Turned 2: The Bramblewood Werebear

Chapter 7: The Bite

The next morning, Jennie donned an old dress and sturdy boots, and accompanied Oliver down a dirt trail into the woods behind the grounds. They were joined by Frank the gardener, as well as Harriet and a stable hand named John, all carrying buckets and talking merrily.
The woods had become a dark, sinister place in Jennie's imagination. Thus she was surprised to find the woods shady and green, with plenty of undergrowth, and a carpet of brown and yellow leaves underfoot. The blackberry brambles grew near stream banks in vast, untidy heaps of thorny green vines, tempting them closer with clusters of deep purple berries as long as her thumb.
The group spread out, working merrily despite the thorns, chatting as they picked. Berries thumped into buckets in a gentle rain. Jennie ate the berries she damaged, which was many. They were tangy and sweet. "They will make delicious preserves," she remarked to Oliver, who was nearby.
"Oh yes," he agreed. He, too, was snacking. "Cook makes an amazing blueberry tart."
As she picked a handful of glistening fruit, she said, "Surely it's unusual for the lord of the manor to harvest berries, himself?"
He laughed. "I always adored berrying as a lad. Now that I have a title and money, why not do the things that I enjoy? Besides," he lowered his voice, "certain aspects of my nature demand that I spend time outdoors."
"Do your staff know?"
He nodded. "The senior staff do. The younger servants only know that I'm an eccentric gentleman who often rambles outdoors at night."
A short distance away, a male voice yelled--a panicked, terrified yell without words. There followed horrendous crashing and growling. Harriet began to scream.
Oliver dropped his bucket and ran, tearing off his shirt. Jennie followed, feeling as if she had sucked in a scream that had become lodged in her diaphragm. She fumbled to extract her pistol from her dress pocket.
They rounded a grove of trees and beheld a ghastly sight. Frank the gardener lay on the ground, arms protecting his throat. A huge wolf-like creature crouched over him, tearing at his arms with its clawed hands, and biting until the blood streamed in torrents.
"Jennie, stay away!" Oliver cried. As she shrank behind a tree, he dropped to all fours. His body swelled, brown fur erupted from his clothing, and enormous claws sprouted from his hands and feet. In a trice he was a vast grizzly bear that dwarfed the wolf.
The wolf had time for one red snarl--then a paw the size of a shovel slapped it off Frank. The two beasts bounded out of sight among the brambles and trees, but for a long minute the woods echoed with roars and crashes. The wolf yelped like an injured dog. Silence fell.
Harriet and the stable man John ran to Frank, who lay whimpering where he had fallen. Jennie stepped out of hiding and snatched up Oliver's abandoned shirt. Her hands shook, and so did her voice. "Use this to halt the bleeding."
John gave her one look, then tore the sleeves off and bound them around Frank's arms. Frank sat up, and his whimpers became words. "I'm bitten. I'm bitten."
A rustling of leaves announced Oliver's return. Harriet shrieked and fled a short distance. Jennie stood and barely kept from running away, and raised her pistol in both hands.
The bear's shoulders were as high as her head. His head was as wide as her whole body, and his paws were splattered with dark gore. When he saw her covering him, he halted and said, "Don't be a fool, Jennie." His voice was low and growl-like, but recognizable as Oliver.
Slowly she lowered the gun, breathing quickly, fighting the urge to run. The only thing that held her there was recognition.
This was the bear in the painting. Oliver had hung his self portrait on her wall. But up close he was so huge and wild, it made her heart try to beat a hole through her ribs.
Frank and John, however, didn't share her apprehension. "Apologies for the shirt, sir," said John. "He's badly torn. I'll ride for the doctor at once."
"Wait," growled the bear. "We must take him to the house first. This is no place for a wounded man. Frank, can you climb on my back?"
The old man struggled to his feet, Jennie and John supporting him. "I can try, sir."
"Harriet," Oliver boomed, "come assist us. Do not let him fall off."
Harriet inched forward, making small moaning sounds. Between the three of them, they hoisted Frank onto the bear's back, then walked on either side as Oliver ambled carefully toward the house.
Jennie's fear ebbed. As the shock of animal violence faded, the tedious task of balancing an injured man atop a bear consumed her attention. Oliver turned his head this way and that, checking Frank's position, then sniffing at the faint breeze, ears turning to and fro. His human nature showed in the way he behaved as a bear--too rational, too careful. As she watched him, her fear vanished altogether. Oliver's self remained, whatever shape his body took. She could not fear him as a man, and she could not fear him as a bear--her love left no room for fear.
When they reached the house, Oliver said, "Harriet, fetch me a change of clothes, if you please."
She squeaked and darted indoors, looking thrilled to put distance between herself and the beast.
Jennie and John helped Frank into the drawing room, where they laid him on a sofa and covered him with a blanket. He had begun to shake badly from the loss of blood. "I'm bitten," he repeated. "I'm finished at Bramblewood. Finished. Who'll mulch the roses now? Not me. I'll be running wild, killing sheep and everything else."
"Frank!" Jennie exclaimed, leaning into his face until he cringed. "Stop this at once! The Grayton people have a potion that let you retain your mind. As soon as you are settled, I'll telegraph Lady Charlotte and procure some."
He stared at her, eyes glazed with pain, but hope entered them, too.
Oliver strode in, buttoning a new shirt, his hair mussed, but otherwise looking none the worse for his transformation. "John, ride for the doctor. Take Comet, he needs the gallop."
"Yes sir." John departed swiftly.
"Jennie, get Frank a cup of cold tea," Oliver ordered. "He needs fluids. And Harriet--"
The maid peeked into the room, eyes wide.
"Tell Cook to delay dinner."
There was no questioning Oliver's commands--everyone scampered. Jennie retrieved the tea and helped Frank sip it. Oliver retrieved bandages and tightly wrapped Frank's upper arms to slow the bleeding. Then there was nothing to do but wait for John and the doctor.
"Oliver," said Jennie. "Why did this happen?"
He had been gazing at Frank with a brooding expression, but now lifted his head. "Eh?"
"This attack. The wolf knew what it was doing--I saw its face."
Oliver sighed. "It was one of the men involved in extorting me. Herman, I think was his name. He will bother us no more, but I fear further reprisals. Wolves operate in packs, and I do not wish to slay all of them. But it may come to that."
She formed the words carefully. "He is dead?"
"Yes."
The wolf's yelping rang through her memory. Instead of the pity she expected to feel, there was only relief.
He leaned toward her. "What of you?"
She gazed into his blue eyes, and little tremors raced through her beneath the calmness she projected. "I am well enough."
"I never intended you to witness my transformation that way." He rested his elbows on his knees, and massaged his eyebrows. "You've now seen me at my very worst." He waited, as if for her verdict.
Again, he had made himself vulnerable with her, and her heart quickened. She could crush him, or fortify him--but she also wanted to tell the truth. His transformation had been quick and startling, and she continued to tremble inside--but whether that was due to the bear's defense or the wolf's attack, she could not tell.
Choosing her words carefully, she said, "I was frightened, certainly. But you were not the most frightening of the monsters out there today."
"You think me a monster." His voice was flat.
She bit her lip and laced her fingers. "I did not mean it that way. The wolf behaved like a vicious beast, and I'm--I'm afraid for us all."
Oliver rose and peered out the window, then stooped over Frank. His weathered face was the color of cold porridge, and his breath puffed through his nose, but he opened his eyes as Oliver approached. "It's bad, sir, but I expect I'll recover."
"Do you feel the onset of the curse?" Oliver murmured.
Frank closed his eyes a moment, then opened them. "Nothing yet. But when I do, be quick about binding me. The beasts are strong as wild stallions."
Jennie's hand flew to her throat in a reflexive gesture. He would transform. Here. In the house. And he would be a mindless killing machine without the potion.
"We need the potion," she murmured.
Oliver nodded. "Yes, yes, but I cannot leave him. If he turns, I will have to restrain him before he harms anyone."
She went to him and laid a hand on his broad arm. "I could ride to Grayton for it."
His head jerked up, eyes narrowed. "No."
"But without it, he'll endanger everyone in this house!"
"Jennie, no." He laid both hands on her shoulders. He was powerful enough to crush her collarbones, yet his touch was delicate. "I cannot risk sending you among the wolves. There is a movement among them to regain their wealth, as I've said. If it became known who you were, you would either be bitten, or held for ransom."
"But I would ride straight to Half Moon manor and speak to Lady Charlotte. Her husband invented the cure."
"No, Jennie." His voice dropped and became husky. "I cannot lose you the way I've already lost Frank." Their faces were close together. His lips were smooth and silky-looking, and Jennie tilted her face toward his. He bent and brushed her lips with his own--they were warm and feather-soft.
Abruptly he released her shoulders and turned his back on her, one hand covering his mouth.
"What's wrong?" she murmured, stepping around him to peer at his face.
Oliver's eyes were closed, and he drew a deep breath. Then he smiled. "Nothing serious, love. I just want you very much." He strode to the window again, leaving Jennie with thrills running through her. They were already betrothed--another week and they would wed. Then she could fall into his embrace, and experience true passion. Many times. Her whole body grew hot, and she fanned herself with a nearby book.
"Here comes John with the doctor," Oliver announced. "At last!" He strode out of the room. A moment later he returned, the doctor beside him.
Doctor Perry was a tall, lean man with gentle, smooth hands. He nodded approval at the bandages as he opened his bag and began laying out instruments. "Miss, I'd be much obliged if you could fetch some boiling water."
Jennie hurried to the kitchen, where Cook already had a kettle boiling on the stove. "I'm no stranger to doctors and their ways, mum."
Frank's arms were so torn, it took an hour for Dr. Perry to stitch the wounds. He administered an opiate drink that sent Frank into deep slumber, so the operation was quiet and painless.
At last it was done, and the gardener's arms wrapped in fresh, clean bandages. "I'll be back to check on him tomorrow," said the doctor. "It would be wise to restrain him now. The first transformation occurs within three hours of the bite. It will accelerate his healing, but he may incur new injuries from the, uh, violence that may follow."
Oliver nodded curtly. As soon as the doctor departed, Oliver gathered up the staff and dismissed them for the rest of the day. "Things will become very dangerous," he told the wide-eyed servants. "Don't come tomorrow until late afternoon, and ring the bell. If it's safe, I will admit you. If there is no answer, leave immediately."
The staff fled as if the very hounds of Hell were on their heels.