Her Wolf King

{le tresor}

Unless it had merely been a hollow taunt, a teasing joke of the cruelest order. Still, whether it was real or not, she had to warn him, tell him about this. What if it was true? What if there was some jewel of immense potency beneath their castle somewhere?

She sprang to her feet and seizing the letter, ran for the door. Lenore paused and realized she had no idea where her husband's room was. She had never had any cause to know where he retired to. After all, he would be a wolf now. His form would have changed already, it being nightfall and all that.

Yet to her surprise, as she padded down the hallway, steps frantic and bare feet slapping against the stones, she could smell his scent trailing from one of th erooms. She opened a heavy wooden door, leaning against it with all her might to move it the few inches neceswsary for her to squeeze through before it slammed shut again.

Inside the room, she took a deep breath. The room was utterly dark, save the light of the moon filtering through a skylight in the centre of the vaulted ceiling, which cast ghastly shadows on the round walls.

"Good evening," she said. Someone shifted, and she heard a muttered curse before a candle went on.

Her heart leapt in surprise. "I hadn't expected to see you like this."

"Like what?" Everett's tone was brusque, but she had the sense he smiply did not enjoy being interrupted in his solitude, rather than that he despised her presence. At least, that was what she hoped was true.

"As a man, I mean. I thought you would be a wolf now. The sun has set." In the dim candlelight, she could make out his clothing: far more unkempt and relaxed than usual, he wore a loose shirt and breeches, the close-fitting sort most men wore for fencing. It revealed more of him than she had ever seen of a man, and she looked up, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

"I am finding, of late, that the lines between my two shapes are rapidly blurring. I know not when the two wil diverge, nor when I will become either one. My curse... Perhaps it is weakening. I know not. In either case, I find my life has become far moreunprdeictable since you have entered it, Lenore."

"What every woman longs to hear."

"I find every woman to be unpredictable, but you, my sweet, are the most unpredictable of them all." He rose and set down the candle on a nearby dresser. "What is that you are holding?"

"A letter I found under the bed."

"I take it it does not contain good news, nor is the sender one you wish to hear from, judging by your expression."

"I had always thought of myself as quite inscrutabl," she said as she passed him the sheet of paper.

He gave a low, breathy laugh. "Perhaps it is the wolf in me, but the cadence of your voice... the intake of your breath... the thud of your pulse... they speak to me."

She rocked back on her heels, uncertain of hw to respond as she waited for him to finish reading the letter. "Do you think she means it? That there really could be a treasure somewhere in this castle?"

"No." His tone was curt, allowing for no protestations, no matter the arguments that flew to her lips. "She is a cruel trickster, giving false hope whenever she can. I have no faith in her promises or in her letters."

"But–"

He folded the letter crisply, creasing the edges, and placed it in her hand. "I have been here fifty years and seen no such treasure as she speaks of."

"You will not forbid me for looking for it, then."

"Forbid you? Even if I could do such a thing, it would be futile to forbid you from going on a fool's errand. No, Lenore. I will not forbid you."

Indignation rose in her chest. "I need to do something, other than rotting away in a cell–"

"As I have been doing, hmm?" In the moonlight, he barely looked human. "Wasting my cursed life?"

"That's not what I meant. I wish to be useful."

"I give you my blessing to try, but I assure you, there is no treasure here." His words came out in a growl.

"I don't see why–" Her words ended in a shriek when just as suddenly as he had begun speaking with her, his form shifted. He was the wolf again, silent and baleful as his large green eyes stared up at her before he sulked off, curling up in a corner and resigning himself to silence.

She shoved the door open again and walked out.

***

Frustration filled him as he thought back on his conversation with Lenore. Though in his wolf's mind, it was only a distraction, a useless memory that distracted from the animalistic urges inside of him. To eat. To kill. To sleep. To mate.

And what had she meant by that kiss? That kiss that, even now warmed the cold, barren corners of his heart, as he paced the forest floor, angered by the transformation that had taken place without any warning, that had come upon him as suddenly as a lightning strike or a sneeze.

That kiss. It had brought alive parts of him that he hadn't even realized were dead. Had filled his lungs with hope and his heart with joy. Had struck more than mere lust or desire in him, had lit more than a single flame—that kiss had started a wildfire. And he hadn't thought himself capable of love, not after Marya, not after resigning himself to solitude for the last half-century, but—

She was doing something to him. This woman with more hidden depths than the ocean and more facets than a diamond—she was doing something to him, and he didn't know if he liked it.

Ever since she'd come into his life, the transformations had accelerated in frequency. First, they had been only at night, a predictable sign of the sun's setting and the sky's darkening. Now? Now, they were so erratic he had no idea what form he'd take at any given moment.

And it angered him. Terrified him. Because when he was with her, he didn't want to be the wolf. Didn't want to be this cursed man she'd saved.

He didn't want to be Everett Dunstan, the man-wolf. The beast.

He wanted to be only himself, and for her to be only herself. But he was scared that neither of those things would be possible if Marya had anything to say about it.

Throwing his head back, he let out a deep, plaintive howl before dropping his head back down. Perhaps he'd find one of the foxes or rabbits that Timothy hadn't trapped and enjoy an evening meal. Perhaps this was where he belonged after all. Not in the castle. Not in any house.

But alone. Primitive. Wild.

Yet he could not be that, either.

He knew what he was, and what he had been, and he wanted now so badly to be what he had been before he'd ever met Marya. A lifetime ago. He wanted to be that man, a good man, for her. For Lenore.

Yet perhaps if he had ever been good, he never would have been in this mess to begin with.

The metallic tang of blood slid down his throat as he ate, blindly chewing his food, doing his best not to think about the woman in the castle. And the secrets that lay with her.

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