Uncaged (14 page)

             
The man pulled at the cotton covering Wren’s breast
, exposing it for all to see.
Wren crossed her arms over herself in embarrassment, shocked he exposed her breasts in a house of God.

             
“What say you of this, Wren Whittier? Bite marks to the breast and to your wrists?” The man pulled at her arms, exposing her wrists, holding them above her head. “The court will take notice of Wren Whittier’s bite marks. Both on her breast and both wrists, clear indications of the devil’s work, using one’s own blood for witchcraft.”

             
“But I was attacked!”

             
“By vampires?”

             
“Aye.”

             
The room gasped.

             
“You believe in vampires, but not witches?”

             
“I am not a witch!”

             
“Or were you consorting with them? Socializing with other vile souls, other beasts such as yourself, practicing evil? Muttering dark spells meant to darken other souls! This woman is a witch!”

             
The room gasped again as he pulled her to her feet and ripped her bodice, exposing her breasts fully. A minister came forward, addressing the unsettled crowd. Wren looked out into the crowd, noticing their out of date clothing and bonnets. She felt as though she’d traveled backward in time, one hundred years. Clearly this was a town of utter superstitious fools! Mere country folk, hell-bent on excitement of any kind.

             
“Wren Whittier has had her say in this. Six experts have questioned her and still she refuses to admit to witchcraft. My decision is final.”

             
A hush fell over the crowd. A single baby cried in the back of the room as he announced his sentence, an eerie foretelling of Wren’s fate.

             
“She will burn at sunset tomorrow!”

             
Wren heard the hoots and the jeers, the sickening cries of joy at her death decree. Her captor came up behind her, pulling her forward to walk
her back to her prison cell.
Wren took one step forward and felt herself falling. The cheers turned to strident buzzing. She closed her eyes against the sound and screamed his name in her
head.

             
Bruce!

             
And then her world went black, again.

Chapter 8

             
The lion woke with a start, snorting and growling. His followers lay around him, waiting for their king to lead them onward. Their heads cocked at the sudden movement. A few of them were on their feet, ready to move in an instant. It was the first sign from Wren he received in days.

             
Wren! Wren!

             
Bruce heard nothing. Nothing but the roar of his own blood and cracking of twigs beneath the two panthers that paced in front of him. H
e stood and sniffed. Nothing.
He could have sworn that she called out to him.

             
They had traveled for days, then stopped and waited. Bruce was afraid they had traveled too far. Some of the shifties had ventured into the nearest town to ask qu
estions.
Bruce wanted to lay low. The witch hunters were probably looking for him as well, wanting to lock him up for cavorting with a witch. He nudged Amelia awake and nodded. She hopped onto his head and they were off. He couldn’t wait any longer. He would shift himself once he got into town and ask questions of children if he had to. His entourage followed close behind. He was closer to town than he realized, reaching the nearest home within minutes. He shifted back as did the others, except for Amelia. It would be too painful for her to shift back un
til she was completely healed.
             
Bruce lifted her to a low lying branch. Amelia blinked her yellow eyes at him. He nodded as he bent to open the bag of clothing the jackal had carried on it’s back. He selected a pair of breeches and a clean cotton shirt and a worn pair of boots. The others dressed quickly too, each of them having carried a bag of clothing. Only the lion did not carry his own. Even in animal form, Bruce was a leader, one to be served. He had been surprised at the ease with which he had fallen into his former life, at his regal presence to those he had not seen in fifteen years. Now he could only be grateful for their respect and hope to honor them all.

             
“There’s a flock of children w
alking this way, Bruce,” said a
man who had been a panther only moments before.

             
Bruce nodded as he surveyed the group of young girls and o
ne boy carrying fishing poles.

             
“You all stay back. I don’t want to fri
ghten them,” Bruce whispered.

             
Bruce emerged from the woods, behind the children, kicking a stone and whistling. The boy was the first to turn and look.

             
“Hello,” Bruce said easily.

             
The boy looked away and tugged at an older girl’s skirt. She turned to look behind her.

             
“Hello,” Bruce repeated, smiling.

             
The girl was half way into her teen years and probably already interested in men. Bruce flashed her another broad smile. She smiled back, blushing.

             
“Hello, sir. Good day.”

             
“What town is this?”
             

             
“White Friars.”

             
Bruce nodded. “I’m just passing through. Is there an
Inn
where I can stay the night? I don’t want to be on the road at night and besides, I’ve heard of witches around here.”

             
All the children stopped and turned.

             
The girl’s smile turned to a frown. “That’s right, mister. There’s a witch trial going on.”

             
Bruce’s heart sped up, cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead and slid between the coarse hairs at his arm pits. “Oh?”

             
“Aye. Evil abounds, but not to worry. She’s to burn at sundown.”

             
“Sundown you say?”

             
“Aye, on the morrow.”

             
“Does this witch have a name?”

             
The girl nodded as she crooked her finger at Bruce, wriggling it, urging him forward. Bruce leaned closer, bending down. The girl moved a stray lock of hair away from his ear and whispered. “Wren Whittier,” the girl hissed, sending a cold shiver down Bruce’s spine.

             
Bruce stiffened and nodded. “Thank you. On your way, now.”

             
“Will you stay for the burning, sir? I’ll be there,” the girl cooed, batting her lashes at him.

             
“I suspect I’ll be long gone by then. I don’t want to rest where the wicked lie.”
             

             
The girl knit her eyebrows together as disappointment flashed across her face. “Good day, sir.”

             
“Good day.”

             
When the children disappeared over a hill in the road, Bruce ran back to the others as sick dread filled his insides like a cancer gone mad.

             
“She’s here. We’ve got to find her. She’ll be burned tomorrow.”
             

             
“Burned?” a few of them said in unison.

             
Amelia fluttered on the branch, worried at the news. Bruce paced back and forth, grabbing fists full of golden hair. He squeezed his eyes shut.

             
Wren! Wren! Answer me, goddamn it!

             
Amelia’s yellow eyes followed Bruce’s every step. Her head turned a nearly complete circle as he walked behind the bush to
call out to Wren in privacy.
She turned her head back around and watched the others shift their feet and wait for orders from Bruce. Bruce fell to his knees and tried again!

             
Wren! Answer me, darling! Tell me where you are!

             
Bruce only heard the call of a robin and its mate, fluttering tree to tree. He ground the palms of his hands into his eyes and unleashed a terrible roar, scaring the birds out of the trees and the lesser creatures back into their damp holes. Amelia fluttered nervously. One of the wolves smoothed down her feathers. Bruce stood up and joined the others.

             
“Let’s go find her. We’ll ask every person in town if we have to. Remember, her captors are armed. We’ll only shift when it’s safe. They’d rather shoot an animal than a man. Amelia, stay here. I’ll come back for you later.”

             
Amelia blinked her response. Bruce took off down the r
oad and the other’s followed.
Dread thick as mud collected in the bottom of his
belly as he feared the worst.
Wren not answering meant one of three things. She was blocking him-which he refused to accept
-
or
she was drugged or asleep,
a possibility
,
or she was dead. Bruce didn’t want to even consider the latter. For once he hoped she was drugged, at least she would be able to deal better with the shock of her impending doom, but doom would not come to White Friars, not at least to Wren Whittier. Bruce would make damn sure of it.

~*~

             
Bruce had everyone split up into groups of two and at dusk, they met back in the forest to check on Amelia.

             
“I didn’t find out anything. No one’s willing to talk. The whole damn town is afraid.” Bruce said

             
“We found nothing, either,” the wolves echoed.

             
“We even found some more kids, but they ran from us when we asked,” the panthers added.

             
Bruce threw his hands up. “Anyone else?”

             
There was a collective mumble of no’s and heads seen shaking.

             
“Goddammit! And I’m not catching a whiff of her! Nowhere! She must be locked in a hole somewhere!”

             
“What if the girl was lying?” the jackal asked.

             
“I doubt it. She knows her name. Surprising though that she was will
ing to talk.
”

             
“Only because Bruce had her in a tizzy,” the she-hawk cooed.

             
The others chuckled, for it was true. Bruce was a looker. It wa
s clear the girl fancied him.

             
Bruce raked his hand through his hair. “If only I could find half a dozen more like her! Maybe then we’d find her!”

             
“Sir? Do we have your permission to hunt?”

             
Bruce had forgotten about food. “Aye, yes, I’m sorry. Go feast and meet back here. We’ll formulate another plan. Will you bring back a nice juicy mouse for our wounded friend here?” Bruce asked the male owl.

             
The aging shiftie nodded. “Of course, sir.”

             
Walking deeper into the woods, the men and ladies parted, each going their separate ways, except for the wolves who hunted together. Bruce stayed behind, too worried to hunt. He walked over to Amelia. She cocked her head
up at him when he approached.
“I’m going to rest a few trees back, Amelia. Perhaps a few winks will help me think.”

             
The owl nodded. Bruce found a large slate boulder, jutting beneath a stately pine. Sitting down, he reclined against it and closed his eyes. There was nothing else to do but call for her again, though the silence he knew he was likely to hear would break his heart. He had tried to reach her all day in town and had had no luck.

             
Wren, can you hear me, sweetheart?

             
Bruce heard nothing but his own rapid breathing. He watched a beetle crawl over a dried leaf and onto his boot. He’d try to sleep for an
hour to regain his strength.
  He’d need it soon enough.

~*~

             
Wren refused to eat another thing. She contemplated whether it was worse to be lucid for her death or drugged out of her mind. If she had any chance of survival, she’d have to be alert. Though she was starving, she refused to eat and buried her food in the black dirt beneath her, feigning a wobbly head, even speaking in garbled tones to fool her captors. Toward nightfall, they had brought her a bath, the first since she had been taken from the tavern. At least they would allow her to die a clean woman, she thought, though it made no sense to her. Why would they bring her a bath if she were about to die? Nothing and no one in the God forsaken town made sense.