by Jan Delima
PRAISE FOR
Celtic Moon
“A haunting tale, a page-turner woven with skill and care. DeLima is a delicious new voice.”
—Yasmine Galenorn, New York Times bestselling author of Priestess Dreaming
“DeLima’s debut is a romantic, suspenseful and rich story about survival and loyalty to those who matter most.”
—Booklist
“Celtic Moon has a great werewolf world . . . A fun start to a new paranormal series.”
—USATODAY.com
“A welcome addition to the paranormal romance world arrives with this terrific debut novel from DeLima. Blending Celtic mythology, shapeshifters and magic, Celtic Moon is not only an absorbing adventure; it is a story of reconciliation and acceptance. DeLima really brings these characters to life.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Original and compelling . . . a shifter story that stands out from the crowd!”
—GraveTells
“Not your average werewolf book thanks [to] Jan DeLima’s distinctive layered writing style, original mythology and unlikely heroine. A brilliant effort by this debut author!”
—Rabid Reads
“A fresh take on wolf shapeshifters . . . DeLima will delight fans with this first in this new series.”
—Debbie’s Book Bag
“An engrossing new series . . . Fans of the Kate Daniels series by Ilona Andrews or the works of Patricia Briggs will want to check this out.”
—Monsters and Critics
Ace Books by Jan DeLima
CELTIC MOON
SUMMER MOON
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
penguin.com
A Penguin Random House Company
SUMMER MOON
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2014 by Jan DeLima.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61568-3
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / October 2014
Cover illustration by Gordon Crabb; Celtic symbols © Santi0103 & Leshik/Shutterstock.
Cover design by Diana Kolsky.
All interior art by Jan DeLima unless otherwise noted. Owl © Maria Gaellman: Used under license from Shutterstock.com. Wolf © Holly Kuchera: Used under license from Shutterstock.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
In memory of J.S.P.
Not a day goes by that you are not missed.
Acknowledgments
It takes a great deal of research to write a series involving an ancient culture, and I must acknowledge the librarians, educators and historians who have directed me toward reference materials: Christy, Bill Cook, Gary and Professor Ian Bricknell. As always, to my entire family, for their enthusiasm and support. Also, to Kristen, Sue and Wendy, for our many wonderful chats over lattes. Lastly, to Ann Marie, Stephanie and Nancy, who celebrate each of our successes with genuine joy and who gave me the most amazing gift for my debut novel. Thank you!
Contents
Praise for Celtic Moon
Ace Books by Jan DeLima
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
A Documented Prophecy
An Undocumented Prophecy
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Oh, What a Mighty Creature Hope Befalls
Glossary of Terms and Characters
A Documented Prophecy . . .
Their course, their bearing,
Their permitted way,
And their fate I know,
Unto the end.
Oh! what misery,
Through extreme of woe,
Prophecy will show . . .
—TALIESIN
From The Mabinogion
Lady Charlotte Guest translation
An Undocumented Prophecy, Until Now . . .
This union, I shall not revile,
For their fear I know,
Their affliction,
And their gift.
To bear in silence,
Four secrets hidden,
In circles of raindrops,
Cloak death.
Alas, false forfeit gains no vantage.
From deadened earth,
Fevers rise, of lust
And lament.
Thence they plan,
Upon Ceridwen’s last fertile daughter,
Eight forsaken warriors
To feast.
For barren not,
Under summer’s first moon,
Comes the prophecy
They most seek.
—TALIESIN
A drunken toast from Math and Rosa’s wedding feast
One
CASTELL AVON, HIDDEN WITHIN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS
AVON, NEW HAMPSHIRE, USA
Present Day
Three days after her husband’s execution, Rosa Alban became a traitor to the Guardians of her race.
Oh, she had committed tiny crimes against her late husband—and her keepers before him—throughout the last three hundred years of her life. But none this final or this openly subversive.
If her plan proved fruitful, there would be no explanations needed, or accepted. To openly defy the Guardians, the self-appointed protectors of her dying lineage, was utter madness—and yet necessary for her battered conscience. She would rather live as a traitor than bear witness to one more act of cruelty in silence.
A cool breeze brushed through the muddied courtyard where she stood. Rosa tugged her jacket closed and scanned the area for anyone who
might question her morning excursion. Nothing seemed amiss, but she understood more than most that appearances and reality were often quite different.
Regardless, she mustn’t linger.
The shadow of Castell Avon darkened her path, her wedding gift from the Guardians, a sad comfort for a false marriage. As its name implied, her home was indeed a castle surrounded by rivers, built of stone, mortar and iron laced with gold; her gilded prison on a foundation of sorrow. The tallest turret heralded the Guardian banner, marking her husband’s realm like a medieval hound pissing on this modern age.
Math had not adjusted well to forced anonymity among humans, or to their proclivity for procreation. He had considered himself a god, after all, having walked this earth as both man and wolf for more than two thousand years. Obviously, he’d been wrong—given that the separated portions of his body lay rotting in a casket awaiting shipment to their homeland for burial.
Perhaps she was a tad pitiless, but Rosa felt no remorse over her husband’s death; Math had been a vile creature and his execution well deserved. It had, however, expedited her plan to join the very rebels who had so graciously made her a widow.
As Rosa skirted around outer buildings that housed generators, laundry facilities and other modern amenities kept outside the castle walls, she pretended to ignore a female servant hanging bedsheets on a clothesline. Without pause, Tesni pinned three white pillowcases in a row, signaling that all three Guardians who had come to escort Math’s body back to Wales were still abed. Not necessarily sleeping, just otherwise occupied.
A bibbed skirt made of wool purposely concealed Tesni’s feminine curves. She was of mixed blood, human and Guardian, and bore a combination of her father’s soft features and mother’s fair coloring. Sadly, Tesni was too human to call her wolf. She was also the most attractive of all the female servants and therefore the one who suffered most.
Tesni’s gaze flicked to Rosa with a wordless plea to make haste. Her usually straight posture remained hunched, pronouncing stiffness and misuse from the previous night.
Sorrow-ridden, Rosa knew that Cadan must be in a similar state, and was very likely the reason why the Guardians remained distracted. His room had been empty this morning. She knew because she had checked, even though Cadan had told her not to.
And with that thought in mind, Rosa quickened her pace without looking back.
The surrounding forest was quiet and empty of song. No birds or wildlife inhabited her island, as they recognized death and danger, and the musk of unholy wolves in human skin. Tall trees stood as withered sentries in her path, their roots eroded by water, time and secrets too vile to speak of openly.
Yet for the first time in centuries, Rosa felt exhilaration as she marched toward the only bridge that granted access to modern civilization. Winter’s thaw had just ended in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Melting snow had fed the rivers and cleansed the forest. She sensed vitality in the land beyond, of budding trees and the emergence of life; it called to her inner wolf like moonbeams to a night creature’s soul, luring her with promises of power.
On the opposite side of the river, a carriage house secured the entrance to the bridge, constructed of the same stone and iron as Castell Avon, watched at all times by Math’s guards. The heels of her boots echoed over wooden planks as she crossed, announcing her approach, even above the thunderous sound of rushing water below. If the guards did not allow her to pass, she would be forced to go upriver, but prudence had prompted her to attempt this route first.
There were six of them watching as she drew near. Four men and two women, with resentful eyes filled with lust—or hatred; Rosa preferred the latter. All but one were loyal to her late husband, but even Gareth shifted his stance as if uncomfortable in her presence. Normally only two guards tended the carriage house, but having their eldest Guardian beheaded within his own home had made the others in residence somewhat paranoid.
She stopped before the gated door, the barrier to her freedom, and nodded to each of the guards in turn. She must acknowledge them all equally but not with flirtation. Furthermore, she must never snub them, never encourage unwanted advances, and never dally—or the repercussions were quite unpleasant.
“Rosa.” Gareth greeted her with a slight bow, his voice deceivingly calm. As her secret ally against the Guardians, he had been informed of her plan last evening. Gareth had wanted to accompany her. Judging from his current stance, he still wasn’t pleased about her insistence to go alone.
He had yet to realize that her days of submission were over, even toward the precious few she considered her friends.
The morning sun did little to soften Gareth’s deformed features. Scars knotted his face and neck, weaving a tale of torture and unbendable will. Math had destroyed Gareth’s beauty in a fit of rage over an affair with a mortal. Her late husband had believed that mating with humans weakened their race.
Gareth’s favored jeweled patch covered a deadened left eye, burned to blindness with ice and rock salt. He kept his brown hair shorn to his scalp. Math had preferred it long.
“I’m feeling a bit weak,” Rosa announced as rehearsed, adding weariness to her voice that wasn’t altogether feigned. “I need to get off the island for a few hours. I need to go for a run.”
“I’ll escort you,” Gareth informed her, loud enough for the others to hear.
She had expected a different response but hid her surprise. Gareth, it seemed, had elected to veer from her instructions. With a slight shake of her head, she met his single-eyed gaze to warn him not to test her resolve. “I think it’s best if I go alone.” She added for emphasis, “As usual.”
If he challenged her now it might raise suspicion. A scowl turned his misshapen features into a grotesque mask, a rare show of emotion from a man who’d mastered the art of indifference, even under the most dire of circumstances.
Arnallt, one of the more observant of Math’s guards, shot Gareth a curious glance.
Panic tightened her chest. Thankfully, if naught else, her marriage had schooled her on the art of false composure. One must be duplicitous and enduring to survive under Guardian rule, and she was both.
Rosa continued as if oblivious. “I’ve been ordered to go with the Guardians tomorrow morning. We are to accompany Math’s body back to Wales for burial. I am to stay there through Beltane.” A few crude snickers reached her ears, alerting her that they’d been told of the events awaiting her in their homeland. “My wolf is demanding a run before I climb on that plane.”
The Guardians in residence might question her request but Math’s guards were familiar with her routine. Running as a wolf had been the only freedom Math had allowed her without escort, because when she shifted, many of their kind desired her—and that had angered him.
It was a concession he had allowed after the summer of her seventeenth year. They had married the winter before, and Math had hosted a grand feast the following Solstice. When the hour had drawn late, and the hunt had teased their wolves, Math had brought all his guests outside to witness his new wife transform. It had been a treasured feat, for unmated females of their kind were rare, especially ones who could shift. And Math had always enjoyed flaunting his valued possessions. Like a little caged animal, she had performed, for to do otherwise resulted in the punishment of servants in her stead. She was considered too precious to harm. Even Math had feared the consequences, so he had found other ways.
However, the demonstration had not gone as Math had expected, because his guests had been unable to hide their desire for her.
After that night she’d been allowed to run unaccompanied.
It was, perhaps, the single reason why she had stayed sane. Still, she risked it only when her wolf demanded release, and not nearly as often as she would like. Because, unlike her dead husband, she didn’t particularly care for unnecessary physical attention.
Gareth’s one good eye, dark gray
and direct, searched her face. For what, she wasn’t sure, but he must have sensed her determination. “How long will you be?”
“No more than three hours.” She kept her tone subdued, her face downcast, masking her relief. “I’m going to White Birch Reserve and will follow the river.”
It was a lie, of course. If all went well, she wouldn’t return until morning—and with reinforcements by her side as she took control of Castell Avon in her first open act of defiance against the Guardians.
Her neighbors to the north owed her a favor and she fully intended to collect on their debt. Moreover, she knew better than to challenge the Guardians alone. Other than Gareth and Cadan, her only allies in this forsaken place were servants, the Hen Was who could not shift.
She needed more wolves.
She needed an alliance the Guardians would fear.
“Fine.” Gareth lifted his arm for her to pass.
Her back tingled as she entered the recently restored carriage house where horses once slept. The guards watched her until the outer door closed to block their view. She was greeted with darkness, a place she knew well. Stalls had been removed to afford more space for vehicles, all neatly lined up in soundless mechanical rows. It disturbed her senses. She hated the smell of gas that lingered in the air. She missed the soft breaths of beasts, when the sweetness of hay had mingled with the pungent scent of manure.
As expected, the whisper of a door and a brief flash of light warned of a visitor, followed by the smooth cadence of familiar footsteps. The man who resembled a monster moved like a shade, silent and creeping. It didn’t take long for Gareth to find her.
“What has come over you?” she hissed quietly as he drew near. “Go back, or you will ruin our only chance of success.”
“I should be with you.” He sounded sullen even while refusing to heed her warning.
“I told Dylan’s mate I would arrive alone, and I will not go back on my promise!” She barely breathed the words, fearful of detection. Even so, her anger bled through.
“Dylan will forgive an escort. You risked much when you helped his woman escape.”