Descent

Homecoming

Lord Ren stepped out of his carriage with Rey in his arms. Olga, his housekeeper rushed out to meet him.

"Oh my. Is the girl alright?"

She clapped her hands over her mouth in shock. It was not like the Master to bring anyone home to Driver Hall. He usually avoided people, rarely attending the obligatory engagements that royalty was expected to attend.

"She will survive. Go. Prepare a room for her and light the fires throughout the house. I don't want her to catch anymore of a chill than she already has.....and she will need some proper clothing."

"Shall I arrange a room in the servant's quarter's for her then?"

"Absolutely not. She is to be my guest. I expect you to afford her the status that she deserves, that which any high-born Lady staying in this fine hall would merit."

"Yes My Lord."

She curtsied, then rushed off to attend to the requested preparations, her skirts billowing in the wind as a strong gust nearly knocked her off of her feet.
A storm was coming.

The girl was dirty and thin, surely he wouldn't fault her for mistaking her for an orphan or a servant, but she knew better than to ask too many questions. Lord Ren was not a patient or forgiving man and his temper could be terrifying. It was best to simply do as he had commanded and say nothing.

Lord Ren gazed down at the tiny woman in his arms as the wind picked up his raven tresses, revealing a deep scar that started just above his right eye, bisecting his face. His pale skin seemed to opalesce in the moonlight, in stark contrast with his dark waistcoat and cloak.

He hurried in to the great hall, just as a few raindrops spattered onto the flagstones and a loud clap of thunder rang out.

Rey still slept in his arms, still held in thrall by his powers.

One day no one would mistake her for anything less than what she would soon become, his future bride, The Lady Ren, he had seen it.

Currently, she was still hardly more than a child. He would wait as long as it would take, give her time, but she would be his. There was no disputing that fact.

If she did possess the blood curse, he was certain that she hadn't shifted yet, which meant she wasn't quite of age. Her skin was much too cold for her to have already claimed her power.
Perhaps it would happen soon and he would be able to guide and teach her.

The idea of that sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. It was what he was made to do, what he was meant to do, to care for his mate. She wouldn't be alone and afraid like he was the first time he had shifted.
Indeed, he would see to it that she would never be alone again.

He carried her to the drawing room, his favorite spot in the mansion, where there was always a crackling fire on the hearth. The storm was building and the wind howled and moaned outside, making the flames dance and the wood pop.

Lightning flashed, throwing odd shadows across the floor through the enormous windows that towered on the south side of the hall. Thunder shook the ground and hailstones tapped away at the roof. He loved the sounds, the winds and the raw power of the storm. It energized him, made him feel more alive.

He had never needed the warmth of the fire, rather he enjoyed watching the flames and listening to the sounds the fire made, the smell of the woodsmoke.

This night, he reclined in his chair by the fire with his newly found treasure nestled against his chest. He tightened his hold on her waist and stroked her hair as he took in her scent and marveled at how tiny she was, how her light breathing reminded him of a fragile creature of the forest.