The Last Vessel (The Chronicles of Luna Moon Book 1)

by Winter Rose

  The Last Vessel

  The Chronicles of Luna Moon

  Winter Rose

  Copyright Winter Rose ©

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, incidents and events are either a product of the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by electronical or mechanical means, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations for book reviews and articles.

  Copyright infringement is illegal. Thank you for not participating or supporting piracy.

  Cover artist: Nichole Witholder of Rainy Day Artwork

  Editor: Denise Krekling of Serious Moonlight Editing

  Formatter: Denise Krekling of Serious Moonlight Editing

  Men are so quick to blame the gods: they say that we devise their misery. But they themselves—in their depravity—design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns

  Homer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For my wonderful mum. You are the badass heroine in my story.

  Thank you for teaching me that my dreams are limitless, that I can do anything that I put my mind to and for never letting me quit.

  Chapter One

  Luna

  “I swear I’m cursed,” I whispered as I tried to detach myself from the vines that crawled up the side of this ridiculous castle. One was entangled in my hair, preventing me from scaling the building any further.

  Heady perfume from the flowers below filled the air, tickling my nose. Why they planted flowers there, I will never understand. Spikes would have been more practical.

  I tried to remove my hair tie, freeing myself, before one of the guards noticed my presence, and my mission was over before it even began. My leather gloves made this maneuver a hell of a lot more difficult, and the tie plummeted into one of the ostentatiously pruned rose bushes forty feet below.

  “Shit,” I groaned, “definitely cursed.”

  My long hair unraveled, tickling the bottom of my back as I freed myself and continued the climb. Great, like this wasn’t impossible enough already, I internally grumbled.

  A soft glow came from the balcony above as the wind carried the faint sounds of music and laughter from the party below. Grabbing onto a stone pillar, I pulled myself upward until I was straddling the railing, my sore muscles groaning from the brutality that the Trial Month was putting them through.

  A prickling sensation swept over me. Slowly, I shifted so that I could get a bird’s-eye view of the grounds below. I looked down across the gardens with my senses heightened, watching and listening for any sign that I was followed.

  A high-pitched squeal shifted my attention to the leafy maze below as a young woman in a baby pink chiffon gown stumbled into an opening.

  “Emilia,” a deep voice bellowed, “come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  A tall, thin man walked toward the entrance of the maze, drink in hand. He wore a kilt; the gold chains that covered his chest and back indicated that he was a high-ranking clan member. I allowed myself a moment’s hesitation to wonder what it would be like to have a man chase after me at a party—to be normal just for once.

  Mentally, I shook myself; they would like that—for me to get distracted, or worse, give up. This was how I was going to prove myself, how I would make them see that I’m just as good, if not better than any man.

  “Let’s just get this stupid thing over with, and then I can finally go to bed,” I grumbled.

  Lifting my other leg over the railing, I silently planted both feet on the balcony. I crept across to one of the open wooden doors and peered into someone’s living quarters.

  A large open fire licked at an imposing stone fireplace adorned with a stag’s head. His eyes were frozen, his mouth open in a silent scream. Furs and tartan blankets draped across a giant four poster bed, proudly announcing the clan of its owner.

  Next to the bed, there was an ornate wooden table with a golden pitcher and a matching chalice full of a deep ruby wine. The spicy smell reached my nose, and my throat dried in response. How long has it been since I ate or drank anything?

  Slowly, I crept around to the desk, looking for any indication of what I was here for. Over the years, I had learned to trust in my instincts, and the invisible sense within told me that my target wasn’t far away.

  Opening each drawer silently, I prayed to the gods that my mission would be easy.

  “Nothing is ever easy,” I grumbled as my eyes darted around the chamber. In a dark corner I spotted a wooden door slightly ajar; with my interest piqued, I crept toward it.

  The doorway led into a tunnel carved from the mountain that the castle was built upon. Never being one to curb curiosity, I sidestepped further into the tunnel with my back pressed against the cool stone.

  Hot steam billowed toward me, and my skin puckered in response. With my senses on high alert and my hand against the hilt of my knife, I knew that if anyone was in here, I would silence them before they had the chance to realize that they had even seen me.

  The further I traveled, the more difficult it became to navigate through the dense fog. Eventually, the tunnel opened into a larger area. Keeping my back flush with the stone, I crouched and squinted, allowing my eyes to adjust in the blinding haze.

  I inhaled the steam that crawled toward a domed ceiling decorated with colorful paintings; the heady scent of spicy soaps and oils filled my lungs. The heat from the blazing fire in the corner caused steam to tickle the back of my neck, and beads of sweat began to roll down my spine. I tiptoed further into the room, ignoring the way my throat closed uncomfortably and made sure the shadows forgotten by the candlelight hid my leather-clad body.

  Some of the air shifted, and my eyes grew accustomed to their surroundings. A large hot spring bath, big enough to fit ten full-grown shifter males, dominated the entire space. Hot, fresh spring water trickled in from the side of the limestone; its sound promised to melt away the troubles of all who entered.

  Out the corner of my eye, I saw a flicker of movement.

  My eyes darted across the room to a figure in the water. His broad, tattooed shoulders gleamed against the moonlight that poured in from the center of the domed roof. Sat on a ledge at the side of the bath, his back was to me; his dark hair piled sloppily into a bun at the top of his head.

  Internally, I groaned, cursing the curiosity that allowed me
to be so reckless. What was I thinking—walking into a room without realizing that someone else was in there?

  Backing out of the room, I was about to turn away when something shiny caught my eye. Across the water, on the other side of the room, was the metal medallion on a table. Its symbols were etched in my mind. This was why I was here. There was no way in the Underworld I was going to be able to get across the room without the man realizing. I needed to come up with a plan, but I had no idea where to start.

  I tucked myself into the shadows, making my body as small as possible, while I went over my options. Brute force was off the table. Although I was skilled in combat, I knew the probability of overpowering this Adonis of a man was unlikely. Not without knocking him out first, which taking into account the water, I didn’t want to do because he would probably drown before I could drag him out.

  Nobody needs to die tonight.

  Shuffling feet drew my attention away from my plotting as three women walked into the room. They each wore opaque shifts, allowing a generous view of their soft, delicate bodies. Their hair was woven with various flowers and leaves, almost creating the image of a crown adorning their heads.

  “Milord,” the middle girl spoke up. She looked a few years older than me. Her red hair reminded me of fire, a color I had yet to see before today. “May we do anything for you?” Her suggestive tone caused bile to rise in my throat, and my eyes rolled at how ridiculous she sounded.

  “Leave!” the man growled. His deep bass reverberated across the room, causing the three women to scurry into the tunnel.

  As I squinted through the clouds of steam, I saw that the man hadn’t moved from his earlier position. The only indication he was alive was the rise and fall of his broad shoulders as he breathed.

  The medallion gleamed once more as if to taunt me. This was the only thing that stood in my way now. The previous tasks that I had completed paled into insignificance.

  Noises from the next room indicated that the three women were still in there, and a plan formulated in my mind, causing me to groan internally. Great. I was about to become my own worst nightmare...

  I retreated into the bedroom once more, trying to figure out where the women had gone. I crept further into the doorway, only to find the redhead alone, on top of the bed with her eyes closed. A smile spread across my face. This will be all too easy. Forcing her to retrieve the medallion for me was dangerous, and she would probably be all overdramatic if I threatened her life, giving the whole thing away.

  I crawled toward the bed on my stomach. Making my way to the side where her pale arm dangled as she rested—I silently sent my thanks to the goddesses. Reaching for my pack, I pulled out a wicked looking spike and pierced her skin with a fast-acting poison that should keep her in a deep slumber for the next few hours.

  After a few moments, her breathing evened out, and I dragged her under the bed before dressing myself in her pointless shift.

  Standing up to investigate my reflection in the brass plate on the wall, I ran my hands through my long, raven hair. Gods, please don’t let him realize that it isn’t topped with a stupid flower crown.

  My eyes traveled over my reflection; my body was nothing like the other women’s. Where theirs were soft, mine was strong, more dangerous. Years of training meant that my body was athletic, not overly muscular like a man’s, but definitely tight. My chest was ample. I often joked with Sarah that I would start binding my breasts so that running would not be so uncomfortable.

  I sighed and straightened my spine, putting a halt to the internal chatter that would ultimately talk me out of this insane plan. They gave me this mission because they knew it was impossible—the bastards. They didn’t think that I belonged in The League because I was a woman.

  Well, I was about to do something that only a woman could do.

  Breathing out all doubt, I straightened my spine, and with my head held high, I walked straight into the bathing room.

  Chapter Two

  The spicy smell hit me once more as the tingling steam pulsed around my body, causing the dress to cling to my sensitive skin.

  “Milord,” I tried to imitate fire hair without gagging. Yes, fire hair was now the redheaded bimbo’s new name. “Is there anything I can do for you?” A growl tore from the man’s lips, and his voice rumbled around the cavern.

  “I said leave!” He twisted around; his muscles coiled like a cobra ready to pounce.

  Years of training had me in a fighting stance quicker than my brain could remind me that I was playing the role of the damsel.

  His eyes were fire, and his expression murderous. My heart hammered against my chest as I shifted my position and tried to look as innocent as possible. His golden gaze was so intense that I felt it penetrate every inch of me.

  With a ragged intake of breath, a shudder ran through his body.

  “Who are you?” he whispered. His full lips stayed open like they had more to say, but nothing came out. The silence lasted longer than comfortable. Running water was the only sound that echoed around the cavern. I forced myself to focus on the mosaic floor while my foggy brain tried to formulate a plan. I didn’t dare look up. His eyes were so intense; I was sure he would be able to read my thoughts.

  A splash drew my gaze back toward him; his arms had dropped back into the water, causing a small tsunami. I looked over his face, his jaw was square, complemented by high cheekbones. He had a neat and glossy beard. My fingers twitched at the sight of the dark hair against his pale skin. His nose was straight, his nostrils flared and his eyes … oh gods, those eyes. They were the color of burning amber and framed with quizzical brows. His whole face was perfectly symmetrical, his gaze questioning me.

  I pulled my hair over my shoulder, my skin flushed from the steam and his gaze flickered to where my hair once lay. He took one step toward me, and my body tensed once more. I breathed out, trying to gain some composure, but the intensity that this man carried was tangible. My lungs struggled to refill.

  “I have never seen you before,” his voice rumbled.

  “I … I am new,” I stuttered. Clever, Luna. “I was sent.” Very articulate.

  He walked further toward me, and my heart tripled in speed. He has seen into your ruse, my inner voice taunted. I scanned the room to find something, anything, that was heavy enough to knock him out. Boldly, I walked across the cool, damp floor tiles. Praying that I was as graceful as the other women, I tried to not fall on my arse.

  Those intense eyes never left me. As though an invisible cord attached us, he glided toward me; his powerful body was leaving a wake of water behind him.

  I reached a wall; it had been sculpted with grooves that acted as shelves. I looked across the shelves at the many glass vials containing colorful liquids, trying to find a possible weapon, and wondering if the knife between my cleavage was long enough to pass through the thick muscle in his chest. Looking at him now, I doubted that it could ever do enough damage. This man seemed indestructible.

  I walked toward the furthest shelf conveniently placed near the medallion. I inspected each vial as if they were the most interesting thing in the worlds. I glanced back at the man to find that he was still standing in the same spot, eyes burning with curiosity.

  I gulped, taking in a deep breath; my chest rose and fell, and he noticed.

  “What is your name?” His deep voice was a sharp contrast from the soft sounds of trickling water. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Luna.” I winced. I just told him my real name; what in the worlds was I thinking?

  “Luna,” he spoke my name as if it was a prayer, caressing every syllable. Oh gods, I really need to go.

  “Join me, Luna,” he breathed as one half of his face rose in a roguish half smile that revealed a perfect dimple.

  Of course he has dimples … I’m screwed.

  Getting in there was out of the question, but I could not leave without the medallion. I moved my body so that my left arm was behind me, and my back pressed against the tab
le. The cool metal of the medallion bit into my fingertips. The only plan I could formulate was knocking him out long enough to climb back down the castle, but I would need to find something heavy.

  On the table next to the medallion, a gold pitcher filled with the spicy red wine and two goblets sat on a tray. I pulled my fingers away from the cool metal surface of the medallion and turned to face the table. I made sure my movements were sure and steady as I lifted the pitcher, making it look like I was considering his offer as I made us both a drink. I tried to hide my delight when I discovered how heavy it was.

  With my back facing the man and my body hiding my actions, I slipped the medallion into one of the goblets before pouring the wine into each of them. This could work if I caught the man off guard, and the only way I can imagine doing that is by getting in that gods be damned bath with him. Trying not to growl at the turn of events, I turned back around holding the tray.

  Attempting my best seductive smile, I ran over possible scenarios in my head as I edged closer. If I strike his temple that would give me at least a couple of minutes. His face was impassive, but his eyes blazed brighter the closer I came toward him.

  “Milord …” a gravelly voice groaned into the room. The man snarled and tore his gaze away from me, to the voice that was echoing into the cave. Smite me down now, please don’t let it be her. How was she already awake? Without another thought, I bolted.