Moonlit Seduction

by Megan J. Parker

  The sound of labored, albeit relieved panting chimed beside him, each breath tolling her safety and resounding within Broden as a victory bell. Satisfied, he went about wiping the dirt from his face and eyes. Much as it discomforted him, it was the temporary blindness—the all-consuming haze that the earthy grit burdened him with—that he was most eager to be away with.

  He wanted to see her.

  For all the reasons he could understand and so many more that he could not.

  “I… I canna—” her voice, beautiful as an angel’s, sang around the fading panic. “I canna believe I’m no’ dead.”

  “Believe it,” Broden coughed, still wiping at his face, still eager to see hers. “I got the aches and pains to show fer it.”

  A pause. Broden resented his response if for no other reason than making her go silent. Then, “W-well, yes. Th-thank ye for that.”

  “Ye doona need to thank me,” he offered, willing tears—an uncommon thing for him—to the surface to help wash away the dirt. “I heard ye callin’, an’ came runnin’ fast as I could.”

  “Ye heard?” she sounded shocked, almost disbelieving, “I was certain that no one would hear…”

  Broden opened his mouth to answer, but then glanced back, mapping out the path he’d taken. Halfway around the mountain and through the great mass of trees and roaring rivers…

  How could he have heard her through all of that?

  Turning back, he caught sight of her for the first time—the world around him still hazy and blurred—and the largest, brightest eyes, like two of the most perfect pools, stared back at him.

  Then, like before, the feeling of exhilarating terror overtook him, yanking the breath from his lungs, and he had to teach himself to breathe all over again.

  She was beautiful, easily the prettiest he had ever had the fortune of seeing. Hair the color of sunlight sweeping down her shoulders and back. Curves that would’ve challenged the highland winds. And a scent like flowers.

  She was like the perfect day, standing there in the middle of the night.

  And Broden… he looked like a dirty, sweaty arse.

  Shite…

  It was then that he realized that he’d yet to answer her, and, with a clumsy shrug, he said, “Got lucky, I guess.”

  “Well,” she let the word stretch on as a smile took to her berry-red lips, “luck or no’, thank ye… again. I doona kno—” her voice trailed off as she looked back up at him.

  Broden, worried that his scarred face had suddenly offended her, looked away. “It was no’ a problem,” he assured her, “but, if ye doona mind me askin’: what is a young lass like yerself doing out here on her own?”

  “I…oh, it was silly,” she looked down. “I…ye might laugh at me.”

  “I willna laugh at ye, lass,” he took her chin in his hand and lifted her gaze to hers. “I’m no’ exactly the laughin’ sort.”

  She regarded him then with a palpable skepticism, as though expecting him to laugh at his own claim at any moment. “Ye promise?” she finally asked, though, between her still labored breathing and waning skepticism it sounded more like a demand.

  Bold lass… Broden though, fighting a smirk—worried that it might work against his “no laughing” statement, which was soon to be a…

  “Aye,” he said, “I promise. Now, why are ye out here?”

  “I…” she was embarrassed, reluctant, and this made Broden all the more curious; he found himself taking a step forward—as though being nearer might draw the answer from her faster—then thought better of it and planted his feet.

  “I was looking for the beasts of the village,” she finally spouted, looking everywhere but towards him.

  Her breathing was no longer labored; her lips pursed and nostrils flared as she held her breath.

  Broden realized that he, too, was no longer drawing in air.

  A breeze passed, seeming to taunt his screaming lungs. The space between them demanded a response from either, and until that debt was paid neither could breathe.

  Without the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts with each breath, he noticed, she looked like some sort of statue, like something perfect immortalized in stone and more at home in a shrine. Then, reciting these thoughts to himself, he wondered what was the matter with him. That question, in turn, was just as quickly answered, and then Broden felt his heart skip a beat as he began to wonder—”pine,” was the word his brain chose; one that he’d never used before that moment unless in regard to the trees—if she could ever look at him the same way.

  Was she feeling the same attraction he was to her?

  Perhaps as a response to his burning lungs, Broden’s brain demanded he focus on the subject at hand, and he reminded himself of the subject at hand.

  The lass was looking for his brothers? For him?

  What for?

  Had Grant told her about them; gotten shite-faced and said something he shouldn’t have?

  And, most importantly, what did it mean for them that she was out there looking for them? Would there be others? Had the village finally decided to grow a pair and come for them?

  “Well?” the word was more of a gasp as she broke the silence, “Say something!”

  “The beasts, eh?” He narrowed his eyes at her, “And what would ye be looking for them for?” he demanded, then, shuddering at a thought that dragged a burning jealousy on its shoulders, blurted out, “Are ye infatuated with one of them?”

  He instantly regretted the question, but thinking of Grant and the potential for his loose lips spurred him onward. His brother, randy bastard he was, had made it a personal challenge to make sure every available (and some unavailable) lass in the village knew who he was. And while Broden hoped that Grant would know better than to let it be known what he was, he knew that hoping only went so far.

  And if that was true, then Broden really didn’t have a—

  “Wh-what?” she seemed insulted by the question, disgusted even.

  Somehow that hurt a little less than the idea of her with Grant.

  Still shaking her head, she went on: “N-no! I’ve never even met one—doona even know if they exist!—but… I’ve been fascinated by the stories of them.” She blushed at her confession and shrugged a slender shoulder. “I suppose I just wanted to see if there was any truth to the stories.”

  “Fascinated?” he raised an eyebrow at that. “How did ye learn about”—he caught himself before saying ‘us’—“er, them?”

  He couldn't seem to think straight, and as she finally looked back up at him and his gaze found her eyes he felt a jolt pass through his body as if he’d been caught by lightning. A part of him he didn’t recognize roared and demanded more…

  Another part—a part he knew all too well—screamed at him to run.

  He decided to ignore it, for now at least.

  “I’ve been hearing of them my entire life, honestly,” she finished with a soft sigh, one that seemed almost longing.

  So much for ignoring it…

  “Lately the stories have been different, though. Less whimsical and more… horrific.” She shrugged again and glanced back in the direction of the village. “They warn everyone no’ to be out too late; they say the beasts are dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” he raised an eyebrow at that. “So if that’s what everyone’s saying, then why are ye out here?”

  The village’s tall tales about Broden and his family had never been a concern. The splinters of truth that might have clung to the skin of their stories weren’t thick enough to demand much attention—never had been before, at least—and it was better to let them talk than give their rumors substance. But dangerous? Talk of sightings were akin to a fisherman’s tale; exaggerated and openly known as such. But, just as the fisherman never finished his tale with the fish eating his mates, the stories of Broden’s kin weren’t meant to end in bloodshed. Those sorts of stories demanded action. Whether from those seeking vengeance, glory, or—he lingered on the lass a moment—simple curios
ity. Sure, he and his brothers had snuck into the village to steal a few bare necessities, and he was sure that plenty of husbands and fathers had caught sight of Grant’s pink arse scurrying off after a romp of debauchery, but why should any of that lead to rumors of violence? And, moreover, why would a few accounts of theft and adultery suddenly be tied back to the old tales of the beasts?

  “I doona…” she let out another small sigh, “I doona know. I suppose I felt like I had to see fer myself. Something inside me… it just screamed that this was something I needed to do.”

  That caught his attention. Though it was a more recent turn for him—mere minutes, if he was being honest with himself—he, too, shared her strange “inner screams” that seemed to connect her to him; that had driven him to act as he had. He tilted his head, further examining the girl, and, as he did, she shifted her feet and looked away again. He didn't want to believe that his appearance was the reason she wouldn't look up, but he wouldn't rule it out either. He knew his scars were not subtle and as much as Lachlan assured him that scars were the “in thing,” he wasn’t going to believe his brother.

  Especially not when Grant, the vision of perfection, still got all the boasting rights.

  Watching the girl shift nervously again, he wondered if there was a nonthreatening way to ask her if he was making her uncomfortable. Maybe he could put her at ease if he acknowledged her unease. Or, at the very least, maybe it wouldn’t make him feel quite so monstrous watching her squirm like that.

  “Am I… do I make ye uncomfortable?” he asked, unnerved by the alien nervousness in his voice.

  Since when am I so docile?

  “No! No’ at all,” she blushed and finally lifted those blue eyes back up at him.

  He could get lost in the liquid pools of blue her eyes were and he held back the sudden urge to lean down to get a better look into them. As if she sensed that, her chin jutted forward in invitation. He paused at that before stepping back and looking away. He had to believe that he was just seeing things—misinterpreting her gestures—so that he didn’t make an arse of himself.

  “It’s… ye should be home,” he finally said. “It’s no’ safe out here this late at night.”

  “Because of the beasts?” her voice was a whisper, and he almost wondered if she had spoken at all.

  Something in her voice, though…

  Broden realized that she didn’t want to believe that the beasts she’d been hearing about her entire life were something to be feared. There was awe and intrigue there; awe and intrigue that refused to let terror and dread replace them.

  “I did no’ say that,” he whispered back before nodding towards the ledge he’d saved her from. “I just said that it’s no’ safe.”

  “Oh,” she followed the gesture and bit her lip at the reminder, “right…”

  Broden nodded. “And while I doona know about yer beasts,” he dragged in a deep breath around the sheer depth of the lie he’d just told, “there are other threats—other manner of creature and peril—out here that could hurt ye.”

  “Hey now! Enough of that!” she scolded, glaring back at him. “I lost my footing, aye—and I cannot thank ye enough for saving me—but that doesn’t mean I doona know how to handle myself! Might I remind ye that I came out here in search of beasts, so doona think me some frail thing!” she squared her shoulders and jutted her chin up towards him.

  He smiled—actually smiled!—at the gesture. If his brothers were here, they’d probably be frozen in shock before surrounding him to figure out what was the matter with their otherwise stoic, stern brother. At that moment, feeling his jaw and cheeks tense with ache from misuse, he felt just as bewildered, though. He may not have chosen his role—that of the perpetually glowering, self-sacrificing, bossy downer; a miserable shepherd looking over the flock of his cursed brothers—but somebody had had to occupy it, and none of the others seemed willing or able. And, after years of passive searching for the “right girl”—a process that was more a pandering act that he’d halfheartedly committed to solely for his father, never investing much faith in either the belief that there would be an end to their curse or that there could ever truly be a “right girl” for him—taking up the mantle as a provider and protector seemed a quick way to put all that nonsense behind him. He left the fairy tales to his father and mother—let them worry about the curse and cling to the hope that they might find a way to reverse it—and busy himself in more productive ways. And, while he hated to admit it, the job came easy; rigidity and structure always having come easy for him.

  “Were it no’ for all the work and planning to be done,” his father would often say, “I’m no’ sure what else would hold ye together.”

  There had been a time that he’d missed being lighthearted and free to busy himself with irrelevant matters. At least, he had to believe there was. But certainty at that moment, when his face actually hurt from but a few moments of smiling, was frail and growing flimsier by the second. Truthfully, the role he’d taken—because it hadn’t really been assigned; none had forced him into it, after all—seemed more and more like an excuse: an excuse to be sullen, an excuse to be self-sacrificing, an excuse to be isolated. In short, an excuse to be miserable. Because so long as he had the excuse that he had to do all of that for the sake of his family, then he’d never have to blame himself for not being happy. So long as there was an unending and ever-tolling task at hand, Broden would never need to admit that the emptiness he’d felt his entire life was his own fault.

  But now he was smiling.

  Now he wasn’t burdened by the demands of tracking down Grant; wasn’t burdened by any of his normal demands.

  Now…

  Now the emptiness was gone.

  No, he may not have chosen the role, but nor did he resent it. Now, however, looking down at this girl and feeling the new swell of life that he’d never known before, he had to wonder what he’d been missing.

  Had to wonder if his father had been right…

  “… I came out here in search of beasts…”

  Aye, Broden thought, and found so much more.

  “While I’m sure ye can handle yerself,” he forced a confident tone despite feeling anything but and gave her a light chuck under the chin with his fingers, “I will’na be held responsible for letting ye stray into danger.”

  “Then doona,” her eyes held his as she spoke with confidence and determination, and a tremor of excitement rolled up Broden’s spine.

  “Lass,” he sighed, fighting his own desires, and resigned once again to rigidity and structure—“Were it no’ for all the work and planning to be done, I’m no’ sure what else would hold ye together.” “It is late,” he offered, still hearing his father’s words echo in his thoughts like a taunt. “Come back tomorrow, early ‘nough that ye can enjoy the sights by daylight, and I will help ye search for yer beasts.”

  That caught her attention, and the resulting smile threw his thoughts into another spiral of hope and elation. He knew he shouldn't be seeing the girl again, especially with her out searching for his kin and coming from a village that was, apparently, out for their blood. He knew he should send her back, deny the beasts existence—strike the possibility from her thoughts—and hope that, in her discouragement, she might convince the others to stop believing, as well. He knew all of the things he should have done. He did none of them; committed to none of them. Shite, he stared off at the horizon of all the things he should have done and intentionally turned away from it. Instead, he invited her back and, moreover, offered to help her track down the creatures she sought to discover. He was offering to help her track his family!

  Aye… I’ve truly lost it.

  Not that she would’ve stayed away. No, no amount of insanity could convince him that sending her away would be that easy. From the determination and confidence the female held, he felt at least a little better knowing that, even if he had committed to what he should have done, he’d only be delaying the inevitable. She’d come back. A
ye, she’d come back, and she’d come back all the more determined, possibly with others.

  So, in many ways, Broden was choosing the lesser of two evils.

  At least that’s what he told himself.

  Nevermind the swell of excitement and that increasingly familiar howl echoing in his chest.

  Even she seemed to bounce with the same excitement he was feeling as she squealed and asked, “Ye will?”

  He shrugged, trying to act much calmer than he felt on the inside. “Why no’? If it means ye will be safe and will go home for now, I will. Ye have my word.”

  “Alright,” she dragged the word out after a painfully long, tension soaked stretch of silence wherein her skeptical, studying gaze seemed to challenge Broden’s offer. “But doona go thinking I won’t be coming back!” She grinned, “Especially now that I know that ye’re out here.”

  Though Broden wasn’t sure what to make of that, he didn’t have long to dwell on her words before she turned away to head back down the hill, noticeably keeping a healthy distance from the ledge she’d been saved from as she did. Watching her go, Broden’s eyes drifted to her backside before instantly catching himself—visions of Grant’s leering, knowing grin haunting his thoughts—and forced himself to adjust his gaze as she spun around to face him again.