I lie awake in the predawn light of morning. Outside the window, a dreary gray swallows the entire sky.
Exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders, unrelenting after a countless number of parties. I have attended a lifetime’s worth—at least one each night that I’ve been here. Though, I’ve managed to get out of a few by feigning fainting spells or illness. With every passing day, I find I fit in less and less here. Always surrounded by people I don’t know and don’t care to know. It’s lonely in a way I’ve never experienced before.
I’ve found peace on those free nights. Sitting in the meager library and reading by the light of a tallow candle—the flickering light allowing me to transport to another, more familiar place.
Even with guilt prickling at my conscience for not being there for Kathrine, I know it is for the best. Since that first party, I have become more attuned to how the people of Littlemire see me. Before, I was unseen. Invisible. Now, my life has been touched by that of a vampire, and I’m tainted.
Which should bother me, but it doesn’t. I don’t care about the simpering idiots in this town.
This is the life I once fought to have, and I have hated every minute of it.
I blink at the suddenly blurry ceiling and roll to my side.
The window of this room looks out to the northwest, toward the border of the Shade Forest. I’ve only ever ventured into the eastern edge. These trees don’t make me think of the countless days I spent wandering there, learning to lay traps, and shoot an arrow well enough to kill the occasional animal. Instead, the purples and reds bruising the sky and peeking through the spaces between branches remind me of a different forest. One full of greater demons…
A single hot tear rolls down the side of my cheek and seeps into the pillow.
A loud series of knocks pull me from my darkening mood and signal the third wolf hunt in as many days. While the hunts are a break from the parties with far too many people, it is a sickening ritual.
I don’t understand how hunting baby wolves burdened by contraptions meant to hobble it down is supposed to bring good fortune and fertility to the married couple. It seems more like an excuse to boost the egos of those who can’t hunt by giving them an unsporting chance.
My stomach rolls from repulsion. At least when I hunted, it was out of necessity and not sport.
The first day the pup managed to escape. Kathrine sulked, convinced it was a bad omen for her marriage.
Then yesterday, the wolf was caught and killed. The pelt was carried away to make a gift for the wedding night. I don’t want to know what it could be.
Today is the final hunt and the day before the wedding. If I could get out of this, I would. This month-long affair has only reinforced how much I don’t belong.
I rise from bed and dress. My fingers are cold and shake as I button up the bright yellow hunting jacket. The swallowtail hangs down to the back of my knees. The tan leather breeches fit snug but allow me to move. Finally, I slip my feet into the kneehigh, black riding boots.
After tomorrow, these parties and hunts will be done with, and I will be able to begin my search for a new future.
By the time I get out to the stables, everyone has already mounted up—all twelve of them. Kathrine, Abraham, his brother Watson, the Lord Byron of Progsdale, his wife along with the mayor of Durford, and several others I don’t know.
I take the reins from the stablehand and mount my mare, then guide her to where everyone is waiting. We all walk to the edge of the forest and line up.
Two of the men are laughing and making a wager on which of them will be the one to kill the wolf.
Ahead, the stablehand sets down a metal wire cage, quiet whimpers come from within.
“Are you sure you don’t want a pistol?” Watson asks from beside me.
I smile wanly and shake my head. “No… No. I’m still getting used to staying in the saddle with both my hands. I don’t think I can manage to stay seated while holding anything,” I say playing up my lack of riding experience.
“That’s all right,” Abraham says, reaching over to pat me on the shoulder. “Gives me more of a chance to catch the thing for my lovely bride.”
He says thing as if it’s not an animal just because it’s a wolf. It's nothing more than an old fear of shifters, dating back to when they were blamed for the horrible acts of demons. They are still seen as less than animals.
Oblivious to my distaste for this event, Abraham and Kathrine share a sweet look. He already seems smitten with her, and despite how many times she’s insisted otherwise, I think she is falling for him.
The stablehand releases the latch of the cage and brings a whistle to his lips then blows. A shrill noise sounds and a wolf pup with ruddy brown fur limps out of the cage. The poor thing cowers into a pile of damp leaves as soon as it spots us.
The man swings his foot and kicks the pup into motion. It runs into the edge of the forest with an uneven gait.
We wait atop horses that shift in place as the stablehand’s eyes are glued to a pocket watch.
Time ticks on. A few members of the hunting party have teamed up, while others brag that they will be the one to catch it. Wagers are placed and written down.
The stablehand raises his arm.
My stomach churns.
The hand drops, and every horse leaps into action, running into the woods and splitting up. My horse follows without my needing to nudge her. I barely manage to keep from being jostled off.
I don’t want to see the senseless murder. It’s one thing to hunt an animal for food, quite another for entertainment.
After a long minute, my mare slows to a walk. I turn her head, guiding her to the north of the hunting party. I ride alone for a few hours, keeping within hearing range of the others, but out of sight.
The gray of morning has finally lifted, and the sun shines through the mottled branches.
I breathe in deeply, letting my eyes slide closed, pretending for a moment that I am somewhere else.
A small yelp catches my attention. My eyes snap open and I barely manage to keep myself from falling out of the saddle. Pulling the mare to a halt, I glance around, looking for the source of the cry.
Then I see it. The small wolf pup is curled up and shaking violently in a tangle of mud and branches of a dying bush.
I lift my leg over the horse and slowly lower myself to the ground, keeping an eye on the little wolf. Lifting the reins over the mare's head, I wrap them around a low branch. The horse nickers, displeased.
I inch my way over to the wolf, barely more than a scrappy ball of fur. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” I croon.
The creature freezes and takes a halting step back. When the contraption on its leg catches, fear grows wild in its eyes. It flails and struggles to get free, yelping.
“Quiet, little one.” I kneel in the loam and reach for him. The pup snaps its tiny mouthful of teeth. I reach over his small head and grab the scruff.
It stills. The poor thing can’t be more than a few months old. It’s roughly the size of a medium-sized dog, but still a baby in all ways—including strength and coordination.
I make soft shushing noises as my free hand roams over its back, sides, and each leg, looking for injuries. I get to the booted hind leg, tangled in some dying vines.
“You never had a chance,” I say in the same soothing tone.
It trembles, cowering but unable to get out of my grasp. I reach up and, still holding onto it by the scruff, continue to stroke my free hand down its back, all the while speaking gently. When the pup’s shaking lessens, I reach to scratch behind an ear.
“You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” I say.
Large brownish amber eyes blink up at me.
A growl comes from several yards ahead. I jerk my gaze up to see a much larger version of the little cub watching me.
“That must be your mama,” I whisper, which earns me a small whimper of a response.
Though the wolf doesn’t come any closer, there’s a spark of intelligence in its eyes. A flash I know better than to dismiss. These wolves are larger than most in the area.
I adjust my left leg, stretching it out in front of me, then pull the night forged dagger from my boot. The adult wolf lets out a low snarl.
“It’s okay, I won’t hurt him,” I say.
The snarling stops, but the large wolf takes several loping steps, cutting the distance in half. The cub’s shaking starts anew.
I keep my movements slow, reaching for the vines. I slide the edge of the blade across them, and with a single swipe, the tangle falls away. Before the pup can manage to wriggle from my grasp, I press its back to my chest and hold him there, continuing to talk and shush his whimpers.
After a minute, I bring the dagger to its foot. The other wolf growls again. Before it can react, I slip the blade between the foot and the boot and jerk my hand up, slicing the leather binds.
The boot drops to the ground and I release the pup. It takes a few tentative steps, glancing back in my direction. I give it one more scratch on the head then pat his butt, scooting it on its way.
It runs to the other wolf, and together they disappear into the forest.
I sit back on my heels and sigh. I hope against hope that in some way this makes up for my part in this ritual, and not doing anything the first two days.
I stand and do my best to brush off the dirt from my light breeches. But the soil is damp and I only succeed in smearing it into the material.
Giving up on my hopeless outfit, I look for signs of the wolf's tracks—small paw prints here and there, a scuffling of leaves where his foot dragged, small broken twigs.
I crouch and dig a hole to bury the leather boot. I grab a nearby fallen branch then proceed to sweep it across the path, blurring the tracks left behind to camouflage the hole I made.
I toss the branch and dust off my hands as I make my way back to the horse.
“Thanks for being such a good girl,” I say, stroking her velvety muzzle.
Untying the reins, I put them back into place and mount up. At least that part is getting easier.
I guide the mare around in circles, getting rid of any possible remaining tracks before heading toward the voices of the hunting party.
Kathrine spots me and trots over. Her mouth parts as she takes in my appearance. “Oh, Clara, what happened? You’re covered in dirt.”
My heart stutters. “I… I was unseated,” I offer, but it comes out more like a question.
Kathrine giggles, pulling her horse next to mine. “You really do need to learn how to ride,” she teases.
I smile.
“I lost the trail!” Lord Byron of Progsdale says.
Kathrine frowns.
The gaze of everyone from our hunting party drops to the ground. I see a paw print and nudge my horse to the side until a hoof tramps over it.
What a shame. Now they’ll never pick up the trail.
“I thought I saw it run that way,” I say, pointing east, away from the wolves.
“Why didn’t you say so, girl? Let’s go—time is running short,” the mayor of Durford says. He kicks his horse into a trot, causing his round posterior to bounce in the saddle as he rides away.
One by one, each member of the party takes off, hurrying to catch a wolf they will never find. Though Kathrine stays at my side.
I don’t look back in the true direction the wolves ran. There is no reason to.
Hours later and the party gathers in a circle. My mare shifts impatiently beneath me.
“We should get back. The sun will lower soon, and dinner will be ready,” Abraham says. He smiles, but the light in his eyes dims when he glances at Kathrine, head bowed and pouting.
Lord Byron huffs. “It is a shame we didn’t catch the little demon spawn. Would have had better luck on the wedding night producing a boy.”
What a prick. As if the wedding night is any of his business.
“You only have to look at Kathrine and Abraham to know they don’t need luck in their marriage,” I say. “Fate could not have designed a more perfect couple.”
Kathrine beams at that, holding her head a little higher and Abraham lets out a relieved breath of air. They don’t need superstition the day before their wedding, or comments from dirty old men.
“No matter,” Mayor Collins says, “it was all in good fun.”
As we ride back to the Morgan’s manor, everyone breaks into small groups, chatting. I linger near the rear, and once more, Kathrine rides at my side.
Other than Kitty’s presence, nothing about Littlemire feels familiar anymore. The sense of home I once had, is gone—if it had ever been there to begin with. Something I’m starting to doubt. The distance I’ve had while in Windbury has only lifted the veil over my eyes to reveal the truth.
This was never home to me. I am a stranger in my own world.
I push down the self-pitying thoughts and turn to Kathrine.
“Don’t listen to that old demon fart. Boy or girl, your children will be beautiful and perfect,” I say.
Her shoulders relax. “Thank you, Clara. I’m so glad you could be here for this.” She pauses and sniffles, eyes shining from unshed tears. “You know,” she says after a while. “When you were taken, I thought my life was over.”
Her words send a stab of pain through me and I wish she never had to experience that fear and uncertainty.
“Oh, Kathrine…”
She lifts her head and gives me one of her brightest smiles. “It was as if the Otherworld sent a miracle to make up for ripping you away from me.”
I tilt my head, not sure what she means.
“The money you left wouldn’t have made for a decent dowry, so it is a good thing our uncle heard you were claimed. Otherwise, I don’t think he would have come offering to be my benefactor—”
“What?” I blurt.
We don’t have an uncle. Both our parents were only children. I swear if some demon or vampire has tricked her into some bargain, I will hunt them down and drive the blade of my dagger through the spot where their heart should be.
“Yes, Mr. Steward—oops!” Kathrine slaps a hand over her mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything…”
I gape at her, my breath hitching inside my chest.
Mr. Steward… that’s… My brain ceases to function for several heartbeats. Kathrine continues on, but I stop listening.
The only man I know by that name is Alaric’s butler. There’s no way he… unless—
My mouth goes dry.
Alaric sent his butler to Kathrine and arranged this marriage…
My stomach twists into knots. Had he compelled the family into accepting Kathrine? What exactly had he done?
Alaric had orchestrated this entire thing and had said nothing.
He deceived me. He told me it was hopeless, that I was doomed to go to Nightwich with him. And all the while, he was manufacturing the very excuse to grant my freedom.
This is what I wanted, so why lie?
My head spins trying to understand. I can’t focus on Kitty, or the horse under me—nothing besides the letter that was wrapped up with the night-forged dagger.
Why hadn’t he said anything?