feeling for a pulse in the man’s throat. There was none. He was dead, but Jon hadn’t killed him; Sebastian had finished what was started.
It was daylight now, and Jon was himself again—as much himself as ever he could be anymore. Groaning, he murmured a prayer over the hunter’s body. Was it sacrilege to do so? It didn’t matter. It was who he was—who he
really
was, underneath the evil that had possessed him. There was nothing more that he could do for the man, and so he staggered to his feet and sprinted through the woad field toward the tor.
To all outward appearances, Jon and Cassandra were a typical couple en route to their anvil wedding as thecoach tooled over the North Road through the forest, speeding them toward the Scottish border and Gretna Green. They’d gotten a late start. Between the delay while Grace doctored Jon’s wound and Bates packed his trunks, and the side trip to the boardinghouse to collect Cassandra’s things, it was nearly noon before they set out. Now there were still at least two hours until dusk, yet all around them an eerie green darkness pressed up against the coach like a gossamer veil, letting precious little light filter through from the sky above.
Outside, the whip cracked incessantly. Jasper Ott had his orders. Each time it snapped through the air, Cassandra gave a start. Her nerves were shattered. Jon had come home wounded and wouldn’t say what had happened to him, only that it wasn’t serious and that they had to wed and leave the country without delay. That it had something to do with Sebastian was evident. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so obsessed with covering as much ground as possible during the day. The scent of his blood in the close confines of the coach was torture. Would it always be thus?
Jasper Ott lit the coach lanterns well before twilight. It was impossible to tell the actual time; no glimpse of the sky was visible through the fragrant bower of interlaced pine branches that formed a vaulted ceiling overhead. Time and again, Cassandra caught Jon gaping through the isinglass window as the coach sped along in the artificial darkness. He seemed to be staring at the treetops. Finally, curiosity got the better of her.
“What
is
it?” she said, laying a hand on his arm as he inclined his head to look again. “What is out there?”
“Nothing . . . I hope,” said Jon, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Something, I think,” she replied. “You aren’t being fair. I can face anything so long as I know what it is I am facing. You keep me in the dark and I am vulnerable. Have I not proven myself . . . coming on this mad journey with you in total ignorance of the situation? You need to tell me what’s happening, Jon.”
He heaved a mammoth sigh. “If only
I
knew what we are facing,” he said. “I am assuming that Sebastian cannot be abroad during the day as we can. But I’m not entirely certain of it. There is so much I am not certain of, I hesitate to broach the subject for fear of frightening you unnecessarily—”
“Better that than having me blunder into danger unaware,” she interrupted. Could he not see that?
“Last night, I was shot in the woad field,” he said, ignoring her gasp. “I fed from the hunter who shot me, but I did not kill him, Cassandra. Sebastian did. I’m certain it was he who stalked me in that field, and finished what I started. When I lunged at him, he shapeshifted into a bat, and flew off as the sun rose. That’s why I’m praying we only need fear him at night.”
“Yet you fear . . .”
“That he might be following us?” he said, finishing her thought. “Yes. I left a trail of blood behind me, needless to say. He has latched onto my scent. I was hoping to reach Gretna Green and have our wedding behind us before dark—for more than one reason.”
“W-what are the other reasons . . . ?” she murmured, almost afraid of the answer.
He pulled her close, in the custody of his good right arm. “It is our
It was daylight now, and Jon was himself again—as much himself as ever he could be anymore. Groaning, he murmured a prayer over the hunter’s body. Was it sacrilege to do so? It didn’t matter. It was who he was—who he
really
was, underneath the evil that had possessed him. There was nothing more that he could do for the man, and so he staggered to his feet and sprinted through the woad field toward the tor.
To all outward appearances, Jon and Cassandra were a typical couple en route to their anvil wedding as thecoach tooled over the North Road through the forest, speeding them toward the Scottish border and Gretna Green. They’d gotten a late start. Between the delay while Grace doctored Jon’s wound and Bates packed his trunks, and the side trip to the boardinghouse to collect Cassandra’s things, it was nearly noon before they set out. Now there were still at least two hours until dusk, yet all around them an eerie green darkness pressed up against the coach like a gossamer veil, letting precious little light filter through from the sky above.
Outside, the whip cracked incessantly. Jasper Ott had his orders. Each time it snapped through the air, Cassandra gave a start. Her nerves were shattered. Jon had come home wounded and wouldn’t say what had happened to him, only that it wasn’t serious and that they had to wed and leave the country without delay. That it had something to do with Sebastian was evident. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so obsessed with covering as much ground as possible during the day. The scent of his blood in the close confines of the coach was torture. Would it always be thus?
Jasper Ott lit the coach lanterns well before twilight. It was impossible to tell the actual time; no glimpse of the sky was visible through the fragrant bower of interlaced pine branches that formed a vaulted ceiling overhead. Time and again, Cassandra caught Jon gaping through the isinglass window as the coach sped along in the artificial darkness. He seemed to be staring at the treetops. Finally, curiosity got the better of her.
“What
is
it?” she said, laying a hand on his arm as he inclined his head to look again. “What is out there?”
“Nothing . . . I hope,” said Jon, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Something, I think,” she replied. “You aren’t being fair. I can face anything so long as I know what it is I am facing. You keep me in the dark and I am vulnerable. Have I not proven myself . . . coming on this mad journey with you in total ignorance of the situation? You need to tell me what’s happening, Jon.”
He heaved a mammoth sigh. “If only
I
knew what we are facing,” he said. “I am assuming that Sebastian cannot be abroad during the day as we can. But I’m not entirely certain of it. There is so much I am not certain of, I hesitate to broach the subject for fear of frightening you unnecessarily—”
“Better that than having me blunder into danger unaware,” she interrupted. Could he not see that?
“Last night, I was shot in the woad field,” he said, ignoring her gasp. “I fed from the hunter who shot me, but I did not kill him, Cassandra. Sebastian did. I’m certain it was he who stalked me in that field, and finished what I started. When I lunged at him, he shapeshifted into a bat, and flew off as the sun rose. That’s why I’m praying we only need fear him at night.”
“Yet you fear . . .”
“That he might be following us?” he said, finishing her thought. “Yes. I left a trail of blood behind me, needless to say. He has latched onto my scent. I was hoping to reach Gretna Green and have our wedding behind us before dark—for more than one reason.”
“W-what are the other reasons . . . ?” she murmured, almost afraid of the answer.
He pulled her close, in the custody of his good right arm. “It is our
Similar Books
