all this night.

  Passin’ quickly through the drawin’ room, I entered my study and closed the door tight behind me. If Ellis awoke to me dismantlin’ his precious clock he’d be fumin’ mad. The lad was a kind soul but could hold a grudge like no other man I knew. I unhooked the wooden beast from its peg in the wall, the tick, tick, tick, so loud now it made me wince with each movement.

  I had to light the candle atop my desk to see better, lookin’ for a gear or cog. Anythin’ to stop the blasted noise from echoin’ in my skull. “Where are ye?” I whispered to myself. “Ah, there.”

  I was careful not to disturb the other bits and bobs. Not wanting to destroy the thing for good. Ellis wouldna ever forgive me then. I only wanted some peace.

  The metal wheel-like bit came loose wi’ a metallic chink, and I hissed at the noise, and then relaxed at the absence of sound. Glorious, it was.

  Absolutely brilliant.

  But there was a new sound. A rushin’—the blood in my veins callin’ out. My mouth went dry from it. My heart thudded slow but hard like a hammer against the cage of bones keepin’ my body from collapsin’ in on itself.

  My eyes went to the wee drawer of their own accord. I couldna stop ‘em.

  Maybe just a wee nip?

  I ran a hand o’er the back o’ my neck, tryin’ to smooth down the red hairs tryna jump straight up. My teeth were grindin’ wi’ the effort o’ keepin’ my own self reined in. But it was no use. I never was able to stop it.

  Why even try?

  Just a wee nip.

  That’s all.

  Then back to bed and blissful oblivion.

  Before I fully knew what I was doin’, I’d sat myself in the chair, my hands rubbin’ each other for warmth—to scare away some of the tinglin’—stop the shakin’. And then I opened the drawer, drawin’ the candle nearer to better see its contents.

  But somethin’ wasna right. This wasna how I left it. My pipe shoulda been here. And the small metal tin I used for it.

  In place of the tools I used to sate my habit was a box. A small wooden box without a mark on it.

  What the devil is this?

  Where the devil is my opium!

  Wi’ sloppy fingers I wrenched the damned thing from the nook, my skin glazin’ over in a layer o’ cold sweat. My heart beatin’ in earnest now, legs bobbin’ ‘neith the desk. I tore off the lid—lifted the bottle inside to the light.

  Laudanum.

  “And that’s all you’ll get,” he said from the doorway, makin’ me jump up so fast the chair sprawled to the floor behind me. The sound of wood clatterin’ onto wood rang through the sleepin’ house.

  Everett stood there wi’ his arms crossed o’er his chest, not an ounce of apology in his stare as he watched me.

  “Everett—” I started, ready to beg if that’s what he wanted. I only needed a little. Just enough to help me sleep.

  “No,” he growled before I could finish. And then, as though he read my thoughts, he added. “The laudanum has enough opium to help you sleep. Drink some and get your sorry ass back to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

  Chapter 11

  BECK

  I slept through breakfast the next morning, a fact Jasper immediately went to rectify. Apparently, he was the chef of the family—though when I had made the joke, he looked at me blankly.

  Still, my stomach was a tumultuous mixture of dread and anxiety, and I had declined the offer of food. My thoughts had somersaulted throughout the night, as erratic as the water had been when I’d fallen into the Thames. I replayed everything that occurred, everything I’d been through, and was unable to grasp how it was possible.

  What was in that drug I took?

  There was no doubt in my mind it had played a part in my current predicament. The nerd within me that aced all her chemistry classes wanted to study the drug in detail while the other part wanted to stay clear of it.

  One thing was certain: it was dangerous.

  I didn’t have Ellis’s help this morning, so I was forced to dress by myself, pulling on the same dress I wore the night before. After fumbling with the corset ineffectually, I dropped it to the ground and pulled on the dress. The fabric was soft against my bare skin.

  “Fuck,” I cursed, struggling to do up the laces. Frankly, my hands couldn’t bend that far back. Giving up, I peeked my head out of my bedroom door.

  “Hello? Anyone there?” I asked tentatively. For a moment there was silence, broken apart by heavy footsteps against the wooden hallway floors. My heart lodged in my throat when I caught sight of Everett’s penetrating gaze. He looked at me as if I was the scum on his shoe. A bug he yearned to crush. I didn’t understand his hostility towards me.

  Maybe he was just afraid of females.

  “What?” he barked, folding his arms over his chest. He was meticulously groomed wearing a buttoned up black shirt that stretched tauntingly over his large pectoral muscles. A darker jacket fitted his shoulders, resting just below his ass. Skintight pants, a similar shade to the jacket, hugged his legs. His messy brown hair was brushed away from his face, accentuating the strong angles of his face and the light scruff on his jaw.

  Did he have to be so fucking sexy? Maybe it was just me. Obviously, I didn’t have a good track record when it came to guys. My last few boyfriends, if you could even call them that, looked at me like a fuck buddy and nothing more. I used them too. Their bodies and warmth, anything to help keep the creeping coldness at bay.

  “Can you help me lace my dress?” I asked, unsure if my question was socially acceptable.

  Everett’s eyes narrowed, but he conceded with a single bob of his head. Jaw clenching, he pushed past me into my room and gestured for me to spin around.

  “Have servants to do this for you, Princess?” he sneered, the nickname sounding like acid on his tongue.

  I ignored him, holding my hair up with one hand and giving him my back. His breath caught.

  Before I could comment on his weird as fuck reaction, his fingers ghosted over my bare back, pulling at the strings. Oh. I wasn’t wearing a corset. No wonder he was so aghast, all of my bare flesh on display.

  I didn’t need to be a history genius to know this was improper as hell. Whoops.

  His fingers were feather soft whenever they brushed my skin, and I couldn’t stop the goosebumps and full body shivers even if I wanted to. The pads of his fingers were rough—these hands had done things. Worked. For some inexplicable reason, that only heightened my desire.

  When the last lace was tied, Everett strode back toward the door, not bothering to glance in my direction. Did my skin disgust him that much?

  “Thank you,” I called softly. Timidly. It was a peace offering, an olive branch. He could either take it or reject it.

  He paused, head tilting slightly in my direction.

  “Ellis told me what you told him,” he said softly. Unashamedly.

  I felt a brief stab of anger at Ellis before I suppressed it. Who was I to believe he would hold loyalty to me ov
er his brothers? I couldn’t blame him even if it did slightly hurt.

  “About your memory issues. We’ll take care of you until we find your family.” His jaw was clenched so tightly I was afraid it would break. I wished I could see his face, read his eyes, understand his motives and intentions.

  “Meet me downstairs. If you're to stay here, we will need to provide you more clothes.”

  Without a word, he stormed from the room leaving me baffled.

  When I rejoined him downstairs, running water over my teeth and smoothing down my curls, Everett was pacing in the foyer. The candlelight glimmered off his hair, highlighting golden strands I hadn’t noticed previously.

  He gave me a long look that suggested I was an idiot for taking so long. Excuse me. He had never tried to look presentable in an outfit you would see in museums.

  The weather outside was perfect—not too hot and not too cold. Leaves littered the streets and weedy grass, colors ranging from bright yellow to garnet red to tawny brown. Everett silently led me down a winding trail bogged down with weeds, some growing strong and others trampled. The sun was bright and surprisingly cheery, a direct contrast to my dark mood.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, staring intently at his bunching back muscles through his jacket. Despite being fall, the heat was suffocating, no longer combated by air conditioning and other modern technology. I couldn’t imagine wearing this dress in the dead of summer. I supposed it was a small miracle I plopped into the past in October.

  We branched off the main path and into what appeared to be a small town. The buildings were mainly made of brick and roughly hewn logs, smoke rising lazily from chimneys. Horses and carriages adorned the cobbled street, the clanking almost rhythmic.

  I wanted to marvel at everything, memorize the unwashed windows, elaborate dresses, and brilliant stallions. However, Everett was walking ahead, and I hurried to keep pace.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said in awe, resisting the urge to spin in a circle with a giddy giggle. It was like going to one of those pioneer villages back home—the ones where nothing had changed, and all the people dressed in replica clothing and only cooked with cast iron and flame.

  The difference was that in those places it was all a show—I mean, you had to pay to get in, and you could leave whenever you wanted to.

  I didn’t have that luxury. Or even a single pence to my name.

  Everett merely grunted in response. A man of few words. After a moment, he explained, “The main city is much larger than this, about a half hour on horses. Maybe an hour.”

  We stopped in front of a modest building plastered between two larger ones. A flat roof was pitched down on either side, and two windows were stacked in a vertical alignment over the door.

  Without waiting for me, Everett stepped inside.

  It was quaint but gorgeous, the walls painted white with red stencil naming it as Depours. Dresses lined the walls, and materials of all colors were folded neatly on shelves. Tiny dolls rested on the top of each shelf, modeling dresses with an abundance of ruffles and lace.

  Everett strode briskly to the counter and leaned against it. A moment later, a curtain to a back room was pushed aside and a pretty female stepped out. Her hair was ice blonde, elaborately braided away from her face. She wore a gorgeous, deep green gown that heightened the flecks of green in her eyes. When she saw Everett, a sultry grin crooked up her face, and she blinked her sooty lashes suggestively.

  “Ev,” she cooed. “What can I do for you today, sir?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at me and then leaned forward, talking too softly for me to hear. The pretty girl nodded eagerly, hand moving to rest on his arm.

  Finally, he straightened to his full height, and her hand slipped from his arm. She pouted in disappointment, but he seemed oblivious, turning back to me.

  “Come. We need to get you fitted.”

  “Fitted?”

  His hand gripped mine, tugging me towards a wooden box in the center of half a dozen mirrors. With a gentleness that belied his impassiveness, he helped me stand upon the box.

  “Lydia, here, will begin your measurements.” He nodded towards the petite blonde who had sidled up beside us. She preened at capturing his attention, fluttering her lashes once more.

  Without another word, he moved to a white couch and daintily perched himself on the edge. I almost snorted. There was not a dainty bone in that man’s body.

  “How are you today, miss?” Lydia asked kindly, though there was something in her eyes that gave me pause. Something almost…acidic. Venomous. I was almost afraid to answer, as if my voice would exacerbate her rage.

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  I fucking hated awkward small talk.

  “Great! Let’s begin your measurements, shall we? You won’t be able to bring any of the dresses home today, though-”

  “Do you have anything in the shop that is her size? Something she can wear for the time being?” Everett interrupted. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His eyes were trained intently on my back, each hooded caress making goosebumps erupt on my skin.

  “So, you don’t want the measurements?” Lydia asked, somewhat snottily, if you asked me.

  “No, we still want them. But in the meantime, do you perhaps have a dress already made we could purchase, miss?”

  Lydia’s lips scrunched together in a duck face before its time.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The next hour was the worst. I was poked and prodded to within an inch of my life. At one point, Lydia instructed Everett to wait outside so she could take off my dress completely. He didn’t seem happy but conceded with a tiny nod of his head. After the measurements, Lydia took me to the counter and procured a collection of cloth squares, each a different color. She instructed me to choose three of my favorites.

  My mind and eyes wandered as she poked and prodded, and I noticed on a small stool several feet from where she sat was an old newspaper. Or, I supposed it wasn’t old—it only looked old to me when compared to paper’s nowadays. It was covered black print. No photos or even a lick of color.

  The headline was what drew my eye, though, and had me tilting my head to read it better. Another Grisly Murder. Suspect at Large.

  Lydia must’ve noticed my distraction, because she snatched up the paper with a strange look in her eyes and tucked it under a bolt of fabric. It may have been a trick of the light, but I could’ve sworn I’d seen the ink vanish from the parchment before my eyes as she stowed it away.

  It was Everett hurrying back into the shop, eyes wide and hair disheveled, that stopped me from asking her what it was that was making headlines in 1888.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back to get you in a little bit,” Everett instructed firmly, tone scathing.

  “Why?” I demanded instantly before I could think better of it. I really hated being bossed around.

  “Because I said so,” he snapped back. He trained keen eyes onto Lydia, and she blanched. “Don’t let her leave. I’ll collect her in a little bit.”

  Collect me.

  As if I was a fucking dog in a kennel.

  Fuck that.

  “Are we done here?” I asked Lydia, raising a brow. Her face was abnormally pale, eyes flickering from me to the door Everett had just stormed out of.

  “Miss, you really should stay here—”

  “I’ll be right back,” I assured her, gathering the heavy trim of my dress.

  “Miss—”

  Ignoring her pleas, I ducked out onto the street, my slippers masking my footsteps.

  Time to figure out what these men were up to.

  Chapter 12

  EVERETT

  I sensed the Enduran Shifters before they sensed me. My magic broached the edges of the town, slithering over each building and the surrounding forests like an inky snake.

  Six of them. Male.

  I straightened slightly, almost imperceptibly, before strutting towards where I knew the leader would
be waiting. I didn’t bother to spare a glance at the dress shop I had left Beck at. If there were any eyes, any curious ears, they would wonder what had ensnared my attention.

  And they would use it against me.

  I wouldn’t allow an innocent girl to be pulled into our mess, our drama. Even if I didn’t trust her.

  They waited at the edge of the forest. Some of the trees were skeletal, their bare branches grazing my arms as I walked. Others were brown in appearance mixed with orange and red, the coming chill deteriorating the color pigments.

  Standing beneath the tapestry was a familiar man. He was taller than even me but skinny. Lanky. He wore trousers too tight and a loose-fitting button up. His dark hair, speckled with gray, hung in loose curls over his shoulders.

  When he smiled, I was greeted with two rows of yellowing teeth, sharpened. Dirt was smudged across his face and hands, and his nails were similarly covered in dirt and soot. While he exuded an image that he worked hard, I knew the asshole hadn’t held a job a day in his life.

  “Dave,” I said briskly, nodding my head in greeting. His mossy green eyes flared vibrantly before they settled back to his normal color. The wolf receding.

  “Young Everett,” he sneered condescendingly. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m listening.” I crossed my arms over my chest, a natural defense mechanism I had honed. It allowed me to feel protected and safe, as if my arms would protect me from the inevitable blows and fists. It was a way for me to externalize an internal pain.

  “The last shipment was…defective.” His lips pulled back over his teeth in a snarl.

  “That’s impossible. I checked it myself.”

  My muscles tensed as more bodies moved from the forest. Surrounding me. Closing in on me. I felt suffocated. I may have been outside, but it was as if I was in a diminutive room with the walls slowly closing in on me. Each wall laced with spikes and swords, eagerly awaiting a chance to stab me.