Tempestuous Destiny

By Patricia Maki

Visiting her aunt, Tegan Hauser searches for clues to identify a bronze bust she found in the Houston museum. This 400 year old piece of art looks shockingly like her brother. Feeling the bronze is somehow connected to the family’s fractured history, Tegan is driven to find answers to her questions. Her great Aunt Cassandra, the family historian, leaves her confused when she predicts a journey into the unknown.
While driving in a storm, she finds herself mysteriously drawn back to the museum district. She decides to enter and confront the unnatural pull the sculpture exerts over her emotions. As she touches the bust, the lights go out, and Tegan is horrified to find the figure warm and pliant like human flesh. Yielding to shock, she slips into oblivion.
While this is happening to our heroine, Baron Nicolai Karlova is traveling to Banya Deva, Transylvania. The stormy weather is causing all sorts of delays with his caravan. Hearing a hellish scream, Nicolai climbs a rain-swept hillside to find the source of this disturbance. Reaching the crest, he discovers an unconscious Tegan under a fallen tree.
Later that night, Tegan is shocked to find she has traveled 400 years back in time to a rugged mountainside in Slovakia. As the days pass, she is forced to accept Nicolai’s protection, but she is resolved to put space between them despite her budding desire for the handsome warrior. Nicolai on the other hand, admits his lust for Tegan. He tells her in no uncertain terms, she will be his body and soul.
Weeks slip into months of frustration as countless dangerous obstacles are tossed in their path. Some caused by Tegan's passionate nature; and some by the religious, superstitious, and political climate of the time. For there is more than one monster hunting in Transylvania, and the Timewalker is their prey. Can Nicolai and Tegan survive without each other, or is their love the only thing that can save them from their Tempestuous Destiny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia Maki
• Release date: Aug 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476106670

Patricia Maki

Patricia Lynn Maki is a retired high school teacher who still likes to spend time in the classroom. The energy generated by active, inquiring minds has always given her a shot of adrenaline that's as important to her health and wellbeing as sunshine. A day-dreamer from an early age, (many grade school report cards considered this a negative state of mind) has encouraged her to put her 'stories' into writing.

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Tempestuous Destiny

By

Patricia Lynn Maki

Published by Patricia Lynn Maki at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Patricia Lynn Maki

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CHAPTER ONE

October, 1999

Kincaid, Wisconsin

He’s got the family ‘potato nose’ all right, Tegan Hauser said, as she watched her great-aunt adjust her gold-rimmed bifocals.

That’s not the point, Aunt Cassandra. Can’t you see the resemblance? It’s Jon. Tegan's quick hands fanned the photos dealer-style onto the cherry wood coffee table.

Of course it’s your brother, sweetheart, Cassandra Bellamy smiled indulgently. I’m glad your folks sprang for the plastic surgery after that football injury, She picked up another picture. Otherwise, I imagine he’d look exactly like this fellow. The elderly lady cooled herself by waving the photo, and stared at Tegan, Please dearest, when you were a child I accepted 'Auntie Cassie' as my name, but now we're both adults, you must call me Cassandra. It makes me feel old to be called aunt, I want to be more up-to-date. After all, I am still a girl at heart.

Tegan smiled, I'm sorry, I'd love to call you Cassandra, she grinned wickedly, Girlfriend.

Once more pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the elderly woman smiled at her niece; then shifted the picture toward the light of the lamp on the end table. That's much better. Now, how old did you say this bronze bust was?

The curator in the Houston museum said it’s over four hundred years old.

Interesting, Tell me more.

The history’s sketchy. The piece lay buried for years in the bowels of an Italian villa. Experts believe the cache could have been part of Hitler’s stockpile of stolen art, Tegan’s flushed face mirrored her enthusiasm. Can you imagine the shock when excavators unearthed the sealed chamber after World War II? A family struggling with home repairs went from war-induced poverty to instant riches. The whole lot sold at auction in Milan. Now the bronze is part of a Renaissance exhibit touring cities across the United States.

Remarkable.

Yes, it is, Tegan scrutinized the pictures one at a time before tossing them back on the table. It’s the spittin’ image of Jon with his old nose. Somehow, this bust and our family history are linked. I feel it in my bones. Realizing how exhausted she felt, she sat back pushing her knotted spine into the striped Victorian sofa.

Cassandra sipped her tea, a pensive look on her face. You didn’t find anything in my attic, did you?

No. I went through all your journals and research. There’s nothing to help me identify this mystery man. Lightning struck outside the bay window of the centuries-old farm house drawing Tegan’s attention. The late afternoon sky darkened with an impending storm. Within moments, rain spat viciously against the window-pane streaking the country landscape into a watery blur. Lights flickered. Tegan forced a smile which strained her facial muscles. The early afternoon light disappeared under a heavy blanket of gunmetal gray clouds pouring buckets of water. Oh great, more rain.

That’s not really what’s annoying you, is it?

No. I thought with you being the family genealogy expert, I’d surely find answers crammed away in your notes. Disappointment trembled in her voice, while a dull throb settled in at the base of her skull.

I understand your frustration, Cassandra picked up a plate of cookies offering them in consolation. Do you remember when I took you and your sister Kate to Prague?

Yes, I was ten. We stayed with the Konrads. They had all those lovely children.

Elderly blue eyes twinkled. You surprised me that summer. I was impressed with how easily you picked up the language.

Stirring her own forgotten tea, Tegan sighed. From past experience, she knew her great-aunt’s mind followed its own convoluted path. Logic danced across a lacy web of interwoven facts. That’s when I decided to become a teacher. Why did you bring that up?

I was so sure I’d find all the answers to the holes in our ancestry. I remember how defeated I felt. Try not to let this little puzzlement get you down.

Cassandra, please. Of all people, I thought you would understand. Our heritage is steeped in mystery, starting with this cross, Agile fingers lifted the precious coppery-bronze and crystal ornament from under the soft pile of her sweater. You were the one who told mother to give it to me when I was sixteen. It’s so old. I need to know how many generations have worn it. Can you tell me about its origin? Tegan touched it lovingly gaining comfort from its warmth. Mother always said it gave her the creeps, and touching the metal made her skin crawl.

Your mother never did understand its value, and she worked hard to ignore our family history, Steady and determined, the old woman answered. Beware, my dear. I’ve been labeled the family eccentric. If you want the job, it’s yours after I depart for greener pastures. Until then, try not to upset the home folks. They never understood this need I have to discover the mystery of our bloodline.

So you think the bust in the museum is related to the missing pieces of our history.

Anything is possible, and I have learned in my eighty-plus years not to believe in coincidences, but… After a few moments of total silence, she murmured, Your brother called last night.

He did?

The boy’s worried about you. He said you’ve been isolating yourself from the family, spending too much time alone, ignoring phone calls, Putting her cup down, a slim hand covered with faint liver spots picked up the enlarged, color pictures scattered across the coffee table. He’s afraid you’re becoming compulsive. She tapped a manicured finger on the photo in her hand, like me.

A quiet anger knotted inside Tegan. My brother looks for things to stew over. I don’t need a keeper who likes to meddle in my business… Or my love life.

You have one?

One what?

A love life.

Tegan pulled her rapidly waning control together. Her thoughts centered on the flood of recent erotic dreams of a man she’d never met. A pale flush colored her cheeks. I’ve been dating, she croaked. Her eyes slid away, making a lie of her statement.

Do you want to talk about it?

No! She snapped, and then feeling guilty, peeked from under thick lashes to find Cassandra squinting down her patrician nose. She couldn’t look at the older woman remembering her two awkward dates with a co-worker three months ago. It’s over.

I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?

I don’t want to talk about it.

Her aunt patted Tegan’s knee. Okay, honey. When you’re ready, I’m here. I know you think of me as a meddling old woman, but believe me, there’s very little I haven’t heard. You know I was young once and I had my share of beaus, most of whom were nice, honorable men, A wry smile teased the corners of Cassandra’s lips, However, a few were quite naughty.

Blue eyes snapped wide with interest at this statement, No! I’m shocked. Not you. According to Mother, you were always a perfect lady.

Oh, pouf. Being respectable all the time got tiresome. To be honest, I treasured every one of my ‘bad’ boys. From them, I learned to be reckless and savor the thrill of surprise. They also taught me the value of risk. It’s so much more interesting than playing it safe.

I don’t believe it. You’ve always been as steady as a rock.

Yes, well, some people are made of granite and some of sandstone. It depends a lot on attitude, and how one faces a challenge. You either deal with life head on, or allow circumstances to wear you down until there’s nothing left. I like to think of myself as a survivor. You and I are very much alike in that respect.

Tegan flinched. A shadow of memory snickered in amusement. Yeah, right. Shivers rippled down her spine putting her on edge. Wanting desperately to change the subject, she shrugged. Who knows, Prince Charming could be waiting around the next corner.

We can discuss this later. Right now, I wish to rest. This conversation’s given me much to think about. With the regal grace of a queen, Cassandra stood and walked to the entrance where she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. Tegan...

Yes ma’am.

I feel you are on the threshold of a tremendous change. Be sure you want to take that last step into the unknown.

Confused eyes watched her aunt walk out of the room.

Later that night, Tegan’s thoughts returned to the cross she wore. She lifted the heavy filigree that lay between her breasts. It always surprised her to find the metal warm to her touch, as if it were heated by something other than her flesh. Fingering the detailed design, she wondered for the millionth time, what the engraved symbols on the back meant. The answer’s lost somewhere in the past. Her thoughts returned to the afternoon’s conversation. Dropping the ornament, she went in search of her aunt who had remained curiously absent since dinner.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she eased past the loose board on the second step. A giggle bubbled in her throat. No raucous squeak came forth to compete with the mechanical ticking of the grandfather clock on the landing. Pleased to accomplish this childish goal, Tegan hesitated in the lower hall. Her senses told her someone occupied the library. Peeking around the edge of the cracked entrance, she saw her aunt wrapped in a silky kimono that had seen better days. Probably a gift from one of her ‘bad’ boys. The elderly woman sat before a roaring fire. The warm glow softened the contours of her white hair and pale face. The family matriarch looked lost, deep in thought and memories.

Come in dear, I’ve been waiting for you.

Feeling foolish for spying, Tegan straightened her spine and walked into the parlor. Approaching the wing chair, she noticed how frail Cassandra looked without cosmetic adornment. Her porcelain skin appeared translucent. Tiny, blue veins pulsed at her temple. Sitting opposite, she waited patiently, watching the lady’s serene face.

Forgive me for sounding elusive this afternoon. I’ve waited a long time for you to start asking these questions. It’s just the reality of getting to this point is a bit unnerving for me. I see things coming to closure, and I don’t know if I’m ready.

Closure? What do you mean? What are we getting ready for?

Cassandra stretched forward patting her niece’s hand in reassurance. Are you prepared to see this new mystery through to the end? I need to know. Do you have the courage to accept this challenge no matter where it may lead you?

"What are you talking about? Shock surged through Tegan’s body. Idle curiosity didn’t bring me to your doorstep. I need to learn the truth about our lineage. If you mean travel, all my school breaks are free. I’m willing to go, but why do I need courage? Flying doesn’t bother me."

Excellent. Full approval spread across the timeworn face. When you were born, I knew you would be the one to continue my quest.

Cassandra, are you feeling okay? You’re not making much sense.

I’m fine, dear. Let me continue. Your brother was the only male born into our family in ages. His birth gave me the sign I needed. It told me this generation would be the one to find the answers that have eluded me all these years.

Answers... to this... quest... thing?

Yes. There is this consuming hunger within us to understand the past. I know you feel it as intensely as I. She paused, gathering her thoughts. I’ve always listened to my inner voice.

Have you been at the plum brandy again?

No, dear, and I only sip the cordial when I have something momentous to celebrate. The old woman gazed fondly at her grand-niece, her eyes grew misty. My senses tell me you will be leaving us soon. Down a path only you can see. In a way, this makes me sad. I will miss you. On the other hand, I’m envious. I would like to participate in this venture as well.

What path? I don’t understand any of this. Right now, I’m not planning on going anywhere except back to my teaching job in Houston. Tegan found herself stroking Cassandra’s hand. It felt warm and comforting. Those crazy dreams flickered through her mind; then she thought of the face on the bust, Jon’s face. She remembered the odd feelings of euphoria whenever she came around the bronze sculpture. It gripped her in some weird, unnatural, emotional embrace.

You came to question me about the past. I’ll tell you what I believe. You know our family heritage is mostly Bohemian. What remains of the bloodline is lost about four hundred years ago.

I know that’s why we spend that summer in Prague. You and Ana Konrad searched through old records trying to find the missing pieces.

Yes. We weren’t successful, but I did learn one thing. I believe the cross you inherited is part of that history as well.

Tegan’s hand curled around the ornament.

You hold the key. I know you will discover the truth. The courage to face the unknown is within you. Cassandra’s body slumped. She began to shrink before Tegan’s eyes. I’m so very tired. I think it’s time to put these weary, old bones to bed. Help me up the stairs, dear.

Dutifully, Tegan took her aunt by the elbow and helped her climb the staircase. Reaching the bedroom, the elderly lady turned, looking at her niece with feverish intensity. I hope I didn’t frighten you. You are going to have a great adventure. Cassandra, momentarily losing her normal composure, pulled Tegan into a fierce embrace. She whispered, Accept whatever happens. Promise me, don’t be sandstone.

I promise. Tegan kissed her aunt’s cheek before helping with her robe. She felt the loose skin of Cassandra’s upper arms. The now fragile frame of the formerly robust woman dismayed her. The oval face feathered by a fringe of white hair looked tranquil once more. The light winked out as she flipped the switch.

A raspy voice, fading swiftly into slumber, called to her from the down-covered four-poster bed. Don’t forget my dear, keep moving forward.

Tegan turned to peer into the dark room. I’ll remember. Sweet dreams. Quietly leaving the chamber, she leaned against the closed door and pondered the meaning of her aunt’s confusing revelations. She shook her head in bewilderment. And she thinks I’m compulsive.

*

The urgent voice on the car radio repeated the flash flood warning. Houston can expect eight more inches of rain before seven o’clock this evening. The bayous are full to capacity. Beware of low lying areas.

Oh, great. Tegan, shivering in her damp dress, scrutinized the putrid tint of another late afternoon sky. Shuddering in reaction, she grew uneasy. This storm wasn’t normal. Never in the six years since she entered college in this sprawling city had she experienced anything remotely like it. With the defroster running to keep windows clear, she tightened white knuckles on the steering wheel. Slowly, the compact car slid down the swamped thoroughfare. Water lapped over curbs. Sewer covers popped creating hidden holes waiting for unsuspecting motorists. Fueled by determination, she wove a haphazard pattern through the maze of streets tangled with abandoned autos. The movement pushed her in a direction away from her condo.

A frustrating hour later, she found herself in the Fine Arts district across from the park. Rubbing throbbing temples, she eased the pain of a persistent headache. Time for a break. Okay with you Tegan? Sure, why not? Shrugging her tense shoulders to relieve cramping, she continued to lament out loud. Can’t go anywhere, anyway. After pulling into the empty parking lot of the museum, she stared at the stone building before her. Acid soured her stomach. Was it really only three weeks ago when I found that sculpture? She remembered the shock of unexpectedly walking through those imposing doors to have the discovery turn her world upside-down. She recalled her aunt's enigmatic dialogue last night in Kincaid and moaned. Why can’t things ever be simple?

Thunder exploded to drown out her question. Lightning bleached a jagged tear through the darkening sky. The inner turmoil accumulated over the past weeks punched through her emotional defenses. First the dreams, then the bronze, and to top it off Cassandra’s rambling speech. A sucking force, she didn’t understand, pulled the will to resist from her body. Tears streamed down her face. She rested her throbbing head on the steering wheel. Please, make it all go away.

Heaven ignored her plea. The violence of the storm rumbled out its fury. Her head drummed in time to the booming beat. She stared at the museum. Her inner mind pictured an ominous cross-road looming before her. A non-existent sign post flashed in glaring red letters. ‘Safe and narrow path, go right-Adventurous unknown, swing left.’ Destiny demanded she choose a direction. Okay, which way should I go? Which way is forward as Cassandra wants?

Her body responded to the churning elements swirling around her. With a palpable sense of dread, Tegan forced herself out of the car, and slogged across the street. Struggling against the wind, she pushed open the heavy front door. Blessed quiet reigned within. Shivering as water puddled on the marble floor, blue eyes blinked through strands of sodden auburn hair. A lone receptionist nodded in her direction. Tegan flashed her membership card, and made her way to the staircase passing the sign which informed her that the exhibit which drew her interest would be packed up tomorrow and moved to Phoenix.

Footsteps echoed as she walked, each repeating itself, the hollow sound, one of mournful loneliness. She stared at the bust across the wide expanse of tile. With a whisper that mocked as it bounced back from the walls, she begged, Who are you?

Her stomach fluttered; then knotted painfully. She thought she might be sick. With grim determination, she marched briskly across the floor. Pain hammered her ears. Each crash of thunder, each bolt of blinding light registered on her brain. Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt the storm intensify. The pressure in her head pulsed with each thump of her stampeding heart. Making one last attempt to seek answers, she opened her eyes to stare at the familiar face. Why do you look like Jon? Giddy from the losing battle fought within, she stepped past the rope barrier surrounding the pedestal. One last time, she stood nose to nose with this 400 year old ancestor of hers. Who are you? Why do you keep pulling me back here? Nearly hysterical, she screeched, I demand an answer!

Lightning detonated a maelstrom furiously shaking the floor. The lights went out. Totally blind, Tegan reached forward compelled to memorize the sculpted contours. Her hand touched the face. It felt.... warm? Electricity charged up her arm. With crackling awareness, the burning pressure in her ears became unbearable. An agonizing explosion sliced through her brain running a frenzied course under her chin into her neck. Terrified, Tegan’s mind froze on the image of the face where her hand touched the bust. The bronze gave way under her trembling fingers. Flesh-like... Pliant… Living tissue!

She screamed! Tried to pull away! Found herself paralyzed with fear. Darkness consumed her. She squeezed the cross to her racing heart. The remnants of her mind melted into black oblivion to wake up in the pitch of night. Freezing! Sleet pounded her body. She shook violently from the sudden cold. The smell of rain-soaked grass filled her nose. The taste of it filled her mouth. Where am I? Tegan cried, choking on tears and pelting ice water. Lightning lit the sky, strobe-like, imitating individual frames on a slow moving camera. Thunder blasted. How did I get out here?

Trembling, she sucked in a deep breath as she stood. In the flickering light, she stared at her shaking hands. Her mind refused to accept what her fingers had felt when they touched the bust. She wiped them on her soaked skirt to rid them of any residual sensation. Then wishing she possessed a will of iron, she did her best to contain her fear. Is this where the courage part comes in, Cassandra? I don’t like it. Do you hear me, I want to go home. Help! she shouted, Is anybody out there? she circled around in fearful confusion. The urge to give in to hysteria nearly overwhelmed her. Shrinking the sensation into a tight ball, she pushed the terror to the back of her mind. Pull it together, Tegan. There’s nobody here to do it for you. Gulps of air calmed her racing heart. She inspected her surroundings. I must have passed out. Did someone drag me out of the museum? If this is Memorial Park, where is security? That old cliché is true, you really can’t find a policeman when you need one. She snickered; the sound of her own voice steadied her. That’s normal. Keep your mind occupied with trivia. Don’t think about it. Get on your feet going and do something. Anything!

Tegan wobbled, shook, and knotted her fingers into the fabric of her skirt; she sobbed in dismay, Oh hell, I’m covered in mud. Darcy will kill me for ruining this. She looked at the damage done to the shocking pink blouse matched with a multi-colored, broom-stick skirt and groaned. The outfit belonged to her neon-infatuated sister-in-law. I’ll buy her something neutral to make up for the damage. A wavering smile pulled its way through the fear. The joke’s on you, kid. You hear me. This’s what you get for saying my wardrobe is ho-hum and boring. A violent shiver gripped her body. The frigid wind slapped the wet skirt tight to her legs. Tegan hugged herself. Her teeth chattered.

As lightning continued to light the sky, she took stock of her surroundings trying to figure out which direction led back to the museum. She couldn’t see the stone and glass building anywhere on the bleak horizon, or for that matter, any glow from the city. Please tell me this is just a power failure. The mayor forgot to pay the bill. Houston Light and Power cut the juice. The vegetation grew unusually thick, not at all like a park. Her heart skipped a beat. I’m beginning to feel like Dorothy trapped in the Twilight Zone.

Her bearings established, she realized she stood in a clearing of a sloping hill. She viewed a thicket of pine below, more forest above. The only sign of human habitation, a ribbon of road some distance away. As Tegan approached, the label ‘road’ became a misnomer. Two muddy ruts running parallel to each other failed to define the term. She panned her surroundings again. The woods flunked any attempt to inspire confidence. The thought of wild animals frightened her. The thought of muggers or rapists terrified her. She rubbed her arms, shivering. Why is it so cold? The weatherman on the radio didn’t say anything about a ‘Norther’ coming through.

She set out on her journey. You can do this Tegan. Just like in the movies, one step at a time. Mud sucked at her feet. At times she sank so deep, she used her hands to pull her leg out of the sticky goo. Her shoes were gone.

Sleet came down in larger ice crystals to needle her skin. She wanted nothing more than to rest while the storm clouds churned overhead. With the last of her strength, she pulled herself over to a sparse thicket of trees, collapsing in a frozen heap. She grimaced, wiping her face with muddy hands. Mother and Cassandra will have a coronary if they see me like this. I’m frozen, covered in filth, and talking out loud. Tegan didn’t have the strength to argue with herself as she sat beneath the nearly barren branches of the tree watching the sleet turn the forest fuzzy.

Thunder boomed. She counted, one-one thousand, to calculate the distance of the strikes. A ragged bolt hit the tree several feet away. The blinding flash paralyzed, jolting her out of her anesthetized state only to ricochet painfully through her battered body. The first warm sensation since she woke in this horrible place. She shook her head trying to dislodge sudden ringing. It didn’t help. Her hands moved to block out the buzz. Her numb fingers encountered hair smoldering with cinders. More tears burned.

The pungent smell of sap boiling inside the damaged tree brought on nausea. Turning to look behind her, panic seized her mind. The tree had split down the middle, and caught fire. Her nails clawed at the near frozen soil. Desperate, stuck in a slow-motion nightmare, she pulled herself away from danger, inch by painful inch. Half of the smoldering trunk crashed down. Spending the last of her strength, Tegan tried to roll away. Before the dark void consumed her, she heard someone screaming. It sounded like her voice.

*

Baron Nicolai Karlova pulled his black sarica closer attempting to keep out the biting rain. Wearing the sheepskin-lined cloak suited this type of frigid weather and his personal mission. With the deep hood pulled forward, his identity remained hidden from any peasant or spy who might see the caravan pass by. Caution kept his other secrets. His troop must reach Banya Deva before someone questioned them or forced them to fight. The stakes were too high to take unnecessary chances. For the road ahead stretched a long, tedious journey to the Carpathians in Transylvania, and through one thoughtless blunder, lives would be lost.

His older, dark-haired companion and the captain of his guard, Elek Patel, grumbled beside him. I ne like the feel of this storm; nor this God forsaken place.

Do you fear demons walk the earth? Nicolai asked.

Tis All Hallows Eve. An unearthly vapor clings in the air.

Stop fretting. Evil will fail to visit this night. Tis trouble with the heavy carts which make you nervous.

Ano, tis true, this stretch of Slovakia is difficult enough without dragging wagons full of household goods. Your sister should be grateful your mother favors her so. The edge to his husky voice made a lie of his concern.

Shame Elek, you know the reasons for this trip are many.

This I know; 'twas a wish to escape your father’s wrath which pushed you from your cozy roost.

A hard stare corrected his friend’s statement, Tis ne his anger that keeps me from home these past years. Tis the parade of suitable females which soured each stay. He is a most difficult sire to deny.

Why endure longer? Choose from among the covey. Make your mother happy with the bargain. Your sire only wants you to produce heirs; tis the obligation of your station.

When I choose, it will be a lady who fulfills my needs. My father’s notion of suitability will never be under consideration.

Forget the wench in Prague. She spurned you to marry another.

The baron clenched his teeth. The memory is ancient, old friend. Cease to speak of it. Tis marauders, I fear, who threaten the success of this venture. He wrapped the half-soaked cloak more securely around him trying to keep out the creeping cold. One must guess whether tis an isolated platoon, or an entire army moving to battle.

The captain changed the subject hoping to restore his companion’s good humor. We must be on guard at all times.

You sound eager to fight. Shall we draw attention, so trouble knows where to find us? Do you find transporting my little sister’s personal items too tame for your taste?

You have the truth. I grow restless without action. As for your vexing sibling, I can hardly believe you are still tending her silly worries.

If this were an easy problem, I would leave it to her own means.

A snort punctuated his companion’s frame of mind. You make light of the event. The wench ran off like a wanton to marry Viktor Matei.

Tis true. Their elopement caused Father political embarrassment. After the Emperor forced a union for Olivia, Tessa’s betrayal cut deep. Tis why he insists I make a superb alliance in wedded bliss.

Your sire is a hard man when crossed.

He refuses to allow anyone to speak of Tessa. Now, I am the one who answers Mother’s pleas for information about her wayward youngest. And I am the one soaked to the skin, hauling top-heavy carts over mountains of mud. Women. They are more trouble than they are worth. Tell me I am mistaken.

Why should I tell you what you readily know? Neither of these problems trouble you over much. Tis the hidden agenda which plagues you.

Prince Michael.

Another grunt, I hope we manage to keep our heads, Nico. This princeling is untrustworthy. I, as well, have a bad feeling about this meeting at Matei’s estate.

As Nicolai’s thoughts wandered, his horse slid in the mud. He turned in the saddle to look back at the struggling caravan. The wagons were bogged down axle-deep, their wheels so caked with sediment, they no longer turned. Men jumped down from their mounts to scrape mud off with their swords. Nico could see the exhausted horses needed to be released and replaced. If he didn’t order fresh teams immediately, the overburdened vehicles would never make it up the mountain. Elek, tell those fools to get those carts moving, or they will be left behind until the storm is over. I know of a place ahead to make camp; a spot with a stone ridge. Our weary travelers will have shelter from the sleet. The ledge will protect our backs for tis easy to secure.

The captain turned his horse to the rear of the caravan. Massive dogs followed, dancing around under the horses shifting hooves. As the odd group moved to the bottom of the hill, the baron heard Elek grumble. The thought of a warm meal will put a fire under those lackeys.

Nico felt better finding the day drawing to a close. His feet were frozen. He didn’t even want to think about his sore arse as he quaked with cold. The sleet found a way beneath the collar of his shirt shivering a path along his spine, an icy finger tracing his backbone. The driving wind howled, screeching like the night demon Elek feared. Spooked, the black horse went skittish, retreating in reaction. The half-frozen traveler returned his attention to the big beast. Whoa boy. Easy now. Nicolai scrutinized the dark forest, his senses keened to danger. He swore nothing lurked in the dark, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The rider moved the huge animal slowly forward.

Lightning struck with such force the ground shook. The air sizzled with electricity. He heard the screams of his men as St. Elmo’s fire danced down the iron poles which secured the corners of the carts. Its bluish dazzle contorted, deformed like a wicked specter of evil. It jumped to embrace the wheel rims. Nicolai pulled the reins to steady his steed. Then he heard it. The shriek. A sound that rose straight from hell. Surely even witches and the devil himself have better sense than to be out on a night like this.

Dismounting, he sank to his ankles in the muck. Carefully leading the horse through the sludge, he pushed his way forward. Climbing the hill drained his energy. He fought the wind and sleet all the way to the top. Gaining the summit, he saw the remains of a split tree charred by a lightning strike. With the instincts of a hunter, Nico studied the surrounding area. He found nothing out of place.

As he stood listening, two menacing, fur covered streaks lunged past him. Elek’s hounds. They lumbered up to the smoldering tree. The baron