Page 7 of Wolf's Bane
“He’s a stubborn asshole,” Luis said. “He was wrong to send Aleksandar away and wrong to send us off to that boarding school.” Youthful anger and certitude colored his voice.
“Papa’s not a saint. We all make mistakes,” she said, thinking of how her time at university had been cut short because the funds ran out. When she returned home, she found the estate badly managed and the accounts in shambles. “A lot of mistakes.”
Luis huffed.
She leaned in until they bumped shoulders. “Hey,” she said.
He grumbled a reply.
“I think it’s a good idea, but I don’t know if I have the strength in my hand for a bow. Maybe a crossbow. Or I can practice with my left.” Training to use her non-dominant hand would be difficult, but his idea was sound.
Luis nodded. “There’s the blacksmith.”
On the edge of the village, the forge billowed out steam in the cool morning air. Luis fidgeted with the lapels on his greatcoat.
So cute.
“Come on. Let’s ply Miles with our treasures so he can work a miracle for us today,” she said.
Aleksandar
Snowmelt
Hardwick House - The Study
Words failed Alek;he tossed his original reply to Godwin Marechal, curt and quite rudely so, into the fire. He scratched out another response, filled with vitriol and a touch of gloating. That also joined its brethren in the fire.
He then wrote to Solenne, as he often did, because she was never far from his thoughts or his heart, and that went into fire. He had hoped that time would lessen the pull, but a thread connected them, always had, and it hooked directly into his heart. They were tied together. Sometimes he could go days without thinking of her, then some sound or a flash of color would spark a memory and the pull intensified.
Foolishly, he’d pen another letter, which ended up in the fire like all the letters he had written to Solenne over the years.
The beast inside him howled with hunger, impatience, and wanting. Always wanting.
Staying in exile as he had done for years was the best way to protect her from himself. Yet she needed his protection from others.
Either he left Solenne defenseless against the beast that attacked her father, or he endangered her with his own hungry beast.
There was no good choice.
Alek snarled with frustration and flung the pen and ink pot across the room. It splashed against the door and rolled onto the rug. Dark ink soaked into the sage-and-cream-colored rug.
He felt a moment’s worth of shame at his behavior. His tantrum punished no one but Mrs. Suchet, his patient and aging housekeeper, with her creaking knees. This room—a gentleman’s study, though he never used it and certainly never considered himself a gentleman—was not his den. He could not do as he pleased and ruin the furnishings.
Alek flung open the door. “Suchet!”
“Yes, Master Alek?” The aging housekeeper made slow progress down the hall. She called him by his childhood name, but he did not complain. Mrs. Suchet was one of the few people who remembered his parents and how alive the house had been before a monster invaded.
“How do I—” He waved a hand to the rug and the spreading ink stain.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’ll fetch the vinegar and a cloth.”
“Tell me its location and I’ll fetch it,” he said, not out of kindness but necessity. If he waited for her, he’d be there all night. “And don’t you dare get on your knees to scrub. This was my handiwork and I’ll clean it.”
In short order, Alek was on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the stain but only making it worse.
“Blot,” Mrs. Suchet said.
“I am,” he snapped. His teeth felt sharp. If the housekeeper noticed, she said nothing. She had seen worse behavior from him, no doubt. Since his return to Hardwick House, they carefully avoided the subject of his curse. She didn’t ask about the room with the chains or why he locked himself in there. He had no inclination to explain.
