Moonglow

by Kristen Callihan

  Daisy’s insides quaked. Faster. More. The hard, thorny branches grew up and out, creating a wall around her. The were attacked, running so fast that Daisy’s breath caught. The impact cracked the branches. Knife-sharp claws slashed at the wood, splintering it.

  Fear surged through her limbs and her power slipped. The roots faltered. More. Stronger. Focus.

  Thorns and branches wrapped tight around werewolf limbs, holding the beast off but not stopping him. One foreleg broke free, and then another. The wolf’s eyes were on her, a promise gleaming in them. Daisy edged back, her heart pounding, her breath caught in a ball of terror in her throat. Desperately, she drew on the feeling within her, and the rose branches snaked out, tangling around the were again and again. But it was not enough. With a bone-shaking howl, the beast writhed and the branches shattered like glass.

  Daisy stumbled back, her strength sputtering like an empty lamp. The werewolf stopped and cocked his head as though confused. Daisy’s jaw clenched tight enough to ache before she forced herself to ease, trying to ignore the blood that caked the were’s coat. Talent’s blood. She froze upon the ground, too terrified to do any more but wait.

  He limped forward, one foreleg shorter than the other due to his humped back. Light from the house windows hit his molted coat, highlighting the open sores that plagued him and the wounds from the thorns. Quite suddenly, she wanted to cry. This was her future, too. This suffering and deformity.

  “You hurt, don’t you?”

  Halting, the were whined and shifted his weight from one leg to another. A world of agony lay in its eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice too thin.

  His head lowered, yet a growl rumbled in his chest. In a flash, he snapped his teeth at her, snarling and growling.

  Her fingers clenched on air. Ian. She wanted Ian. Please let him be on his way. “Let me help you. I want to help you.”

  He whined again, his massive head swaying as he cowered. Pain. I feel pain.

  Daisy’s heart skipped a beat, for she distinctly heard the words within her head. Licking her dry lips, she tried again. “Let me talk to the man.”

  He shuddered violently, keening.

  “The man,” she said. “Let him come, and I can help you both.”

  The wolf sighed, and his head sank down. The snap and pop of his bones filled the night as he shifted, and Daisy was left staring at a man.

  No better off in his human form, his naked, twisted body fell to a heap upon the marble. There he trembled, the sores that covered him weeping and swollen. Disease had destroyed this man, ruining his body and his reason. She feared she might be ill.

  A gnarled hand lifted to the massive tumor on his head that had deformed his face into something barely human. A pitiful cry broke from him. “Kill me,” he rasped. Bleary eyes lifted to hers. “I cannot live as this…”

  Daisy’s heart threatened to pound out of her chest. “I cannot…”

  He snarled, smashing his fist into his skull. “Kill me. Kill me.” He howled, his body rocking. “Pain. Too much.”

  Would someone take pity on her were it she who suffered? Did he not deserve compassion? A sob tore from her. “Let me get someone to help you.”

  His voice grew thready, his displaced eyes desperate as he looked at her. “You. I want it to be you. Please…” He curled in on himself with a groan. “Please, Lucy. I tried to find you.”

  Lucy. He thought she was his love. All this time, he’d been looking for his love. She blinked back her tears.

  “These other women… smell of you but were not…” A growl rumbled in his chest and fangs grew. “They were not…”

  “But I am here now,” Daisy said quickly, soothing him with her voice and praying he would not notice his mistake. She thought of Alex’s ravaged body and swallowed hard. “What can I do for you?”

  “Take my head.”

  She blanched. Anything but that.

  His breath rattled. “Shred my heart with silver. A knife. I cannot live like this. And it will come back, the madness. The wolf wants to die, too. You promised to help him.”

  For a long moment, she could only stare. To kill in cold blood was something beyond her. Yet to live as he did, it was no life. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Again came the hard rolling of her stomach and the urge to cast up her accounts. She took a deep breath. “All right.”

  He didn’t stop her as she stumbled away, past Talent, who had either passed out or died. She was too afraid to look. Moving stiffly, she found the butler’s pantry and the silver carving knife within. Her heart beat a fierce tattoo, her mind numb to all thought but one. She might have run away, yet she could not. She would help this man, this harbinger of her fate.

  His skin was clammy, his breath a wheezing rattle as she knelt beside him. His eyes, however, were lucid as he gazed up at her. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “For all of it.”

  Tears blurred her view of him. “I know.” Extreme pain, tumors, and madness, they were the tools of destruction for those suffering from syphilis. A fate worse than any death. Yet she could not make herself move.

  “Not your fault.” His voice was gentle, and when she looked down at him, he touched her arm. “Never was.”

  God, he appeared a man no older than thirty. How long had he been like this? Her arm shook so badly that she could barely raise it. Her nerves jumped when his hand closed over hers. His gaze grew dazed. “I only wanted to see you once more, Lucy Love.”

  “Of course,” she whispered. “I wanted to see you, too. Rest now. Everything will be all right.”

  In the end, it was his strength and her hand that plunged the knife down between his ribs, past muscle, and into the heart. With a hard jerk of his body, he wrenched the knife back and forth, all the while Daisy’s hand caught below his, the hilt of the knife slippery against her skin.

  The man took his last breath in a gurgled sigh of blood.

  On a cry, she scrambled far away from him and curled up by a ravaged rose bush. Weary to the bone, she rested her head upon her arms and sighed. It was done. For him. Her fear, however, went so deep that she could not think to move.

  Her small peace was shattered when the terrace doors slammed open with enough force to send one hanging on its hinge. A scream leaped up in her throat as an enormous brown wolf charged onto the terrace. It skidded to a stop when he spied her. Daisy’s mouth went dry. Dear God, but it was magnificent. This was not the poor, deformed creature she’d help pass on but a full-out wolf, enormous in form, but graceful and proud.

  The beast’s thick, auburn coat gleamed with blood, his wild blue eyes intent upon her. And then the bottom fell out of her world. Those eyes. Ian’s eyes. Oh, Ian. She wanted to scream in rage and sorrow. Ian had turned.

  Daisy put a hand to her breast to ease the pain there. The wolf growled. She did not move, but her mind raced. She’d spoken to the sick were. The wolf had set the man free. Could she reach Ian? She would. She had to.

  “Hello,” she said calmly—a lie for her heart threatened to burst, it pounded so hard. “I know you,” she said slowly, softly. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

  The wolf whined, cocking his head a touch. He took a tentative step forward.

  “Yes,” she said, pretending that her breath wasn’t ragged, that her fingers did not shake. “Come to me. Let me touch you.”

  With a grunt, it moved, a quick lope that had it knocking against her, his big head nudging her shoulder hard. A gasp burst from her, but she did what instinct prompted and threaded her fingers through the dense, coarse hair at the wolf’s neck. The wolf’s eyes narrowed, not in aggression but pleasure.

  With a sigh, she stroked his fur. “If you’re here… you must have had to protect Ian.” It was the only reason Daisy could think of. Ian simply wouldn’t lose control of his wolf unless it had been his last choice.

  Yes. Save you.

  She heard the words inside her heard, and the voice was Ian’s and not. It was rougher, more
primal. The wolf’s.

  Daisy’s breath caught and her eyes burned. “You’ve done well. So well.”

  Save you from the were. Its blue gaze moved past her to rest on the dead man. A keening noise sounded low in the wolf’s throat, and it turned away from the sight as if it pained him.

  “I am so proud,” she murmured as the wolf bunted his snout under her chin. The hit rattled her teeth. Before she could move, gentle fangs took hold of her lower jaw. But the wolf did nothing more than hold her still. A claim.

  With a smile, she pushed him back. “No more of that.” She was insane, but could only hope the wolf understood. It seemed to, for it simply panted and nudged her once more.

  Daisy wrapped her arms around his neck. “Let him come back,” she whispered. “I cannot lose him.”

  The wolf whined, and she stroked his fur. “He knows how to set you free again. He will. But I need him now.” The wolf stilled, and her heart thundered. “Ian,” she pled, “come back to me. Come back.”

  Dread pulled at her insides for a cold moment and then the wolf stirred. Bones cracked and popped, the body around her arm shrinking. In the next breath, she felt smooth, hot skin, and Ian was in her arms, as weak as a pup as he fell to his knees. His chest heaved as he glanced up at her with reddened eyes. “I think,” he said, “I am going to be ill.”

  He clung to her, his body damp with sweat and shaking. Daisy held him close. But she felt him stiffen as he caught sight of the twisted body on the ground. All color leached from his face, and he wilted.

  “Maccon.” Such pain in that utterance.

  Daisy’s blood stilled. Maccon? She glanced at the poor body of the man and back to Ian, who tore himself from her grasp and stumbled forward. Devastation marked every line of his countenance. I had a son. Maccon. He was perfect. A good lad. Her head went light. Oh God, Ian’s child. A sharp pain lanced her chest. Ian. What did I do?

  Ian’s breath rattled as he sank to the ground next to the body.

  “But he died,” she said, in a panic. “You said he died.”

  Ian did not look at her. “He’d already turned.” His throat worked. “I-I did not know.” Lightly, as if he feared the body would break, Ian gathered his son against himself. Maccon’s head lolled back, his eyes sightless and staring.

  Daisy gripped herself so tightly her knuckles cracked. No, no, no. Not this. “I killed him.” Such a stupid thing to say. What had she done?

  “Yes.” Ian did not take his eyes from his son.

  “Ian…” Her voice cracked. “I’m… I did not know.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “Lyall had him. All this time. Watching my son go mad. A grand joke.”

  “Lyall?” She thought of the crafty lycan who’d been Conall’s right hand. He’d been the one to capture them at the cemetery. He’d been everywhere.

  “Lyall kept him when he turned. All this time he was playing Conall and me against each other. He used Maccon so I would challenge Conall. And it worked.” Ian’s shoulders lifted on a breath. “My brother is dead. And my son…”

  “Oh, Ian.” Were Lyall here, Daisy would kill him. Yet she knew in her bones that he was already dead. Ian would not have let him live after such a betrayal.

  “Are you hurt?” Still Ian would not look her way.

  Suddenly she was glad for it. She could not bear to see his eyes, and the accusation there. She deserved it, but she could not bear it. “No. I… he…” Daisy couldn’t bring herself to say that Maccon had begged for death. It sounded like an excuse. She wouldn’t excuse herself for it.

  Ian’s head fell forward, his hair swinging down to hide his face. Shame choked Daisy as she watched him. She wanted to say she was sorry but knew it wouldn’t matter. When he finally spoke, his voice was a broken thing that made her heart ache. “I need to bury him.”

  She licked her dry lips. “I’ll help you.”

  “No!” He took another breath. “Just… just go into the house.”

  She went, because it was the only thing she could do for him.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  It was not Ian who sought her out hours later but Talent. Daisy stirred from her cold spot on the settee as he limped into her bedroom, his battered body bandaged up like a mummy.

  “You should be in bed,” she said. Her throat ached and her eyes burned, but the man before her looked like hell.

  He slumped onto the seat beside her and closed his eyes. “Doesn’t matter where I am,” he said. “I’ll hurt like a bitch regardless.”

  “Your arm…” It was missing below his elbow. Guilt flooded her at the sight. He had been defending her.

  “Will grow back. Eventually.” He did not sound very concerned, merely annoyed. “Jesus, it’s cold in here. Haven’t you any notion of how to start a fire?” He cracked one eye open. “Or are we feeling sorry for ourselves?”

  She didn’t rise to his bait but stood and lit the coals that had been laid out, and then found her thick shawl to drape over him. Talent grunted in acknowledgment and kept his eyes closed. He didn’t try to speak anymore, for which Daisy was truly grateful, but simply sat with her for a long while as they stared into the fire. Every bone in her body hurt. She ought to go home, only that place didn’t feel like her home. Ian was her home. And she’d destroyed it. Eventually, she knew he’d seek her out and tell her to go. Until then, she would remain hiding away in cowardly fashion and aching to hold him.

  “You had no choice.”

  She sucked in a breath at the sound of Talent’s voice. It took her a moment to find her own voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It should. Maccon was insane, and hurting.” He turned his head to look at her. “I heard him beg you.”

  Daisy winced, but he kept on. “You did him a kindness. Ian will understand. Hell, you called him back after the wolf claimed him. He ought to be thanking you.”

  Her laugh was weak and pained. “It was his will and the wolf’s trust that brought him back. Not I. And as for his son, I fear logic and emotion never go hand in hand.”

  “No,” Ian said from the door. “They don’t.”

  Daisy and Talent stood up as one.

  Ian stepped into the room, his expression implacable. He’d cleaned himself up and dressed. Yet he looked so defeated that she wanted to run to him and beg him to let her hold him. But she did not move. They stared at each other from across the room, the tension between them pulled as tight as a bowstring. Daisy could not think of a word to say to make things right.

  Talent frowned and then stirred.

  “Utter one word, Jack,” came Ian’s fierce growl, “and I’ll rip yer sharp tongue from yer mouth.”

  Well.

  Talent’s mouth snapped shut. With a terse nod, he left them. Ian slammed the door shut behind him and stalked across the room.

  All protest died on her lips as he hauled her against his chest in a bone-squeezing embrace and he buried his face in her hair. He stood shaking, holding her as if she might be snatched away.

  Nothing had ever felt better than his embrace. She clung to him and wished that it would never end.

  “Don’t,” he pled when she started to speak. His grip tightened. “Just… don’t. Not yet.”

  Whatever she felt at that moment receded in the face of his disquiet. He eased only a little when she slid her hands up and cupped his cheeks. Firelight turned his features into a patchwork of gold and amber angles and reflected in the haunted sheen of his eyes.

  “Ian,” she whispered, because she knew he liked his name upon her lips. Then she kissed him. He made a sound close to a whimper and then fell into the kiss, a man gripped by need.

  She pulled back and touched his face. “Ian, you don’t need to…”

  “I do need.” A cracked, raw sound left him as he rested his forehead against hers. “I need more than you know.”

  He unsheathed one claw and reduced her gown into tatters with stunning adeptness. Cold air shivered over her skin as he tumbled her onto the bed.
Soft bedding enveloped her, and then he was there, the long length of his body pressing her deeper into the covers, the wool of his suit warm and rough against her nakedness.

  His knuckles grazed her damp sex as he unbuttoned the fall of his trousers. The hot length of his cock fell against her thigh, and Daisy undulated against him. Unsteady hands slid along her arms to capture her wrists. Their fingers twined, and he lifted her arms above her head.

  His kiss was a desperate thing, without finesse. “I don’t know any other way,” he said against her mouth. “I don’t know how else to show you.”

  His eyes were wild and frightened as he gazed down at her, pausing as if to see if she understood. She was pinned to the bed, his thighs holding hers so wide apart that she felt the exposure acutely, and with it, the need to be filled. Her heart knocked against her rib cage. For suddenly, she did understand. She blinked back the mist blurring her vision and tightened her grip upon his fingers.

  “Then show me your way,” she whispered.

  A deep shudder racked his frame. She expected him to act, to take her with quick brutality, but he did not. He simply looked at her, his eyes wide open, hiding nothing, letting her in. What she saw took her breath. He was utterly beautiful to her just then. And she knew her heart and soul was no longer her own.

  Holding her gaze, he tilted his head and kissed her, a soft, open-mouthed kiss of melting heat. The tip of his cock nudged her opening, drawing her attention until it was the only thing she could think on. She wiggled against him, impatient and hurried. But he would not let her rush. Murmuring soothing words against her mouth, he gentled the kiss once more, his silken tongue dipping, tasting with smooth strokes.

  Only when she panted with need and small cries left her mouth did he ease into her. Slow enough for her to feel every inch tunneling through her flesh, filling her up. She shuddered, her thighs aching to move. But she was pinned. And he was withdrawing with the same steady deliberation. Invasion, retreat, he worked an undulating rhythm that tormented. All the while, he kissed her, working her mouth as he worked her.