Page 48 of Wolf's Bane
He had been careful to mask the symptoms of his curse. Obviously not careful enough. He thought back to when he first arrived at the Marechals’ home and his encounter with Godwin at the front door. At the time, Godwin seemed cagey, but Alek had chalked that up to being protective over Solenne.
That tricky bastard.
“You knew when I arrived,” he concluded.
“I’ve only one working eye. I’m not blind,” Godwin said tersely. “You dared to come to my home, in your condition—”
“Then you should have shut your door to me!” His shout echoed through the trees. Enraged, his claws popped, and he needed to rend and tear.
With a snarl, he sank his claws into the nearest tree, scouring the surface. The bark and woody pulp underneath had a satisfying give, not as good as flesh or a still thrashing rabbit, but good enough.
Alek turned to the man, fangs on display and his mouth crowded with teeth. His top lip curled, displaying the sharpness and the potency of his bite.
There. No longer would he hide himself from Godwin. If it meant a silver knife in the back, well, it’d go nicely with the silver-tipped arrow he put there last night.
“Would you have honored a shut door?” Godwin asked, voice cool and unimpressed.
“You welcomed me into your home. You were so desperate that you’d accept anyone’s help, even from me.” Alek slurred around the extraneous teeth in his mouth, his voice more snarl and growl than civilized communication.
“End me now,” he demanded. He threw his coat to the ground, revealing his shirt, stained a deep magenta from his dried blood, a color as unnatural as he himself was. Spreading his hands wide, he said, “Eight years I’ve been more beast than man. Finish me.”
“Not while you are of use to me, Hardwick. Pull yourself together. If you cannot control yourself, then I will gladly put a knife in you.” Godwin shook his head, then scratched at the edge of the eye patch, as if the healing skin itched. “I knew what you were when you were a child. I should have left you there, in your own piss and filth, but Maksim saved my life once. I owed him a boon.”
Godwin’s words shook Alek to his core. The beast receded in surprise. He swallowed roughly. Shifting teeth was a sensation he’d never grow accustomed to. “What? What do you mean?”
The older man brushed his fingers over the marks left on the tree. “How much do you remember about your parents?”
“Enough.”
Truthfully, Alek’s memories of his parents had faded, growing less distinct with each passing year. He was eight when a beast invaded their home and tore his parents apart. Alek had only survived because his mother locked him in a steamer trunk and covered that with a heavy quilt to muffle his frightened sobs. He could not be sure how long he spent locked in that hot trunk—hours, possibly days—until Godwin Marechal found him.
Sometimes he dreamed of them. The vivid memories came back with heartbreaking clarity, and he remembered all the details that time eroded. His mother smelled of herbs and washing powder. His father always had a bit of boot polish under his nails that he could never seem to scrub away. His mother’s smile and how she would sing while her hands were busy with sewing or other work, but only if she thought she was alone. He and his father would sit outside the door and listen.
“She’s my keystone, she ties me to this world and I’m nothing without her,” his father said.
When Alek woke, the memories evaporated, only leaving behind the sense of loss.
“Hmm,” Godwin said, the enigmatic bastard.
“Are you telling me I was bitten as a child and you, what? Took me to your home, trained me up, and waited for me to turn into a mindless monster?”
“You were not bitten as a child. Are you telling me your father never spoke about his father? Your grandfather?”
“No. Perhaps. I cannot recall,” Alek said, growing frustrated. His grandfather had died before Alek’s birth. That was all he knew.
“We’ll discuss this another time. Now, tell me what you thought of the beast ignoring your silver blade? It acted as if you were attacking with a butter knife.”
“No, we will discuss this now. What about my grandfather?”
The two men faced each other, both stubborn with their shoulders squared and feet planted in a fighting stance.
The breeze shifted, rustling the leaves overhead and bringing with it the scent of smoke from cooking fires. The house was starting the day. The sooner they located the missing men, the sooner Alek could have his feast and hot bath.
If Godwin refrained from planting a knife in him.
“Very well. Your grandfather was cursed. Maksim knew. We all knew. I studied with Karl for a year. He had such an iron will,” he said, admiration creeping into his voice. “I’m not sure how he wrested control over the beast. He never shared those secrets with me, but I’m sure he passed them along to Maksim, as sure as he passed on the curse to his blood.”
“My grandfather was like me?” Karl Hardwick had been a respected hunter and lived an honorable life. The village still sang his praises, decades after his passing. “And my father?”
