Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (ebook e reader .txt) 📕

hanging in your home all these years, but he insisted I keep it. He told me they would see it often enough, every time they came over.”

I felt a lump of shame in my throat. I had never even seen it.

I turned back to the reading table, picking up the leatherbound book. “Is this a book of Latin translation or something?”

He deftly extracted it from my hands, so suddenly and gracefully it felt like it had vanished into thin air. “No, this is nothing,” he said, sliding it beneath his Bible. “Just an old journal of personal notes.”

I swallowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so nosy. I’ve just – I’ve never been here before.”

“It’s all right, Helena. You have nothing to apologize for.” He pointed at a large oval washtub against the wall. A bucket was set beside it with a rag slung over its rim. “The washbasin is here. I’ll fetch some water to heat up and fill it for you.

Should have it ready in less than an hour.” He pointed at the rear door. “My room is in the back, if you need more rest while you’re waiting.”

“Father Vestille. My clothes are filthy. I can’t lie down on your bed.”

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He didn’t look at me as he grabbed a bucket from the corner. “I can wash the bedsheets later. Right now, I’m caring for you.”

“Don’t you need to know what happened?

Where I went after the funeral?”

He started toward the front door. “I’m sure you’ll tell me when you’re ready, if you wish to.”

“Why did you ask if I went after the wolves last night?”

“I heard them howling. Obviously, they were chasing you.”

“But why did you hide me underground?

You don’t mind me being here now. Why didn’t you take us straight into the house last night?”

He stopped with the door half-open.

Standing like a statue, he stared at the stoop in silence.

Then he slowly closed the door and stepped down, setting the bucket on the floor. “Helena, sit down.”

“I told you, I’m filthy. I can’t sit on these nice –.”

“Helena, please,” he implored in a

mournful tone. “I need to speak with you.”

He sat in one cushioned chair. I sat in the one opposite him, struggling to ignore the mud and manure of my cloak staining its cushion.

Father Vestille folded his hands and stared at the floorboards. “I hid you underground because

– I thought others might be chasing you. Along with the wolves.”

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I stared at his balding head. Wondering what secrets he held inside it. “You know something about these attacks.”

He looked up, his eyes desperate and sad.

“Helena. I don’t know what happened to you as a child. I don’t know what killed your parents and Suzette.”

“Father Vestille, I think I –.”

“— but I have my suspicions.”

Blood surged through my cheeks like fire.

“I’ve heard many rumors over the years. Of attacks on women and children in this area and other provinces. In Gevaudan and Dijon and several villages throughout France. Attacks by wolves.”

My breath grew heavier. My heart beat harder.

“And not ordinary wolves. Witnesses

describe them as something larger than a wolf, but similar in appearance. The largest wolves are about five feet long, but these are more than six feet long, standing over four feet high.”

I stifled an inward gasp. He was describing the size of the wolves I had fought last night. The size of the wolf that scarred me when I was seven.

“People also claim that these wolves act strangely. Almost cunning in their approach, the way they avoid men and their weapons. Almost stealthy in their patience and strategy, attacking victims when they’re alone and most vulnerable.

Some insist they have noticed these wolves waiting several nights for an opportunity to seize a 226

small child, the moment she ventured outside her home.”

In my mind, I pictured Favreau’s

farmhouse and the thinning ivory nightgown of his young daughter. I felt a shiver in my skin. “What are these creatures?”

Father Vestille shook his head, looking helpless. “I have no idea. But there have been rumors of other activity in those same areas. Some people claim there is a cult that worships wolves, believing the animals to be superior to men in both power and cunning. This cult calls itself the