02 Summer Moon

by Jan Delima

  Luc gritted his teeth to remain silent, and the submissive act didn’t go unpunished. He tasted copper at the back of his throat and swallowed the blood-soaked bile. Though Rosa may not realize it yet, for Dylan to admit to the existence of their alliance revealed his intentions to grant her request.

  Rosa nodded slightly, as if she’d been expecting the question. “I’m sorry but that information was given to me by someone who knows my loyalties are not with the Guardians, and who also knows that I can be trusted. I will not break their confidence.”

  Porter let out a crude snort, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’d best be remembering where you are and be telling us what we’re wanting to know.”

  “Rosa won’t break her word,” Taliesin said with a wave of impatience. “I’ll give you the information you want. Drystan told her of the gathering. They are”—he paused, searching for an appropriate description—“friends. Drystan would entertain a more intimate relationship, as Rosa is well aware and uses to her advantage.”

  Luc filed that information away for future consideration. Drystan was the leader of the Blue Ridge Highland territory of Virginia. He had recently joined their alliance against the Guardians, and had conveniently failed to mention his “friendship” with their enemy’s wife.

  Rosa glared at Taliesin, her lip turned in a sneer. “You are such an asshole.”

  A bark of laughter erupted from Dylan. Even Luc was hard-pressed to contain a grin, unsure whether it was her disregard for Taliesin that amused him, or hearing the crude word expressed with such proper cadence.

  She ignored their amusement. “Drystan and I are allies, no more. And I don’t want”—she glared at Taliesin—“him here for this. Please make him go away.”

  “Believe me,” Dylan muttered, “I would if I could.”

  Sighing at her husband’s comment before turning to Taliesin, Sophie said, “For some reason, Rosa doesn’t like you. I think we need to know why.”

  Porter added, “The lady does seem to have a righteous bee up her arse where you’re concerned.”

  “I’m not righteous,” Rosa interrupted. “Nor have I ever been a lady.” Her chin rose in haughty defiance, the very action refuting her claim. “My parents were common blacksmiths before they were executed for wanting a peaceful life away from the Guardians.”

  “No,” Taliesin corrected, his voice unnervingly calm, “your parents were executed for hiding you. And they were hardly common, considering I still carry one of your mother’s swords.”

  Her narrowed gaze raked him with hatred. “My parents trusted you. And you did nothing to help them. Nothing. You waited until their execution was over before coming to our aid.”

  “You survived.” Taliesin earned a disapproving frown from Sophie for the insensitive comment.

  Rosa winced as if slapped. “Only because my father forced me into our hidden room. He locked me in, as you must have known, and I couldn’t get out when I heard . . .” Her voice trailed off. After a moment, her shoulders rose and fell on a breath as she gathered her composure. “But you found me.” The words flowed now, cool and controlled, and therefore more unsettling. “Oh, yes, the all-knowing Taliesin found me where the Guardians hadn’t. I thought you had come to help.” Rosa regarded him with such disgust that even Luc felt some pity for the man. “How had I ever been so naïve? Instead of helping, you delivered me to my aunt. You knew what Aunt Neira had planned for me. I was sixteen years old . . . and you knew.”

  Taliesin said quietly, “If I had intervened, you would have died along with your parents. And you have a greater purpose to fulfill.”

  “Right,” Rosa sneered, “to be a feast for eight forsaken warriors. Believe me, I’ve not forgotten. The Council refuses to let me.”

  The acrid stench of fear permeated the air, like acid on flesh.

  Luc shifted his stance. Her distress disturbed him, as did the image of a sixteen-year-old girl locked in a room while she heard the murder of her parents. Taliesin’s lack of denial was as damning as his attitude, leaving little doubt that Rosa’s tale was more accurate than he cared to admit.

  Regardless, what concerned Luc most was her last comment, because it was the one that had produced real anxiety and not just distress from a memory. Remaining silent was no longer an option. He stepped between Rosa and Taliesin, blocking her view in order to gain her full attention.

  Dylan shot him a questioning glare that Luc ignored. In response, a snarl of pleasure whispered down his spine.

  His beast was pleased that he’d undermined his brother’s authority.

  “Rosa . . .” Luc paused, not for lack of words but because the absence of pain left him momentarily disorientated, as did those otherworldly eyes when they met his. “What are you referring to? A feast for eight forsaken warriors? What does that mean?” Although he had a good suspicion, he preferred to hear her explanation. “And how is the Council involved?”

  Porter grunted. “Any mention of the bloody Council of Ceridwen makes my arse itch. Thank the good Lord there’s only ten of them left.”

  Luc couldn’t agree more, even if Merin was one of them. There had been forty-eight Original Guardians in the beginning. Regrettably, the ten that remained formed the Council of Ceridwen, a self-appointed governing body whose main mission was to maintain the purity of their race, and therefore their power to shift. They believed one related to the other.

  It was all bullshit, of course, born of desperation and arrogance.

  “Nine,” Rosa said quietly.

  Luc frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Nine,” she repeated. “There are only nine Council members left.” When rapt interest greeted her, she shared, “Modlen was executed last summer for drawing attention to our kind in the human world. The Council is well aware of how much our numbers have dwindled. They believe exposure is our greatest threat.”

  Luc couldn’t help but interject. “Even greater than the mixed-blood rebels who have scattered across the globe and continue to mate with humans?”

  A hint of a smile turned her lip. She had a full mouth, he noted, when not pinched in displeasure. “Well, as you know, they don’t much like that either. But, yes, they fear exposure more.”

  “What did she do?” Luc asked, curious to see how much information about the Council Rosa was willing to share.

  “She modeled for a photographer named G. B. Smith.” She shook her head. “He was human.”

  “Was?”

  “They killed him too, of course.”

  “Of course.” Luc found this odd banter disconcerting, or possibly it was just his growing awareness of her that made him uncomfortable, as well as her easy acceptance of death. But that had been her life, had it not?

  “He had already uploaded the photos to the Internet,” she continued. “I’ve been told they are very popular. I’ve never seen them myself. I’m not allowed access to modern technology. The Council is still livid about the betrayal.”

  Luc looked to Taliesin for confirmation. “Is this true?”

  “Modlen was always a vain creature,” Taliesin explained in a derisive tone. “The photos are spectacular. If you haven’t seen them, you should take a look. Not worth losing her head over, but—”

  “If you are going to live with us,” Dylan interrupted, his voice too calm, a telltale sign to those who knew him that his patience had ended, “this is the type of information that you need to share.”

  “Why?” Shaking his head as if confused, Taliesin pointed out, “I knew Rosa was going to.”

  Having his suspicions proven, Luc veered the conversation back to his original question. “Warriors’ feast? What does that mean, Rosa?”

  Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose as if his head had begun to ache. “I don’t know, but it sounds like one of Taliesin’s drunken prophecies.”

  In a sheepish tone, Taliesin c
onfessed, “I may have overly indulged at Rosa and Math’s wedding feast.”

  “Aw, hell,” Porter groaned, his black brows narrowed over sharp blue eyes. “I’m thinking we might not want to hear this. They be the ones that usually come true.”

  “I sincerely hope not,” Rosa said. “He was so intoxicated that it took four servants to carry him from the room and put him to bed.”

  “It was the only way I could get through the atrocious thing,” Taliesin mumbled.

  Tension along his spine warned that he wasn’t going to like the answer, but Luc asked anyway, “What is the prophecy?”

  “Basically, in one month, under summer’s first moon, the Council is planning to re-create a fertility ritual because of his asinine prediction.” Rosa tilted her head toward Taliesin as if the occupants of the room hadn’t already known whom she blamed for her current situation. “A ritual with eight unmated Guardians and the last unmated—and pure-blooded—female shifter.” She smiled and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “That would be me.”

  Four

  This union, I shall not revile, for their fear I know, their affliction, and their gift.

  Rosa felt like a jester at a feast, one where her act amused the audience not with cleverness but rather with a lack thereof. Disgust permeated the room like fog over snow, cold and bone-deep.

  Luc’s displeasure was the most noticeable, probably because he stood the closest. Worse, she also sensed his pity.

  She looked to the exits for an escape but found none. She tried to control her rising panic, even as her wolf unfurled under her skin, demanding release.

  Yanking at the neckline of her sweater, she said, “I need to get some fresh air.”

  Ignoring her request, Luc asked, “Have you voiced your refusal to participate? The ceremony will fail if you’re unwilling.”

  His logic might be amusing, if she wasn’t the subject under debate. He must practice the old ways of the just Gods, where kindness was returned with favors, cruelty with punishment, and sexuality was valued only if consensual.

  That had never been her experience.

  “You obviously haven’t had much interaction with the Council,” she said. Had life among the Guardians made her too cynical? Perhaps. But her disdain had kept her alive, for the moment, and that could always change. “I’ve learned to keep my opinions to myself, but on this matter I failed. The Guardians believe my reluctance is selfish. They are good at twisting our ways to suit their ambitions, and then wonder why our race is dying and we live in darkness.”

  Luc appeared calm but there was a stiffness to his stance that suggested otherwise. “Who has volunteered to participate in a ritual that is against your will?” Anger leeched from his voice.

  She took a quick assessment of the room. Judging by the collection of similar expressions, they were all of the same mind-set—which only strengthened her resolve to join their alliance.

  “Why does it matter?” she asked.

  “If you don’t want to discuss who the Guardians are—”

  “I don’t know who they all are,” she lied. “I suspect William, Edwyn, and Rhys, because they’ve made references.” And Pendaran, the head of the Council and the Guardian who concerned her most, but offering his name might not help her cause with these rebels.

  “What do they hope to gain?”

  She laughed bitterly. “Me.” Glaring at Taliesin, she dared him to refute her claim. “More important, an heir with a pure bloodline.” The fact that they thought this child would be the next Beddestyr need not be mentioned at this time.

  There were only four Beddestyr left, the Walkers who’d once been able to travel to the Otherworld, a place of magical creatures, pixies, giants, and all things Fae, and of restorative gifts for their kind. This place was a legend of Celtic lore, as far as Rosa was concerned, for she had never seen a sign of its existence in her lifetime, or of the creatures who dwell within.

  Although, Math had been convinced that Sophie’s pet hound had come from the Otherworld. It was an intimidating animal, to be sure, but not unexplainable to this world—and thankfully absent from the room at present.

  And what remained of the former Beddestyr could not be called magical by any sense of the word, or restorative; they lived in death. They were shells of a former existence in a coma-like state.

  As their keeper, she would know.

  Allowing a child to be conceived to follow their fate was not on her agenda.

  She would even barter with men who obviously despised her to prevent it. “I know that you have little reason to trust my motives. I don’t share the Guardians’ beliefs. I’ve seen many of our kind needlessly suffer under their authority. This is my only chance to gain control of my territory, but I cannot do it alone. I have two allies within Avon who can shift. The rest are—”

  “Slaves,” Dylan supplied. “I was in your castle. I saw who resides there.”

  “Yes.” She did not deny the reality of her home, hoping to support her cause. “The Hen Was have enough of our blood in their veins to exist alongside us throughout the ages, but without the ability to shift and heal. They are tormented shadows of a forsaken race, hunted if they try to escape, and punished if they don’t obey. I’m here to help the ones who have served me, the ones who are my friends. This is our only chance.”

  Luc leaned forward, close enough that she could smell his scent, clean like moss in a healthy forest, and rich with the power of his wolf. “You would champion them?” he asked, not concealing his doubt.

  “I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Rosa assured him. “I’ve already offered them freedom but they have refused. They don’t wish to run. Nor do they wish to live separate from our kind. So I’ll give them safety instead. Or,” she amended, “I’ll at least try.”

  “Why?” Luc had the audacity to sound confused.

  But then, why wouldn’t he? She was the widow of his enemy, after all. Humility, she suspected, may be a better persuader—and a good dose of honesty might not hurt either.

  Sadly, she wasn’t good at either virtue, but she could try.

  “Because they have protected me from my husband where all others have failed.” She met the gaze of every person in the room, beseeching them for help. All but Taliesin, who had ignored her pleas once before. Why would this time be any different? “They have taken beatings meant for me. They have fed me when Math ordered me to starve. They have offered their bodies in place of mine. They have given me love and loyalty and I can do naught but offer them the same in return.”

  Not one person responded, except for a few exchanged glances. Had the importance of her mission finally registered? Or were they contemplating the obvious advantage of retaining control of the territory that directly bordered theirs? “Nor do I wish to be a breeder for another Guardian.”

  The bald man with remnants of an Irish lilt spoke first, an indication of his respected status in Dylan’s territory. “And if we choose not to help you?”

  “Then I will fight alone.” Rosa would rather die in battle than submit to the demands of the Guardians one day longer. Moreover, walking off her island this morning had guaranteed her impending punishment when they discovered her betrayal.

  She had no other choice but to fight.

  “If Drystan lived closer,” she continued, “I would have made him this same offer, but Math’s death has accelerated my plans. I’ve little chance of success without your help. Either my aunt Neira or William will retain control of Castell Avon, as both have already petitioned the Council on this regard . . . despite certain steps I’ve taken to discourage them.”

  A low growl came from Luc. “That can’t happen.”

  The sound sent a secret thrill skittering across her skin. Her wolf liked that his beast had demanded a voice, and that he understood the threat that her losing would bring upon them. “It can and it will if you don�
�t help me. There are three Guardians in residence at the moment, and sixteen of Math’s guards who are loyal to the Council. I’m supposed to return with them to Wales for Math’s burial tomorrow morning. It would not take much to force them out, but it’s the judgment of the Council that I fear. When they send more Guardians, and they will send more, I need to have reinforcements by my side.”

  Sophie looked to her husband as she asked, “Has anyone ever taken control of a Guardian’s territory?”

  “Not successfully,” Dylan confirmed. “There have been a few who have tried. For the most part, we’ve defended our own lands. We’ve defended our own people when threatened, but we’ve never gone after them.”

  Rosa pointed out, “You came into my home and executed Math.”

  “I did,” Dylan admitted without reservation. “But only after his men, under his orders, brought death into my home. Had I not retaliated, it would have been viewed as weak. The Council would have immediately demanded control of my territory. I will not allow my people to live, or die, under their sadistic leadership.”

  “Then our goals are the same,” Rosa argued. “We are allies, whether you wish us to be or not. And,” she added for leverage, “you owe me.”

  Dylan gave a sharp nod. “As I’m well aware.” He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture filled with angst as he looked down at his wife. “If we help her,” he explained. “If we do what she’s asking of us, if we openly take control of a Guardian stronghold—it will begin a war.”

  A mangled sound came from Luc. “A war has already begun, brother.” His voice was oddly low, as if he struggled to contain his patience, or something more menacing. “We can no longer hide in the woods and expect them to leave us alone. They have felt our power.”

  “Luc’s right,” Sophie said to Dylan. “If you’re hesitating because of me . . . please don’t. Rosa freed me from that place. We must help her now.”

  Another voice filtered into the conversation, cleverly unobtrusive, and yet managing to attract full attention. “There’s another way,” Taliesin said, coaxing a room filled with uncertainty to turn in his direction.