02 Summer Moon

by Jan Delima

  She pondered over how much to reveal, but decided to prepare him. “You should know that he was Math’s lover. They were together when Dylan claimed his revenge.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “By choice?”

  She answered with care. “Cadan prefers to be with men in that way, but he wouldn’t have chosen to be with Math were it not for our circumstances. I’ll not tolerate him being judged for his sexual preferences.”

  Luc offered an affronted scowl. “I judge people by their actions and who they choose to protect.” He slashed his hand through the air, apparently angered. “I don’t bloody well care how willing adults find their comforts.” He paused to make one stipulation. “As long as it doesn’t harm others.”

  “Well, then know that Cadan is my protector.” He was the only member of her family left who cared about her. Vehemence bled into her voice. “And I am his.”

  “Are you sure he’ll choose your side over Neira’s?”

  Allegiance seemed to be his only concern—which was good.

  “I could ask the same of you,” she said quietly, only to remind him not to condemn a child for their parent’s actions. Merin and Neira were both Council members. “Very few people have earned my trust; Cadan is one of those few. After my wedding to Math, he traveled with me. I consider him more a brother than a cousin, and he’s the only family I have left who values my safety over the Council’s dictates.”

  Cadan had accompanied her on their journey to Castell Avon because she’d wept through his farewells. What had started out as an adventure, at least from her cousin’s perspective, soon became a nightmare. Once across an ocean, he never returned home. Cadan’s compassion became his curse—because of her selfishness for not hiding her sorrow on her departure day.

  She hadn’t shed a single tear since.

  Luc gave no indication of his thoughts, and as the silence stretched, Rosa felt compelled to fill it. “I was Math’s comeuppance for leaving his homeland to resettle in America.” Her words rang true because they were, just absent of the reason why.

  He frowned slightly. “That seems like an overly generous gift to be given just to keep an eye on us.” Luc, as she’d noted earlier, was dangerously observant.

  She knew that he, and the other rebels, thought Math’s presence during the Americans’ war for independence was to stop them from having similar notions of their human compatriots. They couldn’t be more wrong. Soon, she would have to enlighten her new husband about the Walkers.

  “Math was an Original Guardian,” she reminded him. The Originals of their kind took what they wanted and were rarely challenged. “I’ve never been able to understand their mind-sets, nor do I ever want to.”

  He accepted her explanation. “And Math allowed Cadan to join you?”

  A bitter sound fell from her mouth. “Math wanted Cadan on our journey.” She now understood what his dark looks had meant—but she hadn’t then. “Once here . . .” An unpleasant memory came unbidden to her thoughts and she pushed it away. “Math used our isolation to his advantage.”

  His expression hardened even more. “And your cousin didn’t try to leave?”

  “No.” Guilt sat heavy on her chest, as it always did. “He protected me from my husband the best way he knew how.”

  Luc offered no reply. After a long pause, his gaze fell to her sword. “It’s built for a man,” he noted. “I brought you one that will suit you better.”

  If he’d meant to distract her, he succeeded. “You brought me a sword?” The rapid beat of her heart echoed her surprise.

  He gave a sharp nod. “And a scabbard designed for a woman’s build.”

  “Truly?” She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. “I wasn’t allowed weapons at Avon.” Prisoners weren’t allowed such privileges. “May I see it?”

  “Later,” he said, “after we meet with Isabeau and Daran.” Did her doubt show, she wondered, when he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Let’s wait for them to leave, when there are less curious eyes watching us. You’ll hold them both and decide which one feels better.”

  “What if I want them both?” she challenged.

  “Then you may have them both.”

  A burning sensation spread through her stomach—those blasted tendrils of hope again—like holding frozen hands over a hot grate, pulling life’s blood back to deadened limbs; it hurt, but she couldn’t pull away. The seed of hope had begun to grow and she was too tempted by its warmth.

  A few minutes later, with her mother’s sword tied rather poorly with a crude rope around her waist, Rosa walked with Luc and Cormack toward the two waiting allies who had come to help. This was a dubious position for her, unaccustomed to generosity without an underlying motive.

  Isabeau hopped off the picnic table. “Luc.” She greeted him with a nod. “And Cormack . . .” Shaking her head at the wolf, she exclaimed, “It’s extraordinary, I must say, to see you faring so well after your ordeal.”

  She had a frail quality about her, or perhaps waiflike was more apt, as her stance exuded dominance, petite but lethal. She wore modern clothes, jeans ripped at the knees and a sweatshirt with block lettering that spelled Holli on one line, and Ster on another. Her dark hair was tucked under a hood, possibly tinted since it was naturally red. The Council ledgers had two paragraphs describing its color, penned by a dangerous admirer.

  “Rosa Alban.” Isabeau regarded her with hooded eyes. “If you are leading us into a trap, it will be your last betrayal in this life.”

  Thankfully, Rosa was adjusting to frankness. Isabeau’s guards shared her opinion in grumbled whispers and wary glances.

  Luc stepped forward in a protective stance.

  “No,” Rosa said before he spoke for her. “I’ll address this now and end it.” She faced Isabeau but raised her voice so all could hear. “I understand your concern but it’s unnecessary. Like you, my entire family was murdered by the Guardians. I, however, didn’t have the luxury of escape afterward.” Bile filled her voice like poison and she let it spill out with her words. “I believe we were orphaned at the same age, you and I, but imagine if you’d been forced to wed the man responsible—”

  “I’d have killed him the first time he tried to crawl into my bed,” Isabeau spat.

  “Really? At seventeen? Alone? With forty-plus guards waiting in the hallway to protect him, or to take their own turn? When rebels and outcasts kept to their own woods? What is one woman worth, after all, if helping her brings destruction to their families, to their people?”

  “You could have run away,” she challenged, but her voice had lost much of its scorn.

  “There are servants in Avon whom I care about. Hen Was, like your family had been. They would have been tortured for information. My freedom has never been worth their pain.”

  Silence.

  “You don’t have to trust me,” Rosa continued. “Or even like me, but know that I’ve been waiting three hundred years for this day and I appreciate anyone willing to stand by my side as I reclaim my home. And if a day comes that you need my help, I’ll stand by yours in return.”

  “Our home,” Luc added when the whispers subsided. “As of this afternoon,” he announced, “Rosa Black is my wife.”

  Daran exhaled a low whistle. “No shit.” He appeared older than she remembered, early thirties by human standards, the price of responsibility as much as time. With fair hair darker than blond but not quite brown, cropped short, he was less jovial, more cynical. But weren’t they all?

  Isabeau barely blinked. “Well, that was fast. I’ll assume the Guardians are unaware.”

  “My aunt Neira will learn soon enough,” Rosa said.

  “So, is that your plan, then?” Isabeau didn’t hide her skepticism when she addressed Rosa. Her guards encroached to hear the conversation, more curious now than threatening. “Are you just going to walk into Castell
Avon and introduce your new husband?”

  “It’s my property by modern law,” Rosa pointed out. “And my territory by Guardian rule, just as it’s within my right to remarry an unmated shifter. We’ll use their laws against them, openly at first.”

  “It will give us some time.” Luc repeated the same argument he had given his brother earlier. It was as persuasive the second time as it was the first. “Llara is ready to join us if needed. Arnulf is meeting with my brother tomorrow, and Hagen from Landstuhl has also reached out expressing interest in our alliance. Russia, Austria, Germany—”

  “And the Himalayas as well,” Daran added. “I’ve been in contact with Mabon and Sioni. They’ve joined our cause.”

  Isabeau shook her head as if overwhelmed. At first Rosa thought she would protest until a slight dimple appeared on her cheek, hinting of a suppressed grin. “I’ve been waiting too long for this day to come.” Her gaze briefly landed on Rosa. “Far more than your three hundred years. Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

  Relieved, Rosa said, “The river forks around Castell Avon. There is a shallow end that’s easily crossed but I suspect it will be watched.”

  “We know of this section you speak of,” Daran replied. “We were there with Dylan less than a week ago.”

  “Good,” Luc said. He had discussed his plan briefly on their drive over. It was sound, but even good plans could fail without warning. “Rosa and I will enter at the gates as if nothing is amiss, with Teyrnon, Cormack, and our other guards. Isabeau, we would like you to stand with us. Daran, you’ll circle from behind if . . .”

  “If our news is received as expected,” Rosa finished for him.

  * * *

  Luc enjoyed the view for most of their journey, with winding country roads that followed a wide river’s natural path. Snow lingered on the highest peaks of the White Mountains while spring bloomed in the valleys. His first inkling of concern began with a few lifeless trees where no natural occurrence seemed plausible. Before long he saw more brown than green, and wildflowers became dead grass and ragged weeds.

  When the narrow lane merged into a graveled drive, he felt a wave of malevolence, like desperate fingers of death reaching for life, or shadows lingering in a dormant forest. Darkness had swallowed Avon; of that he was sure, reminiscent of a winter without snow, with no blanket of white to cover the bleakness beneath.

  “We’ve arrived,” Rosa announced with false cheer, parking a few car lengths behind a gated door. A carriage house designed more for grandeur than security declared the entrance of Castell Avon as clearly as her words.

  That would change, among other things.

  “What’s happened here?” Even from where he sat, enclosed in metal and glass, he felt starved earth on the island . . . and parasites? He could think of no other explanation for a land that appeared sucked of its very life force. “Your forest is dead.”

  Her hands clenched the steering wheel. “It’s suffering from misuse under a distorted leadership, but it’s not dead, not yet.” She spoke the truth, he believed, but not all of it. “I want to bring life back to my island. I want Avon to be like your Rhuddin Village, once we expel the filth.”

  It didn’t go unnoticed that she’d used his precise words against him. “I hadn’t been aware the extent of damage when I made that promise. My brother’s territory has been nurtured for centuries. This place is overwhelmed by desolation.”

  Soft light outlined her profile in quiet disappointment as she turned off the truck’s engine and placed the keys in the center console. “I only need your help to reclaim Avon, which, if you’ll remember, was my original request when I came to your home.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?” He shook his head. Her suddenly distant behavior puzzled him more than the topic at hand.

  “Afterward, if you wish to revoke our personal arrangement, I won’t object.” She turned to him then. Her violet gaze filled with assurance made more poignant for the sincerity he read within. “We both know you married me for Avon. Now that you’ve seen it’s no great treasure, no one need know our arrangement was consummated.”

  Ah. Now he began to understand. She was giving him one last chance to default before announcing it to whoever waited inside. How many promises had been broken in her life, he wondered, to reject his so easily? Indeed, Avon wasn’t the treasure in this arrangement, a point of distinction becoming stronger the longer he spent in her company. No, that sat before him with her hands fisted by her sides, evidence of her first real emotion since beginning her little speech.

  “I’ll know, Rosa.” He reached over and enclosed her hand within both of his, coaxing it open to entangle their fingers. “Once given, I keep my vows. I only need to reassess how to keep this one.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “We will restore Avon.”

  Her eyes closed briefly and her fingers returned the slightest bit of pressure. “I hope . . .” Her voice broke on that simple word. “I hope so.”

  “And you’ll not mention ending our marriage again.”

  She tugged her hand from his grasp. “If you don’t give me cause, then I won’t.”

  Letting her withdraw for the moment, Luc began a mental list of what needed his immediate attention. He began with simple mechanics first, noting that the electrical lines stopped at the carriage house. “Is electricity run through the bridge?”

  She shook her head. “Math kept everything relatively feudal, except for the plumbing. Bathrooms were added about a century ago. There are generators on the island to heat water and run the laundry facilities.”

  “How have the locals not noticed?” Environmentalists should be rightly screaming. Even remote territories were bound to have humans happen upon them by chance.

  “Oh, they have. Locally, Math was known for his eccentricities and generous donations. Anyone stupid enough to investigate further was terminated.”

  Her practiced responses only provoked more questions, ones that would have to wait as two Avon guards walked around the building. The scarred one with a patched eye relaxed his stance before schooling his reaction.

  “The guard on the right is one of mine,” Rosa said. “His name’s Gareth. He’s also my porter and I don’t want him harmed. The other is Briog. Do with him as you wish.”

  “Briog is a shifter, I assume.” Both guards frowned at Luc but Gareth’s single-eyed gaze held an edge of intimate displeasure.

  “So is Gareth. His disfigurement was a punishment from Math.”

  He heard regret in her voice. For kinship? Or for something more? He also noted the porter’s possessive glare. “Is Gareth your lover, Rosa?”

  She stiffened slightly. “No.” Her vehemence was as candid as her denial. “I’ve never been tempted enough to endanger another’s life for a fleeting moment of pleasure.”

  His tension eased. He’d suspected as much but wanted her confirmation. Why he cared about her former lovers was better left for later deliberations. For now, Luc assessed the extensive damage done to Gareth’s face. “What did he do to deserve such a punishment?”

  “Gareth had an affair with a mortal. Her name was Rachel, a widow who had lived in the next town over. Math was of the same mind-set as many Council members who believe mixing with humans is weakening our race. It isn’t tolerated.”

  “Math had Rachel killed,” he assumed by her tone.

  “Quite brutally,” she confirmed softly. “Then he destroyed Gareth’s face so no other humans would be attracted to him. At the time Gareth was our envoy to the local governments. Others served in his stead during the 1900s, but Gareth was reinstated fifteen years ago and Math reapplied the scars.”

  “He hasn’t shifted for fifteen years?”

  “No. He likes his freedom, as meager as it is, and the locals now know him by his scars.”

  “The forced seclusion will end,” he clipped. Banishment had always been his
brother’s punishment, one that was taken seriously because Dylan provided a safe and fair environment for their kind. With time and trust it would be the same for Avon.

  A black Chevy suburban pulled up beside them, one of the few vehicles large enough to accommodate Teyrnon’s size. The Norseman scanned the property, then met Luc’s gaze and held. The tinted windows didn’t hinder his silent message: Something is amiss on this island surrounded by rivers, more than just a Guardian lair.

  Luc returned a sharp nod of agreement. Cormack and three other guards had ridden with Teyrnon from Salmon Mountain; doors opened as they spilled out, stretched and readied themselves for a potential battle. Isabeau’s sedan and other cars followed, parking in a haphazard cluster so as not to block one another in.

  “Are you prepared for this?” Luc asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Rosa opened the door and jumped to the gravel. She belted the sword and scabbard he’d given her around her waist, adjusting it to settle on her hip. Her former weapon and makeshift rope remained in the truck. Favoring her right hand, his gift rested on her left side, accentuating her curves like a warrior queen. She’d been taught to reach across her chest to release her weapon. They hadn’t had time for a decent sparring session, but she held her posture with confidence as Luc walked with her, stopping a few paces before the two Avon guards.

  Rosa looked to Gareth first. “Has anyone been harmed in my absence?”

  “Mae,” he confirmed without apparent emotion. Up close, his disfigurement revealed a graphic story of torture, while his one good eye scanned Luc with suspicion. “Cadan tried to intervene, but—”

  “Where are the other guards?” A slight frown marred Rosa’s otherwise calm features, as if this news was commonplace.

  “A handful are watching the shallow side; a few are searching for you. The rest are in the castle.”

  Luc remained silent for the moment, allowing Rosa to collect information, taking his cue from her lead. Soon enough, his good intentions were thwarted, as they often were in the company of fools.

  Briog spat on the ground next to his feet, twitching nervously as more cars pulled in. “How dare you come here, Beast?” He had a wiry build, brown hair made darker by grime, eyes gaunt and sunken. He turned to Rosa with a sneer. “What is this? What have you done?”