The Fifth Moon's Wife (The Fifth Moon Tales Book 2)

by Monica La Porta

  “Thank you, Aldo,” Valentine said when the man finished securing the cloth.

  “Bring our Blessed Bride back home, Master.” Aldo bowed, then made to leave.

  “I forgot—” Valentine said. “We found the rest of the herd.”

  “I’ll organize the rescue party right away.”

  “The location’s coordinates are on Gabriel’s airbike cruise panel.”

  Aldo nodded. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it.”

  Once alone, Valentine took a moment to breathe in and out, then glanced out the window.

  The Great Plains were bathed in bright pink. If he left now, he barely had time to reach Fortnight Point at noon. After one last glance at the mess of blood and glass littering the floor, he turned to the right wall. He pressed his palm over the central panel that swung on its hinges, revealing his vault.

  The polished clockwork door shone red-gold, its gears creating a complex pattern on the surface. Without hesitation, Valentine rotated the first gear that put in motion the lock mechanism. Levers rose in a coordinated sequence that played a melody of whirs, clanks, and clicks, announcing the door was opening.

  Valentine didn’t wait for the hatch to finish its course, but angled his shoulders and slipped inside the vast chamber. As large as his apartment, the vault contained all his pecuniary wealth. Mechanical workers ensured that dust wouldn’t ruin the priceless sculptures and ancient artifacts he kept there.

  It didn’t take him long to fill a bag with the ransom money—all in banknotes of the highest denomination—and he was out of the vault and the studio in a matter of minutes.

  As requested, the Desert Fire was waiting for him at the manor’s entrance. With his usual efficiency, Aldo stood by the airbike with Valentine’s long leather trench coat draped over his bent arm.

  ****

  Valentine flew to the appointed location without any recollection of having done so.

  Fortnight Point was a desolate spot on the opposite side of the mountainous ridge where he had found his draglets. His enemies’ territory was vast.

  Overlooking a gorge with deep canyons that had once hosted rivers but were now dry, the Point was nothing more than a ledge. On that precarious strip of land, pioneers had built an outpost, fearing indigenous population would appear and attack newly-built Adris.

  Besides a colorful wildlife and a lush flora, Lupine was a pristine planet with an unforgiving weather system. The ferocious aliens the new colonists had feared never showed up. Eventually, the pioneers prospered, but never forgot those first few decades when life had been a struggle and they had been terrified by unknown natives. The outpost remained as a reminder of Lupine’s origins.

  A small hamlet made of a handful of thatched cottages, Fortnight Point was a solitary place. Twice a year, schools would send their pupils to relive the golden age of the settlers. Kids would spend a few days away from their families, learning how to light fires without blue light available.

  A few years back, when Valentine still thought of a pup of his in abstract terms, he envisioned taking his son on such a trip and teaching him how to live outside of the comfort of the manor. He had sorely missed a father figure and swore he would never treat his son as poorly as Marcellus had treated him.

  Then he met his small, sweet bride and everything changed. His son wasn’t a fuzzy idea on the back of his mind any longer.

  Amidst such bittersweet wonderings, Valentine landed in the empty square in front of the main building, a larger cottage. Judging the place with wary eyes, he turned off Desert Fire’s engines. He twisted and unstrapped the money bag from the seat behind him.

  A sudden gale swept the outpost. A shutter slammed against the stucco wall. Glass panes rattled. Sparks of violet light illuminated the sky and filled the air with the smell of ozone as a loud crack resonated soon after. A tempest was afoot.

  Rain pelted the ground a moment later. The hem of his long coat flapped against his leather boots. Walking closer to the cottages, Valentine noted that one of the buildings’ doors was ajar. It was the one adjacent to the main edifice.

  He pushed the door inward, and the scents of several men assailed his nostrils.

  “Stop where you are,” a voice commanded from the shadows.

  Valentine’s first reaction was to burst inside and unleash his fury upon those bastards who were hiding like the cowards they were. Mirella’s life hung in the balance though. So he lowered his hand and waited.

  The voice spoke again. “There’s a blindfold on the windowsill to your right. Drop the bag, cover your eyes, then kneel and place your hands behind your back.”

  Valentine turned and found both the windowsill and the blindfold. He did as he was told and wondered if they realized that he could fight them completely blinded.

  “Stay where you are,” the voice admonished.

  Someone exited the cottage, stopped behind Valentine, and immediately secured his wrists together with metal manacles.

  Electric cuffs, judging from the bolt Valentine received when he wriggled his hands. An electric collar was slid over his head and rested snugly at the base of his throat.

  “Don’t move too much and it won’t sting that bad,” the voice sneered, right behind Valentine. “Up.” The man gave him a shove. “And remember, try anything funny and the Blessed Bride will pay for your foolishness.”

  Other men, five of them, exited the cottage and surrounded Valentine. He could smell their individual scents.

  A roar escaped Valentine’s mouth. His body shook. Every single fiber of his being screamed at him to kill them all. Beneath the acrid scent of fear emanated by the men, he had smelled Mirella’s aroma. It was faint, but still recognizable. They had been in her presence recently.

  “Open your mouth,” the man said.

  The neck of a glass bottle was pushed between Valentine’s lips, hitting his teeth. Valentine tensed.

  “Think of your petite bride and drink it all, wolf.” The man pressed the bottle harder, forcing Valentine to arch his neck.

  The collar shocked Valentine when he moved, but it wasn’t the pain that prompted him to cooperate. It was the thought of failing Mirella if he didn’t obey that made him gulp the bitter beverage.

  Never in his life had Valentine let someone else have this kind of power over him.

  Take control, he said to his wolf. The beast whined its consent.

  Soon afterwards, his mind fogged and he felt himself being dragged inside a terrain vehicle.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A tremor roused Mirella from her lethargy. A loud voice penetrated the haze of her thoughts.

  “Get up.” Ronda kicked one of the cot’s legs.

  Slowly, Mirella turned her head. The courtesan stared at her with hate etched on her face. She wore a thick layer of makeup and a new gown that revealed a large expanse of her generous bosom. While Mirella lay in her dreamless twilight, the woman had also coiffured her hair in the latest Adris fashion. The coiled triple braid piled high on her head must have taken some time. How long had Mirella slumbered this time? It seemed only a moment ago that Ronda had brought her food.

  For the last three meals, Mirella had decided to eat and drink only what she needed to survive, and only took a bite from the bread and a sip of the milk. She wasn’t sure it was the best course of action for her and her baby, but she had never faced such a dire situation before. After hours of pondering her predicament, she concluded that if she ingested the minimum amount of the sedative, she might be able to think more clearly, and her child might not be affected by the drug. Despite her reasoning, prolonged hunger and lack of water were numbing her, and she still had no idea if she was doing good by her son.

  “Would you get up? What’s wrong with you?” Ronda shook Mirella by her shoulder.

  “How much of the opiate did you give her?” The voice of the man intruded in the cell.

  “Not enough to kill her,” Ronda whispered, yanking Mirella harder.

&nb
sp; “What did you say, woman?” The man stepped inside.

  The soles of his boots were reinforced with metal and they made a ruckus when he stomped toward the bed. The loud noise hurt Mirella’s ears, but Ronda was forcefully removed from her sight, and that was a definite plus.

  “The Leader will be displeased if you’ve damaged her.” The face of a man in his late forties appeared before Mirella.

  There was something strangely familiar about him. Mirella made an effort to remember the previous conversation she had heard. Ronda had called the man by his name at some point.

  “The Leader has arrived!” someone called from outside.

  Mirella was jerked upright.

  “Remove the shackle,” the man ordered Ronda, who made a disgruntled sound but squatted and freed Mirella’s leg.

  Kept in a standing position by the strong grip of the man, Mirella was dragged outside.

  A blue, fluorescent light illuminated the room attached to her cell. It was blindingly bright. Mirella shielded her eyes with the back of her free hand. Then cold breeze puckered her skin, and she remembered her disheveled state. Closing her eyes, she lowered her hand to her chest to keep the torn fabric together. All around, she could detect the hurried movements of several people. Furniture was moved. Hushed words were exchanged.

  “Stay with her,” the man said, removing his hand from Mirella’s arm.

  “Sit,” Ronda ordered, shoving Mirella into a low chair. She stood sentinel by her side.

  When her eyes finally adjusted to the blue light, Mirella looked around. She was in a large room with a high, vaulted ceiling. Obviously the former residence of rich people, nobody had lived there in a while. The antique but shabby furniture, the iron fixtures covered in spider webs, the damaged damask wallpaper hanging in places, the musty humidity clinging to the skin, but most of all the quantity of mechanical workers lying around gave away that the place hadn’t seen tenants in a long while.

  The domed windows were recessed and covered with heavy drapery, the only new element in the place’s décor. The fabric was black and it absorbed any light coming from the outside world, assuming it was daytime. Mirella didn’t know anymore.

  She was finally out of her cell though, and thoughts of escaping formed in her head. The effects of the sedative were wearing off, and she could think more clearly. Slumping in her chair, she moved away from Ronda’s touch and looked for the closest exit.

  Several doors opened into the room, but none of them looked like an exit. With dismay, she realized that they might not be on the ground floor. That complicated things, but she could not lose hope. She might survive a fall from a second floor. The din in the room reminded her there were too many people scurrying around for her to make a mad dash to one of the windows. She glanced at the heavy curtains once more, wondering if their purpose was to keep prying eyes from seeing in, or to prevent her from seeing out.

  The activities in the room intensified, coming to a final crescendo of swiping furniture and mopping the floor with wet rags to clean the dust that clung to every surface.

  “He’s coming,” someone shouted.

  “Blindfold her,” Ronda’s lover came back with a strip of black fabric which he handed to Ronda.

  Before she could give the room another glance, the blindfold was secured over her eyes. Mirella had counted fifteen men, but she was sure there were more and wished she’d had more time to make a plan.

  Ronda made sure Mirella could see absolutely nothing, tying the fabric tight against her face. “Does it hurt, Blessed Bride?” she asked, giving the blindfold’s knot a yank.

  Mirella didn’t answer. The pressure on her temples and eyes was painful and the strings cut into her skin, but complaining would only give Ronda an excuse to torment her further.

  The hurried cleaning and excited chatters paused as steps echoed from somewhere deeper in the house. The tension was palpable when someone finally approached one of the doors.

  “Leader—” Ronda’s new master said, his voice carrying deference and a hint of fear. “Plinius?” Surprise and annoyance replaced the previous emotions.

  The newcomer stepped inside the room. “Our Leader has been kept in Adris by an unforeseen problem. He wants you to be reassured though that your commitment to our cause is greatly appreciated and that your sacrifices will be remunerated.” The man’s voice was young and oily.

  Mirella couldn’t help but shiver in distaste.

  “He should’ve come. I’ve arranged to have the werewolf brought here for him. One word from him and we could finish it today,” Ronda’s master said.

  Mirella didn’t know what exactly the man was talking about, but it filled her with dread for Valentine.

  “The werewolf should not be in direct contact with any of us. Our Leader made it abundantly clear. Until otherwise required, this is the plan.” The young man’s voice was angry. “And what’s the Blessed Bride doing here?”

  Fear enveloped Mirella in a cold blanket.

  “I had to hide her somewhere. But that’s only part of what I wanted to discuss with our Leader. Today, we have the opportunity to end once and for all House Lobo.”

  “Are you suggesting our Leader should defer to your whims when it comes to plans he has been laying for decades?” The young man’s voice traveled through the room.

  “I’d never dare—”

  “You think you could do better than our Leader?”

  “No. Of course not. What I was saying is—”

  “What you were saying sounded a lot like you had it all figured it out.”

  “That’s not it,” Ronda’s master said, his former confidence all but gone. “I thought about the greater good of Lupine. We’ve been under the werewolf’s thumb long enough.”

  “The greater good of Lupine, you say.”

  “Yes—”

  “Not yours.” The young man paused, then his voice came from farther away from Mirella. “Our Leader knows everything about the coop interstellar-patrol the werewolf and his friend are trying to force on you and the others.”

  The tendrils of fog swirling in Mirella’s mind were dissipating, and what she was hearing spun her thoughts in several directions. Ronda’s master was a merchant. What was the name Ronda had called him again? Rado? Yes, it was Rado.

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with my suggestion to deal with the wolf earlier than planned,” Rado said, his voice low and lacking sincerity.

  “You don’t just mess with the Brotherhood and think there won’t be consequences.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “I don’t think you do. If we reveal our hand too early, we lose everything.”

  “I would never hinder the Leader’s plan.”

  “Then why did you take the Blessed Bride here?” The young man sounded like a cat happily playing with a mouse, entertained and not ready to finish off its prey. “Walk me through this scheme you hatched.”

  At the man’s words, Mirella felt the focus of the entire room shift to her.

  “She was going to leave Lupine. I had to act fast,” Rado said.

  How did he know that detail? Mirella wondered about Crea. No. The girl had not talked. Somehow, she knew her lady’s maid wasn’t the one divulging the manor’s secrets. Besides, by now every guard and servant at House Lobo knew Mirella would be on the next shuttle to Celestia. Anyone could have blabbed for the right price.

  “So I gathered from your message three days ago.” The young man sneered. “Don’t you think we would’ve taken care of something as big as the Blessed Bride leaving the planet?”

  “I, I—” Rado stuttered.

  “You almost ruined everything. Fix your mess. If you let the wolf see you, you are on your own.”

  Steps resonated further away in the room, a door was opened, then closed. Silence reigned absolute for a moment before Mirella felt a whooshing, and her hair was moved away from her ear as something was hurled against the wall behind her. A splintering noise followed alongsi
de a string of blasphemous curses.

  Nobody talked, not even Ronda. The entire room waited for Rado to calm, but it took several minutes before the man stopped swearing and ordered something to drink.

  The man hadn’t fully regained his composure when a commotion from outside interrupted his tirade.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Drugged and in pain, Valentine resigned himself to endure the trip inside the terrain vehicle.

  His driver wasn’t concerned with the welfare of his passengers and drove the armored car down the ledge, using the big crawler wheels with no skills. He directed the tank’s tread over rocks or dipped into holes without a care, sending everyone dancing around inside the cabin. With his hands secured by the cuffs behind his back, Valentine kept hitting the metal frame with his shoulder and head. Electric shocks radiated from his wrist and his neck at every jolt, courtesy of his special manacles and collar.

  Maybe the driver had orders to add a concussion to the list of sufferings plaguing Valentine. An accidental and most lucky consequence from so much shaking and hitting his head was that the blindfold loosened a few minutes into the trip. Just enough for him to take a peek without being discovered.

  The crawler passed under the large mouth of a cave and entered the system of long-forgotten tunnels that stretched into Lupine underground for hundreds of kilometers.

  Legends said rejects lived down there, thriving in the darkness.

  Valentine’s senses were subdued by the sedative he had been forced to drink, but his enemies had sorely underestimated his werewolf strength. Most of all, they had no idea that his wolf was fully aware. He let them believe he was harmless and numb for the remainder of the trip.

  Hours later, the armored tank slowly crawled up from one of the tunnels and drove parallel to a ledge before entering yet another cavern with a partially collapsed ceiling. Coral was setting low on the horizon. In the distance, wild draglets flew low to the ground.