Her shoes crunched on the fine white pebbles as she stepped down onto the path. The peppery yet floral scent of wild thyme lifted to greet her as she brushed past it. She ran her hand over the English lavender bordering the path as she walked. Around the bend in the path there were decorative pots of mint—peppermint, spearmint, apple mint. She bruised the skin of the leaves to breathe in their pungent scent. She could see rosemary and lemongrass and horseradish in other pots. Borders of bobbing yellow daisies and sweet lilacs drew her further down the winding pebbled path towards the rear of the garden.
She stopped near a bench made out of a twisted chunk of gumtree, its surface sanded and polished until it looked and felt like a flow of warm silk. It was set at the edge of a circle of pebbles so that if you sat in it, you could view the garden but also enjoy the sound of trickling water from the mini waterfall set into the rock feature to her left.
It was beautiful. A place to come and relax, to centre and calm oneself. The bench was even wide enough to sit on in her meditation pose. It was astonishing.
She ran her fingers appreciatively over the silken wood of the bench, but stopped as another, delicious scent caught her attention—vanilla and chocolate. Two of her favourite smells. Following her nose, she discovered the scent belonged to a little tufted plant with a purple star-like flower. She had no idea what it was, but it smelled divine.
‘That shouldn’t be flowering now.’ River’s voice made her jerk upright so fast she almost lost her balance. He reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her so she didn’t fall backwards into the garden bed.
‘What?’ she blurted, unable to think with the heat of his fingers searing through her shirt and into her skin.
He stared into her eyes for a long, heart-stopping moment, then let go. Stepping back, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Even though they were tucked away, she could still feel the hot imprint of his fingers on her arm.
Swallowing compulsively, she tried to speak again. ‘What did you say?’ She noted he was wearing a worn and faded blue T-shirt—thank the Goddess for small mercies—although the way it clung to his frame showed enough to make her mouth go dry.
‘I said that Arthropodium fimbriatus shouldn’t be flowering now, but I ordered it especially from a supplier I know.’
‘Why? Why did you do that?’
His shoulders went up and he looked down at the path. ‘I know you love chocolate and vanilla.’
‘How could you know that?’
‘Your hand cream is vanilla scented, as is your shampoo. You always keep chocolate in your bag and Skye says you will bake chocolate cookies or muffins or cake just so the smell of chocolate is in the house.’
‘Oh.’ She looked around, gesturing at the plants, the layout, the meditation circle. ‘You did this for me?’
He shuffled his booted feet, pebbles scattering with a little skitter into the rock border. His hands were shoved so hard into his jeans pockets, she was surprised the material didn’t tear. For a long, breathless moment, the only thing she could hear was the trickling splash of the water feature, the twittering of a few birds as they greeted dusk and the slight breeze that ruffled her hair, carrying a multitude of delicious scents from the herbs, flowers and fresh mulch that surrounded her. She wanted him to answer, but there was also a part of her that didn’t want him to answer.
If he said he’d done it for her, what was she supposed to do with that? How could this be an apology, as Iain suggested? That just didn’t seem enough reason to do something this large, this personal, this wonderful. But then again, it didn’t have to be about her at all. He loved working in gardens. He’d done some work on the gardens at the packhouse—nothing like this, but still lovely. And there was the garden at Cantrae House, although he hadn’t been allowed to go back there yet. Not until Jason said it was safe. So this was the only garden he had access to. She knew he needed gardening like she needed to heal. It was an expression of his heart, his soul. The plants and soil, the birds and insects, were friends to a man who had never had friends.
Jason’s words also echoed in her mind. He needed it to help keep himself together.
Those reasons sounded far truer than him having done all of this for her. She wished she hadn’t asked the question. His silence was killing her. She was about to tell him that the garden was lovely, to try to bypass her incredibly egocentric question, when Bluebelle shot out of the nearby shrubs and wound around her legs with a plaintive meow.
‘Hello, Bluebelle,’ River said, reaching to pet the cat.
Bron’s mouth dropped open when the usually shy cat rubbed against River’s outstretched hand. ‘Oh, my god. How did you do that?’
‘Do what?’ He looked up at her with surprise as he picked up the cat and cradled her gently against his chest.
Bluebelle didn’t nuzzle against him, but neither did she spit and scratch and struggle like she usually did around the Were. ‘That,’ Bron said, pointing at her cat. ‘How did you get her to do that? She doesn’t go near any other Were. She just scratched and spat at Iain.’
‘Well, I don’t blame her for that,’ River said, stroking her from head to tail. ‘He is scary looking. I mean, he doesn’t have my scars, but that scowl …’ River chuckled as Bluebelle meowed as if in assent.
‘But how did you even get near her? The last time you two were in the same room together, she hid.’
‘She was a bit skinny looking, so I brought some treats with me the day after we …’ He stopped, looked away. ‘I came to your work, wanting to apologise, but I couldn’t think of what to say. I was procrastinating in the woods outside your shop when Bluebelle came along. I gave her the treats and talked to her—she’s fond of chocolate and apples. Even though I had to keep my distance, she sat and listened.’ He scratched behind Bluebelle’s ears and she purred loudly. ‘She’s a good listener.’ His twisted smile widened. ‘I’ve been sneaking back each day since to give her the treats while I tried to build up the courage to speak to you.’
‘You missed all of your appointments.’
‘I know.’
‘But you need them. I need to help you. I wanted to find a way so you didn’t have to suffer through another change like the last one. But you didn’t come. You didn’t let me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
The smile—that rare smile—disappeared from his face. She couldn’t tell what changed, but suddenly the atmosphere in the garden was close. Heat shot through her despite the shade and the coolness of the breeze. ‘You don’t have to apologise, River. I know it was my fault you stayed away.’
‘No,’ River growled. Bluebelle stiffened at the sound. She leaped from his arms and with a frightened yowl, took off up the path. Silence simmered between them, unbearable and yet unbreakable.
But River was stronger than her. Breaking the silence he said, ‘I shouldn’t have … You don’t know …’ He stopped, shook his head and turned away.
Stunned, uncertain what had happened, Bron reached out for him. ‘River …’ The minute her fingers touched his arm, she knew it was a mistake.
He whirled around so fast, she almost stumbled into him, but he caught her, steadied her, held her pinned with his gold-flecked hazel eyes. His fingers flexed against her arms and he pulled her a little closer. Breath shuddered out of her and his eyes darted to her parted lips. They were dry, so dry, and only he could quench the thirst in them. She swayed forward. His hold tightened, his breath a ragged puff against her face.
‘Bronwyn,’ he muttered, his gaze chasing over her face to then anchor again on her lips.
He leaned closer, lips mere centimetres from hers, but then stopped, not giving her what she so desperately needed.
‘River. Please.’
‘Bronwyn, I can’t.’ Red flared in his eyes and his lips curled. An expression of pure hatred crossed his face, lashing out at her.
‘River?’ she said again, but this time her voice was husky with fear, not passion.
He m
ade a sound, a violent growl, tearing and painful, and then he let go of her so fast that she stumbled. Shock arced through her because of that look in his eyes—it pulled at her and shoved her away in one go. If eyes truly were the windows to the soul, then River’s soul was in turmoil; desire so strong she could feel it lick at her with its hot need, mixed with pain and hatred and bitter regret.
In the face of such inner turmoil, a need in her clicked in place. Energy buzzed through her, sparking power to life. The warm heat of healing rolled through her, pushing at her to allow it a channel, a form of expression. She lifted her hands, saw the orange-green glow of power on her fingertips.
River growled again, stepping back from that glow.
She didn’t blame him. That glow had brought him such pain a few weeks ago. ‘I’m sorry.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.’
‘It is my fault. I don’t know what to do. Your wolf won’t accept what I need to do for it.’ He shook his head, but didn’t say anything. ‘What River? What can I do?’
‘The moon. It’s the moon, my child. It brings forward the darkness and the Beast with it.’
The voice in her head was barely a whisper, but even though it wasn’t her voice, something about its musical tones, the sweet breath of it in her mind, made her want to trust. She looked up at the night sky, not understanding. And then she saw. She hadn’t realised how dark it had become. River had strung fairy lights in the branches throughout the garden and the paths were lined with lights. They were all obviously on a timer, because as dusk had fallen over them, the lights had come on. The sight of the twinkling lights in the trees and glowing golden and green along the paths would normally have made her sigh in deep pleasure, except above the lights was the moon rising in the purpling night sky. An almost waxing moon.
‘Oh, Goddess.’ She looked from the moon to River and saw that he knew. Of course he knew! He probably felt the cycle of the moon in his blood, in his nerves. It was probably driving his behaviour right now. That hatred she’d seen before, the loathing, it wasn’t for her.
It was aimed at himself. At the Beast writhing inside, waiting for the moon to let it out. And she’d done nothing in this past month to help free him from it. Had discovered nothing about the Darkness that kept his two halves apart, other than it hated her healing power and it was what formed the Beast. ‘River.’ She shook her head, stumbled towards him a step.
He stepped back.
‘River. I’m so sorry. I should have done something sooner … should have realised …’ She waved ineffectually at the moon. ‘I’ve been researching. We’ve all been researching, but we’ve found nothing and I know I promised to free you of the Beast before the next moon and now I’ve let you down. No wonder you’ve stayed away. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry, Bronwyn. There’s something inside of me that can’t be fixed. I feel it grow stronger every day. But it’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself. You’ve helped me more than you know. Just the fact you’ve tried has made all the difference to help me keep control up until now. That’s what I wanted to tell you because I knew you’d blame yourself. But you can’t. You mustn’t.’ He took a step back. ‘I have to go. I’ve asked Jason to lock me up in my rooms at Cantrae House. I don’t want to hurt anyone again. He promised to strap me on the bed and lock me in my old room until it passes.’
‘Oh, River, no! There has to be another way. Let me try …’
He stepped back from her glowing hands. ‘It’s too late for that right now.’ His fists balled at his sides as he looked up at the moon, tendons so tight in his neck they looked like they might snap. ‘I’ve got to go. The Beast is riding high in me tonight. It’s more vicious than anything you can possibly imagine, and this close to the moon, I’m afraid of what I’ll do.’
‘You won’t hurt me.’
‘I can’t be sure of that.’
The anguished look on his face was enough to bring anyone to their knees. But River didn’t need her weak and blubbering. He needed strength. ‘I am. You didn’t let the Beast hurt me the night of the last full moon.’
‘No. But that was the first time it had come out. When I said it’s grown stronger, I wasn’t kidding. I can feel it moving inside me all the time now. It wants to rip, to tear. It wants to feed on flesh, to glory in the warmth of blood trickling down its throat.’ His voice had turned harsh. ‘And God help me, but I want that, too.’
Chimes jingled in the distance, their fairy sound at odds with the danger and tension in the air. ‘You don’t. That’s not you.’
‘I know. But it could be if I let go for one second. And sometimes when I think …’ He swallowed, shook his head. ‘Promise me one thing, Bronwyn.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t come and visit me over the next few days.’
‘What? Why?’
‘I don’t want you to see me like that.’
‘But, I could help … I have helped.’
‘I don’t want you to help me like that. I don’t want to be responsible for your hurting yourself.’
‘I didn’t hurt myself. Besides, if I observed your aura while you are half-changed, it could give me some clue—’
‘No. I don’t want you to come. Promise me.’
‘I don’t want—’
‘Promise.’
He barked the word out at her, vibrating with the tension of his request, his veins standing out like thick ropes on his hands, arms and neck. Shoulders slumping, she nodded. ‘I promise.’
‘Good,’ he grated out. ‘Thank you.’ There was no relief in his words, only grim acceptance.
‘River?’ She took a step towards him and he tensed even more.
‘Don’t. I …’ His mouth worked as if he was fighting to say something more—or not to say it. ‘I’ll let you try after the full moon.’
‘I won’t let you down.’
‘I know.’ The words were an almost unintelligible growl. Fear and pain alive in his eyes, he shook his head in mute apology, let out a growling sound, and turning, took off up the path, disappearing into the dark.
Bron hugged her arms around her chest and shivered. But she didn’t move. She stood there for a long time, thinking about what had just happened and trying to figure out what it meant. But none of it made sense. And as she looked around the garden River had created for her as an apology because he couldn’t bring himself to see her face to face, she was even more confused. Why would he do this if he didn’t like her?
He’d promised to let her try to heal him after the full moon, and during that time, maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to figure him out.
River raced to the SUV where Iain was already waiting for him, door open. He threw himself into the backseat and growled, ‘Lock me up. Lock me up now.’
Face grim, Iain only nodded. He hopped into the driver’s seat and they took off.
Inside him, the Beast snapped and snarled, raking its claws under his skin. It wanted to come out now, but the moon wasn’t quite right, so it couldn’t. But it was there, in his mind, filling it with images of hatred and revenge and violent, bloody death. It had been getting worse over the last few days. He could never remember it being this bad. He’d always felt the moon and the rage that had risen as it waxed and waned in its twenty-eight day cycle. Three days of utter misery each month for twenty years, where he had been unable to control his emotions and actions and lashed out at those he loved.
The memories of what he did in those times before his grandparents had found the right cocktail of drugs to suppress his rage and knock him out, made something in him curl up like an autumn leaf; dry and dead and ready to crumble into pieces at the merest touch.
But even in those dark days, he couldn’t remember it being this bad. Now, it had a name. The Beast. Back then it had been a nebulous thing. He’d thought it had been about the rage of his wolf unable to come out and commune with him and the world. But maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he was
wrong in thinking what was happening to him now was caused by something Morrigan did to him on Samhain. What if it had been the Beast all along, writhing under his skin, subdued by the drugs, but now freed, ready to wreak havoc and destruction on the world that had kept it trapped for so long.
The Beast snarled and lashed out a claw, clamping its teeth down. River gripped his hands against his stomach, bent over, gasping for breath against the sensation of something being torn apart inside him.
‘River—are you okay, man?’
River clamped his teeth together over the growl that erupted from his mouth and shook his head, eyes tearing, vision shifting strangely so that everything was washed with a haze of red. ‘Just get me there.’
‘It won’t come out now. The start of the full moon cycle is tomorrow night.’
‘I know. But it’s in me, filling me with urges that are getting harder and harder to ignore. It wanted to hurt Bronwyn. I need to be locked up tonight.’
Iain didn’t question him—River liked that about him—but simply nodded and put his foot down on the accelerator.
The Beast thrashed as it realised it was going to be chained again this moon. It wanted to smash open the door of the car, escape, run free. River’s hand raised to the door handle, gripping, ready to pull. Trembling, pushing down on the urge to do what the Beast wanted, he thumped his fist against the seat, gripping onto the edge. The leather tore under his fingers. He held on tighter and slumped down, pressing his knees against the seat in front, his head against the back of the seat as hard as he could, and with jaw and teeth clenched so tight it hurt, sweat dripping from his aching brow, he pulled his hand away from the door handle and shifted it to the grip on the door. With all his strength, he yanked the door inward. There was a grinding of metal as the door bent towards him so that the door could not be opened again.
‘Fuck, man. You’re wrecking my car.’
‘Trying not to jump out,’ he gritted through clenched teeth.
Iain threw a look at him over his shoulder, his eyes wide as he saw the way River was sitting. ‘Okay. We’re almost there.’
Moon Bound Page 13