Taking no notice of others who might be in the park, Elvira led Jezzie into the woods to her private place. Once there, she let Jezzie off her lead to roam about as she wished while she sat among the broken stones, reflecting on how her life had changed in the last few hours.
Sitting on a low section of stone that safely held her weight, she leaned her head against the rough texture, staring off at nothing, trying not to think, trying not to feel. A lone tear escaped from her eye, quickly swept away with a gloved hand.
She thought of her mother, her littlest sister, her brother…poor Bart, thrust into the role of leader of their family. Elvira knew he was not going to take their father’s passing well. She would have to see about him when she got back to the manor.
She sighed, a picture of misery and lost dreams.
With a sixth sense and the ability to smell the scent of his mysterious beauty, the Count decided to venture out, long after his household slumbered. He felt no need to change into the form of a wolf, not yet. His goal was simple. Catch sight of the beauty, before the cock crowed and the sun’s rays illuminated the earth. The Count was still angered that the ball did not go to plan. His desire to take Elvira and treat her to a night of unforgettable passion and madness, was thwarted by that dog, Agares, loyal flunky to Lillian. Oh how he hated that bitch. The only real triumph was slapping her hard, as she tried to stand over him. An Alpha…and not just any, but one of Bavarian lineage.
So through the park he walked, till he came to an abrupt stop, and raised his head. The mix of all the different scents, there was one that stood out. HERS. She was in the park, away from the watchful gaze of her family. Stealth fully, he moved through the wooded area of the park, only to hear the soft sighs of Elvira. Sitting within the dilapidated walls of a once glorious building. This was no place for a woman of her standing. And yet the wave of sorrow, hit him suddenly. Why would she be upset? Unless of course the wound to Amos…was fatal. It was never his intent, to destroy the head of the Roxburg, no, that was Lillian’s plan.
The Count stayed in the shadow, and watched her silently. Drinking in her beauty. Inhaling her scent. Formulating plans in his mind…how one day…she would belong, to him.
Although Elvira was alone in a wooded area, with not another soul around for miles, she was very aware of her surroundings.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she raised her head up. She didn’t turn around to look but she sensed someone was watching her.
“I know you’re there.” she murmured. “You may as well show yourself.”
Silence greeted her, but she was a somewhat patient person.
The Count, no longer had reason to hide, and so he simply stepped out of the shadows, and cast his gaze down on Elvira as she sat upon the stone. Clearly she had been weeping, and was lost in the sea of her own thoughts.
“You looked, exquisite tonight. I would have danced with you, but alas you had that…man hanging off you.” Coming closer, the Count inhaled sharply becoming intoxicated off her scent. So strong…so potent. He had planned the entire evening, for a simple dance, and yet it was not to be.
“He’s dead..isn’t he?” the Count now spoke of Amos, Elvira’s father. Why else would she have taken the journey here after the blood bath of a ball. “It was not supposed to have been like this. How was I to know….your own family sought to destroy the head….when…all I wanted was you.” The Count reached out to touch her cheek, a sign that the wolf was keeping his desires on a leash. Would she lash out? And who could blame her if she did.
There was a rustle of leaves and a snapping of twigs behind her, and she still had yet to see who her visitor was.
“You looked exquisite tonight. I would have danced with you, but alas you had that…man hanging off you.”
That voice! I recognize that voice! Elvira screamed in her head. So saying, she turned a little on her makeshift bench and came face to face with her kissing bandit. Despite what she’d gone through the night before, his words got a dark chuckle from her.
“Hmm…yes…a former relative’s…lover.” Elvira snarled, voice gone cold as she thought of Juliette. She turned her back on him, watching Jezebel munching away on some tasty moss she’d found. “But your…friends…did more damage than I ever could to that relationship.” she snorted, tangling her fingers into her lap.
There was silence between them for a moment before his next words stopped her cold.
“He’s dead..isn’t he?” Not knowing how he knew, she nodded, struggling against the urge to cry once more. She thought she had no more tears left. “It was not supposed to have been like this. How was I to know….your own family sought to destroy the head….when…all I wanted was you.” At that, Elvira’s head snapped up and around, just as he was about to touch her cheek. She quickly stood and backed away from him, wary and a little bit confused.
“What do you mean by that, sir?” she demanded, surprised to feel any emotions other than the grief that nearly crippled her hours before. “It wasn’t supposed to be like what? You know something, or you had something planned and I demand to know what it was.” she scowled, her anger threatening to ignite everything around her. As if to put truth to the thought, the ground beneath her feet began to smoulder.
“It was I that attacked your…former relative’s lover, the one that was on your arm. Right after your father was attacked by Agares. Yes, I watched it all. As I said….this was never my will. That was your Grandmother’s.” The Count stepped in closer to her, looking down with his presence much stronger within her personal space.
“Can you not smell the blood of your dance partner on me?” The Count asked, looking at her with eyes that were almost hypnotic. “I did my best to avenge your father….but, that fool got in my way. Sad to say…he didn’t taste very good.”
The Count then waited for her response.
He stepped into her personal space, making her very aware that she was alone, in a secluded area, with an Alpha Werewolf. “Can you not smell the blood of your dance partner on me?” he asked her, catching her gaze with her own. His eyes were nearly hypnotic in a way, and if she were anyone else, she probably would have fallen under his spell. But she was Elvira Roxburg, daughter of Amos, and she bowed to the will of no man.
She stood to her full height, which was still a few feet beneath his own and glared at the man. “I’d prefer not to smell you at all if I can help it.” she snapped, pressing a finger to her nose. He didn’t smell all that repulsive actually…sort of a mix between earth, grass after a summer storm and smoked sandalwood, if her sense of smell was correct. But she wasn’t about to let him know that.
“I did my best to avenge your father….but, that fool got in my way. Sad to say…he didn’t taste very good.”
“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread1.” Elvira snarled. “You really have the nerve to speak to me of plans and maschinations when this information comes way too late? How dare you, sir!” Her hand flashed out, intent upon wiping the arrogant smirk off the man’s face…
1quote attributed to Alexander Pope, an 18th-century English poet, best known for his satirical verse and for his translation of Homer. Famous for his use of the heroic couplet, he is the third-most frequently quoted writer in The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, after Shakespeare and Tennyson.