Moonlight Whispers: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Witch and the Wolf Pack Book 8)

by K. R. Alexander

  Reading, facing my guess of the direction the moon had set in the sky, I gave it my best pronunciation and recited, “Neä uhrtoa trimus. Neä uhrtoa voimbus. Unnetum vaptis amaus Lunae et luposilauma.” I touched my chest and my brow with my left hand, then nodded to the sky.

  The wolves stared at us. At least no longer growling. Beyond them, her head and shoulders low, just visible above their backs where she must be standing on steep stairs into the cellar, a gaunt, white-haired female came into view.

  Jason said something in Lucannis. She snapped back, voice rough as an old smoker’s.

  “We’re not your enemies,” I said softly. “We’re trying to find out what happened to four members of our pack. Before they disappeared, they came this way. We hoped you might know what happened to them.”

  She stepped forward, up the unseen stairs until she was between the two wolves. Her white hair was wild, her face lined and eyes narrowed. She wore a threadbare gray overall. Her fingernails were black with earth or blood.

  She regarded me with slits for eyes, corners of her thin mouth twisted downward. “You’re no wolf.” The statement somehow sounded like she flung a curse at me.

  “No,” I said. “I’m an ally. I’m working with the Sable Pack to find out who has been attacking wolves from the south. Now we’re trying to learn who’s responsible for our friends not having returned to us after they came this way.” I rested my hand on Kage’s head, feeling the others around and behind me, but glad they didn’t rush up or posture as he was. I tried to surreptitiously flatten his ears so he didn’t look so challenging.

  “The same friends who brought their blight to our dens?” she said. Her accent was new to me. Rural Welsh, I suppose. Perhaps it was a bit their own, though. “The ones who roared through on their motorbikes and said they wanted answers—as if they were Moon and stars? Then turned on us? In our own territory?”

  “Peter wouldn’t have done anything to hurt you unless he thought you were the ones who had been murdering South Coast wolves,” Jason said. “What actually happened? Peter and the others went on their way after you met with him, didn’t they?”

  “So they claimed. So they smelled,” she snarled. “The next day, my mate vanished. Then my niece. We found her yesterday. Torn to pieces.”

  “Torn…?” I hesitated. “The Sable Pack didn’t do this to you. We’ve been being attacked also. If you only started experiencing the same thing after Peter visited, it must be because they were following him. I’m sorry. That’s still us calling their attention to you, even if we didn’t mean you any harm. We would be very grateful if you could tell us everything you know about what happened. You found your niece? Were there scent trails?”

  She paused, glancing to the wolves who still stared at Kage, stiff and hostile. She looked at me, then past me to the others, her expression clouding even more.

  “Go back to the Jeep,” I said quietly, turning my head until I caught Zar’s eye, hoping at least some would listen.

  They retreated a little, Jason and Kage remaining beside me.

  “We’re not here to hurt you,” I said. “If you don’t want to talk, we’ll go. We’ll leave you alone and won’t come back. But I’m afraid it’s our fault your pack has now also caught the eye of these murderers. We’re doing everything we can to stop them. Anything you can tell us about your own losses might help us and—Moon willing—put an end to this.”

  Another beat and, finally, she said, “We haven’t found my mate. The scent trails … break. They’ve used petrol, burning chemicals… What we could find… She was torn apart, face, throat, guts all over the ground. We couldn’t follow anything away. There was no trail in. No trail out. She smelled of wet earth and decomposition.”

  “Like a swamp?” I asked.

  Her eyes had unfocused but returned to fix on mine.

  “There was no wooden stake in her chest?” I asked. “As if for a vampire? It was attacks from teeth that killed her?”

  The old female nodded, still regarding me with narrowed eyes.

  “She was in fur?”

  Nod.

  “We’re so sorry about this happening to you. There’s nothing else you know, then? No one saw anything? You could never follow a trail?”

  “There was no trail. Swamp and blood—then fading away.” She shook her head angrily.

  “I’ll leave you my number. I’m Cassia. Maybe, if you learn anything new, if you see anything, you could let us know? We’re going to keep searching. In the meantime, please be careful. Keep together in threes or fours when you have to leave your territory. Have a couple wolves in fur at home at all times if you can to keep watch. I hope this is over soon.”

  One terse nod. Then they watched us, silent and motionless, with the morning sun bathing their hill and an eastern breeze rippling the grass, while we slowly retreated.

  We left Isaac’s number instead of my own so it wasn’t international—sliding a sheet from my notebook into the front door seam. Then we drove away, leaving a silent and empty farmyard, yet feeling dozens of eyes on the backs of our necks as we went.

  Chapter 3

  We drove north, the camper trailer hitched behind, Jed and Zar riding in it while Kage drove and Isaac sat up front with him. I sat behind Kage’s seat—on the right side of the vehicle—with Jason beside me and Andrew at the other window.

  We’d talked over the new deaths only briefly. There wasn’t much to say. We had to find where Peter had been attacked, or where some of the Mountain Pack—who had done the attacking—were keeping themselves. We drove steadily north for Cumbria and the Lake District.

  After the morning’s ginger and fresh air, I’d been comfortable insisting to Isaac that he, at well over six feet tall, should ride up front and I’d be happy napping in the back. Instead of napping, or being carsick, I leaned into Jason to make notes and a sketch of the encounter, then turned my attention to where we were heading.

  Being unable to pull up pictures of the Mountain Pack, I found the scenic Duddon Valley on my phone.

  I browsed, focused, and asked Jason for a song. All the wolves had fine singing voices, sounding both trained and naturally gifted. But Jason was a special case even so. He had the sort of voice that could make a sentimental listener tear up to “Happy Birthday.”

  I shut my eyes, ready to trance, to peer into the Duddon Valley to spot a wolf. To my surprise, however, Jason sang in English.

  Wind sang a story on a pure, cold night,

  Bringing the storm, bringing the storm.

  Moon lit the path for a lone wolf’s light,

  Hunting for one, hunting for one.

  River in the valley followed his tracks,

  While the night birds sang, night birds sang.

  Frost on the grass kissed his pads,

  While the silver light froze, silver light froze.

  By Moon’s lead he tracked, he trailed,

  Where distance couldn’t stop him, steps couldn’t fail.

  By nose, by ear, by sight, by breath,

  He hunted songs of his pack.

  It was a ballad, and it went on and on, telling of this lone wolf’s journeys and struggles to find his lost family through endless cold nights. The others joined in softly sometimes, singing under their breaths in the noisy Jeep.

  By the time Jason finished, I was startled to discover I had accomplished nothing. Blushing, I had to ask again. He kindly started the ballad over.

  This time, I scried for the Duddon Valley and the wolves there.

  I saw becks flowing down from the fells in patchy afternoon sunlight, a stone bridge, red bracken running everywhere with endless miles of ancient dry stone walls, farm houses, hiking paths, and narrow roads into the valley. A black and white border collie worked with a few sheep while a man whistled and waved. Sheep stood high on the fells, scattered and grazing among the slate and rough ground.

  Yet … it seemed they had been there. It seemed the paths were lonely, the stile was muddy from boot marks—
a familiar print now gone away. The pale fuzz caught on the bracken was of a canine’s undercoat rather than a sheep’s wool.

  Show me Coniston.

  A tiny village, a shop, an inn, a pub, a tourist information office and two streets, each leading across a small bridge. It was all smoky, all vague without wolves or trails.

  Are there wolves now in Coniston?

  A white cottage, a green door, a slate path. The dry stone walls ran everywhere here as well. A stone house beside a wood. No glimpse of actual people.

  Perhaps they were warded? Or gone like the Duddon Valley wolves? Or I hadn’t enough information on who I was looking for to spot them even though they should have been right in front of my nose.

  Isaac had said he knew where to find a family in Coniston. Should we go straight there?

  But he’d also agreed that Rowan was right to try the Duddon Valley. The place wasn’t far west of Coniston village in the southern Lake District anyway. We could camp there a night and at least make a quick search. It appeared to be a place so lonely and wild the wolves could change and track, yet small enough, in keeping with the country, that they could cover a lot of ground.

  One night. If the Mountain Pack wolves had fled the area, we had to know.

  Were they already gone, as my scry indicated? Were they only hiding, as the Traeths had attempted? Were they being magically guarded, hidden, or my own vision being changed? The first two were possible. Not the third, I didn’t think. I’d protected myself too well for it. No one should be able to put a vision clamp on me, or spy on us anymore.

  I left the scries unwillingly, feeling there was something I was missing—better questions I could have asked. I was too tired for it, though. Jet-lagged, suffering from three sleepless nights and one half-slept night on the little trailer bed with Andrew and Zar. Seeing flashbacks of my dead brother-in-law on the Brighton Pier, stripped, dangling upside down, and covered in blood. Then my sister’s terrified face and red-rimmed eyes—trying to explain, trying to keep her safe, while only scaring her more. There was nothing I could do for Melanie or Henry now besides find these killers: succeed.

  Yet every step grew harder, every new turn revealing fresh blood.

  I’d been able to get coffee in the village before we were on the road, but it was all that kept me going. If I didn’t do something about the exhaustion I wasn’t going to be able to help anyone.

  I thanked Jason, leaned into him, and hoped to sleep while he held on in return.

  Kage asked if I’d seen anything. I tried to explain, could hardly talk. In the end I just said to go to the valley: we could look tonight.

  My phone chirped and I untangled an arm from Jason to pull it from the seat pouch in front of me. New texts and a play in Words with Friends from Gavin in Yorkshire. Why was he up in daylight?

  He informed me that the vampires were still under attack—and still spawning. In fact, they’d lost an entire silent hive, twenty vampires and their lair in Glasgow, just last week. More north. All the same pattern—staked, throats cut, though vampires do not bleed, and eyes gone. No fang marks. There’d been none on Henry either. That attack on Peter’s company in fur was, I was sure, an emergency situation. A group of four strong male shifters? It had been a rush job—just the giveaway we’d needed.

  Gavin also said there’d been attacks on vampires in France and an incident in Germany that the bookkeeper had told him about. This startled me first because Gavin hadn’t bothered to mention it before, though he knew I was collecting all the data I could on the case, and second because I hadn’t thought that ancient one below Versteckterstein Schloss was lucid enough to tell anyone anything.

  Water under the bridge now. I only thanked him. Nice that Gavin was willing to help at all since he despised my “fleabag” companions and we’d tried to destroy each other the only time we’d met face-to-face.

  I played a couple words back and forth with him, eyelids sagging. Andrew was reading aloud to Jason: recipes off his phone. Beef Wellington, fish pie, rabbit stew, and so on. Andrew was the only one particularly interested in what the others considered “posh” food.

  I didn’t exactly sleep for the rest of the drive but found myself often in a state of flux. Far gone without losing the feel of the stiff seat.

  It was in the fog zone, the stupor without REM sleep, that I began to feel … off.

  It wasn’t missing wolves in my scries. It wasn’t fatigue. It wasn’t pregnancy that had been giving me morning sickness and other less precise symptoms. I didn’t know what it was.

  A feel in the air, the color at the edge of my eyelids, a tingle, a memory that was a whisper to my own spirit, a nod from my own magic, Nana’s hand on my shoulder, my mother’s breath on my ear as she spoke my name.

  All of these, and none. Something wrong. More wrong than the obvious, that is. Yet I couldn’t even focus my eyes on my screen to keep up the game with Gavin. He should be asleep also. Or whatever it was they did in daylight.

  So I couldn’t analyze the feelings or get to the bottom of them. But I should have. Instead, the phone slipped from my hand and I drowsed against Jason until late afternoon when we reached the Duddon Valley and I lost the feelings of wrongness like a bad but disremembered dream.

  Chapter 4

  The Duddon Valley, probably one of the most naturally scenic places in England, was wasted on me that afternoon.

  The day was perfect—scudding clouds, not too hot, not too cold, soft blue of the sky mingling with green and red and gray fell slopes, rounded hills and rocky crags, postcard farms and dry stone walls flowing like some sort of broken maze. I took it in only to keep going and pay attention to get a job done: work with my pack, possibly even make some decisions.

  We stopped several times—along roads, at turn-outs beside cattle grids, or in public parking for hikers, once by a pub, which seemed to be the only one in the area.

  With the exception of the pub, we checked out every stop by sight and nose in fur and skin in case of clues.

  They’d decided Andrew would change. The area was lonely, but there were still passing farmers or fell-walkers. We couldn’t chance any of the others out in daylight.

  Jed remained in the trailer, only sniffing out the door while Andrew, having first retired in there to change, would be let out by Zar, riding with them, and he, Isaac, and Kage, would have a walk and sniff at each spot.

  Jason stayed with me in the Jeep while I continued trying to see beyond, to find my way to a doorstep in this valley where wolves might have lived.

  We’d snacked all day on food Kage had been sharp enough to pack from the stores at home. Ham sandwiches, chips—or crisps—and cheese crackers, carrot sticks, apples, a little tub of jellied eels for Jason, cold grilled chicken strips, string cheese, and so on. Meals worth of food to me. Snacks as far as they were concerned. But still plenty to see us all through for a few days of light rations.

  At the pub, though Isaac encouraged me to get soup, or any hot meal, I had so little appetite I couldn’t even dissuade their worry by accepting.

  We found nothing, though remained undaunted. Kage’s blithely optimistic leadership helped—saying we’d simply put fur on and keep sniffing after sunset. Isaac’s familiarity with the area was also a bonus. We didn’t need maps or help from phones as Kage let him drive and find our way to a secluded spot to pull over for the night. If we didn’t turn anything up tonight, we’d sleep—please, Goddess—and head to Coniston in the morning to knock on doors.

  I was reassured that we weren’t finding anything. On the other hand, this looked like the area where Peter had been attacked on a dark and stormy night. We couldn’t separate, had to stay alert, maintain every precaution. Our best advantage out here was strength in our pack, including fur, skin, and magic.

  With the sun setting—it was happening earlier and earlier now, though it was only the first week in September—I took half an hour to lie down and meditate. I drew in calm and new energy from my meditation grove,
sat with my red-eyed tree frog for a long, healing silence, and felt considerably better when I came out of it.

  The pack would love stretching their legs in fur in a place like this, even if we found nothing useful. I pulled on my jacket and found a flashlight while I talked to the others, who were snacking outside, clustered around the trailer and deciding who would change.

  Jason and Jed, obviously, were first choice for any night searching. I thought Andrew would round them out nicely, but he’d already changed back and dressed. He leaned against the side of the caravan with his ankles crossed, eating a PayDay.

  “I know the way to the pass,” Isaac said. “I can go in fur and lead us up there. If we catch scent it will be in these remote places.”

  “We all know the way.” Kage pointed. “Hear it plain enough. Running with you in fur’s like a beacon. If you’ve any hints just tell us.”

  They could hear the occasional car on the distant road through the mountain pass from here? I heard nothing but the burble of the River Duddon and bleat of a sheep calling to one of her neighbors. The roads for Hardnott Pass and Wrynose Pass were invisible and inaudible.

  “It wouldn’t hurt for most of you to be in fur,” I said wearily, standing up straight, trying to get my focus back. “You can both change, Kage. No one’s going to see you out here. And, if they did, you’d be the last who should change—not Isaac. He’d have a better chance of looking like a sheep in the distance and the dark than you.”

  “I’d just as soon stay with you, Cassia,” Isaac said. “If he wants to change anyway.”

  “That’s fine too. Three and three. But this isn’t like Colorado. As long as we’re in their territory, we’re sticking together.”

  They nodded, though it seemed a few were irritated about this.

  Kage said, “No one out here.”

  “Right, only ‘no one’ murdered Peter’s pack,” Andrew said.