The Cursed One Page 13

  Gabriel had also found many an excuse to visit the village … and the tavern. Not so much to drink. He did not share his younger brother’s fondness for spirits, but it usually only took Gabriel showing his face in the tavern to start a good brawl. Men were stupid while in their cups, and one usually managed to say the wrong thing to him before the night’s end.

  Fighting worked to relieve a man’s tensions. Of course something else worked better, but he’d tried to get by with as little feminine companionship as possible over the years.

  Ironic that he was now stuck with one, at least until he could get her safely to Wulfglen. If he could manage to even get himself there. He heard the hammer of the smithy before he entered the barn. Heat from the man’s fire made it almost unbearable inside the stifling barn. Gabriel waited until the man paused in his hammering before calling out.

  “What happened to Bruin? I was here only four months past and he said nothing about leaving.”

  The fellow was big, with big arms. His shirt was soaked with sweat and clung to his barrel chest. He wiped a beefy arm across his brow. “Don’t know what happened to the man who had the place before I came. He and his family just took off one night, the way I heard it. Was just passing through myself, but have done this work before, so I agreed to take over.” Moving forward, the man extended a sweaty palm. “Mullins is my name.”

  Gabriel took the man’s hand and shook. “Lord Gabriel Wulf. I often bring my horses to Hempshire to be shod.”

  Mullins glanced outside the open door. “Got them with you?”

  “No,” he answered. “I have a problem. A festering wound to my thigh. I planned to ask Bruin to lance and cauterize it.”

  The man winced. “Nasty business that will be. Have you the stomach for it?”

  Gabriel lifted a challenging brow. “Have you?”

  Mullins threw back his head and laughed. “That I do. Come and sit and I’ll stick a knife on the fire.”

  Gabriel limped toward a metal bench where he’d often sat and watched Bruin forge the shoes for his horses. Mullins drew a long, nasty-looking knife from his boot and stuck it on the raging fire.

  “Wouldn’t think you’d need something like that here,” Gabriel said, nodding toward the knife.

  The man shrugged. “Haven’t been here long enough to know if I do or I don’t. The folks hereabout seem mostly decent. Was traveling with my two cousins when we stopped at the tavern. My cousins stayed on, as well. Help me with the horses.”

  Gabriel glanced around. The place was full of shadows and iron.

  “Not here,” Mullins said, as if he knew Gabriel had been looking for the men. “Can fetch them, though, if you think we’ll need them to hold you down.”

  He smiled. “No need,” he assured the man.

  Mullins laughed again, then picked up the knife. The blade glowed red. “Shuck your trousers, man, and let’s get to it.”

  Rising, Gabriel unfastened his trousers and slid them down his legs. He was grateful the shirt he’d taken from Collingsworth Manor was long enough to cover his privates. Not that he was particularly modest, but he felt vulnerable enough with a stranger wielding a glowing knife.

  Mullins whistled through his teeth at the sight of the wound. “Needs cut, all right,” he said. “Surprised you’re not out of your head with a fever.”

  It was hard to respond. Gabriel was busy steeling himself for the pain to come. He nodded toward his leg and the man brought his stench and his knife closer.

  “Ready?”

  Again Gabriel nodded.

  Gabriel didn’t watch, choosing to stare at the red flame of the fire burning in the large grate. The man did the job quickly. He’d sliced Gabriel before the pain reached his brain. When it did, he ground his teeth together to keep from shouting out with the pain. He glanced down at the cut. Pus and blood bubbled up and ran down the sides of his thigh.

  Mullins removed a dirty rag from his pocket and extended it toward Gabriel. He hated to be rude, but he wasn’t about to place that vermin-ridden rag against the wound to stanch the blood. Instead he tore the sleeve of his shirt from the shoulder. It wasn’t much cleaner, but at least it was his own dirt and sweat. Mullins walked back to the fire and placed the knife in the flame again.

  “Bet you yell this time,” he said with a grin.

  The man seemed to be enjoying himself too much at Gabriel’s expense. His thigh stung like the dickens, but he knew he had to press the wound, get as much of the infection from it as he could before Mullins cauterized it closed again. He was drenched in sweat by the time he’d managed to press the wound several times. His sleeve was soaked in blood and worse.

  “Ready?” Mullins called again.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Gabriel nodded.

  “You’re strong,” Mullins said, respect flavoring his gruff voice as he returned to Gabriel. Mullins pressed the knife to Gabriel’s thigh.

  The red-hot burn of the knife made Gabriel jerk. He nearly gagged on the smell of his own singed flesh. His mind screamed with the pain, but he clamped his lips together and bit back a response. Mullins had bent down beside him. The man removed the knife and glanced up at Gabriel.

  “I heard you were.”

  Pain clouding his mind, Gabriel didn’t understand what the blacksmith meant. As Gabriel grappled with the sharp sting, the burning sensation in his thigh, the man slowly lifted his knife, pointing the blade toward Gabriel’s throat.

  “Strong,” the man explained. “Was told to be on the lookout for you if you happened this way. Was told to take care of you.”

  Dawning registered when the man’s eyes began to glitter in the shadowed darkness of the barn. He was one of them. Damn, Gabriel had left his pistol with Amelia.

  “What do you want?” he managed to ask through the pain. “What are you?”

  Mullins grinned, and his teeth looked pointed and sharp. “We want the woman,” he answered. “And you dead. Any dead who bear witness to our plans. We’ve waited a long time.”

  Gabriel had placed himself in a vulnerable situation. Something he would have never done had his mind not been fogged by the pain in his leg. If he could keep the man, creature, whatever Mullins was, talking long enough to recover, he might have a chance.

  “What are you?” he repeated.

  Mullins brought the knife closer to Gabriel’s throat. “A man, the same as you are. A man with gifts.”

  Curse? Gifts? Gabriel imagined it was a matter of opinion. “How does your kind shift into another person?”

  “Not all can,” the man answered. “Those gifted practice at it for years. But enough talk.”

  Talk was exactly what Gabriel needed to recover enough to defend himself. “Why lance my wound, then cauterize it if you were planning to kill me anyway?”

  Mullins grinned his toothy grin again. “To make you suffer more.”

  Gabriel slumped, as if resigned to his fate. He wanted information from the man and also needed a little more time to recover from having his wound lanced. “If you’re going to kill me, I’d like to know your plans.”

  Mullins shook his shaggy head. “No point in that. Time to die. Sorry, it’s only orders.”

  The man made the mistake of pulling back his hand to stab with more force. Gabriel used his good leg to kick Mullins in the face. He tumbled backward and Gabriel quickly jumped to his feet. Pain shot through his leg, but he tried to ignore it and concentrate on defending himself. His wounded leg nearly folded beneath him when he kicked at the man again, aiming for the knife in his hand. Mullins howled in pain, then rolled and gained his feet.

  “Got no chance against me,” he hissed. “Best to just lie down and die.”

  “You first,” Gabriel said, then lunged forward and delivered a solid blow to the man’s face. Mullins stumbled back again, but when he glanced up at Gabriel, his features were contorted. He was changing himself. Were Gabriel’s chances better against a man or a beast?

  Mullins lunged forward, swiping at Gabriel w
ith the long claws now jutting from his fingertips. Maneuvering with his injured leg was difficult. Gabriel took a scratch to the arm before he managed to get out of the way.

  He needed an advantage, and at the moment Mullins had them all. To strengthen himself, Gabriel thought of Amelia and Mora, left to the mercy of Mullins and his kind. Rage managed to make it past Gabriel’s pain. It bubbled up inside of him and Gabriel welcomed it, did not fight for control of his emotions as he usually did. When Mullins growled low in his throat, Gabriel growled back at him.

  The response caused Mullins to draw up, or Gabriel had to assume that was the reason the man simply stood staring at him. The contortion of Mullin’s features unnerved Gabriel. It reminded him of a time years before, when his father had transformed before them all one night at the dinner table. That nightmare had haunted Gabriel for years.

  “You are one of us-s-s,” Mullins hissed, his voice distorted, but not so much that Gabriel couldn’t understand him.

  “No.” Gabriel shook his head. He lifted his hand, tried to ball it into a fist, but the claws jutting from his fingertips would not allow it. Gabriel stared at his hand for a moment, his brain refusing to acknowledge what his eyes told him.

  Mullin’s deep laughter, garbled, which made it more hideous, drew Gabriel’s attention back to the threat the man posed, not only to him but also to Amelia and Mora. He ran his tongue over his teeth. They were sharper, his eyeteeth longer … like fangs.

  “I am not like you,” he spat at Mullins, then found strength he would have never had … not as only a man. He leaped forward and slashed his claws across Mullins’s throat. The man gasped, his deformed hands clutching at his throat. Blood spilled down his neck, and his legs went out from beneath him. Gabriel stood over Mullins, watching the life drain from him. Only in death did Mullins reclaim his shape as a man.

  Gabriel drew in deep breaths between the fangs that had lengthened in his mouth. He held up his hand again, willing the claws to retract. Never had he come so close to transforming. Why now? But he thought he knew. Amelia … and the girl. He had to protect them, and protect them with everything he had, even his curse.

  In a matter of minutes, Gabriel felt the pain of his claws retracting into his fingertips. He groaned and stumbled to sit again. His breathing ragged, he reached up and tore the other sleeve from his shirt. Gabriel wrapped the material around his throbbing thigh, yanked on his trousers, and set off at as fast a pace as the injury would allow. He had to get to Amelia and Mora now. He had to get the women out of the village!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Amelia relaxed in the short tub, allowing the warm water to soothe her. There was no perfumed soap. The rough lye would probably take the top layer of her skin off, but Amelia didn’t care. Not at the moment. She was clean. She was safe. There was hope they would reach Wulfglen alive.

  Mora had been starving and wished to eat first rather than bathe. Amelia left her in a kitchen at the back of the tavern, licking her lips over a thick bowl of stew, fresh bread, and thick slabs of cheese. Amelia’s stomach growled at the thought of the feast she’d have waiting for her when she found the energy to rouse herself from the soothing water. The thought of dressing in her dirty clothes held little appeal. But she supposed she must.

  Sighing, she rose from the tub, grateful that a fire burned in the grate and the room was warm. A thin towel had been set out for her to dry herself with. Amelia snatched it up and set to work on her dripping hair. She’d only begun to dry her body when the door suddenly burst open. Amelia squeaked, clutching the towel to her breasts. Gabriel stood framed in the doorway. He looked somewhat wild. His eyes seemed to glow back at her, and the sleeves of his shirt were missing.

  “We have to leave,” he barked. “Now!”

  “What?” The thin towel barely covered Amelia from the tops of her breasts to the tops of her thighs. “What’s going on?”

  “Dress quickly.” He came into the room and began gathering her clothes. Her undergarments he tossed aside. He dug the pistol from the pocket of her gown and shoved it beneath his shirt into the waistband of his trousers. Then he held the tattered gown toward her.

  “Put this on.”

  “But my underthings,” Amelia protested. “I can’t go around without—”

  “There isn’t time!” he nearly shouted. “They’re here.”

  Chill bumps rose on Amelia’s arms, but they had nothing to do with her still-damp body. She understood what he meant. He shoved the gown at her and turned back toward the door.

  “I’ll get Mora. Meet us downstairs. Hurry, Amelia!”

  Amelia dropped the towel and scrambled into the dirty gown. She ran to the heap of her discarded underwear and found her slippers; sorry as they were, she slipped them on and ran downstairs. She heard Gabriel arguing with the tavern owner.

  “What do you mean, she’s gone? Gone where?”

  “I don’t know,” the man answered. “I left her in the back, but when I went to fetch her like you asked, she wasn’t there. The back door was standing open.”

  Amelia joined Gabriel downstairs. “Where is Mora?” she whispered.

  “Gone,” he growled. “Maybe taken.”

  Her heart lurched. “We have to find her.”

  Gabriel pulled her toward the tavern door. “There’s no time. We must escape now.”

  He was strong and Amelia had trouble struggling against his hold, but she did. “We can’t leave Mora! No telling what those beasts will do to her!”

  “Stop fighting me,” Gabriel ordered. “I’ll come back for her. I swear to you, but for now, I must get you safely out of the village.”

  Amelia hated the thought of leaving Mora behind. All of Amelia’s life, she’d only thought of herself. What she wanted most and how best to get it. Mora wasn’t just a servant; she’d become a friend. But Gabriel was right. They must get away before—

  Low growls from the shadows cut into her thoughts. Glittering eyes watched them. Amelia fought down a scream. Gabriel pulled her to a horse tied in front of the tavern. The animal reared, or tried to; tied as it was, it couldn’t do much but prance nervously in place.

  “What’s going on?” Nate called from the tavern door.

  “Get inside! Bolt your doors!” Gabriel yelled to him. “There are wolves roaming the village.”

  Amelia was yanked up upon the horse’s back. The animal reared again, and she nearly slid off the back.

  “Hold on!” Gabriel shouted.

  She wrapped her arms around his middle, closed her eyes, and pressed her face against his broad back. The horse shot forward and they were thundering down the road that wound through the village. She didn’t want to look behind them. She wanted to keep her eyes closed and pray they made it safely away, and without her falling from the horse and breaking her neck, but she did look.

  Several dark shadows chased them. Two were nearly upon the horse’s heels. Amelia fumbled with Gabriel’s shirt, slid her hand beneath and down the flat ridges of his stomach to remove the pistol from his trousers. She cocked the pistol with one hand, turned, and fired, bringing down the first wolf.

  Gabriel veered off of the road, turning the horse so sharply Amelia nearly fell. In her struggle to hold on, she dropped the pistol. They crashed through the underbrush lining the road and into the trees. Branches tore at her clothing. She bent her head and pressed her face against Gabriel’s back again.

  Forever it seemed they rode. Amelia wondered when the beasts would catch them, when she would fall off the horse and surely be killed, given the pace to which Gabriel pushed the animal. Amelia had never seen a man handle a horse the way Gabriel did. Twisting and turning, taking the animal deep into the forest, seemingly able to see where they were going when darkness had fallen and Amelia saw nothing but blackness all around them.

  Suddenly Gabriel brought the gasping horse to a halt. He slid down, reached up, and plucked Amelia from the animal’s back. He slapped the horse’s rump and sent it running.

&
nbsp; Amelia gasped. “Why did you do that? Now we’re afoot again.”

  “We need shelter. I know a place, but the horse must race ahead in hopes they will follow. The pistol,” he said. “I need it.”

  Amelia wanted to whimper. “I dropped it,” she said. “It was when the horse veered and it was that or fall off.”

  He was silent for a moment. She knew he was upset over the loss of the weapon. “All right, come on, then. We must fight with our wits tonight.”

  He took her hand and then they were running through the brush. Several times Gabriel had to stop for a moment and Amelia knew his leg must be killing him. The night closed around them, made eerier by the knowledge that they might be set upon at any moment.

  Shadows and shapes passed in a blur. They stumbled upon a small cabin before Amelia managed to make it out in the darkness. There were no lamps burning inside. No smell of a fire from the chimney. The door creaked when Gabriel eased it open. He pulled her inside and eased it shut. Then he stood very still, listening.

  Amelia listened, too. The cottage was as silent as a tomb. The night chill rose gooseflesh on her skin. She shivered, but she didn’t know if it was from being cold or frightened.

  “This is where Bruin and his family lived. It’s deserted,” Gabriel finally said, his voice quiet. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  As quietly as he usually moved, the leg must have hampered him, because she heard him creeping through the cottage. He returned a moment later and she felt the scratchy wool of a blanket being shoved toward her.

  “You must strip from your clothing, Amelia,” he said. “Animals hunt by scent. I need to take our clothes into the woods and get rid of them.”

  Had any other man asked her to strip naked in front of him, Amelia would have thought it was a ploy to seduce her. She knew Gabriel would not ask if their lives were not at stake. Although she wasn’t modest, it felt strange to undress in the same room with a man, one who was doing the same, by the sounds of it. Once she’d stripped from the worn gown, Amelia wrapped a blanket around her and held her discarded clothing toward Gabriel.