The Lucas Letters: Despatch Two
Duty yields to forbidden desire in the personal communications of drac physician Lucas Rouseau.
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I’m dedicating The Lucas Letters to Abhivyakti Singh, a wonderful writer and member of my first writing critique group who inspired me to undertake this format through her own amazing correspondence-based novel laced with lively humour.
The Lucas Letters are best read in order
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The Lucas Letters: Despatch Two
Appartement 5, 3ème étage
14 Avenue de Camoëns
75116 Paris
France
26th January
By the hand of Slaughter
Lucas, my son,
Are you suggesting that I, the one who bears the knowledge of all that is and all that is not, have made a mistake? If unruly parts of your anatomy are troubling you, I suggest you take a long dip in the icy waters of the Seine.
There are but few threads that bear the possibility Camille Amiel will not become a Keeper of the Bounds and your partner. One is that she fails the testing. Of that, there is always a chance. The other is if she refuses the role, for there is always a choice.
Proceed with the trial.
La Vieille du Fil
SLAUGHTER: DO NOT SEND THIS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES
26th January
My dearest Belomar,
I could hear La Vieille’s raucous cackling as I read her reply, the shrewd, conniving old…
But no, I must refrain from cussing her. It will only come back to me a hundredfold. No doubt she finds the situation highly amusing, and I cannot prevent my hands clenching, every part of me much too taut, ready to strike. I have already thrust my fist into the wall, evidenced by a hole in the plaster that a couple of Men are patching up while casting me wary side glances. It defeats me why they still hang around.
And here I am, scratching out my frustration to you again. Though after Slaughter almost sent the last letter, bundling it with the others, I’ll be more careful this time.
You would laugh if you saw the state of me, dishevelled and distracted, barely able to concentrate on work today, and your laughter would know no bounds if you read my scrawl.
I didn’t sleep last night either.
I could only replay the memory of Camille Amiel in the cafe, the recollection of her intoxicating scent, the curve of her form as she wove about the tables.
When Hector and I left the place, it was almost dark. I excused myself, pulled up the collar of my overcoat against the snow and took the footpath into the mountains. You should have seen me, my old friend. You would have said I was bewitched, or that I’d taken a foul potion. I could not think, could not gather myself. It was ridiculous that a woman I hadn’t even met could influence me so.
Needing to run, I expanded into sinew, embracing the darkness hidden within, feeling the power of the creature I truly am. A snarl escaping my desiccated jaws, I charged into the heights, the chill of the snow and the gusts of harsh wind doing nothing to ease my predicament.
Nothing at all.
You would have chastised me, my friend. You would have thought me a boy once more, unable to contain myself. And you would have been right, for at that moment, I could not.
But no matter how far I ran, her scent was caught up in me. I could not be rid of it, and after a while, I returned to the town, powerless to resist seeking it out.
Camille Amiel was no longer at the cafe, though wisps of her remained. I know where she lives. I have the details in her file, but they were irrelevant. I followed her scent, wanting to be consumed by it.
For fuck’s sake, writing this, staring at the page, I can’t believe myself, can’t understand what I’ve been reduced to. I will be taking that swim in the Seine imminently.
But as I loped through the town, I caught another scent. Male, testosterone, chemical grooming products, unpleasant. It was the man who’d made life so difficult for the staff at the cafe, who’d leered at Camille. The one she’d dealt with by pouring scalding coffee into his lap. My hackles rose. He’d threatened her, and I wouldn’t allow it.
Perhaps my reaction was some kind of foreshadowing of the Keeper-partner bond? But of course it wasn’t. There was no way we could become partners. Whatever it was, it drove me through the narrow streets of the Old Town, buildings leaning close, shutters secured against the frost-laced night.
The lowlife sensed my approach, knowing on some level that what tracked him was preternatural. His instincts took over, and he ran blindly into a dead end alley.
Fury forged an unearthly roar as I prowled toward him, sinews scraping bone, claws tensed ready to impale. His greasy, sweat-damp hair was plastered to his face, his vapid, pale eyes much too wide, his weak jaw slack and trembling, the snowflakes that adorned him a death shroud.
He barely fought as I wrapped my claws around his throat, as they dug inward, blood beading into his coat. I would destroy him for imposing himself upon Camille Amiel, I would end his miserable existence.
Yet as I squeezed, what should I hear but, “Uh, gov? Uhhumm. Just a moment of your time, if you don’t mind? It is, uh, sort of important, like.”
I stilled my grip and turned to Slaughter.
The miniature prehistoric warrior emerged from behind a bin. I’d been so absorbed, I was taken aback. ‘What is it?’ I scraped out. ‘Can’t you see I’m occupied?’
“Yes, boss, I can see you’re very occupied with being about to rip out the throat of that human, but I uh, just wanted to say that, perhaps it might not be the most sensible thing you’ve ever done.”
“What?” I roared, the lowlife’s body shaking, his eyes on stalks.
Slaughter adjusted the stone axe on his shoulder, unperturbed. “I do appreciate that you’ve got uh… the pong of a woman all stuck up your nozzle, but with you having been appointed a Keeper and all, I’m not sure how well this kind of thing will go down with the assembly. Not to mention, with you about to be the only doctor in the area, isn’t it going to cause problems if you murder the townsfolk?”
All I could do was stare at Slaughter, the scum in my grip sobbing.
He was right, damn him. I could scarce believe what I was doing.
Releasing ragged breaths, I fought the urge to squeeze that accursed throat, fought not to do the one thing that would wreck everything I’d worked so hard to achieve. I was so utterly possessed by Camille, by my instinct to protect her.
Belomar, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I caught Camille’s scent again. So out of it was I that I couldn’t be sure if it was real or a memory. Even so, my claws slackened, the trace of her overcoming me once more. All I could do was follow that blissful fragrance, leaving the lowlife sobbing in the snow.
You know how fast I move, my friend. In moments, I’d traversed the town and the forested foothill beyond to conceal myself in the bushes below her farmyard. There she was, tidying up under a meagre lamp that battled the dark, the goats milling around the yard waiting to be milked, snow trodden away to mush beneath their hooves.
Curses, it was cold there, the night bitter. The chill vied with the warm light radiating from the farmhouse and Camille’s loft apartment above the barn to the side. Not only did I know her living arrangements from the file, but the smell of her was all-consuming.
She broke the ice on the trough so it wouldn’t freeze too hard, and spread straw upon the ground for the mush. Bundling it thicker inside the central goat barn, the queen of the herd nibbled at her pocket.
She was wrapped up against the weather in a feather-stuffed jacket, a woollen hat and ski trousers that covered substantial boots. I pictured unwrapping her, and all I would find inside, my nostrils flaring, her scent assaulting me afresh. I wanted to drown in it, my blood pulsing hard. I wanted to take her and—
Something shifted at the far side of the yard where the farmhouse met undergrowth, something that bore the tang of snow and ice and the north wind.
Tearing myself from her, I slunk closer for a better view.
Through the trees, surrounded by a faint white glow, strode an old woman, her lanky grey hair bedraggled, her dress and shawl thin and tattered, her face as hard as ice. Eternal winters shone in her eyes, and all about her as she walked, the undergrowth froze harder, icicles forming upon branches, the ground glazing.
It was late in the year to see the Mascou abroad, a fae embodiment of winter who trails the harshest weather in her wake. Her gaze locked onto me, a fierce chill piercing my monstrous hide, her bitter stare more sobering than any dip in the Seine.
It brought me to my senses. What was I doing here, reacting to Camille Amiel, responding as if… as if… as if she meant something to me.
Ridiculous.
I was having some inexplicable reaction to her pheromones, a physical, chemical response, that was all. The only problem… however could I manage a Keeper partnership with a woman who could unravel me by her mere existence?
It was at that moment, my dear friend, that I realised what I must do. It was also then that the Mascou vanished, and the stately queen sensed my presence and ambled over, followed by a good number of the herd.
Camille tracked their advance into the bushes, searching the darkness for whatever caught their attention. And although I do not think she knew it, her eyes met mine. Her gaze captured the air in my lungs. But certainty had overruled my instincts.
With all I possessed, I pulled myself away and left without a backward glance.
Thankfully, Belomar, my path is now clear before me, for I must preserve myself. I cannot let this woman tear me apart. It is so obvious that I release a laugh, startling the Men who’ve almost finished repairing the wall, one of them falling off the sideboard.
La Vieille wrote that there was a thread of possibility Camille might fail the Keeper testing. Well, I must ensure by any means necessary that she is unsuccessful.
There can be no chance of our partnership proceeding.
LUCAS ROUSEAU: AMAZON’S RECOMMENDED TITLES FOR YOU
Folkloric Fae (A Prequel Novella to the Folkloric Series) by Karenza Grant
Perfect for reading before or at any time during the Folkloric series, it is an accompaniment to the events that take place at the time of The Lucas Letters.
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Slaughter, send this one, not the other, and whatever you do, DON’T SEND ANY MORE TO BELOMAR WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT INSTRUCTIONS
Belomar Rei, High Elf King, Charmant
By the hand of Slaughter
Belomar,
It seems matters are proceeding with my appointment as Keeper of the Bounds.
I have to say, my friend, I’m beyond honoured that the assembly has taken a chance upon me. I imagine your influence was not insignificant, and for that I am grateful.
You are most likely aware that I have been appointed a partner by La Vieille, though I have to admit, after observing her, I wonder how suitable she is. However, the testing will bear that out.
To that end, I require use of the Chateau de la Lune to set up the trial on the full moon, which will be ideal timing for the incantations and colludes, as well as the intrusion into the candidate’s mind.
Wishing you and your kin the very best. Surely it is time we drank together once more? It has been far too long.
Lucas
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