Dragon's Moon

by Lucy Monroe

  One blunt warrior’s finger breached her body, slipping inside and claiming her on another level.

  “Yes…more…I want that…” she babbled as he moved that finger, making her body shake with delight.

  He pressed deep, hitting something inside her that hurt and she flinched away. He pulled his finger back, but not all the way out. “That is your maidenhead, faolán. My cock will breach the barrier and you will be mine.”

  She did not argue. What would be the point? They would both know the words for the lie they would be.

  And she wanted it. Him inside her where no other man would ever be allowed.

  He came over her, his straining arousal rubbing between her thighs and pleasuring that spot he’d found so unerringly with his finger. “Do you accept me into your body, Ciara?”

  Recognition of the beginning of the Chrechte bonding rite sent alarm spiraling through her with the pleasure. She’d accepted they would join their bodies, but this was more than a physical mating. He was demanding she pledge herself to him until death.

  That harsh reality that claimed all too many of those she had loved already.

  She wanted to deny him, needed to push him away, stop this before it went further and their actions led to the inevitable terrifying conclusion.

  But she could not. That part of her heart he had brought back to life would not let her.

  He would not hurt her. Death was a cruel master, but would it be any less a cruelty to lose him without the vows?

  And she knew in that instant that it would not.

  She loved him with every bit of her heart that had been broken and healed to the best of its ability.

  She was no fool. She did not believe that for all Eirik wanted her that he loved her as well, but her heart belonged to him. Vows spoken or not.

  He waited above her, his body drawing shivers of bliss from her.

  “I’m…this is just supposed to be…tomorrow…” The words came out as disjointed as her thoughts.

  He brushed his fingertips down her cheek. “Shh. Do not make this complicated. Your wolf knows what she wants. You know what you want.” He thrust downward with his hips, making his arousal press tantalizingly against her most sensitive flesh, drawing a moan of desire from her. “Tell me you accept me into your body.”

  Chapter 19

  One should believe in marriage as in the immortality of the soul.

  —HONORÉ DE BALZAC

  Ciara opened her mouth to deny him, despite her new inner knowledge, but “Yes, I accept you” came out instead. And in the ancient language of the Chrechte.

  Tears of fear tracked a path down her temples, though a feeling of exultation filled her as well.

  He kissed her temples, sipping at her tears and whispering words of comfort in Chrechte before saying, “I join my body with yours. I give my dragon to you. You are keeper of my raven.”

  “I forsake all others for you.” That at least was an easy promise to make. She would never allow another to touch her heart or her body the way Eirik had.

  “And I give my seed only to you.”

  She wanted that promise as much as she had never wanted the risk of having children. And a part of her she had buried long ago birthed a craving for a babe with Eirik’s amber eyes and regal bearing.

  “Now and forever.”

  “Now and forever,” he repeated. And then he shifted so the blunt, broad tip of his manhood pressed against her opening. “Mine. From this night forward.”

  “Yours.”

  He thrust forward, stretching her, filling her, making his words truth in a way she would never again be able to deny.

  Her wolf purred in approval despite the dull ache of him pressing against the barrier inside her body. She tilted her hips, allowing him to penetrate farther, and she felt the tearing sensation inside that meant her body was no longer innocent of carnal desires. Though, if the truth be told, it hadn’t been since his first kiss.

  She had fought it, but this outcome had been inevitable from the initial brush of his lips against hers.

  She did not complain about the pain because already pleasure fought for supremacy in her body. He continued to press steadily forward, his face showing the strain of the slow penetration.

  She reached up and cupped his cheek. “We are joined.”

  He turned into the touch and once again her wolf purred.

  “We are one,” he replied in ancient Chrechte.

  She gasped, his words going through her with the power of a winter storm’s thunder. He reached beyond her and only when he shifted again could she see why. He’d grabbed her dirk.

  The sharp blade shined in the moonlight. “We spill blood to consecrate our union.” Again he spoke in the language of their people.

  His words the only warning she got before he sliced the palm of his hand and then waited for her to offer her hand. It was a rite so ancient, few Faol even knew about it.

  Her mother had told her once though, in her mad ramblings after Ciara’s father’s death. Her mother had described the bonding of their souls in this rite. She’d been insensible with grief but had claimed it was worth all the pain that came after.

  Ciara looked at the blood dripping down Eirik’s hand onto his wrist and knew he meant their mating to be as sacred and true as possible for the Chrechte. She did not know if it was an Éan thing, or because he was a prince, but his expectation was clear.

  She would shed more than the blood of her maidenhead this night.

  He did not rush her but remained still above her, his hardness filling her feminine core, his body covering hers in possession and protection.

  The time for trying to hold back had passed. With solemnity she had only experienced when spreading her family’s ashes, Ciara lifted her hand, palm up. Eirik did not smile, but his approval glowed in his amber gaze.

  He cut a tiny prick on her palm, not even one tenth as long as the cut he had made on his own.

  But her blood welled and he pressed their palms together. Their blood mingled, growing unnaturally hot between their palms. The wind swirled around them in a rush of air, leaves and other loose detritus from the forest floor, though nothing but the air touched them. Crimson light flashed and then the white light that accompanied her shift into the wolf.

  She felt like she’d been hit by lightning, her entire body burning. But it did not hurt; it was a pleasure so great, she was not sure she could bear it.

  Eirik’s head was thrown back, his face contorted in ecstasy as she felt his heat spread inside her. Her body convulsed, her womb cramping, her vaginal walls clamping onto his shaft so tightly he could not have moved were he making the effort to do so.

  She felt his dragon, the power, the fire, the strength and the need for her. Then the raven, the keen senses, the joy in flight and the abhorrence in killing at odds with the dragon’s predatory instincts. The raven agreed with the dragon on its need for her though.

  Her wolf reached out to soothe both beasts, sharing her own need to hunt, to run under the moonlight and to mark that which was hers.

  “We are true mates.” She heard the words in his rich, deep timbre in her head, the only sound around them the still rushing wind.

  “I cannot deny it.”

  Though she wanted to, her fear spiking at the knowledge that Ciara was more lost than her mother had ever been. Because in all her descriptions of the mating rite, her mother had never mentioned anything so profound or magical happening.

  The dragon crooned to her, the raven’s soft caw joining to comfort her.

  She stared up into Eirik’s eyes. “Our Chrechte spirits have joined.”

  “Never to be sundered.” Only as he spoke the vow in Chrechte did she realize she’d said the words of confirmation.

  And suddenly, the pleasure between them began to increase again, spiraling upward as he started to move, thrusting in her with controlled power.

  He claimed her then, in an act as old as time.

  When they both reached
completion for the second time, she felt a searing heat in her palm. She pulled her hand from his and saw that the small prick had already closed.

  She grabbed his hand and looked, only to find a thin scar instead of an open wound on his palm.

  He smiled, his entire being suffused with male satisfaction. “Our mating has been blessed.”

  “Yes.” She could only hope that meant it would not be cut short.

  “You will sleep now.”

  So lethargic she couldn’t imagine doing anything else, she just sighed some kind of agreement. Let him worry about getting them situated; her body was already relaxing into sleep.

  She woke in the arms of her dragon, another night’s rest unhindered by dreams of the sacred stone.

  Ciara gave her adopted aunt, Emily, news of the family, messages and gifts from Abigail while Eirik and the Balmoral went off to discuss the Éan who had made the island their home. After much cajoling by the boy, they’d agreed to take Feth, Lachlan and Emily’s son. Named for an ancient Chrechte king, but a mere seven years, he was far from having his alpha father’s stature. Though Feth was near to a match in Lachlan’s bearing already.

  The men planned to check in on those Éan living nearby as well, so Ciara did not expect their return anytime soon. She understood Eirik’s need to check on his people, but she struggled with the urge to move forward in their quest. It was an itch under the skin that she was doing her best to ignore.

  Lais had left to call on the Éan healer who had trained him, taking Mairi along under the guise of wanting the other healer to examine her. But Ciara wasn’t fooled and she doubted his prince had been, either. The eagle didn’t want the non-shifting Chrechte out of his sight, and that was that.

  Emily put aside the letter from her sister to read later and took Ciara’s hands in her own. “How are you holding up under all this?”

  The Balmoral had not shown near the surprise at news of the Faolchú Chridhe as Ciara’s father had. Emily had been surprisingly accepting as well when Ciara had told them her story. Though her aunt had evinced concern for Ciara’s part in the recovery of the stone, she had agreed that the Faolchú Chridhe must be found.

  Ciara shrugged. “I do not know. I hid my secrets for so long and now they are laid bare.”

  Just as she was sure her mating the night before was no longer undisclosed. Not after the sulfuric glare the Balmoral laird had given Eirik upon their arrival at the keep.

  Ciara had bathed in a stream in the forest, but she had been unable to wash away Eirik’s scent completely. And her wolf had refused to let her even try.

  Not that it would have done any good. Eirik had given her an incendiary kiss before she’d gotten dressed, rubbing his body against hers in a way that was wholly pleasurable. Afterward, both were marked unmistakably with the other’s scent.

  Stubborn dragon.

  He was probably telling her adopted uncle that they had mated in the way of the Chrechte right this very minute. Short of tying him up and gagging him, Ciara was certain she could not have stopped the prince who considered her his from doing so. But the temptation to do exactly that had been strong not fifteen minutes past.

  “It is difficult to hide anything among the Chrechte.” Emily squeezed Ciara’s hands and released them. “I’ve had to learn there isn’t room for normal boundaries, or embarrassment about things they can’t help knowing.”

  “Like what you’ve been doing when Lachlan takes you for an unexpected stroll in the forest in the middle of the day?” Ciara asked, remembering a story Abigail had told her.

  Emily blushed, but there was no scent of true embarrassment coming off of her. “Exactly like that.”

  Ciara looked over to where Emily’s daughter embroidered cloth with her cousin and Talorc’s sister, Caitriona, under the larger than normal window of the solar. The femwolf appeared to be focused on the girls and their project, but Ciara knew her other aunt heard every word she and Emily shared. Moreover, she was no doubt listening with keen interest.

  The young girls, on the other hand, would not develop stronger Chrechte senses until their first shift. And from what Niall had said, Lachlan and Emily’s daughter would never do so. He and his twin, Barr, had the ability to sense whether a babe in the womb was wolf, human or of the Éan, or so they claimed. And Niall had declared the nine-year-old Abigail Caitriona to be wholly human.

  No one would know it from the way the children’s father doted on them equally. Laird Lachlan adored his human daughter as much as his Chrechte son and made sure everyone knew it.

  “It does not take a wolf’s enhanced senses to know something has transpired between you and the Éan prince,” Emily said in a gently inquiring tone.

  Ciara did not know how to reply. She was still coming to terms with her mating and was definitely not ready to talk about it. Caitriona gave her a look of commiseration, as if she knew exactly what Ciara was thinking and feeling.

  Perhaps she did. Ciara hadn’t been actively masking her emotions since the men’s departure.

  “How are the boys?” Emily asked, as if she’d never made the leading comment about Ciara and Eirik.

  Ciara forced a grin. It wasn’t that hard. Thoughts of the twins always made her happy. “As full of trouble as their father.”

  Tsking, Emily shook her head, her long, golden brown curls swaying against her back. “Did you know I came to the Highlands to protect my sister from the horror of being married to Talorc?”

  Caitriona chuckled, proving she had indeed been listening. “If she doesn’t, she’s deaf. The warriors of my former clan still gossip like grandmothers about the day you likened him to a goat.”

  “I eventually conceded he wasn’t that bad,” Emily offered in her own defense, but the laughter in her voice said the memory amused more than concerned her.

  Ciara had heard bits and pieces of the story. Like Caitriona had said, how could she not? “Funny how you came north to become my father’s wife but ended up the lady of the Balmoral.”

  Caitriona took in a sharp breath and Emily looked at Ciara with the sappy expression she usually reserved for her children. “You called Talorc your father.”

  She shrugged. “He is.”

  Caitriona laughed with her head thrown back. “You may not share his blood, but you are so like him, no one could doubt you are his daughter.”

  The words made Ciara warm inside and she didn’t hesitate when Emily indicated they should join Caitriona and the girls in the chairs under the window.

  “It’s a good thing Talorc refused to marry me,” Emily said as she adjusted her plaid. “We would have killed each other, I’m thinking. And my sister would never have known the happiness she does now.”

  Ciara could do nothing but agree. She had met few couples as perfectly suited as her mother and father. Though to hear Abigail tell it, their first year was rockier than the cliffs of Balmoral Island.

  Emily handed Ciara a handkerchief to embroider before taking up her own project.

  Ciara accepted it gratefully, happy to have something to do with her hands as the need to be in search of the stone made her jittery. “You had another sister, didn’t you?”

  Any topic was better than dwelling on what the elder Talorc who had sent them to talk might have to say. Laird Lachlan had known exactly who Talorc had meant. Boisin was an old man with a big family, who knew all the old stories and shared them with any Chrechte who would listen.

  He was purported to be a master storyteller, so most of the Chrechte, old and young alike, spent time at his cottage in the course of a year.

  “We did.” Emily frowned, her memories of the other woman clearly not fond. “She wasn’t kind to Abigail. Jolenta was our mother’s favorite once Abigail lost her hearing from the fever.”

  Ciara’s adopted mother never spoke of her family in England and the femwolf thought she knew why. Abigail refused to speak ill of others, but clearly there was little good to say about the family she had left behind.

  “
Tell Ciara what became of the vain little dunce,” Caitriona suggested with a not-well-concealed smirk.

  Emily gave her heart-sister a reproving look. “She married a minor baron. Sybil wrote of the nuptials when they happened. I suppose she thought we’d be jealous.”

  “Jealous, of being married to an Englishman?” Ciara asked with stunned disbelief.

  Both Caitriona and Emily laughed, and Emily said, “I was once English. It is not quite the blight so many in the Highlands believe it to be.”

  “That is not what I wanted you to tell our dear niece about the vain little Jolenta, and you well know it.”

  Emily sighed but gave her dear friend another chastising glance before speaking. “We heard word that Jolenta had been engaged to a lord of much higher standing, but he withdrew from the arrangement.”

  “She was caught playing the games at court with another gentleman entirely.” Caitriona shrugged, looking quite a bit like Talorc herself. “I don’t understand these court games and am only glad my brother never sent me to live among the entourage of the Scotland queen.”

  Ciara could only agree. The last seven years had been difficult enough; to have spent them in the company of people who considered truth naïve and deception an art was unthinkable.

  “She fought the mating then?” Lachlan asked Eirik, amusement clear in his tone.

  The older man had not been amused when they began their discussion, but after Eirik told Lachlan that he and Ciara had spoken their mating vows despite her earlier protests, the powerful laird relaxed.

  “Aye. She did not want a mate.” Eirik was fairly certain she still didn’t.

  “Talorc has said as much.”

  Eirik was not surprised to find out that the two lairds had discussed Ciara. Both cared for her, one as father, the other as uncle. And the two men were much better friends than appearances might imply.

  “Nevertheless, she spoke her vows with conviction.” He had no intention of sharing the amazing Chrechte magic that had attended their mating though. “We are well matched.”

  “Talorc must agree or he would not have allowed her to accompany you on this quest without coming himself, or at the least sending Niall along.”