Bears. Wolves. Ghosts. Demon-hounds. It was impossible to get a clear idea of what was being described when all the stories could only seem to agree that they were “large.”
Abigail sighed and absently twirled a finger through one of her blonde curls, her curiosity hazing her vision as she navigated the streets more out of routine than sight. There was something to the stories; whether or not anybody could agree on what they were, she knew that the beasts had to be real. Whether they were animals or men who’d run off to live like animals in the mountains, she couldn’t be sure, but she was sure that they were out there.
And that certainty only made her that much more eager to see them for herself.
Neither a drunk nor a seeker of attention for boasting exaggerated tales, what she saw with her own eyes would serve to put an end to the nonsense. For her, at least. She’d know better than to challenge the others’ stories once she had her truth—hell, she’d know better than to share that truth with any of them—but when she passed by another boisterous, blundering fool speaking of what they’d seen, she’d be able to roll her eyes and carry on without that irritating spark of curiosity burning away at her attention.
But it wouldn’t be easy.
Abigail’s parents were terrified of the rumors. Moreso, it seemed, than any of the other villagers. If a merchant were to arrive with barrels of ale that they swore would keep the rumored beings away, she was certain her parents would buy out their entire stock and bathe every inch of their home and its occupants in the stuff. The lengths and degrees that their fear of the beasts knew no limits, and if they suspected for even one second that she, their own daughter, held a fraction of the intrigue that she did they’d likely have her locked away, quarantined, and exorcised. At the very least she’d never be allowed out of the house.
Shivering at the thought, Abigail pushed onward, reminded of the lecture she was probably already in store for.
“Abby?” the sound of her friend, Tarah, calling her jostled her out of her thoughts and she turned in greeting.
“Tarah? What are ye doing out this late?”
“Och!” her friend rolled her eyes, “Doctor Spencer didn’t even come in today—prolly drunk off his arse again—and I was stuck handling all o’ his appointments!”
“Oh my… again?” Abigail gave her a sympathetic look.
“Aye, an’ I know better than to think this was the last time.” She muttered and let her head fall back, exhausted. “It wouldn’t be so bad if the others would just take me seriously.”
Abigail offered her a pout. “They still doonat?”
“Doona get me started!” Tarah groaned.
Though she’d proven herself dozens (if not hundreds) of times over to be a better physician than the drunkard whose name hung over the office door, Tarah hadn’t been able to shake the title of “nurse.” Whether this was some sort of unconditional respect to Doctor Spencer or, more likely, that nobody could bring themselves to trust a female doctor was something that went unspoken, but neither of the two saw it as much of a mystery. Worse yet, Doctor Spencer had gained a fair amount of global recognition after convincing Tarah to let him publish several of her theories under his name. Though Abigail couldn’t begin to understand what any of her friend’s findings meant, she knew full well that they were hers, but, despite this, she’d seen no credit or earned no wealth as a result of their publication. Doctor Spencer, on the other hand…
The whole thing made Abigail want to drag the “good doctor” out into the streets by the hair and expose him as the fraud he was, but she knew that doing so would put Tarah out of a job and condemn the village to an incompetent man basking in the role of a martyr.
Tarah yawned and, pulling off her spectacles, rubbed at dark and sunken eyes with the thumb and pointer finger of her opposite hand.
“Ye look like ye haven’t slept in ages!” she frowned. “How long have ye been up?”
“I doona—two days? Maybe three.” Tarah shrugged and looked away, trying to hide her exhausted features from her friend. “The extra appointments kept me from finishing my research, so I had to—”
“Why do ye even bother? He doesn't even give ye credit!”
“It’s no matter if I get credit or no’, Abby. It helps people. Simple as that,” she sighed.
“I suppose… I still canna say I approve of ye hurting yerself like this,” she sighed. “And to be out so late…”
“Oh aye? And what about ye? Prattling on about the hour when yer standin’ here plain as me!” she raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised yer ma hasn’t started hollerin’ for ye yet!” she laughed.
Abigail scowled at that. “I’m surprised she hasn’t called the entire village out on a search.”
Tarah laughed again, then asked, “So why are ye out this late?”
“Same as ye: work.” She gave Tarah a face, “‘Cept I doona get to help people or even take pride in what I do. An’ that’s likely the only reason Ma is alright with it; she can see past me workin’ late so long as she knows I hate it enough to hurry home once it’s done. But that’s where she’s wrong,” Abigail grinned, making up her mind, “because I’m no’ going home yet either.”
“What? It’s nearly dark, Abby! It’s dangerous out now, especially with the…” Tarah paused and looked up at her, her eyes sparkling with suspicion. “Ye wouldn’t be thinking of going out there, would ye?”
“I…” Abigail found herself wondering how Tarah might react to her plans. “I doona know,” she half-confessed. “But even if I was thinking it, I’d be safe!”
“Safe as a mouse in a cat’s claws!” Tarah shook her head. “It is way too dangerous! “Please… doona do it!”
“I havna even thought if I would or no’!” she lied. “Anyway, ye should be getting some rest! Otherwise, ye’ll be of no help to yourself or others… even with yer research!”
“I know…” Tarah nodded, shifting her suspicious gaze back to her. “Ye’ll head right home… promise?”
“Aye! I will! I will! Och, yer worse than my ma! Now go! Off with ye!” Abigail gave Tarah a gentle push away and made a show of starting towards her house.
Tarah’s eyes lingered a moment longer on her, and Abigail wagged her fingers in a playful farewell before turning away and committing to the show of walking home. Then, after a painfully long moment of not looking back, she dared a glance to make sure Tarah was, in fact, out of sight before switching directions and heading towards the outskirts of the village.
As if her curiosity wasn’t enough of a motivator before, she now had a new goal pushing her forward. She was tired of everyone doubting her on her strength and tired of denying her own desires for the sake of others.
She needed to know the truth…
And she had to prove, if only to herself, that she was strong enough to follow through on something for herself.
Besides, she was tired of doing everything she was told.
Taking a deep breath, she set out towards and finally into the forest to sate the curiosity she had been holding back for so long.
Chapter Two
“Where is Grant?” Broden called out to his brothers.
“Ha! At this hour?” Lachlan chuckled, “Most likely in bed with a village wench… as ye should be, as well!”
Broden snarled at that. “Unlike the lot of ye, I take the responsibility of this pack seriously!”
Lachlan pouted. “Responsibility?”
“Aye!” Broden growled, “With Mother and Father away we need to work to stay united; to stay strong!”
“Aye, and we are,” Lachlan assured him, his tone growing serious, though he was still just as relaxed as ever. “Brother, ye know I can help with the pack, why do ye no’ try to relax? Perhaps find a nice lass to—”
“Ye canna say we’re united and strong when the whereabouts of Grant are unknown! An’ ye canna tell me that all will be well with the touch of a simple lass!” He narrowed his eyes. “Do ye truly believe that a lass—any lass
—would want to even look upon me, let alone share a bed with me?”
“Aye, I do, brother. The girls these days, they’re into scars. Find ‘em sexy, they do! But that’s not what’s stoppin’ ye, no’ really!” Lachlan glared. “Ye keep denying yerself! If no’ lying with a lass, then at least go find something to eat! The ladies won’t mind the scars, but a skinny twig of a man—”
“I am no man!” Broden snapped.
“Then yer a starved mongrel, and neither man nor mutt has earned a lass’s love as nothin’ but skin and bones! Go! Eat! Ye look like death!”
“I will eat when there’s enough for me to eat!” he shook his head.
Lachlan rolled his eyes. “There’s enough for the rest of us to eat.”
“Aye! Because I doona eat any there is enough!” Broden defended. “I always eat last, brother. And if there is no food left, then I will go without!” He hurried to turn away. “Now I’m going out to find our brother!”
As Broden made his way out of the cave, he spotted Lyle and Kade lying atop the mouth of their cave, their legs swaying just in front of its opening. Passing them by, he gave them a single nod, which they returned before returning their gazes on the horizon; keeping a lookout. He considered giving them the added order of keeping a lookout for Grant, but thought better of it. After all, what sort of job would they be doing of keeping an eye out for anything if they had to be told to keep an eye out for something?
Besides, he knew full-well that Grant wouldn’t just be sauntering back on his own.
Heaven forbid he make life that simple.
Heaven forbid anything be that simple.
Simple would have been a pack that knew its place; a pack that worked as a unit.
Simple would have been brothers that knew that there was a time for play… and a time to pray.
Simple would have been… well, simple.
The village was already growing suspicious of what they’d deemed their beast problem. That there’d been “beasts” roaming those Scottish hills since before their granddads had been fitted for their first kilts was a lost fact to them. Or the fact that the beasts hadn’t been able to call upon their beast forms for an entire generation. For all intents and purposes, there had been no beasts for over two decades, and yet now—now, after centuries of Broden’s family keeping themselves hidden from the humans; now that they were all broken and unable to assume their true forms—the humans were practically rabid about the monsters lurking about the outskirts. It was their beast problem now, and, despite Broden and his brothers being unable to occupy that role like all their kin before them, that made it a problem for them, too; made it a problem for their pack.
A village on high-alert for beasties made for paranoid, trigger-happy villagers. It made the innocent process of sneaking in for the bare minimum nearly impossible. Before, their kin could come and go with relative ease—slap down the furs from their hunts or the gold and valuables of the bandits who’d been foolish enough to escape their raids up in those hills—and none would question them as they bartered for supplies. But times changed. Men wandering down from the mountains with the bounty of the land or the wears of the dishonest made for wary merchants. And now that there were beasts up in those hills… well, none would believe an outsider who wandered in for grain or wool or a spot of mead if they claimed to live elsewhere, especially if they claimed to live out there. Yes, times changed, and the time of casual travelers and innocent bartering had changed to a time of suspicion and, for Broden and his brothers, a time of thievery.
But they only took what was needed!
And only the bare minimum!
Broden growled and clenched his fists at his side.
Except for Grant…
Grant, who interpreted “bare minimum” as the number of layers worn by a member of the fairer sex and “what was needed” as challenge to ensure that his fleshy saber was sheathed more often than not. Simple would have been simple—aye!—and with Grant gallivanting off to bed wife and daughter alike of a suspicious and paranoid village was so far from simple that Broden was certain his daft brother wouldn’t know the word if it was painted on a board and broken over the top of his head.
Which was exactly what he was poised to do at that point.
Nevermind that, despite all his efforts at keeping their pack united and safe and fed, it should have been him down there pursuing the attention of a lass—no, not just any, though; the lass. His lass. Teeming with responsibilities, it was the demand to find a mate—undeniably the most important responsibility, as far as his father was concerned—that he could not bring himself to tackle. He gazed downward as he made his way towards the village. He was the oldest, and, as such, he was expected to find his mate first. More than just the expectations of a boastful family, finding his mate—the one that fit him as perfectly as a key to the lock holding within it treasures beyond fathom—was to be the first step towards breaking their family’s curse. He’d heard it his entire life:
“Find yer one and we might be free of this damnation yet!”
Now he wasn't sure…
Being the oldest meant more than superstitious expectations or romantic fantasies. It meant being the strongest, it meant making sacrifices, and it meant going without so that his younger brothers wouldn’t have to. And on the occasions that he’d encountered a woman with an eye to see past his scars or his glower, he’d often shrug her aside for the momentary pleasures of his brothers. Or he’d go completely unaware. Then, scaling the hills once more, he’d hear all about his missed chance from one of his other brothers, who’d then explain that Grant had scooped up what he had not and would likely be a while longer in the village. Every year, he grew more hopeless in the search for a mate. Because of this, it had become that much easier to pass off the demand; to focus on his responsibilities as the eldest brother. And, as such, none was surprised to see him skip meals to preserve supplies or go uncaring about his looks as he leapt into certain peril against bandit and beast alike to keep the others safe. It was simple, he realized, to excuse his responsibility to breaking the family’s curse by shadowing it under the immediate demands of their pack.
Nevermind that the latter was purposefully holding him back from the former.
But still the guilt of his parents’ demands clung to him. Until he found his soul mate, they’d never be whole. He was to be the first link in the chain, and without a lass—the lass—under his arm, that chain would never have a chance to even begin. And their damnation would stretch on because of it…
“HELP! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP!”
Broden found himself in a sprint across the hilltop before he’d fully registered the cries. So long he’d been immersing himself in the role of the protector that instinct outweighed all question of who he was protecting… or from what.
Such was the urgency in the cries, which sent a chill of terror rolling down his back the likes of which he’d not known in some time. And the terror elated him. He’d allowed himself to become a rock, turned his mind into such an emotionless void focused on structure and demand that it only recognized anger and boredom.
But this voice—these cries—made him feel alive again.
It sparked something inside him he thought long gone.
And whatever threatened it would be torn apart!
Grass and stone pitched underfoot as his legs pumped, his previously bored muscles aching with the glorious demand. Broden was practically soaring across the highlands. The fibers of his being—the very threads that seemed to stitch him together—were pulled taut and thrumming with excitement.
Had terror always felt this good?
Round a great boulder, under a rocky overpass, into the sea of blackness where the canopy of trees swallowed the light of the spilled-milk moon. Moss underfoot, vines hanging—as though for a better look at his passing—from the outstretched branches. The sounds of the woods called to him; heeded him. Told him he was home. These calls, and the ongoing cries, seemed to echo a name that
was his… and at the same time not. Something in him—something he, himself, had never known—felt the call.
And he let it answer.
A sound emanated from deep within his chest, something he neither could nor cared to identify.
Ahead of him, a great river roared and rolled alongside a looming cliff, its waters sloshing along the opposite bank before arching sharply into a waterfall that carried it over the edge like a lover succumbing to their better half. Broden leapt the first and fell into a dive over the second.
Water swallowed him like a hungry mouth, his body slicing through its depths until he emerged from the bank, returning to his sprint and letting the kisses of lake water roll off of him. Ahead of him, the moonlight and the cries called him out and back into the vast expanse of the opposite side of the hilltop, where the sharp inclines and weak roots made the landscape undesirable for any who didn’t wish to plummet to certain death.
At first he saw nothing but the vast blanket of the starry sky and the jagged earth that led, far below, to a rocky chasm.
Then… movement!
Moonlit Seduction (A Hunter's Moon Curse Book 1) Page 2
