He gestured at me. “Do you like the blanket?”
I nodded. “It’s warm.”
“I made it. Well, actually, I didn’t skin the animal, but I did kill it….after the others pinned it down. It’s werewolf skin.”
My heart faltered; I gripped at a wad of black fur.
“I slayed the beast for you, Catherine. I used your sword. It was your grandmother’s idea actually, a wedding present. You mentioned how chilly you get.”
“You didn’t slay a werewolf,” I breathed before repeating the words louder. “You did not slay a werewolf, Thaddeus.”
“Oh, but I did. I took a band of huntsman with me and we tracked one down. A smaller one, mind you, not far from the front gate…”
“You did not!” I contended more strongly. Why would one wolf have separated from the pack? Why outside our walls?
“Yes, Catherine, I did,” he insisted.
I shook my head disbelieving. “You’re not capable—”
“I am so.”
I wanted to cry. I wanted to protest, but to do so meant giving away my knowledge of the truth. Without knowing what else to do or say I changed the subject.
“The fire’s gone out.”
Thaddeus turned his head to check. “You’re right. I’ll see to it.”
He fed the barrel stove until a healthy blaze was roaring. Finding me no longer a decent conversationalist, Thaddeus left with a promise to return soon with food and water. Unobserved, I gathered up the fur hide of a lost soul and curled into a ball, hugging it close to my chest.
I cried silent tears and mourned for this unknown werewolf for days.
Tags: young-adult catherine werewolf richelle richelle-goodrich duvalla hallows-eve tarishe-curse thaddeus
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