The Mating Ritual: Werewolves of Montana Book 9

by Bonnie Vanak

  Heart hardened, he scowled. No one ever visited here. Gideon had spell cast the area to keep out intruders. Every month, Ariel and her guard visited, lovingly tending the spot and ensuring the shy purple pansies and pink violets always bloomed.

  Eleanor had adored wildflowers in these mountains.

  He had buried her here, where she could overlook the sweeping valley and the vista of green marching down to the mirrored lake and the mountains she had loved. He’d chosen the stone cottage where they had shared joyful, brief kisses, never consummating their love.

  No one came here but those he allowed. He had seen to it.

  Seemingly transfixed, Alia pushed on and then touched the wall. “This place, it’s so sad.” She whirled, her expression stricken. “There’s an underlying joy with the melancholy. Someone is buried here.”

  Jaw tight, he nodded. “It is a sacred place.”

  Alia blinked hard, as if trying to hold back tears. She seldom cried, his Fae bride. But she looked ready to weep now.

  His arms automatically reached out to give comfort. Gideon gathered her against his chest, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances, even though his anger was a sharp blade.

  Releasing her, he walked around the cottage to control his raging emotions, reassured that only nature had continued leaving its mark upon the ruins. No Fae had been here, no laughing couples to use the shelter to seal their love bonds.

  “Who was she?” Alia asked, her voice a broken whisper.

  Gideon walked over and sat on his haunches by the simple rock marker, wind, rain and time having erased the single name carved upon the stone a millennia ago. “Her name was Eleanor.”

  “Like the song.” Alia’s mouth gave a tremulous wobble. She shook her head, as if filled with disbelief. “Is that why you wept at the song on our wedding day?”

  He hesitated. She deserves to know the truth. Telling her risked everything. He would tell her before Danu dropped the glamour and revealed everything to the Fae. But not now. Too much was at risk, and most of all, he could not guarantee her safety if she knew he was the Crimson Wizard, for he lacked sufficient magick to protect her.

  And he must protect her, and keep her safe. Gideon had failed with Eleanor, but vowed he would not do so with Alia.

  “Yes, that is one reason. It is a song filled with sorrow,” he finally answered.

  “I can see the shadows in your eyes that sing of ancient hurts, and remembered joy. I feel there is something more.” A little frown dented her forehead. “But I cannot understand what it is.”

  How Alia knew what this place meant to him, and why, was something to ponder later. “The song does not give justice to the real story, which the Fae of the Winter Kingdom know well. Eleanor had a gentle, kind heart, a soul of pure innocence and joy. She died in her twenty-first year.”

  “She was murdered. Most cruelly, by the one she trusted from birth, the father she loved and adored.” Alia put a hand to her white, slender throat and then closed her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Let us leave this place, Gideon. I hate seeing the sadness in your eyes and how this place of sorrow pierces your heart with grief.”

  No one had cared about his concerns in centuries. Accustomed to taking care of all others, he allowed himself this small luxury.

  She went to a small white flower, picked it and laid it upon the grass before the stone. “So the seeds will bring life where once was death.”

  A cold shiver raced down his spine. He had heard Eleanor speak those same words once, here in this very place. Was Alia absorbing ancient memories from simply being here? How would she know Eleanor had been betrayed and killed by her own father?

  “Where did you learn that?” he demanded.

  Confusion filled her expression. Alia blinked, then looked down at her hands. “I don’t know. It seemed the right thing to say.”

  He seized her chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his hypnotic gaze. As she remained spellbound, unable to move, Gideon gathered his dark magick, sending tendrils of wispy gray smoke into the air. They curled sinuously over to Alia, and she inhaled the magick.

  It was fairly mild as dark Fae magick, but would trigger her to speak the truth.

  His voice deepened an octave. “Why are you saying things my beloved Eleanor once uttered?”

  Alia stared into his eyes, then shadows gathered in her gaze. She spoke in a faraway tone. “Search your heart Gideon, and you will discover the truth.”

  Frustrated, he dropped his hand. Either his Dark Fae magick was weak or her will was far stronger.

  He took her hand and Alia seemed to come out of her trance. Her mouth wobbled. “Please, can we leave this place?”

  Giving one last look at the grave, he tugged her down the pathway. They walked down back to the picnic spot. Neither spoke until reaching the hamper and the bright red blanket.

  As she went to gather the items, he waved a hand. “Leave them. I shall have Ariel send servants to clean up later. I want to show you the town.”

  An urgent need came over him to enjoy her company and partake in normal activities. The odd scene at the stone cottage left him deeply unsettled.

  It was a half mile walk to town, and along the way, Gideon pointed out the various rowan trees with markings made by Fae making wishes over the centuries. Some were for peace, others for potency in lovemaking and more than a few were to find a lost love.

  Alia sighed as they passed a rowan tree covered with etchings and initials. “I believe my father and mother once came here, and he carved her name upon one such tree. It was long ago, before I was born. I would like to believe the story, and that it is not legend.”

  The town appeared deserted when they reached it. No shouts of Fae hawking wares or giggles of children playing. The two-story cream and brown buildings that housed villagers were shuttered, the flowers in the red window boxes dried or dead.

  Unease shot through him. There was a heaviness in the air, a thick, surly rot.

  Darkness lingered in the streets, deep shadows where once sunlight sparkled. Gideon touched the earthen wall of a tavern. Screams echoed in his mind, raising the hairs on his nape.

  Alia’s breath hitched. “Gideon, what is that?”

  He turned in the direction of her pointing finger. Two doors away, a thick spider web of white lines spread on the cream-colored walls of an apartment building. Nostrils flaring, he headed toward the building. The stench of acid, wet decay and rotting flesh slapped into him. Dark Fae power hummed inside him, an instinctive reaction to the new threat.

  Glancing down, he saw his hands glittering with pure energy.

  “Stay back,” he ordered Alia. “Don’t touch the walls or any of that white substance.”

  The ugly white lines scared her, but judging from the distraught way she regarded him, so did the power radiating from him. Backing up, she threw out her hands. “Gideon, you’re glowing. Why?”

  He hastened to reassure her. “My powers as a Dark Fae prince are surging.” He caught up to her, encircling her slender waist with his arms so the warm pulse of his magick poured into her as well. Perhaps his magick would shield her as well from this new, dangerous threat.

  She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “I wish I had such abilities. My magick is weak compared to yours.”

  Yet even as she spoke, he sensed an equal hum inside her, as if something long dormant had come come to life when his Dark Fae powers touched her. Gideon slid a hand around her nape, caressing the silken hairs there. “You do, Alia. A powerful magick I can’t pinpoint. It appears at the most unusual times.”

  And it seems to respond to me.

  She lifted her gaze to his. “When it is most needed. And when you are near.”

  It could be from their bonding in the flesh. Yet Gideon sensed something deeper was at work here, and he suspected the goddess had a hand in it.

  Alia pointed to the buildings, where the white lines seemed to spread even as they looked. “Wh
at is it?”

  Gideon rubbed his cheek against the silky mass of her hair, much as his friend Kieran rubbed against the tall pine tree where he liked to lie at night. “I don’t know, but it’s putrid and infectious. And it’s spreading. It could carry on the wind. We must leave.”

  Arm in arm, they walked past the butcher’s shop, and the apartments that housed the town inhabitants. Fiercely glad the townspeople had fled this disease, he was startled to see a tall man and a woman at the town’s edge.

  Gideon started to reach for the sword strapped to his back when he caught a familiar, dear scent, and the woman’s face came into clear view. Suspicion turned into pure joy. He tugged Alia with him, running to greet the woman.

  “Mara!”

  Dropping Alia’s hand, he reached out to hug his sister. His only living, close relative who had survived the brutality of the Fae Wars after Eleanor had died.

  Alarm flared on her face. Mara backed away. “No, Gideon!”

  She dropped her glamour. Horrified he saw the same white lines snaking around her face, covering the scars she always covered with Fae magick. “Don’t touch me. I haven’t yet cleansed myself and I don’t want you falling ill to this.”

  The man beside her also dropped his glamour and the same white lines appeared on his face, only these were heavier.

  Searching their bodies, seeing the lines on every exposed inch of their flesh, he understood. “You’re cleansing the town.”

  Mara’s magick had always proven healing and powerful.

  “Patrick is helping me to eradicate the infection from Cantabria.” Mara looked with affection at the tall, golden-haired Fae.

  “It is futile, for each time we succeed in pushing it back, the next evening it grows stronger.” Patrick had a deep, lilting voice, pure as a stream of gushing water.

  Gideon studied the man, pleased at how his sister regarded Patrick.

  “You’re Patrick Harris, the fabled singer.” Gideon automatically stuck out a hand, and withdrew it.

  The other Fae grinned. “I will shake your hand when I am free of this muck. Yes, that’s me.”

  “Patrick discovered his voice can absorb the infection. When he sings, the fungus turns to powder and dies,” Mara told him.

  “Quite a talent,” Gideon murmured. He drew Alia forward. “This is my bride, Princess Alia of the summer kingdom, daughter of King Oren.”

  Shock touched Mara’s expression, but she quickly recovered. She curtseyed and Patrick bowed, murmuring greetings to Alia.

  “Thank you for cleansing the town.” Alia’s gaze remained steady. “Are the people all safe?”

  “All those who survived have left,” Mara said.

  He looked up and down the streets, seeing more of the sticky substance on walls and the cobblestone street itself. “What is this?”

  “Near as we can figure out, a manifestation of evil. It began when someone from the Summer Kingdom came here to spend the night,” Patrick said.

  Mara nodded at Patrick. “We come here every other day to measure the growth of the fungus and absorb the evil. To make sure the spores we absorbed are totally destroyed, we swim in Mirror Lake. So far, it’s worked, but the evil in the town keeps growing, and we can’t stop the spread.”

  Patrick, his rugged body seemingly hewn from sheer muscle, frowned. “The townspeople fled more than a month ago when the fungus first appeared. Ten died. They shuttered their homes and businesses and fled to the Mystic Mountain.”

  Alia gave a delicate shudder. “It’s a frozen wasteland up there.”

  “Better to freeze than die from acid ropes sinking into your bare skin.” Maya gave her an arch look. “Your lily white skin would not last a minute.”

  “Mara, be nice,” Patrick chided.

  “Does the fungus affect fairies as well?” At Mara’s nod, he realized Ariel and her companions could not venture here. He would not risk it, even in daylight.

  Gideon felt a great need to leave this place. He took Alia’s arm. “We will accompany you as far as the path to the lake, but then we must return.”

  “Best you be on your way before night falls,” Patrick warned. He looked at the sun’s arc of descent in the sky. “Dusk will be here soon. The evil spreads quickly at night.”

  They walked in silence, but Mara touched her mind to his.

  “What are you doing here, brother? Your aura is dim. Are you here to rid the town of this evil? I sense a great void in you.”

  He nearly laughed. “Danu removed my Crimson Wizard powers. I have only dark magick. All others but you and Ariel see me as an Unseelie prince.”

  Strings of curses echoed in his mind, and sharp worry accommodated them. “Gideon! You must beware. It is far too dangerous! Why are you bringing the Summer King’s daughter here?”

  “Calm down. She is my bride.”

  A humorless laugh from Maia. “I heard rumors of a prince marrying the youngest daughter of Oren. Is this part of the punishment?”

  His mind flickered to the exquisite, intense sex they’d shared only this morning. “If it is, it is the most pleasant punishment Danu could heap upon me. I could do with much more.”

  “Be serious, brother. How long will this last?”

  “I know not. Tell me about what is happening here.”

  Mara glanced at Patrick, who began talking with Alia and asking her questions about life in the Summer Court. Gideon let them walk ahead, and Mara dropped back to join him. He rubbed his temples. Telepathic communication had been easy as the Crimson Wizard, but it taxed him as a Dark Fae.

  “We were visiting here three weeks ago,” Mara told him. “Patrick had a concert, and we arrived at dawn to get the amphitheater ready. The commissioner in charge of entertainment failed to meet us at the scheduled time. We went to his house and he was dead.”

  Mara looked over her shoulder and shuddered. “The fungus had begun at his house. He lived next to the amphitheater. I sensed that whoever wished this to infect the town wanted it to spread rapidly, through those attending the concert. If not for Patrick singing an enchanted song, it would have quickly spread.”

  Patrick, he remembered, was an ancient Fae whose magick rested in his voice and his ability to drive away evil and heal the sick. The purity of the notes charmed the goddess herself.

  “We rounded up as many as we could and sent them north. Some wished to stay. Those were the ones who fell ill and died horribly. Every day since we have returned, always during the day, and touch the buildings as Patrick sings.” Mara sighed. “It’s horrible, Gideon. In all my centuries of living I have never seen such virulent disease that cannot be eradicated. It looks harmless by day but if you touch it, it clings to your skin. One victim discovered too late that only the sacred lake can cleanse the evil and you must do it before nightfall. She died, screaming in pain as the fungus turned into acid, sinking into her skin.”

  Gideon quickened his pace. The news troubled him on a deeper level, for as the Crimson Wizard, he should have detected this evil. “Why would I not have heard of this? I had no knowledge of this disease. I could have acted quickly, helped you and Patrick with my powers before Danu removed them.”

  “That is what makes this evil so strong. It’s subtle, hard to detect because it looks natural and from the earth. Then it spreads like wildfire and then the putrid essence cannot be hidden.” Maria held out her hands. “We would not have been aware of it either if we had not gone to find the commissioner. Something is cloaking this evil, something powerful and not solely Fae. Stronger.”

  He’d suspected as much in his dealings with the king’s court since his marriage. “I am helpless to aid you, sister. I am not the wizard I once was.” He hated being this powerless, seeing suffering and evil and not having the necessary magick to cleanse it.

  Mara gave him a steady look as they cleared the town and walked on the path down to the lake. “Maybe she took away your Crimson Wizard powers to make you stronger. You’re evolving, Gideon. You have been for a while now, o
nly you’re unaware of the subtle changes. You’ve become stronger.”

  Mara was the only immediate family who had survived the Fae War. In her seventeen hundred years, she had seen and experienced much. He trusted her insight.

  They reached the top of the hill that ended at Mirror Lake. Patrick pointed to the shining surface of the water in the nearby distance. “Hurry. At this pace, we’ll never make it.”

  Gideon felt his stomach knot. “My magick is insufficient in this place.”

  “Ours as well,” Maria said.

  For the first time, he felt real fear, not for himself, but for the women at his side. Bred into his blood and bones was the instinct to protect and defend women. It’s what made it impossible for him to understand what path Oren had taken.

  “We will make it if we slide,” Alia said.

  “Down that?” Patrick frowned. “Impossible.”

  “I once slid down this very hill in winter, in a saucer limed with fairy magick. It was fun and very fast. I wish we could do so now.” Alia sighed.

  Suddenly the rough, gravel pathway leading down to the lake became smooth and slick with ice and snow. Four saucers, as big as carriage wheels, appeared before them. Fairy dust glittered around them.

  Gideon’s breath caught. Such powerful magic created this. Had his powers returned? He flicked out a hand to summon an energy bolt. Nothing.

  Suspicion grew as he regarded Alia, her eyes large as the saucers before them. “How did this happen?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going.” Mara sat in one of the saucers. “Come on!”

  They did the same and with a push of their hands, were sailing off down the hill. Wind whipped his long hair, rippled his clothing. Gideon grinned. He had not had this much fun in a long time.

  Alia laughed, an enchanting sound. To his astonishment, Mara laughed as well. His heart turned over. He had not heard his sister laugh with such pure delight in centuries.

  They arrived a few feet short of the lake’s bank. Alia stood, brushing at her trousers and the pathway turned back to normal, the saucers vanishing.

  It could have been Alia’s magick, triggered by desperation. She was the king’s daughter. Yet the fairy dust beneath the saucers had glowed red. Red like his Crimson Wizard magick.