Moon Chosen Box Set (BBW Werewolf / Shifter Romance)

by Mac Flynn

  The captain shook his head. "Nope, but it's best to be prepared just in case, especially after hearing about these mystery ships yer after."

  More lights grew from the fog and guided our huge sailing ship through the mouth of the cove. There was only five feet of room to spare on either side of the mouth before the sides hit sharp, solid rock. The interior was lit with dozens of large lamps that hung from the cavern walls and outside a small row of buildings opposite the entrance. The squat buildings were pieced together with strips of metal and ply board, and sat on a narrow strip of flat land in front of long docks. At the docks were anchored the rest of our fleet, a dozen tall sailing ships with their sails furled and their docks manned by only skeleton crews.

  In this supernatural land I was glad to see they weren't really skeletons.

  Captain Black swept his hand over the other ships. "Look at 'em all. All in fine shape and ready to sail at a whistle."

  Erik walked to the railing and leaned his hands on the wood. "I'm afraid an obvious display of power won't do us much good against a foe who hides himself," he pointed out.

  "Maybe not to damage his physical base, but it'll give us something to show to everyone," the captain countered.

  Erik shook his head. "It might give the wrong show. These ships were sunk because the people detested the sight of them. They considered them a weapon to be used against them. I don't believe that mindset will have changed."

  I joined him at the railing and snorted. "You act like somebody's around to remember them," I commented. Erik pursed his lips and turned away from me. I raised an eyebrow. "Um, did you forget to tell me something?"

  "No, but it isn't important," he argued.

  I leaned towards him and narrowed my eyes. "You're a terrible liar, now cough it up. What are you-"

  "Prepare the boats to launch!" Captain Black yelled to his crew.

  There was a scramble as the sailors scurried to the sides of the ship to let down the boats. Erik turned to the captain.

  "Why aren't we docking?" he asked him.

  "A precaution, my lad. If ever we needed a quick escape we wouldn't get it by putting the ship in her berth," he pointed out. "Best to go ashore in the smaller ships and row back in case of trouble. I'll get you some fine rooms at the inn on the mainland, I promise you that. We just need to be rowing over there. Shouldn't take more than half an hour, if the wind is with us."

  CHAPTER 4

  Two landing ships went ashore, and we were in one of them. Greg sat beside me on one of the board seats that sat across the boat, and Erik sat in front of us with his back facing the bow. The ship was large enough to hold twenty men, but was only half filled.

  The captain himself sat at the rear and steered the rudder while a half dozen men worked six of the ten oars. "We'll load up on supplies while we're here and be ready to weigh anchor when yer work here is done," the captain called to us.

  "Where does Deacon live?" Erik asked him.

  "On Maritime in the largest house on the highest hill. He doesn't come from an old family, but he bought the place with his ill-gotten influence and now acts like he's always been there," Captain Black answered.

  "Is it easy to enter?" Erik wondered.

  The captain nodded. "Aye, but few did it even before he got himself a nice group of Guards around it."

  Erik raised an eyebrow. "When did this happen?"

  "Oh, about two months ago, the same time the Guards started swarming over all the islands," the captain replied.

  "How many Guards does your family have?" I asked Erik.

  Erik pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not this many. After the dissolution of the monarchy we slowly released many of them from service."

  "Perhaps Gethin has reinstated them," Greg suggested.

  "Perhaps, but he can't do that without authorization," Erik pointed out.

  I snorted. "I don't think Gethin works through the legal routes."

  "Yes, but I would like to know with what did he convince them to return without proper authorization. They can't be so ignorant as to believe everything is right," Erik mused.

  By this time our boat reached the dock and either end was tied to two moorings posts. There were a dozen men on the docks loading and moving supplies. We stepped out and walked down the dock, and many of the mens' heads turned. I felt their eyes land on me and stay there.

  "You get the feeling these guys don't get out much?" I whispered to Erik.

  "The farther we travel down the islands the more scarce women will become," he explained.

  I frowned. "Why? Don't those guys get a chance at the Choosing?"

  He shook his head. "Not as often. Weather, distance, and lack of funds keep many from

  I raised an eyebrow. "Lack of funds? They don't buy us, do they?"

  "They buy a chance to place their blood into the drinking cup," he revealed.

  My mouth dropped open. "That's. . .that's kind of sick. Where does the money go?"

  "Into the Council coffers."

  "But of course. How do they waste that?"

  "Traveling expenses for themselves and their entourage to and from Wolf Island," he told me.

  I rolled my eyes. "The more things change, the more they stay the same. . ." I muttered.

  We reached the end of the dock and stepped down a few short steps onto the rocky ground. The ground was dark gray and covered in a few layer of dust from the constant traffic in front of the buildings. Men walked to and fro from the docks to the establishments. The majority of the business signs advertised the sailor's elixir of life, alcohol. Other buildings were small warehouses, and some were even houses with small windows on the front.

  "Where do these men live?" Erik asked the captain.

  "Most of 'em sleep on the surface, but we keep a watch down here during the day just in case of trouble," Black explained.

  He jerked his head to our left at a winding flight of stairs hewn from the cavern walls. "We'll go topside and get on our way to the main island. My ol' friend can give us a pint to drink with some food before we get some rest."

  "I would rather have the information," Erik insisted.

  The captain laughed and slapped his back hard enough that Erik stumbled forward. "Don't be so serious, my boy. Yer safe among friends while ya stay here, and a pint of beer never hurt anyone."

  I blinked at him and held up a finger. "Um-"

  "Not much, anyway," the captain added. "But let's be off. It's a half-mile hike to the docks below the village. We'd take a boat out of the cove, but we don't want to be seen."

  The captain led us up the winding steps and through a large opening in the ground. We popped our heads over the top and I cringed at the sight. The surface of the island was a wasteland of dead trees, lively brush, and rocks. Two dozen squat shacks stood nestled around the hole. They were made from the same reused material as the buildings below the ground. Drying racks filled with fish sat between the houses, and nets and traps leaned against the buildings. The roofs were made of thatch harvested from the bramble bushes and dead trees, and trapped down with more nets. A well stood in the center of the village.

  I looked to Erik and I noticed his haunted eyes showed the same pity and horror as I felt.

  "Have they lived like this for long?" he asked our guide.

  The captain's lips were pursed and he nodded. "Aye, quite a long time, though it gets worse every year. The fishing ain't what it used to be, and the crabs are getting fewer and fewer."

  "Over-fishing?" Erik guessed.

  Black shook his head. "No, and that beats all. Everyone's as careful as they ever were not to take more than the lake can provide, but the numbers keep dwindling."

  "When did it start?" Greg spoke up.

  The captain squinted and rubbed his chin. "Can't remember exactly, but it might've been a few years after the Alliance was made and that blasted Council created. It's gotten worse over the last ten years, though, and I don't see how they'll make another ten years if this keeps up."r />
  My eyes flickered between Greg and Erik. "Are you starting to notice a pattern?"

  Erik frowned and nodded. "The dissolution and creation of the Alliance. All misery seems to have begun there."

  "But how come somebody hasn't put two-and-two together before?" I wondered.

  "Communication worsened after the dissolution. Islands rarely speak to each other unless for trade," Erik pointed out.

  "Well, whatever the reason raising the ships has improved their lot," Captain Black commented. "Now we just need to be rid of these infernal taxes on the fishing licenses and we'll be done."

  I snorted. "Death and taxes really are universal."

  "But let's be going or we'll be spotted rowing across. The sun'll be rising within the hour," the captain warned us.

  The hour was indeed growing late. We swept through the dark houses of the tiny fishing village and down a steep cliff to a long dock. It sat on the opposite end of the island from the mouth of the cove and stretched towards a large shadow that sat across the fog and water.

  A half dozen small boats awaited us. "Best to go in groups and land at different spots on Maritime, so it's just the four of us will go in this one, and my men'll take the rest to other parts," the captain told us.

  "I will manage the oars," Greg offered.

  We slipped into the small boat with Erik and me at the back and the captain at the bow. Greg took the center seat with the oars and we kicked off the dock. The water was calm, and the fog danced across the surface. All was quiet but for the paddles that slipped into the water and rose out in a steady rhythm. The shadow of Maritime Island grew larger with each stroke of the oars. The captain pointed to a patch of darkness and spoke in a whisper.

  "Over there. That's the dock for the inn," he told us.

  Greg landed us at the short, rickety dock. The dock was only five yards long and was connected to a small, square piece of flat land five feet by five feet wide. The flat land finished against a steep, rocky side of a cliff, and a winding wooden staircase led twenty yards up to the top of the cliff. There was no railing, no board not warped by the ever-present wet fog, and no hope if you fell backward.

  The captain jumped out of the boat, lashed us to the end post and held the boat steady so we could disembark.

  "Now mind your words. We don't want people to be alerting Deacon or the Guards to yer being here," he advised us.

  We nodded and the captain took us up the winding staircase. It meandered its way up the steep, rocky slope, and halfway up I was forced to climb on my hands and knees. I clung to the cliff-side and took one slippery step at a time. I risked a glance over my shoulder and wished I hadn't. The ground was twenty feet below me, and the sharp rocks down there invited me for a permanent rest should I fall. I turned my head away and shuddered.

  "Easy there," Erik commented. He stepped behind me. Ahead of me was the captain, and behind Greg followed behind Erik

  "You always take me to the safest spots," I quipped.

  "Glad I could oblige," he teased.

  "I could kick back, you know," I threatened him.

  "Indoor voices, children," Greg reminded us.

  "Aye, a little less chatter and a little more climbing," the captain whispered. "Besides, we're almost there."

  The top of the cliff loomed above us, and I was glad when the captain's wide posterior disappeared over the edge. He leaned back over the top and grabbed my hand to help me over the last few steep steps. I flopped on the ground and was glad when I got a mouthful of dust. That tasted better than the rock breakfast at the bottom of the stairs.

  Greg and Erik climbed over the top and stood beside the captain. The old lake dog swept his hand over the area in front of us.

  "There she is. The Fisherman's Rest."

  I raised my head and, through the gloom of the fog, discerned a large building about fifteen yards away from the edge of the cliff. It was a two-story wooden building built of hewn logs piled one on top of the other. Chink filled the cracks between the logs. The high-pitched roof was made of thatched straw and two chimneys on either end buttressed the building. Narrow, tall windows with lattice over them shone brightly with light and I could hear loud voices making merry inside the thick walls.

  "Trees?" I wondered. It was the first building I'd seen made of those.

  "Aye. Built from timbers taken from the shoreline before the fog came," Captain Black explained. He pulled up his belt and strode forward. "Now let's go see if Marge is willing to give us some info."

  "Marge?" Erik wondered as I raised myself onto my feet.

  The captain looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Didn't I tell you? Marge is who you'll be wanting to speak to about yer boat mystery. If she don't know nothing about them then they don't exist. Now let's be going before my men get there and take the best stout and the best rooms."

  CHAPTER 5

  A wandering path of worn stones led us to the building and around to the front. The inn stood alone on a short hill, and at its feet stretched a town nearly as big as the one on Market Island. The other businesses and homes were made of the rough island stone, but here and there was an old shed or horse trough made of wood that gave the town a feeling of age. The fog flitted about the narrow, winding trees and up to the brightly-lit doorstep of the inn.

  Lanterns hung over the wide, open doorway of the inn, and a small, covered porch protected travelers as they entered. Captain Black led us inside and I saw the front was a single large, open room. To the left was a great hearth in which cooked a whole pig that was slowly turned on its spit by an old crone who sat on a three-legged stool. The walls around us and the ceilings above us were blackened with countless fires.

  The floor of the great room was covered in round tables and thick-legged chairs. At the back was a long bar counter, and to the right was a flight of stairs that led to the second floor. The stairs went straight up, but turned left at a small landing and finished at a balcony. The balcony overlooked the room, and the far wall held the doors to the rooms.

  The captain strode through the room and to the bar where a buxom woman with sweat on her brow and fire in her eyes scrubbed the counter. She had blond, curly hair that was pulled back in a bun and held there by a handkerchief that was tied at the top of her head. Her dress was faded and covered in soot, food, and drink. She was heavy-built with arms as thick as those of a man and with a firmness in her chin that warned people that she didn't take lip from anyone.

  "Marge! My favorite lady! What's to be told?" the captain bellowed.

  The woman whipped her head up and scowled at our guide. "You again. Have you come to pay your debt or add more to it?" she snapped.

  "Come, come, Marge, I bring money and guests," the captain insisted.

  She snorted. "You've brought me enough boarders who skip out that these ones will have to sleep on the ceiling," she quipped.

  The captain leaned on the counter and lowered his voice. "But these are a special kind, Marge. Can't you find somewhere to put them?" he pleaded.

  She swatted his arm off the bar and glared at him. "This isn't your personal boarding house, Black. They'll get what I have left or nothing at all."

  The captain slammed his fist on the bar and scowled back at her. "Fine then! Give them my suite and damn you to hell!" he snapped.

  The woman leaned back and raised an eyebrow. She scrutinized us and nodded at us. "Who are these folks?"

  "Never you mind! Give them my suite and do with me what you will!" he insisted.

  She pursed her lips and jerked her head behind her at a hallway entrance. "Go in there, all of you, and take them to my room. I'll be with you in a moment."

  "I won't be following some wench's orders," the captain growled.

  "You'll be following my orders if any of you want them rooms, now get in there!" she ordered him.

  The captain growled, but turned to us. "Let's go in there for a bit to hear what this foolish woman has to say."

  The captain led our little
group through the doorway and into the hall. It ran the whole length of the inn. The left side led to the kitchen and the right ended at an exterior door. There was a wall in front of us with a half dozen doors. The captain turned right and grumbled as he guided us down the hall.

  "Damn wench and her stubborn ways. . ." he mumbled. He stopped at the first door to the right and opened it to reveal a small room. "Everybody in or there'll be hell to pay," he commanded us.

  There was only a few chairs, a square table with three and a half rickety legs, and a cushioned, closed bench beneath the windows at the rear of the room. On the right side of the room was a small table with a washbasin filled with water. I took a seat on the bench and was glad for a little cushioning. Black seated himself in a chair against the left-hand wall and Greg and Erik remained standing by the table.

  "Are you sure this woman is willing to speak to us?" Erik asked our guide.

  "Well, I don't guarantee she'll know for sure about your strange boats, but we'll find out soon enough. She's a sport when she's in the mood, but, as you saw, a devil when she's not," the captain told us.

  I heard the sound of heavy, stomping boots on the floorboards in the hall and guessed someone still wasn't in the mood. My suspicions were confirmed when the door flung open and in stepped Marge. She glared at all of us before she slammed the door shut behind herself. She waved a hand at the three of us.

  "All right, what trouble have you brought this time?" she questioned our guide.

  "Is that any way to speak about the future Lord Greenwood and his wife?" Captain Black returned.

  The woman turned to us and looked us over. She shrugged and glanced back at the captain. "Not a bad couple, but what's this to me?"

  "What's this to you? It's everything!" Captain Black argued as he gestured to us. "They've come to fight off Deacon and rid us of the fool."

  Marge snorted and crossed her arms over her ample chest. "And replace him with another fool."

  "That would be me, my girl," the captain reminded her.

  "That's who I mean," she snapped.