Guardian of Werewolf Keep (Werewolf Keep Trilogy) Read Online Free
Author: Nhys Glover
secret was, no matter how terrible, it couldn't distract from the budding attraction he inspired. What would his touch be like, if she gave herself time to enjoy it? Would he taste as good as she imagined he would?
What is your body like beneath those dishevelled clothes, Mr Carstairs? Would it be hard and muscular, as his size indicated? Or would he be soft and flabby, his height creating an illusion unsupport by fact?
Several more howls filled the air, a ghastly chorus that drove the man from her mind again, and made her bite her lip until it bled. It sounded like there were many creatures down below her. How many would try to escape and find her? How many would want to tear her to shreds, and leave her dead body slumped across this fine feather bed?
Is that how her father had died? Had one of those howling banshees caught him , and torn him apart? Why would her father live in a place with so much danger? Why would he bring her here, if this place held such danger? He may not have cared for her as a father should care for his daughter, after he came home from the war, but surely he didn't hate her enough to want her dead?
That thought troubled her in a way that even the howls didn't. The idea that anyone could want her dead, was bad enough, but to imagine the man she had always seen as her hero; the loving father who had comforted her when she fell, or held her when she woke from a nightmare, could be the one to want her dead, was the vilest kind of fear. It was worse, by far, than finding out he had abandoned them so cruelly.
NO, he didn't b ring her here to die. That did not fit with the man she had known in her childhood. That was too awful a crime, even for a man who would desert his family. There was some other reason for all this that she had yet to uncover. And uncover it she would. Just as she would discover all of the secrets that Breckenhill Keep and Byron Carstairs had tried to hide from her.
Between intermittent howls and shrieks , she dozed. And finally, as dawn lightened the sky, and the howls quietened, she dropped off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Phil was woken by a gentle tap on the door. She was instantly awake, scan ning her surroundings for danger. All she saw was a luxuriously appointed room, which was so large that the whole flat she and her mother had shared for eight years would have easily fitted into it. Then, it took a moment longer to orientate to her new surroundings, and for the memories of how she had come to be in them to return.
Scrambling from the bed, still fully clothed from the night before, Phil unlocked the door , and let in a young maid, carrying a heavy jug of water and an arm full of towels. The girl bobbed a curtsy, but in no other way acknowledged her presence, keeping her eyes firmly fixed to the polished wooden floor.
Phil followed her to the washing stand , where a large bowl awaited the jug. Steam rose lazily from the water, and Phil suddenly felt the itch of a day's grime, and the discomfort of sleeping in her travelling clothes. There was a fragrant smell rising from the water, like roses on a summer's day. She breathed in the scent and groaned.
'Is the water scented?' she asked the girl , as she began to remove her outer bodice.
'Yes, M iss. Rose essence gathered from our own gardens. Charlotte prides herself on her roses.' The girl's voice was no more than a whisper, as she made her hasty departure.
Phil woul d have liked her help to get out of her travelling clothes, but it was apparent that the girl had more pressing matters to attend to than the care of her new mistress. She tried not to feel slighted.
As she peeled layer after layer of soiled clothing from her body, she felt her spirits lift. She had survived the night. And, this morning, she found herself in a lovely room, with warm, scented water for her ablutions. Things were looking up.
Soaking the sea sponge in the hot water , she lathered it with the rose-scented soap that sat on the wash stand.
What is your body like beneath those dishevelled clothes, Mr Carstairs? Would it be hard and muscular, as his size indicated? Or would he be soft and flabby, his height creating an illusion unsupport by fact?
Several more howls filled the air, a ghastly chorus that drove the man from her mind again, and made her bite her lip until it bled. It sounded like there were many creatures down below her. How many would try to escape and find her? How many would want to tear her to shreds, and leave her dead body slumped across this fine feather bed?
Is that how her father had died? Had one of those howling banshees caught him , and torn him apart? Why would her father live in a place with so much danger? Why would he bring her here, if this place held such danger? He may not have cared for her as a father should care for his daughter, after he came home from the war, but surely he didn't hate her enough to want her dead?
That thought troubled her in a way that even the howls didn't. The idea that anyone could want her dead, was bad enough, but to imagine the man she had always seen as her hero; the loving father who had comforted her when she fell, or held her when she woke from a nightmare, could be the one to want her dead, was the vilest kind of fear. It was worse, by far, than finding out he had abandoned them so cruelly.
NO, he didn't b ring her here to die. That did not fit with the man she had known in her childhood. That was too awful a crime, even for a man who would desert his family. There was some other reason for all this that she had yet to uncover. And uncover it she would. Just as she would discover all of the secrets that Breckenhill Keep and Byron Carstairs had tried to hide from her.
Between intermittent howls and shrieks , she dozed. And finally, as dawn lightened the sky, and the howls quietened, she dropped off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Phil was woken by a gentle tap on the door. She was instantly awake, scan ning her surroundings for danger. All she saw was a luxuriously appointed room, which was so large that the whole flat she and her mother had shared for eight years would have easily fitted into it. Then, it took a moment longer to orientate to her new surroundings, and for the memories of how she had come to be in them to return.
Scrambling from the bed, still fully clothed from the night before, Phil unlocked the door , and let in a young maid, carrying a heavy jug of water and an arm full of towels. The girl bobbed a curtsy, but in no other way acknowledged her presence, keeping her eyes firmly fixed to the polished wooden floor.
Phil followed her to the washing stand , where a large bowl awaited the jug. Steam rose lazily from the water, and Phil suddenly felt the itch of a day's grime, and the discomfort of sleeping in her travelling clothes. There was a fragrant smell rising from the water, like roses on a summer's day. She breathed in the scent and groaned.
'Is the water scented?' she asked the girl , as she began to remove her outer bodice.
'Yes, M iss. Rose essence gathered from our own gardens. Charlotte prides herself on her roses.' The girl's voice was no more than a whisper, as she made her hasty departure.
Phil woul d have liked her help to get out of her travelling clothes, but it was apparent that the girl had more pressing matters to attend to than the care of her new mistress. She tried not to feel slighted.
As she peeled layer after layer of soiled clothing from her body, she felt her spirits lift. She had survived the night. And, this morning, she found herself in a lovely room, with warm, scented water for her ablutions. Things were looking up.
Soaking the sea sponge in the hot water , she lathered it with the rose-scented soap that sat on the wash stand.
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