Thaddeus
The clouds were dark grey and heavy by the time I reached the coach.
The twelve-hour train journey had left me irritable, stiff, and more than ready to be anywhere but here.
I’d changed to the next train without rest, and now, standing before the coach that would take me to the manor, I could practically feel the rain threatening above me.
Cold and dark.
That about summed up my life at present.
The rain broke without warning, lashing across my face like sheets of glass. I yanked the coach door open and stepped inside while Rowlands fussed with the luggage.
That was when it hit me.
A scent.
Not cloying like the ton’s ladies drowned themselves in.
This was… subtle. Warm. Wild. A whisper rather than a shout.
I inhaled again, brow furrowing. Alluring.
Unmistakable.
I ignored the rain dripping down my collar and scanned the street. Only men stood around me—rail workers, porters, travellers clutching their coats as the downpour thickened.
No one who smelled like that.
A strange flutter rippled beneath my ribs.
Again.
The rain came harder, drumming against stone and drowning everything in cold noise. The scent thinned, washed away by coal smoke and wet pavement. I gave the area one last look, earning a few odd glances for my trouble.
Ridiculous.
It was all in my head.
I stepped fully into the carriage, shivering from the colder climate. It was a different kind of cold here—sharp, biting, like the air carried teeth. I shrugged off my travel cloak and shook it out, droplets scattering across the floorboards.
Rowlands climbed in moments later, cheeks red from the rain. He was being trained by my father’s secretary; one could only hope the boy had a functioning brain.
The carriage lurched forward, wheels splashing through rainwater, and I leaned back, watching rivulets snake down the fogged window.
My father had chosen the perfect punishment.
An estate in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but sheep and their caretaker for company.
I sighed heavily, the kind of sigh that came from deep annoyance and deeper resignation.
A few months, I told myself.
A few months, and I’d be home in time for Christmas.
? ? ?
The manor was a grand building—or had been, once. I lost count of how many bedrooms there were as Graham led us through the echoing halls. Every corridor smelled faintly of damp stone and disuse.
He’d met us at the door with the keys and some much-needed sustenance. It wasn’t the quality I’d grown accustomed to, but I forced myself to eat his wife’s offering. Better than nothing, and better than the hellish journey north.
The estate itself was sprawling: five cottages, grazing fields, and the cattle.
Potential.
I could already see it—tenants brought in, the land put to proper use again, income restored.
But the house…
The house was another matter entirely.
Though impressive from the outside, it was crumbling from within. The floorboards groaned. The walls were chilled even with fires lit. And the roof… God, the roof needed urgent repairs before the winter storms tore it open entirely.
By the time I reached the bedchamber, the fire Graham had set was struggling against the cold that crept through the stone. I changed into my nightshirt but left my dressing gown on, teeth nearly chattering, and slipped between the stale sheets.
Graham was local, and though his only duty was tending the sheep, he assured me he “kent plenty folk who could be hired” for the house.
Rowlands could prepare a handbill.
We’d need tradesmen.
Carpenters.
Plasterers.
Anyone willing to drag this relic back to life.
My body finally began to warm under the blankets, heaviness pulling at my eyes.
Tomorrow.
I would start tomorrow.
? ? ?
I shifted closer to her slight, framed body, pausing as her back stiffened. She could feel me—the same way I could feel her.
Something in the air pulled at us both, invisible but undeniable.
Her dainty hand tugged the cloth around her head, but a few strands slipped free.
A sudden gust whipped them upward.
Red.
Bright red, snapping and curling like flames against the grey Highland sky.
My vision blurred.
The young woman vanished.
Daylight vanished.
I was no longer standing on the path but sitting at the edge of Loch Morar—the loch that lay beside the manor. Moonlight glimmered over the black water, silver ripples shifting with an ancient, restless pulse.
Above me, the circular beacon glowed.
My heart hammered, violent and wild.
There was something familiar about the moon. Comforting.
My head tipped back and I howled.
A long, piercing sound—raw, grieving, desperate for… something.
Why was I howling?
I looked down.
A reflection stared back at me.
Not my own face but a beast’s—large, black, ferocious, with two burning amber eyes.
A wolf.
Panic seized me.
My limbs jerked, fighting something I could not see, could not name—until the world toppled sideways.
Thud.
My eyes flew open.
I lay sprawled on the wooden floor, tangled in blankets.
The cold bit into my spine.
The chamber was dim, silent but for my ragged breaths.
With a groan, I kicked the covers off and stared up at the once-white ceiling. A damp patch spread like a bruise in the corner near the window.
Another leak to add to the list.
I pushed myself upright, glancing toward the hearth.
No point lighting a fire when there was so much work to attend to.
I braced a hand on the bedframe and paused.
The beast from my nightmare—no, vision—hovered at the edges of my mind.
Something more had been there.
Something important.
The colour red?
I shook my head sharply.
This was how people became addled.
I needed a stiff drink, not tea.