Free The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) by Jon Messenger Page B

place. She bit her bottom lip as he finished his perusal and returned to stand before her.
    “She doesn’t look like much,” the Grand Inquisitor remarked. “Are you sure she’s this… werewolf?”
    “ She is standing right in front of you, sir,” Mattie replied angrily, “and would greatly appreciate it if you could address her as though she were a cognizant woman rather than an inanimate object.”
    The Grand Inquisitor looked down on the brash redhead. “In Callifax, women know not to speak unless spoken to.”
    Mattie placed her hands on her hips. “Then I’m thrilled to not be from the capital. Where I’m from, women carry spears and stab insolent men in the throat for lesser offenses.”
    Simon swallowed hard and prayed to any deity that would listen that they weren’t immediately executed. From his periphery, he could see Luthor tensing at her brash rebuttal. Simon added a second prayer that Luthor could hold his tongue through the rest of this interrogation, for that was truly what it had become.
    The Grand Inquisitor walked back around his desk and sat once more.
    “I would like to see the… other you,” the Grand Inquisitor said, his tone leaving little interpretation that it was an order far more than it was a question. “I’d like to see the wolf.”
    Mattie glanced toward Luthor, who gritted his teeth but nodded. They had little option. She returned her gaze to the Grand Inquisitor.
    “You understand that there are extenuating circumstances to my transformation, most glaringly of which is that I must be nude.”
    The Grand Inquisitor coughed politely. “Of course.”
    He turned his chair toward the far wall. Simon and Luthor turned away from Mattie as she stripped out of her clothing. They listened as her boots clicked on the wooden floor as she removed them. Her belt was dropped upon a pile of clothing, its buckle still ringing as it struck the hardwood. Following the belt, there was a dense silence in the room.
    Simon fought the urge to glance over his shoulder, though he wasn’t sure if it was more likely that he would see a naked Mattie, a werewolf, or nothing at all as she fled from the room. Instead, he kept his focus on the series of weathered photographs mounted on the wall.
    The silence was broken by a guttural growl, one that portrayed a combination of pain and predatory glee. Something tore, like paper being shredded. The smell in the air was pungent, like a wet dog, Simon realized with a frown. He needn’t turn around to know that her transformation was complete. He had seen her transform many times before and it was always disturbing to see the diminutive woman tearing at her flesh with sharpened fingernails, exposing the stark white fur beneath the bloody gashes in her skin.
    Without warning, Mattie, now fully transformed, padded around the trio on all fours. She appeared far less like a werewolf and much more like a massive winter wolf, one far larger than Simon would have believed possible from the short redhead, had he not previously seen it with his own eyes.
    The Grand Inquisitor sank further into his chair as her large maw turned toward him. Her eyes were nearly black as she stared at him, her nose rising and falling as she sniffed the edges of his heavy robe.
    “Is… is this her?” the Grand Inquisitor stammered.
    Simon smiled, for once feeling back in control of the situation. “Sir, once again, I would like to introduce Miss Matilda Hawke.”
    Mattie pulled her snout from the elder man, allowing him room to stand. The Grand Inquisitor stepped forward cautiously until his outstretched hand hovered inches away from Mattie’s snout. She quickly turned her head and nuzzled his hand with her cheek. His hand sank into the thick, white fur.
    “Remarkable,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “It doesn’t seem feral or aggressive at all.”
    “She, sir,” Simon corrected. “Not it.”
    The Grand Inquisitor turned toward Simon. “Would it be okay if I touched her