Wolves in the Shadows (The Wolf Clan Chronicles) (2 page)

But Sir Marcus chuckled.  “Believe me, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be long dead.”  It did not sound like a threat.  It was a mere statement of fact.  “I’m here to take you to my father.” 

Chapter 2

Elizabeth fel
t as if she must have been in a dream as she walked through the grove with Sir Marcus and Romulus.  On a seemingly random impulse, she shut off her flashlight and put it into the pocket of her sweater next to her journal.  She found that she could still see Romulus leading the way with his tail held jauntily high.  The night, which had seemed so dark and quiet before, seemed to be ablaze with life and sound.  She could hear the scampering of little critters hurrying through the undergrowth and in the bush-like trees looking for food or their mates or for shelter from larger creatures that would swallow them whole.  She could hear the swoosh of hunting owls as they descended upon their prey like shadows of death. 

There was heat rising from the earth beneath her feet and from the trees tha
t surrounded her, but the rusting smudge pots that once burned hot were as cold and dead as Sir Marcus as he walked beside her.  She had always taken for granted the sounds of a person’s breath and footsteps and the rustle of their clothes when she might have walked with them, but Sir Marcus made no noise as he moved.  It seemed especially strange now that Elizabeth felt like she could hear so much. 

The darkness seemed to melt away before her eyes, and she could see the long lines of trees stretching out before her.  The moon shone brightly in the sky, reflecting off of the milky white strands of spider webs that covered e
very tree.  Elizabeth could see the dimpled oranges peeking out from behind the stiff dark green leaves as clearly as if the sun was shining down upon them. 

“How is it that I can suddenly see so well in the dark?” She asked, turning to Sir Marcus.  “And I can hear everything
too except for you.  You don’t make a sound.” 

“Y
ou are with us,” he replied.  It was a simple enough answer, but Elizabeth had no idea how it was possible.  She wanted to ask him to clarify, but there were too many other questions clamoring for attention inside her head. 

“Who i
s your father?”  She decided to ask. 

“My father, Lord Reginald
Wolfrick is the master of the Wolf Clan.  He is very old and powerful and commands a great deal of respect.” 

Elizabeth swallowed nervously and said, “
sounds scary.” 

“He is scary,”
Marcus replied.  After a moment’s pause, he added, “but you have nothing to fear from him.” 

“W
hy not?”  Elizabeth winced at her words.  Something about Sir Marcus made her feel like she had to say whatever dumb thoughts came into her head.  It was getting frustrating.  “How can you be sure?” 

Fortunately, Sir Marcus did not seem annoyed by her impertinence.  “Because Romulus likes you,” he said simply. 

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and looked down at Romulus.  The wolf had turned and stood staring up at her with his bright yellow eyes. 

“Romulus has been with my father for well over 600 years,” Marcus said.  He stopped just before they reached w
here the wolf had stopped.  “If my father had any intention of harming you, Romulus would know and want nothing to do with you.”  He seemed more serious than Elizabeth had seen him since she had met him.  “As it is, he has already told you his name and is helping you see the world as he clearly as he sees.  And beyond that, I would not take you to my father if he was going to harm you.” 

Elizabeth grimaced as a sudden pain shot through her temples.  A strange sensation overtook her as half formed images shimmered before her eyes. 

“Romulus,” Sir Marcus said sharply. 

The pain and the images vanished before Elizabeth could make any sense of them.  She blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond. 

“Forgive him,” Sir Marcus said. 

“What was that?” asked Elizabeth.  She was glad that they were
standing still at the moment.  She felt like she needed a moment to get her thoughts organized.  She ran her fingers through her hair nervously. 

Sir Marcus did not reply.  He just looked at Romulus and then looked back at Elizabeth. 

“Is he a were-wolf or something?” 

“He’s something.”  Marcus replied

“So your father,” Elizabeth said when it became clear that he was not going to explain exactly what Romulus was. “Lord Reginald Wolfrick was it?”  Elizabeth tried to think how to ask it without sounding absurdly ignorant.  “When you say he’s you father, what exactly does it mean?”  She hoped it wouldn’t come across as rude, but she was just curious.  She had never met a vampire before and wasn’t quite sure how to talk to him yet. 

“It means he’s my father and my father.” 

Elizabeth failed to stifle a chuckle. 

“What’s so funny?” Marcus asked.  His looked genuinely perplexed. 

Elizabeth shook her head.  “Your answers to my questions seem so simple, but I have no idea what you mean.”  The words were out before she could stop them.  “It’s like you’re speaking in riddles.” 

It was Sir Marcus’ turn to chuckle.  “You are a forthright and inquisitive girl aren’t you?” 

Elizabeth shrugged.  There was no point in trying to answer when he already had made up his mind.  He had a frustrating way of getting her to say exactly what she was thinking. 

“I am the natural child of Lord Reginald and his wife, Lady Anya daughter of Aldo the Silversmith,” said Marcus.  “When I was in my early twenties, he turned me at my request.  So he is my father and my father.”  There was
a hardness in his face as he spoke that made Elizabeth shudder.  His expression was one of pain mingled with burning anger and hatred and something that Elizabeth could not quite identify.  She did not have the courage to ask him why he had asked to be turned.  She could tell instinctively that it was a horrible story, and she doubted that she would be able to hear it. 

“So vampires can have actual children?” She asked instead, hoping to steer the conversatio
n towards something less frightening.  “Or did Lord Reginald become a vampire after you were born?” 

Marcus’ expression softened a bit.  “My father was turned hundreds of years before I was born.”  He seemed slightly amused b
y her ignorance.  “It is possible for a mortal woman to become pregnant by a vampire, but it is very rare.  Often the child is stillborn or too weak to survive beyond the first few days of life.  Or more often, the father or his clan will kill the child themselves.” 

“But no
t you.” 

“No,
I was strong enough to survive, and my father would have rather died than allow me to be harmed by his clan.”  His eyes seemed to be looking far into the distant past as he continued.  “The fact that my mother was able to bear two children for my father that survived to adulthood is nothing short of miraculous.” 

“You had a brother?  Or a sister?” Elizabeth asked.  She always loved hearing about people’s families, perhaps because she had no family of her own. 

“My sister, Mallory.”  Marcus’ face brightened as he said her name.  “She was thirteen years younger than me and the apple of my eye.  She was beautiful and gentle, like my mother.  She did not deserve-”  He trailed off into a brooding sort of silence.

“I always wanted a sister,” Elizabeth said with a sad smile.  She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking more questions.  It was clear that Marcus was done answering for now. 

“We should go,” He said.  “Father is waiting.” 

They walke
d in silence, both deep in their own thoughts as they went further into the grove.  After awhile, the lines of trees parted and a wooden shack surrounded by tall weeds came into view.  Elizabeth guessed that it must have been an old storeroom from back when the grove had been thriving.  Romulus led them down a rocky dirt path to the weather beaten door.  Before Sir Marcus opened the door, he turned to Elizabeth and said, “Be careful in here.  My father can be overwhelming.” 

“More overwhelming that you?” 

Marcus gave a little snort.  “Much more.” 

Elizabeth swallowed nervously and rubbed her hands on her jeans.  Her palms had suddenly
become uncomfortably sweaty.  “I’m pretty scared right now, Sir Marcus,” she said.  It felt good to be able to admit it. 

“Just be yourself,” said Marcus with a wry smile.  Elizabeth could have sworn that he gave her a little wink when he added.  “And remember not to run away screaming.” 

Elizabeth mustered up a small smile in return.  There would be no running possible.  She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath.  “I’m ready.

Chapter 3

Sir Marcus’s father was indeed overwhelming.  Elizabeth felt a wave of power crash into her the instant that she stepped through the door.  It was like being swept out to sea by a riptide but warmer and wilder.  Like falling into a bottomless pit filled with swirling shadows.  She had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out at the immensity of his presence.  Surely this was the very embodiment of fear, but it was not merely fear that rooted her to the spot.  No.  It was awe. 

He
stood regally in the middle of a small room filled with empty orange crates.  He was not as tall as Marcus.  His hair was darker and coarser and pulled back at the nape of his neck into a long braid.  His features were more sharply defined.  A thin scar that ran from under the corner of his left eye down to his chin was the only imperfection on his otherwise smooth face.  He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and silk shirt that brought out the steely grey of his eyes. 

Elizabeth hardly noticed
any of this.  She was caught up in the steadiness and wisdom of his gaze that spoke of long years of memories.  He was old, soul crushingly old.  She could feel herself being pulled into his eyes, but she could not look away.  She was a fragile moth being drawn inescapably towards a flame.  There was no escape possible now or ever.  It was as if his gaze could not merely pierce through her as Marcus’ could.  It could rip into her very soul and lay bare every secret thought and desire and fear that she kept hidden within herself.  She felt as if the room was spinning around her as images of things long forgotten came floating to the surface of her mind.  Old dreams that had faded from memory.  Childhood fears that had been outgrown.  Nightmares that had haunted her in her youth came to life and reached out to her with withered hands.  The smell of burning flesh and twisted metal filled her nostrils as she heard agonized screaming. 

She could hardly breathe or
even think.  Her senses were filled to overflowing as she felt herself being pulled down into the deepest, darkest part of her memory. 

But Elizabeth was not
one to surrender.  Even as she felt the last vestiges of herself threaten to slip into the darkness, something woke up inside her.  Something fierce and bestial.  She clawed her way towards the pair of eyes that watched her from the shadows. 

“Let me out!”  Her own voice echoed inside her he
ad though she did not speak.  She blinked and the darkness had vanished, and she once again standing still before Sir Marcus’ father.  It took her a moment to realize that whatever had just happened to her had been in her own mind. 

“Father, I
have brought you Elizabeth Morden as you requested.”  Elizabeth heard Sir Marcus say, though she hardly realized that he was speaking at first.  His voice seemed to bring her back into reality. 

“Son.”  His voice was deeper than his son’s.  Elizabeth was not sure if it was just her imagination, but she was certain that the floor beneath her feet shook as he spoke again.  “Do not be afraid, young Elizabeth.” 

Elizabeth could not respond.  Her mouth was dry with fear, and she felt as if she had somehow been turned into a statue, rigid and unmoving.  Marcus guided to a crate that had been draped with soft black velvet and sat her down.  She must have been able to walk, but she could hardly feel herself move.  Everything seemed to be strangely shimmering around the edges. 

“I am Lord Reginald
Wolfrick.”  She had neither seen nor heard him move, but suddenly he was sitting beside her.  His grey eyes studied her delicate features. 

Elizabeth nodded, still unable to speak.  Of course she knew his name, but nothing that Sir Marcus had said could have possibly prepared her for this presence, this unbearable power. 

“Thank you for coming to me.”  He pronounced each syllable with the slow deliberation of someone who was not accustomed to having to say thank you, someone whose every word was to be heard and obeyed without question.  The effect was somehow both charming and terrifying.  “It was a brave thing to do.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth managed to croak out at last.  She did not feel remotely brave.  She felt weak and insignificant beside him, somehow even smaller than Sir Marcus made her feel.  Her worn jeans and sweater and tangled hair made her feel so shabby next to his
chiseled features.  Even his scar somehow added to the unearthly beauty of his appearance.  Elizabeth was certain that she was about to embarrass herself forever by passing out as he looked at her.