Shining Moon Rises

by Stephy Smith

  Hunter was unable to say anything. No words would come, nothing. He felt lifeless, an empty void. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would forever remember this day, not purely because the love of his life had died in his arms, but because in her death she had taken his very soul with her.

  Never would he be the same.

  Chapter One

  Red—

  The Office would like you to please hand over the information you obtained from Napoleon. Failure to do so will result in the end of your life. I would love nothing more than to wrap my claws around the neck of the one woman able to best me.

  Yours truly,

  —Wolf

  Nine years later

  February 1815, Belgium, 30 miles away from Waterloo

  Hunter Wolfbane, Royal Duke of Haverstone, was in a foul mood. His horse had run off after yet another gunshot had narrowly missed Hunter’s head, leaving him with no food, no drink, and worst of all, no whiskey.

  How was he to make his way around the frigid countryside without his whiskey? It had taken him two days tramping through the melting snow to reach the village near Dominique Maksylov’s estate, where he was staying.

  As a spy for the Crown, Hunter had felt it his duty to notify Wellington that French soldiers were still in the vicinity and openly attacking civilians. His horse had done the job of getting him to Wellington's camp in record time and then promptly ran off the next morning when Hunter had stopped to stretch his legs. Blasted Russian horses.

  Duty done. All he wanted was a hot bath, a supple wench, and new boots so his feet could get some respite. After all, without his horse he had resorted to trudging through the melting snow like some common criminal.

  The inn was only a few more steps. Already he could taste the warm bread on his tongue, the ale pouring down his throat, the soft willing woman beneath him—

  And then something struck him.

  Not a thought, though it may have been equally shocking to have logical thought after being so famished.

  No. It was something smaller.

  But sharp.

  And then another one hit.

  “What the devil?” Who in the blazes was pelting him with rocks! His eyes adjusted to the glaring landscape as the sun peeked through the branches of the trees.

  Nothing.

  There was no one within his vicinity.

  So, this was what it was like to go mad? Truthfully, he'd known that one day his past would catch up with him. After all, one could only lie and manipulate so many times in the name of His Majesty before he forgot the truth of his existence.

  Resigned to his fate, he continued his walk toward the inn.

  A rock sailed into the side of his face.

  He hadn’t expected madness to hurt this much. Nor for it to be as realistic as the blood currently trickling down his cheek.

  He muttered a curse and took another look around him. All he saw was melting snow, dingy buildings, a woman digging up…

  Wait. His eyes went back to the woman. A smile curved his lips as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over to where she was digging. Bum in the air, and curse words escaping her mouth quite like a sailor at war. He smugly waited.

  Finally, as rocks and dirt continued to soar, she stopped and kicked the ground.

  “Looking for something?” Your mind perhaps — you’ve lost it?

  The woman ceased her incessant digging and paused only momentarily to glare at him. To be fair, he deserved that and far worse, considering his eyes were naturally trained on her bum as it was in the air at that precise moment.

  Blushing profusely, the girl put her hands on her hips, dirt clumps making her dress all the more blemished, and sighed. “What do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Hunter repeated. “Well, that all depends, I guess. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve answered such an open-ended question, but considering my lack of food or drink, I think I shall start with the biggest desire.” He cleared his throat. “You see that inn over there? I want to find myself smothered beneath a buxom lady, preferably while inebriated with whiskey, and perhaps if I am being particularly selfish, I want to eat bread, lots and lots of warm bread. But firstly, what I want, nay what I desire, is that you stop pelting me with rocks.”

  “The only lady residing at the inn will not only smother you within an inch of your life, but dribble meat on your person while doing so, but by all means, experience it for yourself.” She smiled sweetly, managed a curtsy, and continued her digging.

  Another rock hit his boot. The chit spoke in perfect German, which should have been frightening, considering it had been a great while since Hunter had spoken the language. He cleared his throat again and tried, “Perhaps if you tell me what you’re digging for? I can be of service and be on my way.”

  “Or you can just be on your way now,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Allow me this small boon. After all, now my curiosity is piqued.” As well as my lust, his brain added as he was again given quite a nice view of her feminine curves.

  “My pistol.” Her hands dug deeper into the earth. “I buried it last night, and now I cannot find it!”

  Several thoughts went through Hunter’s head at that moment, the first and most obvious being what the devil she was doing with a pistol? The second, why, if she needed the pistol so desperately, was she set on burying it?

  “Did it die? Was it in need of a proper burial then? It seems you buried it at least a foot down. How can the poor thing breathe with that much earth hovering above it?”

  She stopped. “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”

  Well, that was rude. “Perhaps.”

  “I’m going to rescue my sister. She’s trapped in that dratted castle by the Beast, and I need my pistol in order to retrieve her!”

  “So why the devil did you bury it?” Hunter ignored the information, thinking it nothing but an exaggeration. The only woman Dominique had been successful in capturing was Isabelle, and she was by no means trapped, nor was she German. Obviously this raven-haired beauty was a touch mad.

  “I couldn’t very well conceal it, not when all my belongings were stolen, and it cannot fit in my corset. As you can well see, considering you’ve been staring at my body like a dog in heat for the past five minutes!”

  Blast, she was beautiful when provoked. Her soft white skin had a touch of pink on her cheeks that perfectly matched her cherry red lips.

  “Am I to understand that you are here, in this place, trying to find your pistol, so you can shoot the Beast and rescue your sister?”

  “Yes, I believe that is what I just said.”

  “Well, this day has just gotten brighter. I say!” Hunter clapped his hands in amusement. “Allow me to accompany you to the castle. I would love nothing more than to see the look on the Beast’s face while he stares down the barrel of a pistol. Been meaning to challenge the fellow to a duel for years now!” Hunter couldn’t believe his good luck. He had needed something to amuse him after such a long journey. Perhaps he could keep her, as a sort of... pet. He smiled at the thought.

  “You’ll take me there, and not hinder me?” the girl asked skeptically, as her brow lifted.

  “Absolutely. In fact, I may just take a shot myself. After all, I’m sure he deserves it. For taking… what did you say your sister’s name was?”

  “Isabelle,” she said in perfect English.

  Blazes. This was turning out to be the best day of his life! “You don’t say?” Hunter grinned, slowly approached the girl, and offered his arm. “And what may I call you, dear lady?”

  “Gwen. Apologies for using German. I thought perhaps it best I hid my identity. I’ve seen far too many French soldiers scattered about.”

  Smart girl. Now there was an interesting turn of events. Beautiful, smart, and violent. “Right, well, allow me at least a few minutes of respite, a hot meal, and we’ll be on our way. Agreed?”

  “Fine.” She accepted his arm. “But only becaus
e I am without a weapon and cannot possibly take the man on myself.”

  “No, you’d most likely die.” Hunter nodded, trying to make himself sound more useful, though he knew Dominique could very well handle a mad female. It was of no matter. Once she saw her sister was healthy and content, he would ask to keep her. Gwen, after all, couldn’t very well travel alone without being ruined. The poor thing was probably already compromised, for what girl trudged from England to the continent by herself? One that had no reputation to protect, or not one to speak of. Truly, it was the beginning of a wonderful day.

  They walked in silence until they reached the inn. Upon entering, Hunter felt on edge. And it had nothing to do with the girl next to him. She was distracting to a dangerous level, and it took everything within him to peel his eyes away from her as he ordered food and drink.

  No, the prickling on the back of his neck had everything to do with the men sitting in the far corner. English gentlemen. He could spot one a mile away; after all, he was one of them, though he’d been spying for the Crown for the past ten years and had yet to re-enter into society since his wife’s death.

  He shuddered at the thought. He never allowed himself to think of her, not in that way, with her broken body and blood trickling out of her mouth. The faint smile on her lips as her eyes went cold.

  Ale, he needed ale.

  Out of habit, he put a protective arm around Gwen. They sat in the corner so he could have a better view of the rest of the establishment. It was not common to see any Englishmen in the area so close to the action. If they were here, they were soldiers, and he knew every able-bodied spy.

  The tavern wench approached, completely blocking his view, for she was at least twice his size, and not in a flattering way. His eyes skimmed where she loomed over him, which he hoped she wouldn’t take as an invitation, and slowly drew up to her face. Merciful heavens, she had a mustache. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

  “So the fancy gent likes what he sees, does he?” She winked.

  Blast. He’d take the French any day. They’d probably win the war if they had women like this working for them. But his eyes, devil take it, he could not avert his eyes from her face. Almost like she was casting some witch’s spell on him. Out of desperation he reached for Gwen’s hand.

  Gwen giggled. “Sorry, my husband here hasn’t slept a wink since we’ve been married. Just yesterday, if you get my meaning. Would you mind terribly getting us some ale and fresh bread? We’ll be taking a rest here at the inn tonight.”

  The woman flashed one last grin at Hunter before leaving.

  He shuddered. “I assure you I’ve never in my life been without words until now.”

  Gwen removed her hand from his death grip and sighed. “Well, at least I know you’re not a spy. With manners like that, you’d surely get yourself killed. You cannot simply gawk at a woman like that. It isn’t done, and now you’ve shown weakness. Don’t trust me to save you. I sure hope you can hold your own with the Beast tomorrow.”

  If she only knew. “I’ll manage, though things may go better if I simply stand behind you.”

  “Coward.”

  “Absolutely not, it just provides a better view.”

  “I’m sorry, rake seems to be the word.”

  “Thank you,” Hunter said warmly, and added, “wife” with a saucy grin.

  “I did that only to help you, not because I want any sort of attachment. You should know that if I hadn’t done so, that tavern wench would be at this very moment smothering you with—”

  “—please, I hope to keep my appetite.”

  Gwen smiled sweetly and winked.

  Blast, where had this woman fallen from? Heaven? Every mannerism bespoke a cunning intelligence he’d never before seen in polite society. Not that he would truly know, since he’d been everywhere but London since… the incident.

  He cleared his throat and looked away as a knot lodged itself uncomfortably in his chest.

  The doors to the establishment opened up. Two impeccably dressed men walked in, making their way directly for the Englishmen.

  Gwen squinted in their direction, then looked back to Hunter. “Strange.”

  “What?” He tried to play innocent of the whole situation, though it was indeed odd.

  “Oh, it’s probably nothing.”

  “Enlighten me, I’ve been alone without whiskey or horse for a day now. I do so love to be entertained.”

  Gwen exhaled and leaned in. “See those two men who just walked in?”

  “Yes.” Of course he had. He was a spy, after all.

  “Just yesterday I was on the same ship as them.”

  Hunter leaned even further forward. “And this is significant because?”

  “Well, it could be nothing.” Gwen craned her head to look at the men and then looked back at Hunter. “But they were speaking French.”

  “And returning from?”

  “London. I heard them saying they had business with the Earl of Trehmont.”

  Hunter cursed without realizing he was giving himself away. Everyone knew Trehmont was without funds. He’d worked for the War Office nearly as long as Hunter. What would the French want with Trehmont?

  He cleared his throat and strained to listen to their conversation.

  The men ordered ale and toasted.

  Nothing all that strange, except…

  They toasted to winning the war. And the Englishmen grinned in agreement. Money was then exchanged. Enraged, Hunter gripped the side of the table and tried to steady his breathing. What the devil was going on?

  “Codes,” one man said as he slid a scrap of paper across the table to one of the Frenchmen. “I think you will be pleased with what you see.”

  The man grinned and lifted up the paper. “And our man is in position?”

  “He is.” The Englishman nodded. “Though his price just doubled.”

  The Frenchman sneered. “On what grounds?”

  The Englishman leaned forward. “The codes are unbreakable. Surely you realize how fortune shines upon you at this very moment?”

  “Fine.” The Frenchman took a long swig of ale and then chuckled. “It has been a pleasure doing business with your… employer.”

  Every muscle in Hunter’s body tightened. “Listen.” He grabbed Gwen’s hand. “This is very important. Do you understand?”

  She pulled back, but nodded.

  “I need you to spend the night with me.”

  “Pardon?” Her voice carried a bit too loudly for his tastes. The tavern wench apparently overheard, because she seemed extremely disappointed as she put down the bread and ale.

  “I need you to truly pretend to be my wife, and we need to stay the night. I need to search their room.” It wasn’t the most brilliant plan he had come up with, but a man staying on his own was a man watched. If they looked married, then the men wouldn’t pay attention to him.

  “Because?” Gwen giggled. “What, are you a spy or something? Truly, does the War Office take everyone these days?” Uncontrollable mirth washed over her as she placed her hands on the table and threw her head back and laughed even harder.

  He would have been amused.

  If the exact line of her throat and sound of her laugh hadn’t reminded him of Lucy.

  Suddenly angry, he stood up and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her toward the innkeeper. “We need a room for the night.” His grip tightened on her arm, but she said nothing.

  The innkeeper nodded.

  “And please, bring us a light supper along with some more ale to our room. We are on our honeymoon, after all.”

  He slipped the innkeeper enough money for Gwen to begin to choke.

  “My wife.” Hunter nodded to Gwen.

  The innkeeper shook his head in understanding. “Of course, and your name?”

  “Maksylov,” Hunter lied, though he knew it was rare for Dominique the Beast to go into the village. The innkeeper wouldn’t be able to tell the two of them apart and Dominique pr
actically owned the place, so truly it would matter not. Besides, he’d just given the man enough blunt to stay in business for the remaining year.

  The innkeeper grabbed a key and led them up the stairs.

  Gwen was quiet.

  Until the door shut.

  Then all havoc broke loose.

  With a cry she stomped on his foot and reached for the door, but he slammed it in place and locked it.

  “Who are you?” She pushed him against the door, which truthfully felt quite good, considering he’d been without any sort of female companionship for what felt like years. Perhaps it had only been a few weeks, days even, but she felt good, so soft and delicate.

  He wrapped his arms tightly around her, then grabbed the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. Only meaning for it to be quick, he was quite surprised when she opened her mouth in response, after little coaxing. Her mouth was hot and tasted of ale, her tongue like velvet as it massaged his.

  Who needed whiskey when he had Gwen? With a moan, he loosened his hold on her and reached for her face, needing to drink in more of her.

  As his hands touched that perfect ivory skin, he felt the cold blade of a knife against his throat. “I said, who are you?” The steel edged deeper into his skin, blood began to trickle down his neck, but it could have been water for all he cared. Stunned, he could only watch her eyes darken. A haunting look passed between them both.

  And he knew.

  It was the eyes, for they were the windows to the soul, were they not? Filled with anguish, pain, bitterness, and yes, guilt.

  Her very eyes reflected his own, for only two types of people in the world carried such a heaviness within them. Those who have had innocent blood on their hands too many times to count, or those who have loved and lost everything important to them.

  He wondered which she was.

  With a flick of his wrist, faster than she could respond, Hunter manipulated her hand, causing the knife to clamor to the floor.

  They stood, face to face, breathing heavily. He assessed her coolly, calculating each movement of her face, noticing her pupils as they dilated and her nostrils flared, only for her to stare back with unwavering strength.