“Ambrose! Ambrose, come quick!”
They tore through the kitchen and rounded the screens in time to see Joan and Clarimond’s frightened faces as they tried to squash themselves into a shallow niche under the stairs leading to the second floor. Their wide-eyed stares were riveted on the far corner of the hall. Louvaen’s heart stopped at the sight before her.
Magda stood with Cinnia next to the largest trestle table, clutching a rolling pin like a cudgel. A creature stalked them. It was of a man’s size, but all resemblance to humanity ended there. Black fur covered a body deformed into a demon’s plaything. Curved claws tipped large hands and toes hideously stretched into thin, flexible digits that dug splinters of stone out of the floor as it shuffled closer to the women. Elongated ears flared from either side of its head, and transparent membranes of veined pink skin webbed the underside of the arms to the ribs. It slowly turned its head, and Louvaen choked back a scream.
Ballard, with his twisting scars and reptilian eyes, was breathtakingly handsome compared to this abomination. Brimstone eyes blazed in a face melded together from both bat and wolf. Teeth, long and sharp, glistened in a lipless mouth as it snarled at the newcomers before returning its attention to Cinnia and Magda.
Her sister held still, her features bloodless but curiously unafraid. “Gavin,” she said in a pitying voice.
Gavin. Louvaen clapped her hand over her mouth. Merciful goddess, despite the father’s desperate efforts, the curse had fully taken the son. The charming young lord who had courted a merchant’s daughter was no more, subsumed by this thing that edged ever closer, sniffing at Cinnia with a split, leathery snout.
“Gavin, it’s Ambrose. Look at me, boy.”
In those frozen moments while Louvaen watched Gavin corner Cinnia, Ambrose had stolen away from her and eased his way closer to the women. The Gavin creature growled low in its throat and swiped a hand at the sorcerer in warning. Ambrose halted but never took his eyes off Gavin. “Gavin,” he said softly. “Remember who you are, son. Come back to us.” His words had no effect other than to make Gavin’s enlarged ears tighten against his head and a line of hackles rise on his hunched back. Ambrose glanced briefly at Cinnia. “Girl, did you tell him you loved him?”
Cinnia and Magda stared at him as if he had transformed as well. “Yes,” she said.
“Don’t say it again. If you value our lives, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
“But...”
“For gods’ sake, Cinnia,” Louvaen snapped. “Do as he says.”
A collective gasp echoed in the hall as Gavin spun about and loped toward Louvaen, hackles bristling even higher as he drew closer. He stank of dark magic and bog water. Never in her life had she wished for something so much as she did for her flintlock right now. Her legs quivered, every muscle and instinct shrieking at her to flee.
“Don’t run, Louvaen. He’ll kill you if you do.” Ambrose, so deceptively calm, edged carefully along the wall, motioning to Cinnia and Magda to get toward the stairs and relative safety of the second floor.
Alerted by the soft flap of skirts and scuffle of slippered feet, Gavin forgot about Louvaen. His low-pitched growls swelled to an enraged bellow when he caught sight of Cinnia scampering up the stairs. He sprang toward them.
Every terror Louvaen held for her sister’s safety exploded within her, leaving only blind reaction behind. She threw herself against Gavin, hitting his back hard enough to make him stumble. She went down hard in a cloud of dusty rushes. A cacophony of sound—more screams, shouts, and above all Ambrose’s commanding voice—filled her ears. Gavin crouched over her, lipless mouth split wide, a clawed hand raised to strike her. She covered her face and head with her arms, waiting for either the blow or bite that would rip her apart.
A flash of intense light seared her closed lids before a heavy weight slammed onto her, knocking the breath out of her so hard she could only wheeze. More cries swirled around her, human ones beaten into silence by the most awful, plaintive howl that rose from the depths of Ketach Tor and threatened to shake the castle’s very foundation loose. Louvaen cautiously opened one eye. Were she not already half suffocated into silence she’d be struck speechless by what filled her vision.
Gavin lay atop her, fully human, unconscious, naked, and crushing the air out of her lungs. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, expanding until her vision narrowed to a thin tunnel and a ringing in her ears grew louder. She blinked, trying to focus. The last thing she saw was Ambrose’s pale, sour features over Gavin’s shoulder.
“Daft shrew,” he said. “There isn’t a woman in this entire castle who listens to a damned thing I say.”
Louvaen fainted.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The small animal spat and howled, thrashing against the glowing bonds imprisoning it on the bed. Wiry fur covered a gaunt body of striated muscle and dark, leathery skin. The lipless snout peeled back to reveal a set of fangs that shone a yellowed ivory in the chamber’s semi-darkness. The creature’s clawed hands and feet had savaged the bedding, sending up a blizzard of feathers. They spun in flurries before cascading to the floor. Ballard stared at what was once his son and wished his wife was alive right now so he’d have the satisfaction of killing her.
“Do something,” he said in a low voice.
Ambrose stood beside him, covered in down feathers. “This is all I can do for now, dominus. Restrain him so he doesn’t hurt others or himself.”
Ballard ran his hands through his hair, horrified at the scene before him. The curse had struck a second time in as many weeks. He hadn’t seen the first manifestation, when Gavin had transformed and torn two men to pieces in Aelfric Haseldane’s bailey. He understood now why that easy-natured lord had almost executed the boy. “My gods, Isabeau, what have you done?”
The sorcerer tapped him on the arm and inclined his head toward the door. Ballard followed him into the hall.
“I can’t do anything at the moment,” Ambrose said. “But I can after the flux.”
Hope soared. Were Ballard of a more affectionate nature, he’d embrace his sorcerer. “Do what you must.”
Ambrose held up his hand, his features grim. “Wait. It’s a poor solution at best, and honestly, I think you should refuse.”
Ballard scowled. “What is it?”
