The Cursed One by Ronda Thompson Page A

Gabriel Wulf down the creaky steps. Mora followed behind her, and she was glad for an extra body. Strength in numbers. As she moved farther down into the cellar, she tried to mentally prepare herself for the task of viewing Robert’s body.
    Although she’d attended viewings in the past, most had been old relatives. It seemed sacrilege that a young man would be cut down in his prime. But then, Robert had never looked the picture of youthful vitality. He hadn’t liked to dance, she recalled. He always seemed winded afterward.
    â€œHe’s over here,” Wulf said, holding a lantern that did little to dispel the darkness. Amelia braced herself. When Lord Gabriel shone the lantern light to the floor, there was nothing there.
    He frowned, then walked around the cellar, casting light in all the corners. All Amelia saw was a few sacks of potatoes, a basket of carrots, one of onions, but no body.
    â€œHe’s gone,” Wulf said.
    â€œThey must have taken him,” Mora whispered.
    â€œDamn,” Wulf swore. “It never occurred to me that Robert’s body would also come up missing, and it should have.”
    Amelia shivered in the damp, musty air. “Why would anyone take him?”
    Wulf looked none too pleased by the development. “More important at the moment is how?”
    Mora walked to a dark corner. “The root cellar door, my lord,” she reminded. “Someone could have carried him out that way.”
    Lord Gabriel joined the girl and shone the lantern
light up earthen steps. “Mora, we need to block the door.”
    The servant nodded. “Yes, my lord, but we’ll have to do it from outside. Should we leave the safety of the house?”
    He considered. “It is at least daylight,” he finally said. “And I do have a pistol. I think we’ll be all right long enough for me to have a look at that door.”
    Amelia had visions of opening the cellar door from below only to be confronted by a killer waiting on the other side. “I think we should go back through the house and outside.”
    Wulf glanced back up the darkened stairs. “Probably a wise idea,” he agreed. “I can look out of the windows before we go out and see if anyone might be lurking about.”
    The matter decided, Wulf led the way back to the stairs leading down from the house. Amelia and Mora followed. After checking the outside view from several vantage points, Wulf unbolted the front door and swung it wide. Amelia stood behind him while he removed the pistol from the waistband at the back of his trousers, unseen beneath the nightshirt that hit him midthigh.
    â€œI’ll warrant the bodies that were in the coach are also now missing,” he said. “Whoever these people are, and I’m convinced there are more than one of them, they cover their tracks well.”
    â€œThey are not people,” Mora whispered behind them. “At least not normal people. Mark my words on that.”
    Amelia suppressed another shiver. It was ridiculous. To fear something that could not exist. Wolves were
wolves, and men were men, and that was that. She tried to forget the claw she had picked up from the floor in Robert’s bedchamber.
    â€œI’ll check the stable first.” Wulf extended his pistol toward Mora. “Do you know how to use a weapon, Mora?”
    The girl shrank back from him. “Won’t touch one,” she said. “Seen too many times firsthand what they can do to a body.”
    His gaze strayed to Amelia. He seemed to dismiss the possibility before even asking the question. That he would annoyed her. “I know how to use a pistol,” she said. “I am, in fact, quite an accomplished marksman.”
    Her professed skill had him lifting a dark brow.
    Amelia supposed she should explain. “When I was younger, I was determined to show my brother up at all things masculine. Mostly to upset my father,” she added.
    His