Harry Gable, she managed,and…his…friends. Then there was nothing else.
“Abigail? Please do not go,” he wailed. He remembered her chasing Peter, a potbellied pig around and making Gray laugh while he watched. She had also chased Harry Gable on a number of occasions, pecking at his head while he ran away yelping.
Harry Gable.
He wiped his nose and carried Abigail into the barn. He found a shovel and dragged it into the forest to bury his friend.
He wept while he said farewell, and then he didn’t cry again.
“Hey, Ballet Gray.”
When Gray heard Harry Gable’s voice behind him, he turned slowly and wiped his eyes.
“I was going to eat the fat goose. Dig it back up before I—”
Gray hated him and unable to bear anything more coming from his mouth, leaped at him. But Harry was older and bigger. He also knew how to fight. Still, Gray was able to punch him in the mouth before Harry pelted him with his fists until Gray lay on the ground with blood coming from his nose.
Help!he called out, summoning the animals in the forest.This human boy killed Abigail! Avenge her! Avenge me!
Immediately, birds swooped down from the branches overhead and began pecking at Harry’s head. Groundhogs appeared and nipped at his ankles, seven foxes hurried toward him and bit him repeatedly until Harry screamed in agony.
Watching, Gray smiled. When he saw a black wolf approaching, he motioned with his chin and the wolf approached Harry slowly. The other animals moved aside to give the lone predator space.
The wolf pounced once and tore at Harry’s face before a gun sounded in Gray’s ears and his smile faded as the majestic wolf fell to the ground with a whimper.
Gray turned to see George Gable, Harry’s father holding a smoking flintlock pistol.
Gray rose to his feet. His heart felt as if it had stopped along with Abigail’s breath. Or perhaps it had stopped long before that.
He called for more help and within a moment or two, a large raven approached from the north. George Gable didn’t have time to reload his weapon before the raven swooped down and plucked him in his eye, and then in his temple.
Gray felt a momentary twinge of guilt over George Gable losing an eye and likely his life, but he deserved to lose it since he shot and killed Davith.
With Harry and his father screaming, Gray left the forest and went home.
It only took a few hours for word to spread and sink into everyone’s souls. Grayson Barrington had used animals to kill George Gable and maul his son. The young lord controlled them through his devilish power. What’s more, according to poor, young Harry Gable, that Barrington boy had laughed while the Gables were being attacked.
Gray’s father was away in Exeter so he sent word that his son wasn’t to be touched or punished as there was no proof of their mad claims. But he allowed the village men to hunt and kill any animals they came upon in the forest.
You used the animals to hurt others and now they will suffer.
Gray heard his mother’s voice, but it was just a memory. Still, he fought the adults in a heedless attempt to save the animals, but to no avail. When the men were done hunting, they had killed thirty-seven red foxes, a small pack of wolves in the north, six ravens, sixteen rabbits, and even thirteen squirrels. When the last animal was killed, Gray’s gift of communicating with them died as well.
Over the years, Gray convinced himself that he had never truly communicated with animals. It had all been just a part of his childish imagination to help him get through the sadness in his life.
Most days, he didn’t feel a thing, which made dancing like a hanged man easier.
Most days. But there were others…
Fifteen years later…
The Most Honorablethe Marquess of Dartmouth, Lord Grayson Barrington strode into the Ballroom of Dartmouth Castle as if he owned it, which he did.
He was given the castle by his father—much to the contention of Gray’s older stepbrother, Timothy Cavendish. Cavendish, the bastard, lived here with his mother.
Gray’s father’s second wife in the hopes of stealing Gray’s birthright. The thought of it brought a sneer to Gray’s lips and murder to his gaze.
Of course, Gray wouldn’t murder Cavendish. He’d killed on the battlefield, and even then, only when he had to. He was sick of the sight and the smell of blood and was discharged two years ago for medical reasons after he was found sitting among a dead regimen of French soldiers. A time of his life he would prefer to forget.
