The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) by Christine Pope Page B
Authors: Christine Pope
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into the icy surface, feeling it burn as it touched my exposed skin. But they were on me, snarling. One of them took the fur collar of my gown in its fangs and jerked, forcing me to roll over on my back.
I lay there, staring up into its golden eyes. It stared back at me, pink tongue lolling from its mouth. I wanted to shut my own eyes, since I knew what was about to come next, and yet somehow I couldn’t. They remained wide open, making it seem as if I was slowly falling into the wolf’s baleful golden glare.
Don’t, I thought in my dream. Please.
For the longest moment, we both remained like that, frozen in place. The other two wolves had gone very still, and sat off to one side, watching us. And then the wolf lunged, and I screamed, screams that tore my throat even as his teeth sank into my neck, drawing out my life blood —
Those screams seemed to bounce off the walls of my room. I sat up in bed, blinking at my surroundings. One hand touched the leather binding of the book I had dropped, and I let out a small whimper. I was safe. Yes, the wind still howled outside quite as fiercely as those dream-wolves had, but I knew I had nothing to fear from it. Nothing could hurt me in here.
No one came to see what I had been screaming about. I reflected that I seemed to be the only person occupying a room on this floor, and so there was no one around who could have possibly heard my cries. Just as well; I wouldn’t have liked to explain why a dream had affected me so badly that I’d awoken screaming as if someone had attacked me in my bed.
Which, I realized then, wasn’t entirely outside the bounds of possibility. Yes, I locked the door behind me each night, but locks weren’t infallible. What if the scar-faced man-at-arms got it into his head to come creeping up here one night, to take advantage of my isolation and force himself on me?
No, that would never happen. Surely no man would risk his position in Lord Greymount’s guard for a few stolen moments with a woman. But then I remembered the way the man-at-arms had leered at me, and fingers of ice dragged their way down my back.
Wincing at the cold, I pushed the covers off and went to the door, then tested the lock. It was made of black iron, and seemed quite sturdy. Even so, I could not find myself terribly reassured. Perhaps it was only the dregs of the nightmare lingering in my mind, but I felt that lock was not nearly protection enough.
Glancing around, I noted the chair at the dressing table. It was carved from dark oak, and seemed to be the best solution. I went and fetched it, then shoved it up under the door handle. It might not hold if enough force was brought to bear, but at the very least it would make quite the racket when pushed out of the way, and that should be enough to warn me. Then I might have time to run to the hearth and snatch up the fireplace poker. Or perhaps I should bring the poker to the bed with me. No, that would require far too many explanations, if I should be caught that way.
Speaking of which, the fire had guttered out to almost nothing. No wonder the room was so cold. I’d quite forgotten to bank it down before climbing into bed, and I chided myself for my absent-mindedness.
I had no dressing gown, so I pulled the coverlet from the bed and wrapped it around myself before going to the hearth and plucking several logs from the basket which sat next to it. My supply was getting rather low, but I knew that it would be replenished in the morning, and I should be able to make do with what was here now.
The embers were still warm, and flared into life when I prodded them with the fireplace poker. Once I’d set the fresh logs on the grate, they caught soon enough, sending a welcome wave of warmth into the room. Would it be enough, though? What if the cold kept increasing until even a fire was not sufficient to keep away the bitter chill?
And what if those giants of legend came storming down from the north and battered down the
I lay there, staring up into its golden eyes. It stared back at me, pink tongue lolling from its mouth. I wanted to shut my own eyes, since I knew what was about to come next, and yet somehow I couldn’t. They remained wide open, making it seem as if I was slowly falling into the wolf’s baleful golden glare.
Don’t, I thought in my dream. Please.
For the longest moment, we both remained like that, frozen in place. The other two wolves had gone very still, and sat off to one side, watching us. And then the wolf lunged, and I screamed, screams that tore my throat even as his teeth sank into my neck, drawing out my life blood —
Those screams seemed to bounce off the walls of my room. I sat up in bed, blinking at my surroundings. One hand touched the leather binding of the book I had dropped, and I let out a small whimper. I was safe. Yes, the wind still howled outside quite as fiercely as those dream-wolves had, but I knew I had nothing to fear from it. Nothing could hurt me in here.
No one came to see what I had been screaming about. I reflected that I seemed to be the only person occupying a room on this floor, and so there was no one around who could have possibly heard my cries. Just as well; I wouldn’t have liked to explain why a dream had affected me so badly that I’d awoken screaming as if someone had attacked me in my bed.
Which, I realized then, wasn’t entirely outside the bounds of possibility. Yes, I locked the door behind me each night, but locks weren’t infallible. What if the scar-faced man-at-arms got it into his head to come creeping up here one night, to take advantage of my isolation and force himself on me?
No, that would never happen. Surely no man would risk his position in Lord Greymount’s guard for a few stolen moments with a woman. But then I remembered the way the man-at-arms had leered at me, and fingers of ice dragged their way down my back.
Wincing at the cold, I pushed the covers off and went to the door, then tested the lock. It was made of black iron, and seemed quite sturdy. Even so, I could not find myself terribly reassured. Perhaps it was only the dregs of the nightmare lingering in my mind, but I felt that lock was not nearly protection enough.
Glancing around, I noted the chair at the dressing table. It was carved from dark oak, and seemed to be the best solution. I went and fetched it, then shoved it up under the door handle. It might not hold if enough force was brought to bear, but at the very least it would make quite the racket when pushed out of the way, and that should be enough to warn me. Then I might have time to run to the hearth and snatch up the fireplace poker. Or perhaps I should bring the poker to the bed with me. No, that would require far too many explanations, if I should be caught that way.
Speaking of which, the fire had guttered out to almost nothing. No wonder the room was so cold. I’d quite forgotten to bank it down before climbing into bed, and I chided myself for my absent-mindedness.
I had no dressing gown, so I pulled the coverlet from the bed and wrapped it around myself before going to the hearth and plucking several logs from the basket which sat next to it. My supply was getting rather low, but I knew that it would be replenished in the morning, and I should be able to make do with what was here now.
The embers were still warm, and flared into life when I prodded them with the fireplace poker. Once I’d set the fresh logs on the grate, they caught soon enough, sending a welcome wave of warmth into the room. Would it be enough, though? What if the cold kept increasing until even a fire was not sufficient to keep away the bitter chill?
And what if those giants of legend came storming down from the north and battered down the
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