long enough to catch his glare. So Wyn believed he possessed a few redeeming qualities after all. “Thank you.” He knew the doctor’s belligerence masked concern. Inviting Arianna for dinner hadn’t been the brightest thing he’d ever done.
“I’ll be fine, Winston.” Grimacing, he tossed the pills to the back of his throat. He hated the damn medication and daily injections, but the alternative meant surrendering to the vile thing Seth had made him–a predatory creature with a hunger for human flesh. He massaged the diamond-shaped scar on his neck to ease the passage of the pills.
Wyn paced to the fireplace, his shoulders stiff with tension. “Wednesday night is full moon.”
“I know that.” Caleb set his book aside and leaned back to study his nephew. “It may surprise you, Winston, but I am intimately conscious of the lunar cycle. The moon may look full on Thursday, but it will be waning at ninety-seven percent. I’ll be able to resist changing.”
“Not on Wednesday, you won’t!” Wyn eyes flashed with anger. “I’m going to have to lock you up like I do every month and you’re going to turn into that thing. The next day–Thursday, in case it’s eluded you–you’ll be worthless as shit. How are you going to explain your condition to Arianna? You’ll be lucky if you can walk down the steps without falling on your ass.”
Caleb looked away. “I’ll manage.”
“Great!” Disgusted, Wyn threw his hands in the air. “I spend three years trying to keep your secret, risking my reputation and career to protect you, and you’re ready to blow it because you meet some girl you’re hot for.”
Caleb frowned. The headache spiked against his temples, fueled by Wyn’s anger. “Hot for?”
“You know damn well what I mean. If you need sex, I’ll get you a hooker.”
Caleb shoved from the chair. The movement, too sudden and brisk for the vicious pounding in his head, sent a barb of pain into his neck. “Now you are being disrespectful. If I’m that much of an inconvenience, show me the door. I’ve survived worse.”
“Knock it off, Caleb.” Wyn confronted him face-to-face. “You think I’m arguing to hear my voice? Hell, I need to have my head examined for admitting werewolves and time travel exist. If I stop to think about who you are, or what you are, I’ll end up in a padded room. Given the fallout, I’d like to keep your secret in the family.”
“I have no intention of telling Arianna anything,” Caleb snapped. The throbbing in his head was growing worse, but he’d suffered greater in the past. There’d once been a time when two men held him down in a field hospital while a surgeon dug a musket ball from his leg. What was a little pressure on the inside of his skull by comparison?
Except that it was building, pounding like the roar of a Napoleon howitzer. Even the brassy glow of lamplight stung his eyes. Frustrated by how quickly the pain incapacitated him, he turned away, bracing a hand on the window ledge. If he admitted the weakness to Wyn, his nephew would react by decreasing the potency of his injections.
“It’s only dinner.” He didn’t want to argue. “I’ll be fine.”
“The hell you will.” Wyn stalked to his side. “Look at you now. I’m cutting back your treatment starting tomorrow.”
“No. I can cope with a headache, and I’ll manage on Thursday. There’s no reason I can’t enjoy occasional female company as long as I’m discreet. As for stopping the treatment, you know what the alternative is. I will not become that creature, Winston.”
Without medication, without the daily injections, the curse would destroy him. His humanity would be obliterated, violated and consumed by the predatory nature of the wolf. Everything that made him human–his conscience, morals, even the ability to judge right from wrong, would no longer hold significance. His existence would revolve around the singular base element of survival. Life would become an endless string of carnal pleasure and dark hunger that was never sated. In essence he would become Seth, the man who’d betrayed him.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, ending the conversation. The closer it drew to the full moon, the more seductive the whisper of night became. He could feel the thrum of temptation pulsing like an undercurrent in his blood. For three years he’d fought the battle, a grueling struggle to retain his humanity. He knew Seth savored his turmoil. It was his rival’s ultimate goal to destroy him.
Caleb grimaced.
Just as he’d once destroyed Seth.
Chapter 7
“I hate this,” Wyn muttered.
Caleb followed his nephew down a rickety staircase, descending to the basement. Strung from the ceiling, a series of bare light bulbs cast elongated shadows over squat limestone walls and an uneven concrete floor. Must and mildew permeated the air, virtually overpowering to Caleb’s werewolf-enhanced sense of smell.
“I’m not overly fond of the situation myself.” He smiled grimly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who gets locked up in a cell.”
“Caleb–”
“Winston, stop worrying.” He waved his nephew’s protest aside. “After three years of monthly hell, I’ve adapted to the confinement.”
That wasn’t true, but Wyn didn’t need to know how much it bothered him. Rather than dwell on the abysmal night ahead, Caleb focused on his surroundings.
The lower level of Weathering Rock hadn’t changed much over the centuries. There were a few new additions, including a row of metal shelves that had attracted a hodgepodge of items–tools, gardening supplies, paint cans, rope and other oddities. Two large oil tanks, a hot water heater and furnace had been added on the northern wall, the original coal chute long sealed over. The small section under the stairs was empty now, but it had once been his mother’s favorite place to stack jars of homemade relishes and jams, canned peaches and vegetables. He remembered his father hauling sacks of potatoes down the plank steps, his blond hair heavily streaked with silver in his later years.
“What’s wrong?” Misinterpreting his silence, Wyn stopped walking. “I don’t like locking you up any more than you like being locked up.”
“It’s not that. I was thinking of home.” Caleb nudged him forward. “My parents. Did I ever tell you my father ran the local land office?”
“There’s a lot you haven’t told me. You’re not exactly an open book.”
Caleb knew he tended to be closemouthed, but was attempting to change.
“My father was convinced I would be killed in the infantry,” he explained, overlooking Wyn’s comment. “He never wanted me to go to West Point. I sometimes imagine he knew the war was coming. My class graduated a year early because the Union needed officers. After Crinkeshaw, they made me a colonel.” He fingered the scar on his neck thinking of the battle. Of fighting in the saddle with blood streaming down his throat, the anguished groans of injured soldiers in his ears. And Seth…hating him, blaming him. “You won’t find Crinkeshaw listed in your history books, but it’s where Seth was injured.”
“That much I know.”
Caleb continued as if he hadn’t heard. “It was late summer of sixty-one. We thought the war was going to end quickly, the Confederate South no match for our Federal armies. My father insisted it would drag on for years, but everyone scoffed, convinced it would be over by Christmas. We never expected the South to be so dedicated.” He paused. “My father did.”
As far back as he could remember, Richard DeCardian had possessed an uncanny insight about what lay ahead. At times Caleb had found that ability unnerving. How could a man know so much about the future and be deadly accurate with those predictions?
He sent Wyn a speculative glance from the corner of his eye.
“My father used to say this house was a legacy.”