Colorblind (Moonlight) (17 page)

“It is,” he interrupted, glaring at the other man. “Even the nigra folklore talks about it.”

“What does the unfortunate death of my overseer have to do with this?”

“Possible he was killed by one of them.”

“By a slave?” The disbelieving expression on Arnaud’s face told of his feelings on that theory.

“Not just any slave. By one of them…
shifters
.”

“Shifters, Mr. Ryder?”

Angry the discussion was not going as he’d planned, Patrick stood, ready to dismiss the man from his home. “I know you don’t believe me, Arnaud. I just wanted to tell you so you don’t end up like the Thorns or Pleasant.”

Leon Arnaud seemed in no great hurry, and instead of standing, he swirled his whiskey in his glass and asked, “Were the Thorns killed by these
shifters
as well?”

Although there was no smirk, no laughter, not even a smidgen of amusement, Patrick had the distinct impression he was being mocked.

“It’s possible,” he answered elusively. Thomas Thorn had passed years after the incident, from a supposed heart problem. While Patrick could indulge that reasoning, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Adam Thorn had been thrown from his horse in the very woods his father had hunted those slaves years past. Coincidence? He thought not. And then Pleasant’s death had confirmed what he’d always suspected. Shifters were either on or around his plantation. “It’s growing late, Arnaud….”

Pushing himself to his feet, Leon Arnaud nodded and placed the whiskey glass against the table.

“It is, Mr. Ryder.”

He walked the younger man to the door and asked if he wanted an escort home. Even before the Frenchman answered, Patrick knew he would not take any escort. Leon Arnaud still did not understand the dangers of walking alone, especially at night, in places like these, and at the moment, Patrick wasn’t inclined to explain it to him.

Still, he couldn’t help but add a final warning. “If I were you, Arnaud, I’d invest in silver bullets.”

Although Arnaud turned to face him, he did not speak. He only smiled slightly, dipped his head, and strolled down the path that would take him to his own plantation.

Patrick Ryder in the doorway for long moments, staring out into the darkness even after his guest had disappeared. Pleasant’s death had only confirmed what he’d long suspected, that the child of the runaway slaves was alive and more than likely responsible for the deaths of Adam Thorn and Pleasant.

Now, he was more determined than ever to find out who it was. It wasn’t just his curiosity he wished to fulfill; he wanted to prove he was not insane, that what he’d seen had happened. With Thorn and Pleasant dead, no one would believe him without proof. He fully intended to find it.

***

Leon forced himself to relax, to retain the cool he’d projected to Patrick Ryder not moments ago.

Patrick Ryder knew of the existence of werewolves. Or at least, he knew—or believed he knew—of the existence of humans who could take the shapes of animals.

He’d gone to Ryder’s plantation that evening primarily because he wanted to know why the man possessed silver bullets. While silver wasn’t as deadly to werewolves as it was to vampires and warlocks, it weakened them enough that their naturally fast regeneration of tissues and bones became slower. If the bullets weren’t removed quickly, they left a werewolf open to serious injuries, even death. A bullet—be it silver or lead—to the head, however, which was what Ryder had ultimately done, was almost always fatal to a wolf. Although it was difficult to kill a werewolf, especially a mated one, as the slave had to have been, it was possible.

While Ryder had spoken his theory on shifters, Leon had attempted to penetrate his mind and had found himself blocked. It was a subtle shield, but there all the same. He’d heard of humans strong enough to put up mental shields, but he’d never imaged Patrick Ryder would be one. Still, he could break it. However, as doing so could kill the man, he would have to use that option as a last resort.

Stepping onto the land that marked his plantation, he inhaled the night, unconsciously searching for Penny. Unless there had been another family of werewolves living on the plantation as slaves over twenty years ago, which was doubtful, the wolf Ryder had killed must have been Penny’s father. He remembered asking Penny where her parents were when he’d first met her. She’d mentioned that her mother had been shot.

Once he entered the house, he dropped his calm, slightly-bored-slave-owner mask. His canines cut into his lip. He parted them slightly to reduce the pressure as his fingers worked the buttons of his shirt. His clothes were stifling him. The wolf was restless, pacing inside his body, demanding release. Tonight would have been a good night for a run, but with the knowledge Ryder had just imparted, he was wary to do so. He doubted the other man would be out and about, patrolling for, as he called them,
shifters
, and even if he was, Leon knew that he would be watchful enough to scent and in his mood, kill, Ryder before the human could see him. His reasons for refraining from the change lay with the questions that now haunted him. Who else had Ryder told? Who else believed him?

Not only did Patrick Ryder know of the existence of his kind, he knew how to kill them, and that information in the hands of a human, a human like Ryder, would result in no good. He forced himself to calm as he stepped into his bedroom. Penny was not there but her scent lingered from last night. He inhaled deep and waited a few seconds before inhaling again. The wolf had retreated slightly.

Immortals had coexisted with humans for centuries because most humans did not know of their existence. The select few who did were usually in some way descended from immortal beings. Patrick Ryder would have to die. But first, Leon needed to know who else he’d shared this information with.

***

Penny quickly and quietly made her way from the slave quarters to the plantation house. Not that it would have mattered had she made enough noise to rouse the dead. They treated her as if she wasn’t there. People she’d known all her life now pretended that she didn’t exist.

Last night had been bad, but she’d expected that as the slaves were mourning the loss of their families and friends. Tonight was no better. Ray couldn’t have made her more outcast by branding into her skin “Massa’s whore”. The only person who treated her the same was Old Ma. And perhaps “the same” was too strong a phrase. While Hyacinth didn’t ignore her like the others, she now made a point to be next to Penny, to sit next to her during breakfast, lunch, and supper, so Penny didn’t feel the brunt of the exclusion. Penny didn’t believe she could love the older woman more had she been her biological mother, but the expulsion from the group still hurt. She considered them her family, and to be cast out for loving someone of a different race—though she understood the reasons—still hurt.

She paused outside his door as she went over her last thought. She loved him. A half-smile lifted her lips, brightening her mood. Although she hadn’t known him for a long time, they were mates. He knew her better than anyone, had access to her deepest thoughts and feelings, and she his.

Her hand was moving to the knob when the door swung open. Leon’s eyes scanned her quickly before he spoke directly into her mind.
Why are you standing out here,
ma louve
?

His hair was rumpled, as if he’d run his fingers through it countless times. He’d removed his shirt, and the top buttons of his trousers were undone, leaving the material to hang low on his waist. He looked restless but comfortable, and very…delicious.

With a quick smile, she stepped past him and waited for him to close the door.

“What’s wrong, Penny?”

“Nothing,” she replied immediately, which only made green eyes narrow suspiciously on her. She was prepared when she felt the familiar intrusion of his mind into hers, and gently pushed him out before lifting her mental shields.

That only earned her a glare, which she ignored. She made her way to his bed and perched on the edge. Penny knew her mate well, and she knew if she allowed him to see how hurt she was by her treatment in the slave quarters, he would move her into the plantation house. If she moved to the plantation house, she’d be forever exiled from the only family she’d known since birth. As it stood, it was possible that in a few days, or weeks, they would forget. Perhaps.

“What did Ryder say?” Leon had told her of his encounter with Patrick Ryder yesterday, and had explained to her why it was so dangerous that the man had silver bullets.

Leon didn’t answer for long moments before he said, “He knows of our existence—of the existence of werewolves.”

Eyes widening, Penny shook her head before asking, “How? How could he know?” And then her eyes widened even further. “Has he seen me? Is that—?”

He shook his head immediately, before he moved over to her. He came close, stepping between her legs and placing a large hand against her face.

Her breathing quickened automatically, but she recognized the seriousness of his gaze, and tampered her need down. Leon wasn’t trying to seduce her; he was trying to tell her something.

“What do you know of your parents, Penny?”

Brows furrowing, she blinked and shook her head. His hand remained at her face, caressing gently.

“I know they were slaves, that my mother died because she tried to run, and Thomas Thorn shot her. Why?”

“And your father?”

Penny shrugged. “I don’t know much of my father, Leon, just that he, too, was a slave here, and was killed trying to run away.”

She’d been much more curious about her parents when she was younger. As she’d aged, they remained in her mind, but the constant urge to know all she could about them had faded. Old Ma and the others had filled that void.

“Who told you this?”

“Old Ma—Hyacinth.” Brown eyes searched his face for answers. “Why are you asking these questions?”

“I think Ryder knows of our existence because he helped Thomas Thorn kill your parents.”

Her body instantly grew cold. She’d never liked Patrick Ryder. He leered at her whenever he visited the plantation, and said inappropriate things she hadn’t even understood because she’d been so young. But now she had more reason, better reason, to hate him.

“Why do you think they were my parents?”

“The female was pregnant, and this happened about thirty years ago. They also never located the body of the male slave, just that of a wolf.”

Penny nodded, saddened once more, and now more curious than ever about her parents. She would speak to Old Ma tomorrow.

“What are you going to do about Ryder?” she heard herself ask.

“Kill him, eventually,” Leon replied. Penny didn’t even bat an eyelash, and a little smile touched his lips. “For now, I need to know who else he’s told.”

Penny nodded and swallowed. The chill had left her, and was replaced by a dull numbness.

She didn’t feel Leon move, but she felt him moving her, pulling her into his solid warmth. Stroking her face. Removing her head scarf, and gently smoothing out her hair. His hands slipped to her neck, massaged the tension there, and then they were moving again. He undressed her and laid her out on the bed before pulling her into the comfort of his body.

Penny didn’t know how many minutes passed with them like that but she finally whispered, anger and pain evident in her voice, “What kind of man shoots a pregnant woman?”

“A bastard,” Leon replied angrily, his voice low. “A dishonorable, heartless, cowardly bastard.”

Although she didn’t reply, she agreed wholeheartedly.

***

It took almost a week to reach his plantation in Virginia and during that time, Armand was mostly on edge. They traveled during the day and rested wherever they could find decent lodging at nights. They were only stopped once, and when they provided the fake identification papers, as well as the letters of sale for the slaves, they were sent on their way.

But that wasn’t what kept him on edge.

Julia seemed to occupy every other thought, and when he wasn’t thinking of strategic ways to get the slaves north with the least risk of being caught, he was thinking of her. He watched her like a hawk, and if she noticed, she gave no indication. On their journey, she always sat apart from the others and he wasn’t sure if was some sort of self-segregation of the parts of the field and house slaves, or if she just wanted to be alone. In the days they traveled, she never spoke. He was watching, listening close enough to have heard if she did. She only remained silent, with her head down and her eyes on her hands.

Even her thoughts were mostly silent. He knew some things from them, but not enough. She missed her sister and wondered how she was coping without her. She also thought of how to get her sister to her. She didn’t seem to care where she was going, or if she was going to like it. Her only—and few—thoughts revolved around her sister.

When they arrived at the plantation, which was not as large as Leon’s but served its purpose, he and Étienne immediately unshackled the slaves. They led them to the two empty slave quarters to the side of the plantation house and explained that they could choose where they wanted to sleep. Armand always made sure to have the slaves in Virginia for a few days before moving them north. It helped with lowering suspicions and during that time, he could explain to them the real reason they were in Virginia. All but Julia seemed surprised at having a choice, before they rushed to form two groups of five.

Julia was moving to the group nearest to her when he spoke firmly. “Julia—you’s stayin’ in the house.”

Her back stiffened, and he slipped into her mind to hear her thoughts. She didn’t want to stay in the slave quarters or in the plantation house. She didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be hurt and they would all hurt her. So much hurt.

She turned and looked at him, gray eyes pleading.
Don’ hurt me.

The thought came quick and then she lowered those eyes. Her body seemed to collapse in on itself before she shuffled closer to him.

Étienne nudged him, and Armand realized he was staring at her. Turning his attention from Julia, whose pain was overwhelming him, he told the slaves to get accustomed to their new home, told them that the “Master” was on vacation, but that he was fair and as long as they did work, they’d be treated properly. Étienne watched and listened; learned. He would be doing this by himself soon.