After a few hours of heavily interrupted sleep, I wake and have a horse saddled for me. I do not have many servants myself, mostly because I do not wish to risk having any of the humans see me. I have a fair bit of land that I love to roam around upon as a wolf at night but only on those nights that are dark enough that any of those who live nearby will not be able to see me.
Last night would have been a perfect occasion, yet I did not bother to unleash my wolf, and he is not the happiest with me, not at all.
No matter. There are matters of far more grave importance than running about on four legs.
When I reach Thornford, I am greeted with a flurry of activity. Rumors have circulated that the baron has been murdered, and it appears that many of the townsfolk are out to investigate it for themselves. I move through the crowd, looking for anyone who might know more about Roger Brooks and his life before his untimely death.
Roger, it seemed, though, might have cared for the few people under his care, but he did not spend much time with them either. He had been a recluse even from them.
Eventually, I find an old man who had known Roger since he was young.
“Was Roger a hunter?” The old man coughed into a tight fist. His hand shakes a bit. “Not by nature, no, but he did know his way around weapons. Seemed to me that he had been well-versed in swordplay but why, I can’t rightly say. He was known for always carrying an elegant blade with him wherever he went.”
The more I learn about this strange nobleman, the more questions arise in my mind as to why someone would want him dead.
“Would this blade still be in his manor?” I ask.
The old man snorts. “How would I know? I heard it was an animal that killed him, that Roger had been sleeping. What would an animal need a blade for?” The old man narrows his eyes at me, and I see a glint of suspicion in his glare.
“I am trying to help the constable,” I say in a rush.
“It is easy enough to claim that, I think,” the old man says, lifting his chin.
I shrug nonchalantly. “I will be sure to tell Seth Boyle how cooperative you have been.”
The old man grunts. “Who is this Seth Boyle?”
“The constable.”
He rubs the tip of his nose. “I suppose if you are telling the truth, I’ll be meeting this Seth Boyle.”
“I would think so.” I nod to him and move off before he can question me more.
Not knowing if I will find another to speak to me more concerning Roger, I head toward his manor. It is eerily quiet. I enter the place, my feet creaking on the wooden floorboards as I move steadily deeper into the building. The fire in the hearth has long been extinguished, and a chill hangs in the air like a blanket of death.
I search for any clues as to who might have killed Roger and find none until I reach his bedroom. His body has been removed, most likely to be cleaned and prepared for burial, but there, on the wall, the blade is mounted. I do not know how I missed it before. Perhaps I had not known to look for it.
I head over to touch the hilt. The blade is beautifully crafted, but it is not magical. Why I thought it might have been, I cannot say.
With a sigh, I turn back toward the door and realize I am not alone.
Flora enters the room. The sight of the beautiful lady I only just met the night before, mere hours ago, brings me far too much comfort.
“I knew you would not leave for long,” she murmurs.
“Have you been investigating the death?” I ask.
She nods. “You as well.”
“Yes, but…” I do not wish for her to know who the killer is. Perhaps I should not keep this detail from her, but I am unwilling to betray my alpha.
“A werewolf did this,” she says firmly, quietly as she moves to stand beside me.
My hand reaches for her, and our fingers interlock. “Why the werewolf killed him almost does not matter,” I murmur.
“Because the manner of death puts us all at risk of discovery,” she agrees, “but how can we be certain that the killer will not murder another?”
I swallow hard. “We can’t be certain, no.” I look away from her and feel my chest tighten. The thought of someone else dying in such a manner is unbearable. “We must come up with some measures to help prevent it from happening again.”
“What do you suggest?” Flora asks, her voice gentle and concerned.
“That, I do not know,” I admit, “for there can be no agreement of peace between the werewolves and the humans. What might your pack mates suggest?”
“The werewolf found guilty of the murder must be cast out from the pack after being branded so that if he or she wishes to join another pack, that new pack will know that the werewolf has killed before. That new pack will have to determine if the murderous werewolf deserves a second chance.”
“I take it this has happened before,” I say, wide-eyed.
“We have done much and more to try to ensure that our pack and others are kept safe from any evil among the supernatural community,” she says. “That we might be an evil afflicted upon the humans, no, that is new.”
“And it stems from my pack.” I swallow hard.
“Might you be able to speak with your alpha concerning this? Do you think he might be willing to force out the murderer from your pack?”
“I can speak with him,” I say slowly.
“But you do not think he will be amendable,” she assumes.
“I do not think so, no. What if… What if the murderer did so for a reason? To help the pack?”
“To keep werewolves a secret, perhaps? But why kill like that?” she asks her head. “I’m afraid that I cannot see how the murderer did not wish to start rumors and worries among the humans with the manner of death. That is why we cannot have the murderer allowed to walk freely.”
I nod. “Might you go to my manor and wait for me there while I talk to my alpha? My horse will take you there.”
“Very well, but be careful, Leo.” She cups my face. “Your pack has one very dangerous member, and if others feel the same as the murderer, I fear that your speaking against him or her will cause you to be in peril.”
“I will be fine,” I assure her.
“So long as those are not your final words.” She beams at me.
“They most certainly will not be because there is much and more I want to say to you.”
“About?”
“Well, I wish to know more about you and your future and what you might want in a husband and if I might have a chance.”
“Perhaps you have a chance. A small one,” she teases, and it takes all of my self-control not to kiss her and so keep her honor intact.