Moon Burning

by Lucy Monroe

  Chapter 20

  They rode hard until long after the sun rose in the sky. Shortly before midday, he stopped near a stream where they dismounted in silence. Her legs were weak as water and she had to hold on to Barr for several moments before she could walk. He did not rush her, but she felt the need to resist clinging.

  Things had changed between them and she did not understand this feeling of vulnerability that plagued her. Love was not a comfortable emotion and she did not understand why others thought it so wonderful. Perhaps when you were certain of its return, the overwhelming feelings brought joy rather than distress.

  Neither spoke while they ate food Barr pulled from the pack on the horse. She was busy trying to determine if they had been followed, unwilling to be surprised by the arrival of an enemy like she had been with Wirp in the forest.

  She did not know why Barr kept his own counsel. It could have been for the same reason, or it could have been that he had nothing to say to her.

  She realized she did not want to know if the latter was the case and, even when she was fairly certain no danger lurked around them, did not initiate conversation.

  The burbling water over stone was the only sound to break the silence around them. Even the animals were quiet, but that was often the case when predators were present. And as controlled as he was, Barr was one hundred percent predator.

  Suddenly Barr stood, his gaze intent as he carefully surveyed the surrounding area. “You have weapons?”

  “Yes.” Verica had not hesitated when Sabrine had gone knocking on her door in the wee hours to ask to borrow the sword and dagger before leaving the keep that morning.

  “Good.”

  Without another word or any warning, Barr shifted to his wolf. Sabrine reached out, wanting to touch this Faol that was also her mate, her sense of revulsion completely absent and now replaced by affectionate awe. Barr seemed oblivious to her desire, though. The magnificent creature leapt the stream, running into the forest. All that remained where he had been were his plaid and weapons.

  Battling disappointment she doubted he would understand or even believe she could feel, Sabrine jumped to her feet, her senses alert to any sign of danger.

  Something had triggered her mate’s instincts, but she could not tell what. She did not think it would be a nearby danger, or he would not have left her alone. Despite his clear respect for her fighting skills, the man was too protective to leave her unguarded against imminent threat.

  She gathered his things and took them to the horse, which had stopped munching on grass by the stream and now stood without noise but its own quiet breathing.

  She patted the horse. “Can you please sit down?”

  She didn’t know how to get the large animal to lower itself, but she did not want to sit on the ground under its belly. That just seemed unsafe. Still, she had to be near for her gift to protect them both and knew that she would not be able to remain standing if Barr was gone very long.

  She wished she had the gift of communing with animals, but she didn’t, and hers would be useless if she could not get this great beast to cooperate.

  Proving his master had chosen well, and that he was more intelligent than he looked, the horse lowered his body to the ground. His legs folded under him, he looked quite settled. And calm.

  She hoped that looks were not deceptive in this instance.

  Gingerly, not wanting to startle the big animal, she moved to sit beside him. When he did not show any antipathy to that, she carefully settled against him, letting her body rest against his much bigger one.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on sending for the image of empty forest as if she and the horse were not there. Once she felt the image settle around her and the large beast completely, she opened her eyes and searched the area for evidence of a threat.

  The quiet of the forest took on more sinister connotations as not even a birdsong could be heard. Nothing moved among the trees. No rustle of sound to indicate even a rabbit lurked in the under foliage. Yet, her senses picked up no scents that might indicate danger.

  She did not let the lack of overt signs deter her from maintaining the shield to her presence and that of the great beast Barr held in such esteem though. Each minute she had to project the image around them drained her strength further, but she could do naught else until her mate’s return.

  If she had only herself to protect, she would have taken the Clach Gealach Gra and climbed a tree. Blending into branches would have been much easier than building the image of an empty spot by the stream around her and the horse.

  But she could not risk the big beast. He belonged to her mate and therefore had great value to her. Thankfully, the horse did its part, maintaining a silence she would not have thought the animal capable of doing.

  She lost track of the time Barr had been gone as she grew weaker and increasingly weary. She slipped into an almost trance as her raven maintained the shielding image.

  Only the sound of her mate shouting in her head brought her out of it, taking her from that nether place where her gift manifested itself. The image dropped as she released the shield, knowing Barr was near enough to protect her; the stoic horse, whom she now considered bloody brilliant; and the sacred stone.

  Suddenly he was there, right in front of her, pulling her into his strong arms. “Where were you? What was that? What is the matter?” he demanded, each question coming out in quick succession, so unlike her unflappable mate.

  She tried to speak, but no words came forth. She cleared her throat and licked her lips and then croaked, “Needed to protect the stone and the horse.”

  Barr groaned.

  “He’s a smart horse, I think.” Her throat convulsed and she had to stop speaking while she tried to swallow moisture that was not there. “Thirsty.”

  Barr released her, but before she had a chance to complain even inside her head, he was back with the water skin. She drank, the liquid reviving her a little.

  She took some gasping breaths before drinking more, then resting against his hard chest. “Like this,” she said softly.

  A strange choking noise came from his throat. “You were not here when I returned. I thought you had ridden the horse somewhere safer, but there were no tracks.”

  “I cannot ride a horse.”

  “You will learn.”

  She just thought she might. “You will teach me.”

  “Aye. No other.”

  “I like your horse. He stayed silent.”

  “I’m sure he likes you, too.” The indulgence in her mate’s tone was a great improvement over the coldness of the day before.

  He didn’t like secrets. That had become very clear to her.

  “I can put up a shield that none can see through and even mask the scents behind it, but I cannot hide sound.”

  “What kind of magic is this?” he asked with no little awe.

  It brought a weak smile to her face. “It is the gift bestowed on me by the Clach Gealach Gra on my coming of age.”

  “’Tis amazing.”

  “But tiring when used on such a grand scale. Your horse is not small.” And she had needed to hold the shielding image all around them—she looked at the sky—for nearly an hour this time.

  “You could have taken the stone and hidden in a tree.”

  “But whatever predator caused you to go seeking in your wolf’s form might well have come after the horse.”

  “I do not know what I sought, but I found nothing. No signs or scents to track.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “My wolf warned of danger.”

  “A Faol’s instincts are true.”

  “Aye.”

  “We should move on.”

  “Aye.”

  This time she rode settled on his lap and napped against him, trusting her safety completely to his strength. It was an entirely new experience for her, as she recovered from her efforts to protect herself and his horse beside the stream.

  She was not surprised wh
en they did not stop to eat and rest again as the hours wore on. Barr continued to push through, encouraging her to eat the apple he pulled from the horse’s pack. Taking one for himself as well.

  No doubt they would travel as far as possible this day.

  However, eventually, they stopped near a small, clear loch fed by a stream from the north.

  “We will make camp here,” he told her as she stretched, trying to get her walking legs again after the longer ride.

  The summer days were at their longest and she protested. “But it will not be dark for hours yet.”

  “It is a more defensible position.” He indicated a small cave entrance not far away.

  “You believe we are being followed?”

  “My wolf says yes.”

  She nodded, not doubting his Faol nature. There was a reason they made such formidable enemies.

  “So, why the sacred springs?” he asked as they shared another cold repast, each sitting against the base of a tree and facing the other.

  She would rather be sitting against him, but he was once again unapproachable. “What do you mean?”

  “Why not take the stone directly to your people? Traveling to the sacred springs for your Chrechte rituals must carry great risk of discovery.”

  “We travel in our bird forms. Despite Muin’s zealous adherence to his grandfather’s teaching, few simply shoot birds from the sky as a matter of course. Especially those among the clans to the farthest north.”

  “Still, it is a risk.”

  “Yes. There is ancient Chrechte power in the caves, though such a place is worth some days’ travel.”

  “You do not have caves like them in your part of the forest?” he asked.

  “None that resonate with millennia of Chrechte rituals and matings.” Her grandmother claimed no other place would so benefit their people when the sacred rites were performed.

  “The old Chrechte ways are very important to the Éan, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.” As their numbers diminished under the attack of their Chrechte brethren, their ancient ways were what kept them going.

  Barr ate for some moments in silence and then asked, “What happens once you return the stone?”

  “I return to my people and tell them I was successful on my quest.”

  “We go to the Éan together.”

  “Yes.” Part of her actually looked forward to him meeting her grandmother, though she was worried how the others would respond to him because of his wolf nature.

  “Anya-Gra prophesied as a young girl that the wolves would join the fight to save the Éan.” Her grandmother had told Sabrine about the prophesy when she came of age. “I did not believe her.”

  “I have no difficulty believing that.” His sarcasm was not lost on her.

  She frowned. “You blame me for my cynicism? How could I see the wolves as our salvation when they were the greatest enemies we faced?”

  She was not the only Éan skeptical of such an event, either, though she did not mention that truth to her mate. No doubt he had it figured out already.

  “Your greatest enemy is unreasoning hatred, not the wolves themselves.”

  “Perhaps it is easier to make such a distinction when you are not the one considered an abomination,” she replied with some acerbity.

  Though, as she said the words, she wondered if he had meant the Éan’s hatred as well as that of the wolves still trying to kill them.

  Barr sighed. “Aye, no doubt.” He stood.

  “Where are you going?” Was he about to disappear again?

  “I’m going to put our things in the cave.”

  She got up to follow him. “I did not mean to offend.”

  “I am not offended.” He took the pack from the horse’s back and slapped its flank.

  His brown coat gleaming in the late evening sun, the horse ambled toward the water for a drink.

  “Are you not?”

  He stopped and turned to face her, his expression far from one of offense. What shadowed his gray gaze was much worse. It was pain.

  She put her hand out, needing to touch him. “I …”

  He stepped back from her. “I am wolf.”

  “I know.” Hurt confusion claimed her as this was one thing over which there had never been any doubt.

  “You despise my wolf.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Dinna lie to me.”

  “I’m not.” Determinedly, she stepped forward, putting her hand against his heart. “Your wolf is as much a part of what makes you so fierce and wonderful as any other aspect of your nature.”

  And she had learned to love the beast as she did the man who had introduced her to softer emotions more powerful than duty or even honor.

  He did not respond, simply looking down at her with unreadable eyes.

  “Shift.” She would prove herself to her mate. “Bring forth your wolf.”

  “The last time you saw him, you could barely stay in the same room.”

  “I was wrong. You have shown me that not all wolves are my enemy. Surely you realize this.” Their gazes locked, and she saw doubt in his. She pleaded, “Please. Let me show you.”

  The air shimmered around them and then he fell away to be replaced by the wolf. A huge, magnificent and powerful wolf, just like the man. With jaws big enough to snap her limbs, he inspired awe rather than fear in her.

  She put her hand out, touching his head. “You are beautiful.”

  I am wolf, he said in her head.

  She almost laughed, but the moment was too profound. “I am aware. You are my mate.”

  I am. There was something in his voice, something besides his natural arrogance and warrior’s indifference.

  That something had her dropping to her knees and putting her arms around his neck. “You are.”

  She buried her face in the soft blond fur of his ruff. A spark of atavistic fear touched her heart, but she banished it. This wolf was hers, her mate, her protector, definitely not her enemy.

  She showed him a raven’s affection, rubbing her head against his. A deep rumbling noise sounded from his chest.

  It was not a growl; his scent indicated it was a noise of pleasure, so she did it again. This time he pressed back, rubbing his head against her and then his big wolf’s body pressed forward, seeking further attention.

  Mark you with my scent. The voice in her head was more growl than man’s voice.

  “How?” she asked out loud, loving the soft and rich thickness of his wolf’s pelt against her face.

  An image formed in her head of his wolf, rubbing its fur smelling so clearly of him against her clothes, against her body, sharing that scent so that it was well and truly mixed with hers.

  It was all about possession and mating. And yet there were no sexual overtones to the need.

  “This is a Faol ritual, isn’t it?” she asked.

  The positive response in her head was all growl and no actual words.

  She laughed softly. “Do what you need to.”

  He tugged at her plaid and she removed it. He seemed content for her to leave her shift on as he rubbed his head and body against her sides and legs, leaving behind the distinct scent that he usually masked.

  He nuzzled the small of her back with his snout and she laughed, ticklish though she had not known it. He yipped and she laughed again, their solemn ritual degenerating into a game of wrestling that had her laughing as she had not done in years.

  He had her pinned to the ground, his wolf’s tongue lolling from his grinning mouth above her. The fresh scents of the forest mixed with his unique fragrance and she breathed in deeply, discovering how much she really liked it.

  She could not speak the words of love burning in her chest, but she could tell him that there was no part of him she could or would ever despise again.

  “Barr, acting laird of the Donegal clan, pack alpha and my mate, I accept you, and every part of who you are, irrevocably as not only my mate but the other half of my soul.” The love
was there, if he wanted to see it, but she would not press it on him when his feelings were not in the same place.

  The air shimmered and a man now pinned her, a large man who blocked out the waning light and overwhelmed her every sense with his presence. Furthermore, a man whose arousal grew against her hip with insistent rapidity.

  “Thank you.” And then his mouth claimed hers gently and with a wealth of tenderness that brought moisture to her eyes.

  She closed them, unwilling to allow him to see her weakness, and returned the kiss with every bit of emotion clamoring for release from her heart. She could feel his wolf’s presence in a way she had not before.

  Had he been holding back? Had she blinded herself? She would not let it matter; what did was that, finally, their mating was truly that of the Chrechte and not merely two human bodies coming together.

  Their lovemaking was slow and tender, ending in a mutually shared pinnacle that made her world fade to nothing but his body above hers. She could see naught but him; she could feel nothing but the way their bodies still joined; she could hear nothing but the sound of his heart and his breathing.

  Until the sound of an eagle’s call shattered the joy-filled silence between them.

  She turned her head in time to see the bird swoop from the sky, talons extended. It was clearly going for the pack Barr had removed from the horse and dropped when she had sought to make peace with him.

  Barr rolled aside, shifting as he did, his wolf’s body leaping for the bird, while she dove for the pack—for the Clach Gealach Gra, which she must protect at any cost.

  She threw herself on top, curling herself around it as the eagle changed course, flying out of Barr’s reach. Her mate shifted back to human form and grabbed for his dagger.

  He pivoted and went to throw it.

  Do not kill him, she screamed into her mate’s head.

  He didn’t bother to reply, sending the dagger into the air. It snagged the eagle’s wing and the bird tried to right itself, but could not. It spun and lost the air from under its wings, tumbling toward the earth with nothing to break its fall.

  Except Barr was there, waiting, his arms extended. The eagle landed against him with a thud, its talons digging into his chest, even as it fought for its freedom.