Her scent reached him before he saw her. She was walking along the road laden with designer shopping bags, her laptop case slung carelessly across one shoulder - a slim, supple woman with perfectly bobbed fair hair. She seemed tall, slender, yet perfectly proportioned as she walked, no-flowed- around the corner towards the sunlit spot where he leant against the pillar, watching the world go by with his large, golden eyes.
He never knew what made him step forward and offer to help carry her bags. He'd never done anything like that before, but something about her forced him to say those four words. Four words which changed his life forever.
"Can I help you?"
She stopped. Her gaze didn't exactly bore holes in him, but he knew she was examining every tiny morsel of his being –from the tip of his dark, auburn hair to the perfectly polished toes of his black leather shoes. His trousers were leather too, as was his jacket, worn carelessly over his perfectly laundered white cotton shirt.
He knew women were attracted to him. Why else would he have won the modelling contract with a top London fashion house when he was only seventeen? Even now, at the tender age of twenty two, when he juggled being in front of the camera with taking his own photo shoots and videos, he could hardly walk along crowded London streets without some woman or another fawning over him, offering him food, drink or themselves.
This was why he came to be lounging against a pillar on a Regency Street in a provincial Town where nobody knew him. The latest digital camera hung around his neck. He was taking abstract shots of the stone mullions on the houses, trying to catch the shapes where honey-coloured stone cast long shadows against the glass in the afternoon sun. Her scent made him stop and search for her presence. Now she was standing in front of him, as if her decision was made.
"Name," she said in a tone which brooked no dissention.
"Keel," he stammered, "Jonathan Keel."
Her eyes flickered as if expecting him to say more, but there was no more to say. He was adopted. His foster parents told him he was left on their doorstep one winter's night, only a few weeks old, together with a note asking that he be taken in and cared for until he was old enough to make his own way in the world. They were a childless couple in their early forties, isolated in their ways and their location, farming a smallholding up in the Lake District.
They didn't hold much with the authorities – not since all their stock was culled during the foot and mouth epidemic – so they took him in and brought him up as their own. Until, that is, he started to grow and change. Everyone was glad when he moved to London. It meant there were no more questions. Questions for which there were no answers.
"Take these," she said, holding a group of bags in his direction.
He took them from her. She didn't wait to see if he would follow, she merely turned and walked on as if knowing he would be at her shoulder if she bothered to turn and look.
She led him down several side streets until the pavement turned to cobbles under their feet. A large silver car was parked in front of one of a wooden gateway. As they approached, a man leaped out from the driving seat and came towards them. He was wearing a dark suit and sunglasses, although the street was shaded now. His hair was cut short and starting to turn grey above his ears, but he was stockily built and his manner was one who brooked no dissention.
"My Lady," he said, taking the rest of her bags from her and opening the back car door in one, fluid motion.
"We have a stray, Clay. His name is Keel and I'm taking him home." She slid elegantly into the back seat of the car and he closed the door after her. Clay opened the boot and placed the packages carefully inside, motioning the lad to do likewise with the ones he was holding.
"Get in the front. The Lady says you are coming home."
Keel opened his mouth, then shut it again. There seemed no point in arguing or trying to run. As he shut the car door and buckled the seat belt in around him, he realised he didn't want to run. Whoever these people were, he wanted to know more about them.
It was a lengthy journey. The sun long gone by the time they reached the place called home. The lady spent the time working on her laptop or making terse phone calls on her mobile. He could not hear much of the conversations, but he heard the word "stray" several times. She seemed to be giving instructions for their arrival. Keel did not feel they concerned him in any way, so he leaned against the soft leather seat and fell asleep. He dreamed of cats.
When they reached their destination, a hot meal was served to them.
"You must be tired, Keel" Lady Eleuthemia said as the plates were being cleared away. "Go to your room now and sleep. We shall discuss your position in the morning."
Keel found himself stammering his thanks for her hospitality. Part of him wanted to ask her why she was kidnapping him, but another part did not dare to risk her ire in case she told him to leave now, without finding out anything about who she was and what she wanted with him.
Saunh, the Lady's partner, took him to his room and wished him a good night's sleep. The room was small with ensuite facilities tucked behind the wardrobe, with a single bed beneath the large window. Keel was surprised to see bars across the glass, but he presumed such a large house had a problem with intruders. Keel went to leave his camera on the dressing table and his companion asked him about his interest in photographs and what his line of business might be. Keel did not like to say too much about his profession, but he mentioned the modelling and some of his video projects.
Saunh, nodded, "I thought I recognised you from posters in Melingham, some months ago."
Keel was surprised to find he was very sleepy and soon found himself under the covers. It was well he did, rather than try to leave his room, for Saunh locked his door behind him.
In the morning, Keel was woken by Saunh and brought to a small living room off the main entrance hall.
Lady Eleuthemia was sitting on an elegant chair flanked on either side by two men. Keel recognised Clay and Saunh and the other two were introduced as Nuin, who specialised in ancient history and Gahd, who was in charge of the kitchens.
"They are all my housemales," Lady Eleuthemia explained, although Keel did not understand the term she used. "You are standing before my House Council. We must decide what to do with you."
"Do with me?" Keel was confused. "It was very kind of you to invite me to stay with you, Lady Eleuthemia, but I really don't need your help. I have a job I love with good prospects. I own my own home in Woking. I've never asked anyone for help since I left the Lakes."
"Better not to speak unless my Lady asks you, Keel," Saunh advised. Keel opened his mouth, then shut it again. It unnerved him to be standing in the middle of the room when everyone else was seated. He wondered if he had done something wrong the previous night, had offended someone. It seemed such a strange thing to do to a guest.
"We are People, Keel," Lady Eleuthemia continued as if no-one had spoken. "So are you. It is not permitted for a stray male to be allowed to live on his own without a contract. I take it you are not contracted?"
"I have a contract with my photographic agency and with the firm I'm making the next video for."
"No," Lady Eleuthemia shook her head, "you don't understand the law. Why should you? You've never been taught. It's a wonder you've done as well as you have, given the circumstances. I'm surprised you've not been in trouble with the apekin police. Have you not been arrested for hunting yet?"
"Hunting?" Keel was shocked. How did she know about the hunting. What else did she know?
"You do hunt every moon?"
He could only nod, his face ashen.
