Tea, Lycanthropy and Other Virtues

Chapter Forty-Five

Constance soaked in a bath, listening to the night sounds out her window while she washed training off of herself. After Owen's sisters had left it had just been she and Carlson. Hugh didn't trust himself to train the day of a full moon night. She understood, but it meant that instead of spending her time with him, she'd spent all of her time punching and blocking and ducking. She was extra sore.

They'd decided she'd stay in her room tonight. See if she could influence Hugh's moon madness three floors above. No one knew how close she needed to be for her influence to work. According to Carlson, it was a matter of experimentation. And he'd given her a leather journal, a quill pen and strict instruction to document her experience.

Hannah and Mother and Gran would start their journey to Carnsley in a couple of days, and Constance could hardly wait to tell them that she and Hugh were engaged. She hoped mother would adjust, and she knew Gran and Hannah would be thrilled. She could barely contain her excitement at the idea of Hannah planning a small wedding, or at the idea of finally getting to be with Hugh. It was strange. The ache of loneliness that she'd ignored for so long had turned into something warm and full; pack and family.

She thought about his scar, and how it had felt to run her finger over it. Tried not to think about his bare chest as he stood defending her. Her lips pulsed with a life of their own and she climbed out of the bath before her imagination could take her further. It seemed impractical to dress in her night things, so she put on the sturdiest gown she could find, an old one of Hannah's left from a rare visit. Constance rather liked it, the faded rose buds, the lower waist and fuller skirt reminiscent of a slightly older time.

She paced the room, feeling like a caged beast herself. Everyone else had already locked themselves away in their rooms. They retired early on full moon nights. She wished there was someone to talk to.

Suddenly, she found herself down the hall in the back stairway. She didn't remember opening the door or leaving her room. A shiver of unease traced down her spine, but her muscles told her to go. Ignoring them made her want to scream, so she hurried down the stairs, past the kitchen, into the cellar. She paused at the bottom. This wasn't what they had talked about, and she hadn't even brought the journal. She didn't want to annoy Carlson. She should go back to her room and force her feet to keep still.

"Constance?"

She stepped into the room, dimly lit by a lantern hanging on a hook.

"What are you doing down here?"

"I don't know," she said, feeling silly. "My feet just brought me. I can go."

"It's alright," he said. "I won't change for an hour and I'm restless."

"Me too." She made her way closer to the cell he was in.

His eyes traveled the length of her. "What are you wearing?" He asked with a small growl, his eyes on her décolletage. Her cheeks warmed pleasantly. "How soon are we to be married?" He asked, reaching through the bars to pull on one of her curls.

"We're just waiting for your sister and the rest of my family."

"Three days," he said, exasperated.

She smiled. "Three whole days," she said, wrapping her hands around the bars. "Perhaps I'll keep you locked up until then."

"You may have to." He wrapped his hands around hers. "It seems unfair that I've been before you unclothed, on more than one occasion, I might add, and all I have are tantalizing glimpses of your figure in old gowns."

"Hazards of being a werewolf, I suppose." She said, remembering his bare chest. She shivered.

"I suppose," he agreed, resting his forehead on the bars. "Are you sure this is what you want?"