murmured with a gentle smile.
He kissed her brow and climbed from
the pallet. Perhaps with her asleep, he’d
finally be able to find the presence of
mind to study that book. He had to make
good on the promises he’d made to his
pack or they’d be after his position as
alpha male again. After a quick trip
outside, he returned to the cabin, dressed,
lit a fire and then settled down at his desk
to examine the manuscript Maralee had so
thoughtfully procured for him. He was
placing all of his hopes for finding the
cure in this single volume. He prayed
silently it did not disappoint.
The first third of the manuscript, which
he read quickly without pondering, was
about the early relationship between the
sage and the chieftain of Wolf pack.
Apparently, the sage had held the Wolf in
high regard and this was the main reason
why he had fallen into so many perilous
traps. His attraction to the chieftain’s
sister, Jaida, had played an important role
in procuring the magician’s trust. He
admitted that he wanted to live out his life
amongst them, but it had been a fleeting
desire. Once the chieftain had determined
the sage’s immortality, things began to
change.
As Burl attempted to gain immortality
for himself and his people, the sage found
himself the object of study and torture.
The Wolves had attempted all sorts of
things to get him to reveal his sworn
secret. They had gone so far as to slice
him open and share amongst themselves
pieces of his liver, convinced that they
would gain his immortality by eating his
flesh. He had begged the Wolves to kill
him to stop the agonizing pain brought on
by their barbarous acts. He’d even told
them of his weakness to silver so they’d
be able to end his life.
Only Jaida had been any comfort to
him. Eventually, she rescued him from her
brother’s cruel hand and they had lived
together in hiding for a time and created a
son together. His lovely Wolf woman had
left him when her pregnancy had extended
past the normal Wolf gestation period of
nine weeks and was approaching nine
months. It was after the baby was born in
its human form that Burl came to retrieve
the sage from hiding.
Burl’s tactics changed. The sage had
no choice but cooperate. The Wolves
turned their cruel ways on members of
their own race, Jaida, and her newborn
baby. The sage’s eternal hatred and
everlasting wrath were gifted to the
Wolves in addition to immortality. The
manuscript was very vague on how the
immortality spell was cast, but when it
was
completed,
the
Wolves
were
immortal as were all their future
descendants.
Jaida had refused to leave the village
with the embittered sage, especially now
that she was immortal and the father of her
eldest son was not. She turned her back on
him, claiming that it was best for their son.
It was bad enough the child carried the
mark proving he was half-Wolf; the mark
of the crescent moon over his left eye.
This mark ensured that he would never be
truly accepted by his own pack.
Nash paused in his reading, thinking he
had misunderstood the sage’s words. The
mark didn’t stand for being a half-Wolf, it
indicated one who was not affected by the
curse and served as a pack Guardian.
Nash’s father had continually driven that
fact into his head as a child. He read on,
more slowly now as this part seemed to
pertain more to him than any other part of
the manuscript thus far.
Perhaps if I had left the Wolves’
village with anything other than
animosity, I would not have been so
inclined to want to punish them all,
for hurting me, for rejecting my son,
for turning Jaida against me, but as it
was, I formulated a curse. I wished
for other humans to see them as the
monsters they were, even if it was
but for one night of the lunar cycle. I
would not allow them to live peaceful
immortal lives after all that they had
done. The selfish beasts had taken
everything from me and I vowed to
pass
on
the
secret
to
their
destruction
to
my
human
descendants.
My human children and their
children and grandchildren would
hunt the Wolves as the animals they
were with weapons wrought in pure
silver. The only link, the only one
capable of ending this strife would be
my eldest son, the half-Wolf, the one
marked by the crescent moon. This
mark would later become the Wolves’
salvation rather than the focus of
their strife; for even if my son were
to fail, others born to the pack under
similar circumstances would also
bear the mark and have the same
unique half-Wolf powers. Perhaps if
my son, Jarl, who seems incapable of
accepting himself for what he is,
does not succeed, then a future half-
Wolf might break the curse.
“This can’t be right,” Nash murmured,
rereading the passage four times before he
closed the book angrily. “It can’t be right.
I’m not half-Wolf, both my mother and my
father were Wolves.” His heart was
drumming within his chest. He didn’t
know why he felt such an extreme amount
of upset when he knew the sage was
mistaken about the sign of the crescent
moon. He fingered the lock of white hair
draped across his left eye. “It’s just a
mistake.”
“What’s
a
mistake?”
Maralee
murmured. She wandered from the hall,
looking sleepy and utterly beautiful, but
even her shapely, nude body did not
distract Nash from his irritated musings.
“This book,” Nash growled, shoving it
aside, not sure why he felt such anger
towards an inanimate object.
Maralee paled. “You haven’t been
reading that, have you?”
“I have, but I don’t think this sage
knows what the hell he’s talking about.”
“I agree,” Maralee said eagerly. “We
should just burn the thing and be done with
it.”
Nash gave her an odd look as she
came closer. “I didn’t say that it was all
garbage,” he said, putting his hand on the
book to protect it from M
aralee’s
unexpected desire to destroy it. “Just some
of it.”
“What part?” She was trembling and
pale, staring at the book with a mixture of
trepidation and revulsion.
“The part about…” he trailed off. “I’ll
just go and talk to my mother. She can
prove that the sage is wrong about the
symbol of the crescent moon. Right?”
Maralee stared at him wordlessly. She
looked about ready to collapse.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” he told
her, standing up to give her a gentle hug.
“It’s not like the world’s going to end or
anything.”
“Mine will,” she murmured, hugging
him tightly. “Please, let him be wrong.”
“He is wrong, but would you really
care if I were half-Wolf?” He thought she
was over her bigotry.
“Half-Wolf?” she questioned, looking
up at him. “Is that what you were reading
about?”
He nodded. “Stupid, isn’t it?” he
claimed, though his pulse was still racing
out of control. How could such simple
words fill him with such dread?
She nodded in agreement, looking
relieved. He kissed her and she melted
against him.
“You fell asleep when I was trying to
excite
you
into
a
delirium,”
he
commented, running his hands over her
bare back and shoulders, urging her
closer.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I really
was enjoying it. I was just really, really
tired and you were going sooooo slowly.”
“We’ll see if you can stay awake next
time,” he murmured.
“How about right now?” she purred
huskily.
Tempting as she was, he had to figure
something out before he could relax.
“Later,” he promised. “I’m going to go
talk to my mother, would you mind fixing
us both something to eat?”
She smiled. “No problem,” she
agreed. “Take your time.” She seemed
suddenly anxious for him to be leaving the
cabin. He was accustomed to her
mannerisms enough to notice irregularities
in her behavior.
He glanced at the vulnerable book on
his desk.
“You’re not thinking of burning that
book while I’m gone are you?”
She paled again and pushed him away.
“N-no, of course not. Why would I burn an
irreplaceable book?”
“I don’t know. You seemed eager to
burn it a moment ago.”
She shrugged and headed for the
kitchen, picking up her discarded pants in
the doorway. “I’ll see you in a little
while. I’ll have something for you to eat.”
He followed her into the kitchen and
caught her around the waist, drawing her
back up against his chest.
“Maralee, promise me that you won’t
burn the book while I’m gone,” he urged.
When she didn’t say anything, he
realized that he had discovered her
intention.
“Promise me, Maralee. I’d like to
think that I can trust you, but if not, I’ll just
take it with me.”
She stiffened and then pulled out of his
grasp. “I won’t burn the stupid book,” she
said angrily. “Seriously, I don’t see why
it’s so important to you any way. You said
yourself that there is false information in
there.”
“So you won’t burn it then?”
She turned to glare at him. “I promise
that I will not burn the book,” she spat at
him. “Surely you trust me enough to
believe that I will keep my word.”
He smiled at her gently. “I love you,”
he told her, and she paled again, “and
because I love you, I trust you
completely.”
“I love you too,” she murmured and
fled, still naked, into the cold room.
Nash glanced at the book as he put on
his long leather coat by the door. If she
betrayed his trust, then its invaluable
contents would be lost forever. Perhaps he
should take it with him, just in case her
impulsiveness got the better of her.
“No,” he said to himself. “I trust her.
She won’t burn it if she promised not to.”
He left the book sitting there on his
desk, and departed from the house in
search of the comfort his mother’s words
were sure to bring.
CHAPTER 38
Normally, Nash would have walked into
his mother’s home without a second
thought. He had grown up in this house
after all. He, Cort and their parents shared
innumerable memories in these sturdy
walls, but he hadn’t spoken to his mother
since he’d convinced her to spare
Maralee’s life. He wasn’t sure if she’d
even be willing to talk to him at this point.
He lifted his hand and knocked, stepping
back to wait for her answer. A sudden
urge to light a cigarette drew his hand into
his pocket, but knew that she wouldn’t
appreciate him smoking inside her house.
Stacia opened the door slowly. She
looked terrible. There were dark shadows
beneath her empty amber eyes. Pale and
gaunt, he wondered if she’d eaten or slept
in days.
“Mother, are you ill?” he asked
anxiously.
He was flabbergasted when she burst
into tears and wrapped him in her arms.
“I thought I’d lost you, too,” she
sobbed against his chest.
He touched her hair, his heart panging
unpleasantly. He seemed to have a knack
for making women cry these days.
“Didn’t Rella tell you that I came back
from Sarbough?” he asked, confused as to
why she thought he’d been killed.
“That’s not what I meant,” she
murmured. She stiffened and turned her
back on him, wiping at her tears
impatiently as she went back into her
house and left it up to Nash to follow her
inside.
“Then what?” he asked, stepping into
the house and closing the door behind him.
“You chose a woman over your
family,” she clarified, her moment of
weakness completely gone. “Why are you
here now? What do you want?”
He couldn’t very well admit that he’d
come to ask something of her after that
greeting.
“I just came by to see how you are,”
he said. He noticed the chill in the house
even though he still had his coat on. “It’s
cold in here. Why haven’t you lit a fire?”
“Because my devoted, wood-cutting,
eldest son was killed by your human
friend.”
Stacia’s talent was her ability to cut
her icy words. Her youngest son was no
exception. Nash stared at her wordlessly
for a moment. Anyone would have gladly
chopped wood for her if she’d asked. He
got the feeling she had been waiting for
this moment so she could wound him in
the cruelest way possible.
“You should have told me,” he
murmured. “I’ll go cut some wood for
you.”
He walked through the house and out
the back door into the small yard where
the chopping block stood. He removed his
coat and lit a cigarette before taking up the
ax and splitting the pile of large logs into
usable pieces. He smoked while he
chopped and found the mix of nicotine and
vigorous, violent activity were a great
outlet for his stress. The methodical
thwunk of the ax striking the wood was
calming as well. After he’d produced a
mountain of split logs, he stacked them
neatly against the back of the house. He
then lit another cigarette and sat down on
the chopping block, slightly winded from
his exertions.
He could almost see his brother
standing there, ax in hand, grinning as he
talked to his little brother while he
chopped wood. How many times had they
interacted that way? A hundred times?
More? Nash tossed his cigarette onto the
soggy ground and rubbed his face with
both hands. As unreal as it seemed, Cort
was gone. Nothing would ever bring him
back.
“Come in and have something to eat,”
Stacia said from the open back door.
“Maralee is waiting for me,” he said,
standing up from the chopping block and
reaching for his discarded coat.
“You can’t even take a minute to talk
to your own mother?”
He realized she was trying to make
him feel guilty for ignoring her, but it was
an effectual tactic.
“I suppose I can stay for a while,” he
agreed. “She knows where I am if she
needs me.”
Stacia smiled warmly at him. “Bring
some wood as you come in,” she said and
disappeared back into the house.
He collected a pile of split logs in his
arms and carried them into the house,
arranging them in the wood box by the
fireplace. He lit a fire, carefully tending it
because the split logs were still a bit wet.
“That’s better,” Stacia murmured,
removing her shawl as warmth spread
through the room. “Come, son. Let’s eat.”
The large, main room of the house was
divided into the living area and the dining
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