Chapter Three

The huge white steeds belonging to the Lord of White Stone castle drove into view, preceded by the melodic jingling of the bells that graced their manes. The notes, high-pitched and joyful, woke Lukas from his restless slumber. Memories of other times and other places he had heard those same joyous bells, singing their songs, came to him with a start.

He rose, instantly awake, his jade-colored eyes staring through the shadowed forest as if it were bright daylight. Indeed, his eyes were better suited to this type of setting—at least, they were now. It hadn’t always been this way, for when he was a lad he’d been a prince of this same castle, scurrying through the enormous rooms and myriad labyrinths of hallways with a shout, as he pretended to be a knight, slaying the evil beasts that befouled the villages that were his responsibility.

Now, he had returned, a far different person from that happy child who had spent his hours winning the day. He shook his long mane of dark locks into place, one slightly stubborn tress playing across his eyes until he brushed it absently away. He dusted off his clothing, travel-worn and smudged, but still of the highest quality, and found his way with silent but precise steps towards the road.

As the horses drew near, he stepped into the road, his eyes glowing in the sun with an eerie light. The lead horse, its shoulders almost the same height as Lukas himself, reared onto its hind legs, front hooves pawing the air with savage intent. Lukas snarled, his fine upper lip drawing back from teeth almost too sharp to be human, and with a start, the horse shied then was calmed by the coachman’s escort who jumped quickly to its head.

The escort gathered the bridle of the horse in his hands, speaking to it in low tones before rounding on the man still standing in front of them.

“Are you mad? By the moons, man, you could have been run down before we saw you.”

“My father, is he in that carriage?”

“What? Your father, you say? Why would he be in the Lord’s coach?”

“Because my father is the Lord, you dolt!”

The servant took a cautious step forward, squinting into the sun’s bright rays. He stared at the man for a moment then fell to his knees. “Lord Lukas, I beg your forgiveness. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Get up, man,” Lukas growled. “Answer my question. Is my father in that carriage or not?”

The man hurried from his knees, whipping the hat from his head. “No, my lord. No one is in the carriage. We went to the village to return his lordship’s…ah friend.”

“You mean my father’s whore. It’s fine. I’ll enjoy comfort, then, for the rest of my journey. Wake me before we reach the white gates.” He stalked around the man and the horses, past the astounded coachman, and climbed unaided into the huge white coach.

He smelled her perfume in the seats, and her stench of stale sex was still abundant in the closed in coach. The woman was lowborn, a widow most likely, earning her way on her back. She didn’t carry the fresh scent of wood and soap like Danie—No he wouldn’t think of her. She’d tricked him, lied to him and eluded him.

He closed his eyes, seeing her gracefulness, the long slender curves of her pale body, the gold curls that cascaded like sunshine around her. Her eyes, that deep blue of still lakes, a color that drew him until he drowned in their depths. He’d lost his heart in those eyes, in the sweet curve of her arms, the soft tempting nape of her neck and the lush fullness of her lips. He’d lost himself and also the trust he bestowed upon so few.

She’d promised to come back. She’d sworn to him to meet him that night. She’d given him the precious gift of her virginity, a gift no other woman had ever—

“Bah!” he exclaimed, waving a hand in front of his face, as if he could erase her memory that easily. She’d promised, then she hadn’t come. He’d waited. He’d paced the tree line for hours, for nights afterward, waiting, always waiting for her to return.

And the wolf had howled his displeasure, his hurt and his heartache to the winds. He was done with her. His battered pride demanded that he ignore the messages of his heart, that insidious little voice that proclaimed Danielle as his mate, as the one woman he would never be able to forget. Still thinking of her, his eyes grew heavy with the rocking motion of the coach then, finally, he slept.

A thumping at the top of the carriage woke him, tearing him from his dreams of her. “My lord, we have arrived,” the coachman said, his voice muffled but audible.

Lukas sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes before staring out the glass windows, an expense few could afford. He watched as they drove through the tall gates of White Stone castle. A loud trumpeting sounded, heralding their approach and entry into the castle’s marble courtyard. The horses’ hooves rang with a different sound against the hard stone than they had on the dirt roadway. Instead of going to the stables, the carriage pulled to the front of the castle, stopping at the long marble stairs that led to the imposing alabaster-colored doors.

Without waiting for the coachmen, Lucas pushed open the carriage door and jumped lithely to the ground, staring up at his childhood home with a cynical gleam. It was, if anything, more magnificent, more commanding and more ornate than he remembered. Turrets rose from each end of the main building, seeming to soar to impossible heights against the deep blue of the sky. Clear glass windows sparkled in the bright light of the suns, while stained glass in others depicted historic scenes and shone with brightly hued radiance.

His favorite window soared high above the front doors, its rainbow colors patterned to look like the strange white men who had come to this planet so many years before, some remaining and breeding with the natives, and others continuing on their journey through the universes. One man, a leader, and one of Lukas’ forefathers, was fighting off the hinterbeast, one of the most fierce predators on this planet. It ran on four legs, standing as tall as a man at its shoulders, and was covered with fine long fur that was much prized because of its warmth and resistance to water and snow.

The hinterbeast had been responsible for many deaths the during the earliest days of the Beginning. With sharp claws and six-inch long fangs, the hinterbeast brought death that was neither easy nor swift. Like a cat, it chose to toy with its prey, sending out terrifying ear-splitting roars and inflicting small wounds that would bleed and sap the victim’s strength. When it tired of amusing itself, the hinterbeast didn’t go for the throat, but instead went for the belly, making death something that was begged for long before it occurred.

In his youth, he’d often stare at this one window and pretend to be both hunter and protector, fighting the beast to win the hand and adoration of a fair princess who would swoon at his least little scrape and wound. But now, it was just a window, ornate and entertaining. But that was all.

“My father must be well, bedding whores and adding statues,” he murmured to himself, laying his hand on a carving of a white wolf that sat at the bottom of the stair. It snarled at him, huge blue eyes rolling and tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its teeth closed around Lukas’ hand before he could realize that what he had thought was a statue was actually flesh and blood.

Lukas didn’t jump or pull his hand back—either would have ended with him mauled. Instead, deep in his throat, he whimpered then growled. Blue eyes stared deeply into his own green ones, confusion turning to acknowledgement. The wolf, a female, loosed his hand, bowing her majestic head and allowing him to pass.

The coachmen behind him murmured to themselves and shied away, hurrying back to their duties with worried looks at the man mounting the stairs. The older of the two men remembered the young Lord as a child. And he also remembered the mystery surrounding the young master’s departure from the castle and the foul temper that the old Lord had been in for months afterward. Neither of the coachmen wanted to be present at the reunion.

The doors opened for Lukas, and he walked into the great entryway, feeling a strange pang at returning to the place he was born but that was no longer his home. It looked as if winter had touched the entry. Great sheets of white marble graced the floors, and white ivy climbed white-carpeted curved stairs and hung over the balcony. High above hung a huge crystal chandelier, draped with white ribbons and holding hundreds of small white candles. A mirror, just under the stairs, reflected the entire area.

Lukas closed his eyes, and for one moment, he remembered himself as a child, the wind in his face as he flew down the balustrade and landed with a thump on the pillow he had placed at the bottom. The thrill of the short ride down that curved railing made that sudden drop worthwhile. He heard himself, his voice young and high-pitched in childhood, giggling in glee at the wild ride.

A hand touched his face, and his eyes flew open, feral and wild for that one second at being caught unaware. The man standing in front of him, tall and unbent despite his white hair and wrinkled face, bore no resemblance to Lukas.

“Father,” Lukas said, bowing his head slightly in greeting.

The lord of the castle, Jourick de Arrone, curled the fingers that had just grazed his son’s cheek into a fist and let it drop to his side. He accepted the bow as being respectful, though a part of him knew it was not. “My son. I heard of a black wolf in the forest, a fierce predator, protecting the virtue of a village girl. I wondered if it might be you.”

“And the female outside? Is she another of your…creations?” Lukas spat the word as if it were foul.

“Beautiful, isn’t she. Such amazing eyes. But no, I found her in the woods. I thought if you were to return, maybe I could…” He let the sentence linger in the air.

Lukas shuddered with disgust and distaste. “I returned to ask you to remove this curse you placed upon me not to be bred like livestock.”

“Come, let’s discuss this somewhere more comfortable.” Lord Jourick ignored Lukas’s outburst, instead leading the way through a wide archway and down a short flight of stairs. The floors there were marble also, a dove grey, with a rich vein of deep silver running through them. The room they entered was warmed by a fire set in a huge fireplace of black marble. Lush, intricately woven carpets lay across the floors, and chairs of ivory and bone and cushioned with deep leather sat before the fire.

As he made his way to a chair, Jourick pulled on a long-tasseled cord hanging from the ceiling. Somewhere, deep in the castle, a bell sounded with a deep-throated bong.

“Jasper will be here momentarily with food and drink. You will join me?” Jourick asked, waving his son into the other chair.

It is to be a game then, Lukas thought. A game of manners. He offers, I accept. I challenge and he retreats. He nodded and sat, ready to wait him out.

Jasper, the faithful old servant who had looked after Lukas as a child, arrived with a large tray upon his arms. He carried it in and set it upon a small table next to Lord Jourick. He looked over, a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, a greeting that was meant to be unseen by his father.

Lukas looked over the old man, noting the white hair, the slightly stooped posture and the somewhat gnarled fingers. Age hadn’t been kind to Jasper, but then again, neither had life here at the castle since Jourick had changed and become what he was now.

The change had been sudden. A kind master and a wonderful father had turned into a cold-hearted magician because of the discovery of a book and a stone. A dark blue stone, with a flaw of bright red running through the centre. It rested against his father’s white robe, hanging from a thick, silver chain. The book, strange and carved with a ring of nude female figures wearing masks of animal heads and dancing, rested upon a golden pedestal in the centre of this room, a glass dome covering it.

Lukas’ life had changed the day of the discovery. His father had locked himself in this room, hiding himself away for days, leaving Lukas to wonder what he was doing. When Jourick had finally emerged, his eyes, once kind and cheerful despite his cares, had been hard, as if he’d seen things that no man had any right to see.

The magic had ruined Lukas’ life. It had taken his father and made him a man who now lived for pleasure and power, no longer the kind master who’d ruled with a gentle touch and a heart of gold. When Lukas had had enough of the dictator, enough of the selfish, power-hungry sorcerer, and tried to leave, his father had changed Lukas, making him into what he was now, only partially human, more wild than any man. He changed into that huge beast, the black wolf, whenever he lost control of his emotions.

And though it had been his father’s attempt to control Lukas, it hadn’t worked. Lukas had left, refusing to look back as he had fled his family home and the man who had once been his father and was now a stranger. He’d vowed to find a way to rid himself of the beast within, to lose that part of himself that triggered the change. He’d only come home when that hadn’t been possible.

Before he had come upon Danielle, his life had seemed worthless. He had decided to go home to plead with his father to change him back. Danielle had changed those plans in a single night. Coming to her rescue as the wolf was something he hadn’t planned to do. Having her protect him, in his wolfen form, was just as surprising.

A woman that he could love. A woman he had loved until she had broken her vow to him.

“Are you home for good?”

His father’s blunt question broke into his thoughts, and he glanced up from staring at the fireplace. “I’ve come home to ask you to remove this spell and let me go free as a man.” Unflinching, he met his father’s stare. “I’ve come to beg, if necessary, for you to release me and allow me to find happiness, father.”

“And this happiness can’t be found here?” Lord Jourick asked, his hand steadily and almost hypnotically stroking the long white hair of his beard.

Lukas refused to be drawn in. “Father, I wish to live my life as is my right and not as a pawn to what you now are.”

Jourick nodded his head, unfazed. “And what am I, my son? I am the same man I was before, your father and the Lord of all here. I haven’t changed all that much.” His hand curled around the stone, caressing it with his fingertips as he continued to talk. “I wish you happiness, Lukas, but not at the expense of the people and the lands in my charge. You must come home and take your proper place at my side. You must learn what your duties are and give up the life of a wanderer, living only for your own pleasure.”

Lukas could just stare. His father was turning the battle around, changing what had happened into something for which he could lay blame on Lukas instead acknowledging his own fault. Lukas hadn’t wanted to leave, but the strange smells, the screams, the disappearances of young serfs and the change in Jourick himself, had forced him to.

“I know, my son, it was a difficult time for both of us. I couldn’t console myself after your mother’s death at such a young age. She was so vibrant, and you have the that look of her and the same mysterious eyes that seem to know and see so much.” Lord Jourick once more reached out his hand as if to touch his son and satisfy himself that Lukas was indeed home.

Lukas pulled away from that hand, staring blindly at his father. “Your memories, my lord, somewhat differ from my own. Your obsession with that cursed book changed our futures, and not for the better. The man you were, the man concerned with the villagers and with his son, died the day you locked yourself in a room with that evil tome.”

Lord Jourick let his hand drop to the arm of the chair, his face hardening. “I see you haven’t changed,” he said with a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes, thoughtfully stroking the stone around his neck. “If I agree to your demands, if I am able to take back the curse, will you then stay with me?”

Lukas stared into the fire as his mind raced. To be free of the wolf, to no longer roam the woods as only half of what he was. Not man, not wolf. Not belonging to either world and without any of his own kind to belong to. Living as such had been an everlasting hell for him, inspiring fear in the people he met when they sensed he wasn’t as they were. Being shunned and ostracized had taken much from him. He’d taken to the woods, circling villages, only seeking others when the loneliness became too much to bear.

Danielle had been the first to see him as he truly was and to accept that with no questions. She’d made love to him that morning, given him the precious gift of her virtue with a trust that had moved him as much as her exceptional beauty had. To be able to go back to her, as a man, as son of the Lord of White Stone castle, to be able to take her as mate would be worth anything he had to go through, even if he had to deal with her lies.

“Father, I want so badly to say yes, that I will stay, that I will be your son and heir again. I wish it with all my heart. But—”

“No, son. No buts. If that is what you want then that is what we will make true. And this girl, this peasant who you protected so fiercely in the woods, you wish her also?” Lord Jourick smiled, and Lukas saw the man his father had once been in that smile.

“Danielle. Yes, I do wish for her also, father.” It was true, despite everything in him that said she had lied. He still wanted her.

“Then I will go to work. I will search the book for a cure for the curse. And I will send my carriage to the village to pick up your Danielle.” Jourick stood, letting his hand finally rest upon his son’s head. “I have missed you, son, more than you could ever imagine.”