The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Fifty-Five

Shooting with Rafe proved to be a challenge. Not the shooting part, for Veronica discovered that she had a talent for it. Her aim was so accurate, her excitement so great when she hit the wolf target right between the eyes, that she had to check the urge to prove herself in the field. She didn't want to kill anything, but some primitive instinct had awakened, thrilling her with the idea that, if she had to, she could protect herself.

No, the difficulty was with Rafe. Standing behind her, reaching around her shoulders to grasp her hands and show her how to raise the gun, how to aim, to pull the trigger, buffering the impact of the explosion as she rocked back against his body... Though, in these moments, the connection she felt with Rafe was overwhelming, she must not lose her head. He was not what he seemed in these moments of closeness. He had a dark side, and she was finding out how deep that darkness went.

He did not try to press anything on her. She was glad of that, she told herself, for it proved him honorable, at least.

But, by the end of a week, he was whispering instructions in her ear; his warm breath sending tingles and chills through her body. It seemed he deliberately pulled her into him; she swore he was breathing in her scent, the sensation melting her so that she had to struggle to hold up the gun, take aim, and hit anywhere close to the target. He had to know what he was doing, so why was he doing it?

Finally, she whirled around and gave him her most level gaze. "Mind your manners, sir. I'll not be toyed with."

Rafe gasped and began laughing in a sputtering, surprised sort of way.

"And what do you find so amusing?" she demanded.

"I'm, I'm sorry Veronica. I don't know what comes over me sometimes. You're just so...hmmmm..."

He pushed his dark hair back from his brow with both hands and turned away. The gun suddenly felt foolish in Veronica's hand, as if it merely provided an excuse for Rafe to embrace her.

"I'm a good girl, sir."

"I know. I know."

"Then don't forget it."

Veronica raised the gun, took aim, and shot the wolf target right between the eyes. It was her best shot yet.

***

Veronica proved deaf to her own protestations, By the end of a fortnight, she was not only a crack shot, but even more in love with Rafe than before. This development did not fill her heart with joy.

"Never let that gun out of your sight, Veronica," Rafe told her with some urgency. "The minute the full moon rises, and the moon will be full very soon, I want you to load it with these four silver bullets. I want you to use it----without hesitation."

"But wasn't that how you accidently shot your wife?"

"That bullet was not silver. If it had been, we'd have been free." Veronica must have looked shocked, for Rafe felt the need to add. "She was a wolf, Veronica. A werewolf."

"I know..."

"She lost her soul ages ago."

"Even so. What of the twins?"

"They will be kept out of it. Mrs. Twig will see to it."

"Then why four bullets?"

Rafe turned away as if her could not face her.

"We have no more choice in the matter than if we were confronting the Devil himself. That's how you must think of this, Veronica. There are no more Sovays or Rafes or... anybody human. Only monsters that must be stopped."

***

Back in her room, Veronica stared at the pistol and the four silver bullets shining so prettily in their scarlet-lined box. She looked out at the moon hanging low in the sky. In one more day, it would be full, and she might be forced to do something so horrendous it didn't bear thinking.

She picked up the gun, turned it over in her hands, enjoying the smoothness, the weight, the way the handle fit in her palm. She reviewed the things that had gone on between Rafe and her from their first meeting until now, seeking evidence that he was, without a doubt, cursed. There could be no doubt if she were to even consider doing what he'd asked of her, because he was asking her destroy him.

She cocked the pistol and squinted into the chamber at the butt end of a silver bullet. The whole saga was hateful to her. Clearly, she was not meant to destroy real wolves, but human beings who appeared as wolves. Rafe said it was for the sake of their souls, but what of her soul? Was she to be forced to commit murder? Killing people she loved? How could she live after that?

The words of Jacques' poem went through her mind. She saw again the wild hart, the beast cornering it in the garden, and underlying the passion of predator for prey.

Crows flew over, cawing, as they sailed among the bare birches that stood like ghosts in the mist rising from the warm, wet ground.

A bell began tolling. Veronica shivered.

It was beginning.