Enthralled

by Lora Leigh

  “Just you, Georgie. And you loving me even half as much as I love you.”

  “I love you twice as much as that.” And her heart was bursting with it. Smiling, she pushed his coat down his arms. “Is there anything you want to do?”

  He grinned and rocked up beneath her. “I want to make you my queen.”

  “Thom!” She laughed, her face hot. “I’m sure we’ll do plenty of that.”

  “Soon.” His expression gentling, he softly kissed her. “You’re the one person I care about proving myself to, Georgie. And yet you make me feel like I don’t have to.”

  “You don’t have to. You already have, over and over.”

  “And I’m not going to stop now.” And he seemed to be thinking her question over again now, his brow creased in a thoughtful frown. “I do like diving. And I enjoyed working with Ivy.” His hand smoothed down her suddenly tense back. “I’m not saying I want to go off and do it again. I’m saying that I liked tinkering, and putting that submersible together with her. I could make more of them, test them in local waters, sell them.”

  “You’d like that?”

  “I would.”

  Then it sounded perfect to her. “We could build a workshop for you next to the house. Or in town, by my offices.”

  “I’d like that, too. And I’ll figure out how to help you take care of our children—and learn to read and write a bit, so that I can send you love notes and make up for all the messages I never sent before.”

  Her heart swelled. “I’ll send some to you, as well.”

  “And I’ll make a better man of myself.”

  “Oh, Thom. You’re the best man I know. You couldn’t be any better.”

  He lowered his lips to hers, said softly against them, “You’re wrong, Georgie.”

  Smiling, she wound her arms around his shoulders. “You’ll have to stay around to prove me wrong.”

  “I will. You wait and see. You’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

  She’d never try. “Is that your new promise? Because my new promise is that I’m never going to be separated from you again.”

  “It is, Georgie.” His voice roughened. “I swear it.”

  “And is there any chance you’ll ever break it?”

  “None at all.”

  “Then I was wrong, Thom,” she said, and leaned in for another kiss. “Sometimes, no chance is better than some.”

  ECSTASY UNDER THE MOON

  A Children of the Moon Novella

  LUCY MONROE

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  This Children of the Moon story occurs in the years between Moon Burning and Dragon’s Moon. It’s a stand-alone romance, but perhaps it will give you insight into how difficult it is for the Éan to make the transition to the clans you read about in Dragon’s Moon. Una and Bryant are very dear to my heart and their story was an emotional one for me to write. Enjoy!

  Hugs,

  Lucy

  PROLOGUE

  THE BEGINNING

  Millennia ago God created a race of people so fierce even their women were feared in battle. These people were warlike in every way, refusing to submit to the rule of any but their own . . . no matter how large the forces sent to subdue them. Their enemies said they fought like animals. Their vanquished foe said nothing, for they were dead.

  They were considered a primitive and barbaric people because they marred their skin with tattoos of blue ink. The designs were simple at first, a single beast depicted in unadorned outline over their hearts. The leaders were marked with bands around their arms with symbols that told of their strength and prowess in battle. Mates were marked to show their bond.

  And still, their enemies were never able to discover the meanings of any of the blue-tinted tattoos.

  Some surmised they were symbols of their warlike nature, and in that they would be partially right. For the beasts represented a part of themselves these fierce and independent people kept secret at the pain of death. It was a secret they had kept for the centuries of their existence, while most migrated across the European landscape to settle in the inhospitable north of Scotland.

  Their Roman enemies called them Picts, a name accepted by the other peoples of their land and lands south . . . they called themselves the Chrechte.

  Their animal-like affinity for fighting and conquest came from a part of their nature their fully human counterparts did not enjoy. For these fierce people were shape-changers.

  The bluish tattoos on their skin were markings given as a rite of passage when they made their first shift. Some men had control of that change. Some did not, subject to the power of the full moon until participating in the sacred act of sex. The females of all the races both experienced their first shift into animal form and gained control thereafter with the coming of their first menses.

  Some shifted into wolves, others big cats of prey and yet others into the larger birds—the eagle, hawk and raven.

  The one thing all Chrechte shared in common was that they did not reproduce as quickly or prolifically as their fully human brothers and sisters. Although they were a fearsome race and their cunning enhanced by an understanding of nature most humans could not possess, they were not foolhardy and were not ruled by their animal natures.

  One warrior could kill a hundred of his foe, but should she or he die before having offspring, the death would lead to an inevitable shrinking of the race. Some Pictish clans and those recognized by other names in other parts of the world had already died out rather than submit to the inferior, but multitudinous, humans around them.

  The Faol of Scotland’s Highlands were too smart to face the end of their race rather than blend. These wolf shifters saw the way of the future. In the ninth century AD, Keneth MacAlpin ascended to the Scottish throne. Of Faol Chrechte descent through his mother, nevertheless, his human nature had dominated.

  He was not capable of “the change,” but that did not stop him from laying claim to the Pictish throne (as it was called then) as well. In order to guarantee his kingship, he betrayed his Chrechte brethren at a dinner, killing all of the remaining royals of their people—and forever entrenched a distrust of humans by their Chrechte counterparts.

  Despite this distrust but bitterly aware of the cost of MacAlpin’s betrayal, the Faol of the Chrechte realized that they could die out fighting an ever-increasing and encroaching race of humanity, or they could join the Celtic clans.

  They joined.

  As far as the rest of the world knew, though much existed to attest to their former existence, what had been considered the Pictish people were no more.

  Because it was not in their nature to be ruled by any but their own, within two generations, the Celtic clans that had assimilated the Chrechte were ruled by shape-changing clan chiefs who shared their natures with wolves. Though most of the fully human among them did not know it, a sparse few were entrusted with the secrets of their kinsmen. Those that did were aware that to betray the code of silence meant certain and immediate death.

  Stories of other shifter races, the Éan and Paindeal, were told around the campfire, or to the little ones before bed. However, since the wolves had not seen a shifter except their own in generations, they began to believe the other races only a myth.

  But myths did not take to the sky on black wings glinting an iridescent blue under the sun. Myths did not live as ghosts in the forest, but breathing air just as any other man or animal. The Éan were no myth; they were birds with abilities beyond that of merely changing their shape.

  Many could be forgiven for believing tales of their prince nothing more than legend. For who had heard of a man shifting not only into the form of a raven but that of the mystic dragon from ancient tales as well?

  ONE

  The Forests of the Éan, Highlands of Scotland

  1144 AD, Reign of Dabíd mac Maíl Choluim, King of Scots, and the Reign of Prince Eirik Taran Gra Gealach, Ruler of the Éan

  Una stood in shock, terror coursing
through her like fire in her veins, burning away reason, destroying the façade of peace she had worked so hard to foster for the past five years.

  Her eagle screamed to be released. She wanted to take to the skies and fly as far as her wings could carry her until the sun sank over the waters and the moon rose and set again in the sky.

  The high priestess, Anya Gra, smiled on the assembled Éan like she had not just made a pronouncement that could well spell their doom.

  Faol were coming here? To the forest of the Éan? To their homeland kept secret for generations. For very good reason.

  Reason Una had learned to appreciate to the very marrow of her bones five years before.

  “No,” she whispered into air laden with smoke from the feast’s cooking fires. “This cannot be.”

  Other noises of dissent sounded around her, but her mind could not take them in. It was too busy replaying images she’d tried to bury under years of proper and obedient behavior. Years of not taking chances and staying far away from the human clans that had once intrigued her so.

  She’d even avoided Lais, one of the few other eagle shifters among her people. Because he’d come from the outside. From the clan of the Donegal, the clan that spawned devils who called themselves men.

  She’d not spoken to him once in the three years he’d lived among their people.

  The grumbling around Una grew to such a level, even her own tormented thoughts could not keep it out.

  For the first time in her memory, the Éan of their tribe looked on their high priestess with disfavor. Many outright glared at the woman whose face might be lined with age, but maintained a translucent beauty that proclaimed her both princess and spiritual leader.

  Others were yelling their displeasure toward the prince of the people, but their monarch let no emotion show on his handsome though young features. He merely looked on, his expression stoic, his thoughts hidden behind his amber gaze.

  The dissension grew more heated. This was unheard of. In any other circumstance, Una would have been appalled by the behavior of her fellow Chrechte, but not this day.

  She hoped beyond hope that the anger and dissent would sway their leaders toward reason.

  “Enough!” The prince’s sudden bellow was loud and commanding despite the fact he was only a few summers older than Una.

  Silence fell like the blacksmith’s anvil.

  Emotion showed now, his amber eyes glowing like the sacred stone during a ceremony. “We have had the Faol among us on many occasions these past three years.”

  Those wolves had only come to visit. Una, and many like her—justifiably frightened by the race that had done so much to eradicate their own, had stayed away from the visitors. She’d avoided all contact and had not even stolen so much as a peek at any of them.

  Not like when she was younger and let her curiosity rule her common sense.

  But Anya Gra said these ones, these emissaries from the Sinclair, Balmoral and Donegal clans, would live among the Éan for the foreseeable future.

  Live. Among. Them. With no end in sight.

  Una’s breath grew shorter as panic clawed at her insides with the sharpness of her eagle’s talons.

  “It is time the Chrechte brethren are reunited.” Prince Eirik’s tone brooked no argument. “It has been foretold that this is the only chance for our people to survive as a race. Do you suddenly doubt the visions of your high priestess?”

  Many shook their head, but not Una. Because for the first time in her life, she did doubt the wisdom of the woman who had led their people spiritually since before Una was born.

  “Emissaries are coming to live among us, to learn our ways and teach us the way of the Faol.” This time it was another of the royal family who spoke, the head healer. “We will all benefit.”

  “We know the way of the Faol,” one brave soul shouted out. “They kill, maim and destroy the Éan. That is the way of the Faol.”

  “Not these wolves. The Balmoral, the Sinclair and the Donegal lairds are as committed to keeping our people safe as I am.” The prince’s tone rang with sincerity.

  The man believed his own words. That was clear.

  But Una couldn’t bring herself to do so. No wolf would ever care for the Éan as a true brother. It was not in their violent, often sadistic and deceitful natures.

  “It is only a few among the Faol today who would harm our people. Far more would see us joined with the clans for our safety and all our advantage.”

  Join with the clans? Who had conceived of that horrific notion? First they were talking about having wolves come to live among them, and now their leaders were mentioning leaving the forest so the Éan could join the clans?

  Una’s eagle fought for control, the desperate need to get away growing with each of her rapid heartbeats.

  “In the future, we will have no choice,” Anya Gra said, as if reading Una’s mind. “But for this moment in time, we must only make these few trustworthy wolves welcome among us.”

  Only? There was no only about it. This thing the royal family asked, it was monumental. Beyond terrifying.

  It was impossible.

  “You ask too much.” The sound of Una’s father’s voice brought a mixture of emotions, as it always did.

  Guilt. Grief. Relief. Safety.

  Stooped from the grievous wound he had received at the hands of the Faol when rescuing Una from their clutches, he nevertheless made an imposing figure as he pushed his way toward the prince and priestess.

  The leather patch covering the eye he’d lost in the same battle gave her father a sinister air she knew to be false. He was the best of men.

  And forever marred by wounds that would never allow him to take to the skies again . . . because of her.

  “You ask us to make welcome those who did this,” he gestured toward himself in a way he would never usually do.

  He ignored his disfigurements and expected others to do the same.

  “Nay.” The prince’s arrogant stance was far beyond his years, but entirely fitting his station as the leader of their people. “I demand you make welcome wolves who would die to protect you from anything like that happening again.”

  “Die, for the likes of me?” her father scoffed. “That would be a fine day, indeed, would it not? When a wolf would die to protect a bird.”

  “Do you doubt my desire to protect you and all of my people?” the prince demanded, with a flicker of vulnerability quickly gone from his amber eyes.

  “Nay. My prince, you love us as your father did before you, but this? This risk you would take with all our safety, it is foolishness.”

  Suddenly Anya Gra was standing right in front of Una’s father, her expression livid, no desire for conciliation in evidence at all. “Fionn, son of Micael, You dare call me foolish?”

  Oh, the woman was beyond angry. Even more furious than Una’s father had a wont to get.

  “Nay, Priestess. Your wisdom has guided our people for many long years.”

  “Then, it is my visions you doubt,” the celi di accused with no less fury in her tone.

  Una’s father shook his head vigorously. “Your visions have always been right and true.”

  “Then you, and all those who stand before me today,” she said, including everyone at the feast with her sharp raven’s stare. “All of my people will give these wolves a chance to prove that not every Faol would murder us in our sleep.”

  “And if you are wrong? If they turn on us?” her father dared to question.

  Una’s respect for her parent grew. It took great strength to stand up to Anya Gra, spiritual leader and one of the oldest among them.

  “Then I will cast my fire and destroy their clans without mercy,” the prince promised in a tone no one, not even her stalwart father, could deny.

  Her father nodded, though he looked no happier by the assurance. “Aye, that’s the right of it then.”

  Prince Eirik let his gaze encompass the whole of their community, his expression one of unequivocal cert
ainty. “I will always protect my people to the best of my ability. Welcoming these honorable men is part of that.”

  Una noted how he continued to push forth the message that these wolves were good men, trustworthy and honorable.

  He was her prince and she should believe him.

  But she couldn’t.

  She knew the truth. Not that she hated all wolves. That would make her like the Faol who had taken her and done the horrible things they had done with every intention of killing her in the end, as they would kill any Éan they came across.

  No, she would not share the unreasoning prejudices of her enemy and hate an entire race, making no distinctions between individuals.

  But she could not trust them, either.

  TWO

  Bryant and his companions rode into the clearing deep in the forest. Their guide, Circin of the Donegal clan, pulled his horse to a stop without a sound.

  The six Faol soldiers also pulled their horses to a stop.

  “Now what?” Donnach, the other Balmoral wolf sent by their laird to act as diplomat to the Éan, asked.

  “We wait,” Circin said, his youth belied by his confidence.

  In line to be the next leader of the Donegal clan once the acting laird, Barr, had trained him to his station as both laird and pack alpha, the youth was an extremely rare shifter with two animals. Not that Circin’s triple nature was common knowledge, but Bryant and the others, if they were looking, had witnessed the other man shift into his raven the night before.

  Since Circin’s clan believed him to be wolf, that meant the Chrechte had a dual animal nature: both Faol and Éan.

  “Why aren’t you one of the emissaries?” Bryant asked him.

  He would think a man who shared his nature with both a raven and a wolf would make a better bridge for the gap between the two races than a pure wolf.

  “I lived among the Éan for a year after Barr married Sabrine, but I told no one except the prince and Anya Gra of my wolf. We all felt it best at the time.”