Crescent Rogue
The Crescent Witch Chronicles - Prequel
Nicole R. Taylor
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
The Crescent Witch Chronicles
About Nicole
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The Witch Hunter Saga
Crescent Rogue (The Crescent Witch Chronicles Prequel) by Nicole R. Taylor
Copyright © 2017-18 by Nicole R. Taylor
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Rebecca Frank Art
Formatting: Nicole R. Taylor
www.nicolertaylorwrites.com
[email protected]
Chapter 1
I was running.
Placing one paw in front of the other, I hurdled over fallen logs, wove through russet-colored ferns, and dodged trickling streams. I was lightning across the landscape, darkness nipping at my heels. Wolves were leaping behind me, saliva flying from their snapping jaws as they gained on my sleek form.
Red fur flew as jagged teeth crunched around my hind leg, and I yelped, twisting and rolling. Forcing the will to escape through my body, my bones snapped, and my fur began to grow.
Then I was flying, my wings beating faster and faster until I broke through the forest canopy and into the night sky, leaving the wolves behind on the ground below. Before long, black shadows broke away from the darkness above and fell, darting past my beak and buffeting my small body.
Danger! It permeated every sense, and I knew they would kill me if I were caught.
I dove, spiraling and zigzagging across the sky, the shadows bubbling and bulging until they formed the shape of a hundred inky ravens. As they whipped past me, their beaks and claws tore at my fragile wings, pulling feathers free and drawing blood. A shrill peal of alarm pierced the air, my beak opening and snapping at my attackers.
They buffeted me from side to side, swarming and smothering until I closed my wings and dove. My neck extended, my body straightened, and I broke through the trees and collided with a branch. There was a shower of leaves as I tumbled, slamming into another bough, and then another before slamming onto the forest floor. I rolled, my bones snapping and changing, stars bursting through my vision and fire tearing through my body.
The world spun, tumbling over and over, and then I was flat on my face, coming to an ungraceful stop in a clearing. Covering my face with my arms, a strangled moan tore from my lips, but the ravens didn’t come. Peering at the sky, it was clear. The only thing that bore witness to the abrupt end to my flight was the thousands of stars twinkling down on me.
My hands curled through the undergrowth, dirt lodging under broken fingernails and leaf litter scratching against my palms. I was a man again, but how I knew was a mystery. The first thing I remembered was the four red paws of a fox and the white, speckled wings of a gyrfalcon. I was all three of those things, but I couldn’t remember why.
Ahead, I heard the constant sound of crashing water. It was falling from a great height, slamming into a pool below, and the hiss of the wet spray showering on the rocks was barely audible above the din. Beside me was the snarled trunk of an ancient hawthorn tree, its branches bowing over the edge of the clearing like an umbrella.
When I rolled over, everything hurt. From the tips of my toes to the very hair on my head, there was pain. Moaning, I was aware I was completely naked, my skin bare to the sky above…and I was bleeding from what felt like a thousand cuts. The ravens had almost torn me limb from limb, but why?
Why?
Rustling drew my attention to the edge of the clearing, and my head snapped up. I almost expected the wolf pack to step from the darkness, their silver eyes glowing, their jaws snapping and thirsting for the kill, but it wasn’t the wolves at all.
It was a woman. She was tall and slender, and her black hair was flecked with strands of silver. As she stepped into the moonlight, the air seemed to shimmer around her.
“Fanacht amach,” I said with a raspy voice, attempting to drag myself toward the hawthorn tree. It felt safe there, the branches beckoning me under their canopy. “Fanacht amach.” Stay Away.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked, taking another step closer.
“Cé hé mise?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to my ears. “Cé hé mise?” Who am I?
I curled up against the trunk of the hawthorn, shielding my nakedness from the strange woman. I beat my fists against my head, my memory full of darkness and pain. “Cé hé mise?”
“Irish,” the woman murmured to herself. To me, she asked, “Can you understand English? An bhfuil Béarla agat?”
Fisting my hands into my hair, I nodded. “Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Di…” I began, my tongue thickening in my mouth. No, that wasn’t right. “Di…” I tried again, but my mind filled with noise. “I don’t know.”
She smiled softly. “I’m Aileen,” she said. “It seems you’ve forgotten some things.”
I cowered against the tree as she edged closer, fearful this was another trick. The sky was full of shadows that had turned into ravens. Maybe the woman would raise her hand and finish what had begun with the wolves.
“I saw you fall,” she said, kneeling, her eyes never leaving me.
“I’m a man,” I muttered. “A bird… A fox…”
“You’re a shapeshifter.”
“A what?”
“A man who can change his shape into any animal of his choosing…provided he’s had contact with them,” she explained. “I saw a gyrfalcon fall from the sky, tumble through the forest, and then land in this very clearing as a man. There’s only one explanation for that.”
A shapeshifter. That was what I was. A fox, a gyrfalcon, and a man.
“Whatever was chasing you, they’ve gone now.” She pointed to the hawthorn. “The tree protected you.”
“The tree?” I glanced up, wincing as pain flared down my spine.
“It’s a hawthorn,” Aileen explained. “The sacred trees of the fae and the witches. There’s ancient power in her bones.”
She spoke of the tree as if it were alive, and I placed my palm against the exposed root beside me. I could feel something—warmth—but I wasn’t sure what it was. Honestly, I wasn’t sure of anything. Even my own name eluded me.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the forest near the village of Derrydun,” she replied, pointing to the north. “In County Sligo.” I raised my eyebrows, not understanding, so she added another location. “Ireland.”
“Ireland?” A thought flashed in my mind, and I knew wolves didn’t belong here. There were no wolves in Ireland. Were they shapeshifters, too?
“You have the accent,” she mused. “A very thick one…and know the language.”
“There are no wolves in Ireland,” I muttered.
Aileen frowned. “No, they were hunted down to the last almost three hundred years ago.” Her gaze fell from mine and took in my shivering body. “You’re bleeding quite badly, you know. You must be in a great deal of pain.”
I tightened my grip on my hair. Every time I tried to remember what came before the running, a throbbing
headache overcame me.
“So?” The woman shifted, pushing her weight back onto her heels. “Will you let me help you?”
I thought over my options. I was naked, wounded, likely had some broken bones, and I had no memory of who or what I was. My stomach was empty, I was lost, and I had no idea who to trust. Someone was looking for me, and they weren’t nice at all. The wolves were trying to tear me apart, and the ravens would’ve shredded my flesh if they’d caught me. What could I do? I had nowhere else to go.
“I won’t hurt you,” Aileen said, her voice gentle. It had an almost musical quality to it, and as the notes fell over my body, warmth seeped into my bones. “I will keep you safe and clean you up. Derrydun isn’t far, and it’s protected by the hawthorn in the village green.”
“Why?” I asked, my throat feeling completely raw.
Aileen smiled and laughed softly, the sound tinkling like sunshine through the darkness. “I would be a terrible witch if I turned away a creature of magic from my doorstep. Especially when he is in desperate need of a little help.”
“A witch?”
“Aye, but I’m not just any witch.” She smiled once more and rose to her feet. Holding out her hand, she beckoned. “I’m a Crescent Witch.”
Chapter 2
The village was in darkness when we approached.
Aileen had graciously handed me her cardigan so I could maintain some sort of modesty on the short walk to her cottage. The pale blue fabric was tied around my waist, my bare backside shining for all eyes to see.
Limping through the forest, I’d made the going slower than it needed to be as rocks and prickles poked into my feet, not to mention the aches and pains that racked my body.
My left arm was tender to the touch, so I cradled it against my chest, assuming my wrist was either sprained or my forearm was broken. My back and sides stung from the cuts the ravens had inflicted in their swarming, and my right ankle felt bruised.
As we walked, I was sure Aileen had used her magic when she’d spoken to me in the clearing, but she didn’t use it again. I wondered why.
The further we ventured, the more understanding of the world poured into my confused mind. I knew witches cast spells and protected the earth, and I knew they had covens. Where there was one witch, there were many. I wondered where the others were. What had she said her coven was called? The Crescent Witches?
“Where are the other witches?” I asked.
“Not here,” she replied, placing her finger over her lips. “We’ll be home soon.” Touching her ear, I understood she believed there were other ears in the forest. Remembering the chase, I fell silent. If the ravens appeared, I wasn’t sure I would be able to thwart them again.
We climbed over a drystone wall and traversed a field, a sleepy flock of sheep peering at us as we passed. On the hill to our right, I saw the outer shell of an ancient tower glowing in the moonlight, the building crumbling into ruin and overtaken by nature. Then we clambered over another stone fence before moving into a manicured garden. The plants here were well tended, the flowerbeds immaculate and free of weeds.
The little cottage sat among the greenery, the little plot lush with flowers, herbs, and all sorts of shrubbery. A thatched roof sat atop two stories of whitewashed limestone walls, and one side of the house was covered in a thick layer of vines laden with red leaves—Virginia creeper. Beyond the garden, I could see more buildings and the glow of orange and white lights.
“That’s Derrydun over yonder,” Aileen said. “Not a hundred paces behind the cottage is my shop. It faces out onto the main road. There isn’t much here, and few call this place home, but it’s as good a place as any.”
Mystified, I followed her up the garden path and to the front stoop where she fished a set of keys out of her pocket. Unlocking the door, she pushed it inward.
“In you go,” she said. “Last thing anyone wants to see is your bare ass. One full moon is enough in these parts.”
Stepping into the cottage, my nose filled with the earthy scent of herbs and the spice of cooking. The kitchen must be to the right, and further inside, I caught the whiff of flowery perfume and jasmine incense. My nose was sensitive, and I was amazed at my ability to pick out each thread from the cacophony surrounding me. It must be from the fox.
“Come in here,” Aileen said, guiding me from the hall and into the kitchen.
She turned on the light, and the little space was illuminated. Within, there was a round table with four chairs, a refrigerator, and inbuilt cupboards. A stove and a large sink took up more space, and the benches were littered with pots, pans, and bowls of fresh fruit and vegetables. Inhaling, I was greeted with the scent of home. There were no threats here.
Pulling out a chair from the table, Aileen beckoned me to sit. I all but fell into the seat, collapsing into a heap with my back hunched.
She disappeared for a moment and returned with a blanket in her arms. In the light, I could see her more clearly than I had in the forest. Aileen was an older woman, perhaps old enough to be someone’s mother, but she was far from being past her prime. The strands of silver running through her hair were a clue to her age, but I didn’t want to ask.
“May I check your wounds?” she asked.
I nodded, and she pulled another chair close to mine and perched gingerly. The moment her fingers touched my skin, I flinched, jerking away and almost falling to the floor.
“Shh,” she crooned like a mother who was calming her frightened child. “You’ve had quite the scrap. Does your wrist hurt? May I see?”
Another human’s touch was unfamiliar and her kindness an alien concept after what I’d just been through, but I held out my left arm. This time, I didn’t pull back when she cradled my wrist in her palm. Then as she inspected it, I could feel warmth again. Magic.
“It’s healing quite nicely already,” she said approvingly. “Very good, that.”
“Why?”
“It’s part of who you are. You have magic within, you know. It helps mend your bones when you change and when you break them. Even the scrapes on your back will heal over soon.”
“Magic?” I repeated.
“Magic,” she reiterated. “You’re a very special young man. Your wounds will be righted in no time, of that I have no doubt.”
Magic. She had it too, but we were different. Witch. Shapeshifter.
“You should wash,” she went on, “but you look like you’re half-starved. What a conundrum. Which shall we tend to first? Your stench or your belly?” My stomach growled, and she laughed. “Well, that settles it.”
She draped the blanket around my shoulders, paying no mind to the state of her cardigan when I offered it to her. Opening the fridge, she took out a container and emptied some of its contents into a bright green bowl. Transferring the green dish into the microwave, she pressed in some numbers, and then the bowl began to rotate.
As I watched it spin, the hum droning in the background, I wondered at my condition. I understood the world to a certain degree, but anything more complicated was beyond me. The harder I tried to make sense of it all, the more my head ached. Who I was and where I’d come from were the only things I wanted to know, but the answers were hidden behind a wall of pain.
The microwave beeped, and Aileen retrieved the steaming bowl, placing it on the table in front of me. Dropping in a spoon, she declared, “Traditional Irish stew. Homemade with vegetables from my very own garden. That’ll put the hair back on your chest.”
It smelled amazing, and I fisted my hand around the spoon and began greedily shoveling stew into my mouth.
She watched me eat with a raised eyebrow. “My, you are hungry. How many times did you change?”
I hesitated, the spoon pausing halfway between the bowl and my mouth. Taking a breath, I slowed my pace. It seemed some of the animals I’d changed into were lingering in my human form. Either that or the effort of shape-shifting made me ravenous. I wondered if the animal senses would fade away, at least until the next tim
e I changed. If I changed at all.
“If I don’t change, will I forget how?” I asked suddenly.
“I couldn’t say,” Aileen replied.
I glanced around the kitchen. “Where are the other witches? Your coven?”
“I’m one of the last,” she explained. “Like the wolves, we’ve been hunted to the brink of extinction.”
“Why would anyone want to harm you?” She seemed so nice and welcoming, I couldn’t understand why.
She laughed. “I would like to know the same thing. I’m not quite sure why my crystals and tarot cards are offensive, but it seems someone really dislikes rose quartz.”
“Why are witches being hunted?” I asked again, my brow creasing.
“That’s a story for another time.” She picked up the empty bowl and put it in the sink.
“Someone was chasing me,” I said.
“I saw.”
“I don’t know why.”
She didn’t reply at first. Turning, she studied me, likely trying to determine if I was being truthful or not.
“Well, as long as you’re in Derrydun, you’ll be safe,” she finally declared.
“Because of the hawthorn?” I asked, not entirely understanding why a tree was so important.
“That’s right.”
“I don’t remember anything,” I said, clutching the blanket around my shoulders. “Just…running. And flying.”
Aileen studied me, her eyes giving nothing away. “Never you mind. Things will sort themselves out. They always do when magic is involved.”
“What do I do now?”
“We’ll have a crack at it in the morning,” she replied. “No use trying to figure out those kinds of things right now. You should rest up before any of that. When I think about it, you’ve just started living, like a babe who’s just been born, or so says your foggy memory. You’re asking question upon question like a wide-eyed five-year-old.”
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