Chapter 15 #3
She said nothing, allowing the silence to draw out whatever lay heavy on his chest.
“Alden was the eldest son, heir apparent to the earldom. He was everything a Northwood should be. Charismatic, magnetic, admired for his beauty, and feared for his temper. But the curse burned hotter in him than in any Blackfen before.” Lucien’s hands clenched at his sides.
“Most underwent the change much later in life. I myself was nearly thirty years of age, but the transformation came upon him early, by his late teens. My grandfather recognized the signs and tried to contain him with wolfsbane tonics and confinement, but Alden … Alden enjoyed the change. He called it his birthright.”
A chill crept down Verity’s spine. “He enjoyed it?”
“He reveled in it. Unlike my father, unlike me, he did not fight the beast. He embraced it. The journal described him as a man of violent appetites and no conscience, restless and unpredictable, fascinated by violence and passion. His appetites for drink, women, and danger bordered on the feral irrespective of the transformation.” Lucien’s voice grew hollow.
“And when the moon rose full, he did not hunt animals. He began to hunt people.”
“Dear God.”
“He went on a rampage one autumn. Killed two men from the village before my father and grandfather were able to track him down.” Lucien met her gaze, and she saw the weight of generations of tragedy.
“They found him in Blackfen Woods in the morning, dripping with blood. There was no cure, no hope of redemption. So my father fired the shot, and my grandfather drove a silver dagger into Alden’s heart. ”
Verity pressed a hand to her mouth, horrified by the image his words conjured.
“That night changed him … them … forever. The journals make that plain. My father was tortured by his part in it. I think—” He swallowed.
“I think it is why he never told me of the curse. He could not bear the guilt. Could not bear to speak of it. He meant to, if it became necessary. But I believe he hoped I might be spared. That the curse had passed me by.”
Verity was silent, trying to make sense of all she had learned in the last few hours, but Lucien was not done.
“They buried him in secret, at the edge of the wood beneath a cairn of stones. The villagers were told the body was lost in the fen.” He gave a bitter laugh. “A hunting accident, they said. The heir to Blackfen brought down by the very beast he pursued. No one questioned it. No one wished to.”
“When did this happen?”
“Twenty-six years ago. He never married, though not for lack of … opportunity.” Lucien hesitated, his expression darkening.
“The journals made clear that Alden was a man of immoral character. He pursued women regardless of their station or their willingness. If anyone in my family might have sired bastards scattered across the county …”
“It would be him.” Verity felt the pieces clicking into place. “A man like that, with no restraint and no honor, he could have left children who would have no idea what they carried in their blood.”
“Until the curse awakened in them.” Lucien’s voice was hollow. “Until they transformed for the first time and had no one to explain what was happening, no one to teach them control.”
“Then we must find them.” Verity crossed to stand before him, taking his hands in hers.
“If one of Alden’s descendants is killing without conscience, we must discover who they are.
Last night, while you were protecting me from Robert Fynn, another creature was mauling an old man to death. You cannot have done both.”
“You do not know that.” His grip tightened on her fingers. “The wolf is fast. I could have?—”
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I know your heart, and I tell you it is not possible.” She lifted one hand to touch his face, her fingers brushing against the roughness of his shaven jaw.
“I do not believe you are capable of such violence. Not as a man and not as a wolf. Your fundamental nature does not change simply because your form does.”
Something in him seemed to crumble at her words, his eyes widening in shock. He pulled away from her and crossed to the worn rug in the center of the cellar, where he sank down and buried his head in his hands.
“Lucien?” Verity moved toward him, alarmed. “What is it?”
The wolfhounds reacted immediately to their master’s distress.
Braccus abandoned his post at the stairs and padded over to press his great gray head against Lucien’s shoulder with a soft whine.
Eirin ceased her pacing and came to stand nearby, her body angled as though to shield him from some unseen threat.
And sweet, anxious Ronan wriggled between Verity and Lucien to lay his head in his master’s lap, his silver eyes fixed on Lucien’s bowed head with an expression of pure, uncomplicated devotion.
“I know who it is,” Lucien said, his voice muffled by his hands. “God help me, I think I have always known. I simply could not bring myself to see it.” He lifted his head, and the anguish in his eyes took her breath away.