Читать книгу Come the Night - Susan Krinard - Страница 6

Cumbria, England, 1910

“CHANGE, DAMN YOU!”

Her father’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, but to Gillian it sounded like a shout. She curled into a tighter ball and concentrated as hard as she could.

Change. Oh, please Change.

It seemed as if her body was doing everything possible to resist, everything possible to make Papa angrier with her. He’d already chastised her numerous times for lagging so far behind most loup-garou children.

“You aren’t trying hard enough,” he’d accused. “You wish to shirk your responsibilities. Well, I won’t have it. You’ll do as I tell you, even if I have to beat it into you.”

Gillian had believed him. He’d resorted to the belt more times than she could remember, and for far less terrible infractions than this. But oh, if she could only please him. The sun would come out in his eyes then, and the beatings would be forgotten.

She wanted so badly to please him.

Change.

She squeezed her eyes shut with such force that little white lights danced behind her eyelids. Her muscles twitched and protested. She imagined what it would be like when she became a wolf…how different the world would seem, how beautiful, how perfect.

You’ll be like the others. You’ll belong.

Without understanding why she did so, she let her mind go blank and her body relax. Her arms and legs went limp. She could still hear Papa’s voice, but it seemed very far away. A softness flowed through her like liquid sunlight.

And then something shifted, as if invisible gears had clicked into place. She had expected it to hurt—surely something so difficult would have to hurt—but it didn’t. There was nothing strange about it at all. One moment she was a fourteen-year-old girl—neither particularly pretty nor unusually bright, as her father so often reminded her. The next she was crouched on four large paws, and the universe was exploding with sounds and smells she had never known in all her life as a human.

She straightened and shook out her golden fur. There was nothing awkward about her now, nothing to make Papa ashamed. She looked up at him, daring to allow herself a shining moment of hope.

Papa was smiling. The warmth of his approval spilled over Gillian, bathing her in relief and joy. She jumped up high, twisted in midair, landed again as lightly as a feather. Every muscle and tendon obeyed her to perfection. She turned toward the wood behind the house, longing to escape into the fells, to feel the power of her new shape in all its glory.

But it was not to be. “Enough,” Papa said. “I have business to attend to.”

He had already turned away by the time she Changed back. The crisp morning air brought goose pimples to Gillian’s naked skin. She pulled on the dress she had left lying over a bench, skinny and plain and awkward once more, and berated herself for her foolish expectations. Why should there be a celebration just because she could finally do what any werewolf was supposed to do? Why should this day be any different?

She slipped her shoes and trudged through the kitchen garden to the servants’ entrance, praying that no one would see her. Not even Cook’s sympathy would make her feel better now. Cook was only human and couldn’t possibly understand.

No one stopped her as she climbed the stairs to the nursery. She was briefly cheered by the thought that Papa would no longer force her to remain in the room she’d occupied since infancy; she’d proven herself a woman today.

A woman whose future was already decided.

Gillian slumped onto her narrow bed and covered her face with her hands. She barely felt it when someone touched her drawn-up knee.

“Gilly? Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes. Hugh was standing beside the bed, his normally cheerful face overcast with worry.

Gillian straightened and found a smile. “Of course I’m all right,” she said. “I Changed today.”

Hugh’s mouth formed an O of surprise. “Cor blimey!”

“You ought not to curse, Hugh.”

“Did you really Change, Gilly? What was it like?”

“Wonderful,” she lied, remembering how Papa had destroyed her brief pleasure with his casual dismissal.

Hugh shuffled his feet. “Now that you’re grown up, you won’t play with me anymore.”

“Nonsense.” She slid off the bed and wrapped her arms around Hugh’s thin shoulders. “I’ll still be close by. Nothing will really be different.”

Hugh allowed her to hold him for a few seconds and then stiffened to indicate that he’d had enough coddling. He’s growing up, too, Gillian thought. But it would be easier for him when it was his time. He’d always been Papa’s favorite. That was a fact Gillian had accepted long ago.

Just as she had accepted that he must never know how badly their father made her feel.

She pushed Hugh’s brown hair away from his forehead. “It’s almost time for lessons,” she said. “Would you like to go outside and throw the ball for a little while?”

Hugh’s grin was answer enough. He ran to fetch the ball and raced ahead of her down the stairs, his small feet thudding loudly in the stillness. Papa might take him to task for his noise—if Papa were paying any attention. If Sir Averil Maitland was involved in his “business,” nothing else would matter.

Gillian descended the stairs and joined Hugh on the lawn, catching the ball and throwing it back with just enough force to satisfy a rapidly growing boy. She’d almost forgotten that she was to meet Ethan by the beck this evening after supper, when Papa was in the library with his books. Ethan was human; there were a lot of things he couldn’t understand. But she’d told him about loups-garous years ago, and he wasn’t afraid. He would listen patiently, the way he always did, and in the end she would feel just a little bit better.

Mrs. Beattie rang the nursery bell, and Hugh heaved a great sigh. It was time for lessons, and there would be no more play for the rest of the day. Nothing had really changed. Except that now Papa would begin thinking about a suitable mate for Gillian, a man of pure werewolf blood who would be the father of her pure werewolf children.

Gillian looked one last time toward the woods and reminded herself all over again that there was no such thing as freedom.