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He pulled out the red handkerchief. “We’ve risked our lives keeping you here, true,” he said, snaking the faded material between his fingers. “But the daughter of a lady like that—a lady like Queen Joanna… well, she’s damn worth saving. And so are you, Your Grace.”
Five
“AS LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD was going through the wood, she met with a wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some woodcutters working nearby in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf.”
Charles Perrault
It happened on the seventh day.
A knock blasted through the home that could’ve woken the dead. Each strike was laid with intent and strength. The sound pulled Blanchette from the depths of yet another nightmare.
She rose from the rock-hard bed, her body slick with sweat. She limped over to the door and eased it slightly open. The erratic pitter-patter of drumming feet and an excited voice echoed behind the door. Jonathan reprimanded Petyr and commanded him to settle down. The walls muffled his voice.
Petyr must have obeyed, because Jonathan opened the front door a moment later. If he’d spoken a greeting, Blanchette didn’t hear it.
“Pardon me. I hope I haven’t disturbed you and your family.” A deep, husky baritone resounded; the same force that laced the knock minutes before shivered through each of his words. Blanchette, too, found herself shivering… but from what?
“Not at all,” Jonathan replied. “It’s an honor to receive you, sir.”
There was an exchange she couldn’t hear. A shuffling of activity she couldn’t see.
“My men have brought provisions. Food and goods,” the man replied in that deep timbre. Excited chatter again from Petyr, followed by the clamor of heavy footsteps and overlapping voices. “Don’t be afraid. He won’t harm you or your child.”
The soldiers had returned to ration out loot from her home. Her heartache darkened into anger.
She listened as Petyr hooted with delight.
Blanchette sucked in a breath and edged closer to the door. She nudged it open just slightly, looking into the home’s heart. What she saw sucked another breath from her lungs; kneeling on the floor was a mountain of a man—one she recognized immediately… one who’d come to haunt her nightmares and terrorize her waking thoughts.
Her obsession.
The source of all her misery.
His wolf’s helm, constructed from crude black metals, was pulled up, exposing his face to her. His eyes struck her the most, a light hazel drank in the sun that filtered through the window. They exerted kindness as he watched Petyr play with a wooden horse and pulley. His full lips even turned up into the semblance of a smile.
The child dragged the toy across the rickety floorboards, his laughter in the air. That black wolf was in the room, too, sitting quaintly beside its master and watching the child with a slight tilt. The scene might have been adorable in any other circumstance.
Jonathan smiled down at Petyr. Tears glittered in his eyes. “It’s a pleasant sound to hear again, sir, my child’s laughter. You couldn’t have brought a more precious gift.”
The Black Wolf nodded. A queer expression darkened those sharp, austere features. Shadows deepened his hazel eyes. Blanchette felt her breath quicken and the anger build. He was the reason for the doom of her family… the destruction of her home, and the loss of everything that had mattered.
It was all because of that monster.
She forced herself back inside the chamber and silently shut the door. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and pressed her back against the wall, her heartbeat erratic. She curled her knuckles into her palms, feeling the signet ring cut into her skin.
“Do you have other children?” the Black Wolf asked in his deep, husky baritone. She felt his voice in her bones.
“No, no, sir.”
The heavy pitter-patter of paws. Blanchette’s stomach clenched as she heard a deep sniffing from underneath the doorjamb.
That demon wolf.
She edged away from the door, stumbling back. She slapped her palm over her mouth to seal off her erratic breathing.
Nails scratched at the wooden door.
The men’s voices grew silent, then the wolf’s howl filled that silence.
