Chapter 3 The Wolf In Merchant Skin

• Nicholette soon remembered her place and recovered a warm smile, the one she used to greet the dignitaries. As the oldest daughter of the House of Veritas, the hosts of the evening, she had to keep in mind that the House was in pursuit of better funding for the city's defenses. And with that firm smile, she went to meet the mysterious man.
• He was by himself and as Nicholette made her way in the middle of the ballroom, he looked deep in her eyes the whole time. It was a piercing and provocative look, but his dubious smile never faded, making her feel insecure and watched, forgetting she was surrounded by her esteemed and faithful guards and that she herself had just completed the most taxing fighting training she could have.
• “You drink alone, sir! A rare sight in any ball of the House of Veritas.” She approached as pleasant as she could, shining at every word.
• “I find most people… Predictable.” The man winced. Taking a sip from his wine. “But you, Huntress, I must confess you are distinguished amongst your peers.”
• “Ah, I see my most recent accomplishment has reached every corner of the city, or perhaps the whole realm, mister…”
• “Rafe.”
• Nicholette was appalled by the weird silence between them. She expected to hear a long list of names and titles that she would reference at the start of a casual conversation, but none came. The man just stood there with the drink in his hand and the sly canine smile he had as he came in through the door, uninterested in anything but her.
• “I'm sorry, Mr. Rafe, you have me–”
• “Just Rafe. Not mister or anything.”
• “Just Rafe… Yes, of course, as you please. I take it you are a trader? Are you a citizen of Erbe? Or do you come from mysterious distant lands?”
• “I do not live far from the walls of your city, milady. But I don't find it very welcoming, so I don’t come very often. Perhaps when the moon changes that could change too.”
• “The moon? Why would that be Mis… I mean, Rafe?”
• “Interesting things happen with the phases of the moon, don't you think? People change a great deal, I find. And I am impressed by the great changes one puts oneself through, say, an heir to a House for a cold muddy battlefield in the darkest territories of the realm.”
• “I'm not scared of the dark. Or the creatures that hide there.” Nicholette noticed herself being defensive. The stranger seemed to pry places that she didn’t want to show to anyone, let alone him. “What house are you with, anyway, M… Rafe?”
• “Rafe Fenris.” He bowed, the motion exaggerated, almost mocking. “My father trades in alchemical steel. Though I suspect you already knew that.”
• She hadn’t. But she did recognize the name —Fenris Steelworks, a minor house, barely worth noting. Yet the way he said it —like a punchline to a private joke— set her teeth on edge.
• “Should I?” She arched her brow. “Your family’s contributions must be... modest, if they’ve escaped my notice.”
• Rafe laughed, low and rough.
• “Oh, we prefer to work with modesty. We don't do much of… this.” He gestured towards the bustling of people all around them. Then he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Tell me, Huntress, do you always insult guests, or am I special?”
• The heat of his breath grazed her ear. Nicholette forced herself not to flinch.
• “Special? Hardly. And I meant no insult, I hope you understand. All are welcome to celebrate the achievements of the House of Veritas in protecting our city.”
• “Oh, that is very clear, milady. I feel very welcome.” His fingers brushed the stem of her untouched wine glass, nudging it toward her. “A toast. To the hunts in your path.”
• Nicholette didn't move an inch.
• “I am having trouble drinking with someone whose deals are so distant from us. I drink with the friends of our House.”
• “Let’s remedy that, then.” Rafe stepped closer, invading her space with the casual arrogance of a man who knew exactly how dangerous he was. “Ask me anything. I shall be true to every word.”
• “Very well… Why are you truly here?”
• His grin widened, revealing a flash of teeth—too white, too sharp.
• “Same reason you are. Politics. Power. The thrill of the game. The wine!”
• “Politics? I thought you traded in alchemical steel, Rafe.”
• “Oh, is that the impression I left? Well, I do apologise! It’s hardly worth selling steel if you are not involved in politics. I make a point of knowing how many arrowheads will be flying carrying our steel, or which Huntresses will be wielding it.”
• “You should know that Huntresses swords are no type of steel. They are silver. 90 percent worth balanced in a blade that doesn't just cut through lycan flesh. It burns through it. A burning that doesn't let out for a long while.”
• Rafe didn't even flinch at the graphic description. His smile never faded. He found the thought of silver torn werewolves… amusing?
• “Perhaps we should dance?” Rafe offered his hand.
• It didn't feel like an invitation, but Nicholette knew that in her position she should never decline a dance with a guest, as she represented her House and balls were made for the accommodation of deals. She let herself be graciously led through the people and nearer the gypsy band that played vigorously with their exotic instruments. Nicholette felt that this man, coming from a minor and uninteresting house wouldn't be educated in the practices of the formal dances, but she didn't have the time to discover it.
• As they greeted each other with curtsy and bow, he took her hand and approached his body to hers. He seemed eager to follow her curves and feel her breasts tightly wound under the bodice of the dress, a typical abusive self-important man. She even smelled his wild ochre scent, but as soon as the multiple layers of cloth folded onto each other and his chest grazed against her, he stood firmly still.
• “I am very sorry, milady, I can't possibly have this dance tonight. I see from the corner of my eye that my house is leaving. Perhaps we could dance another night?” His voice was firm and his wry smile never faded, but he seemed in urgency to leave. As if he were in pain.
• Surprised, Nicholette didn't have time to respond. The man disappeared into the crowd of people that surrounded them. She was left standing alone in the middle of the dance floor, like a bride left at the altar and didn't know which way to run.
• Always watchful, Beatrice strode through the dance floor and took Nicolette's hand in an instant. They giggled at each other and took a few turns around the floor celebrating their friendship and left swiftly behind a column.
• “What was that all about?” Beatrice inquired.
• “That man? Did you see that man?”
• “Yes, Nyx, everybody saw him! Everybody saw the two of you. He was clearly interested in you. I thought you'd have your hand taken by now. And then, when it was time to dance, he just left!”
• “I know…”
• “How did you scare him away?”
• Nicholette studied her bodice with the tip of her fingers.
• “I think I burned him.”
• “Burned him??”
• “Yes. See these?”
• “The rib structure on your dress? Is that steel?”
• “Silver. Good quality pure silver.”
• “Oh, no, Nyx! You think he was…?”
• “I do.”
• “I'll call the guards, alert your father. We can still stop him!”
• “No! There might be more of them inside! If we start a fight with all these people here, it’ll be a bloodbath! The guests have no way to defend themselves!”
• “You're right, Nyx. Grab a sword. We'll hunt him down.”
• Nicholette and Beatrice moved hastily through the crowd trying to find the exit that Rafe took. Near the door, the young woman pulled a sword from one of the guards.
• “I'll bring it back to you. Don't tell anyone! I’ll bring it back!” She explained.
• Through the vast corridors of the keep, both women ran as best as they could with their formal dresses, looking for a hint of the fleeing man.
• “Over there!” Nicholette yelled as they made a corner. In the ground there was a red cape –a shade of deep crimson, its edges trimmed in gold, the very same Rafe wore a few minutes ago. Beatrice and Nicholette looked around for exits, but there were none. Just door after door, most of them tightly locked. But they heard the sound of glass shattering in the distance.
• “The balcony!”, Beatrice concluded, and both ran towards the open area at the end of the stone corridor, swords at the ready.
• Rafe was changed. He was bulkier and darker, with black fur starting to show in the corners of his jaw, ears and under the edges of the vest he wore. Behind him, a sheer drop down to the courtyard. Beatrice fled her silver sword and aimed for the heart, a sure blow that would end this brief encounter, but Nicholette screamed.
• “We need him for questioning!”
• “Too dangerous!” Beatrice returned.
• Nicholette wasn't about to let the werewolf escape so she attacked, even if her sword was only made of steel. Rafe grabbed her blade with one hand. Soon his blood trickled down his own elbow and down her sword.
• Beatrice saw that opportunity and advanced, but the werewolf had already seen her move, so he pulled Nicholette closer to him, making her a human shield. Beatrice changed her direction, but it was too late for a counter-attack. Tightly holding Nicholette, Rafe jumped backwards, taking the young woman with him, collapsing more than a dozen feet onto the frail wood and hay cover for food storage just outside the kitchen.
• The kitchen staff ran outside to see what was the mess while Beatrice peered from above, trying to see Nicholette and the werewolf so that she could throw her silver sword down. Nicholette hadn't given up, she grabbed the sword handle one more time and, even laying on the floor, entangled with vegetables boxes and hay, she tried to find the beast’s throat. She landed her sword in his back, which pierced, but didn't cause much pain. The man in mid-transformation managed to pull the sword from his own back. He was now at least two feet taller than her and severely more muscled. To make things worse, he had her only weapon, which he used to sink deep in the dirt beside her.
• Rafe raised his shirt a little. It had three red parallel streaks in his stomach, a mark made by her silver bodice.
• “You made an impression on me.” He said, pointing, his pronunciation suffering from the transient transformation he was going through.
• She didn't know how to respond to that or to Beatrice calling her name from above, or to the kitchen staff frozen in place. She moved slowly, trying to get away from the creature, but he landed his huge paw on her shoulder… tenderly.
• “This night could have been very different. I only came here to see you.” Rafe said.
• When Nicholette saw she was already halfway out of the mess made by the collapsing roof, she raised her hand to the sky and screamed:
• “Here! I'm here!!” Never taking her eyes from the beast.
• The hilt of Beatrice's silver sword landed with a thud on the ground next to Nicholette and as she looked at it to get it, she felt the powerful weight of the creature rumble from the debris and into the night. The time it took for Nicholette to rid herself from the rubble of the roof was enough for Rafe to crawl back into whatever hole he had used to come inside the city.
• Beatrice reached her while she pondered what had Rafe meant when he said he had come for her. He didn't try to kill her on the ground. He didn't kidnap her. Could he have meant anything else?
• Those questions had to be left behind for the time being. The city should know that it had been breached, and an invasion could be mustering in its walls. Defense plans needed to be put in place.