Page 6 of A Kiss From a Wolfman
“A few farmers have reported their sheep being slaughtered,” Timson explains. “Reports of them waking up in the morning to find the half-eaten corpses of their flock rotting in their yards.”
My stomach twists, but Old Bill merely nods.
“I’ve heard a few complaining about such things these past few weeks. Wolf?”
“A demon,” Jaq interrupts, slamming his mug down on the bar.
Sliding me a gold coin, I quickly refill his ale.
“A demon?” Old Bill's lips pull into a frown.
“A demon,” Jaq repeats. “Without Timson, we’d surely be dead.”
The praise brings a self-indulgent smile to Timson’s face. It’s as if I can see his ego expand and fill the room—sucking the air from it and choking us all with his self-importance.
“Our tale is interesting, Old Bill,” Timson sighs. “Three days and nights, we scoured the land for any hints of the creature killing the sheep. Now we know we weren’t dealing with any simple beast. A tricky demon it was, but ultimately no match for a hunter such as myself.”
A round of cheers goes up as Timson lavishes another heated look at me. I couldn’t be any less impressed if I tried.
“There were no tracks to follow—even the dogs couldn’t get a proper scent that didn’t lead us to a dead end. We thought all was lost until I finally found something that put us on its trail.”
“No one but Timson would’ve spotted it,” chirps Henri.
“Just near the edge ofThe Woods, I found it. A few drops of red blood clinging to the grass lead us directly to it—holding the quivering body of a tawny-colored doe to its mouth.”
My head snaps up.
“Holding it?” I ask. Old Bill throws me a perplexed look.
Timson nods. “Yes, holding it. It stood upright like a man—bigger than any bear I’ve seen. It was a creature from legend and nightmare. When I finally trained my rifle on it, the creature dropped the deer and turned its glowing eyes on us. There was no warning before it pounced and sank his claw in Bron’s leg.”
The man I noticed earlier with the limp raises his mug and pats the stained bandage around his calf.
“Saved my life—Timson did.”
Timson shrugs, but the dismissive movement is just for show. He delights in their praise and attention. Indeed, the whole tavern has stopped its chatter to listen to his tale.
“I only came prepared for the hunt. My daddy always told me never to leave the house without his sacred bullets—ones made of pure silver.”
The mug Old Bill is polishing falls onto the bartop.
“You don’t mean what I think you do—surely not Timson? And you’ve captured such a creature? A?—”
“A wolfman,” Timson answers for him. “It’s chained up with heavy metal shackles behind the old mill at the edge of town. The beast is riddled with enough silver to keep it weak. The bear trap through its back leg will also stop any escape attempts.”
A wolfman? Of course, I’ve heard the legends of such creatures since I arrived in this town. I assumed they were merely stories—tales used on naughty children to get them to behave. Now Timson claims he’s captured one and is keeping it tied up? Whatever poor creature he’s taken is undoubtedly suffering in the dark—cold and alone.
The thought makes my chest ache.
“In the morning, we’ll skin him. His pelt should fetch a nice price.”
The wooden floor feels unstable beneath my feet. Dizziness washes over me as I grip the bar's edge for support. Nausea swims up from my stomach and dampens my brow.
“I’ll bring you its head, Old Bill. Mount it here as another trophy in my honor.”
“A wolfman, truly?” Old Bill’s voice is soft. “There hasn’t been a sighting of one in decades—most of us believe them to be just myths.”
Timson waves a dismissive hand.
