Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two)

by Claudia King

"No, I cannot," Netya replied. "Adel is sending him to Octavia, and I am to attend the main gathering with you and Selo."

  "You cannot put your happiness aside on such a night for the sake of others! That is not what will please the spirits. Surely you seers understand that better than anyone."

  "I am not putting my happiness aside. I want to attend the celebration with you. And if it pleases Adel, then it pleases me. Caspian would say the same."

  Fern gave her a reproachful look, but Netya's brow was set stubbornly. There was something else going on, but Fern could not quite grasp it. She sighed, resigning herself to her friend's wishes. "Then I must at least put a smile on your face before the celebration begins. You too, Selo. Do you remember that piece of orange root you brought back earlier?"

  "The lakefire root, yes." Netya nodded.

  "Bring me some, and that skin of drink Hari has been sipping from all day. It won't be difficult to get it away from him after how much he's had."

  "What for?"

  Fern winked. "Seers are not the only ones with their secret remedies."

  By the time dusk was falling Fern had boiled the crushed root into the contents of Hari's waterskin. She added in a few more ingredients from their newly replenished supplies and allowed them to stew, then took a careful sip to test her concoction. It burned and made her tongue tingle, the taste bitter and sharp, but a few moments later a sensation of deep warmth began to spread through her body.

  "Here, try some." She offered the bowl to her pack-sisters. Selo swallowed hers without protest, but Netya spluttered and almost dropped the clay vessel as the unpleasant taste hit her tongue.

  "It tastes worse than the drinks the hunters share," she objected.

  "We aren't drinking it for the taste. Do you feel the warmness in your body? The readiness for the evening?" Fern smiled, squirming pleasurably on the spot. She rarely needed any such liquid encouragement, but the small mouthful she had swallowed was already doing its work. She felt looser, more excitable, and the tingle of the drink had begun to spread across her skin. Nothing seemed more appealing in that moment than the embrace of a man and the sensation of taking him inside her.

  "Yes," Selo said after a hesitant moment. "I feel it."

  Fern's grin spread. "There. I told you this was an evening for pleasure. Come, they are already lighting the fires! We must make ourselves ready."

  Though she was a little sad to leave Wren alone with her weaving, Fern could not allow herself to be too concerned with her young companion's lack of inclusion that night. She was too young to share in the pleasures of grown men and women, and she would be able to join them soon enough once a few more years had shaped her.

  The three of them had little in the way of adornments to make themselves beautiful, but they followed the busy path that had been cut through the brambles to find an unoccupied stretch of the nearest stream, where they undressed, bathed, and then clad themselves once more in only their lightest garments of clothing. To dry their hair they joined a nearby fire occupied by a handful of women from Adel's former pack, finding their temporary companions to be quietly apprehensive, but welcoming enough of the trio of witches. They brushed the tangles from their hair, allowed the fire's warmth to steam away the moisture, and wove their locks into attractive braids. Netya, Fern noticed, seemed to be trying to copy the strikingly complex weave of Octavia's hair. Though her efforts fell short of perfection, she still managed to create an elegant pattern of braids running from her temples to the back of her neck.

  With the warmth of the potion stirring her blood, Fern decided to be a little more daring with her appearance. They were witches now, after all, and the thought of playing such a role excited her. When she encouraged Netya and Selo to join her in painting her eyes with dark charcoal in a pattern that mimicked the one Adel had worn when she confronted the other alphas, the group of women sharing their fire finally grew uneasy enough to leave.

  "We do not want to scare the men away as well," Selo said as she glanced after the departing group.

  "Men love to be challenged!" Fern reassured her as she carefully stencilled the charcoal into patterns around Netya's eyes using a firm piece of plant stem. "We will scare away the timid and draw the alphas under our spell."

  That drew a giggle from Netya, and a smile from her friend in response. It might have taken the work of Fern's own unique magic to lighten the girl's mood, but she finally seemed to be relaxing and entering into the spirit of the celebration.

  By the time they returned to the hill the great bonfires were roaring high and bright, filling the air with the sweet, intoxicating smoke of the special branches that were burned only on the night of the celebration. The atmosphere was expectant and subdued, the air tingling as individual packs withdrew to their own private camps to prepare. The night tightened around the hilltop, tucking the gathering of the Moon People into its own place and time. The wisps of spirits danced in the smoke. The spark of new life leaped in the flames, impatient to escape and take root in the bodies of the lovers that would soon surround it.

  Fern breathed deep of the night air, letting her breast swell and tingle with anticipation. She was a witch tonight, no longer just an unexceptional huntress of low status. Perhaps this evening, at long last, Netya would not be the only one catching the eyes of alphas and great men.

  There was no ceremonial beginning to the celebration, but once the fires were roaring high into the night the unspoken traditions of the packs began to draw the congregation together. One by one, the boldest, the youngest, and the bearers of the greatest status stepped away from their camps to approach the centre of the gathering. They shed their loose garments as they went, disregarding the importance of their clothing as the enticing tug of the fires reeled them in closer. Many of the alphas and their den mothers were absent, observing their own traditions of private intimacy that night, and so it was the great hunters, seers, matriarchs, and warriors who led the way. It was a procession of those who might one day be leaders among their people. Men and women of power and influence.

  Fern was not often one to wrap her mind around the purposes of Adel's schemes, but even she understood the opportunity opening up before them that night as she watched the first members of the gathering assemble. It was not only alphas who held sway with the other packs. Many influential eyes and ears were waiting to be captured that night.

  Emboldened by her realisation, Fern grasped her companions' hands and began to walk forward.

  "What are you doing?" Selo gasped. "We must wait for the others."

  Fern shook her head. "Not tonight. Have courage. Walk like Adel. We will be the envy and the desire of every man and woman in the gathering." Perhaps such boldness was foolish, but what good was there in the status the den mother had won for them if they did not make use of it? Fern wanted to be looked upon with reverence for once, with the same longing gazes she had cast a dozen times at men like Caspian and Khelt in the summer celebrations of years past.

  Tugging Netya and Selo forward, she lifted her chin and focused on the warm rush stirring within her body like a sunset wind, driving her steps forward with confidence. She entwined her fingers with those of her friends, ensuring they approached as one.

  Fern had rarely felt powerful in her life, but that night was different. She felt more powerful than any of the women who hung back, casting apprehensive glances at the trio of witches approaching the centre of the gathering so brazenly. They were not wise with age. They held no great status. But to those who looked upon them, perhaps they did. A mysterious, unknowable status bestowed upon the kind of women who consorted with dark spirits; a power that let them walk upon fire and conjure coloured flames at their feet. A gust of wind guttered the bonfires, dragging sparks in the direction of Fern and her companions and stirring the braids in their hair.

  "You see," she whispered under her breath, keeping her eyes forward. "The fires beckon us in."

  As the moments passed Fern grew more emboldened. No one intervened
to try and stop them, nor was a single voice raised in objection. Only when they reached the centre of the clearing did they shed their clothes, joining with the scarce few others who had been bold enough to step forward. Most of them were men; lean and tall, with the look of high hunters about them. Old enough to bear the scars of experience upon their bare muscles, but still young enough to be in their prime. The den mother of Alpha Gheran's pack was also present, the handsome woman distinguished from the seers who accompanied her by a mane of waist-length hair, as straight as the strands of a spiderweb and as white as the shine of sunlight on water.

  It was a man of the dark-skinned tribe who approached them first, the same one who was often seen in the company of his alpha. The firelight played enticingly with his ebony complexion, and Fern allowed her eyes to stray down his body to the swell of his manhood.

  "Sisters," he said softly, bowing his close-shaven head with respect. "You are young to be the first among your clan, but I see no others following in your footsteps."

  "Then the first and greatest we must be," Fern teased. "Have we caught your eye already?"

  The man showed a flash of white teeth as he smiled, placing his palms outward in a gesture of deference. "All the packs speak of you and your sorcery now. Yes, you have won the desire of many men. But you are Adel's daughters, and so I cannot."

  Fern smiled quizzically, though she tried to keep her curiosity restrained. "Our den mother would not object, if that is what worries you."

  "Ah, it is not her objection I fear, but the fates that follow her and those who are drawn in by her spell. The last man whose heart she captured... Well, you must know the tale as well as I."

  "We do not. You knew this man?" Netya said.

  He nodded. "So it is, for he was my brother, and his last wish was that me and my clan never make an enemy of Adel." He bowed again. "For his sake, you have my respect. But I dare not walk into the same darkness that took him."

  "What do you mean? What became of him?" Netya asked.

  "Only your den mother knows. He spoke of her as if she was the moon spirit made flesh. A temptation so wonderful that he would walk the spirit world to be with her. And I believe he did, for he vanished into the night many years ago." The man smiled again. "I feel him in the fires even now, tempting me to follow where he once strayed."

  "We may tempt, but we will not drag you into the spirit world," Fern said, enticed by the mysterious, romantic tale. "Not unless you earn our ire, of course."

  The nervous look that played across the man's face was tinged with humour. "I once charged three mountain cats alone when I was out on the hunt. They say I am the bravest of all my pack, but even I fear to tangle with witches."

  Out of the corner of Fern's eye she noticed Netya edging forward, about to speak. She wanted to know more of the strange tale of Adel's love, no doubt. But this was not a night to dwell on the past. Before Netya could start, Fern dragged Selo forward and all but tossed her into the man's arms. The girl put up a hand to steady herself, a faint gasp leaving her lips as her fingers alighted on his sculpted chest. His arms moved naturally around her in response, and Fern saw him stir with eagerness.

  "Be bold, great hunter! Tame my sister and take the tales of your conquest back to your clan. I promise, she shall place no curses on you."

  The hunter met Selo's eyes, and she gazed up at him with colour rising in her cheeks. His palm slid down the small of her back, traversing the curve of her hips before exploring the softness of her rear. "Mmh," he growled under his breath, speaking a word in the strange language of his people. "I am a fool for women."

  "If you do not want her, then another man will be able to boast tomorrow that he was the first to claim a witch," Fern said.

  Her words had the desired effect. The man bared his teeth once more, shooting an eager glance Fern's way before bending down to bring Selo in for a kiss. The girl did not protest in the slightest, letting herself be swept up in the ebony hunter's embrace as his lips and hands kindled the passion that would last them through the night.

  "I wanted to hear more of his tale," Netya said as he took Selo away to lay her down in the light of the fires.

  "I know you did," Fern chastised. "And I am sure it would make for a beautiful, sad story. Ask him again on another day. He will be more than willing to tell you if Selo gives him the night he desires." She giggled, tugging Netya aside to where another knot of early arrivals had formed.

  Not everyone found partners immediately. Indeed, the search for the right companion was the entire purpose of the celebration for some. It was a night of talking and feasting as well as lovemaking. Fern did not count herself among those who took the evening slowly, but she was determined to make sure Netya ended up in good hands before worrying about her own pleasures.

  "I see Orec coming," she said to her friend. "And Adel's brother, Karel. What about the den mother over there? Mm?"

  Netya shook her head wryly, arms clasped across her breasts. "I would not know what to do with another woman. And Karel cannot be fond of a sun wolf like me." She frowned. "Caspian would not be fond of it, either."

  Fern rolled her eyes. "Then someone else! Someone new. Here, who are these young men? I do not recognise them."

  Netya followed her gaze to the small band of males approaching them. "Me neither."

  "Then let us find out! Come, you go first, or else I shall take them all for myself." With another weary smile Fern pushed her friend in the direction of the newcomers. Even though she was no seer, perhaps she really did have the powers of a witch. Even on the night of the celebration, she seemed the only one capable of keeping the spirits of her sisters high and their furs well-filled with pleasurable company. To her, it seemed a gift every bit as important as the magic woven by the den mother.

  —19—

  Deep Passions

  Even though he was curious to meet with a woman like Octavia for the first time, Caspian found his thoughts straying constantly back to Netya. He had not seen her at all that evening, and the ache of her absence was growing more pronounced by the day. Was she with Fern and the others now, enjoying the celebration to its fullest, gifting other men with the delights he seemed to have let slip through his fingers?

  He ran a hand through his handsome locks of brown hair, quite oblivious to the inviting looks of the women he passed by on his way to Octavia's tent. He would play the role Adel had asked of him, as he was sure Netya was doing also. He only hoped his natural manner would be enough to entice the woman, for he had little stomach for the game of seduction that evening.

  Several of Octavia's followers had joined the celebration, but a few still lingered within their camp. Guards for their leader, no doubt. When he approached the ring of spears that marked the edge of their territory he expected to be stopped, but the red-feathered warrior women merely acknowledged him with brief glances before nodding in greeting and gesturing to their leader's tent. It seemed Adel had sent word of her plans already. Caspian grimaced at the thought, feeling the same fiery itch beneath his skin that had stirred the night he challenged Karel.

  The soft deerskin hide hanging over the entrance was warm beneath his fingers as he lifted it up, and warmer still was the space he stepped into. Braziers burned with a hot herbal fragrance, fogging the air with a scent that seemed to cling to his skin. He was bare-chested that evening, but he still wore boots and a kilt of hides.

  Octavia had not undressed herself in the spirit of the celebration either, though she lounged on her fur-draped throne with her legs bare and only a light gown decorated with beads and grasses to cover herself.

  "You do not come to me with your body exposed as a man should on the night of the summer fires," she observed as Caspian strode forward.

  "I am not a pet like your alpha," he replied.

  Octavia's eyes lit up when she heard the firmness in his voice, the woman swinging her legs up to kneel eagerly on the edge of her seat with a hint of feline seduction in her movements. "No, you are not,
are you?" she whispered. "A man like you would never be permitted within my clan. You are the kind who brings pride, bloodshed, anger... All the things I have burned out of my pack."

  "You make eager eyes at me for a woman who thinks so little of men."

  "I do. But this is the night for such things, is it not? Even our darkest passions are exposed by the light of the summer fires." She parted her soft lips enticingly. Despite Caspian's distracted thoughts, he could not deny that she was beautiful. But a warning nudge from his inner wolf kept his guard up. According to Adel this woman was their friend, and yet the beast within him prickled with suspicion in her presence. It scented something on her that did not belong.

  "You are a unique woman," he said, the grass mats crunching beneath his feet as he approached her throne. "I understand now why the alphas are so wary of you."

  "And yet you are not."

  A faint smile crossed Caspian's face. "I have known many unique women."

  Octavia's eyes glazed with something caught between anger and uncontrollable lust. "Many women you have taken to sate your needs? Unique, wise, talented women, tempted in by your handsome face, then dragged to your furs where all talents but one are meaningless?"

  Caspian halted at the edge of her throne, staring down into the woman's eyes. "You know very little of me."

  "I could break you if I wanted," she said, eyes flicking minutely back and forth as they met his without blinking. "I learned that it is not only women who can be made slaves. Does that anger you to hear? Does it hurt the proud warrior to know that I took a man who should have been alpha and made him my pet?" She reached out to touch him, the sharpness of her fingernails biting at his skin as she ran her palm up his chest. "And I could do the same to you. I could. I would. But tonight I am all alone. Who is here to protect me from the vengeance of such a man?"

  She was toying with him. Making a game of his feelings with a wit every bit as keen and vicious as Adel's. But this woman was not Adel. The den mother's eyes could hold a chill like the coldest ice, but Octavia's flickered and danced with wildfire. Uncontrolled, ruthless, and hot enough to burn. What Caspian did not know was whether the woman he looked upon now was the true Octavia, or just one of her many shades awoken by the passion of the celebration.