By the Light of the Scottish Moon - Unrated (My Kilted Wolf, #1)

by Red Phoenix

  Freya expected a quick and violent death, but Bryn threw his head back and howled at the moon, this time the sound of it distinctly lupine. His ears twitched, focusing on some unheard noise coming from the east, and he sprinted off.

  Freya spent several seconds recovering from the shock, her body and mind reacting violently to what she’d just seen. Then her flight instinct took over and she scrambled to her feet. Fresh pain ripped through her torso, almost paralyzing her, but she fought through it desperate to get to her car in one piece.

  Once safely inside the vehicle, she slammed the door shut and locked it, silently thanking herself for leaving the keys in the ignition. The tires threw up a cloud of dust as she raced away, determined to put as much distance from the beast as she could.

  Freya’s only thought was to get back to the cottage, but it wasn’t long before her body forced her to pull to the side of the road. She opened the car door and promptly threw up. A gut-wrenching spasm coursed through her, leaving her breathless and drained.

  She heard the far off howl of the beast and panic set in. She wiped her mouth against her sleeve before starting the car and taking off again. Her driving instinct was to get back to the cottage. She felt just like a wild animal, needing to find a quiet place to curl up and die—safe, warm and alone.

  Freya staggered out of the car when she finally reached her destination, collapsing just inside the entrance of the cottage unable to move any further. It didn’t matter, this was the end…she knew it on a heart level.

  She was going to die tonight, right here on the cold stone floor.

  Freya stifled a frightened cry when the huge gray wolf entered her open door. She crawled away from him in terror, not wanting it to end this way. Yet, to her surprise, he did not pursue her.

  When she glanced back, she saw that he had transformed back into human form—in all his naked glory.

  “Ye do not need to fear me, Freya McKenna.”

  Old Wounds

  Freya sat up and curled into a protective ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Why have you come, Bryn?”

  “Ye should not die alone.”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “But I don’t want to die.”

  A look of anguish washed over him. Bryn shook it off, growling under his breath before walking over and picking her up. Despite her vocal protests, he carried her up the stairs and placed her gently on the soft bed.

  It wasn’t until he lay down beside her that she noted how completely and utterly naked he was, but he didn’t seem to notice. He enfolded her in his protective arms and breathed into her ear, “Yer safe now.”

  His voice filled her with profound peace and she repeated the word “safe”, no longer concerned about his lack of clothes.

  “Try to think of death as a gift.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head as fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Try,” he encouraged.

  They lay there in silence as Freya tried to calm the panic building inside her, convincing herself that the end rushing towards her was wanted.

  She couldn’t.

  Freya cried out in fear when the next wave of pain hit. Bryn stroked her hair whispering soothingly, “Shhh… shhh… It’s almost over, ye have almost won the battle.”

  After the pain had passed, she looked up at him gratefully. “Thank you for protecting me from the others… and for being here with me now.”

  “I’ve seen enough brutal deaths in ma life. I dinnae want to add ye to the list.”

  Another spasm wracked her body and she groaned in agony.

  His voice was gentle when he told her, “Do not fight it.”

  Freya shook her head violently. “You don’t understand. It’s in my nature to fight.”

  “Aye, but I do,” he snorted, with an admiring grin. “I’m the same. I must keep fighting, even when I kin all is lost.”

  She gazed into his eyes, losing herself in their fiery depths. “Is that the reason for those scars on your back?”

  Anguish darkened his amber eyes as Bryn shifted, propping his back against the headboard and choosing not to answer her.

  “Is it the reason you were at the tree tonight?” she prodded.

  He continued to remain silent.

  While Freya was contemplating how to get him to open up, a searing fire clawed through her middle. She looked up at him in pain and fear, not ready for what was coming.

  “Please talk, Bryn. Your voice soothes me.”

  He nodded in empathy and began, his tone lulling and kind even though what he shared was anything but. “To answer yer question, it was under that very tree I vowed to the Mistress that I would do whatever was needed to ensure the survival of our pack. Fer countless years, we’d been under the rule of a progressively unstable Ceannard, one that seemed to be systematically destroying our future as a clan. I fought hard fer our survival, believing I had the Moon’s blessing, but in fighting to protect The Chosen, I ended up sacrificing all that mattered to me.”

  He stared down at her, stating matter-of-factly, “Our Ceannard was a cruel and shortsighted leader, threatening our very existence by targeting the humans that live in this region. We’ve coexisted fer centuries by keeping ourselves hidden amongst them, but over time he’d grown to despise all humans and longed to declare war. When one of our respected elders, Keir, questioned his wisdom, Ranulf made a terrible and bloody example of him.”

  Bryn stroked her hair tenderly as she suffered through another wave of pain before continuing. His voice remained calm, even serene, despite the story he shared. “Ranulf called Keir up before the assembly at Sacred Point and asked him to explain his concerns to the pack. Naturally, Keir was flattered by such an honor and humbly shared his reservations, all of which were valid.

  “Our Ceannard listened carefully, but surprised us by laughing afterwards. Using Keir’s words against him, he told the pack. ‘Ye claim ye cannae fight against the humans in our territory and I agree with ye.’ Ranulf addressed the rest of us with a cruel leer that spoke to his intent. ‘Unfailing obedience to yer Ceannard is the law!’

  “He ordered Keir to bow before him. I’ll never forget the resignation on Keir’s face as he fell to his knees. He had done nothing wrong, and yet the entire pack stood quietly, doing nothing as our Ceannard transformed into wolf form.

  “I refused to stand by and watch a respected member of our pack die, so I transformed into a wolf to the violent protests of my family.”

  “They didn’t join you?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Ranulf was Ceannard fer a reason, Freya. He was the strongest of all the Alphas and I was no match against his strength or brutality. He played with me the way a cat does with a mouse as he finished off Keir in front of the assembly, tearing the old man limb from limb. Ranulf saved Keir’s throat fer last, so that the entire pack would remember his screams of agony.”

  Freya shuddered, imagining the bloody scene.

  “Would ye prefer I stop?” Bryn asked, cradling her closer to him.

  “Please don’t.”

  “Very well.” He sighed deeply before continuing, “It was quick and brutal when he finally stopped toying with me. Any attacks I scored were simply because Ranulf allowed it. When the final attack came, I fell to the ground to protect my underbelly. He closed his teeth around the back of my neck and ripped my back with his claws. My whole body went numb, smelling his blood-tainted breath as he shredded my skin.

  “But I’ll never forget that moment when I accepted my death—I felt total peace.”

  Bryn looked down at Freya tenderly. “Ye will feel the same.”

  She nodded, wanting to believe him.

  He let out a deep and painful groan. “If only I had died…”

  Bryn gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Instead, I woke up to the terrified screams of my sister. I regained consciousness in time to see her gutted by my Ceannard.”

  His voice caught when he shared, “She looked a
t the pack and whimpered, ‘I don’t want to die’ before choking on her own blood.” Freya felt warm tears drop onto her arm as he stated bitterly, “Not one tried to save her.”

  “But what about your parents?”

  “They were already dead. My entire family-line wiped out fer my insubordination.” Bryn held her tighter. “As Ranulf stood gloating over her body, I gathered all my hatred and found the strength to stand. I came up behind him while the pack remained silent and then I lunged, ripping out his throat before he knew what’d happened. I fell next to my sister’s body fully expecting to die.

  “With blood pouring from his gaping wound, Ranulf turned to finish me. That’s when the pack finally responded, jumping on him as one unit. In a matter of seconds, our great Ceannard was dead.” Bryn paused, adding with regret, “Unfortunately, I did not die with him.”

  Freya stiffened in his arms as another, more intense spasm took over. It was so severe she nearly blacked out from the pain. Through it, Bryn murmured words of comfort. Once passed, she asked with great effort, “Tell me what happened after Ranulf died.”

  “My pack tended to my wounds when normally they would have put me out of my misery. I don’t know why, death would have been a welcomed gift. When it was determined I had healed enough to lead, they made me Ceannard.”

  “The chief among your people?”

  “Aye. They meant it as an honor, but I see it only as punishment. I’m bound to protect them and cannae give in to the call of death, no matter how sweetly she sings.” He looked down at her tenderly. “The truth is I envy ye tonight, and would join ye if I could.”

  She closed her eyes. “Bryn…”

  “Aye, lass?”

  “Could you save me?”

  He growled, pulling away from her. “Ye cannae know what ye ask!”

  She opened her eyes. “But you can, can’t you?”

  He left the bed, pacing the room like a crazed animal.

  Freya held out her hand to him, begging, “Please don’t leave me…”

  He stared at her from across the room, refusing to budge until another spasm wracked her body. He returned to her then, holding her tight as she trembled in his arms.

  “Freya, ye must understand that it would be crueler fer me to save ye than to let ye die.”

  She frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t agree.”

  Bryn took her face in both his hands and forced her to stare into his foreign, dangerous eyes. “Yes, I can save ye, but the solution would be worse than the dying. This life is not fer ye and the process of the transformation itself is violent.”

  “Tell me how you do it, please.”

  “To experience the Athrú, I would have to kill ye. A bite alone would not cause the transformation. Athrú requires yer heart to stop beating as I bite. It is only in death a werewolf can emerge.”

  “That doesn’t scare me, Bryn. I’m already dead.”

  He lifted her chin, and chided gently, “Ye only seek escape from it because yer frightened right now.”

  “No…” She laughed through her tears, certain she was seeing everything clearly for the first time. “Ever since my death sentence was given to me a month ago, I believed I was coming home to die, but now I know that’s not the reason I came back.”

  Her hand shook with excitement as she caressed his strong, masculine jaw and confessed, “Bryn, I came for you.”

  His eyes narrowed, as he shook his head.

  Freya nodded, smiling with confidence. “It all makes sense now. I’ve had visions about you ever since I returned to Scotland. You said yourself that you don’t believe in accidents and I agree. It was no accident I came upon you the night of the bonfire, no accident that I happened upon you at the pub and no accident when I found you tonight. I wasn’t meant to die, I was meant for you so that you could finally live.”

  “Nae!” he growled. “It would not be right.”

  “Please, Bryn. I don’t want to be separated from you now that I’ve found you.”

  His voice was low and tortured when he explained, “I cannae, Freya. If I were to perform the Athrú, it would be fer purely selfish reasons.”

  “Listen to me.” She wrapped her arms behind his neck and gazed deep into his amber eyes. “You said you thought you had the Moon’s blessing when you vowed to protect the pack from your Ceannard. I believe this is her answer for your obedience.”

  Bryn’s eyes softened.

  “Honor the Moon’s blessing for you, Bryn.”

  He shook his head again. “I’m a cursed wolf. Dinnae ask this, ye will regret it, Freya.”

  “But I want this—for us.”

  She saw a brief look of hope before his eyes became cold and hard. “Werewolves cannae perform the Athrú without approval from the pack. Changing humans is extremely rare, something only done when a pack is dying out or to fortify numbers during times of war.”

  “Surely as Ceannard you can bend the rules?”

  “They would never agree to it. The act would be seen as an abuse of my power. I would be challenged fer ignoring the law.”

  “Then let’s run away and start a new life together.”

  He snarled. “Ye show yer ignorance, Freya McKenna. I am the Ceannard. I will never leave the pack. I’m bound to protect it until I die.” He stood up, transforming into a wolf before her. Bryn glared at her accusingly with those blazing amber eyes before running off.

  “Please, Bryn, please don’t leave me to die!” she cried after him.

  The feeling of loss overwhelmed her, hurting more deeply than any pain she’d endured. Freya rocked herself as she screamed into her pillow. How could he leave her?

  Freya whimpered pitifully when a deep, stabbing pain cut through her middle and would not stop. Eventually, she was forced to accept the darkness that demanded her soul. It became her escape to seek it and a calmness settled over her.

  She closed her eyes and whispered to the heavens, “I’m not afraid anymore…”

  Freya smelled the wolf before she felt his warm, moist breath. She forced her eyes open and smiled up at him.

  Bryn.

  He licked her cheek, whimpering softly. Then he nuzzled her neck, forcing her to turn her head to the side, exposing her throat to him. Bryn looked into her eyes asking permission and she nodded, not having the strength to speak.

  Freya felt only gladness when his teeth closed around her throat and cut off her air, but she noticed he was not biting hard enough to break the skin. She struggled under him, suddenly realizing he was not there to save her.

  Thrashing violently, her body fought one last time to cling to life. It was then, in the struggle, she understood that Bryn was putting her out of her misery. It was the way of his kind—a final act of kindness.

  It was enough.

  Freya stilled herself, accepting his gift. Her heart began pounding in her ears as the darkness took hold. Having fought it for so long, she finally relaxed and let go, allowing her spirit to release.

  Rebirth

  She felt hot blood coursing through her veins, burning her up inside with its animal heat. Next came the unique smell of him. Without even opening her eyes, she knew who lay beside her, could hear his breath, could even hear the rapid beating of his heart.

  Freya opened her eyes and was flooded with overly bright shades of color and images sharper than she ever imagined existed. The terrifyingly wonderful fact that she was seeing the world through new eyes thrilled her, but her body seemed sluggishly slow.

  “Bryn,” she croaked.

  “Shh… Ye need time to adjust.”

  She turned her head and caught her breath, staring at him in pure wonder. He didn’t look anything like the man she’d known. Her new eyes picked up on the various tones and textures of his skin, and the sharp curvature of his jaw, the rippling muscles of his chest, the sheen of his hair. His eyes, however, were the most magnificent of all.

  Freya gazed into those glowing amber orbs of light and said in a gravelly voice, “You’re bea
utiful.”

  He put his finger on her lips. “Shh…”

  Freya tentatively touched him, running her fingers down his strong, veiny arms and felt a surge of excitement. Her fingers tingled from the simple contact. Bryn even felt beautiful.

  She smiled to herself, wondering how she looked to him now. Had she been as equally transformed?

  “Welcome to my hell.”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, Bryn. The beginning of your heaven.”

  His lips only showed a hint of a smile. “Ye foolish lass. Normally humans who go through the Athrú grow up here and have heard stories and fairytales of The Chosen. But ye?” He chuckled softly, nudging her. “It’s like yer a newborn bairn. I’ll have to teach ye everything.”

  She sat up and suddenly felt the room start to spin. He pushed her back down on the pillow. “Too fast, Freya. I told ye it takes time to get used to yer new body.”

  She looked up at him gratefully. “Teach me, Bryn. I want to learn everything about you and your pack.”

  A troubled look flitted across Bryn’s face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He said with a look of regret, “The pack will not be pleased. This may end badly fer us, Freya.”

  “You didn’t go tell them when you left?”

  “Nae, I kin what they would say. I went to Sacred Point and prayed to the Mistress fer wisdom. It was she who gave me the courage to come back fer ye.”

  Freya wrapped her arms around him, and said with a heart full of gratitude, “Thank you, Bryn.”

  He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. With that kiss, a whole new world opened up! All at once, in equal measure, she smelled his masculinity, tasted his gratifying lips, felt his possessive aura, heard the increase of his heartbeat and connected with his spirit.

  She pulled away, amazed by it.

  He gazed into her eyes, looking just as stunned.

  “Bryn, I’ve never felt anything like that…”