Celtic Moon

by Jan Delima

  Her mother crumpled to the ground and remained unmoving.

  Sophie staggered in disbelief, a base reaction of utter shock. Darkness clouded her vision and blanketed her chest in a weight so heavy her lungs refused to draw air. What her heart knew, her mind refused to translate. Reality suspended, as if all justice had been drained by the dark hand of evil—and then came rushing back on a blast of color and sound. She toppled forward, unbalanced, her throat raw from a continuous scream she couldn’t contain, rage and pain mixed with the sound of feral grunts and the clash of swords.

  But it wasn’t her anguish that stopped the battle, as it should have been. Elen moved behind the man who had just taken her mother’s life. The Guardian’s back was bare, sheened with sweat, his attention focused on Joshua as he raised his sword. Elen placed her hands on his exposed skin and closed her eyes, a gentle touch that jerked the man in an upright position until he stood stiff and unresponsive, his mouth ajar and his sword frozen in midair.

  Without warning, the man imploded, as if turned inside out. Blood spattered the area in streams of burgundy and red. Sophie blinked, unsure if her mind had registered the impossible correctly. Or if, God willing, this was all just a nightmare and soon she would wake up to the smell of blueberry pie in the oven and her mother arguing over which fat made a better crust, Crisco or lard?

  Sophie blinked again. And the forest appeared before her. A nightmare? Yes, but regrettably real. The scent of iron clung to the back of her throat. She wiped her cheek and found blood on her hands. All that remained of the Guardian was a pile of fur and pulp moving around the base of Elen’s feet. The pile issued a burst of canine wails, pain-filled and disjointed, broken vocal cords that had no form. The battle ended when all eyes turned in Elen’s direction, to that ungodly sound, stupefied into submission by the unfamiliar.

  Elen stood in the middle of the trail, unmoving except for tremors that racked her body. She stared down at her hands. Green moss formed at her feet and then began to spread in an outward circle, consuming rocks and roots, and growing up trees. She looked up and caught Sophie’s gaze, her lower lip trembling in a silent cry for help. Tears shone like a river of anguish, leaving pink streaks through spatters of her victim’s blood.

  “Fuck me,” one of the Guardians exclaimed, stepping away from the encroaching green circle, his sword falling from his hand to be engulfed in moss. “Did you see that? Siân spoke the truth.”

  “Someone . . . grab her,” another ordered.

  “You grab her. I’m not touching her.”

  A grumble of voices.

  “The human killed Rhun. What should we do?” A stream of foreign words ensued, angry. An argument? The name Math was repeated but the rest was spoken in their original language. And then silence. A resolution?

  “We’ll take the human instead.”

  Sophie was focused on making her way toward Elen and Joshua, striking anything in her path: trees, arms, air, it didn’t matter. Still dazed by loss, it was a second too late when she realized they were referring to her, because she was the only human left. Joshua yelled, “Mom, behind you.” But it was too late.

  Pain pierced her vision, and then nothing.

  Twenty-eight

  DYLAN EYED THE DESTRUCTION BEFORE HIM THROUGH A red haze of fear and rage. His forest reeked of death. Eighteen disembodied Guardians and two of his own lay strewn across the forest floor. The putrid scent of excrement and an unblessed violation of nature clung to the air in the aftermath of a Guardian attack. The Serpent of Cernunnos lay coiled on the ground, fed and satisfied, glinting with an unnatural glow and bloodred eyes.

  And Sophie, his heart and his life, was nowhere to be seen.

  Terror roiled like a thunderstorm in his gut. He lifted his head to the sky and shouted his torment, his wolf clawing to the surface to add its voice.

  A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t heed your warning, Dylan,” Isabeau said. “If your mate is responsible for any of this . . . then she is not defenseless, even for a human.” Her tone held both surprise and respect. She let her hand drop and scanned the area, her soft features made harsh with the proof that Dylan had spoken the truth.

  Their time of peace had ended.

  The leaders remained stoic; Madoc, Ryder, Drystan, Daron and Isabeau gathered around the outer edge of the trail, the five that had come to help Dylan save his human wife, unprepared for what they found. Isabeau bent to retrieve the Serpent, pulling back with a hiss.

  “Leave it,” Dylan warned, counting heads from the fallen Guardians, knowing with a deadened heart that Sophie was responsible for most of their deaths. Also knowing that even when he found her, she would never again be the same. And neither would his son. “The Serpent belongs to my wife.”

  Joshua knelt before his grandmother’s body, his gaze unfocused and clouded with shock. His sword, the one Dylan had given him just yesterday, lay beside him on the ground covered in Guardian blood.

  Dylan’s hands shook as he patted him down, needing to feel a warm and breathing response. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” He spoke in monotone, his voice absent of his usual whimsical humor. “They took Mom. I tried to stop them . . .”

  “They won’t have her for long,” Dylan assured him. He refused to contemplate any other outcome, not without losing his ability to breathe. “I will find your mother.”

  “And Grandma . . .” He looked up with darkness in his gaze, his innocence forever lost. “My grandma’s dead.”

  “I know.” Dylan lifted his son into a desperate embrace. He inhaled several deep breaths, savoring his very alive scent. Guilt pierced his heart like a poisoned lance.

  He had brought Sophie and his son into this nightmare world. He was responsible for the darkness that now filled his son’s soul. Francine was dead because he had allowed her to stay. And Sophie . . .

  He shook his head, expelling images that threatened his sanity.

  “And they killed Malsum too,” Joshua said quietly.

  Madoc stepped forward and removed his jacket. The other leaders followed, shedding their outer clothing to cover Francine and Malsum, two warriors who had proven their worth with the ultimate sacrifice.

  Not concealing his approach, Luc pushed his way into the clearing. With teeth bared, he scanned the destruction; his gaze lingered on Francine’s covered body and then Malsum’s. Burgundy streaks marred his naked chest. Cormack followed to stand by his side, his gait slowed by an injured leg, his fur blackened with blood, his left eye swollen shut. Michael was the last guard to arrive; he had kept to his human form, but was in no better condition than his comrades, his expression solemn.

  Luc moved forward and placed a hand on Joshua’s shoulder, a family united in the aftermath of death. “Another war has begun this day.”

  No one refuted his words.

  With her hands fisted by her sides, Isabeau stood over Rhun’s separated head. Indigo eyes searched the crowd, found Dylan’s and held.

  Her lips trembled, and for a fleeting second he recognized the girl who had stumbled upon his camp with a bloodied wolf cub in her arms, caked with filth and haunted by the death of her family.

  “For this alone”—she waved her hand over Rhun’s torso, her voice clogged with emotion—“I am in your mate’s debt. I will join your alliance.”

  “Count me in as well,” Drystan added. “No more innocents can die without retribution.”

  “Agreed,” Daron vowed his allegiance, followed by growls of approval from Madoc and Ryder, the two leaders who had joined Dylan’s cause without proof, a deed that would not be forgotten.

  Dylan acknowledged each leader’s promise with a nod. “Let our alliance begin now.” He turned to his brother. “Tell us what you know.”

  “The Guardians came from New Hampshire under Math’s orders. They entered our territory from the west.” Luc sneered with disgust. “We were protecting the north, and the areas around the village and Rhuddin Hall. It appears Si�
�n requested sanctuary and informed them of Elen’s . . . gift.” His silver gaze searched for their sister, his eyes widening with concern when he realized she wasn’t there. “I don’t believe they had any knowledge of the gathering. They were after Elen. But Siân knows us; she gave them insight into our area, into our routine.”

  Dylan absorbed that information, not caring how his brother had attained it. “There was another battle?”

  A sharp nod. “In Crescent field.”

  “How many Guardians?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Any still alive?”

  “No.”

  “Any more casualties of our own?”

  “Taran,” Luc affirmed in a low growl. “And her daughter may soon follow her mother’s fate.” His wolf’s voice was close to the surface, a deep rumble of anger and retribution. “I have taken them to the clinic. The child needs Elen or she won’t be with us for long.”

  “Is the clinic secure?”

  Silver eyes darkened. “It is now.”

  Nodding, Dylan turned to Joshua. “Have you seen your aunt? Do you know where she is?”

  “She was here.” His voice hitched. “Something happened. Something really weird. Like . . . I don’t know . . . I can’t even explain it. Aunt Elen ran away when the Guardians took Mom. I fought them but I was the only one left and they had about eighteen, I think. And Tucker went with those men, like he wanted to, barking and playing like he does with Mom. I think he was trying to distract them from me—”

  “Shh,” Dylan soothed, keeping his voice calm when his gut churned with fury and his wolf raged for release. “I’m proud of how you’ve defended yourself today, son. And we’ll find your mother. But first I need to know where your aunt is. There’s a child who needs her care. Can you remember in what direction she went?”

  Turning in a circle to assess the area, Joshua stopped and then pointed to the north. “That way, I think.”

  Following the scent of summer, it didn’t take long to track her journey, with Luc and the others not far behind. He found his sister crumpled on the ground less than a mile away. He stopped short, holding out his arm for the others to remain where they were.

  Nature and growth expanded in a sphere around her location. An oblong ball of fur and skin moved beside her, like a wolf-sized caterpillar emerging from a cocoon yet the membrane refused to break. Her hands pressed against her ears to block out a keening sound emanating from the pile of distorted flesh.

  With lethal purpose, Dylan drew his sword. A bite of power hummed across his skin as he cautiously approached. He tasted metal on his tongue. Unsure about the location of the creature’s head, he slashed down the center, slicing the pile of gore into segments until the disjointed sound ceased.

  The silence seemed to ease Elen. Her hands fell to her lap. “Cormack,” she whispered on a broken voice. “Find Cormack.”

  “He’s here.” The announcement came from Luc.

  “Bring him to me.”

  Awareness tightened Dylan’s spine. He knew then what she had done, he knew because he’d been the one who’d planted the idea in her head. Perhaps it’s time, he had advised her just a few days ago, to explore your gift beyond plants. Elen had not meant to kill the Guardian; she had meant to take his humanity, his other half, and the separation of the human and wolf forms had not gone well.

  And now she intended to give that other half of humanity to Cormack.

  Dylan looked to what remained of the Guardian. Softly, he said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Elen.”

  “It’s different when I give,” she snapped. Wildflowers burst around her in rainbow hues; their petals bloomed and withered in a span of seconds, singed by her anger.

  Hearing his name, the wolf limped through the gathered crowd of leaders with his right foreleg hugged to his chest. As he drew closer to Elen, he paused, staring at her mantle of green in a moment of doubt.

  Elen stretched out her arms. “Please . . .”

  Moved by her plea, he took that final step into her circle of power. And she pounced.

  “Forgive me,” she said, wrapping her arms around his body. Cormack shrieked, sending a ripple of unease through the leaders. The wolf stood frozen for the barest of seconds before his knees collapsed. He rolled onto his side, gripped by seizures. Elen tightened her hold.

  The scent of elements filled the air, pure and uncluttered by evil, like fresh-cut grass in summer, or laughter from a child learning how to swim. Power built to a crescendo, different from that of her brothers, or any others of their kind.

  Elen’s power didn’t take from nature; it gave, teased, offered pleasure beyond salvation. A growl emerged from one of the leaders, Ryder perhaps, and then a muffled curse as he lost control of his wolf and began to shift. Dylan resisted the pull, awed nonetheless by the visual affirmation of his sister’s ability.

  Cormack began to elongate. Fur receded into skin. Bone snapped and reformed. Tears streamed down Elen’s face but her hold remained steady until a man filled her arms and not a wolf.

  When the transformation was complete, when he saw clarity in his sister’s gaze, when he saw a human body whole and unbroken in her arms, Dylan turned to his brother.

  No verbal communication was needed.

  “You’re going after Sophie,” Luc said.

  “You will stay here and handle this.” It wasn’t a question. “Bring Francine and Malsum to the clinic along with Elen and Cormack.” He paused. “Contact Malsum’s tribe. Francine will be honored according to Sophie’s wishes when we return.”

  Luc gave a low nod, accepting his role as leader of the Katahdin territory in Dylan’s absence. Not a small favor, considering . . . “Math sent the Guardians to us,” he said. “I would not be surprised if they headed straight back to the White Mountains. They’re too arrogant to assume we’ll actually follow.”

  “I know.” And for the first time in sixteen hundred years, Dylan walked away from his siblings, his people, and his responsibility as their protector, and followed his heart. Before leaving, he gave his son a gentle squeeze around his chest, a final promise. “Stay with Luc. I will return with your mother before morning.”

  “I’m coming with you,” he announced. “I know the White Mountains well. Believe me, Mom made me study every stupid map in this tristate region. I know how to find my way in and out of any area.”

  Dylan understood in that moment Sophie’s fear, understood what it meant to be a parent, understood being willing to do anything, to sacrifice anything, for the protection of a life that meant more than his own.

  He shook his head. “No, son, not this time.”

  “They took my mother.” He lifted his chin with an air of determination. “They killed my grandmother. I can’t just stay here and do nothing.”

  “Listen to me.” Dylan closed both his palms around his son’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I need you here to help your uncle in my absence. I need you to lead our people, to protect them.” I need you to be safe. “Can you do that for me?”

  Frustration and anger filled their embrace; anger from Joshua, frustration from Dylan. Slowly, Joshua’s tension began to ease as he understood what his father was asking of him, a response of a true warrior and not a boy. With a nod, he closed his eyes and growled, “Just bring Mom home.”

  “I will,” Dylan promised, letting his hands drop.

  With an edge of anticipation, Madoc stepped forward. “Let’s get going, shall we?” He snorted at Dylan’s puzzled glare. “As if I would let you have all the fun without me.”

  “I’m coming as well,” Isabeau added with more seriousness.

  A brown wolf sauntered next to Isabeau, nodding his intention to join them. Ryder had been the only leader to shift, his brow furrowed as he snuck wary glances in Elen’s direction.

  “Aw, hell,” Drystan muttered. “Let’s do this.”

  Twenty-nine

  SOPHIE TRIED TO MOVE, TO TURN, BUT FELT RESISTANCE biting into her wrists. Her h
ead hurt. Why did her head hurt? And where was she? She tried to open her eyes but her lids felt heavy, as if she’d taken an entire bottle of sleeping pills and only had an hour’s worth of sleep.

  And then bits of memory poked at her subconscious. The children. Joshua. Elen. Her mother.

  Her breath hitched in her throat. Oh, God, Mum . . .

  Her heart pounded against her chest in a vicious onslaught of awareness. Sophie recalled every horrific detail, right until that last moment when the Guardian had hit her from behind.

  They must have taken her. But where?

  Her legs were numb, unresponsive. That was the first sensation that pressed through her panicked haze.

  They must have drugged her.

  With what? And what was that god-awful smell? The scent of iron, rot and mildew coated her throat, triggered a gag. She fought against the cobwebs that muddled her thoughts with some success. Awareness came to her in flashes; a continuous drip echoed off the walls, something soft by her calf, cold air and high ceilings, dirt under her sneakers. She was in a room that echoed sound and seeped moisture, a room with a dirt floor that reeked of dampness and death. A basement?

  The warmth at her leg moved. Something wet pressed against her arm, followed by a soft whine, then a tug on her sleeve. Tucker? They had allowed Tucker to follow, to stay?

  Movement came from her right, a warning.

  “I know you are awake.” It was a man’s voice, deep and refined, devoid of any discernible accent.

  Adrenaline rushed through her veins and fought against the poison that inhibited her response. She tried to speak but her words came out garbled. After several attempts, she managed to say, “What did you give me?”

  “You will not ask questions, human.”

  Willing her eyes to open, Sophie began to glimpse her surroundings through her drugged fog. Gas lanterns provided the only light. Iron restraints, polished to shine like treasured toys, hung off stone walls. Crude furniture filled the room, half tables with holes, steel chairs with vise grips for arms and legs. Something scurried through an arched doorway to an inner chamber.