Wolfsgate
Wolfsgate
Copyright © 2014 by Cat Porter
Cover Design
Najla Qamber
https://www.najlaqamberdesigns.com
Editor
Jennifer Roberts-Hall
Formatting & Interior Design
Jovana Shirley
Unforeseen Editing
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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
For
R & D
and
Eugenia & Stella
HE WAITED FOR IT.
It was coming now.
His skin was icy cold from the inside out. His eyes rolled back in his head. That prickle fizzled down his spine once more, and the familiar gentleness seeped over every inch of his flesh.
And finally…
Oh yes.
He floated, swathed in a gentle blur, wafting on a thick cloud.
That’s it…marvelous.
Fingers slid through his hair, and tingles spread across his scalp and needled his neck. His blood backed up in his veins for a painful split second.
A touch? Who’s touching me?
“Brandon,” a soft voice whispered like a warm breeze over his face. The shadow inside him shifted, and he turned towards that sudden promise radiating over him.
My name?
“Dearest Brandon.” The sweet voice poured over him like warm honey easing the fizzle in his veins. A hand settled on his shoulder and slid down his arm, then squeezed once. He gasped, his insides flinched.
Muffled voices then choked breathing lingered over him like smoke.
Come back…please, more.
He forced his eyes open, pleading with his lids to function just this once. He had to see the voice, the touch. Had to…
“I told you. This is all that’s left of him. If you were hoping on his return, you were hoping in vain,” came a sharp male voice. A voice he knew.
“But we thought he was dead—”
“He’s as good as dead. You call this being alive?” the man cut her off.
“Mightn’t we take him home?” she asked.
Home?
“Are you mad? He’s dying for God’s sake. Best to leave him here for however long he lasts under the doctor’s care.”
“This is care?”
“Shut up, Justine.”
Justine
.
The name vibrated in his brain, and a bittersweet emotion he could not name shimmered against the hollow walls of his chest. Images flickered through him: desolate brown eyes desperately holding back tears, innocent laughter ringing out, an outstretched hand in a dark corner, an anxious girl sitting in a big saddle on a large horse…his horse? Now, there on his chest where this peculiar sensation ached there came a light caress, a pressing in of a hand.
Oh yes…just there.
“For Christ’s sake, stop touching him!”
He tilted his head and managed to open one eye, and the breath sucked out of his lungs.
Velvet. Chocolate. Silken earth.
Those same beautiful, large brown eyes from his memory beckoned him.
“Brandon?”
“Come away,” said the man.
That voice. I know that harsh tone.
The man gripped the woman’s arm. She tried to pull away, but stumbled back against him. “Do you understand now?” He scowled, shaking her arm slightly. The young woman only nodded, her chin trembling. “Come now, don’t make this more difficult. He won’t last long. Do it, and we’ll be done with this.”
The man let go of her and moved away. She leaned closer, and a scent of lavender drifted over him. His lips parted on a whimper pleading to inhale that magic.
“I promise you, Brandon,” came her voice, steady this time. The muscles of her face were tight, her brow furrowed over those velvet eyes. “I won’t leave it like this. By everything I am, everything I have left, I swear I won’t leave you here all alone, I won’t let them destroy you.”
The velvet gleamed now, and a shining heat radiated right through him as his lungs contracted painfully. A drop of wet fell onto the skin at the base of his throat, and then another fell on the torn grooves of skin on his face. The drops of warm liquid trickled over his flesh, stinging his skin, and a moan escaped his chest. He wanted to see her, to feel her touch on him again.
He reached for her, but it was too much of a struggle. His arms wouldn’t listen to his commands, and his eyelids sank with the effort. Muffled voices and footsteps thudded around him as his eyeballs swam in his head.
He was adrift once more.
“
THERE IS YOUR HUSBAND, MADAM.
”
The doctor’s lips settled in a firm line. Justine’s gaze followed his outstretched hand pointing towards one of the many ill, diseased, and infirm lying in unclean beds. She fought the wave of nausea rising in her throat, holding her breath against the stench of sickness and desolation in this large hospital room full of forgotten patients.
Her heart skipped a beat. There he was, Brandon Treharne, Baron of Graven. She moved towards his cot. His thin frame lay twisted on the dirty linens, his bearded face gaunt, his eyes seeing something far from reality, his mind engaged in the clouds.
“Brandon?”
His straggly black hair and beard made him a fierce-looking creature, even though he was incapacitated in a hospital bed, mumbling to himself quietly like a helpless child, his eyes glazed. Justine’s heart dropped. He was not the Brandon she remembered of her youth—that Brandon was a fine young gentleman, bursting with vitality and searing good looks. This was a scarred shell of a man, clinging to a half-life, not the dashing older step-cousin who had once wiped her tears and lied to their nanny on her behalf when she had fallen and ripped yet another hole in her dress. Nor was he the energetic creature who roared with laughter as he would chase her and her stepsister like a tiger through the great hall of Wolfsgate until they could no longer breathe nor laugh any harder.