Page 42 of The Howling
WYNTER
I’m genuinely not sure what to make of Reavely. He looks like he’s about to explode, a feral energy radiating from him, and no part of his muscular, sculptured body is still. His flaming eyes bore into me. And when he closes the gap between us, it’s clear my body wants to do one of two things, either run or surrender.
Reavely smells like a fresh summer’s day, a hint of earth, a hint of sunlight, and underlying it all is his delicious spice. He might be in my personal space, but it seems the surrender part of me is winning on the whole make a choice thing.
I still have no underwear. Apparently, it will be sent on, like the other gowns Bessie has made for me. I will believe it when I see it.
Despite all attempts to get information out of her in relation to the wedding dress, my otherwise friendly seamstress refused to say much on the subject, simply that it was up to Reavely to reveal all.
So, am I marrying this damned Barghest or not?
“You always have a choice, little deer,” Reavely says to me, his hips swinging from side to side sinuously. “To run or not to run, to stay or not to stay. Your every wish is my command.”
His brow is furrowed, like he is concentrating hard on something.
“Even if that wish is to return beyond the veil?” I tease.
“Even if that is your wish.” Reavely cocks his head on one side, looking for all the world like a Labrador. “But you must know, if you do, I will follow.”
Bessie snorts a laugh.
“Good luck with him, Wynter. You’re going to need it.” She pats my arm and goes into her shop, shutting the door behind her with a clear finality.
“You’d come back with me?”
“I know what humans think of the monsters of the Yeavering, but as long as I am your protector, I will deal with any torches and pitchforks.”
I smile a little to myself, knowing those days are gone, and that there’s no point explaining social media to a creature like Reavely.
He is all about the physical, that much is clear. As to the meta-physical, I suspect he’d ignore it like anything else he is not interested in.
And it’s rather refreshing.
“For the time being, let’s go back to the castle. We can discuss mywisheslater,” I say.
Reavely gives me a toothy grin, and in an instant, he goes from feral to adorable.
What the hell am I thinking?
He takes souls and he’s death’s right hand. A Barghest cannot be cute!
Reavely dips his head and gestures for me to go ahead of him, quickly falling into step with me as we exit the village, our way lit by the lamps in the windows of the cottages.
This time, no shutters swing shut as we approach, and as we walk out of the village onto a well worn but overgrown track, the sun dips below the horizon, and a hazy, clear evening light filters through the undergrowth, giving it an unworldly air, which is entirely appropriate for this unworldly place.
The little magic I’ve seen in the Yeavering has been wielded by Faerie like Lord Guyzance, and not in a good way, but as the light fades, I see the true magic of the place.
The Yeavering is a being all on its own.
“What are the little creatures, the ones with wings, called?” I ask Reavely as we continue to wind our way up to the castle towering over us.
“Creatures?”
“The ones in your castle, the ones which did the food we ate earlier?”
“You can see the Duegar?” Reavely queries. “They’re usually invisible.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
