Luna Ascending (The Wolves of Fenrir Watch Book 1)

by Zana Wilder

  “Uh,” I can hear myself stutter this time “no.. I.. does your mum own this place or something? My friend sent me... she said to speak to Lottie... she said Lottie was” I desperately avoid using the words old crone and opt instead for “ an older lady”.

  The girl rolls her eyes and stomps towards the back of the shop shouting “Graaaaan! Witch for you”.

  At least I hope it was witch, not bitch.

  A few long moments later a crumpled wrinkly old lady shuffles from the back shop to peer uncomfortably closely into my face. The staff uniform looks bloody bizarre on this old dear, you'd think she didn't have to work at her age.

  “Best come on through then until we get a better look at you” she grates out, shuffling off toward the back shop again.

  An hour later, stumbling back into the busy street, my head is buzzing with so many ideas and things to try. Remembering myself, I turn quickly to say another profuse thank you to Lottie, but she's gone - just the bubblegum blowing granddaughter popping away in her place.

  I raise my hand to wave uncertainly, and back away. Lottie's gravelly voice falls out the teenager's mouth “You take care of that power now young 'un”.

  I stand there with my mouth open and the door shuts in my face. The teenager gives me a cheeky grin through the window and saunters out of sight.

  By the time I get back to the apartment all the signs of being due a roaring migraine are there. It's fucking typical – just when I have some exciting things to try. I won't give in to this tonight!

  Lottie or Charlotte, if they are the same person, suggested I need to centre myself more, and I'm going to bloody try it now while the flat is quiet, migraine or not.

  Lottie had glared at me when I confirmed I always wear my jewellery, even when trying to cast. I remember the weird way the old biddy inspected my auntie's bracelet and my new engagement ring and rolled her eyes.

  “Get them off... blocking your...” she'd paused unnaturally like she was searching for a word “I don't know...chakras or something! Take 'em off! Do it naked if you have to!” she'd cackled dirtily.

  I slip my aunt's charm bracelet and my engagement ring off in preparation. It feels really weird, the lack of the ring. It's the first time I've had it off since Marc pushed it onto my finger on the yacht. I sigh, and try to relax into my meditation.

  It's amazing – almost immediately my headache vanishes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Aaron's POV

  I need to put my own issues aside for the pack, for my pack.

  My wolf tried to take over and run straight to Freya when Tavey fessed up about her beginner status as a witch. To keep away from her, I had to suppress my wolf half, even despite her engagement to the heir of the Coven. That's not fucking healthy- I must keep my distance.

  I've no choice – we've no idea how deeply she's involved in the Coven by now, and the Coven mean only bad things for this pack, and the Watch especially.

  I need to keep tabs on her though, I can't help it. She's mine, whether she knows it or not.

  Since I admitted to Tavey how obsessed I am, he's been doing as much as he can to get information about Freya, but she's been holed up in her damn apartment more and more. He thinks she's pretty unhappy, and not even aware of being gas-lit, which seriously fucking worries me.

  Freya might be part of the Coven's plot now, but the less she's seen, and the more embittered the battle lines between shifters and the Coven become, the more I worry about her safety. From what I know of the Coven, everyone's expendable.

  She's not the only fucking thing that's concerning me. My father Connell, and his beta are entering their twilight years, just as the Coven's strength is exploding. We're struggling to hold the pack together, never-mind fulfil our role in the Watch.

  The Coven have only ever seen the elementals as a source of power. While, if I understand my father correctly, they're really a force beyond controlling, neither good nor bad, but so powerful it's ultimately corrupting. If the Coven learn more about the Watch and our role as guardians, just as we're at our weakest, it could be disastrous. We need to know more about the Coven's plans in order to move against them.

  “We need new tactics,” I roar “we need better intelligence!” Our information sources dried up weeks ago. We've been stagnating on the estate like a bunch of frightened mice, with no-one so much as breathing a word of disagreement to my father, until now.

  My plan is fucking risky to inter-pack harmony, so it better bloody work. I have to decline the remaining ladies from the Luna Rite, which could easily cause friction with their packs. We need unity and alliances, not discord, but I can't see another way around this.

  Annulling the Lune Rite is essential, but the pack can't know why, not yet. My wolf won't accept another Luna, at least not until I've had a chance to try turning Freya to our side.

  Cancelling the Rite avoids the disaster of choosing a Luna, and my wolf violently rejecting her. We can't afford that either, but the pack simply can't know about Freya for now. They distrust all witches, and the current fiancée of a de Vaudou potentially as their Luna?! I won't chance it.

  I still have to explain cancelling the Luna Rite. Surprisingly, it's my father who helps. He persuades the council for me, telling them only half-truths he explains there's an opportunity not to be missed. He paints me in a slightly dim light, which I'll be taking up with the old bugger later.

  He explains that I'd sensed my fated-mate once, briefly. Thinking I was doing my duty by the pack I continued with the Luna Rite, and I've let the trail go cold. He's sending me out to bring back my fated-mate, for the pack.

  A pack with a fated Alpha and Luna is a fucking strong beast. The last time the Watch was called on, it was only the presence of a fated-pair that saved it, so the concept holds significant sway, especially with the elders.

  My father's tale, albeit making me look stupid, will allow us to gain precious ground by gathering intel on the Coven inconspicuously while I 'search' for this fated-mate. There are a few grumbles about the Luna Rite failing, but all it really took was a whisper that I think I've sensed my mate and they're mostly enthusiastic. I'm just surprised my father was so willing to give up on the Rite.

  I take Tavey and, while supposedly tracking down my mate, start nosing up any contacts we can, following our sparse leads on the Coven's movements. It might just fly under their radar, it might not – but we have to try something!

  We strike lucky in a shifter bar that doubles as a burlesque club. A few bits of information we've been fed from here look promising. The place is bloody awful, but they're the best leads we've had in weeks. We have to know what the Coven are planning.

  The bar is dimly lit, with tacky red lighting, although it's elegant high ceilings and wooden panelling still leave it with a sense of dignity somehow. I prop up the bar in black denims and a skin-tight top and scope the room. A few coquettish patrons look me up and down.

  Luckily tonight Tavey already made contact with our best source of intel - a petite out-of-town she wolf with huge brown eyes, a tiny waist and a remarkable ability to glide effortlessly around on the most ridiculously high heeled shoes imaginable.

  I guess she's cute, in a girl-next-door kind of way. They disappeared into one of the private booths only fifteen minutes ago, so I'm surprised to see him exit towards the bar, order more wine and return with it, rather unsteadily, to the girl inside the booth.

  I swear he better be faking it. Our shifter metabolism deals with alcohol quickly, but I don't want him anywhere near drunk with the Coven such an unpredictable threat. My fingers drum on the bar impatiently, stopping only when a cool elegantly ringed hand covers mine.

  “Don't be too impatient my darling” a voice croons in my ear “don't wish your life away, we could have so much fun...”

  I look up startled, trying to keep calm. The woman's touch is ice cold, in that odd area between pleasant and painful. A pair of steel blue eyes, set in a porcelain face, stare right into my sou
l.

  “I'm Samantha...” the voice lilts “I think you and I could have an amazing time”

  I blink, my reactions feel slowed. In front of me is a svelte creature in a blood red dress with lipstick to match, and she's the queen of quick come-ons.

  I can't help but notice her tits look perfect in that dress. I think it's the first time I've noticed a woman since Freya. I sniff, none-too subtly, and try not to recoil in shock at her scent, my lip curling in an automatic snarl.

  “Now, now darling” she tells me off gently “that's not polite... I've heard you don't mind going outside your own species”

  The sideways mention of my dalliance with Freya snaps me to attention quickly; not many people know about us.

  “What do you want vamp?” I try hard to keep my voice even and steady “I don't think I'm your blood type.”

  She gives a genuine throaty laugh that surprises me, twirling her hair around her fingers.

  “That's a shame, Aaron son of Connell, alpha-heir of the Fenrir Watch, I quite fancy you...But...” she sighs “if it must be all business, I suggest you start by getting your beta out of a forced mating party.”

  She nods to the booth Tavey is holed up in.

  I spare her only the briefest of alarmed looks before diving towards the booth. Pulling the curtain back a pungent aroma hits me and quickly dissipates into the open bar. Tavey is slumped forward on the table and with her back to me, on the phone, is our informant. She sounds distressed.

  “I don't know why it didn't work” she hisses into her phone “I did it exactly as you said... he's had the draught, he's wearing the amulet, and” her voice breaks “ I tried to mate-mark him, like you told me to... it... it didn't work!”

  I freeze, trying to stay silent, I need to hear as much of this as possible.

  “Please... please don't” she sobs “it's not my fault! You were the ones who didn't know he was already mated.”

  The young she-wolf halts suddenly, sensing my presence. She turns slowly towards me muttering “I had no choice”.

  In a flash she leaps across the table and slips past me with a screech heading out into the main bar. I give Tavey a quick shake and he groans. At least he's fucking alive.

  I turn to go after the she-wolf, only to see her face to face with a bouncer crying her best tears. She jabs her finger in our direction, and the bouncer glowers at us. I've no doubt whatever fanciful tale she's just created is going to have him delay us significantly, perhaps via the back exit.

  She runs out the bar and I give up the idea of following as the bouncer stomps over. I can talk us out of this, but not before that bitch has well and truly escaped. Glancing around for the vamp, I realise she's vanished.

  ∞∞∞

  Five hours, and a long drive later, and Tavey eventually comes around. The sloppy sod remembers none of it. He looks surprised every-time someone takes five minutes to explain what happened, again. That amnesia better wear off quickly – especially before Liz comes looking for answers!

  Now that we know what happened, it's pretty logical to conclude the Coven were feeding the she-wolf titbits of information that we could test out, drawing us to her as a reliable informant, while sustaining little actual damage themselves.

  We let our guard down around her enough that they could put the second part of their fucking hideous plan into action.

  If they'd succeeded in mating him with that bitch of a she-wolf, Tavey would have been under the Coven's thrall. A serious threat to a bonded-mate is enough to make most shifters do your bidding – he'd have been their pawn.

  When I recall Tavey weaving across the bar floor with a second round of drinks I could fucking kick myself. I should have known something was off. The spell the Coven had given the she-wolf was so potent that, for a few minutes, he believed she was his mate. It was designed to force his wolf to accept the mating bond, and to make them mark each other – bonding them together as a pair, forever.

  Thank fuck I spoke to Tavey last week - he admitted Liz was his fated-mate. He'd offered to give up his beta position, which was never fucking happening. I'm not loosing my beta just because Liz isn't a wolf-shifter; at least I can learn from my father's mistakes. Who the hell finds a fated-mate nowadays anyway?! It's something to bloody celebrate, not decry.

  Thankfully the two of them couldn't keep their paws off each other after our chat. He and Liz got the dirty on and marked each other, well before the little she-wolf came along. His wolf, although tricked initially, simply couldn't accept another mate mark; the Coven's spell was no match for a fated-mate bond.

  It was a very fucking close call. But hell, is Tavey going to have some explaining to do to Liz. I do not want to be anywhere near them when she sees the she-wolf's bite on his neck. It'll fade, but I wouldn't bet on whether it, or Liz's anger, will go first.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Freya's POV

  Being so blissfully painless I fell into a near coma-like sleep last night, waking energised and ready to explore more about myself. A quick casting session later and I'm virtually skipping out the door to meet Liz.

  I'm in such a rush I nearly forget to put my jewellery back on. Slipping the engagement ring on my finger I let out a groan -what on earth would Marc have thought if he'd come home to the ring on the counter?!

  Arriving at Liz's I'm nervous – it's not the first time I'm meeting Liz and Tavey as a couple, but I worry every bloody time. Maybe he still thinks badly of me for the whole fiasco with Aaron and Marc? Maybe he's just being affable for Liz' sake? For some reason it really matters what he thinks of me.

  Tavey puts me at ease quickly and the relaxed banter we share flows naturally. We really do have one of those connections where it feels like we've known each other for ever. It's great watching Liz and him interact too- it's obvious they're an awesome match. They just 'fit'.

  She's busy giving him shit for some girl who came onto him strongly and he has the good grace to look ashamed, while still being adamant he did nothing to encourage it. It's obvious Liz doesn't really think he did either – but she's still not fucking letting him off with it. I grin to myself, a little happy glow inside.

  It's great he's here today; I can pick both their brains about 'otherworldly' things. Except, it's my world now. It's so confusing!

  Tavey's a born teacher – he takes time to explain things that are probably second nature to someone born into this. He's way more patient than Liz, who has a tendency to skip over things and roll her eyes when I'm being slow. He also knows a lot more about witches than Liz, so it's super helpful.

  The very fact that being a witch was genetic had somehow escaped me until now and I exchange a look with Liz. She knows enough about my family to know none of them really seem like likely suspects.

  Between the three off us we dissect the possibilities – my alcoholic mother, and gambling addicted father – ruling them both out in turn. Neither my tarty sister or drug dabbling brother have ever said or done anything that makes me think they share this witching gene either.

  Apparently not everyone 'expresses' the gene, although it can be forced with a spell, but only if you have the gene to begin with and normally there are obvious 'tells' you've got it.

  I ask Tavey if the gene can skip a generation, not that I recall my grandparents. My dad's parents were dead by the time I came along and my mum and her sisters were in the care system- no-one knows who my grandparents were on that side.

  Neither Liz nor Tavey know anything about the witching gene skipping generations, but I remember the skipping thing from biology class, so maybe it's a rare variant?

  We all agree my hippy aunty is the closest to a witch we can come up with, and that's clutching at straws. She was always a law to herself. She turned up unannounced, whisked us kids off on trips into nature, smoked funny cigarettes, and told hilarious stories – always managing to make the mundane exciting and special somehow. And then, she just stopped showing up any more.

  Maybe, we mused
over spiced lattes, she had been a witch too, and somehow she got the skills but the gene skipped right over my mum and came to me.

  It's turning into a really pleasant morning, allowing our thoughts to ramble between witchcraft and genetics, the extraordinary and the everyday, when Tavey's phone erupts in a klaxon-like alarm. Both he and Liz shoot into the next room, returning only moments later looking tight lipped and drawn.

  Liz hustles me to door and towards my car explaining there's a shifter emergency. She looks only slightly apologetic when she blurts out “I can't tell you much more... the shifters don't trust you – you're engaged to the problem. The De Vaudou's are causing major issues” Liz sighs “I trust you Freya, but you're just not yourself around that sleaze-ball”

  Liz just shrugs at my hurt expression, mouthing 'sorry' as she shuts the car door in my face.

  Sitting in the back of my car, being driven home, I can't work out my emotions at all. I ought to be absolutely spitting at Liz, not just for refusing to trust me but for insulting Marc. The chauffeur, who must have heard Liz's parting shot catches my eye.

  “Tough day when friends are that brutally honest”

  I find myself nodding, then immediately worrying that he'll retell the conversation to Marc. Despite the fact Marc's spending more and more time away on business, I really don't want the hassle of his petty rage if he finds out.

  The more time Marc spends away, and the more I discover myself, the weaker my obsession with him is. Sort of like the time apart gives me space to work out what I really think, without his intoxicating presence.

  It's disconcerting to find myself head over heels for him one day, willing to do anything he asks, and genuinely apathetic about the relationship and downright grumpy at him the next, after he's left again.

  Obviously, it's all balance – of course it feels different when he's actually here and I'm no longer alone. When he's around all my worries about him, about us, are magicked away. I don't know who the fuck I'm trying to convince; I'm probably just chronically lonely.