Page 59 of Wolf's Bane
“It’s history, blemishes and all,” Charlotte said, struggling for a haughty tone in her voice. “One cannot censure the human experience.”
Solenne flipped through the pages, searching for the naughty bits. “Oh. Oh my. Miss Wodehouse—”
They burst into laughter.
Chapter 15
Solenne
Boxon Hill
Northern Pasture
The heat lingered wellafter sunset. Sweat collected in her lower back. No matter how many times Solenne plucked away the fabric, it clung to all her uncomfortable places with determination.
Near full, the moon cast enough light that she could see well enough to pick her way through the northern pasture. Luis did not want her to venture out, but Alek nearly consumed all her store of wolfsbane. The seedlings in the greenhouse would not be ready for weeks. She needed to replenish now, which meant a moonlight stroll.
Gathering the blossoms on the equinox or solstice was best for potency but impractical. A full moon was better, but gathering by moonlight would do. She didn’t know how she knew those things; she just did. Luis would say it was a witchy instinct.
Nonsense.
The siblings made peace after their argument, but Solenne would never agree with Luis. His theory was, well, too much out of a storybook. Certain flowers blossomed at night. If certain flowers were more potent when gathered at night, then that was because of lack of insects gathering pollen or exposure to the nexus. Not magic, and not because she was a witch.
Solenne knelt at a cluster of the hooded purple blossoms, her basket at her side. Her silver dagger lopped off the flower heads with practiced efficiency.
Witches. She heard nothing so silly in her life.
The wind shifted, bringing cool relief.
A week had passed since Mrs. Parkell and Dr. Sheldon arrived, claiming that Alek went to draw away a beast to allow them to finish their journey without incident. He would be a day behind, perhaps two. Never fear.
A week. Too much time had passed. The distance between Fallkirk and Boxon did not warrant such a lengthy journey. Each day that passed, the likelihood of Alek laying mangled and dead in a dark wood increased.
Distressed, she asked Godwin to set out to search for Alek. He did not seem surprised. “My dear, perhaps he has moved on. That’s what his kind does, after all.”
No. She knew in her heart that was wrong. Alek would not leave her.
She approached Luis, since he was keen on a quest. “Alek is skilled. He’ll find his way back,” her brother said.
He would not have been so blithe if it was Miles missing.
She couldn’t sleep. How could she? Rather than chew her nails down to the quick, she read Charlotte’s book. It proved to be as lascivious as promised. The author did not shy away from details, and Solenne was grateful that she kept this part of her research quiet.
After rushing through the first time, she reread with more attention to detail and took notes. The book was an autobiography of an original colonist. Two months after arrival, a crewmember was bitten and mutated.
Nothing seemed to quell the violence in the afflicted man. Not tranquilizers. Not restraints. The surviving crew believed that the only thing to be done would be a bullet to the head and end the afflicted man’s misery.
Only the woman writing the account felt a connection with the man. She refused to think him a mindless beast. Desperate to avoid the man’s execution, she locked herself in the holding cell with him. Such action was phenomenally brave and more than a little stupid.
Subsequent events were intimate in nature and described in such detail that Solenne felt her ears burn. The details didn’t matter so much that on the other side, when the executioner unlocked the holding cell, they were bonded. The man was himself again, no longer a raging monster. The woman was his anchor, keeping him sane and human.
Solenne took notes. How could she not? Intimacy seemed to be key, though whether emotional or an exchange of fluids, the book never clarified.
She thought back to the kiss and how every part of her sparked with awareness, like she had emerged from a long sleep. Was that enough for a bond? Perhaps some scrap or injury in childhood led to contact with blood.
Better try all methods to be certain.
She pressed a hand to the center of her chest, willing herself to feel some tug or a thread between herself and Alek. She was in his blood, he said. They had a bond. She knew it. And Alek was not mortally injured on some empty roadside. She would know that too.
