Celtic Moon

by Jan Delima

  And she wanted Dylan with her; she wanted to be back at Rhuddin Hall, with her family safe and under his direct protection. In just a few days she had unknowingly embraced a side of herself she hadn’t acknowledged for such a long time, a softer side.

  Unfortunately, Dylan wasn’t there. She was. And there were children who needed to be evacuated to another safe house. A calm determination settled over her, a focus built from sixteen years of preparation for an attack. That time had come, though not as she’d predicted. No matter. She may not be as strong as Malsum or the other remaining men watching her with apprehension, but she knew how to run, and she knew how to hide, and she most definitely knew how to keep those she cared about safe.

  And, if needed, she also knew how to fight.

  “I think we should separate into four groups.” She spoke directly to Malsum, trusting him, at the very least, to listen without contempt. “Let the others find a secure place with the children, a place that no one will suspect, and stay hidden. Without sharing their destination,” she added. “We can continue to Rhuddin Hall.”

  She assumed he would balk at such a noncombative suggestion, and was pleasantly surprised when he gave a sharp nod for the others to begin. “The plan is sound,” he said. “Do as Dylan’s mate has instructed. We’ll ring the church bell when it’s safe to come out. Dylan’s family will stay with me.”

  “Call me Sophie,” she added after his second referral to her as “Dylan’s mate.”

  “Sophie,” Malsum returned, “go gather your family.”

  “What about Taran and her daughter? We need to find Luc and tell him what’s happened, about the Guardians . . .”

  “I trust Luc is already aware of the situation,” he said. “If Taran and her daughter are still alive, he will bring them to Elen.”

  “Okay.” His conviction eased her conscience. Moreover, Sophie had learned a bit about Malsum after his lesson with Joshua. He was second in command under Luc in Dylan’s guard, a shifter and the chosen warrior of his father’s people. His heritage was Abanaki and Celt. His wolf, she now knew, came from his Celt ancestors, but his human side was just as prevalent. His skin flaunted the rich tones of his native heritage, golden brown and smooth. His eyes were soft brown, but beneath the kindness was an unmistakable strength of will. Of honor.

  Sophie trusted his judgment.

  The removal of the children and their parents took less than a minute. They were led out the back door of the basement, camouflaged by cedar hedges and cottages not built in rows, but rather like a maze with hidden backyards. As she checked the basement one last time, she couldn’t help but ponder over how much her life had changed in just a few short days. Trust, it seemed, was a powerful persuader to an even greater emotion. These people were not only Dylan’s, but somehow they had become hers as well.

  “Everyone is cleared from the basement,” she announced, returning to where her family huddled on the back lawn, Elen included, although her sister-in-law kept trying to leave and was unaccustomed to being told no.

  After the groups dispersed in different directions with their precious cargo underfoot, Elen turned to Malsum. “I will go to the clinic and wait.”

  “No,” Sophie repeated for the third time, shaking her head. “Somehow the Guardian knew you weren’t there. They must be watching it.”

  She pursed her lips. “But if it’s me they’re after, then at the very least I must separate from you.”

  “No.” Francine joined the argument, frowning with clear disapproval. “My daughter’s right. Our family stays together. We can all squeeze into one car—”

  “A vehicle is too visible,” Malsum cut her off. “And the road circles away from Rhuddin Hall. If we move now it will be quicker on foot.”

  “Fine.” Francine marched toward a cluster of low-growing trees, where the hidden passage began that Dylan had shown them earlier. She turned, clearly annoyed that the others hadn’t immediately followed. “Let’s move, people.” She snapped her fingers, motivating them into motion, even Malsum.

  * * *

  “ENOUGH OF THIS BULLSHIT,” RYDER SPOKE UP FOR THE first time. “I, like Dylan, feel the Guardians are restless. Once they learn a shifter has been born from this land, they will come. Frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t sooner. It’s time to band together. I will join your alliance, Dylan.”

  “Count me in as well,” Madoc announced, glaring at the remaining leaders in disgust when they didn’t immediately voice their support.

  “Thank you,” Dylan returned with a nod.

  “This is not a decision to make lightly,” Isabeau said gravely. “I will consider what you’ve shared this night . . .” Her voice trailed off, suddenly distracted. Her head cocked toward the forest.

  Dylan also heard the movement of sound, too focused to be random. Sarah emerged within seconds, running as a wolf in their direction. “She’s one of mine,” he informed the others before they reacted with force, his gut tightening with dread.

  When Sarah reached their circle, she shifted. Panting, eyes wild, she turned to Dylan. “We’ve moved the children from the safe house. Your wife . . .” She swallowed, took a ragged breath. “Your wife believes she had a vision. She believes the Guardians are here.”

  “Where is she?” Dylan grabbed Sarah by the arms and shook, too desperate to hide his reaction. “Where are my wife and son?”

  “They’re on their way here. Malsum and Elen are with them. They took the back Arwel passage.”

  Twenty-seven

  THE NIGHT SKY WEPT SHARDS OF ICE THAT TURNED TO rain, acting like a troubled soul, sleeping one moment and screaming the next. “Is this weather normal?” Sophie asked Malsum.

  “Define ‘normal,’” he whispered back with a hint of humor in his voice.

  “Point taken.”

  The trail widened once they moved beyond the undergrowth that concealed the opening. Buds had begun to form, but many branches remained bare, their leaves not open enough to offer protection from the steady drizzle of rain. Moss covered rocks and roots, while puddles formed in the dip of the trail. The pungent scent of wet pine filled the air. Sophie concentrated on her footing, bracing her steps on the slippery ground. Her clothes clung to her skin, pasted by rain and sweat, as Malsum quickened their pace.

  She felt naked without her gun, antsy and out of her element, even with the Serpent circled around her waist.

  While they traveled deeper into the forest, the storm lifted; moonlight brightened the path and shadows played games with her vision. She remained close to Joshua, walking just a few paces behind. Elen stayed at the rear while Malsum bullied his way in front of Francine. Tucker crowded against Sophie’s side, almost pushing her off the trail.

  Something moved in the trees up ahead, a glimmer of light to darkness in her peripheral vision. An animal perhaps? Or something worse? She turned her head. Nothing.

  “Did you see that?” she whispered, just as Malsum came to a halt, holding out his arm in a silent gesture for silence. He too stared into the shadows. Unnerved, she followed his line of sight, but all she saw were rows and rows of forty-foot pines, standing tall like giant soldiers, branchless except for the very tops.

  Her hand inched toward her waist.

  “We’re not alone.” Malsum turned to Joshua. “Rhuddin Hall is less than a mile in that direction.” He tilted his head to the right. “How fast can you run?”

  “As a wolf,” Joshua said, “very fast.”

  “Then shift and make haste!”

  “I’m not going to leave you here—”

  “Do as he says,” Sophie ordered, relying on Malsum’s instincts.

  Joshua shook his head. “No.”

  “Joshua . . .”

  “No!” His eyes narrowed with stubborn intensity, dark as ebony granite and just as inflexible. “I’m not leaving you.”

  She wanted to shake him, to yell at him. Now wasn’t the time for one of his obstinate moments. However, she remained silent while an enemy m
ight be watching, even listening. Her eyes shot daggers of disapproval. He lifted his chin in response. Fear made her beg, “Please . . .”

  Tucker tensed by her side, his focus pinned on a patch of evergreens in the distance. A low growl vibrated from his chest.

  “It’s too late,” Malsum hissed needlessly. Sophie already knew their visitors had arrived. He pulled out a circular object that had been hooked to the side of his jeans, wire wound into a ball the size of a large man’s fist with handles on either end. A garrote, she realized, maybe even forged by hand; Malsum held it with deadly confidence.

  The hooded figure of her vision stepped onto the trail, then another, and another. The man, the vile man whose very presence leaked malevolence, was the only one who wore a cloak, resembling a demented druid of times long dead. His followers wore normal street clothes, carrying various sized backpacks and gear, like any other human on a hike through the Appalachian Trail. Except they weren’t. She could see it in their eyes, feel it in the way they watched Elen with heavy-lidded focus, as if she were the next target of their own private game.

  And they were enjoying the hunt. Openly, men began to shrug off their gear and retrieve their own weapons of choice, swords mostly, a few carved knives and other curved objects of destruction.

  Malsum swore under his breath in a language that sounded decisively native. “Stay behind me.”

  Sophie intended to do exactly that, but Elen had a different mind-set. She stepped forward, her posture held high yet resolved.

  “Rhun,” Elen greeted with a low curtsy.

  “You may stand.” A pleased smile spread across his face, revealing even white teeth. “You are the very image of your mother, little Elen. At least in human form. But then you have no other, do you?”

  She ignored his insult. “Why do you honor us with your presence, Rhun?” No detectible sarcasm filled her words, only calm politeness. “I would expect you to keep the company of our neighbor, Math, another Gwarchodwyr Unfed such as yourself. Why bother with us?”

  Her lack of response to his goading seemed to annoy him. “Math and I have convened with other members of the Council. Your brother’s deceit has very recently been brought to our attention.” His hooded head tilted toward Tucker. “This place holds great power. The Council should have been informed.”

  “Not as powerful as Cymru, surely?” Elen’s voice dripped innocence, a perfect ruse of confusion and obedience.

  How long, Sophie wondered, had it taken for her to perfect that act? An act of stupidity, of humility in the face of loathing?

  “Don’t be coy, little Elen.” Thin lips peeled back in a sneer. “I have been to your home. Power grows from its very walls, and I want to know why.”

  She gave him a blank look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Save your lies! Siân told us everything. You will come with us now. You will meet with the Council and be judged for your deceit. And then we will decide your fate, and the fate of your brothers.”

  Having heard enough, Sophie cleared her throat and stepped forward. Malsum tried to block her but she skirted away from his grasp. “Ah, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Hush, Sophie,” Elen hissed, waving her back. “Let me handle this.”

  Rhun lifted his head and scented the air with flared nostrils. “Human,” he said as if choking on a piece of rotting meat. “You dare address me?” He turned to a lanky man who stood beside him. “Grwn, silence this . . . this creature.”

  Grwn stepped forward, tall and long-limbed, his tongue hanging over his bottom lip with greedy anticipation, stroking the handle of his sword like foreplay. He only made it the one step before a blur of motion disturbed the air. A familiar growl warned Sophie it was Tucker who lunged first, grabbing Grwn by the throat and twisting. A sickening crunch echoed off the packed dirt of the forest floor, followed by a gurgled wail. Another crunch. And then nothing.

  Rhun stood motionless, his reaction delayed by arrogance. As did Sophie, but for other reasons, witnessing for the first time why Dylan’s people feared her dog. He was—most definitely—not of this world.

  Bile rose in her throat but she swallowed back her initial reaction. “Good boy, Tucker,” she announced in front of the watching crowd of Guardians, as if in full control when she was anything but. Tucker had severed the man’s spine, this Grwn who’d been ordered to attack her. His head hung off to the side disjointed, lifeless. Blood soaked into the ground, a pool of blackness poisoning the earth. Tucker paced in front of her, his canines displayed toward the intruders in further warning.

  Too startled to conceal his reaction, Rhun clawed at the burnished latches of his robe and shrugged off the covering, letting the material slide to the ground in a pool of purple cloth. He shook with unrepressed fury. Nonetheless, he stood proud, arrogant, and completely naked. His body was pale but well-formed. His hair mimicked wet mud and hung below his shoulders in clumped strands. But his eyes . . . his eyes were the most disturbing color of milk white around black pupils.

  The purpose of his disrobing soon registered in Sophie’s mind as the scent of elements rose, not the earthy rush of wind or forest, but rather a rancid odor of rotting vegetation, like the fetid water in a vase of decayed flowers.

  It was the scent of death.

  “The hound protects the human,” one of Rhun’s men announced in hushed disbelief.

  “Indeed.” Rhun’s eyes narrowed on Sophie with renewed interest, showing no outward sign of remorse over his lost comrade, just curiosity. With a malicious grin, he announced, “Let’s see who else it protects, shall we?”

  The hairs on the base of her skull stood on end, as if evil itself had just found interest in her ordinary, human soul. That’s fine, she thought, as long as it’s my soul he’s interested in and not my son’s.

  Clutching the smooth metal beneath her palms, Sophie pulled the Serpent from her waist and let it uncoil to the ground. “One more step and you will lose your head.” She wasn’t sure if it was the Serpent that made him pause, or her threat. The Serpent, most likely.

  Those awful white eyes studied the uncoiled whip, lingering on the horned details of the fanged barb, and then lifted to her face. “Who are you?”

  She braced her legs apart, balancing for an assault. “The human who’s going to kill you if you don’t leave our territory.”

  “She’s Dylan’s mate,” Elen blurted out, revealing her emotions for the first time in front of Rhun. “Their son has been gifted by the Goddess. It is Taliesin who gave her the Serpent of Cernunnos. You must not harm those the Goddess protects.”

  Her announcement was not received well. Rhun sliced his hand through the air as if to erase a vile presence. “Liar! You filthy little . . . drwgddyddwg.” Visible tremors claimed his limbs. “Ceridwen protects Her Guardians. She protects Her Council. Not . . .” He leered at Joshua, spittle foaming at the edges of his mouth. “Not the bastard of a traitor and a human.”

  Malsum crowded by Sophie’s side, obviously sensing the same thing she had: running was no longer an option. “Will you back up your threat?” he asked, keeping his gaze locked on the encroaching Guardians.

  “Yes,” she said simply, and as Rhun lunged toward her son with a battle cry wrought with fanatical vengeance, she didn’t hesitate. The whoosh of the whip split through the air, like the roar of a bear in the middle of winter, a deadly threat that something had just awoken that should have remained undisturbed.

  A brief spark of recognition, of shock, widened his milk-white eyes. Too late. A warning of death had been given and ignored. The Serpent grabbed hold with surreal accuracy and anchored around his neck. Sophie followed through, separating head from torso in one fell swoop.

  And the battle began.

  The others did not cower back as she’d hoped. They came at Sophie and her family with weapons drawn, knives and swords of varying shapes and sizes, all crafted with one purpose: to sever head from spine. Feverish anticipation shone in their eye
s.

  She fought for her son, for the children who cowered in homes because they feared their deaths. She fought for Melissa, and Taran, and for all those years she’d lost with Dylan because he’d been forced to contain her against this evil.

  “Stay behind me,” she yelled to Joshua and her mother. But her son held his sword in his hands, the one his father had given him, and was holding off one of the Guardians. She killed three others, and two more who had fixed their attentions on Joshua, while Tucker had his jaws around another’s throat.

  The Serpent coiled around her targets with a fluid motion that increased momentum with each kill, as if garnering strength in death. The very thought horrified her even as desperation propelled her forward.

  On her right, Malsum was swarmed, though he still fought, dropping bodies around his feet with his simple but effective garrote and a lethal blur of motion. In a sudden move, Malsum faltered backward, either overcome by their zealot fury or in a strategic move to draw the Guardians away.

  Clarity of purpose balanced the chaos. Sophie counted thirty-two enemies, twelve dead, eleven fully functional humans, seven wolves and two in mid-shift. Adrenaline pumped through her veins with every lash of her whip. The sounds of metal on metal rang in her ears. Faces swam before her, contorted with hatred and rage. The putrid scent of unholy elements clogged the air as more Guardians began to shift into their other forms, realizing their swords were no match for the Serpent.

  Above the deafening roar, Sophie heard one voice penetrate through the others, clear as ice cracking on a frozen lake, and as jolting as if she were the one standing directly above it. She froze, horror-stricken.

  Francine screamed, “Joshua . . .”

  Sophie turned to see a flash of movement, and then her son yelling, “Grandma . . . no . . .”

  A Guardian, still in human form, charged Joshua from behind in a rush of metal and flesh. Francine threw herself in his path, too human and too weak to offer any protection other than the shield of her own body and the power of her heart. Without thought, as if swatting an annoying insect, the Guardian grabbed her head and twisted.