Page 5

Charlotte Bond up to their reputation, even at this young age.’ Alana looked at him curiously. ‘My eyes aren’t famous,’ she said. ‘They are where I come from,’ Demetrius said. Alana watched him closely, a deep frown creasing her young brow. Demetrius’ smile had a hint of smugness and Alana could see a secret hiding behind his eyes. If he kept it so close to the surface, she knew he would tell her of it but only when he was ready. But, with a child’s impatience, she wanted to know now and his concealment irritated her. ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded. ‘Did you break in?’ ‘Why no!’ exclaimed Demetrius. He gave a low chuckle. ‘I simply walked in through your bedroom door.’ ‘But there are guards outside,’ Alana replied. ‘Not when I walked through it there weren’t,’ replied Demetrius. Alana glanced towards the door. She saw that the elegant door handles which her father had imported specially for her were twisted and broken, jamming the lock. Her gaze travelled down to a dark stain that had crept under the door through the carpet. Alana turned back to stare at Demetrius’ hands, lightly folded over his knee. They were largely yet shapely, the fingers elegant and long, the nails well manicured. Alana thought about the hands of Rickard, her father’s assassin, on those rare occasions when he had taken his gloves off. ‘Your hands don’t look like the hands of a killer,’ said Alana uncertainly. ‘Maybe I didn’t use my hands to kill your guards,’ he replied. Alana felt intense cold run though her blood. A shaft of moonlight broke through the frosted window. It lit up the stranger’s face so that Alana could see the heavy brow, the thick hair and the slightly pointed ears. What held her gaze however, were his teeth – white, immaculate and too large for his mouth. The significance of Demetrius’ last comment sank in and in her imagination, she could see the shreds of flesh clinging to his teeth and the blood running down his chin. She knew now what he was. ‘You’re a werewolf,’ she whispered. Fear and fascination wrestled for dominance within her. ‘Demetrius the werewolf,’ she mused. He sat silent, waiting for her response. She knew he was waiting for her to scream. ‘You’re not the first werewolf I’ve seen, you know,’ she said dismissively. ‘I saw one last month, in the panopticon.’ She could see him tense in his chair and -3-

Estronomicon Christmas 2008  

The eZine of fantasy, sci-fi and horror

Estronomicon Christmas 2008  

The eZine of fantasy, sci-fi and horror

Advertisement