Uncaged (10 page)

             
Rose watched the fiasco from the hallway. She’d run upstairs to fetch a coat for her mistress. The butler already had Bruce’s draped over his arm. It looked as thought the servants half expected it. They seemed prepared for the matter. To Wren, the room was a blur behind a wall of tears. Bruce pulled her along, reached for both their coats and flung the door open. His horse had never been led to the barn. It stood waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. He helped Wren on and then mounted the stallion, kicking him hard in the side. The horse ran down the dirt road and passed through the iron gates, while Wren lay sobbing on his back.

Chapter 6

             
It was a good hour ride into the streets of
London
from Wren’s home. Bruce slowed the horse once they were on the main road that led into the city. It was pitch black. He’d been completely thrown off guard and been unprepared. There was no lantern to light his way and the moon was shrouded by heavy storm clouds, but through his cat eyes, the road was clear. The wind whipped around them while the night creatures called out. An owl flew above them, startling Wren. She screamed and then began sobbing harder. Bruce stopped the horse and turned his body to comfort her.

             
“Shush, darling. Don’t worry. I’ll take you to my place and we’ll sort all of this out.”

             
He secured her coat tighter around her and kissed her tear stained cheek. Wren looked up at him with more fear and sadness than he’d seen in all his days. Tears spilled from her liquid, blue eyes. She shook like a frightened little girl and his heart went out to her.

             
“How could he, Bruce?” she sobbed. “How could he steal my life from me? That’s my home. It’s not fair!”

             
“No, it’s not, my love, but life rarely is it seems. And besides, I’m not sure he can.”

             
Wren sniffed. Her body shook from sobbing so hard. “Not sure he can wh-what?”

             
“I don’t buy his story. You’ve never heard of the man. Why would your father keep this a secret from you? He was a cruel man, Wren, but you were his daughter. He may not have loved your mother, but he loved you. It’s hard for a man to not care for his own flesh and blood. Hadn’t your father always cared for you?”

             
“Well, yes, but he was so cold. Never loving and
he was horrible to my mother.
”

             
“Yes, but don’t you think if he wanted you gone, he’d have sold you off with your mother?”

             
Wren shrugged.

             
“I think that’s precisely what he’d have done. I think Sheldon is a fraud and I aim to find out.”

             
“But Rose said he met with the solicitors this morning.”

             
“That proves nothing. Only that many people are in on this scheme. The people that kept company with your father are not good people, Wren. They’re all slave owners, like him and they see you as a threat. They don’t want a woman with black blood running in her veins to run a damn thing, including a fleet of ships whose main import is slaves.”

             
“You really think it could all be one giant lie?”

             
“I do and besides, I didn’t like the way Sheldon smelled.”

             
“What do you mean?” 

             
“The bastard gave me a bad feeling.”

             
Wren nodded as Bruce turned to guide the horse onward.

             
When they were half way into town, Bruce heard a twig snap just off the road. He sniffed the air. His mouth had been watering profusely. So bad that he’d had to wipe away the spittle more tha
n once with his handkerchief
. He was surprised at the amount of deer that lingered in the forest this close to town. Good to know. Next time he wouldn’t travel so far. He
’d just wait until nightfall.
The white hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Every fiber in his being came alive when he caught another whiff. A scent akin to long dead flowers, decaying in the vase or fruit rotting on the vine. He stopped the horse and listened. Wren was leaning on his back, breathing softly. She’d fallen asleep.

             
Bruce heard nothing but silence. Even the frogs stopped croaking. The locusts stopped buzzing. His horse snorted and then backed up two steps.

             
“There, there boy,” Bruce whispered as he patted the stallion on the side.

             
The wind picked up. Several dried brown leaves blew around them as if in a whirlwind. Bruce sniffed again. This time the odor was stronger. Death was riding alongside them on the black road. Bruce had left his pistol at the tavern, but a weapon would do him no good. He heard whooshing and what sounded like teeth chattering all around them. The horse let out a frightened neigh and reared up on his hind legs. When he did so, he deposited Wren on the hard earth. She let out a screech. Bruce jumped off the horse and ran to her, but she was gone.

             
“Wren!”

             
Fog hung everywhere, low and dense, making it impossible to s
ee, even with his cat vision.
The putrid scent was gone and with it went the twirling wind and the silence. The frogs resumed their deep throated croaks. The cicadas began to buzz incessantly, making it impossible for Bruce to pick up a trail.

             
Wild eyed and snorting, the horse bucked and refused to move into the woods when Bruce mounted him. He had no other choice but to shift and he didn’t have time enough to care for the frightened horse. Bruce shifted so quickly he nearly lost consciousness. Every muscle ached with the effort, b
ut now he had the scent back.
The horse took off toward town while Bruce bounded into the woods in search of Wren. He stopped, crouching low behind a fallen tree, listening. He raised his snout to the sky and sniffed deeply, shutting his yellow eyes. Moisture dripped from his velvety nose as he sniffed again. Cat eyes snapped open when he caught Wren’s scent mingled with the foul stench of rotting flesh. Leaves crunched all around him. He looked around but saw nothing.

             
He peered into the tree tops and sniffed.

             
Ah, yes, the scent is high up. In the trees.

             
A tiny fleck of tree bark fell into the cat’s eye. He hissed softly and blinked it away just before he climbed the tree stealthily. His tail swished behind him, low and furious, ready to pounce on whatever had taken Wren from him. Mid-way up he reached a broad limb and stopped to survey the branches. Now the scent was wafting through the branches. A nauseating combination of boile
d flesh and sweetness.
The sweetness of Wren. He could smell her blood, ripe and fresh. The cat let out a ferocious growl as he climbed further on whispery, leather feet. The mighty pine shook and swayed. Branches creaked.

             
The cat blinked again when something wet fell into his eyes and onto his face. The scent of it infuriated him. Wren’s blood was raining down on him, in torrents, blackening his fur and his mind. He roared with all his might. Hundreds of birds took flight and then he was upon them. Three of
London
’s most notorious vampires had her in their clutches, draining her life’s blood. There was one on each wrist and one at her breast, sucking at the love bite that Bruce had given her only a day before. The vampires stopped, sensing danger, though none of them had heard his roar. Of course they wouldn’t have. Bruce knew who they were. The Chivralls were all mute. Three vile brothers who were responsible for most of the murders in
London
. Bruce would make sure this would be their last act. The three deaf brothers looked from limb to limb, their teeth chattering all the while in anticipation of their next drink of blood.

             
The cat planned carefully, knowing just where to strike without knocking Wren off the tree too. His tail twitched like a whip, aiming carefully and then he leapt through the air, upward and forward, reaching with all his muscles, aiming for the two Chivralls sitting on the right of Wren. He knocked both of them off. They’d been too stunned to change into bats and save themselves. The beast heard their bodies thud on the ground below and the screech that always follows a vampire to death as he melts into the night air. The lion was now face to face with the one remaining Chivrall who hissed at him through bloody fangs. Blood dripped from his chin and back onto Wren’s face who lay lifeless as a doll in his arms. The lion roared and lunged at him, opening his ferocious jaws and delivering one mighty blow, tearing his bald head from his ghastly shoulders. Chivrall screamed and tried in the last instant to change to a bat, but the result was a headless bat who fell to his death like a battered butterfly, spiraling downward and melting into the fallen leaves like ghostly candle wax.

             
In order to catch Wren, he had to shift back, even quicker than before. Bruce doubted it was even possible, but he had no other choice. She fell backwards onto two branches that held her for three precious seconds. Time enough for Bruce to change and grab her bloodied hand and pull her back up and into his arms. He pressed his head to her chest and listened. He heard a faint heartbeat and sighed. She was still alive, but just barely. They were too far up for Bruce to ju
mp without breaking his legs.

             
“Darling, hang on! Stay with me, Wren!”

             
Her face was pale as a cold winter moon. Blood dripped from her breasts and wrists, flowing in streams. Bruce held both wrists and applied pressure. He held her chest to him, hugging her tightly, praying the blood flow would lessen. Their time was short and they still had a good half hour to travel into town. Leaning her up against the trunk, Bruce took off Wren’s long coat. Turning it lengthways, he wrapped it around his waist, pushed Wren behind him and wrapped it around her as well. Securing them together, he tied it tightly. Testing it, he tugged. He tied it into another knot and knelt down. Wren was now tied to his back, close to death, but still alive. Bruce shifted back to a cat and scurried down the tree. He thought of shifting again and carrying her, but they’d have no time. He ran alongside the road, staying in the ditch. He’d need to dart into the woods if anyone passed by. Within minutes he was on the very edge of town. He could see the glowing lamp lights and snorted in relief. He shifted just inside a grove of trees and untied Wren from his back. His clothes were tattered an
d torn from all the shifting.
Wren’s breathing was more shallow. Time was running out. Another horrid thought struck Bruce. Now she’d become a vampire!

             
“No!” he cried, just outside the tavern doors.

             
Amelia heard his cries and ran outside. She saw Bruce standing on her doorstep covered in blood. “Love, what’s happened?”

             
“The Chivralls got to her!”

             
“Get her inside, quickly before the night watchman sees.”

             
Bruce rushed her inside and followed Amelia to the back rooms.

             
“Lay her here, love,” Amelia ordered, pointing to a large four poster bed.

             
“God! When will she change?” Bruce cried a
s a sob tore from his throat.

             
“Change?” Amelia asked, looking over the wounds.

             
“Aye. Into a vamp. The Chivralls had her!” Bruce spat out, repeating himself like a madman.

             
Amelia dropped Wren’s wrist. Blood splattered on the crisp, white sheets. “This is the quadroon you’ve fallen for?”

             
“Yes, yes, this is Wren.”

             
“She won’t change, Bruce.”

             
“What do you mean? Three vampires have nearly drained the very life from her!”

             
Amelia only stared at Bruce. She found it hard to believe that Wren had concealed her true identity.

             
“Oh God! She’s dead!” he cried in agony as he pulled at his own hair with two knotted fists.

             
Amelia grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. “Bruce! She’s not dead. Gather your wits! Look at her!”

             
Bruce brushed a tear from his face with a brisk hand and stepped forward. He leaned over Wren and studied her. He took her hand. Blood spilled into his palm. He knelt over her and licked her wound. His eyes changed to yellow and then another tear spilled down his cheek.

             
How in all of bloody heaven could I not have known!

~*~

             
“Good morning, beautiful,” Bruce whispered when Wren’s eyelids fluttered opened. Nearly two days had passed since her brutal attack.