Dragon's Moon

by Lucy Monroe

  “He said I was an unnatural daughter, that I was no use to him. He hates me.”

  “He is an evil bastard that I would gladly eviscerate with my eagle’s claws.”

  Her drowning eyes widened.

  And he could not stand it any longer. She was his, though he could never fully claim her. But he could let her see that she was valuable.

  He lowered his mouth and kissed her softly; he would not hurt her. “My eagle wants to mate with you. You are not useless.”

  He pulled back and she looked up at him sadly. “You don’t want to mate me though, do you?”

  “I cannot.”

  She nodded. “I understand.” Though clearly she did not.

  Lais took hold of her belt, intent on removing it. “Let me show you your value. Let me heal you.”

  “All right.”

  Chapter 9

  Subdue your passion or it will subdue you.

  —HORACE

  Eirik lifted Ciara down from Niall’s hold and carried her into the cave, leaving the care of the horses to the warrior and his seneschal mate.

  Her eyes were hazy and barely open, so he did not set her on her feet lest she fall right over.

  “Why have you done this to yourself?” he asked her.

  Some of her spirit ignited in her green gaze at that. “I do nothing to myself. I did not ask for these dreams that prevent my sleep, for visions that besiege me until my mind can no longer even think.”

  “You fight them.”

  “Of course.”

  “Why?”

  “They only bring pain.”

  “Because you fight them.”

  “The last time I gave in to them, I lost a brother.” The sadness that filled the space between them squeezed at his own heart.

  “You cannot—”

  “Please, you said you can help me sleep. You can make the constant edge of worry leave me. Do it. Please.”

  It would take a heart of stone to ignore the femwolf’s pleas. She was desperate for rest of both her spirit and her body. He could give that to her.

  “Hush. I will help.”

  “Thank you.”

  Niall came in then, carrying a pile of furs.

  “Place them over there, in the center of the cave,” Eirik instructed the big, scarred warrior.

  The cavern was large enough for Eirik to release his dragon in comfort and would provide space for the other warriors to rest in relative comfort as well. Not that their comfort was a priority for him, but Eirik was used to considering the needs of his people. This Faol and human had become his people upon his joining the Sinclair clan.

  Niall laid out the furs. “You can really help her sleep?”

  “I would not claim so if it were not true.”

  The warrior grunted. “I will help Guaire settle the horses.”

  Eirik nodded, his focus on laying the already dozing Ciara down among the furs.

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze as he leaned over her. “My sleep does not go deep enough. I always wake.”

  “You will not this night.”

  “You promise?” she asked with a pain-filled hope.

  “I do.”

  He laid his hands on both sides of her head and concentrated on letting calming thoughts flow between them. She closed her eyes again, but remained tense.

  She’d gone so long without real sleep, her beleaguered body had forgotten how to rest. He began to croon with the sounds of his dragon and a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

  The temptation to press their lips together was too great to resist and he pressed a gentle kiss on her. She sighed against his lips, her body going lax.

  And just like that, she’d fallen asleep.

  Eirik wasted no time shifting into his dragon form, pulling the small human into his arms while his tail came around to wrap over her legs. He ignored the sounds of Niall and Guaire preparing their own campsite behind his back.

  His dragon knew them to be friend, not foe, so it was not bothered by the men’s choice of camp spot. His raven had settled into sleep with the woman he considered his mate, already seeking out her dreams.

  Eirik had not told the Sinclair that his gift was twofold and both the raven and dragon could influence Ciara’s dreams. It was not necessary to share that information and he had not been sure it would be relevant regardless. In the past, his raven had only been able to enter the dreams of his family.

  But as his dragon slipped into sleep as well, his power going out to shield Ciara from the Faolchú Chridhe that would call to her, his raven sought out Ciara’s thoughts in sleep.

  They were in a cottage, the bedchamber they entered not much larger than the bed a woman with gray hair slept upon. But she was not asleep. She was dead, the stench of dried and congealed blood too strong to mean anything else.

  Eirik could feel Ciara’s distress, the deep wound to her heart as she realized her mother had taken her own life.

  This was not where Ciara’s mind needed to go. Eirik’s raven dug deeper into the dreamscape, seeking images of the woman on the bed in happier times. He found them, pulling them to the forefront, taking the dreaming Ciara to an afternoon learning to sew, her mother’s hands guiding hers with gentle touches.

  Suddenly the dream Ciara looked up and met Eirik’s eyes. She knew he was there. She smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  The cottage fell away and they were now in Ciara’s bedchamber. She was in her bed, wearing nothing but her sleeveless shift to sleep in.

  Once again she looked at him, this time her eyes not so grateful as wary. “I don’t want to have another dream about you.”

  “Do you dream about me?” he asked, thinking that probably he shouldn’t.

  “Yes. Dreams that make me ache.”

  Another night he might give in to the temptation to share such a dream, but right now, this woman needed true rest.

  “You will not ache, but will rest.” He crossed the room to her bed and knelt beside it. “Relax, faolán. I will let nothing harm you here and no dream will bedevil you, either.”

  “Can I trust you?”

  “Aye.”

  “You killed my brother.”

  “Aye.”

  “Another Éan might have later, if he’d kept hunting them.”

  God willing. Yes. Though this, Eirik’s dream self did not say aloud.

  Ciara sighed. “I loved him. So much. He told me he was glad I was a little sister, even when father was sad I was not a son.”

  “He had some wisdom then.”

  She smiled, her eyes closing slowly. “Yes, some wisdom. And a warm heart…when we were younger.”

  Peace stole over her countenance and then she was asleep. Truly asleep.

  Knowing it could do no harm and would probably help, Eirik’s dream self climbed onto her narrow bed beside her and took Ciara into his arms. She sighed, turned over and nuzzled into him as if seeking shelter in his arms.

  Clearly she found it, because she did not waken again.

  Lais was careful as he removed first Mairi’s plaid and then the blouse and shift beneath it.

  She whimpered when he had to lift her arm to remove the blouse, but bit her lip and kept the sound inside as he gently tugged her shift up her body and off. She was a tiny thing, but her curves were generous. He had to swallow back a moan as first the golden curls between her thighs came into sight and then the pretty pink tips of her breasts.

  They tightened in the air, but his libido could not compete with his horror at the sight of so much damage done to her fragile body. The fist-sized bruises marring her beautiful pale skin made bile rise in his throat even as fury rose to match it.

  The MacLeod would pay.

  This…this horrific evidence of abuse was after their healing session the night before.

  She turned her head away. “I know they are ugly.”

  “Aye.”

  She flinched.

  “But you? Mairi, lass, you are beautiful.”

&nb
sp; She gasped and met his gaze. He let the heat he felt at the sight of her nudity, despite all, fill his.

  “You find me attractive, even though you do not want me for a mate?”

  “’Tis not a matter of want, it is what I can and cannot have. I cannot have you.”

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps one day I will tell you.” But not this day, not when he needed her open to him and his touch to effect her recovery.

  “Do you have to lay your hands on me to heal me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “I am afraid.”

  “Of being healed?” That made no sense.

  “Of how I will respond to your touch.” She looked away again, her body tensing. “I do not know if I can control my reactions.”

  Her artless desire and honesty about it would be his undoing.

  “I have enough self-control for both of us,” he claimed with confidence he did not feel.

  Not with the way his sex was trying to rise under his plaid. The pleated tartan hid more than the leather hunter’s kilt common among the Éan, but it couldn’t hide a full erection.

  And he was afraid that was exactly where he was headed.

  Innocently unaware of his body’s desire, Mairi looked at him with absolute trust. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and then laid one hand over a particularly nasty bruise on her arm. He’d thought the bone might be broken the night before and had sent healing energy to it, but the injury still looked bad. He took up his amber crystal and pressed it very lightly against the center of the purple bruise.

  He released his Chrechte spirit into her, the skin below his growing warm and he could see the wound without even focusing on his inner eye now. There was a crack in the bone and he concentrated on mending it.

  She whimpered.

  He looked up from the wound to her face. “It hurts?”

  No one had ever complained of such before. Patients had remarked on the heat and even a tingling sensation, but never complained of pain.

  She shook her head, an expression of desperation in her eyes. And then he smelled it. Her arousal. She was reacting to the spirit of his eagle even as Lais attended to her wounds.

  “It is all right,” he promised.

  “Is it?”

  “Aye.”

  “But I want things I should not. You are helping me and my mind is taking me to a different place a virtuous woman would not go.”

  “Nay, you have little choice,” he assured her. “You are reacting to my eagle.”

  She breathed out a small laugh, though it clearly pained her. “I’m fairly certain it is not your bird that I want to touch me in unmentionable places.”

  Unable to stifle the desire to touch, he brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “You are truly unique, Mairi.” Her humor in what had to be a very uncomfortable situation made him like her all the more. “Remember, my spirit is entering your body through my Chrechte gift.” And his eagle wanted her for a mate. “You are merely responding to it.”

  “Do all your patients react thusly? That cannot be comfortable for you.”

  “No.”

  “No, they do not, or no, it is not comfortable?”

  “They do not.”

  “Have any?” she pressed.

  “No.”

  “So, this attraction is unique.” She gave a small nod, though he could tell she was careful not to strain muscles that did not want to stretch.

  “Yes.”

  “And you feel it, too.”

  He refused to answer, moving his hand to another injury and concentrating on healing that one, too.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I can see for myself.” She flicked her gaze to where his kilt revealed the extent of his lack of mastery over his own desires.

  “Ignore it.”

  She laughed, the sound not humorous so much as absolutely disbelieving. “That is your answer to protecting my virtue, ignoring these feelings?”

  “Aye. We have no choice.” Not if she wanted to leave his room still untouched.

  He finished mending the bone in her arm and knew the time had come to focus on her ribs. They had to be giving her a great deal of discomfort, mottled with discoloration the way they were.

  He laid the amber stone between her breasts and then both hands on her, one on either side of her rib cage.

  A small puff of air escaped her lips. “Oh.”

  Two of the bones beneath his hands were broken almost all the way through and one had a hairline crack. It was a miracle she had not broken them completely and punctured a lung on her journey to the Sinclair holding.

  He let the Chrechte power flow through him into her, not stopping even when he felt the exhaustion building inside him.

  Something else was building as well and it was making his cock leak a steady stream of pre-come.

  When he finished, he did not immediately remove his hands. He could not. The need to move them up a few inches and cup her perfectly rounded breasts was too strong. He feared if he moved his hands at all, that was where they would go.

  “I can breathe without pain,” she said in wonder. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  “There are no healers like you among my father’s pack.”

  “Without the Faolchú Chridhe, how can the Faol call upon their gifts?” he asked, though it was obvious they did not need it to confer the ability to procreate their Chrechte heritage.

  Or there would be no wolf shifters left in the Highlands, and though their numbers were far smaller than the humans, they were ten times greater than the Éan.

  Mairi took a deep breath for the first time without a wince of pain. “It must be found.”

  “You believe it will give you a wolf.” ’Twas a nigh impossible claim to even consider.

  Her expression said she did not find it so. Passionate belief and hope glimmered in her blue gaze. “I do.”

  “How can the Faolchú Chridhe give this to you?” Though perhaps, he of all Chrechte, should believe in the chance.

  Had he not been given a second chance at his Chrechte gifts by the Clach Gealach Gra and its keepers? Still, for a human to be given a wolf, even one with Chrechte blood, seemed too fantastic a possibility for belief.

  “With Ciara’s help. She can draw the power of the Chrechte through the stone.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean? She is keeper of the stone.”

  “You mistake my meaning. Why do you want this?” And then he answered his own question. “You still seek the approval of a man who beat you unto death?”

  “No,” Mairi said with deep vehemence. “But if I had a wolf and he tried to beat me again, I could rip his throat out.”

  She was small. She was fragile. She was human. But Lais thought if she had been Faol, she would have done just that.

  “You are a fierce little thing.”

  “For a human.”

  “For a Chrechte.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “The wolves’ sacred stone must be found, if for no other reason than to stop Ciara’s dreams,” he agreed. “A body can live only so long on such little bites of sleep.”

  “She has fought her calling.” Mairi sounded confused by that fact.

  “Aye.”

  “I wonder why.”

  He did not know and right now, could not work up an interest in the answer. He was far too focused on the beautiful woman before him. Bruises still marred her lovely skin, but the more serious ones were showing the effects of his healing.

  He could not repair everything, so he left the wounds that had no risk of permanent damage to heal on their own. There was one last wound that needed his touch. A large boot sized mark on her left hip.

  His examination the night before had revealed another damaged bone beneath it. It had to be healed, or she risked a true break from something as simple as tripping over a rock in her path.

  But he could not yet trust his hands to move from where
they rested on her ribs.

  He was not the only one affected, either. The pulse in Mairi’s neck fluttered, her breathing so shallow her chest barely rose and fell, her mouth opened as if tasting their desire on the air like he was.

  “No.” He meant it to sound firm, to let her know he would protect her virtue with his will. Instead it came out almost a plea.

  He was a healer, damn it, trained as a warrior. He could command his base urges. He would control them.

  “Lais…”

  He groaned at the innocent need in her voice. “No,” he said again.

  “I feel so strange.” She touched her own nipple and then jerked her hand away with a moan. “What is happening to me?”

  But they both knew, no matter how pure she was.

  “You must ignore your desire,” he said from a jaw clenched with the need to say something else entirely.

  “Why?”

  “You know why.” She was a human woman, her virtue an important commodity in the negotiation for her marriage. And so he reminded her.

  “I am not interested in marriage.”

  “Because of that fool your father promised you to? Ualraig is a coward infected with cruelty. He is no indication of what a Chrechte man might be in marriage.”

  “So you say.”

  “Do you think Talorc would ever beat Abigail?” he asked Mairi, to make her stop and think.

  To show her irrevocably how wrong it was to believe her father and Ualraig true examples of how an honorable man would treat those dependent on him.

  “I do not think so, but I do not know,” she said, shocking Lais with her doubt. “I have been here but a day.”

  “And what have you heard of the Sinclair before that?” Highlanders kept to themselves, but gossip traveled with the winds it seemed at times.

  “His reputation in battle is ruthless, but there are no rumors that he hurts those closest to him. Only a man may hide his ugliest sins.”

  “If you think so little of our laird, why did you come to the Sinclair holding?” Lais surprised himself at how defensively he reacted to Mairi’s words.

  He had only joined this clan weeks ago, but the Sinclair was a Chrechte with no smirch to his honor.

  “I don’t think badly of him. I am merely pointing out that trust does not come so quickly.”