02 Summer Moon

by Jan Delima

  He watched in awe.

  Rosa shifted like a dancer, a graceful ballet of molting skin and sinew re-forming over broken bones, without even a gasp or a growl until a golden wolf regarded him with burgundy eyes. And in that moment he was forced to face what he’d already known but chose to ignore: No unmated man with wolf blood in his veins would resist her lure in that final reckoning of undeniable—and rare—power.

  Poised in that same knowledge, she gave a taunting nod, turned, and ran.

  Tortured, he buckled to his knees and understood that he was the prey in this chase, helpless to a huntress of his will.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered to another’s memory and began his own change, barely removing his clothes in time for his beast to explode from within, victorious in its master’s weakness. It was a brutal shift, comparable only to when the Guardians had marked their presence in Rhuddin Village. He fought with his wolf to keep the ink in his skin, barely preserving that one final promise.

  Within minutes he was breathing sharper scents, viewing the shadows through keener eyes, and hunting her trail with a night creature’s heightened senses.

  Forest paths provided a maze of discoveries as he caught up to her and they loped across packed clay floors and hurdled over fallen limbs together. How had he thought to deny her this?

  How had he thought to deny himself?

  Before long, they came upon a hidden village, although he had never seen such an ensemble of enchanted makeshift homes since the old forests of Cymru. There were hills with arched doors and trees with peeking chimneys—a haven for their kind.

  He listened, circled the dwellings, satisfied to find them deserted, and contented to know he was alone with his mate. He leapt upon her, nipped her neck, and received one in return. They rolled on the moss floor, panting from play. It would go no further than chaste frolic. Because their minds were human, even the mere idea of sexuality in this form was as abhorrent as rape, much like exerting dominion on an innocent creature, unheeded by wolves but not by humans with a conscience.

  He was the first to initiate the change back to humanity. The forest here was abundant with life, far enough from Avon to thrive. Once he started calling the elements, she rode the power and they shifted together.

  Looking to the clear sky, they remained on the bed of moss. The cool air felt good against his heated skin. He was almost hesitant to fill the air with a voice, but his need overrode peace.

  Rolling on top of her, he captured her wrists in his hands and held them above her head. It was time the huntress met the hunter.

  “I ache for you, Rosa.” He dared not look to the sky, for if Koko’s spirit soared above in the form of her owl, she might just shit on his head for what he was about to confess. “I ache for you as I’ve never ached for another.”

  Her eyes fell to his chest. Even in the darkness his tattoo contrasted against his skin. She didn’t complain, or even comment.

  Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist and braided her fingers through his. “Prove it to me.”

  Shaking, he edged the head of his shaft against her opening. Slick, she was so slick and ready for him. He thrust at her command, faltering only when her warmth grasped him with its tight fist.

  Nirvana . . .

  If there was one, this was it.

  He nuzzled his face into the waves of her hair and growled next to her ear, “I think of you and I get hard.”

  He withdrew and thrust again. “I catch your scent and my mind wanders.”

  And again. “I hunger for you.”

  And again, embedding his shaft as far as it would go, holding it there for his final assertion, “And no matter how many times I’m inside you, I still feel starved.”

  “Luc—” She arched, widening her legs, bracing her feet on the forest floor to meet his thrusts. Her hands clutched his, searching for a lifeline in her tumultuous fall. Like a piston, her hips jerked and he felt her inner muscles tightening with her release, milking his shaft with pulsing contractions.

  He waited for her climax to end. He waited for her to understand his intent. “I’m not stopping, Rosa. From this night forth, I’ll do everything in my power to foil this prophecy.”

  She had set the terms when this chase began and he was claiming his reward.

  Neither words, nor thought, nor even the barest hint of restraint formed after his final edict. He just rode her stretched heat and understood why Celts worshiped women, because in that moment he was a slave to her vessel. When the tightening gripped his shaft, he groaned her name. A low growl vibrated from his chest as he spilled his seed, the most blessed form of claiming on this magical night.

  Afterward, she brought him to her private cabin surrounded by a curtain of willow reeds. Charmed by her place, and her excitement in showing him, he simply had to have her again on a narrow cot. And while she dozed, he browsed her odd assortment of magazines and modern books. Later he learned that Math had censored Avon’s library. Within the week he intended to bring her to the mortal world and let her buy her fill from the nearest bookstore.

  Her life would never be censored again. Not on matters they could control and that didn’t bring danger to Avon. And under no circumstances would he allow her to feel trapped as his wife, or his mate.

  * * *

  “Ha! I win this round,” Rosa announced, panting in a rush of laughter over her husband’s flummoxed expression. A few cheers went up around the crowd. What started out as a training session in the inner bailey became a serious workout. Admittedly, Luc had her on her bottom a few times, because he fought without rules, but then, so had Rosa’s mother.

  “That’s fifty bucks you owe me,” Teyrnon shouted to Cadan.

  Rosa glared at her cousin. “You bet against me?”

  “You’re out of practice, Rosabea.” He gave an unrepentant shrug. “And Teyrnon owes me a hundred and fifty.”

  After sheathing her sword, she bent forward with hands on knees to catch her breath.

  Using her distraction, Luc pulled her on top of him and they tumbled to the ground. Their audience cheered as he rolled on his back and she straddled his waist. “And this one is mine,” he taunted the crowd, sitting up to claim her mouth for a debauched kiss.

  She should not have allowed his public antics but couldn’t help but whisper against his mouth, “Is that my prize, or do I get a better one later?”

  He gave a soft growl. His lips moved to her ear. Softly, he said, “If we’re handing out boons, then I must remind you that I get three to your one.”

  The laughter fell and voices hushed. Luc gave her a gentle tap to move but Rosa had already begun to scramble to a standing position. Gareth broke through the circled guards, holding a folded letter. His expression left little doubt who the sender was, and the formal seal of the Council confirmed her suspicion, with a horned serpent stamped in blue wax.

  “It’s addressed to Rosa,” Gareth said as he handed her the parchment. “It was delivered by overnight express in a separate box.”

  Strange, how her heart refused to beat like it had ceased to exist. Her seedling of hope had just been hit by a hard frost, edging its leaves in black.

  Rosa slid her hand under the seal and read the few lines, then handed it to Luc. “It’s from the Council,” she confirmed to the waiting crowd.

  “Is it a declaration of war?” This from Teyrnon.

  “It’s an announcement of their arrival tomorrow evening,” Luc clipped as he read the proclamation. “They want to check on the Walkers and discuss their continued care.”

  “We should cancel the wedding feast,” Rosa said. Even now the great hall was decorated in swaths of linen and golden leaves for tomorrow’s festivities.

  Luc’s brows snapped together. “Let them witness our celebration.” His eyes lifted to hers with warning. “Is this not what our plan has always been?”
<
br />   Sadly, she said, “Yes, but I was getting used to my castle without their stench.” Grumbling in agreement, the guards began to disperse and she held her husband back with a hand on his arm. “Would you walk with me, Luc?”

  He regarded her with a questioning frown. “Of course.”

  “I have something I want to show you and I need your advice.” Then she found her cousin in the crowd. “Cadan,” she called, “I would like you to come as well. This is as much your business as it is mine.”

  Turning at her voice, Cadan winked at her. “Now I’m curious.”

  Twenty

  Echoing Cadan’s sentiments, Luc followed Rosa through the great hall. On the far wall sat three chairs on a raised dais, the center one larger than the sides, with wolf heads carved into the oaken arms and navy velvet cushions to pad Math’s ass.

  “The thrones need to go,” he told her. He had been meaning to mention them earlier but now seemed as good a time as any.

  She waved her hand absently. “Burn them on a pyre for all I care. Nothing good came of those chairs.”

  Behind the thrones, she pulled back a large curtain, gathering the folds to rest in the corner to reveal a hidden panel that covered a fortified door.

  Cadan had gone still when she pulled out the key. “Why do I need to be here for this?”

  “You are my only family, Cadan. The only family I have left who cares about me.”

  “As you are for me,” her cousin whispered.

  “I am the reason you came to this place . . .” Her voice trailed off. She swallowed, gathered her composure. “As far as I am concerned, half of this is yours.” She fitted the key in the lock, turned and opened the door.

  “Shit,” Luc muttered, running his hands through his hair as he viewed the contents within. Jewels, goblets, crowns, silver plates, gold bars, baskets of coins, rolled tapestries and scrolls lined the shelves on the inner walls. “Why does it not surprise me that Math had a vault behind his throne room?”

  Rosa shrugged. “He was a king for over two thousand years.”

  “And he liked to collect rare and pretty things,” Cadan added with scorn.

  “Shit,” Luc repeated again for lack of a better word. “I should have been shown this earlier.”

  Rosa just blinked at him, unrepentant. “I didn’t trust you earlier, and now I need your knowledge of the mortal world. I want to secure this before the Council comes tomorrow. They may ask for it. Can we liquefy it?” She frowned. “I believe that’s the term I read, and separate it into different banks or comparable storing facilities. They will also want Math’s ledgers.”

  “Not in a day.” Luc shook his head. “And the artifacts will be problematic. I’ll ask my brother. We have accountants in Rhuddin Village who may know. Porter is good with this type of thing.”

  “Half of it’s Cadan’s,” she pressed.

  “I want nothing to do with it,” her cousin sneered and turned to leave. Halfway across the hall, he paused and then returned. “You know what? Bugger that. I earned it.” He took Rosa’s hand in his. “We earned it. Thirds, Rosabea. How does that sound? A third for you, me, and the rest to govern Avon.” Cadan sent Luc a wary look. “That’s if your new husband doesn’t claim it all.”

  “I’m not a pauper,” Luc informed him, understanding his ire was a personal one. Luc had lived only four hundred years shy of Math; he had his own wealth, and it was secured much better than this. “Rosa keeps what she came into our marriage with.”

  True wealth was not material riches—but family, friendship, land to live, freedom and love. However, it did provide the means to support and protect what mattered most.

  Cadan relaxed. “Is a third of this enough to run Avon?”

  “Yes.” Luc cleared his throat to hide his amusement. “Yes, I believe it is.” Or a large and needy country for centuries.

  However, the naïve question made him realize that Rosa hadn’t been the only one cloistered from the modern world. And it was time they both became acclimated. “I’m bringing Rosa into Manchester to do some shopping this afternoon. Would you like to join us, Cadan?”

  “We shouldn’t go now.” Rosa barely contained her disappointment. “Not with the Council members here.”

  “They’re watching us, I’m sure,” Luc told her. “Let them watch. Avon is secure, Manchester is only a two-hour ride, and we mustn’t act frightened.”

  Cadan made no attempt to hide his opinion. “Piss on the Council and whoever’s here . . . I’m coming with you.”

  And a reminder of freedom was what both his wife and her cousin needed.

  After Rosa secured the vault, a bellowing shriek echoed through the throne room, followed by scampering feet and an outraged chef. Audrey dashed to hide behind Rosa while Walter waved his bloodied hand.

  Picking up Audrey and settling her on her hip, Rosa asked, “What happened?”

  “The Wulfling bit me,” Walter accused, florid with outrage. “And almost destroyed your wedding cake.”

  Tesni turned the corner then, offering an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry. I thought she was napping. She’s a slippery little eel, that one. A baby alpha, if you ask me.”

  Audrey hid her face against Rosa’s arm, leaving a smear of butter-scented frosting.

  “Is this true?” Rosa asked.

  “He said I can’t come to the feast anymore.” Audrey peeked out long enough to point an accusing chubby finger at Walter. “He said the Guardians are coming. I want cake. I want meat pie.” Her lip trembled. “I want to come to the feast.”

  “Walter is right,” Luc told Audrey in a firm voice, agreeing with Tesni’s suspicion about her being an alpha. “There will be people there who’ll want to take you.” He turned to the chef, knowing he lacked the ability to shift. “Go find my sister and Mae. They’ll care for your hand.”

  “I believe you’ve become a bit overindulged,” Rosa said, but not without kissing the top of the child’s head to soften her discipline. In return, Audrey absently rubbed her hand along Rosa’s upper arm, a tactile form of seeking comfort and affection.

  They were bonding, Luc thought, and the evidence of Rosa’s natural acceptance formed a powerful grip around his heart.

  “You’ll have cake,” his wife continued, “and you’ll have meat pie, but you mustn’t come to the feast, and you must ask before you take.”

  “Why?” Audrey’s voice was small, confused and irked.

  “Because it’s the proper thing to do,” Rosa asserted. Her tone now was that of an alpha guiding her young. “And if you make a mess, you need to clean it up. And you must apologize to Walter afterward. Do you understand?”

  Wide eyes blinked innocently. “I don’t know what apologize means.”

  “Now, that’s not true,” Tesni supplied. “I heard you teaching Cormack all the variations of that word yesterday when he ate one of your strawberries.”

  “I like strawberries. I like Cormack too.” A heavy sigh came from a small chest. “And I like Walter because he makes cake and cookies. I’ll say the sorry word to him.”

  “Let us go clean up your mess.” Tesni held out her arms and Audrey switched holders.

  “Thank you, Tesni,” Rosa said, and as the room cleared, she turned to Luc with determination to protect her home and the inhabitants within. “I’ll show you Math’s ledgers if you like. They’re an accounting of all the Guardian descendants, but I’m learning he knew very little.”

  “Has the Council seen them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we’ll hand those over if asked and hide your treasures this afternoon.”

  * * *

  Memories were like seasons, weaving paths of interlocking journeys. Some were harsh and draining like winter while others were bountiful and healing like spring. But the day Rosa spent in the mortal world with Luc and Cadan was like su
mmer, glorious and free. They ate hot dogs and fried potatoes, drank Coke and purchased clothing that smelled of chemicals, but she didn’t care, and then Luc brought her to a bookstore two stories high. Oh, goodness gracious—that was what the woman had said when Rosa had dragged filled carts to the counter. Luc fit eight boxes of beautiful tomes into Teyrnon’s SUV. The rest were being shipped.

  And on the following night she wore a black dress for her wedding feast, belted by her scabbard and sword. She’d found it in a cluster of department stores called an outlet mall. Tesni arranged the top of her hair in a plaited coronet intertwined with pearls, while the back curled to hang about her shoulders. They walked together to the great hall where music reached the upper floors. Bethan and Tobias had dusted off their lyre and flute and filled the castle with haunting melodies. Soldiers made bawdy jokes and even Gareth laughed as new memories were made, happy ones despite the looming shadow of the Council’s visit.

  “You wear a somber color this night,” Tesni said with a teasing lilt to her tone when they entered the hall. “But look, it turns your husband’s eyes a very lovely blue.”

  “Yes,” Rosa agreed. “Yes, it does.” She felt sensual and uninhibited—and wished the Guardians weren’t coming to dampen the joy of the evening.

  Luc approached with a feral grin and kissed her temple in greeting. His suit and shirt didn’t match his sword but the way he wore them fluttered her heart.

  “What a daunting pair we make in our formal clothes and weaponry.” She flipped a loose curl over her shoulder, sending him a half-turned smile. “I’ll look forward to removing yours later this night.”

  “Don’t tease,” he warned. “I don’t need additional distractions.”

  The porter from Rhuddin Village arrived before the Guardians.