Tall, Dark & Lonely (Pyte/Sentinel #1)(2)

“No! I’m not lying, yer Grace! He bit me!” she screamed.

“We’ll see about that,” Nichols said as he grabbed her arm and thrust it in front of Ephraim’s face. “Did you do this?” he demanded.

Ephraim’s eyes focused on two small scabs a half inch apart. He shook his head. He’d never been more frightened in his life. They were accusing him of biting a maid, who was accusing him of being the devil. He needed to focus.

He felt his strength slowly coming back into his body. He raised his arms and sighed with relief that he could move. He dropped his arms and was startled by the sound of chains clinking. He raised both hands again and gently turned them over. They were different. They were longer, tanner and muscular and he was chained! He raised his feet, too. They were covered by a sheet, but he felt the chains.

“Why?” he asked, lifting his arms again.

“Girl, you lied! You’ll wish you never tried this!” Nichols threw her violently to the ground.

She shook her head frantically. Fresh tears poured down her face. “No! I ain’t lying! He bit me!”

His father gestured to the footmen. “Get her out of here and remove Ephraim’s chains.”

Relief surged through him. “Thank you, father,” he managed to say.

“No! I can prove it!” Mary said.

Nichols turned around in time to see Mary shove past as she ran towards Ephraim, wielding a knife.

“Stop!” Ephraim cried weakly.

She brought the knife down across her own palm as she made her way to his bed. He couldn’t figure out what she hoped to accomplish by cutting herself.

Ephraim struggled to push himself up in the bed and away from this deranged woman. Everything seemed to happen at once. Nichols stumbled backwards, his father tried to race around the bed, his brothers pushed off the wall and were at a full run towards him, the footmen seemed confused and were the last to react.

Mary thrust her hand a few inches from his face. Blood streamed down her hand.

“Get away from me!” Ephraim ordered.

She didn’t. She curled her hand into a fist, forcing more blood to drip onto his chest. Ephraim eyed the blood with disgust even as his stomach rumbled at the sight. He ignored it even as his mouth began to water. His reaction to the blood frightened him more than anything.

“Get away from me!”

His father and brothers came to a skidding halt just behind her. Magistrate Nichols grabbed Mary by the hair and yanked out of the way.

Ephraim sighed, “Thank you, s-“

Nichols grabbed his jaw and yanked Ephraim’s mouth open. “Dear God in heaven,” he muttered. Ephraim watched in horror as Nichols’ finger came towards his mouth. He felt pressure against one of his teeth and then felt something sweet and delicious hit his tongue.

“Christ almighty!” Nichols pulled back a bloody finger and shook it off. “They’re razor sharp!”

“What?” Ephraim asked stunned.

He watched as his father and brothers paled. He couldn’t understand any of this. The only thing that he was sure of is that he wanted more of that sweet delicious liquid, badly. He ran his tongue over his lips hoping to lap up more. His tongue came across something pointed in his mouth. He ran his tongue over the sharp tip only to find a second one in his mouth. What was going on? Did the surgeons do something to his mouth?

“I told you he was the devil!” Mary said smugly. She held her bleeding hand against her bosom. Ephraim stared at it like a man dying of thirst.

“Shut her up!” Nichols yelled. He turned to his father. “We need to talk.” Ephraim watched as his father was dragged to the corner of the room. He was sure they were whispering, but he could hear everything they said loud and clear as if they were standing by his bed.

“Is he a devil worshipper?” Nichols asked.

“No!” his father protested.

“Tell me about his birth,” Nichols demanded.

Ephraim ignored the looks his brother were giving him and the fact that they were now swiftly moving away from his bed as if he were a leper and focused on the private conversation.

For ten years he pleaded and begged his father to tell him about his birth. The only thing he was told was that his mother died in childbirth. His stepmother refused to tell him anything. That didn’t surprise him since she hated him. She referred to him as the “thing” she was forced to tolerate. He never understood that and now it seemed he was about to get some answers.

“The mother was attacked was she not? An animal the villagers say,” Nicholls prompted.

He heard his father drag in a harsh breath. Odd that was. His father was over twenty feet from him. He could hear everything clearly, too clearly. It was starting to hurt his head. He heard the sounds of clothes rustling, steps, breathing, heart beats, bugs flying in the room, someone downstairs dropped a pan in the kitchen and swore. That was the oddest thing because they were on the second floor in the west wing, very far away from the kitchen, but he was positive that he could hear Mrs. Brown working in the kitchen.

Ephraim forced himself to ignore every competing sound and focus. His father looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to hear before continuing.

His father shook his head. “No, it wasn’t an animal attack.”

“I thought as much. I’ve heard rumors that a mad man from Bedlam escaped and attacked your first wife during the last month of her confinement.”