Uncaged Read online

Sheldon laughed out loud. “Strange indeed, miss. I’ve known of our father for the past five years and I’d never heard of you either.” Wren seethed inside while Sheldon went on. “You see, I was the result of a torrid affair some years past. My mother informed me of my true heritage when I turned five and twenty. I met the captain at that time. We’ve corresponded through letters. We’ve taken holiday together twice.”

  “How lovely,” Wren replied, feigning niceties.

  “Yes, well, there is much to do here now and I’ll be taking over his fleet of ships. I’ve always fancied myself a seafarer.”

  “How wonderful for you.”

  “Yes, and what are your plans, miss?”

  “My plans?”

  Sheldon nodded. “Aye. You have no family left. The captain told me about your mother. Do you plan on following her?”

  “Following her? Whatever do you mean, sir? She was sold back into the wicked hands of slavery!”

  “Exactly what I said. Isn’t it your every waking desire to find her and reunite with your kind?”

  Wren turned beet red. Her eyes flashed with anger. Her nails dug into the fists at her sides. “My kind?” she spat.

  Sheldon surveyed her with hooded eyes, looking down upon her as if she were a meddlesome fly. A fly he could easily crush. “Yes, your kind. You quadroons, half breeds if you will.”

  “Well, I’ve never been so in-”

  Bruce guided her away from the ill mannered man. “Come, darling. Mister Sheldon is hardly worth the effort.”

  Sheldon grunted, eyeing Bruce with new disdain. “Don’t tell me a man of your quality is fucking a blackamoor!”

  A deep hush fell over the parlor. All eyes were on the three nearest the captain. Bruce pushed Wren behind him.

  “Hold you tongue, Sheldon or I’ll rip it out of your fucking throat!”

  Sheldon took a step back. Bruce was at least two heads taller and much wider in stature. “Get out of my goddamn house, Remington and take your black whore with you!”

  Wren gasped. She was being thrown from her own home, the home where she’d grown up. The home that held memories of her mother, but little else. But it was all she’d known. She never guessed the captain’s death could make her life worse that it already was.

  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 than 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 see, 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, but 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 boiled 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 jump 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 and 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 as 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.

  “Good morning, my love,” Wren answered in a sleepy voice. “Where are we?”

  “A friend’s home.”

  “A friend?”

  “Aye. An old friend of mine. Her name’s Amelia. I’ve known her since I was a lad. She’s like a mother to me.”

  Wren stared at Bruce as he brushed the hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind an ear.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Wren wrinkled her brow. “Hungry.”

  Bruce chuckled. “You’ve been asleep for nearly two days now. What do you remember?”

  Wren licked her dry lips. “You mean Sheldon and his wicked tongue? I assure you I have not forgotten that!”

  “You remember nothing else?”

  Wren thought for a moment. “Aye. I remember leaving on your stallion, but nothing else. Did I catch a terrible case of the ague?”

  “No, my love. We were attacked en route to the city.”

  “Oh?”

  Bruce sighed, then kissed the tip of her nose as he pulled her closer. “I nearly lost you.”

  “We were robbed by highwaymen?”

  Bruce considered lying to her. Most of London believed the stories of vampires to be only legends, but those in the shiftie community knew they existed.

  “No, it was a band of vamps. The Chivrall brothers. Surely you’ve heard of them.”

  Wren’s eyes grew wider. “The Chivralls!”

  Bruce only nodded, anxious to see her reaction and learn all that Wren knew of the most wicked parts of London.

  “What happened?”

  Bruce took her arm from beneath the sheet and lifted her bruised wrist, turning it over. Wren gasped. “They nearly bled you dry, my love. I thought you’d die…or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  Bruce watched her face. The color drained from her already pale complexion. Bruce wondered how many days had passed since she’d eaten properly. She only looked down at her wrist, examining the two black holes there now scabbed over.

  “Wren?”

  She looked into his eyes. Was that fear that he saw? Was she afraid that she’d been discovered and that he wouldn’t love her?
/>   “I killed them all. They’re gone. I thought they’d taken you away from me and turned you into one of them.”

  “But I am here,” Wren whispered, wincing as she noticed that they’d reopened the love bite at her breast.

  “Aye. And you are not changed. What say you?”

  Wren shrugged.

  Bruce lifted her chin with one finger and stared straight through her. Wren blinked, not saying a word.

  “Why are you now not a blood thirsty vampire like the Chivralls who poisoned you?”

  “Perhaps God had saved me,” was all Wren could manage to say.

  Bruce frowned. He wanted to hear it from her lips. He wanted to hear those glorious words. He thought she must have guessed his own heritage. He’d been so enthralled in his past memories. Memories of his beloved lioness. Any scent he picked up other than his own or Wren’s human scent, he guessed was his mind playing tricks on himself. He had surmised they were only figments of his imaginations, tricks of his broken mind, phantoms of long ago memories, but they were not. He really smelled a shiftie and it was not himself, it was Wren. What he thought was conjured by mere daydreams of his past love, was Wren’s animal scent, loud and clear. And even now he was reveling in it. He was sure she had picked up his scent as well.

  “It was not God, my love. It was the very blood that runs in your veins. A vampire cannot taint your blood and change you. But you can change yourself, just as I can.”

  Wren’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  Bruce only smiled as he took her face in his hands and buried his face between her breasts, inhaling deeply. Wren held his head in her hands. He felt her fingertips sift through his hair. He licked once and then sighed. She closed her eyes and let out a slow, ragged breath.

  “Yes, love, I know,” Bruce said, returning to face her, looking deeply into her eyes.

  “I hate it, Bruce,” she whispered.

  Bruce frowned. “You hate who you are?”

  She nodded. Tears slipped out of the corners of her blue eyes, wetting her lashes. She blinked them away.

  “Why, darling?”

  “It’s so savage. I haven’t shifted in years, since I was twelve. I killed a fawn as her mother watched from the woods. I’ll never forget her cry as she fled into the woods.”