Crescent Moon

by Bevill, C. L.

  Pitch stood in front of the other exit, a darkened doorway leading away. With the dim light coming from below, she could see the rearward part as it became a winding stairway that descended. The walls were wired with diffusely lit wall sconces that glowed electrically blue.

  “I’m not the key master, but hey, maybe we can work something out,” Ula smiled, trying not to bare her teeth.

  “You’ve no business here,” Pitch growled.

  “I guess you don’t get the movie reference but that’s okay. I only watched it because my mother likes Bill Murray so much.” Ula grinned. “She thinks he’s a were of some kind, but she can’t figure out which kind. Which brings me to that last statement of yours. I do have business here, but no one’s willing to be friendly.”

  The gangly were gnashed his teeth. His entire body vibrated.

  Ula braced her body. Pitch was sending off waves of antagonism. He wasn’t happy that she had found his favorite dive. He wasn’t happy that she had tracked him across one of the most densely populated cities in Europe. He wasn’t happy that she was standing on his doorstep challenging his authority. She didn’t look away, and he had difficulty maintaining eye contact.

  “All I want to do is talk to a human,” Ula said softly. And possibly a lot more than that based on what I just scented. “Five minutes and I’m gone. What’s the big deal?”

  “You’ll do more than talk from what I’ve heard,” Pitch snapped.

  “Oh, do you mean your friend, Pierre? He wasn’t very nice either. He was trying to sneak up on me, and that’s not very politically correct. Not very sportsmanlike either. Can’t blame a girl for protecting herself.” Ula grinned again. “After all, I didn’t challenge him.” The grin was making Pitch nervous. He shifted his body from side to side.

  Something hit the exterior door with a thump.

  “Who did you bring with you?” Pitch demanded fiercely.

  “Me? It’s just me,” she said, suspecting that not only had she followed Pitch but that someone had followed her just as intently. And I still don’t know his name. My father tried to talk to me about him, but I wasn’t having it. I stayed long enough to get the message back from the Council and have my father, Claire’s father, too, diss me. My father, my friggin’ Alpha.

  The door rocked again and Ula sighed.

  Pitch ripped his baseball jersey off and began to change.

  Ula blinked because the other were moved so rapidly. It was as if he was more than were. She didn’t know what he was, but it was something she had never seen before. When he transformed, it was as if magic flowed over his body and he grew and grew and grew. She didn’t really have time to react.

  The door burst open behind her. Ula didn’t need to look back to hear him say, “Oh, feck me.”

  Chapter 9

  By scratching and biting, the cat and dog come together.

  – Proverb

  ~

  Then

  Ula’s mother, Sonja Bennett, was the one who kept the conversation going. With perfect manners, she directed Killian to the community center’s kitchen and showed him where he could clean up and use the cooking utensils. She asked about his trip. She discussed that the Manitoba Clan was somewhat out of touch in the far north, but they had Internet access and satellite feed. She talked about just about anything and everything to fill in the horrendous gap that was created by Braydon Bennett’s grating silence.

  Sonja looked over the slab of beef that Killian had brought. “Angus,” she said. “Nice. I’ll round up some potluck, and we’ll break out some of those big roasting chickens. We’ve enough time to make a very respectable spread before dinner.”

  Ula’s father grumbled from the doorway.

  Sonja glanced at her husband and mate. She didn’t seem particularly cowed with his obvious disdain of their visitor. She was about Ula’s height. Her hair was a similar color, threaded with fine strands of silver. However, her eyes were a warm brown that seemed very diametrically opposed to her husband’s frigid, pale blue stare. “It’s not every day we have…guests,” she said to Braydon. “He saved Ula’s life. It’s the least we can do.”

  Braydon glared at Killian without looking at his wife. “Make sure Constance makes some of that macaroni and cheese she does,” he growled to her.

  Killian had been traveling the better part of 24 hours, but it wasn’t the time to ask for a bed and a nap. The sun had been up when he left Churchill and it didn’t look like the sun was going to set any time soon and he hadn’t checked the actual time for hours. Now was the time to impress the parents, and Killian needed to put on a little charm.

  “It’s really good macaroni and cheese,” Sonja said apologetically to Killian. “Constance never takes home leftovers. Sometimes the cubs fight over who gets to lick the pan.”

  Killian took his coat off, washed his hands, and got to work. He didn’t say much as he worked. Sonja chatted for a bit before she went off to organize the dinner. Braydon stood in the doorway, glaring at Killian’s back. Killian didn’t need to turn around to know. It was like two laser beams burning into his back. It made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. A good were knew when to let another angry one smolder in peace.

  When the prepared beef was finally ready to simmer in one of the community building’s oversized ovens, Killian looked around for some aluminum wrap and was almost surprised when a large hand reached around and produced the long box from a cabinet.

  “You’ll need to baste it,” Braydon rumbled.

  “That’s the way my mother always does it,” Killian said amicably. “I’ve two Guinness’s left, or is it too early around here? It’s a mite hard to tell on account that the daylight has gone on for about twelve hours.”

  “We have great long days here. Do you like your beer warm?”

  “That’s more of a Brit thing.”

  They sat at a small aluminum table with matching chairs and looked at each other while drinking the last two bottles of the stout beer.

  “You remember me?” Braydon asked, but it really wasn’t a question.

  Killian took a drink to keep from answering right away. He knew the correct words. He just didn’t know if Braydon wanted Killian to know, or it was meant to be a secret. Finally, Killian put the bottle down and sighed.

  “They called you the Bloodletter. I don’t recall if the ‘the’ part was capitalized. You ran the Council,” Killian said. “I do remember. There was talk when you left so abruptly, but it died down fast enough. It’s a bloody brutal world we live in, and the Council is no different. The talk was that you were challenged or such.” He looked around him. There was a window near them, and Killian could see weres and people coming and going. It seemed a normal place with normal activities. No one seemed to be overtly afraid, although the greeting party at the dock would tell a different story. “But it looks like you’ve found yourself a nice place you could defend and settled down to raise a family.”

  “A family that was nearly less two daughters,” Braydon said, a seething bit of noise that might break into outright violence at a moment’s notice.

  Killian nodded. “Those humans won’t be bothering our kind anymore.” He smiled grimly. He wasn’t proud of the fact per se, but the thought of Whitfield Dyson suffering at the hands of the Council didn’t trouble him either.

  Braydon suddenly chuckled, but it was a mirthless sound. “They said you badgered the Council into trying some of them. Trying them as if they were in a human court.”

  “Some of the humans were…naïve, not guilty,” Killian said. “My Alpha’s mate spoke out for one personally. And if she said he was not culpable, then he was not. I’m not as bloodthirsty as some weres.”

  Braydon leaned back. His craggy face observed Killian intently. “I don’t think you are, boy. I’m not sure if I know what you are.”

  Killian took another slug of the Guinness and then finished it off. He stared at Braydon, and he didn’t let his eyes drop. It was considered rude behavior, especiall
y among wolf shifters, but it needed to be done. “I thought that the traitor, Martinez, had simply gone after those weres he could, in order to supply the human’s conclave with experimentation materials. But Manitoba is somewhat out of the way for collecting wolves. After all, Martinez had to know about the Whitelaw Clan in Oregon. They’ve wolves to spare, and none of them will be missed. Why travel hell and gone to here for two sisters?”

  Braydon’s eyes narrowed.

  “Unless someone wanted a particular pair of sisters? The bush pilot said they hired every sky jockey in the area. You must have known something was amiss.”

  The growl emerged from deep in Braydon’s belly and reverberated in the room.

  “A diversion, was it then? They kept most of the pilots to the east while the main group came in from the west and took Ula and Claire.” Killian nodded to himself. It was the way he would have done it, if he had been so inclined.

  “If you’re trying to impress him,” Sonja’s voice came from the door of the kitchen, “that isn’t the way to do it.”

  “Did the humans do this because you ran the Council? Or did they do it because you left the Council?” Killian sat back suddenly, his eyes reading the flow of emotions on the older were’s face. “I don’t like the sound of this. Does Ula know?”

  A mighty fist slammed upon the table, and the aluminum creaked and bent, leaving a grapefruit-sized depression. Braydon’s eyes glittered with rage, and the veins in his forehead were close to exploding. “Ula snuck from the enclave a week ago!” he bellowed, causing Killian to flinch.

  There was a weighty silence and Sonja filled in the gap, “No one knows where she went. She covered her trail and headed south. We found out that she got a ride from some Inuit to Tadoule Lake. There’s an airport there that makes regular runs.”

  “She’s not here,” Killian flatly. He stood up. “She went after them. Where does a wee were like that go to find out what happened to her sister?”

  “Where the hell do you think?” Braydon barked at him. “She couldn’t get the answers from the Council’s representatives, so she went in person.”

  “And you kept her in the dark,” Killian surmised. “She doesn’t know what you did before, nor does she know the risk she’s taking.”

  Sonja immediately stepped backwards as Braydon’s hand curled around the edge of the table. Metal contorted with the pressure of his anger.

  “The beef needs to be basted every thirty or forty minutes, and it needs to cook for two hours,” Killian calmly said to Sonja. “If your people can get me back to the dock, I can arrange for the bush pilot to pick me up again.”

  “Oh, Jake’s not flying out of Churchill again tonight,” Sonja said. “He’ll be in the pub drinking his fill of Labatt Blue. He’ll likely close the place out. Then they’ll carry him home.”

  “Great, you know Jake,” Killian said.

  Sonja shrugged. “He called to make sure it was okay for you to come up here. The beings up here tend to watch each other’s backs.”

  So what was all the crap about flying back with him? Didn’t want to see me slaughtered and threw his best pitch for keeping me alive? Killian nodded. “I’ll put clothing in my pack and change into my cougar form. I can make a hundred miles overnight if I push it.”

  Braydon’s sulfuric gaze attempted to melt Killian. “What the hell do you think you’ll do?”

  “Girl went back into the caves, two, three times, looking for her sister, or a clue of where her sister went to,” Killian said as he rearranged clothing into the pack that a cougar could carry. He sat and began to remove his boots with rapid, economical movements. His brogue was thick as he tried to multi-task. He needed to make for an airport where he could charter a plane. He needed to make calls before another hour ended. He would have to fly over half the world before he could see Ula again. He needed to get his clothes off in front of his future in-laws so that he could go rescue his mate. Either Karma or Fate are laughing their asses off at me. “Had to carry her out. Her ankle was crushed in the collapse of the tunnels, and she refused to have it repaired.”

  Sonja made a noise. Killian glanced at her, and Ula’s mother murmured, “It’s still healed incorrectly. She didn’t want to have it repaired then have to wait a few weeks for it to be properly healed.”

  “I can see where her stubbornness comes from,” Killian said, and it was said with a note of awe. He grinned at the Bloodletter. “But you know better than most that the Council isn’t to be trifled with.”

  Braydon nodded a short, abrupt nod.

  “I haven’t made too many enemies within the ranks of the Council,” Killian said, “and my Alpha has some contacts. I’ll use what I can to help Ula, but I don’t have time to waste.” One boot came off and was stuffed into the pack.

  “Wait,” Sonja said. “Why would you do this for Ula?”

  Did I forget to explain the part about being Ula’s mate? Well, shite.

  ~

  Now

  The door slammed behind them, locking them in. One of Pitch’s immense tentacles had slithered past them and applied pressure to the entrance, blocking their escape. But the plain truth was that Killian knew full well Ula didn’t want to escape. She deftly hopped aside to avoid another one, and he fleetingly admired her elegant figure.

  With an effortless movement, Killian pulled Ula back against his front and said, “Bet you’re glad to see this Irishman.”

  Ula stared up at Pitch’s frantically moving form, bringing Killian’s attention to the horrendous were. Killian couldn’t look away. He’d heard the rumors, but it was nothing like seeing it in person. A nightmare shape formed of black skin and whipping limbs, he had never seen anything like it.

  “I’ve been doing all right, so far,” she murmured. He caught the words with a sense of foreboding.

  “Were you thinking the Council would leave some insignificant were in charge of its only entrance?”

  “Only entrance,” she said, skipping left. She grunted as she came down hard on her bad ankle. “How can the Catacombs have only one entrance?”

  “One entrance,” he said. “Many exits. They use witches, lass, and other magicks that we haven’t a clue about. But those facts aren’t doing us any good at the moment.”

  “What is he?” Ula asked.

  Killian danced them to one side as a massive limb smashed down where they had been standing. Pitch wasn’t playing games. “He’s the fecking gatekeeper, love. They say he comes from a great frozen lake in Antarctica. He’s the last of his kind.”

  “He looks like a giant octopus, er, squid, um, whatever,” Ula muttered. One limb flayed toward them, and her hand shot out. The silver end of the cane impaled the tentacle, and the limb abruptly jerked away. Pitch let out a bellow of pure rage.

  Killian moved them again, guiding Ula like they were waltzing in a fancy ballroom. He managed to take a scant second to rub her neck with his mouth. Her long lovely neck was bare because her hair was piled on top of her head and fixed with picks. “Couldn’t you wait until the Council had made up their minds?”

  “I’m not that much of a fool,” she snarled. “They were hoping I would simply give up away and go away. Or worse.”

  Killian chuckled. “You smell like sunshine on a spring day, love.” She smelled of more than that. There was perspiration and spice and the knowledge that she was the one who was meant for him. It tied a veritable knot in his heartstrings.

  But her words caused a grim realization in him. The Council wasn’t hoping that Ula would go away. They had been using Claire as bait. Not for Ula, of course, but for her father, the Bloodletter.

  Her cane snapped again and another night-black limb jerked away with an irate roar. “Enough of that,” she yelped. “How do we get past him?”

  * * *

  Ula felt the were’s hand pass over the nape of her neck as they leapt away from another swaying tentacle. She still didn’t know his name. “Did you just smell my neck?”

  “Well, I did g
et a little sniff there,” the were said with obvious appreciation filling his voice. “I’ve been dreaming about you. I even went to see your father.”

  Ula froze for a moment, and the were cursed vehemently as he yanked her out of the way of one of the flailing limbs. “You saw my father?” she asked with disbelief.

  “He’s a right big were. If I didn’t know he was a wolf shifter, I would say he was some kind of fecking bear.”

  Ula managed a quick look back at him. “And you still have all your parts attached?”

  “Watch it,” the cat were called and moved them to the right.

  The thing that was Pitch wailed. His huge eye stared at them, glittering in the dimness. Clearly the werebeast was frustrated with them and his inability to kill them or incapacitate them immediately.

  “Can we make a deal, mate?” the were said to Pitch’s writhing shadowy shape. “I can’t but help notice the baseball jersey. I know the Cat Clan in New York, and I’m certain they could hook you up with season tickets for the Yankees. Club seats, too! The Alpha loves baseball.”

  Pitch wailed again.

  “Hmm. Council. Season tickets,” Ula murmured as if weighing the two in opposite hands. “I don’t think the Yankees will rip him into tiny little were bits.”

  The wail became an angry roar.

  “Not helping, love,” the were said.

  “What if we just start cutting off limbs then?” Ula asked. “He’s got eight, after all. He could miss a few.”

  “Eight,” the were said. “Maybe it’s more like ten, eleven, it’s difficult to count. The beast clearly doesn’t want to hold still.”

  Ula dodged a tentacle that hit the were in the head. His large body flew into a very solid wall with a dismaying thud. He shot to his feet and swayed for a single moment. She cast him an impatient look. “If you’re going to get into the way, cat, then best to ease on down the road.”