Cht 4
Stewart was fucking miserable. His silver cuffs were on, his chain lengthened to allow him room to move about the master suite, though he thought her chief reason for allowing him the ability to move was so he could make it to the toilet without having to piss on the floor. He was tempted to do it anyway, just to prove a point. He paced. He drug the bench over to the window and watched the groundskeepers and wildlife, which only made him hungry. He napped. He had an emotional and very pitched battle with himself over sending back the sushi grade salmon she had sent up. The smell had got to him eventually, but he drew the line at licking the plate. How's that for impulse control, he scoffed.
He scratched his belly, idly wondering if he should try to read one of her books or if he should shred all of them. He couldn't do it. Despite every bad thing about himself, Stewart genuinely loved reading. He loved the smell of the pages and the escape of the story. He couldn't do it.
At the knock on the door, he stretched leisurely and tried to appear nonchalant when Ella entered with a laptop. He lounged on her side of the bed, wearing only his pair of faded jeans. He smirked openly when her gaze swept up and down his form.
"Like what you see?" he purred.
"Yes and no," Ella replied smoothly.
"Gorgeous specimen of a man though you are, it tends to die out at your personality."
He dropped the smirk and rolled over, facing his back to her.
She almost hummed approvingly at his backside, but steeled herself against it.
"You do, however, have a lot of potential in that department as well," she continued, "and that is what we need to exercise. You need to have a channel, to feel productive and have purpose. I have brought you something that should do."
"What is it," he asked tersely, not turning over.
"Well, since you worked in books before and know the ins and outs of production, editing and such, I think I would have you test the waters insofar as appraisals."
He fought the brief and silent war in his head about letting her know his interest was piqued, but interest won out because he was dreadfully bored. When he rolled back over, jangling the chain loudly as he went, she knew she had him hooked. Ella placed the laptop beside him and grabbed an armload of books off the shortest bookcase close to her and set them beside Stewart.
"These are my latest acquisitions and I need someone to both verify their authenticity and give feedback on their value."
He ran a thumb over the spines and his own stiffened. Most of these works, if legitimate, were some of Dostoevsky's earliest influences. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Good thing I didn't decide to shred everything, he reasoned.
He was already thumbing through pages of the first book, muttering to himself about the writing style, the apparent age of the book and the likelihood of its being an authentic copy of the first volume of Nikolay Karamzin's History of the Russian State, so Ella stepped quietly out of the room and smiled to herself in the hallway. As long as he was idle, Stewart was liable to start causing mischief. Giving him a fulfilling role would both give him purpose and settle his anxieties, plus it kept him out of trouble and souring their burgeoning relationship.
Her smile dropped at the thought of turning him loose just yet though. She had to know he could be trusted with the staff, and for that, she needed to continue research on managing their predicament.
She traipsed back down the hall to her library and began poring over volumes and tomes of werewolf lore, searching for something to help them. Everything she had found thus far named silver—bullets or otherwise—as a means of restraining or killing a werewolf. Well we don't need that, she reasoned tersely. There was even a charm that required burying silver at each of the cardinal corners of the owner's property, to protect from werewolves…but that would essentially make them a prisoner in her own home. His home too now, she mentally corrected herself.
It was hours later, the light had dimmed and night was creeping closer. A staff member had already told her that Stewart had accepted the pork loin she had sent up, this time without snarling and sniffing at the unfortunate maid. He was making marginal progress she thought, as she scribbled down more notes. So had she. She had followed her gut and starting looking into shapeshifting lore to cross reference after turning up zilch on werewolf herbs. Wolfsbane, though effective at warding them off, did nothing for someone already bitten.
"Rowan, mallow, and St John's Wort," she breathed, writing out the brew's recipe. "To be steeped during the waxing moon, by the light of the moon, and drunk on the full of the moon to keep from shifting. Perfect timing!"
Stewart had made his way into her life during the full moon. As it was now waning, she had plenty of time to prepare. All of the ingredients were easily attainable and already in her own apothecary.
She could use this time to help ease into her own transition and for she and Stewart to get used to each other. She way she craved meat lately, she knew the changes would start coming fast.
That night before bed, she burned tobacco and yew in the bedroom fireplace, left a smoldering cigar there too, and asked her totems to help her on her way.
Stewart grumbled about the smell, but was more curious about to how her magic worked so he still watched from his corner on the bed. He twitched his blanket over him and lay his head on the pillow he'd swiped earlier. Ella had noticed the missing pillow, and smiled as she slid between the covers and switched the light off, wondering what her dreams would bring.