Wulfyddia (The Tattersall Trilogy Book 1) by Steele Alexandra

Author:Steele Alexandra [Alexandra, Steele]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2015-01-25T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Melisande reached absently for her tea but her fingers found the warm wax of the candle instead. Jerking her hand back before her fingers were singed, Melisande glanced up from the bestiary she was perusing long enough to locate her tea, but when her hand closed around the mug she found that it was cold to the touch, so she let it be and turned the page instead.

She had located the legend of the beast; now all that remained was to discern the species, well, the species it would be most like if it were real, she reminded herself. Almost certainly the creature was a mere figment of Rathbone’s imagination, a ghoul summoned from the depths of his tormented mind. But perhaps a name would help him, much in the same way a diagnosis helped a frightened patient, by giving a name to the menace.

She was tempted to switch bestiaries, however. This one was highly illustrated and full of very colorful and deeply vivid paintings of all manner of creatures. At first the lurid images hadn’t upset her, but as the hour grew later and the castle fell silent around her, she found herself growing increasingly anxious with each page she turned.

On the current page, a clawed hand clutched a man by the chest, gripping him so hard that red blood spilled from the gouges in his chest. Nothing could be seen of the beast that was pulling him into the darkness of the night, save for two red eyes that stared out of the abyss, devilish in their intensity. In the next illustration, a man grappled with a beast that looked almost human, save for joints that were bent in ways no mortal man’s body could bear. It was more than half again his size, and its face loomed above his, teeth bared as if it were about to bear down on his neck and savage the flesh of his throat. Its face had been painted in great detail, and the visage was arresting, almost nauseating. Its anatomy tread a faint line between man and beast, but its expression was purely human, made of equal parts pain and rage, and the suffering in its face and the contortions of its form almost seemed to suggest that it was more anguished than the man.

Melisande finally tore her gaze from the parchment, swallowed, and turned the page. She reached for her tea again, and this time she let a few drops of the unappealingly chilled liquid slide down her throat. There was a low moan at the window, and the shutter banged in the sudden wind. Melisande stood to secure it, and as she crossed to the window, she was startled by the glow of the newly risen moon. It was full tonight, almost too big for the sky, and she lingered a moment, staring up at it with troubled eyes.

***

It was a windy night in the Bottoms. Shadows swirled on the docks, bearing dry leaves, crumpled newspapers and the scent of the sea.

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