Taken by Moonlight

by Violette Dubrinsky

  “You said I’m your mate,” she began softly, and Conall nodded once, waiting for her to continue. “How can you be sure?”

  Conall’s eyes narrowed and Vivienne felt something caress her mind. It was light, like the flap of a butterfly’s wing, but it was still there.

  “Are you in my head, again?”

  He smiled, and she knew the presence she felt was him. “We usually recognize our mates in two ways: scent and attraction.”

  “So you were attracted to me the first time that you saw me?”

  “I was.” He also remembered that his attraction hadn’t been as strong as it was the next time he’d seen her in his club. Strange.

  “And you smelled me?” she asked in slight disbelief. It wasn’t as if she were one of those women who bathed in perfume.

  “You don’t have to wear perfume, Vivienne. You smell like peaches. Ripe, sun-kissed peaches.” He paused and his eyes flickered yellow for a brief second. “You taste like peaches, too. Everywhere.”

  She felt a distinct throb in a place that had no business throbbing after what she and Conall had done only minutes ago. As the familiar heat began to rush through her body, Vivienne looked back to the ceiling. Okay, so maybe she was his mate. The attraction thing definitely stood. But how would she describe his scent? Unconsciously, she leaned closer to him and inhaled. Conall smelled of nature. Earthy and wild, like an untouched forest. She wasn’t a nature buff, but she wouldn’t mind smelling him every day.

  “So what do mates do?” Vivienne asked slowly, returning her gaze to his. When a seductive smile touched Conall’s lips, she shook her head and smirked. “In addition to that. I mean, if I’m your mate, what do you expect from me? And what should I expect from you?”

  Not if, Vivienne. I am your mate as you are mine. The words caressed her mind, but his voice was firm. His hand slid up to her face, cupping her chin as he leaned closer.

  “A mate protects, serves, and treasures his mate above all else, until his dying breath.”

  She swallowed. That sounded like a husband. Well, it sounded like something a husband was supposed to do. Some—many—fell short. Conall’s eyes flashed yellow.

  “A mate is nothing like a husband.” His face had grown serious, his lips thinning out as if using the words “mate” and “husband” in the same sentence were distasteful to him. “Humans marry for different reasons, many of which are insignificant. Very few human marriages last and those that do are many times weak. A husband does not necessarily feel compelled to protect his wife, or his family. I’ve seen atrocities committed by a husband to his wife that would never occur had the male been a were with a true mate.” His eyes grew softer, his fingers traced her lips. “Wolves mate for life or we don’t mate at all.”

  Vivienne nodded, even as the human part of her screamed that the whole mating thing sounded surreal. “So we’re mated?”

  His eyes hooded and he allowed his fingers to move from her lips, down her throat, between her breasts, and finally to the small indentation that marked her navel.

  “You are my mate, Vivienne,” he said slowly, the warm palms of his hand brushing across her belly. Her muscles leapt, and she stole a quick glance at his hand, tanned against the darker complexion of her skin, before looking back to him. An unreadable expression played over his face, a cross between being aloof and being annoyed. “But we are not yet fully mated.”

  “Fully mated?”

  “Yes. To be mated in the full sense of the word, we would have to complete a mating ceremony.”

  “Mating ceremony?”

  His face grew even more shuttered, and Vivienne’s eyes narrowed, sensing he was going to try to hide something from her. Before she could think on it, she closed her eyes, and concentrated on Conall, using their connection to get into his mind.

  The image she saw in his mind shocked her to the core. In the middle of a clearing, surrounded by naked humans and pelted wolves, stood a woman and a man, both equally nude. The only person wearing clothing was a white-haired male who wore some sort of flowing, ivory robe. The image shifted, and another replaced it. The human female was on her knees, the male moving into position behind her….

  Vivienne…. Conall trailed off. Another image took the place of the last, and Vivienne felt her heart race as she watched two wolves copulate, knowing instinctively that these were the two humans she’d seen just moments before.

  She pulled away from him, releasing a rush of breath as a fierce blush stained her cheeks. God, she felt like a voyeur, watching something she shouldn’t.

  “I’m guessing that was the mating ceremony,” she said, trying to make light of her nervousness.

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t elaborate, but Vivienne could feel the weight of his gaze on her face. Were they expected to do that at some time in the future? Because she couldn’t—wouldn’t. One, she couldn’t very well change into a wolf, and two, she wasn’t going commando before God-knew-how-many people, and then performing for them. She stole a look at Conall’s handsome face. She didn’t care how hot her partner was, she wasn’t putting on a show.

  The hand at her waist began to lazily draw circles around her navel. Closing her eyes, she moaned. So, here she was, a druid who was partially mated to a werewolf, with a witch for a mother, and a best friend who was some sort of warlock hybrid.

  She lowered her hand to Conall’s and kept it still on her belly as she turned to face him.

  “What about Max? Did you hear anything about him at the meeting?”

  “No. If Cronin has him, there’s nothing that we can do. As Cronin’s son, Max belongs to his covenant.”

  Vivienne nodded and pressed her lips together. She’d almost forgotten Max had been captured. He would be okay, though. His father wouldn’t hurt him. He was his father, for crying-out-loud.

  ***

  Conall listened as Vivienne tried to convince herself of the safety of her friend. He said nothing to parry her hopes, but couldn’t share them. Max had betrayed his father, who happened to be a Grand Wizard. Cronin wouldn’t take that lightly.

  Seconds, then minutes, streamed by with him listening to the steady sound of her breathing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so calm. His wolf seemed at ease; the man was as sated as he could be lying next to her. After he took her to Cedar Creek, he would give her time to adjust to his way of living. He’d heard her thoughts about the mating ceremony, and while they hadn’t pleased him, he understood.

  “Did it hurt?” Vivienne traced her fingers along the crafted lines of black ink on his shoulder.

  “It tickled,” he replied, and smiled when her eyes narrowed and she chuckled lightly. His mate had no idea of exactly how beautiful she was. Were females were mostly vain with their beauty. Their race worshipped perfection and a female of perfect face and form was the first to admire herself.

  She shifted closer to him, and her breast rubbed against his tattooed arm. “How long did it take?”

  Conall thought of his uncle painstakingly applying ink to his body over the course of weeks. It hadn’t been the most pleasant experience, but he’d just completed his training, and he’d wanted the symbolic tattoos. Had been adamant about it. Every male member of his father’s pack had been tattooed. Some of the females, too. The ink made them individual from the pack, and at the same time, united them. A tattoo could identify a beheaded body, and enable the pack to make sure that wolf received an honorable burial.

  “A few weeks.”

  She lifted a brow and continued to run her fingers along his shoulder. “What does it mean?”

  “The Celts are an expressive people. We dabble in the arts and music. Any form of creativity is welcomed.” He paused and pushed the covers down. “It means many things. Life.” He paused and took her hand, pressing it to one of the symbols wrapped in the curves and loops on his chest. “Death. Peace. War. Brotherhood. Family.” Each time, he touched her hand to another spot, and each time, Vivienne traced the symbol.
>
  ***

  “You’re a Celt?” Vivienne was no scholar on Celtic lore but she remembered a couple of things. Conall nodded.

  “Do you speak Gaelic?”

  He said some foreign words that sounded lyrical and wonderful. Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What—?”

  You are more beautiful than any woman I’ve seen.

  Vivienne blinked, and then an almost embarrassed smile touched her lips. He only chuckled.

  “Thank you. Was that Gaelic?”

  He nodded. “Yes, alainn.”

  She felt herself tremble as the word rolled off his tongue with ease. “What does that mean?”

  “It means ‘beautiful one’.”

  A slight blush touched her cheeks as the weight of what he’d said settled in. “If you’re a Celt, how old are you?”

  “I’m old by your standards, Vivienne,” he said slowly.

  She lifted a brow. “What is ‘old by my standards,’ Conall?”

  “I’m over four centuries old.” He paused, and nodded when her eyes widened and she pushed herself further onto her arms to stare down at him.

  “O-over what?”

  “I was born in 1558 in a village called Bransley in Ireland.”

  “F-fifteen-f-fifty-eight?” Her eyes grew even wider as she did the mental calculation to arrive at his age. “You’re four hundred and fifty years old?”

  He nodded. Vivienne fell back to the bed. She’d just slept with a man that was hundreds of years older than her. It had been extremely, extremely good, but he was…old. She’d just slept with an old man—no, an old werewolf.

  A chuckle sounded to her right and she turned to find Conall staring down at her in amusement. His hair fell forward, cocooning his face. Masculine jaw, thin, beautiful lips, sparkling blue eyes. He didn’t look a day over thirty.

  “I am only old by human standards, Vivienne. Werewolves are not immortal because we live forever. We’re immortal because we age very slowly.”

  She stared at him long and hard before she slowly nodded. “So what’s considered old age by your standards?”

  “Any wolf who lives past his thousandth year can claim the title of Elder. Most werewolves died in battle or childbirth before the twentieth-century, but with the changes in times, and increased medical technologies, we are living much longer.”

  “Thousandth year…” she repeated before trailing off and asking, “What about druids and witches? Do they live as long?”

  Conall blinked. It was obvious he hadn’t thought of it. “Druids are immortal. They don’t age past a certain year.”

  “So am I immortal?”

  When Conall only stared at her for long seconds, she repeated, “Well, am I?”

  “I’m not sure, alainn. If you’re a druid like the druids of old, then I would think yes, but because you were born of a witch and human, I’m unsure. You’d get better answers from your mother.”

  Vivienne sighed. Great, here she was thinking that she would grow old and die like regular people and there was the possibility she would live past old age.

  “And witches are immortal, too?” How old was her mother?

  “They were immortal until the druids cursed them.” When she looked up in confusion at him, he elaborated on that as well.

  “So, the druids cursed the witches to live mortal lives because the witches banished the druids for killing lots of witches?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s why Max’s father wants me and Cass? To bring them back so they’ll be immortal again?”

  Conall nodded.

  “How does he know that the druids won’t just continue where they left off?” It seemed stupid resurrecting the very same creatures that wiped out many of your people in hopes they wouldn’t do the exact same thing once more. Especially as they were going to be pissed off about the whole banishment.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Conall replied. “He probably intends to strike a bargain with them.”

  “Can he even resurrect them?”

  His eyes chilled. “I don’t know, and we’re not going to find out.”

  Lying back on the bed, he secured an arm about her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. The lights went out and Vivienne almost scrambled from the bed.

  “Easy.” His fingers stroked her arm. “I turned it off.”

  She turned to him in the dark, surprised she could still see him clearly. She quickly scanned her bedroom. She could see everything. Of course. It was those spanking new perks that came with being a druid. She almost rolled her eyes but refrained when she recognized Conall was staring at her with that half-smile on his face. No doubt he was in her mind, and knew exactly what she was thinking.

  She lifted a brow in challenge. The smile expanded but he said nothing.

  “How did you do that thing with the lights?”

  “Close your eyes, concentrate, and think it.”

  “My, my, that doesn’t sound hard at all,” Vivienne retorted. Conall chuckled.

  She was quiet for a long time. “Will you teach me?”

  “Yes. I’ll teach you, alainn.”

  ***

  If he’d thought it hard convincing Evelyn that her daughter would be safer in Cedar Creek, it was almost impossible convincing Vivienne. His mate was extremely stubborn, and it took him resorting to a level of patience he didn’t know he possessed before he saw any progress. She didn’t want to leave her house. She didn’t know anyone in Cedar Creek. She’d just met him. It wasn’t the sixteenth century anymore! Men couldn’t just order women around….

  It took him over two hours of explaining to her that her location had been jeopardized, that there was a high chance Max would be forced to talk—she refused to believe that—and that her family and friends could be hurt. She’d been less inclined to argue when he brought that up, and Conall had to hammer those points home before she agreed.

  She insisted upon one condition.

  She wanted Cassie and Drew with her. Hours ago, Conall might have argued, but after spending the better part of the morning engaged in this battle with Vivienne, he was willing to agree to almost anything that would get her to Cedar Creek. If they wanted to come, they could. It would give her access to people she knew, and make the transition easier. It was at times easy to forget that Vivienne was still very new to all of this. It was impressive, the way she seemed to be taking most of it in stride. As he looked over at her, in conversation with Drew, he thought of Brennus and Gresham. Not only was he bringing a druid mate to Cedar Creek, but he’d agreed to bring her human friend and her druid twin. A smirk touched his lips. They were not going to like this.

  ***

  “Vivienne, I’m not coming with you. I can’t,” Drew broke off and shook her head. Her eyes were red and puffy as if she’d been crying recently, and she seemed…terrified.

  Vivienne looked around the living room. Conall was staring at her, but everyone else seemed involved in some form of conversation or the other. She took a seat next to her friend. “What—why?”

  Drew shook her head and fidgeted with the edge of her shirt. “Viv, I may not look it, but I’m losing it over here, okay? We don’t know where Max is, or what’s happening to him. He could be—” she broke off and Vivienne could tell from her face that she meant to say ‘dead.’ “I’m not like all of you. I’m human and I don’t…. Viv, I’m sorry. It’s just too much, okay? I’ve already asked your Mom to take me into the city.” When Vivienne continued to stare at her blankly, Drew continued, “You’ll still have my number, and when everything blows over, you can come visit, or maybe I’ll come visit you. I don’t know how it works. And you have my e-mail address…and I’ll give you my new address.”

  “Wait, Drew. What if they come after you?”

  Drew shook her head in the negative. “They won’t.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “They won’t, Vivienne,” Drew said firmly. It was obvious she was trying to convince herself of it.

  “O
kay.” She forced a smile. “Where are you going to stay?”

  “My aunt lives in Brooklyn. I already asked her if I could spend a few weeks there until I find a place.”

  Vivienne’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t know you had family in Brooklyn.”

  “I do. On my father’s side.”

  Drew’s father had been estranged since she was a baby. She never spoke of him, and certainly never spoke of his side of the family.

  “You can stay with me until you—”

  “Viv!” Drew muttered, running a hand over her face. When she looked back to Vivienne, her eyes were pleading. “Viv, I love you. You know I do, but I need normal, and everything here is just not.” You are not normal.

  She didn’t say it, but Vivienne heard it as if the words had been screamed aloud. “I understand. I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  “It’s not your fault, Viv.” She clasped her hands together and said, “Can you call me as soon as you hear anything about Max? I just need to know he’s okay.”

  Vivienne nodded and Drew gave her a tight hug. “Nothing’s going to change, Viv. I’m just going to be a couple of miles away, that’s all.”

  ***

  Max groaned, barely managing to lift his head. How long had he been chained to this wall? It felt like years, but couldn’t have been more than days.

  He tried to swallow and ended up coughing. His throat was dry, his stomach hollow. He hadn’t eaten or drunk since his time in the cell. The human part of him had long since slinked away, leaving his warlock to withstand the torture heaped on him in hopes that he would cave. The pale blue of his body was marked with cuts and punctures that had long since stopped healing. They were draining him, weakening him. One thing was certain. His father intended to kill him.