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White Rose	By : CeeCee Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 10605 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men fandom. Marvel Entertainment owns these characters. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Gilded Cages
Summary: Emma receives an unwelcome flashback of her father’s ordeal. Jean-Paul’s life hangs by a thread, at the Wind-Rider’s questionable mercy.
Author’s Note: This story is unwinding in different directions than I originally planned. Less kink than I envisioned before and more angst, for one, but I’m not unhappy about that. Doesn’t mean there won’t be smut, but I’m still figuring out who Ororo and Emma are in this story. They need room to breathe and grow. THEN they can take their clothes off.
Winston parked his wagon and tethered his horses less than a meter from the Wild Duck. He scanned the street for Christian, noticing how many of the vendor’s stalls had been abandoned, their wheels submerged in puddles. The cobblestones were almost completely submerged, and it wasn’t weather fit for rats. He pulled his coat more tightly around himself and called out his son’s name plaintively.
“CHRISTIAN! Answer me! Chris! I need you home!” He peered inside doors and windows, meeting puzzled glances and pity for the strange old man who didn’t have the sense to come in from the cold. He heard a familiar screech and smiled.
“WINSTON! Are you daft? Come inside,” Celeste chided him from the door of a small tea house. She bustled and hustled him inside and helped him unwind his muffler.
“I’m looking for my son.”
“He visited me not too long ago,” she informed him. “Made him a deal on a necklace he brought along with him.”
“What? He bartered with you?”
“I didn’t see the harm in it. Emma sold me some eggs a few days ago, too.”
“Lord in heaven,” he cursed. “My children are out and about, bartering? Where was I?”
“Looking for your ship?” she reminded him innocently. He flushed.
“Hmmph.”
“Warm up.”
“I need to find the boy.”
“He’s a grown man, Winston.”
“It’s getting dark. My horses almost lost their footing in all the mud. He needs to come home.”
“He left my stand almost a half an hour ago.”
“Then he hasn’t gotten far.” Winston retied his muffler and squeezed Celeste’s plump shoulder. “Bless you.”
“Godspeed, foolish man.” He headed back into the gale, regretting it with his first step into the washed out street. The rain sheeted down horizontally, lashing his chilled flesh.
*
Christian gathered his wits about him, still disbelieving his turn of events. One man lay unconscious, and the other was surely dead, even though it was no great loss to him. He caught sight of Jase’s eyes staring sightlessly up at him from his mauled face, and Chris stumbled away to retch.
Winston was drawn to the low sound of gagging, wondering what miserable soul ended up in their cups on such a bitter day. “Overdone it, have you? Have the sense to come in from the cold, friend…” His cheerful tone gave way to surprise when he came across his only son, staggering up to his feet and wiping his mouth. He looked dumbfounded.
“Oh, Father,” Christian began as he watched his face shift. Winston’s blue eyes hardened instantly and he clenched his fists.
“So this is what you’ve done. Celeste told me about your barter. You sold the jewelry. What did it pay for, Chris, a few pints?”
“Father, please…”
“I don’t want to hear it. Come away from here, you careless fop.” Christian reeled back as if he’d been struck. “I know what you’ve been up to, even though I have no idea who you’ve been running around town with, but it has to stop. I won’t have my own blood shaming me, do you hear? Christian? What’s wrong with you? What’s this?” He closed the gap between them and saw the blood flecks spattered on his son’s coat. “Christian, what hap-“ His voice died when he saw the two bodies lying behind him in expanding puddles. Blood mixed with rain water and filth. Jase’s point man subsequently drowned face down in a puddle during the scuffle. Winston clutched his chest and paled. “What have you done?” he whispered.
“It wasn’t me,” Christian pleaded. “Father, you have to believe me!’
“That man’s dead!”
“I didn’t do this!”
“Look me in the eye when you tell me that!”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Father! I didn’t buy ale! I swear to you!”
“You can’t tell me you weren’t involved in this!” Winston reached for him and shook him like a doll. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!”
“I paid… my debt…” he sobbed.
“Debt?” Winston demanded. “What debt?”
“To the Trident,” he told him miserably. His eyes were bloodshot, warming with fresh tears. “I owed big. I lost big at the tables. I thought the cards were turning for me.”
“Cards,” Winston said numbly.
“I was going to pay them off. I sold a necklace. I didn’t think you’d miss it, Father. I even had money left over, but I gave it to Jase –“
“Shaw’s man?” Winston reeled. “Of all the… Christian, we’re ruined. Finished. You’ve crossed the wrong man.” Christian paled.
“I know. I’m done for.”
“We have to get ourselves gone from here. Help me.”
“What?”
“Drag them over here.
“Father, we can’t-“
“Get over here and help me. Make yourself useful, you bastard.”
“Father…” Christian mustered his wits and swallowed down hurt, hating that his father confirmed his disdain of him so openly.
Winston dragged the bodies behind some old bins and he began to cover them with piles of trash and discarded burlap sacks. The alley stank, and he couldn’t wait to go home and scrub himself clean. Christian still looked stricken and slightly sick as he carried the feet of the second man, helping his father haul them out of sight. He hated himself for his part in concealing his deeds, even though they didn’t die by his hand.
“I didn’t do this, Father. You must believe me.”
“Then who?” he snapped as they made their way from the alley and moved quickly, disturbing every puddle on the way to the wagon. They scanned the street furtively for anyone who might have caught sight of them.
“It was her.”
“WHO!” Winston hissed loudly.
“The creature. The one you sold my sister to, you old bastard.” He stopped Winston as he took up the reins, barely having seated himself on the bench. Winston paused, and his mouth turned into a grim line.
“I don’t believe you.”
“She knew my name. And she was horrible. Wings like some great bird out of my blackest nightmares, Father, and the snarling teeth of a jungle cat.”
“My stars,” Winston whispered. “It was her.”
“She protected me. Lord only knows why.”
“And Emma?” Winston looked bleak.
“She wouldn’t tell me. She only said, ‘You’re close… to someone who’s slowly growing closer to me.’ She knew who I was to Emma, Father.”
“Then she’s all right,” Winston breathed. A cold swell of relief clogged his chest.
“She is, but Jean-Paul isn’t! He came to help me, and they stabbed him!”
“Who the devil is Jean-Paul?” Winston snapped himself free of his reverie and stared at Chris as though he grew another head.
“My… he’s my friend.”
“Friend.” Winston shook his head. “How you shame me.”
“Father.”
“What.”
“Fuck you.”
Christian ran from him then, down the streets and into the torrents of rain. He had to reach Jeanne-Marie.
*
Emma paced her suite miserably after soaking the pillow with her tears. Banging on the locked door didn’t help. Dani and Rahne hovered restlessly in the corner of the room, occasionally snarling at her to calm down.
“Do settle down, colleen,” Rahne told her for the fifth time.
“You’re making me dizzy, walking round and round like that,” Dani chimed in with a lupine growl that sounded like a sigh.
“He’s cold,” Emma ranted. “Cold and alone… he’s been hurt.”
“Wounded?” Rahne inquired.
“His heart’s been broken, and he’s so afraid. Christian’s so lost, and I can’t go to him,” Emma railed, flinging up her hands. “It’s not fair!”
“Mistress said to stay put.”
“She only wants to keep you safe.”
“SAFE? I’m being kept captive! I’m locked up!” Emma’s cheeks flushed with anger. She abandoned the fine gown in favor of a voluminous cotton nightgown, and her feet were once again bare. She took down the elegant upsweep that Marie-Ange worked on so diligently, and her long blonde hair hung down her back in a gleaming spill.
“Mistress will take care of it,” Rahne assured her.
“She doesn’t take threats lightly.”
“Threats? She wasn’t threatened,” Emma spat.
“A threat to your family is a threat to you,” Rahne clarified solemnly. Her yellow-green eyes bore into Emma’s and she padded forward, nosing her palm. Emma automatically scratched behind her velvety ears, calming instantly when she made physical contact with the she-wolf.
“Mistress protects what’s hers.”
“She saved me once, from a man who was beating me,” Rahne mentioned. Emma’s face softened at the thought.
“How awful. You poor dear.”
“I was young.”
“Just a pup?”
“Er… yes.” But Rahne panted and wagged her thick tail, thumping it against Emma’s legs as she found a particularly itchy spot with her short nails. Dani came up and nudged against her, practically tripping her from the other side.
“Don’t forget me.”
“As if I could, silly.” Emma huddled on the rug by the fire and let the wolves surround her with their warm bulk. She caressed and scratched them thoroughly, responding to their occasional nudges and licks, not minding their faint musk and hot breath. Emma respected animals, and Winston had never allowed his children to keep pets that they couldn’t afford.
But these weren’t pets. They were companions in every way, confidantes, and an outlet for her emotions and fears. The faint thrum of their breathing and low huffs soothed her. Dani laid herself over Emma’s lap, thumping the floor with her tail. Rahne licked the pulse in her wrist, simply enjoying her flavor and scent. The pull of their fur between her fingers felt sensuous. Rahne pawed her and burrowed her nose into Emma’s side. She yelped slightly, ruining their combined reverie.
“That tickles.”
“Ye smell nice.”
“You saw me bathe.”
“Aye. That I did.”
“Emma?”
“Yes, sweet?”
“You’re beautiful.” Dani pawed her thigh.
“So are you.”
“You mean it?”
“Of course.” Dani thumped her tail, and she seemed to look inside Emma with those big, soulful, surprisingly… human brown eyes.
Dani rose slightly, yawning and stretching, and she surprised Emma by ducking her head into the pulse of Emma’s throat. “Oh!” Her raspy, warm tongue lapped at her skin, and she felt a prickle of pleasure. It reminded her of the Wind-Rider taking liberties with her in the library, but this was different. More drawn out and deliberate…
“Goodness,” Emma breathed. Rahne stirred and yawned, as well, pawing Emma’s lap. She wagged her tail.
“I want to taste her, too,” she complained.
“You’re so soft,” Dani murmured softly as she nuzzled Emma’s ear, seeking it out from beneath her sweet-smelling hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked, but she didn’t fight either wolf’s actions. They were gentle and inquisitive, or so she assumed, but she wondered why they were getting so familiar. Her hands stroked their scruffs, combing through it as her throat was lavished with warm, long laps.
Rahne was pawing at her lap again, coming alarmingly close to her crotch, and her breath steamed Emma’s breast through the cotton. Her nipple peaked, sensitized by Dani’s solicitous tasting of her flesh. “Oh. My.” Emma heard the crackle of the flames in the hearth and the thunder as it continued to crash outside. Rain beat down against the turrets and the bell tower.
She nearly swooned at the feel of a hot tongue insistently pushing at her nipple through the cloth. Sensation bloomed outwardly, spreading across her entire breast and drifting down into her groin. “Rahne…”
“Let me,” Rahne pleaded huskily. “Emma, it’s been far too long.”
“Too long…?”
“We can please you,” Dani agreed. She was similarly affected by the sight of Emma’s pleasure, her skin gaining a rosy tint of passion. She nuzzled Emma’s opposite breast until that nipple peaked, too, and she growled and whined low in her throat.
“What do you want from me?” she murmured, closing her eyes in rapture as she sank back against the rug.
“To make you forget, just for a while,” Rahne assured her, pawing at the neckline of her gown. She climbed up so that her other forepaw was planted in Emma’s lap while she lapped at the crown of her cheekbone, and this time it found its mark as she stepped into her crotch. Accidents happened, certainly; it was common enough for a dog owner to have their little Spot or Sparky land too hard in their lap, but it was different when it was deliberate.
“Please,” Dani begged on a small whine.
Emma opened her eyes and nodded solemnly. Her hands trembled as she undid the buttons of her gown. She stood and let it drop, standing naked in front of the hearth. Both wolves caught their breath at her beauty, pristine and lush. Emma was all soft curves and flawless skin, and her nipples made them slaver, the perfect pink of tourmalines, the aureoles ringed in slightly deeper mauve. A springy thatch of darker, honey blond hair sprouted over her sex, and Emma’s hands protectively crossed over her belly.
“Don’t hide,” Rahne encouraged.
“Lay down,” Dani urged. “We’ll keep you warm.” Emma obeyed, sinking down to her knees, and the wolves resumed their session of exploring her body, this time unhindered.
They mapped out her body with their damp noses and tongues, slowly and painstakingly, and Emma swirled in a haze of uninhibited lust. Once the barrier of the gown was removed, she felt the full impact of their mouths misting over her, lapping up her flavors. They laved her nipples, whining and whuffling over the feel of their stiff peaks teasing their lupine lips, barely grazed by their teeth. The soft hollows of the pits of her elbows, where her neck met her shoulder, and the dent of her waist, none of it was left unloved, but completely worshipped. Her hands occasionally stroked them or held their heads closer where she wanted them to focus their efforts. Her suite filled with the sounds of moans and low words of praise.
Rahne’s head descended down to the tempting mound between Emma’s legs. Its musk thrilled her, calling out to her as soon as Emma sat on the rug, and she couldn’t leave it alone. “OH! Oh. Oh…”
“Delicious,” Rahne murmured around Emma’s tender, spicy flesh. Emma was already damp, glistening and dewy, the hint of moisture darkening those nether curls. Rahne nosed her way between the soft folds of her sex, and her tongue cleaved between them, spreading them as she tasted her. Dani’s head bumped hers, attempting to nudge her out of the way, and she teased those lovely, springy curls, searching out the tiny nubbin just atop the crease.
Success. Emma’s eyes flew open and she gave out a little shriek.
Rahne and Dani were in rapture. It had, indeed, been too long. Emma writhed and squirmed atop the fine rug, moving in the rhythm set by two lupine mouths, thighs spread wide. They were quivering, tiny little shivers making her breasts and belly jiggle. Emma’s hands drifted up to her breasts, which felt bereft of the she-wolves’ attention, she she kneaded them, plucking at her nipples. She imagined how she must have felt to them…
She’d never tried to read an animal’s mind, not intentionally. But she had to know what they were feeling. Suddenly, Emma’s gentle probe was rewarded by a crush of emotions, chaotic in their intensity. But there was so much admiration, passion and contentment, a sense of something lost, regained.
And again, she felt rapture, but this time, it belonged to them in equal measure. Joining herself with them, psychically feeling them moving over her in concert with their loving of her flesh eventually pushed her over the edge. She shattered.
Her orgasm rippled over her flesh, welling up in her sex, rising up into her belly and making her nipples strain and tingle. Dampness bloomed and spilled out from her in a gush, and both wolves eagerly lapped it up, preening and cleaning her lips and thighs.
“That was lovely,” Dani sighed as she resumed her place laid out across Emma’s stomach. Rahne lowered her head to Emma’s thigh, spent.
“Aye.”
“Aye,” Emma agreed. She felt the heft of their fur beneath her stroking hands, watched their backs rise and fall with their gusting breath, and gradually all three of them fell asleep.
Emma’s misgivings about her hostess followed her into sleep, and her dreams were uneasy.
*
Ororo landed in a clearing less than a meter from her estate. Her arms were weary from Jean-Paul’s weight, but he was limp and weak from blood loss, and the young man was alarmingly quiet. “You won’t die on me. There’s too much at stake.”
“M-monster,” he rasped. But he burrowed into her warmth, a prisoner of instinct. Ororo sighed.
“So I’ve been told. Stay with me.”
“C-cold.”
“That will change. Be patient.”
“Chris…” His voice faded as his head collapsed against the side of her neck. She felt his breath, warm but shallow, and it worried her. “Help…him.”
“Don’t worry about him,” she snarled impatiently, but she was gentle as she laid him down on the ground. Her taloned fingers flew over the buttons of his coat, unfastening them and spreading open the blood-drenched wool. She probed his wound, which went clean through from front to back. “Poor wretch,” she muttered. He groaned in pain, body tensing in response to her touch.
It was a shame, too; he was a lovely lad, tall and all taut, sculpted muscle, with thick, soft black waves of hair with intriguing bits of snowy white throughout, even though he didn’t look a day over twenty-five. He had a proud face with high, sharp cheekbones and a square jaw, and when his eyes opened drowsily, they were enviably blue, the same shade as a summer sky.
“Cold!” he complained through chattering teeth.
“Don’t let it be said that I risked a man’s life while standing on propriety,” she told him crisply. Sighing, she rose to her feet, and without a second thought, she untied the corded belt at her waist, dropping it. She opened her robe, letting it fall from her shoulders, and she divested herself of it fully. Jean-Paul gasped in shock. The creature, what he had seen of her so far, was hideous enough from the neck up.
He passed out from surprise. Ororo sighed.
“All right then. No need to be so blunt.”
Ororo ignored the wind and rain lashing her bare flesh; she found it bracing, even as it rattled the leaves from the trees. Her mood hadn’t settled yet, so the weather continued to mirror her distress.
Jean-Paul didn’t feel his body being lifted from the ground again, or the robe being carefully pulled around his body to shield him from the draft. Taloned fingertips combed his hair back from his brow tenderly, and warm breath misted over his skin as he was nuzzled, given the reassurance that yes, he’d be all right, that he’d see Christian again.
He could only pray that the husky voice didn’t lie.
*
Emma woke to sunshine filtering through the sheers and the sound of low voices in the corridor. Dani and Rahne were gone and the sheets were cold, which disappointed her, but she stretched langorously. Oh, what a lovely encounter that was…
Emma wanted to feel guilty about what she’d done, but somehow, it didn’t seem wrong. Perhaps it was unnatural, she reasoned, but it was so new, the sensations so different, so heady, and the two she-wolves took so much pleasure in giving her pleasure.
Her poor father would deem it sinful, and deviant, and unseemly. And yet… her sister Adrienne was hardly discreet with her trysts, and Christian had more exotic bed habits than it was polite to discuss. All she had done with Rahne and Dani was play, far from home, away from prying eyes or gossiping lips. For the most part, her maidenhead was still intact, so wasn’t her virtue, by extension?
Emma grinned to herself and reached down, skimming her palms over her smooth belly. Her body still tingled with remembered passion. But it felt odd to her to still be in bed. Emma was so used to having a routine, and it was out of character for her to lay idle. She rose from bed and found the simple nightgown. In the middle of the night, someone had folded it neatly and set it on the ottoman; she wondered if it was Marie-Ange.
Emma shoved her feet into her worn slippers and trekked down the hall, hoping she remembered the way down to the breakfast nook. She followed the scent of frying eggs and other mouthwatering odors, and her stomach growled impatiently. “That’s enough of that,” she chided it aloud.
“Do you always talk to yourself?” Jenny purred as she padded after her, catching up to her easily when she reached the stairs.
“I was talking to my stomach.”
“Mine was talking to me, too, dearest. It mentioned that some salmon would be nice.”
“It would, indeed,” Emma agreed. “Er, Jenny… where’s your mistress?”
“She’s… occupied,” the cat hedged.
“With what?”
“She just had something to attend to. She’ll be down directly.”
*
Jean-Paul was finally sleeping peacefully, and Ororo sat back on her chaise, legs raised to soothe their low throb. She was exhausted, and it had been a long night.
Once Ororo carried him inside, she took Jean-Paul directly to her suite, one of the largest in the house. It was also one of the farthest from Emma’s room, so she would have some much-needed privacy. She didn't waste time once she was inside her chamber. She no sooner laid Jean-Paul out on her sumptuous bed than she rang for Santo.
When the great bear lumbered into her suite and saw the stranger on the bed, he growled in alarm, but she snapped at him to keep his wits about him.
"Fetch me my potion book and my herbs. I also want the iron kettle," she demanded, making him a list. "I need my box of instruments, as well. They're in the stable."
"Why are they out there, Mistress?"
"I had to nurse and dress Wilhemina's leg last week," she told him, as though he were thick. "Just go out and fetch it, already. This one's bleeding badly. I'm worried he won't make it through the night."
"Has... has he seen you?" The bear's voice was wary, almost accusing.
"Yes. But he's delirious. If we're lucky, he'll stay that way for a while."
"Where were you?" His muzzle scrunched up in confusion.
"It's none of your business. Just do as I say, and quickly." Her murky gray eyes narrowed, and Santo felt the temperature in the room drop. Ororo's hair suddenly rose and crackled with static, and that send him lumbering away, questions silenced for the moment.
The next few hours taxed her. Ororo worked alone feverishly, cleaning and probing the wound with her instruments. She fed him a draught of evil-tasting brew from her healing herbs, which he choked on and tried to spit out, but she forced it down his throat, pinching his nose shut to make him open up, then clamping his lips. He fought her with what little strength he had left, and she pitied him, hoping this wasn't the last thing he experienced before his demise. He gasped and choked, and to her relief, his color improved slightly; he was no longer as gray, and his eyes weren't as glassy.
"Thank...you," he rasped.
"Any time, sweet. Any time." The words were ludicrous. Her beastly face was stoic and quizzical. "How on earth did your friend acquaint himself with the types who do business in dark alleys?"
"Please. Help him. Help... Chris."
"I did. He's out of harm's way." Ororo hummed a little melody that was foreign to his ears, but her voice wasn't unpleasant. On the contrary, it was a deep, comforting thrum, perfect for murmuring to someone in the dark. She worked on him by firelight, and all he saw was the outline of her body and head. He stared quizzically at her horns.
"Those are real?"
"Quite."
"Were you... always like...?"
"No. Are you always this rude?"
"Yes. I prefer 'blunt.'"
"I guess there isn't much standing on ceremony right now," she agreed with a shrug. Jean-Paul was sweating from the heat of the fire that she'd stoked up in the hearth, and his skin was bare. She'd stripped him of his blood-soaked, torn clothing, and she hadn't bothered to put on a new robe, deciding it would only get in the way.
She dipped one of her instruments in boiling water to sterilize it. "I'm going to give you something else right now."
"Please, don't."
"It's laudanum," she assured him. "You're going to need it." Jean-Paul felt lightheaded, more from the shock of what she was suggesting than the blood loss.
"Then do it."
"I'm sorry," she told him flatly as he downed the dose. She set down the cup. "I'm going to gag you, now." She pushed a folded rag between his jaws and tied it neatly behind his neck. His blue eyes widened and he shook his head as she took two more scarves and raised his arms, anchoring his wrists to the elegantly carved bed posts. He fought her, but his strength was depleted, and he read her intent in her face. She meant him no harm, but she was going to hurt him, nevertheless, to heal him.
Her heart broke at the first muffled screams as she explored his wound with the probe. She whispered to him soothingly. "It's all right, sweet. I know what I'm doing. Think of something else." She wiped his brow with a cool cloth, and he squeezed his eyes shut, letting fat tears leak through his long, dark lashes. "Think of Christian. He's such a pretty thing, like you. Think of sharing a pint. Think of riding out to the beach." She cleansed his wound of clotted blood and dirt, and he wept and whimpered around the gag, but he nodded at her words. "You're playing in the waves, feeling the sand suck at your bare toes. You can taste the salt in the mist, feel the wind pulling at you, lifting your hair. Feels good, doesn't it?" The laudanum had a narcotic effect, and Jean-Paul forced himself into the delirium it offered, lulled by her words to step outside of himself, vacating his consciousness.
The shock of the pain was eventually too much for him, she surmised. He passed out, and she carried out the rest of her work with him not moving an eyelash. Ororo cauterized his wound, a tendon here, a vessel there, using her lightning in minute, focused charges. It was painstaking, detailed work, and she was covered in sweat. Her eyes began to hurt and her shoulders were sore from hunching over and the additional burden of her folded wings.
But she sewed his wound neatly shut; the stitches would leave a tiny scar, the only imperfection marring an otherwise perfect body. Jean-Paul was lovely in repose when she removed the gag from his mouth. She gently wiped his face with a cool cloth, washing away the tearstains and sweat.
She felt a tightening in her sex at the sight of him laid out nude, skin mildly tanned. She'd guessed correctly, he was an outdoorsman who no doubt enjoyed the activities she'd described. She laid her palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart beat in a regular, healthy rhythm. His pectorals were rounded and hard, and she spread her fingers over them appreciatively, caressing his firm skin. Oh, but he was a perfect specimen.
She drew herself up and snapped out of her reverie. He was also taken. And helpless. Ororo growled at her own foolishness, her selfishness. She was a beast.
But she wasn't a monster.
She called Santo into the suite to help her change the bedding, and then she dressed him in a fresh tunic for the night. Finally, Ororo pulled the bedclothes up over his chest and drew the curtains shut around him. She would sleep in the adjoining suite. He wouldn't wake up to her face in the morning, and if all went well, he would think it was all just an unpleasant dream.
*
"Back here, Shaw," Pierce beckoned, holding his torch aloft to give Sebastian more light to see by in the fetid alley. The swarthy business owner stared down into the faces of his two men, dismayed that one of them was his groom.
"Jase." He nudged the body with his foot, and the body didn't make a sound. "Who did this?"
"Nobody saw 'im go back here," Donald shrugged. "Plenty of folks had it in for him, though."
"I know that," Sebastian snapped. "Why was he back here?"
"Might've been shylocking for you, I'd wager," Donald suggested. A light went on in Sebastian's eyes.
"Someone who owed me money."
"Like I said, plenty of folks would've seen him coming and run."
"And run they did," he agreed. "One man in particular." He rummaged through the trash, spying something dark and gray. He picked up a soaking wet wool cap that must have gotten lost in the scuffle.
"What's wrong with his neck?" Pierce asked, frowning. He bent down and tugged Jase's head back by his lank hair, exposing the strange, deep gouges at his throat. "Shit. Look. It's like a dog mauled him, or a bear."
"A bear." Sebastian tsked and clouted him soundly upside the head. "Get up. Call the constable. We'll let them sort this out."
In the meantime, Shaw already knew who he planned to finger when they called for a witness.
*
When Emma reached the kitchen, food was already set out on the table, but there was only a place set for one. "Where is everyone?" she muttered aloud. She spied a note on the pantry door and smiled, wondering who could possibly have written it.
Help yourself. Stay in your room or in the library until you are summoned.
That perplexed her. She expected her hostess' vigilant attention for the day, and she almost didn't trust this sudden, convenient freedom.
Then she remembered: She wasn't truly free. The Wind-Rider literally had eyes and ears throughout the castle. No move that Emma made would be a mystery to her. She sighed in dismay.
Emma poured herself a cup of tea and lifted the lid from a dish of pancakes. She daintily plucked two from the pile and transferred them to her plate. Her first bite thrilled her; they were sweet and fluffy, begging for a splash of syrup and a pat of salty, creamy butter. She sampled the eggs and selected an apple from the large bowl of fruit in the table's center. Breakfast was lonely, but it was satisfying, she mused.
Emma scanned the house briefly, searching for thought patterns or some loose fragment of emotions. She found a few familiar "voices," namely Santo, who was just outside the castle, no doubt foraging for his own breakfast. Rahne and Dani were still asleep, and that made her smile mischievously.
Manuel was still in the house. She sensed a few more sets of thoughts that she didn't recognize, but by their pattern, she knew they were animals. It still mystified her that her psychic talents extended to reading non-humans...
...what on earth?
"Who are you?" Emma asked in surprise. She found the thoughts that belonged to someone very human, indeed.
And he was sleeping upstairs.
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