“No!” Narcisse bellowed, kicking his heels into Ophie's side, and taking off recklessly toward the trees.

  Narcisse's heart hammered in his chest as they bolted blindly past trees and bushes. These woods were far from safe during daylight, but at night? The darkness seemed to sap any sort of safety from them, leaving any who entered prey to the wolves and other creatures who called the forest home.

  He felt no fear for himself as he tore through the woods, his mind fixed on finding Bluebell alive. He hoped desperately that she was not so far in the woods that he couldn’t find her at all. Perhaps she had found her father and they were already on the way back? In his mind’s eye he could see the hunting rifles he kept on his dresser– what good they were now? All he had was a small hunting knife he kept strapped to his belt; it would be little use if he had to protect them.

  Ophie nickered, pulling against the reigns until they were forced to slow to a trot. Narcisse suddenly noticed the silence that surrounded him. Ophie nickered again and he hushed her, rubbing idle circles on her neck as he listened. His ears pricked at every small noise, until he could hear the screams. They started off small, almost too quiet to hear. The screams became louder and more panicked. Kicking hard at Ophie's sides, they picked up speed, dangerously weaving in and out of trees.

  But then the mare stopped abruptly, and he was almost flung over her head. He was skilled enough to stay in the saddle, but only just. She whinnied, pawing at the dirt and backing away. Narcisse tried to calm her, but then he saw them.

  Three large, grey wolves faced away from him, hackles raised. Their growls were like thunder in the quiet woods, but they didn't entirely drown out the sound of a soft whimpering.

  There, in the harsh darkness, he saw her. She was backed up against a tree, her father cowering beside her.

  “Bluebell,” he cried.

  Her eyes widened as they fell upon him. The wolves noticed his presence about the same time, and they turned toward him, their growls becoming frenzied, thick drool hanging from their maws.

  In one swift motion he jumped from Ophie, tied her reins around a low hanging branch and pulled the knife from his belt. He had just prepared his battle stance when they leapt at him. Bluebell's startled screams reached him when the first wolf struck. With no time to defend himself, its teeth sunk into the flesh of his forearm. Narcisse bared his teeth, yelling in pain, but did not allow it to distract him from what was important. Bluebell — got to save Bluebell. Rolling on the ground with the beast, he was able to maneuver the knife enough to strike. Tilting it upwards, he slammed it into the side of the wolf’s jaw and out through the top of its head. Its small yelp was cut short.

  Before he could brace himself for the next attack, the two remaining wolves pounced. With one on his back and the other held back in his outstretched arms, he fought for his life. The one in front of him went down easily; with a quick twist of its head, it fell to the ground in a heap. But the other refused to yield.

  Narcisse spun this way and that, trying to gain ground enough to dislodge the frenzied beast. He could feel his skin tearing under sharp claws and teeth, but he had no time to register the pain. He had no choice but to keep fighting, lest he was to succumb to the wolf and in turn leave his wife and father-in-law to its mercy.

  In a final push, he threw himself to the ground hard enough to rattle his teeth, taking the wolf by surprise and sending it hurtling over the frozen ground. The beast whined on impact, but leaped back to its feet in an instant, facing off Narcisse once more. Its head was lowered to the ground, its maw dripping with saliva, as if the taste of Narcisse’s blood had sent it into a frenzy.

  “Come on, then,” Narcisse snarled, pushing up into a crouch.

  The wolf lowered its head, spittle dripping from its maw. It sprang, hitting Narcisse square in the chest with such force that it pushed him back to the ground. Bluebell's horrified screams seemed to reach him as if she were miles away. Everything ached, and he was sure he was to die. His final memories would be the sounds of his wife's cries. But his chest continued to ache, tightening as he sucked cold air into his lungs, past the heavy form that lay on top of him, unmoving.

  “Narcisse!” Bluebell dropped to her knees before him, caring little of the damp ground, nor the blood, as she pushed the dead weight from him.

  He squinted past her, where the body of the wolf had landed. He had killed it, and yet had no recollection of how he had done it.

  The blood that seeped through his clothing — blood or the wolf's blood, he wasn't quite sure — coated the soft skin of her hands. Her beautiful, pale skin, marred by that horrid color. . . He hated the sight, and yet he couldn't help relaxing into her touch as she splayed her sticky, slick hands over his cheeks, leaning forward until her loose hair blanketed him from the world.

  “You're alive,” she breathed, a slight hitch catching in her throat.

  Narcisse smirked softly, ignoring the slight tug of pain the small movement caused. “Of course I’m alive, a pack of wolves isn’t going to stop me.”

  She shook her head, exasperation clearly written on her face. “You’re a madman.”

  “I need to be if I plan on keeping you alive,” Narcisse’s small laugh turned into a cough, and he doubled over as pain wracked his body.

  “Shhh.” Bluebell rubbed at the sweat beading his forehead. “Don’t move, you’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” he lied.

  “You’re covered in blood, you’re far from fine.”

  A smile tugged at Narcisse’s lips as he stared up at his wife. “Bluebell. My Bluebell.” He blinked up at her, his vision becoming a blur of shadows.

  “Bell,” she wiped at her eyes.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Call me Bell.” Her amber-colored eyes were the last thing he saw as the shadows swallowed him whole.

  Chapter six

  Narcisse fell in and out of consciousness, the steady pace of Ophie lolling him back into oblivion each time he opened his eyes.

  “He's falling.” Narcisse's eyes opened long enough to see Jacques steady him. The worried expression Bluebell wore burned into the back of his eyelids.

  Time blurred. The world moved around him. One moment he was on the ground, the next he was in his bed. Everything ached. There was a strange pull, tugging at him each time he moved, each time he breathed. He wished for sleep to last forever, only so he could escape the pain that built the closer he got to consciousness.

  I cannot stand this pain, please let me sleep until it is gone. . .But Bluebell.

  “Bell.” His cry came out as an agonized whimper. Narcisse groaned against the explosion of pain as he became aware of the world around him. He awoke to the blinding light of mid-morning. Bluebell. Where is Bell?

  Narcisse sat up groggily, slumping uselessly against the headboard, the agony growing unbearable. He needed to get up and ensure his wife was alive and well. The last time he had seen her he tried to save her from the clutches of crazed wolves. . .but had he succeeded? Narcisse's mind was foggy, and the ache that filled his body and soul did not help.

  Narcisse squinted against the sunshine that filtered in through thick curtains that had been left wide open; curtains he knew all too well. He was home, in his bed, and much like the times he had overindulged himself at the tavern, he had no recollection of how he had gotten there.

  “Narcisse.” He cracked an eye. His father-in-law stood at the base of the bed, where he had hoped to find his wife, wringing his winter hat in his hands. “I owe you my life.”

  “You don't owe me anything.” Narcisse waited for Bluebell to appear behind Jacques, but the doorway remained empty. “You have already given me enough.”

  “Bell is in the kitchen preparing your breakfast,” Jacques reassured him, as if sensing his disappointment.

  Narcisse's brows knitted together. “I don't need breakfast.” He ignored the pain, ignored the niggling in the back of his head that told him he needed to rest. His motions were slow as he pushed the blankets back. He gritted his teeth, black stars sparking in his vision when he kicked his legs over the side of the bed. The room swayed as he stood. Narcisse held out an arm to steady himself, which only caused the pain to intensify.

  “Nonsense.” The old man reluctantly stood back. “You must be exhausted; you need to eat and regain your strength.”

  Jacques flinched when Narcisse clasped the old man on the shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before he stepped around him to open the bedroom door. “You should sit!” Jacques fretted, racing after him.

  “I need to see my wife.” Narcisse grunted, making his way toward the clanging that came from the kitchen.

  Bluebell scurried from the table to the stove and back again, her face red from the heat of the kitchen.

  “Bluebell,” Narcisse rasped, taking a step toward her.

  She paused long enough to cast Narcisse a condemning look. “You shouldn't be up yet. You need to rest.”

  He eyed the platters of food she began piling on the table and raised his brows in question.

  “Don't look at me like that.” She stopped what she was doing, her hands going to her hips. “I planned to come wake you when breakfast was ready.”

  “I'm okay, Bluebell. Truly”

  She watched him suspiciously for some time. “Please call me Bell,” she said, and then went back to buttering some crusty bread.

  “Bell?” Narcisse tested it.

  “Everyone I care for calls me Bell.” She looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

  All words eluded him. Narcisse stood before the table watching her, his brows furrowing once more. “You care for me?”

  Bell ignored his question, wrapping the butter up in cloth and wiping her hands on her apron. She eyed his bandages, now soaked through with blood, before speaking. “Breakfast is ready.”

  Narcisse gritted his teeth against the pain, lowering himself into the seat before her. “You care for me?” he asked once more.

  Bell stared down at her empty plate, unmoving. He was sure she would not answer at all. Clearing her throat, she said, “I didn't think I would. Ever. But you're different than what you let on. You're not like how you let the world see. I know our marriage is only young, and that many things may impact how I see you, but there's something there, inside, that has begun to shift.” She paused. “It only increased when you saved my life. When you saved papa’s life.”

  “Of course I saved you — saved you both.” He glanced between them.

  “You put your own life in danger to not only come after us, but to wrestle those wolves.” Bell shook her head. “It was incredible.”

  You're incredible, he thought to himself, saying instead, “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

  Bell simply nodded, silent as she dished eggs and sausages onto the plates before them.

  “It was reckless for you to go after your father, but I understand why you did it. I would do the same for my parents if they were still alive.” He bit into a piece of buttered bread he had layered with cheese. “Please don't do it again, though.”

  Bell looked up at him, her mouth open to retort.

  “Come find me first, and I will help.” When Bell said nothing, he added, “I know you like your independence and enjoy doing things for yourself, but there is a point where you have to draw a line. I'm your husband now, which means I'm here for you too. I can help with the hard stuff. I want to help.” His eyes were clear, but there was a lump in his throat. “When I came home and found your note, when you didn't come back. . .” He ran his hand through his dark hair, his fingers coming away dirty from the oils he had used the day before. “I thought you had been taken or killed. With all these townspeople going missing, I really didn't know what to think.” If it weren't for that nosey neighbor, I wouldn’t have known where to look.

  Jacques watched them eye each other off for some time before he spoke. “He's right, Bell. This was dangerous, and you could have been hurt, or worse. I don't want that happening to you. You are married now, which means you don't have to rely on yourself anymore. You must start relying on each other.”

  Bell bit at her lip, brows drawn in thought.

  Narcisse picked at his plate while he watched her. He was glad Jacques agreed with him. Bell needed to start relying on him, rather than taking on the world alone. She wanted to do things herself, do things her own way, but it didn't mean she couldn't accept his help along the way.

  Her shoulders slumped in submission. Narcisse's eyes widened at the gesture, but his heart calmed. “You must realize that I will do whatever it takes to make you happy here. I will take care of y—”

  “I don't need to be taken care of,” Bell interrupted him with a sigh.

  He watched her for a moment, considering his words. “We will take care of each other. That's what a marriage means, is it not? To have someone beside you who will take on the world for you? Take on the world with you?”

  “To most, no. Marriage means having someone who will take care of them in a different way to what you mean. A man marries so he will always be cooked for, cleaned after. They want a maid and someone to produce an heir, nothing more.”

  It was true enough. Marriages often began as an arrangement. There was no love, rarely friendship. But there were many an instance where what started as a marriage, grew into something much more. Love could take time to develop, but Narcisse had witnessed it enough to see it was possible. His chest tightened when he recalled his parents, and the love they shared for one another. The smiles exchanged, the laughter, the soft touches. He had longed for that.

  But then alcohol took hold of his father, and his love was lost in a sea of whiskey. The smiles turned to growls, the laughter to shouts and cries. His father's anger had shaped him to become the man he was today, the man he so desperately wanted to avoid. Narcisse had longed for the love his parents once shared, but as he grew, he began to resent the world thanks to his father’s short temper, and it was when he reached manhood that his thoughts on marriage changed completely. He wished for an accessory, for someone to clean after him and cook, pleasure him and nothing more. He did not believe in love.

  And yet. . .

  “For some, maybe,” he said. “Not for me.”

  Bell's mouth twitched, “I'm sure.”

  “Believe what you will, but I want what my mother and father had,” he closed his eyes, choosing not to mention the arguments.

  Narcisse jumped at Bell’s touch. She had leaned across the table, her hand resting softly atop his. “And what did they have?” she asked.

  “Love.” The warmth of Bell’s hand urged him to continue. “Love. Trust. Security.” Hurt. Anger. But most of all, love.

  Bell nodded, looking at her father. “My parents had the same.”

  A sadness Narcisse had not seen before marred Jacques' features and it was a prolonged moment before he spoke. “My marriage started much like yours,” he motioned between them. “She was intent that I married her only because of her social standing. Which was the case, for the most part. She was the doctor's daughter, and she was beautiful and talented, but she did not even know who I was. I was nothing but the widower's son who had to work in the fields to keep his mother alive.” He paused, his eyes far away. “I visited the doctor more than I would like to admit. I wasn't good with machinery, and my body paid for it. That was the first time I saw her. Harriet.” He smiled at her name. “She assisted in her father's surgery, and she was there as a wound I had received on my hand was stitched. I was only sixteen at the time, and I had never been sewn back together before. The pain was excruciating, and she was called in to help hold my arm down. She was beautiful, just like Bell.” His eyes warmed as he looked at his daughter. “As soon as her hand touched mine, I knew I wanted her. But I didn't have money. Everything I earned in the field went to my mother so she could afford to feed us. I went home that night and that was when I made my first invention. I built a machine that made it easier to harvest, ensuring that the field workers weren't hurt anymore. It sold better than I was expecting, which gave me enough to buy a little house and approach Harriet's father.”

  Jacques stopped for a moment, taking a tentative sip from his tea only to cringe.

  “Let me make you some more papa, you don't need to drink cold tea.”

  He nodded, waiting for her to replace his tea and fill a mug for Narcisse and herself before he continued.

  “Her father had been approached by many who wanted Harriet for their wife, but he had turned them away. I was sure he would do the same for me. He agreed to it. Said that I was the hardest working man he had seen in a while, which meant I would work hard to ensure his daughter was happy and healthy.”

  “And you married her for her beauty?” Narcisse interrupted.

  “Yes,” he smiled. “I wanted her because she was beautiful. She knew that, and our marriage started off poorly because of it. But she grew to love me, just as I began to love her. It came to a point where we could not live without one another.”

  Bell's hands tightened around her mug. “When did you know?”

  Jacques rubbed at the stubble coating his chin. “Well, if I recall correctly, it was I who fell for her first. I felt this strange spark every time I was near her. But I wanted her to feel the same.” His eyes crinkled as he recalled his past. “Each morning I would go down to the fields and pick her favorite flower, bringing her a fresh posy every day. I did that until she loved me, and every day after that, until the day she died.”

  “Bluebells,” Bell whispered, wiping at the dampness on her cheeks.

  Narcisse balked. She was named after her mother's favorite flower, and yet I had inwardly teased her about her name? He suddenly felt bad for a whole other reason.

  “How long did it take?” Narcisse's voice was low, his brows knitted in thought.

  “We realized after Bell was born that we didn't hate one another nearly as much as we initially thought,” he chuckled.

  “That long?” Bell's eyes dropped down to her hand where it rested once more on Narcisse arm.

 

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