Autumn Moon

by Jan Delima

  Too bad she and Fire had yet to meet to make the ceremony complete. And even as the concept formed, Elen knew her connection to Pendaran had been the catalyst of its inspiration. The darkness he embraced was like molten wine, heady and potent in the veins. She even tried to regret it but found she could not.

  Nonetheless, the weapon gave her an idea. And the anticipation was as tempting as dancing under the stars on summer’s first night. Mae, her former teacher, would understand its lure. Named Cadarn for strength, the sword had been forged under the Druids’ Great Oak. Branches of the sacred tree, and the ivy that grew around it, encased the weapon in woven scabbard of Celtic knots.

  And vines, especially old and powerful ones, loved her. If it still lived—or not—she could make it grow, but the latter would kindle a darker version of its former essence.

  “What are you doing?” Pendaran tried to sever their connection but it remained now as her trap to control. Or perhaps balance was more accurate, for she still felt his resistance.

  “Hush and be quiet. You’re under my influence now.” In her mind’s eye, she called to the forest of her childhood. She knew this place, and it knew her. “What happens if our earthbound bodies die while our spirits are separated?”

  “You lack the nerve and the skill to fulfill such a threat.”

  “When we last met in Avon, I might have agreed. But not today.”

  Air will respond to your call. Her tutor’s words whispered through her thoughts. Remember that in times of need.

  Was this not such a time? And with her recent lesson fresh in her mind, Elen called upon the playful element and offered a joining. She asked Air to be her messenger, and to caress the vines of Cadarn’s scabbard. The element brushed against her like a cat seeking comfort—or marking its territory. It twirled around her spirit, interlacing with her energy, and then it soared.

  “Who is this tutor who imprinted your mind with Otherworld knowledge?” Doubt replaced his former arrogance. “Is it this Ms. Hafwen you mentioned earlier? Answer me!”

  Refusing to respond, Elen concentrated on her task. The woven oak and ivy were dormant, not dead. A bud formed, and then another, and soon they stretched into fresh branches and fervent vines and began to grow into a tangled mass about Pendaran’s lifeless form below.

  His spirit recoiled, as all predators do when their prey proves more dominant than docile. An incantation wove in the space that bound them together, as old and powerful as the knotted boughs she’d rekindled with life. She welcomed the unraveling. Soon their connection weakened, then severed completely, and his body below arched with his returned spirit. She watched from above as he coughed and clawed at the vines.

  And wrath knew no better host than the sorcerer who craned his face to the sky. “This is not over, Elen. Our dance has just begun. We will meet again. And I will have the answers I seek.”

  For an instant, the separation engulfed her in emptiness, and then panic. Air tugged her spirit toward a familiar path. By retracing her journey, her disorientation calmed. She focused on her family, on their desperation and their love. It was an undeniable draw, and the catalyst she needed to return.

  Eleven

  Elen drew her first breath within the warmth of Cormack’s arms. Her throat burned, and the atmosphere tasted thick with salted tears—and she’d never felt more alive. Sore and exhausted but blessedly whole. A sob fell from his mouth as he buried his face in her hair. And when she opened her eyes, a pixie landed on the end of her nose.

  “There you are,” Ms. Hafwen chirped, “finally. Your brother was about to have a gasket.” The misused slang suggested it wasn’t only Dylan who’d been in danger of blowing a gasket. “I know what you did,” she proclaimed on a warbled sounding exhale. And then the most extraordinary thing happened. If the pixie hadn’t been a nose length away, the whole event may have gone unnoticed, and Elen may have never seen her tutor’s slightly pointed teeth revealed in a way that almost resembled a smile. “I am beyond proud of you, Elen. Beyond proud.”

  Dylan leaned over, his dark gaze haunted. “Say something so I know you’re okay.”

  She cleared her throat, and then winced. “I’m okay.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “You scared the shit out of us.”

  But it was Cormack who cupped her face and rested his forehead against hers, forcing Ms. Hafwen to flutter off. “Is he gone?”

  “For now, but I angered him.” She turned her head toward her tutor, who hovered above his shoulder. “Pendaran knows I have otherworldly help. He’s not sure what, but he knows your name. I didn’t mean—”

  “Hush your fears,” Ms. Hafwen soothed, her wings a blur as she lingered in place. “He knows nothing of significance, or I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “I insulted him.” Elen swallowed. “I tried not to . . . but I couldn’t help it.” Her throat felt dry and her voice came out like a parched murmur, but there was too much they needed to know. “My thoughts were open for him to read, and I may have started the very thing I wanted to avoid. We need to prepare.”

  “Sleep now and we will plan later.” Ms. Hafwen lifted to circle around the room, issuing a series of chirps to gain attention. “A body drains without its spirit,” she announced, “and Elen must rest. Everyone downstairs. Yes, Dylan ap Merin, Penteulu of Rhuddin Village, that means you too.” The formal address earned her a wolf’s glare. “Pendaran will be in no shape to retaliate for a least a week, if not longer. It was his energy that summoned Elen’s spirit, and he will suffer three times more for its use.” More than one satisfied smirk followed that comment. “I believe there’s some apple crisp left. Sophie can make us tea”—she paused to hover in front of Dylan’s face—“while you listen to my rules, even though I suspect your mate already broke them, and you knew about me before today.”

  “If I’m not mistaken,” Dylan countered with respectful authority, “as the protector of this land, you should have introduced yourself once stone was cast for a permanent dwelling. I’ve seen the miniature castle in my sister’s garden. If it has a name, you are required to tell me. Does it have a name?”

  A scattering of tweets followed, and they sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Well, I will admit that you are the first to trump me with my own customs. But it is refreshing to know that at least one of you remembers the old ways. My dwelling is a cottage, not a castle, and it is named Brynmor.”

  “If I forgive your infraction,” Dylan offered, “can you forgive my mate’s? Sophie is new to our ways and only told me out of concern. We will protect your existence from all.”

  “It is a fair resolution,” Ms. Hafwen said with an airborne sway that mimicked a gesture of harmony. “And I accept.”

  Too exhausted to argue on Sophie’s behalf, Elen could only watch the scene unfold. But she made a mental note to speak to her brother about some of those customs, because she suspected Ms. Hafwen may have taken advantage of her lack of knowledge of the old ways.

  When Cormack began to lay her back against the pillows, Elen stilled him by tightening her hold, not caring if he thought her too clingy. She needed him. “I would like you to stay.”

  “Are you sure?” But he was already positioning himself to sit next to her.

  She managed a weak smile. “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll feel better if one of us stays in the room to watch over her.” Sophie leaned over and gently squeezed Elen’s hand. “We’ll be downstairs if you need us.”

  Not even the pixie argued.

  Snuggling into Cormack’s warmth, Elen’s eyes closed of their own volition, too heavy to keep open now that she felt safe. She’d rest while the room cleared, but only for a moment. Once they were alone, she had some things she wanted to ask him about those few minutes before Pendaran’s arrival.

  * * *

  He must have pissed off the Gods somehow, Cormack decided, to be cursed for centuries, a
nd now that he was free to pursue his love, evil wanted her too. Holding a glass of water to Elen’s mouth, he managed to coax a few swallows before she drifted off to sleep once again.

  Sophie observed them from a winged-back chair that he’d brought in from the guest room and placed at the foot of the bed. “Ms. Hafwen says this is normal.” Her tone was hushed and heavy with concern. “But she’s been like this for almost two days.”

  “Should we wake her again?” To ease his own anxiety, he watched Elen’s chest rise and fall with even breaths. Holding her lifeless body in his arms was a horror he would never forget.

  “If she needs to rest, then we should let her rest. But she should also eat.” Sophie stood as if wanting to leave but hesitant with indecision. “I called Rhuddin Hall earlier and had our cook prepare some meals. My son has pretty much cleaned out Elen’s fridge. Will you be okay watching her alone for a while? We could use showers and a change of clothes. I want to check in with Dylan and hear the reports from the guards. If you’re not up for it, I can send Joshua—”

  “Go be with your mate,” Cormack said before she finished. Sarah had stopped by to give them updates. So far, their territory remained clear of Guardians, but he too wanted another report. “We don’t all need to be here watching her sleep. Ms. Hafwen is confident that Pendaran will be incapacitated for at least a week.” Even the pixie had returned to her stone cottage while Elen slept. “If I notice any changes, I will call.”

  “Thank you, Cormack.” Her hand rested briefly on his shoulder. “I’ll return in a few hours with food. We’ll wake her then.”

  Setting the glass down on the nightstand, he waited until the sounds quieted and he knew the house was free of company before pulling back the blankets and crawling into bed with Elen. Finally, he got to hold her without the protective eyes of her family watching.

  She murmured as he folded his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin. Sophie had removed that vile dress and replaced it with a nightshirt. With Elen’s soft breaths fanning his neck, he managed to drift off to sleep.

  But when he woke, she had turned and kicked off her blankets. Her left breast rested against his arm, and the dark outline of her nipple pressed against the soft material of her shirt.

  His reaction was immediate. He tried to think of something else, to draw his starved gaze away, but he was weak and enthralled, and he couldn’t find the will to fight his infatuation. Within seconds, his cock swelled to painful lengths.

  Cormack had never understood why that particular body part had been given so many names—until he had one. Because the damn thing was uncontrollable; it deserved its lineage of titles. He’d practiced saying many of them, but “cock” was the term that came readily to mind; quick and eager like the appendage itself.

  As a Bleidd, signals of desire hadn’t connected from his human mind to his wolf’s form—thank the Gods! It was a mercy of his curse that held no limits of gratitude. Now that he was in his rightful body, however, the signals connected strong and clear, and his human anatomy was more than ready to make up for four hundred pent-up years.

  Cool air brushed between them as he shifted away from her. Her brow pinched in sleep, and she rolled toward him, unconsciously seeking his missing heat. The nightshirt twisted as she turned, and the neckline scooped forward—exposing her breast in all its coral-tipped glory.

  He sucked in a breath. “Fuck me,” fell unbidden from his mouth, a popular saying among the guards that he hadn’t fully appreciated until then. How was he supposed to resist this? He had never known temptation as he did in that moment.

  He wanted to touch her, to trace the circle around the puckered flesh. Was it soft? Would it tighten more if he did? He’d never caressed a woman in that way, or caressed one at all, for that matter. And Elen was not just any woman; she was the one he’d been waiting more than three hundred years to touch. His hand lifted of its own volition, almost reaching the darkened peak before he snagged it back.

  No, this was wrong. Exploring her body while she was unconscious, and without the ability to refuse, was no better than what their enemy had done. Swearing under his breath, Cormack covered her with blankets and moved his treacherous body to the vacant chair.

  * * *

  Wishing he had locked his office door, Dylan closed his eyes and groaned as Sophie’s fingers worked the muscles around his neck and shoulders. Between the shock with his sister, calls to allied leaders to warn of Guardian activity, and meetings with the guards and villagers, he’d earned this moment with his wife. And by the Gods, if another person interrupted them, he might just rip off their head.

  “You’re so tense,” Sophie soothed, twisting and untwisting the stiffness of his back.

  “I’ve been neglected by my mate for two days.” He received a nip on his ear for the remark.

  “You’ll be neglected for another two if Elen doesn’t wake up soon.”

  He frowned with renewed concern. “You said she’s woken in intervals.” Necessity had forced Dylan to return to Rhuddin Hall, but Sophie had kept him updated on his sister’s condition.

  “Yes, but I don’t think she’s aware. I had to walk her to the restroom, and then she fell asleep again immediately afterward. Cormack promised to call if he needed help.”

  “This is a dark business that Pendaran has brought into our midst.” And Dylan didn’t know how to fight this battle.

  “He’s a coward,” she sneered, “to attack her in spirit where none of us can help.”

  “Pendaran doesn’t understand honor,” Dylan corrected. “But he’s not a coward. He looks for the most efficient way to achieve his goals and uses it. He will come for Elen again, and we must prepare for all tactics. Even if he is weakened, I don’t trust his reach. This fight could very well take place on grounds that we can’t see.”

  “I wished you’d convinced her to stay here, but I’m glad she has someone with her at least. Not that Ms. Hafwen isn’t someone,” she amended, “but you know what I mean.”

  Yes, he did know—which was the reason he’d assigned Cormack as her guard. “What do you think of him?” Sophie had been in his company for two days now, and he wanted her opinion. “I almost intervened when that relationship first began, but Elen was so . . .” He sighed with frustration, hating the fear the villagers, and even the guards, had of her, and finished, “friendless.”

  “He’s nothing like his sisters,” she said with some reservation. “I think he loves her. And Elen deserves to be loved. And whatever their relationship is, or becomes, it’s between them. He’s been by her side this whole time, leaving only when I helped her out of that dress.”

  “I’m not surprised, but I’m glad to hear it.” It made his decision to place him there more agreeable. Not that any others had wanted the post, but he hadn’t had the heart to tell Elen that. Dylan’s patience on that matter had grown thin a long time ago. His sister’s tender heart was the reason he began accepting others of their kind into his territory, and their fear of her was quickly turning into disrespect. It would be addressed soon.

  “I’m waking her to eat when I return,” Sophie said with the mixture of authority and caregiving instincts that had drawn him to her in the beginning. “I’ve had Enid prepare some meals to bring over, with blueberry tarts.” A rueful sigh fell from her mouth. “Maybe those will smooth Ms. Hafwen’s tweaked feathers. I’m not sure how she guessed I told you, but the winged tyrant has been ordering me around for two days. I remade her tea three times yesterday because, according to her, it was too bitter.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Bring her some of Enid’s special mead with the tarts, and she’ll be your best friend before she finishes the first thimbleful. Honey, especially fermented honey, is like catnip to felines for pixies.”

  “Mead, huh?” Sophie laughed. “I’m not sure I want to see a drugged Ms. Hafwen, but I will bring a bottle just in case.”

&nbs
p; Trust was a new and precious development between him and his wife. He had little doubt that Elen and her pixie had put the fear of Fae-wrath into her, but Sophie chose to confide in him anyway. Concern, he was sure, helped his wife’s decision. For her sake, he’d treated every situation as if he hadn’t known about Ms. Hafwen’s presence and had kept her secret between them.

  But he was pleased. No, he amended, he was happy, the happiest he’d been in a long time—and he’d be damned if he’d let Pendaran and his followers threaten his family yet again.

  The reign of the Guardians must end.

  Which prompted him to confide his own news. “Isabeau has called a meeting with other leaders who have joined our cause. It will take place in her territory on Thursday.”

  Her hands stopped their ministrations. “You’re going to Minnesota?”

  “I have to.”

  “This isn’t a good time.”

  “There’s never a good time. After Avon’s battle many of the leaders have decided to stay close to their own territories and not get involved. Isabeau has helped us twice now. I need to go.”

  Instead of arguing, she sought reassurance. “But it’s just a meeting?”

  “Yes, as far as I know. She’s been contacted by Edwyn, one of the Council members. She has more information she doesn’t want to share over the phone or by messenger. I have news as well. Others might too. It’s time we meet to see who’s still with us, and before we’re in the middle of another crisis. I would bring you with me—”

  “No, I need to stay here,” she said before he had a chance to finish, claiming her role as the alpha’s mate in his absence without hesitation.

  It affected him as it would any wolf.

  Tired of war talk, he swiveled in his office chair and caught her up in his lap, capturing her mouth as she gasped in surprise. “I need you tonight,” he whispered against her lips, kissing down to the sensitive skin under her ear. “We’ll check on Elen, and if she’s well, I want you home in our bed.”