Bitten

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A New Paranormal Novelette

by

Violet Heart

Copyright © 2012 Violet Heart

~ Bitten ~

Chapter One

A charge of excitement in the chill air teased Amelia's nostrils. Her heart began to pound. She ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip and inhaled deeply as her coach emerged from a break in Alpine mountain range. She approached her destiny. She'd never been surer of anything.

On the opposite bench seat, an older man in a dignified gray houndstooth greatcoat stared at her mouth then into her eyes. A thrill of challenge raced through her, and she refused to look away. She sent him a suggestive smile and swallowed a chortle of delight when his pale face went red. Beside him, a middle-aged woman sent Amelia a scathing scowl then squeezed the man's arm.

The chortle made a second attempt into Amelia's throat, but she kept her lips closed to keep it from escaping.
Yasmine would be scandalized by my boldness.

The coach tipped onto the mountain-pass road into the Rift River Valley. They passed through a cloudbank and came out the bottom into bright sunlight. Each minute of their steep descent saw a rise in temperature by a full degree. By the time they reached green, flowering hills outside her friend's town, Amelia was desperate to get out of her cloak. With the coach wall at one shoulder and a rotund mother of two pressed against the other, however, she couldn't move. She settled for propping open her wrap, leaving the clasp fastened at her throat.

Still, none of her discomfort detracted from her happiness. For the first time in over a year, she wasn't bored.

The coach wheels rumbled over the wooden arch of a creek bridge, and buildings came into view. She searched eagerly for a sign. She had no idea what awaited, but she sensed the promise of a thrill.

Since entering Pembroke's Academy for Ladies at twelve, Amelia had suspected she was meant for more than teas, balls, embroidery, and shopping. Now she
knew
it. She just knew it.

Cottages with straw-thatched roofs and pretty pastel wash brightening their walls gave way to colorful two-story townhouses and shops crammed side by side. The dirt road became a cobbled street that shimmied the coach. The older man stared at the jiggle of her breasts above the lace-trimmed neckline of her bodice.

If his wife hadn't appeared ready to leap over and scratch her face, Amelia might've been tempted to tease him. Maybe a slight lowering of her gown, or perhaps a leisurely caress along the plump round of her cleavage. But, no. Poor man. She'd done enough to put him in a bad way with the woman.

She turned her attention to the window in time to catch a glimpse of gleaming orange eyes in a handsome face. Her stomach leapt into her chest. She pressed fingers to the window and tried to turn, to get a second look, but the heavyset woman had her wedged too tightly.

She closed her lids in an attempt to bring his image to mind. There was something about him… something otherworldly, yet familiar. In the split second their eyes had met, she knew…what? Only that he drew her as nothing ever had. She experienced a sense of meaning deeper than she could comprehend, and she liked it. It reeked of adventure.

The coach came to a halt at a post station platform. Now that the wheels had stopped, the town's quiet hit her. The passengers exchanged uneasy glances.

The door opened and the driver offered his hand. He had to give her a tug to dislodge her from her corner. She sent the older man a playful wink and tiny wave, ignoring his wife's outraged huff, and alighted to the platform.

"It'll be just a moment to get your trunk and bag off the rack, Lady Fairforth," said the coachman, his German accent thick.

None of the passengers stepped out to stretch, despite their three-hour ride from the last post station in the Alps. She glanced along the street. People moved from shop to shop, and some stood talking in small groups. A cursory glance might've assured her all was well. Everyone spoke in whispers, though, and none of the children ran or played. A heavy, somber mood permeated the scene.

She refused to let it deter her. She belonged here, even if she wasn't sure why.

"Amelia!" Yasmine, a vision in lavender, exited the station building and stepped onto the platform. Her enormous satin and lace hat filled the doorway, brushing forest-green painted wood on both sides as she passed. It concealed her hair so completely that her dark eyebrows were the only clue she was brunette. Her silk and organza gown hugged in all the right places, and her organza-trimmed parasol knocked in time with her steps.

"You came. I'm so glad." Amelia unfastened her sable-lined, black velvet cloak and draped it over an arm.

Yasmine's gaze darted, and Amelia glanced over her own shoulder. What had her friend so nervous? It wasn't like her, especially since a burly manservant followed close at her heels. "It's good to see you, but didn't you get my letter?"

"I got it."
You'd think me crazy if I admitted I had to come. That I've dreamt of nothing for the last two months but running free and wild here in the Rift River Valley.
"But it's all I've had to look forward to."

"It's not safe for you." Yasmine placed a soft, warm hand on hers.

I'm meant to be here.
She dared not admit such a notion aloud. "Well, I'm not returning to England anytime soon."

The coachman delivered her belongings to the platform, and Yasmine's servant immediately collected them. He lifted her trunk, with her satchel atop it, as if it weighed no more than a picnic basket.

While he headed for the station door, Amelia cast a glance down the street, hoping she'd glimpse the man with orange eyes.

"I really wish you hadn't come," said her friend.

"Why? Don't you want my visit?" She half-joked. Yasmine and she were like sisters since their early days together at the ladies’ academy.

"Of course you're always welcome. I love you. It's just that now isn't a good time." Her friend led the way through the station house and out to where her servant strapped the trunk atop a stately black and gold carriage bearing Yasmine's family coat of arms upon the door.

Her driver assisted them inside then took his seat. The conveyance jostled as the manservant climbed off the roof and onto the back. A horse snuffled, the reins snapped, and they rolled from the station.

Amelia grinned at her friend. "Did you miss me?"

Yasmine's anxiety softened to a gracious smile. "You know I did. I think of you every day. Your bold mischief. Your brilliant quips. Your quick mind. I can't tell you how often I had wished you were beside me when I needed a fast comeback or a witty retort."

"And here I am. So why isn't it safe?"

Her friend lost her smile. She stared at passing landscape while tension pulled her pretty mouth tight. Then she sighed. "Shortly before I sent my letter, bad things started happening in the valley town of Schwarzberg. A single mountain range is all that separates us, so we were concerned."

"What do you mean by 'bad things'?"

"First, livestock were found dead, ravaged by a predator of some kind. Sheep. Goats. An occasional cow."

"Upsetting, certainly, but this sometimes happens."

Yasmine shook her head. "Two months ago, a man was found in the same manner as the livestock. We couldn't stand by any longer. Some of the men formed a hunting party and went after it." She took a shuddering breath.

"Go on," urged Amelia, reaching across to grasp her friend's hand. It was the same time period in which her dreams had started. Unlikely as it seemed, could that hunt have something to do with her?

"The attacks had always been at night, so they went during a full moon for the best light. It didn't help."

"Why?"

"Nobody knows what happened. That is, nobody but Ebenoral Malveaux, the son of Lord Sir Malger Malveaux. He was the only one who returned."

The name, Ebenoral Malveaux, sent a tremor of pleasure low in her belly. "What does he say about that night?"

Yasmine's chocolate-brown eyes went wide, her lashes reaching her arched eyebrows. "Nothing," she whispered. "All I can figure is it must've been horrifying. Eight men rode out on horseback, but one returned – injured and on foot. Upon his return the next morning, Ebenoral fell unconscious near town, his neck mangled on one side. He suffered a terrible fever. He was too weak to leave his bed for weeks."

Amelia scooted to the edge of her seat. "Then what?" But some part of her knew already.
He began to hunt.

Her friend shook her head. "It was miraculous, really. We all thought he'd die of his wounds, but the servants said he disappeared from his bed one night. The next morning, he called upon his staff to serve breakfast in his sunroom. I saw him yesterday, and he didn't have a single mark on his neck. Not one. For the most part, though, he's kept to himself. You see, Lord Sir Malveaux was in that hunting party. Ebenoral has been grieving."

Amelia hadn't even met him, but her heart broke for him. "Is that why he refuses to talk about what happened?"

Yasmine hugged herself. "He says he can't recall." Her voice went quiet, making it difficult to hear her over the crunch of the wheels. "But we need him to remember."

"So the families mourning the other men can have closure?"

Yasmine slowly shook her head. "Because the livestock attacks have begun here in Rift."

* * * *

Ebenoral hid in shadow as the Hanswald carriage rolled by. Who was the lovely stranger, and why did she cause both a stirring in his loins and a burst of adrenaline? When her coach had entered town, he'd sensed her arrival. Desire burned through him at the sight of her blond curls. Her bright blue eyes had met his gaze, and he'd gone instantly hard.

His cock still ached, though he'd regained control. A growl grumbled at the base of his throat. Okay, so he'd
mostly
gained control.

He needed a drink, damn it, not some ninny girl straight out of deportment school. His body disagreed. It took umbrage to his thinking of her as a girl. The memory of lush breasts and flaring hips pushed to the fore. She was all woman.

He turned on his heel and somehow managed a calm walk to the tree line edging the rear of town. From there, he raced through the woods at a speed still alarming to him. Ebenoral approached the castle-like manor his great grandfather had built. It belonged to him now, but at the price of his father's life. Too high a price.

He fought a tightness in his chest. Without conscious intent, he brought to mind the newcomer's sensual features. Her full lips. Her large eyes. Her blond curls caressing high cheekbones and alabaster skin.

The tightness faded, giving way to tense neck muscles and sweaty palms.

He feared what he might do. Feared waking once again with a sense of, but no memory of, horrors he'd committed. Feared the full moon in two days.