Latchling Blood Moon: A Cassidy Edwards Novella - Book 3.5

by Carmen Caine

  The Templars didn’t hesitate. They turned as one, the metallic sounds of swords leaving sheaths mingling with the curses of at least half a dozen men.

  The horse beneath me shied and bolted.

  It was my chance to escape and I didn’t waste it. Drained of mana, I couldn’t cast a spell, but I was far from helpless. Twisting my hands, I began working the knots, and with the Templars’ attention fully fixed on the approaching highlander, no one noticed when, just moments later, I slipped free of my bonds.

  Closing my eyes, I braced for the impact and rolled off the Hell Stone, landing in the snow with a thud. It hurt more than I expected, the jolt jarred every aching bone in my body—and there were many. Sitting up, I sucked in a surprised gasp of cold air.

  Less than twenty feet away, chaos ensued. The Knights Templar attacked, but I scarcely noticed them.

  The highlander arrested my attention completely, both the man and the beast he sat upon, the largest mountains of muscle and raw power that I’d ever seen. The sunlight glinted off his long, brown hair, giving it a reddish cast as he threw his head back and gave another battle cry, a cry that sent a ripple down my spine. Mesmerized, I watched him move as if in slow motion, unable to dampen the thrill of admiration over the wideness of his shoulders, the chiseled perfection of his clean-shaven jaw, and the healthy glow of his skin—deeply tanned, even in the middle of winter.

  To my utter amazement, he plowed his way through the Templars, sending them flying in different directions as the corded muscles of his arm bulged with each swing of his great sword. Cutting a swathe through their tight formation, he wheeled his massive beast for another pass, but the Templars sounded the retreat, apparently unwilling to risk their mission on a wild, unknown highlander from the north.

  One Templar, a thin, gray-haired man with a black mustache, charged my way. For the briefest of moments, his gaze flicked over me sprawled in the snow, but he didn’t stop. He went for the horse bearing the Hell Stone. Catching the beast’s bridle, he jerked its head and galloped away, the other Templars falling in behind him.

  “At your service, my lady,” a deep voice softly drawled.

  I jerked, surprised to find myself still sitting in the snow like a fool, and turning, looked up into a particularly vivid pair of moss green eyes, surrounded by long, sooty lashes.

  My rescuer stood tall before me, every inch of his large body hard as steel. His sun-burnished hair fell over his cheek as he leaned down to offer me a helping hand.

  Still somewhat stunned, I accepted.

  “Your lady, Marie, sent me to fetch you, Lady Rowle,” he said, easily hefting me out of the snow.

  He was strong. I practically flew into his arms, colliding with his barrel chest and losing my balance.

  “Easy now, my lady,” he chuckled, neatly catching me with a knowing grin and tipping me upright. “Let me introduce myself, aye? I’m Dorian, Dorian of clan Ramsey, and I’m at your service.”

  I stood in the circle of his arms, amazed that as tall as I was, I was dwarfed by his size. My gaze fell over his handsome face, chiseled lips and long, straight nose. An astonishingly striking man and one to attract the eyes of every woman, myself included. Startled to find myself warmed by his touch, I took a pronounced step back.

  “Clan Ramsey,” I said, forcing myself to focus on the business at hand. Frowning a little, I searched my memory for any alliances with such a clan but came up short.

  “Aye, and you wouldn’t know us,” he said as if reading my mind. “I’m an unprincipled wretch from the highlands near Ben Nevis, my lady.”

  “Unprincipled?” I repeated, lifting a brow. “Your sword arm names you a liar, Ramsey of the north.” Oh, and what an arm it was. Catching my eyes wandering to his hard, muscular lines, I took another step back and corralled my wayward thoughts. “Marie, you say? And where is she?”

  “Not far,” he began, but at the crack of a branch from the nearby forest, he tensed and dropped his hand upon his sword. After a quick scan of the area, he turned back to me with a furrowed brow. “Let us be gone from this place, aye?”

  He didn’t wait for me to agree—not that I would have objected, anyway. He moved quickly away, his boots crunching in the frozen mud, and I followed to where his massive beast of a horse waited a short distance away.

  Again, I found the horse just like the man, even larger closer up.

  I eyed the creature and its massive saddle, wondering just where I was expected to perch, but Dorian didn’t give me much time to think upon it. Mounting quickly, he reached down with one strong arm and easily swung me into his lap.

  Slipping a muscled arm around my waist to anchor me there, he took off at once, urging his mount into a canter and heading for the forest.

  I scarcely noticed the flock of birds taking flight as we entered the trees. My thoughts were largely occupied by the man pressed against me, my senses acutely aware of his hard thighs beneath mine, his lean chest resting under my shoulder, and his hand resting so comfortably on my hip.

  The intimacy made my pulse quicken and that flustered me. Never before had I responded to a man’s touch in such a way. Surely, it must be some leftover effect of the Mindbreaker’s curse.

  “We must hurry,” I said. I had to get my hands on a mana vial and heal myself. I clearly had no defenses left.

  “Aye, ‘tis not far, my lady,” the man’s massive chest rumbled beneath me.

  I shivered, but not because of the chill air.

  We rode in silence after that, trotting through the woods blanketed in snow. Some time later, the trees thinned and we broke out onto a larger trail, and against a backdrop of dark clouds gathering on the horizon, I saw a small village nestled a short distance away.

  A bitterly cold wind began to blow as we entered the village, trotting down the snow-dusted streets to a small, stone inn. Several children paused their snowball fight to gather along the wall and watch as Dorian dismounted and reaching up, swung me down by his side.

  Again, I found myself overpowered by his presence. He stood there, impressive in his plaid, his features rough-hewn and handsome, and with my hand still resting upon his arm. Amusement touched his sharp, green eyes, along with something else—a something else that made my pulse leap once again.

  At the sound of a polite cough from behind, I suddenly realized just how close I stood to the man and quickly stepping back, glanced over my shoulder to see Marie standing a few yards away.

  The knowing look in her eyes made me uneasy.

  “He did it,” she said, brimming with excitement and bubbling with secrets. “I knew he would.”

  She ran forward, enveloping me with a great hug before pulling me into the inn’s warmth.

  It was a homey place and cheerful. A welcoming fire crackled on the hearth and the delicious fragrance of meat pies assailed my nostrils as Marie pushed me through the common room into a private chamber on the side, a storage chamber clearly converted in haste for my use. Salted barrels of beef and sacks of wheat lined the walls, but the center had been cleared enough for a small table with a linen cloth, an iron candlestick, and two chairs.

  As Marie rushed to plump the cushions on the tallest chair, I wearily removed my cloak and joined her. “What happened, Marie?” I asked, glancing back over my shoulder through the open doorway to where the highlander conversed with the innkeeper near the fire.

  I must have stared a shade too long.

  He turned suddenly and met my gaze with an unrepentant wink.

  Marie giggled.

  For the first time in my life, I could feel a light blush dusting my cheeks. I found it oddly annoying. Scowling, I glanced over at Marie. “I’m a wedded woman,” I said sharply—a little too sharply.

  She rolled her eyes. “Nay and you’re not,” she disagreed. “Selling your soul and bedding the enemy is not a marriage, Lady Rowle.”

  I didn’t want to think of that. Instead, I asked, “What happened? I have no recollection past leaving Llewellyn, not e
ven then, really.”

  Marie pursed her lips and nodded. After seeing me settled in the chair, she took the one opposite and learning forward, explained in a low voice, “I cast a mirage spell at Llewellyn. Your subjects saw a company of men arrive from the north with Lord Rowle’s orders to take you away, and at once, but once out of their sight, the wolves and Jacques joined us.”

  I nodded, dimly recalling as much.

  “We lost the trail, but the wolf pup, Bianca followed the cat as you bade her, and shortly after, we spied the Templars waiting for the Wolf Kind. I saw the cat then, and knew the Hell Stone lay nearby. ‘Twas a simple matter of telling Jacques of your plan. We let them capture you, my lady. ‘Twas the quickest and surest way you would reach the Hell Stone in time.”

  “You gambled,” I said with a slight smile.

  “Nay, not truly,” she said, but then added with a wincing kind of smile, “We didn’t expect the trap. We thought to rescue you the moment your curse broke, but they’d no sooner captured you than the Wolf Kind trap sprang—a net of cursed silver that caught even Jacques, something they called by the name of a hex net.”

  I froze in alarm, but she immediately soothed my apprehension with a comforting pat on the arm.

  “Nay, they are free and safe now,” she assured. “No lives were lost, but the injuries will take time to heal. Jacques saved them.” Here, she hesitated, a frown knitting over her freckled face. “I swear, my lady, but for a moment, I thought him a wolf himself. ‘Twas strange.”

  “A wolf?” I repeated, frowning in turn. “He’s a Chosen One, Marie.”

  She shook her head as if to clear her memories and then smiled. “Yes, yes, you are right. The dawn came and he took cover with the wolves. I had no choice then but to cast a Seeking spell, searching for a man of sturdy build, stout heart, and the highest honor to find and rescue you.” Nodding her head in Dorian’s direction, she added slyly, “I found him.”

  Again, I glanced Dorian’s way.

  He lounged against the wall next to the fireplace, his straight, square shoulders relaxed, but the moment he felt my eyes upon him, he cocked a brow and shot me a mischievous look.

  Uncanny.

  I couldn’t sense any mana in him. He wasn’t Charmed, but yet, he seemed to possess some sixth sense.

  “Indeed, I believe he is made of honor,” Marie’s voice murmured in my ear. “He refused to take one coin, saying he could handle six Templars to rescue a lady right well enough.”

  Again, I felt my cheeks burn. I could only hope the dim candlelight hid it well enough. Taking a deep breath, I willed my rioting senses to calm and once again assumed the duties befitting a woman of my position. As a lady, I owed the man a proper thanks.

  “Bid him join us,” I said, adopting my most regal of tones. “I would not have him go without a reward.”

  Marie nodded, and a moment later, she returned with Dorian in tow, along with a lad lugging another chair and the innkeeper bearing a dish of stewed hare, fresh bread, and thick slices of hard cheese.

  I took a long breath and blew it out slowly as the highlander bowed gallantly before me.

  “I owe you my thanks,” I said when he rose. “Please, take a seat.”

  He did and with a polite nod.

  Immediately, an awkward silence fell. I blinked, surprised, having never experienced such a thing before. Somewhat rattled, I said, “I am wed.”

  Dorian glanced at me, surprised. “Wed, aye, and to Lord Rowle,” he said easily enough before adding with a small grimace of distaste, “I know the man.”

  And by the obvious inflection of his tone, clearly didn’t like him.

  Oh, how I wanted to say the same. For the first time in my life, I felt a surge of regret and sadness for listening only to duty, for binding myself for years to a cruel man, an evil man, and a man I detested.

  Once again, I found myself staring into Dorian’s eyes. I don’t know how long I did so. It wasn’t until his gaze dropped to the full line of my lips that I became aware of it.

  Shocked at my behavior, I drew a long, fortifying breath. I clearly and desperately needed rest, the kind of rest I was unlikely to find on the road. I needed a sanctuary to restore my mana and heal myself before facing the Mindbreaker again.

  “I must ride north,” I said, not really making my mind up until that moment. “To Dunnottar.” Dunnottar’s mighty walls came from druid roots. I knew the stones there would restore me more than any other place could. “I am in sore need of your escort, Dorian Ramsey, and I will reward you well.”

  I heard my own words in horror, suddenly knowing in my heart that I couldn’t travel with the man without falling dangerously in love.

  I opened my lips, to take the words back, to tell him that I’d find another to escort me there, but my lips refused my bidding.

  He stared at me silently, for several long seconds, and then draining his wine with one swift tilt of his goblet, rose to his feet. “And I swear that I will see you there safe, my lady,” he murmured, suddenly distant. “Please forgive me, but I cannot join you for this meal. I will see both you and your lady at dawn.”

  He left, as if the hounds of hell were upon his heels.

  I didn’t look at Marie, nor did I touch my food.

  Suddenly exhausted, I pressed the pewter goblet against my strangely hot forehead, closing my eyes and savoring the soothing soft coolness against my skin.

  What had I done?

  Winterbound

  An hour later, I sat in a modest but private chamber behind the kitchen. It housed a small but clean bed, a fireplace, and a simple chair and table, complete with a pewter hand mirror. Sitting down, I picked up the mirror and studied my exhausted reflection in its broken surface. Dark rings circled my eyes. My normally pink cheeks were pale, almost white. My hair hung in damp, lusterless strings. I looked just like I felt: haggard, ill, and like I’d just been beaten within an inch of my life—but then with that Mindbreaker’s curse, I actually had.

  Slowly, I set the mirror down and moving to the narrow window, opened the shutters enough to peek outside. An early darkness had fallen, thanks to the storm clouds brewing overhead. In the gathering gloom, I couldn’t see much, save for the soft, dull glow of white snow blanketing the Welsh countryside.

  I’d scarcely wondered if Jacques could—and would—find me when I heard a low chuckle to my left. Leaning out of the window, I spied the vampire lounging casually against the inn’s outer stone wall.

  “Come in, quickly!” I said, motioning to the room and stepping back.

  A moment later, he bowed before me. “’Tis a relief to see you spell-free, my lady,” he said as he straightened, his dark eyes reflecting heartfelt emotion. “I feared we would lose you.”

  I nodded my thanks. “The Wolf Kind?” I asked. “Are they well?”

  Genuine concern furrowed his elegant brow. He didn’t hide the rawness of his pain. “In time,” he said gruffly. “’Twas a masterful curse.”

  Masterful, indeed, to devastate a pack of such mighty wolves. “’Twas likely set by the Mindbreaker, as impossible as that seems,” I murmured.

  The vampire’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Impossible for any other, but not for such a Cursemaster as the Mindbreaker, my lady. My pack and I have followed him for years.”

  My pack? The words slipped from his mouth so naturally. I lifted a brow, my eyes again falling on the scar scoring his cheek. Marie had mentioned an oddity with him during the attack. Had he once been Wolf Kind?

  Respecting his privacy, I asked instead, “And how many years have you followed him?”

  He hesitated, obviously reluctant, but finally replied, “More years than you’ve graced the lands you walk upon, ma belle dame.”

  I felt his sorrow, like a knife in my heart. Such eyes. I found myself drowning in them. Our gazes locked and held, and as I stared into his dark eyes, I saw a multitude of images, one upon the other. A soft summer breeze rustling the green leaves of an ancient forest. A pack of
snow-white wolves, howling at the full moon and celebrating a bond deeper than blood. A tiny wolf-pup screaming in pain, its head nearly severed by the force of its gruesome injury … a wound that left a permanent scar on its cheek.

  I closed my eyes and broke our connection, unable to bear such pain in my weakened state.

  Jacques drew a sharp breath.

  Blindly, I reached out and laid a hand on his forearm. “I share your pain, noble wolf,” I whispered.

  He responded with a bitter laugh. “Wolf … no longer.”

  “Nay, ‘tis not so,” I said, opening my eyes then. “We are what our heart makes us, are we not? Your pack knows this well. They run with you still.”

  He turned away.

  A silence fell between us, one he broke with a soft explanation. “Ages ago, the Mindbreaker wrought war with the Charmed folk, slaying some to extinction until a Night Terror of the Under Reaches discovered his Achilles’ heel, the Hell Stone. Some say the Night Terrors imprisoned the Mindbreaker within his own creation. Others claim the warlocks banished him to the Dark Reaches. Yet, a few say he vanished and died a natural death.” His broad shoulders stiffened and then facing me once again, he pointed to the scar upon his face, saying, “I know otherwise, my lady. He still walks the Earth, and I will not stop until I find him.”

  I saw then that Jacques did not know Emilio and the Mindbreaker were one and the same, and I knew in my heart I could not share such knowledge. Not yet. If I, with my powers as a Stonehenge Druid Latchling, had fallen prey to the Mindbreaker’s curse, how much more dangerous would it be for a mere Chosen One—even with his heart of a wolf—to take on such a masterful Cursemaster?

  “Emilio?” I pressed, probing the depths of his knowledge instead. “Why do you follow him?”

  Jacques’ eyes darkened and he pursed his lips, but he replied readily enough, “Over the ages, he alone has guarded the Mindbreaker’s ring, my lady. For over three hundred years, the ring waited in Italy, hidden deep in the catacombs beneath Rome. But four months ago, Emilio moved it. We followed, thinking he would lead us to the Mindbreaker.” He took a deep breath and half-bowed in my direction. “Last night … he did. We fell into the Mindbreaker’s trap … he’s … here.” He whispered the last word so softly I wasn’t sure I’d truly heard it.