The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1)
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Authors: Catherine Wolffe
Tags: #Romance
The Lady in the Mist
(The Western Werewolf Legend Book 1)
By Catherine Wolffe
Copyright 2012 Catherine Wolffe
All rights reserved
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Adult Content
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Other Books by Catherine Wolffe
Comanche Haven (The Loflin Legacy: Book 1)
A Dance in Time (J.T. Leighton, Time Traveler #1)
The Lady in the Mist (A Werewolf’s Tale) – Free Sample
Table of Contents
The Lady in the Mist
(The Western Werewolf Legend Book 1)
He appeared in the shadows, preventing Sonja from viewing nothing more than his dark outline. Since she’d lived alone after her husband, Robert’s death, she carried a small Derringer in her skirt pocket at all times. With a hand on the gun, she hailed the person.
No reply.
How rude, she’d mused. Perhaps he didn’t hear her. “Hello, stranger. May I help you?”
Still no reply.
“You’re trespassing on private land. State your business.” Glancing behind her, she started to speak again and lost her voice when suddenly, a hand gripped her. Her snap peas spilled to the ground before the basket followed. Sonja screamed as the stranger grabbed her arms pinning them to her sides. The small gun clattered to the ground. The vermin laughed coarsely in her ear and his breath smelled hideous. His ragged nails tore at her flesh. Frantically, she struggled to get away.
“Be still, girly. Nobody’s going to hear you anyway,” he hissed.
She didn’t intend to obey the stranger. Darkness had fallen suddenly. His eyes glowed red from behind his mask. Sonja fought to see more but to no avail. “Show yourself, you bastard.” She spit at him.
He laughed again, this time the sound was vulgar and callous. “Don’t fret, girly. I’ll make it quick.”
Pain seared her senses as he slapped her across the cheek. Sonja’s breath came in pants. He laid his grimy fingers over her mouth. She gulped down the bile that threatened to spill at his decaying carcass body odor. Swearing she’d never forget the scent, she struggled with more force, but the man’s grip held like iron. His breath tickled her skin. The pain that came next made the world go black.
When she woke, she lay in a pool of blood. The trees above her swayed as if they’d come alive. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight before crying out with the pain shooting through her shoulder. Gingerly testing the area, the flesh didn’t hold over her collarbone. Exposed to the open air, the hard marrow didn’t appear damaged. She whimpered though, when her fingers came back with her own skin mingled with clots of dark, crimson blood. Panicked, Sonja jumped up, running blindly.
***
She woke with a jerk. A sharp pain shot through her whole body, making her cry out. An old woman sat beside her on a cot. With a gnarled but gentle hand, the woman brushed the damp hair from Sonja’s face. Flinching despite herself, Sonja yanked away. The pain sang through her neck and shoulder again.
“There, there, my child. Lie still. The healing will be accomplished if you remain quiet,” the old woman soothed. “My name is Hortence. I’m a witch.” Simply stated, the woman’s words were without inflection.
Sonja’s mouth had gapped before she clamped her lips shut. “You admit to being a witch?”
“Yes, I was born a witch, or rather, born with the gift. As I grew, I learned and developed my skills.” She waved her arms upward and fire leapt from her fingertips. “My craft is real.”
Sonja inched backward. A fleeting glance around and she realized she didn’t recognize her surroundings. “Where am I?” Her voice sounded strange, almost garbled. Sonja searched the old woman’s face. Watching the old hag as she crooned, Sonja tried her best to understand where she was. Small snatches of horrible pain jabbed at her conscious mind. Sonja shut her eyes, wincing as the pain reminded her she’d been injured badly.
“Lie still now,” the old woman said.
Sonja opened her eyes cautiously.
Hortence crooked her head to the side, before peering at Sonja out of one eye. Sonja couldn’t tell if the other eye had been sewn shut or the old woman had a permanent squint.
“Shush, my child. Lie still. Your wounds are many.”
Sonja stared. Who was this old hag with the straggly, gray hair? “Where am I?” she asked again.
“You’re safe, my child. Now, you need to rest.” Gently laying a hand over Sonja’s eyes, the old woman murmured soft soothing words. “Rest, my child, rest.”
Despite her better intentions, Sonja couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer before falling back into sleep with the woman’s simple urging.
When she awoke, the room held darkness. A dreary cold gripped her. Sonja reached up rubbing at her arms. She’d already moved before she remembered her neck. No pain — how amazing, she mused. Perhaps the pain had really been only a dream.
Roughly cut, the rafters above her head hung heavy with cobwebs. Rolling her head to the side, she spied the old woman bent over a pot at the fireplace stirring something that smelled like stew. Sonya’s hunger was acute. She silently hoped the old woman would share. Bending her arms, she took solace in the fact the earlier pain had disappeared. “How did I get here?”
The old woman turned at the question, giving Sonja a broken toothed smile. “I brought you here, my child.” At Sonja’s blank stare, the old woman continued, “Don’t worry, you’re safe. There’s a protection spell around the cabin.” Settling her hands on her hips, the old woman glared at Sonja. “Do you remember anything?”
Sonja rubbed at her temple. “Some,” she mumbled. Everything blurred when she tried to recall the attack. “I wasn’t dreaming? I was really attacked?” She wished for some of the soup in the pot over the fire.
“Oh, to be sure. You are very fortunate that I happened along.” The old woman bent again over the pot to stir. Glancing back, she gave Sonja her broken toothed grin once more. “Don’t fret. I’ll get you something to eat. First, I wanted to hear about the scoundrels who attacked you.” She peered quizzically at Sonja with pursed lips. “Tell me everything you remember.”
Frowning, Sonja tried to sit up. The room spun. She caught her head in her hand before scanning the small space.
The room afforded all the comforts of a modest home. A small kitchen area nestled near the fire while the other side boasted a small seating area. On the opposite wall, the bed anchored the chilly stone expanse. A bench provided enough room for one person. Glancing up, Sonja noted the small window that allowed a sliver of light into the room.
She managed to right herself enough to sit in the middle of the cot and cross her legs. “There’s really not much to tell. Everything’s so blurry.”
The old woman sat across the room at the small table. The old woman ate as she listened. “Go on.”
“Uh, I remember seeing someone in front of me on the path. I’d been down by the creek gathering peas from my garden.”
Eyeing the bowl contemplatively, Sonja pursed her lips. Her stomach growled. Insulted by the old woman’s rude behavior, Sonja shifted on the cot. Her unease heightened when flashbacks of the stranger appeared in her mind’s eye. She reached up to touch the wound at her throat.
“Stop that.” The old woman wagged her spoon at Sonja. “I’ve already told you to leave the healing alone. The process will go faster if you don’t pick at the wound. Now, continue.” She scooped up another spoon full of stew.
Sonja couldn’t help but glower at the old hag. Irritated at the woman’s behavior, but desiring to remember more about the attack, Sonja pushed on. “Let’s see. I remember seeing this man standing in the path, but the shadows prevented me from telling anything about his identity. Darkness fell almost immediately.” Sonja paused. “That seems peculiar, because enough light remained for me to get back to the cottage before he appeared. Strange…” Her forehead wrinkled in bemusement as she considered why the light had left so quickly.
“You’re doing fine. Continue…” The old woman’s tone had softened.
Sonja couldn’t stop the pangs of hunger from coloring her opinion of the old woman’s manners. She’d offered her nothing of substance so far. “I called out, but the stranger wouldn’t answer me. Again, I called out. I smelled something before a set of hands pinned me.”
“Yes, what did you smell?” The old woman’s interest had peaked. She dropped the spoon before placing both hands on her knees. Peering at Sonja from the one eye, she asked, “What did you smell? Think, my child.”
Perplexed at the strangeness of the question, Sonja glanced at the old woman before dropping her eyes to her hands in her lap. Conscious of the woman starring at her, she shifted. All right! She would try. Straining, she tried her best to bring the scene back into her mind. “Yes, I remember a smell…” She wrinkled her nose. “Decay - like rotting meat.” Glancing back at the old woman, she searched her face, which remained blank.
“Go on.”
With a heavy sigh, Sonja relayed the rest of the story to the old woman. Finally gaining a bowl of the stew for her trouble, she ate every bite.
“What do you think it all means?” Sonja desperately wanted answers. Instead of answering, the old woman hummed as she merely stirred the pot. Perhaps Sonja should get up and go. Her house remained empty and she had animals to tend. But when she stood, everything spun and she reached back for the cot to anchor her.
Turning, the old woman stared hard at her, making her feel like a child who’d misbehaved. “Didn’t I tell you to rest? Don’t move, do you hear me? Not until that bite is healed.”
“Bite!” Sonja couldn’t help her voice raising an octave. “I was bitten?”
The old woman shot her a one-eyed glare before cackling like a loon. “Bitten? Of course, you’ve been bitten. The damn demons tried to kill you.” She stepped to the bed, shoving gently at Sonja’s shoulders, settling her on the bed once more. “My child, you were bitten by a werewolf.” She shook her head slightly. “The likes of which I didn’t realize existed here. Now you carry the mark of the beast on your palm.” Pointing to Sonja’s hand, she lifted her fingers before turning her hand palm up. “See?”