Autumn Moon

by Jan Delima

  Edwyn winced, turning toward the Great Oak, divine proof of the threat. “I have not forgotten.”

  “Let us give our gateway time to grow,” Pendaran said. “Our reign will be validated once again, and Taliesin will return to our fold.”

  * * *

  Anticipation helped Elen endure the silence of her days, waiting for the dull sounds of steps and turning doors that alerted her of each visit. She counted six creaks as each door opened, louder as the visitors drew near, but suspected there may be more she couldn’t hear. The servant woman scurried in with Pendaran at her back. Accustomed to absolute blackness, the weak lantern glowed bright, its light almost harsh. His expression warned of a violent mood as he sat in his corner and watched in cold silence.

  It was the same routine every night; the servant handed her a goblet of water and waited while Elen drank it in full, then handed her bread and protein of some sort while she replaced the old bucket with a clean one, leaving the other in the hall. After the food was consumed, she motioned for Elen to stand.

  Elen obliged, only this time she pretended to trip over the chains that entangled her feet, Pendaran’s vicious mood be damned. She wanted out of this place. To test her theory, she purposely crumbled to the ground. Her right knee took the brunt of the fall, slamming hard against cold stone, sending shards of pain up her leg and forcing air out of her lungs.

  Pendaran’s sucked in a breath, fisting his hand by his right leg. A mottled flush began to crawl up his neck in florid rage. She sensed he was too pained for words.

  Hiding her satisfaction was a difficult task, confident now that he was somehow connected to her pain. Mae, what did you do? A dark binding, to be sure—perhaps even the darkest if she were dead and it held Pendaran captive.

  As the servant helped her rise, Elen asked her, “What is your name?” It was the first time she had addressed her directly. “Am I in Hochmead?” The woman looked away, but not before a slight shake of her head. Be careful, that gesture said.

  “She knows not to speak to you,” Pendaran snarled through gritted teeth. “I will cut out her tongue if she does. And if you continue with your clumsiness, I will drug you unconscious.”

  Threats, she now knew—but not without consequences, especially for the woman not protected by a curse. And he would keep her here just to ensure her safety.

  The servant motioned for Elen to face Pendaran, always cleaning her from behind where the johnny untied, allotting a simple privacy. An act of mercy? Not even a bucket of water was brought within her reach, just damp cloths and disposable plastic toothbrushes to clean her teeth, but the woman had always handled her with care.

  “I was told that you were once an honorable man,” Elen said softly, “but I find that hard to believe. Truly, you are—” A pinch on the soft flesh behind her arms stopped her words.

  “What are you doing over there?” Pendaran accused with a scowl.

  To cover, she gave the smarting area a vigorous scratch. “There are bugs in this place.”

  His mouth tightened in response. “Finish quickly,” he ordered the servant, standing to leave. “I don’t wish to be here all night.”

  The woman gathered the empty trays and cloths and scurried for the door, but not before briefly lifting her gaze. This Hen Was wasn’t completely broken. Clear eyes peered through her scars, blue as forget-me-nots in spring, and they sent a message just as promising: I will help you . . . if you help me. And then a slight but distinct nod: Yes, you are in Hochmead.

  * * *

  A private tunnel ran underground from Hochmead to its forest, a necessary addition for secrecy from mechanical eyes in the sky. Rage clouded his vision as Pendaran hobbled the narrow passageway to the concealed opening beyond. Clumsy twit . . . She had crippled him with a simple fall. Shards of pain sliced his knee to the point of nausea.

  He must find a way to break Maelorwen’s spell. His powers had returned in full, and still he couldn’t reverse her curse—because of the death bind. Never had he expected her to forfeit her own life willingly, not only willingly but with calculating intent, and for them. Its absurdity went beyond all comprehension. Truly, it defied sound reason—but its grip was irrefutable.

  The pain increased each day he kept Elen in her chains. He had vowed to keep her unharmed, and therefore all harm she suffered, he suffered it in thrice. From lack of sleep, his head pounded with a stabbing assault that didn’t relent. When Elen scraped her arm, he bled. When she slept three hours, he only slept one. His wrists and ankles throbbed because of shackles he dared not loosen. His bones ached from cold.

  Torture, obviously, wasn’t an option. He’d shifted five times yesterday to heal his aches, and still they returned.

  Despite his threat, he could not drug her. Her last poisoned unconsciousness had come from Maelorwen’s potion—not his. If he harmed Elen’s family, or worse, her mate, would she refuse to eat as Saran had done? Even now he worried if his threat to drug her might scare her into not taking food. Worried. He spat with disgust at the thought, an emotion he hadn’t felt since childhood. If he set her free, she would only fuel the dissenters’ cause.

  Conundrum indeed.

  “Maelorwen,” Pendaran sneered as he pushed his way through the concealed opening, greeted by brambles and crisp air, “have your laugh, wherever you are, but I will break your curse.”

  Once under the canopy of manicured evergreens, he stripped and shifted, welcoming a punishment that came from his power and not hers. The elements tasted pure on his tongue as he fed their power to his wolf.

  Bones snapped and reformed in a rush of pain followed by pure freedom. And he took his first breath of air without agony. The night air brushed his fur with a cool kiss, carrying the scent of winter’s approach. He explored his forest, watched his guards circle his grounds, and checked entrances for encroachment. All was secure. The Bleidd would not find a way inside his manor without facing his death.

  He traveled to a carved stone that marked the entrance to the graveyard reserved for the Gwarchodwyr UnFed. Thirty-nine Original Guardians rotted under this earth, all buried with their weapons out of tradition. Modern scientists had unearthed too many of their secrets because of such graves. Celts once believed afterlife journeys included physical matter. Only the gateways offered that journey intact, the reason this new one was such a precious gift. Regardless, the customs of their ancestors deserved respect.

  He waited in the shadows until assured no one had followed. Shame forced him to complete this mission alone. Not even the dead eyes of his slaves would know this desecration.

  It was time to dig up an old friend’s grave.

  Twenty-nine

  The desolate hours within her obsidian cave consumed Elen’s spirit as surely as a dozen demons sucking her soul. Worse, the constant cold and never-ending darkness fed her insecurity. Questions flooded her consciousness and nightmares haunted her dreams, but the questions were worse. Had she made assumptions about the curse? What if the bind was all in her imagination? Had her mind procured hope in desolation?

  Had madness begun its encroachment?

  No! Elen shook her head and squeezed her eyes tight. Doubts were no longer allowed. To keep her mind from succumbing to this weakness that wanted to claim her, Elen imagined another illusion. Her fantasies were a balm that kept her sanity intact. This time she pictured her cottage, their home and their bed with soft blankets. Heat rose through grates in the floor from a fire that crackled in the hearth below. She wanted comfort, and more than anything, she wanted to be held. Air brushed across her skin in a fleeting caress, unsure but willing to console.

  Love me, Cormack, she whispered in her dream.

  She received a growl in return—and then pain as bones broke and stretched to his human form. Always, he whispered then. The scent of pine carried with his voice. Not in her cottage, somewhere else.

  Warm arms encircle
d her, stark against the cold. He had just shifted, gloriously nude, and he rolled on top of her. This was not what she had come for. Was it his dream? If so, she refused to deny his need or his love. They had never done a traditional mating, and she wanted it then more than any other.

  I am yours and you are mine, he growled into the night. Parting her legs with his thighs, he entered her in one long stroke, filling her—moving within her.

  I am yours and you are mine. She arched as his weight pushed her into frozen ground and not the softness of her mattress. Their desperation raged in their mating. She clawed at his back as she rocked into each stroke. But her pleasure came too soon, claiming her body in violent waves.

  “I’m in Hochmead, Cormack.” Her cry echoed off the dank stone walls of her cell as her release carried her back to the bleakness of reality. “Come find me . . .”

  * * *

  Cormack braced his elbows against the frozen ground, panting fogs of breath into the frigid November air. His shift had been brutal. When he’d first sensed her presence, he forced the change in frantic haste to feel her again, if only by a dream. And then he’d been sucked under by a different need. His body still pulsed with pleasure and pain from both.

  Her hair had been short, her arms bound, her scent coated by darkness and death. And she was cold, so damn cold. Like a corpse.

  Fuck! Was he going mad? Had her spirit come to console him from the grave?

  He didn’t know, but if anyone could find a way to visit his dreams, it was Elen.

  A dark shadow crossed his vision. Sitting up, he watched the wolf slowly encroach. The black Bleidd had begun to follow him several weeks earlier, perhaps sensing a kindred spirit. He had lived with her curse long enough to know what she was, if not where she’d come from.

  Rising up from his makeshift den where he slept, he snagged his clothes kept in a pile under pine boughs and then shrugged them on. “I’m headed back to the island.” They’d had this conversation before. “There’s food there if you follow.” He always spoke to her with respect because she understood every word.

  Skittish, she shook her head and then disappeared back into the woods. He remembered being that wolf, visiting Elen in much the same manner. The memory haunted him as he returned to Avon. He never veered far, checking in daily for news, so the journey didn’t take him long.

  “Cormack,” Gareth greeted at the entrance of the carriage house, offering a pained smile. Like all of Avon’s residents, his interactions were awkward and forced, as if he didn’t know how to react around him.

  “I’ve come to speak with Luc.”

  “He’s in the library.” Gareth’s gaze lifted to the lines of trees where the forest began. “Your black shadow has braved further this time,” he commented with a frown. “She needs food. I’ve left her offerings—”

  “She doesn’t want to be fed like a dog,” Cormack said. She had hunted, though; he’d seen the remains, but she had much to make up for to fill those starved bones. “Give her a portion of your meal and she might accept.” Treat her like the human she is inside the wolf, as Elen did for me.

  “I have a sandwich in the carriage house.” Gareth left and returned with a cloth-covered bundle.

  “Be careful,” Cormack called after the man in warning, “she will follow you forever if you do.” And you will own her heart beyond death.

  He ignored the awkward nods as he made his way to the library. Luc sat behind a large desk, combing through accounts with his wife. They both looked up when he entered.

  “I have to go back,” Cormack said before they asked. He rested his fist against his heart. “I still feel her.”

  After a pause, Luc nodded without argument and then looked to his wife.

  “You can go,” Rosa said, without needing words to know his question, instinctively resting her hand on her stomach. Her clothes no longer hid her increasing size.

  “No.” Cormack shook his head. She was too close to term, and taking the second alpha put all of Avon at risk. “Luc is needed here until the babe arrives. I wanted to let you know my plans, no more. I don’t know what I’ll find, if anything. I just know I have to do something, or I’ll go insane.”

  Luc’s gaze reflected his torn decision. “I will secure the plane and car, but you’re not going alone this time. You will bring Teyrnon and Cadan with you. I’ll let them know while you shower and change.” His hand gestured toward Cormack’s disheveled appearance with a concerned frown. “You won’t pass security like that. I’ll call Dylan as well.”

  Which meant more guards would meet him at the airport, if not Dylan himself. Gratitude would be taken as an insult. Instead, he shared, “I dream of her with shortened hair in a dark room surrounded by stone and metal. She is bound by chains on her wrists and ankles, and still she carries messages to me. She tells me she’s below Hochmead. I don’t know if my mind is playing tricks, or—”

  “If anyone can send a message in dreams,” Luc interrupted, echoing Cormack’s desperate hope, “it’s my sister.” Once again he looked to his wife.

  Rosa’s eyes bled to burgundy as her wolf rose. “You’re going. I will maintain Avon while you’re gone.”

  * * *

  In the form of his wolf, Pendaran curled under the branches of the Great Oak. Nerth lay in the grass inches from his paws. Dead like its former master, its bleached vines held no power. The curse was unbreakable, and now it consumed his beast as well. Regardless of how many times he shifted, the pain returned.

  Struggling to stand, he lifted his face to the waxing moon and howled his frustration. A movement in the branches drew his gaze and halted his cries. Had travel begun? Please let it be true. A tiny bird flitted about, screeching a harpy’s song. He snarled and turned away.

  Alas, no . . . It was just a common winter wren.

  * * *

  Elen sensed immediately not to push Pendaran during this visit. His volatile mood roiled off him in waves as he leaned against the iron door. She squinted against the light of his battery-powered lantern. Like a creature of night, her eyes had begun to reject even its meager light.

  The servant woman rushed over with a chunk of buttered bread and a goblet of water, motioning for Elen to stand with a sharp shake of her head. Behave, that gesture said. The routine now included changed bedding, thanks to her incessant scratching done purely out of spite. There were no bugs, but Pendaran took precautions regardless, and if her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, he had welts on his skin.

  “I have grown tired of looking at you, Elen.” His voice filled with resentment, and something other. Desperation, perhaps, anger too, but the former was just as threatening.

  “Why don’t you set me free?” she asked without insult, and then added in quiet respect, “Please.”

  Unappeased, his nostrils flared. “You know I cannot!”

  “I know no such thing. Your prejudice infects you. How can you not see that? There is no reason we can’t live in peace.”

  “Spoken like a true Evil Bringer who has never ridden the power of her beast.” Pendaran laughed softly as if mocking her ignorance. “We are not pacifists, Elen. We are wolves. The strongest leads, and the weak submit. Or they die.”

  “I will never submit,” she returned. And if I die, you die with me.

  Again, the servant warned her with a slight shake of her head as she retrieved the empty goblet. She changed the bedding, washed Elen quickly, gathered the old items, and stood silently by the door. Her head bent to the floor, waiting for his instructions.

  Doubts crept in. Had Elen imagined her earlier gestures? Had this empty shell of a scarred woman once held a spark of fire in her gaze?

  “Yes, you will,” Pendaran goaded, gesturing toward the woman in passive repose. “You see how she bows to me. If I keep you in this room long enough, you will do the same. You will begin to look forward to my visits, count every sec
ond until I arrive. You will begin to love me. We are immortal, so it may take some time, but it will happen.”

  Fear gnawed at her gut, because she felt its possibility. She had begun to look forward to his visits, just for relief of basic needs and to see light once a day instead of the black obsidian of her cave. Was it a hard stretch to think the mind would one day associate him as that light?

  No. And for that alone, she said, “Bite me!”

  Pendaran’s lips peeled back, revealing canines as he leaned forward, leaving just enough space beyond her reach. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  “Touch me.” She offered him her sweetest smile. “I dare you. Unless you’ve forgotten what happened to the last Guardian who tried. You seem partial to your wolf, but I can take him from you if you wish.”

  Even as the words fell from her mouth, she realized she’d pushed too far. Pendaran grabbed the metal stool and brought it down on the back of his slave. The woman buckled to her knees.

  “Stop!” Horrified that she’d caused this, Elen lunged, only to be pulled back by her chains. She struggled against them, welcoming the bite of metal into her flesh.

  Wincing from her efforts, Pendaran threw the stool against the wall. Metal clashed against stone. Like standing within a bell tower at noon, her ears rung with its echoes, but the whisper of metal sliding over metal made the hairs rise on her arms.

  As he removed his sword from its sheath, Pendaran said, “There are other ways to make you behave where I don’t have to touch you at all.” His eyes reflected green fire, wild and uncontrolled, as he lifted his weapon to strike the woman at his feet.

  Elen bit down on her tongue so hard she almost choked on her own blood. Cadarn fell from Pendaran’s grasp as he buckled and vomited on the floor.

  The woman looked up in confusion. Forget-me-not eyes blinked, focused on Pendaran as he continued to heave.

  “Run!” Elen garbled a scream.