Nicky Charles - The Keeping

By

NickyCharles

SMASHWORDSEDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHEDBY:

Nicky Charleson Smashwords

The Keeping

Copyright 2010 by Nicky Charles

Other works bythis author:

Forever InTime

The Mating

SmashwordsEdition, License Notes

Thank you fordownloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with yourfriends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed fornon-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its completeoriginal form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews.

Your supportand respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is awork of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, orplaces, events or locales is purely coincidental. The charactersare productions of the authors imagination and usedfictitiously.

Adult ReadingMaterial

*****

Many thanks toJan Gordon who acted as my editor and tirelessly read, reread,advised, poked, and prodded until this project was complete. Also,thank you to Ermintrude for her invaluable advice on locations andjournalism. Finally, thanks to all of the Gutter Girls and myreaders at FictionPress who have offered their feedback,encouragement and allowed me to practise my writing skills onthem.

This book is asequel to The Mating, my first werewolf story. Many people becameenamoured with the characters in that book and kept asking whathappened to them. Ryne especially seemed to capture readersimaginations and so, in response to those many requests, this talewas written. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyedwriting it.

*****

THE KEEPING

*****

Prologue

Chicago,Illinois, U.S.A.

The room wassilent, except for the ticking of the grandfather clock that stoodmajestically near the doorway and the faint sounds of the old mansbreathing. To look at him, one might wonder if he was alive or onlya wax figure; his eyes were unblinking and the rise and fall of hischest were barely perceptible. His gnarled hands rested lightly onthe arms of the chair in which he sat, their occasional tighteningthe only real sign of the emotion he was feeling.

Pale wintersunlight, so typical of early January, was valiantly trying tobrighten the large, cluttered room. Its weak rays crept past theheavy velvet curtains and cast a beam across the floor, creating abright swatch in the otherwise gloomy interior. Small specks ofdust drifted lazily on the faint air currents before settling onthe laden surfaces of the tables and shelves.

Sculptures,figurines, and books, covered every flat inch of the room.Similarly, artwork filled the dark panelled walls, yet thegentleman in the chair still deemed his collection to be paltry andinadequate. Or, at least hed felt that way until now. Years ofsearching and gathering everything related to his favourite themehad finally paid off.

The faintestmovement near the corners of his mouth would let an astute observerknow he was pleased. Over the fireplace mantel hung his latestacquisition. Studying it with care, his gaze traced over thesubject matter, analyzing and assessing. A quiet grunt and a slightmovement of his head was the only acknowledgement he gave that herewas what he had spent his whole life looking for.

That will beall, Franklin. His voice was deep and strong despite his years,instantly commanding respect and obedience.

A man, dressedin the formal garb of a butler, stepped out of the shadows thatclung to the edges of the room and bowed at the waist. Yes, Mr.Greyson. If you need anything else, just ring. Silently, theservant picked up the step ladder he had used to hang the pictureand left the room, quietly shutting the heavy mahogany door behindhim.

As Franklinsfootsteps faded into the distance, the older man stood and advancedtowards the fireplace. His steps were sure, his stride longnodecrepit shuffling for him, despite his years and the aching of hisjoints. Clasping his hands behind his ramrod straight back, hestood in front of the framed photo.

Excitement wasbubbling inside him, though his calm countenance gave no sign. Thiswas what hed been searching for. Everything else in the room wasnow worthless; his priceless statues, the expensive glossy books,paintings by renowned artists; they all paled in comparison to thisone piece.

Proof. Hewhispered to himself, his eyes alight with a fire that had beenmissing for years. After all this time, I finally have proof.Reaching out his hand, he traced the name scrawled in the corner ofthe picture matte. Whoever you are, Ryne Taylor, youve made me avery happy man.

After those fewwords, he fell silent again, contemplating the subject matter ofthe picture. Hed acquired it two months ago and had spent theintervening time examining it, studying angles, looking forshadows, measuring length and distance, pouring over minute detailswith a magnifying glass. There was no refuting what hed found. Nowthe amber eyes in the photo glared at him, challenging andarrogant, almost as if they knew his plan and were daring him totry and execute it.

Eventually theman looked away, staring at the thick carpeting beneath his feet. Adry chuckle rumbled in his chest. I cant hold your gaze. Yourenot even here, and still you manage to be dominant. Shaking hishead, he made his way back to his chair and sat down heavily.Picking up the phone, he dialled a familiar number, and then waitedimpatiently for someone to answer, drumming his fingers on the armof the chair. When the call was finally answered, he wasted no timeon pleasantries.

Greyson here.I need to talk to you, Aldrich ... What about? He gave a shortbark of laughter while looking up at the picture again. A wolf, ofcourse.

*****

Stump River,Ontario, Canada 700 miles Northeast of Chicago

Ryne wiped hishands on a greasy rag and pulled down on the hood of the agingpick-up truck. He sauntered to the far side of the garage andpitched the filthy rag in the garbage. Filters changed, Ben.Anything else?

Ben Millerlooked up from the service desk, where he was totalling the workorders. Nope. Thats it for the day. Thanks for coming in tohelp.

No problem. Ican use the extra cash. That money pit I bought wants newplumbing.

Ben rubbed theback of his neck as he contemplated the man before him. Not for thefirst time, did he wonder why a young fellow like Ryne Taylor wouldchoose to live in a god-forsaken place like Stump River. Not thatBen didnt like his hometown, but he was aware of its limitations.No night life except for the local bar and Wednesday night bingo atthe church. A two-hour drive to the next largest community. Youngpeople left Stump River, they didnt move here.

Mind you,George and Mary Nelson were mighty happy that Taylor was buckingthe trend. He had bought their crumbling house and the large parcelof land it sat on. There hadnt even been any quibbling over thecost; hed paid the asking price without batting an eye. The salehad provided the town with nice bit of gossip to help pass thewinter, as well as allowing the elderly Nelsons to retire toTimmins, a larger urban centre, in relative luxury. Ben lookedaround his small business and smirked. Maybe Taylor would buy hisplace, too, should he ever decide to retire.

Watching Ryneget cleaned up at the nearby sink, Ben couldnt help but feel atouch of envy. All the local ladies positively drooled when Rynewas in town. Even his own wife wasnt immune. Ben had unwillinglyeavesdropped on her conversation with a friend just last night andhad almost felt a tad inadequate after listening to them go onabout his black hair, blue eyes and devilishly sexy smiletheirwords, not his, of course. When theyd started to enumerate hisphysical attributesbroad shoulders, long legs, lean hips, and amuscular bodyhed turned the TV on real loud to drown themout.

Ben shook hishead. All he saw, when he looked at Ryne, was a hard-working,confident man who knew his way around an engine. That was enough inhis books. Ryne helped him out at the garage a few days each weekand Ben was grateful for the assistance.