As suddenly as it had come, the burning light cut off and River slammed back into the table, panting, muscles twitching, rivulets of sweat pouring from his body and face.
Morrigan laughed softly and lifted her arms again as she looked up, her face bathed in moonlight. ‘Thank you, dark Goddess, for granting my wish.’ She looked back down at him. ‘Are you ready?’
His muscles trembling and twitching, he managed to say, ‘Go to hell.’
She smiled at him, running a soft finger along his brow, across his scars, down his throat to his chest. ‘You first.’ She ground her finger into the symbol she’d carved. River tensed as the sensation tore through him.
‘So strong. So stubborn. But it won’t help you in the least when I call the moon.’ She scribed a symbol between her bare breasts with his blood.
He shuddered and looked away from her.
‘Oh, Dark One, please grant this supplicant her wish and send me the moondust so that I might cleanse this sinner before me.’
From the corner of his eye, River saw something sparkling and silver separate itself from the moonlight.
A memory sparked in his mind. Of Skye calling to the moondust, bringing it into the car as they drove to pick up their mama from the Harvest Moon festival. She’d brought it into the car, dancing it across her fingers, had turned to show him. His wolf had almost busted out of his skin.
Moondust.
They’d played games with moondust as children. He’d tried to remind her of it months earlier when he’d been in a drugged trance, thinking it might be the thing that could help him to turn; that could save him from madness. He’d been glad that she hadn’t understood, because he knew now if he’d turned that night, it would have been into the Beast. He’d not brought up moondust again. Hadn’t thought anyone else knew how to call it. Papa hadn’t been able to do it. It was part of Skye’s special gift; something only one in a million witches could manage. A talent Bridgette Colliere was said to have.
And apparently Morrigan Cantrae.
The moondust glittered in the air, hovering above him, so pretty, like the fairy dust he remembered. But this wasn’t fairy dust. If it touched him, he wouldn’t be able to stop the Beast from tearing its way out. The hammering thump of his heartbeat was loud in his ears as he struggled frantically to get out of his bindings. He had to do something. Had to stop her.
Morrigan dropped her hand. The moondust fell on him.
A scream ripped from his throat as the moondust glimmered on his skin, sinking into the symbol on his chest, disappeared. It was cool, the tingle it left in its wake familiar, soothing. But nothing could sooth him as he made one, final, terrified grab for control. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t strong enough to fight the power of the moon that surged through him.
‘No! River, don’t let go. River!’ The panicked scream in his mind was lost in the Beast’s roar of triumph as it tore control of their fractured psyche from River and burst free.
The glow of its change was cast in the fires of hell, tinged in red and mottled with black. Claws tore out of elongated fingers, razor-like teeth sprang from the muzzle now protruding from his face. Ears shifted, growing, as hair pushed through its skin. Ribs popped out, its spine cracking and twisting in painful, vicious breaks before snapping back together, newly formed. Something held him down. The Beast bellowed and pulled against the restraints, tearing free easily, its strength amplified by the symbol carved into its chest and the moondust sunk deep into its skin. It leapt from the table to land in a crouch by the wall.
It sniffed the air. Spotted a victim.
She stood at the other side of the table, her breasts globes of milky silver shining in the moonlight, her hair a lick of dark red blood on palest skin. She smiled, seemingly unafraid, although it could hear the fast beat of her heart.
She was excited. And aroused. The sweet musk of her sex filled the air, but it wasn’t interested in her sex. The scent that truly sang to it was the warm salt of her blood. It snarled and lunged.
She raised a hand.
The Beast hit the floor. Rage pulsed through it and it leapt again only to be slammed to the floor again.
It growled.
She laughed.
Limbs shaking with red-hot fury, it gathered to leap again—no prey ever got away. This time, before it leapt, something heaving gripped it and shoved it down, limbs sprawling on the cold rock floor.
‘You can’t hurt me. I have bound you with my blood.’
The Beast lifted its head, lips pulled back, spittle dripping from its elongated eye-teeth. It wanted to sink its teeth into the flesh of her neck, tear out her jugular and bathe in the spray of blood, but it couldn’t move off the floor. The naked prey smiled as it thrashed against the invisible bond holding it down.
‘You can’t hurt me, but …’ She gestured behind it. ‘Turn your intent to one of them and you’ll be able to move.’
It snarled. It didn’t want anyone else. It wanted to kill her. The Beast wasn’t exactly certain why that was so important, but a soft voice whispered that it was.
The witch’s laughter lit the air. ‘I understand your need to kill the one holding your leash, but I am not your prey. Not tonight.’ She moved her hand.
Pressure pushed on its head, turning it against its will. Its muscles strained against the magical hold, but it couldn’t stop the turning of its head. Then it didn’t matter. Standing by the far wall in between two semi-conscious Were who were strung up by chains, was a man.
Prey.
The man’s supercilious smile faded as the Beast’s attention snapped to him and the chained Were. ‘M … Mistress?’ he stuttered. Eyes wide, he glanced past the Beast, his expression beseeching. ‘Mistress, please. Protect me.’
She laughed. ‘You must protect yourself, Ben. If you can do that, you are truly worthy to be by my side.’
‘But Mistress, my magic is not that strong.’
‘Pity. But your sacrifice will not be in vain.’
‘Mistress, no. Mistress, please,’ the prey blubbered.
The Beast found its feet and pushed upright, its gaze fixed entirely on the new prey. Nostrils flared as it breathed in the sweet scent of fear. It growled, a low rumble of satisfaction. The prey was trembling and blubbering. There would be no stalking. No hunt. Just the kill.
The kill would be enough. For now.
The Beast leapt. The prey shrieked and pushed behind one of the chained Were, using it as a shield. The Beast swiped out with a claw at the chains in the walls. Metal shrieked and sparked, but the chains didn’t break. It grabbed the chains and pulled, yanking them out of the wall with a groan of protesting rock and metal. Flinging the chains—and the Were attached to them—aside, the Beast turned back to the prey.
The prey tried to protect itself by canting a spell. The Beast darted forward, grabbed the prey and sank its teeth into his jugular. Hot, salty blood gushed into its mouth and it groaned in satisfaction. The prey thrashed, but the Beast held him tight. Bones popped and crunched. The prey’s cries became a high-pitched scream. It hurt the Beast’s sensitive ears. The Beast reached up and crushed the windpipe. The sound cut off.
The Beast smiled. It could feast in silence.
***
‘No.’ Bron clutched her head as the world tilted and then was washed with a red haze. ‘No,’ she breathed.
‘Bron? What is it?’
‘Adam. Is she okay? What’s wrong?’
Strong fingers gripped Bron’s arms, holding her upright when she would have fallen to the ground. But she didn’t see who it was, her sight filled with red images of a cavern that flickered and then blinked out. ‘River. No!’
‘River? What about River? Bron?’
She looked up at the faces surrounding her, the red haze gone, an emptiness taking its place. ‘He’s gone.’ Was that her voice? It didn’t sound like her voice. It sounded like an animal in pain. Oh, Goddess! River. He’d been in so much pain. Yet he’d struggled to hold on. But now … ‘
He’s gone.’
‘What do you mean, “he’s gone”?’
She looked blindly out into the night beyond the ring of faces surrounding her. ‘I can’t feel him anymore. The Beast. It’s taken over.’
Skye glanced up at the moon hanging in the sky and then back down at Bron. ‘But how is that possible? The full moon is days away.’
Bron shook her head. ‘Morrigan called moondust and the Beast tore free.’ She clutched her head, the echoes of pain stabbing through her mind. ‘River fought, but it wasn’t any good. The fury seemed to make it worse. There was a rush of such violent anger … It tore me apart.’ She looked up at Skye, trying to blink back the tears. The taste of blood rushed into her mouth. ‘Oh Goddess, it’s killing someone. River’s gone. He’s gone.’
Skye gripped her hands tight. ‘If he’s gone, how do you know he’s killing someone?’
Jason nodded. ‘He’s still in there, Bron, or you wouldn’t feel what he’s doing.’
‘But the light I was following, it’s almost gone. It’s not clear.’
Adam nodded. ‘Jase is right, Bron. At least, he can give it a go. Don’t give up now.’
‘I’m not giving up.’ Bron sucked in a shaky breath and held out her hand to Jason and Skye. ‘Give me your hands. You both have bonds with him. Maybe if I tap into yours, the triple bond will help. Threes are always the charm in magic.’ Swallowing hard against the bile rising in her throat, the taste of blood in her mouth, she gripped their offered hands tight and closed her eyes, seeking their bonds—one Alpha, one twin, both filled with love—and bound them into hers. Through them, she could feel the pack’s strength, their friendship, their love, their bonds to pack and each other; strongest of all was the knowledge that they were all determined to find the one who belonged to them all. Bron’s lips trembled as the joy of that knowledge thrilled through her. ‘Feel this, River. Come back to us.’
For long moments there was nothing but the pack, then she felt the presence of him flow back into her mind, an echo at first; but an echo that grew louder, stronger.
She felt him in her mind now, could see through his eyes once more. Blood was hot and salty in his mouth, quenching a terrible thirst in the Beast. She could feel River fighting against the thirst. He reached towards her, trying to find some way to push through. She had to help him. The pack had to help him. She saw Iain on the wall. He was unconscious. If only she could wake him up, then he might be able to help her. It was worth a try.
Digging back down through the pack link, she made her way to Iain, desperation a hot claw in her throat. She could do this. She had to do this. ‘Iain, wake up. I’m here to help you, but you have to wake up.’
***
The Beast growled as an unwanted presence fluttered in its head. It bit down harder on the prey, unwilling to allow that presence any leverage.
A groan sounded close by, but it wasn’t the prey. It was coming from the Were still strung up on the wall. The Beast glanced over at him. The Were’s eyes were fluttering open, and despite being bloody and broken, he lifted his head and looked at the Beast. Began talking to it. No. Not to the Beast. To the person it had once been.
‘River … man. Stop. You don’t want to do this. You won’t ever forgive yourself.’
The Were didn’t know what it was talking about. The Beast didn’t care. It had no feelings other than rage and hunger. It snarled and bit deeper into the warm flesh.
‘River. I know you’re in there somewhere. Your Bronwyn says she can still feel you. You have to listen.’ The Beast growled and held the prey tighter. ‘River. The Beast isn’t you. Don’t let it be in control.’
The presence fluttered inside the Beast’s mind; a presence it hated. A presence that found the delicious blood nauseating, that wanted to stop feasting, that wanted to plead for forgiveness from the lump of meat in the Beast’s arms. That presence disturbed its feasting. Rage rose up, and with a howl, it flung the rag-like, cooling prey across the room and swung to face the talking tormentor. The Were needed to stop talking. While he spoke, the River-presence inside pushed up, started fighting, wanted to take control again.
No! This body belonged to the Beast. It licked at the blood dripping from its fangs, and snapped at the Were who hadn’t shut up, even when the Beast swung to face him. The Were, chained though he was, met the Beast’s glare, unafraid. The Beast was impressed. This one would make challenging prey if he weren’t chained to the wall.
‘Iain,’ a weak voice muttered from behind, almost drowned out by the sound of chains dragging across the concrete floor. ‘Don’t upset him.’
‘Oh, Iain, yes, please. Do upset him.’ The witch laughed again. ‘Please, keep upsetting him.’
The one called Iain didn’t seem to hear them. He just kept his eyes on the Beast as he continued to speak to the River-presence. Even bruised and battered and bleeding like he was, he exuded strength. And determination. They were both things the Beast could appreciate. Not that they would stop it from killing the Were. Especially if it would shut him up.
It crouched to spring.
Something hard and sharp smashed into his head, knocking the Beast sideways. Head ringing, it shook the pain off and turned. The other Were, the one thrown aside before, stood there, gaze unfocused, one arm held across his body at a funny angle, the other holding onto the chain still attached to his wrist, swinging it in front of him. More prey. And this one would put up a fight. On a snarling roar of excitement, the Beast prowled forward.
‘Gareth. No. You can’t fight him.’
‘I don’t think I have a choice about that,’ Gareth said, swinging the heavy chain at the Beast as it darted forward.
The chain smashed against its side, the sharp end it had torn from the wall cutting a gouge along its ribs. The Beast snarled as the pain snapped through its mind, pushing the River-presence further down as the heat of burning rage consumed it. It bared its teeth at the Gareth-Were, but didn’t leap forward, now more wary of the chain.
‘River. Listen. You know me. We’re friends. I know you have more control than this. Don’t let the Beast win. Don’t let Morrigan win.’
The River-presence in the Beast’s mind cried out his protest, tried to exert himself. The Beast trembled. Its claws retracted. The burning rage in its chest lessened a degree, then another as the River-presence clambered up, out of the dark hole he had been pushed into when the moondust had forced the change and the Beast had surged to the fore.
‘That’s it, River. Don’t let it win. You are strong, man. One of the strongest Were I’ve seen. You survived twenty years without pack. Without changing. If anyone can fight the Beast, it’s you. And if you can’t, then think of your Bronwyn. Fight for your mate.’
Iain’s voice droned in the Beast’s head. It tried to shake the words out, but they wouldn’t go. Just echoed louder and louder as River pushed into the shared mind, trying to take back the body, one word chanting over and over in his mind: Bronwyn.
‘No! No. You’re ruining my plans.’ Lightning lashed across the room, the fork darting out to hit the wall above Iain. Large chunks tumbled down, loosing the chains, hitting the Were. He disappeared under dirt and rubble.
A memory sparked in the Beast. It had seen lightning like that before. It had created a similar avalanche of rock before; rocks that had hit it; hurt it.
‘Iain!’ Gareth darted forward, pushing past the Beast.
Rage a red torrent of heated blood in its mind, shoving back the River-presence, the Beast grabbed Gareth, its retracted claws springing out and piercing skin, shredding muscle, and threw him and the chain at the wall towards the other one who was lying, boneless and bleeding amid the rock and rubble. Lifting its head, the Beast glared at the moon. It tormented him, held him in its sway. Lifting its arms, sharp claws glinting with blood in the moonlight, it howled.
‘Yes. Yes. That’s my Beast.’ The crooning of the witch broke through the tortured howl and it turned, chest heaving, a low rumble of hatred vibrating
through its chest and up its throat.
It wasn’t her Beast. It belonged to nobody. Except the moon. And if it could change that, it would.
She walked out from behind the table and towards the Beast. Foolish bitch. It snapped its teeth at her and swung out with a claw. Power, hot and hard, shoved back.
The witch smiled. ‘You can’t hurt me, my Beast. We are blood bound. But there are others out there you could hurt.’ She pointed at the open door. ‘Others who would want to see you caged; to never see the light of the moon and bathe in the blood that is rightfully yours.’ Her green eyes glinted, something dark and oily shining from their depths. It was a darkness that sang to the Beast. It knew that Darkness. It filled the Beast too.
Its lip curled on a snarl, as it looked towards the door, nostrils twitching. Yes. There were more out there. Humans so close it could taste the scent of them; flesh and blood and sinew, warm and delicious, calling to it.
And behind that scent was something else. Something wilder. Stronger. Were! They were nearby. And witches too. The River-presence fluttered in its mind, sparked to life by hope. They were coming for him. For the others. To save them.
‘Yes. You can feel them, can’t you? River’s mate, Bronwyn, is coming for you. You know what she wants to do to you. She wants to kill you. She wants River back. You need to kill her. Make sure she never gets that snivelling half man back.’
The Beast roared and leapt towards the door.
Yes. She was right.
It must kill River’s mate.
The presence inside cried out, tried to struggle forward again, but the Beast had full control now. It filled itself with fury and hate and swiped out, tearing into the presence, ripping at him with one image that tore hope and happiness from his heart: Bronwyn on the ground, her throat an angry red wound, her eyes staring blankly at the moon riding high in the sky.
Chapter 24
‘River, no!’ The red haze swept through Bron’s mind and then she was pushed out with such force she flew backwards, bowling over those who stood behind her. They landed hard, a pile of twisting, groaning bodies. ‘What happened?’
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