The Golden Heart of Leon

Chapter One

                                                                Chapter One

                                                                    Sherath

The village of Sherath was considered a peaceful place. Everywhere you would go people would say, 'Oh you would love living here it is so quiet and peaceful.' Or you would hear, 'Oh you would love it here the people are friendly and there's no crime.'

But recently there had been a few killings happening near the village and people had become suspicious of one another. But they had all become very suspicious of two people in the village, Leon and Ranfore.

They were men you didn't want to cross especially Leon. If anyone annoyed him he would teach him or her a lesson and if anyone crossed him twice he would kill without anybody knowing.

Rumour had it that Leon never knew his parents but that wasn't true; he did know his parents but sadly they died in a fire when he was four years old.

Soon after the accident Ranfore took the boy in, raising him as his own. You could say he adopted him since he had given the boy his own surname, 'Gallard.' At the age of thirteen he had taught the boy his own trade, namely how to be a blacksmith.

At the age of twenty now Leon had become a man the people in the village described as cold-hearted since he was taciturn and if he had to speak he always seemed to do so emotionlessly. Some of the younger women thought he was attractive. But who could blame them? He had dark brown hair that was almost black, icy light blue eyes, tanned skin, not of a deep hue but more the colour of honey. It went darker in summer. He was also very muscular. When working as a blacksmith he would often remove his shirt and he had as he swung the hammer and beat the iron on the anvil his muscles rippled. There was one thing that the people in the village didn't know about Leon. He was a werewolf. His master, who wasn't a werewolf, knew what he was but he was loyal to Leon; he never told a soul about him. Leon didn't need to wait for a full moon to change into animal form. He could change whenever he wished. He was a pure white wolf but not only was he a werewolf he was a murderer.

He killed for pleasure, and to also please his master. Often his master would give him tasks that he would have to do and he would have to complete them. These weren't tasks that he would have to do around the house; it would be people that he would have to get rid of. So if his master hated someone or had been crossed by someone he would go to Leon and tell him to get rid of them.

For his work as a blacksmith, if he made something that the people liked, and if it sold well, then his master would reward him. But if it didn't sell well then he wouldn't get fed for a week, two weeks, or at least three weeks.

Today he had been killing three of his victims in the woods in his favourite spot beside the lake. It would be a lie to say that he didn't enjoy killing them because he did. A smile formed upon his lips as he continued to draw more blood from his dead victims' cold bodies that lay on the forest floor.

Today had been a busy day for Ranfore; he had been looking after the cottage by cleaning, polishing, and tidying it. After a while he had become quite thirsty. There was a pub called, 'The Little Brown Pony,' that he often went to whenever he was bored. He left the cottage and locked the front door before making his way down towards the pub; he found himself sniggering and chortling at the name of it, 'The Little Brown Pony.' What fool would name a pub thus, he thought chuckling at the name again before going in. As he entered he noticed that it was busy, full of people. He didn't mind since he wasn't here to socialise, just going for a drink. He made his way over towards one of the stools at the bar and sat down.

He was a man of forty-five, with chestnut-brown hair that touched his shoulders, deep blue eyes, and pale skin. He was also six foot one while Leon was six foot three. He wore nothing fancy, just a dark brown dirty short-sleeved shirt and a pair of black trousers with matching shoes.

Facing the bartender it took him a few minutes to get the bartender's attention because of the crush and finally he ordered a whiskey and paid for it. It was lovely to drink his whiskey in peace he thought, until a man came over and sat down beside him. The man was non-descript, attired in a dark brown coat, a white long-sleeved shirt, a rusty brown pair of trousers and a pair of black shoes. His breath smelt of alcohol.

"Are you Ranfore?" he asked with a slight slur.

"Yes, why what's it to you?" he replied.

"I need someone taken care of", he whispered.

"Who is the guy?" Ranfore demanded.

"It's my daughter actually." the man responded.

Ranfore heaved a sigh before speaking again.

"Then what is stopping you from getting rid of her yourself?" he asked.

"I would, only I killed her mother years ago. Of course people found her death suspicious and so we moved here about two years ago and I know that if I killed her then people would know that I was the murderer." he explained.

"What's her name?" Ranfore asked

"Evelyn, Evelyn Monroe", he answered.

He took an old photograph out of a coat pocket and handed it to Ranfore. It was of a girl of about ten, in a white, short-sleeved dress; her hair was so dark it was almost black. She was standing next to her mother in the garden. She resembled her mother and even aged ten you could see she would be very attractive.

"That's her. She's nineteen now and she's a pain in the neck, just the way her mother was. I need her out of my life", he said without revealing the real motive.

Ranfore sighed once more before speaking, because he had expected a quiet, undisturbed drink on his own.

"It will take a thousand pounds in cash and I'll get rid of your little brat", he said confidently.

"I'll have the money for you here tomorrow at the same time", said Liam. Ranfore watched him leave after promising him that he wouldn't be disappointed.

Liam, Evelyn's father left the pub quickly to make his way back home. He reached the front door to the little stone cottage where he lived with Evelyn. Once through the hallway he closed the door behind him and in the kitchen he got out some unfinished wine and without a second thought started to drink. This was what he usually did; come home, get drunk, pass out and waken up much later in a foul mood. He would then be abusive and insulting to Evelyn. He often was physically abusive and would push her and sometimes beat her. She was very frightened of him especially after he had been drinking.