by Jan Delima
“That night in the woods was my attempt to open your eyes, to teach you, although I must admit now that I may have been overenthusiastic in my approach.”
His attempt at humor was rewarded with a slight smile.
“Wales, early fourth century,” she mused. “Celtic then? Pagan?”
He nodded, his eyes drawn to her full mouth as she worried her bottom lip, taunting him with desire that he didn’t want.
Soft brown eyes lifted to his, unguarded and without malice. “That explains a lot.”
This conversation had taken a dangerous turn. In the face of anger he could resist her, but not this—not her looking up at him with newfound understanding. It was her gentle nature that had drawn him to her in the beginning.
He could do nothing but respond. “Like what?”
“Your beliefs. The way you live. Your fortress of a home.” She lifted one delicate shoulder and let it fall, causing light to dance around her long curls. “Your dominant temperament.”
“The last is from my wolf.” The treacherous beast that wanted to reach out and snag one of those curls to explore its texture.
“Joshua has your eyes,” she whispered. “Those are not the eyes of a Celt. Or a wolf.”
“Roman,” he supplied, taking a step back before he gave in to baser instincts. “My father was a legionary commander during the Roman occupation of Britain, his mother an Egyptian slave.”
She blinked twice and began to rub her temples. “Are your parents still alive?”
“Not my father. He wasn’t of our kind.”
“Neither am I,” she said softly, wrongly assuming that Dylan and Joshua would exceed her in life. And yet it was not with resentment but awe that she asked, “How long could Joshua live?”
“Thousands of years.”
Still, denial lingered. “But he’s aged normally.”
“Our children age at the normal human rate until adolescence. But then the aging process slows.” He waited for her to assimilate that information before moving on to something he knew would truly unsettle her. “The same way your aging has slowed since carrying my son.”
Her expression again turned wary. “You said your father’s no longer alive because he wasn’t of your kind.”
“It’s different for mothers,” he explained. “You carried my child, shared your blood with his for over nine months. Because of that biological bond, an incubation of our blood with yours, you’ll live much longer than you’ve assumed.”
He did not, however, inform her of the rarity of a female conception with a male of his kind.
Sophie had initiated their affair that fateful summer. He had accepted the pleasant distraction only because he’d thought nothing would come of it.
Obviously, he’d been wrong.
Just one of many misjudgments concerning this woman.
“Let me get this straight.” Her voice was thick with disbelief. “Are you saying I could live for over a thousand years?”
“That’s very possible.”
“As long as no vital organs are removed.”
“Yes.” He would kill anyone who dared try.
She slowly slid into a waiting chair, resting her face in her hands. He left her alone, a difficult stance when all his instincts itched to pull her into his arms.
Finally, she lifted her head. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”
“Why would I lie about something that will only be proven in time?” He sighed at her lowered glare. “It’s been sixteen years and you look the same. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Women in my family age very well,” she said defensively.
“Not that well.” And just to prove his point, or so he justified to himself, he stepped forward and ran a finger down the smooth perfection of her cheek. “The sooner you accept that you’re a part of my world, the easier it will be for you to accept your fate.”
She leaned away from his touch, visibly shaken. He let his hand drop to his side as an inner battle raged.
He’d underestimated the effect of one simple touch.
He’d been denied physical comfort for too long.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sophie asked, oblivious of her precarious position. “I don’t believe in fate,” she huffed. “I believe in choice and free will.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “You’ll learn there are some things beyond our control, and that we are just pawns to a higher power.”
That annoyed her. “Fine. But how am I supposed to accept my fate, as you call it, if I don’t even know what you are.” She held her hands up, waiting for an explanation. “What are you? Werewolves? Shape shifters? How are you possible? How are the shifts possible? Are you even from this earth?”
“Shape shifter is an apt term.” He did his best not to smile at her naïve questions. “And yes, we are from this earth. But werewolves, as far as I know, are just a legend.”
“Then you’re not allergic to silver?” When he hesitated, she blurted, “I ask only for Joshua’s sake.”
“We are not allergic to silver.” He let his eyes drop to her waist, having noticed earlier she favored her right side. “That gun under your sweatshirt won’t protect you, whether it’s loaded with silver bullets or lead.” She remained silent. He suspected she had other weapons planted on her person or she would have shown more concern. “Nor are we compelled by the full moon. However, some of our elders still shift on the night of the dark moon to honor the Goddess Ceridwen. I would not be surprised if the werewolf legend began with an unknown witness to a ritual, thousands of years ago.”
“And how do you shift?”
He gave thoughtful consideration to his answer, knowing a woman born of modern times would only understand the scientific explanation. “The earth is a powerful instrument; creation is constant. The same element that makes a seed grow into a tree, and animals age, and winter turn into spring, can be used in different applications, if you know what to look for and how to draw from its energy.” He eluded the full explanation for another time. Better to let her adjust in increments. Sophie didn’t react well to surprises she didn’t like. “Now, I think it’s your turn to answer my questions, and I expect the same honesty I’ve given you.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m always honest. You’ve always just chosen not to listen.”
“How could you have done it?” He didn’t know who was more surprised by his first question, him or Sophie. “How could you have taken my son?” How could you have left me? “Did you even think of me, just once?”
“Of course.” She lifted her hand as if to touch his arm but then let it drop. “How could I not? I almost called you the night Joshua was born. He was so beautiful and I wanted to share that with you. I even dialed your number.”
He scowled. “Why would you tell me this other than to torment me?”
“I’ve given you no reason to believe me, I know . . . but I never wanted to hurt you.” Conflicting emotions bled from her pores in a murky spiral of scents: sorrow, bitterness, frustration, and beneath them all, the pungent trail of fear. “Did it ever occur to you that I may have had valid reasons for staying away?”
His nostrils flared; he inhaled slowly, savoring the evidence of her remorse on the back of his tongue like a perfectly aged Scottish whisky. “I can think of none worth what you’ve put me through.” He turned his back on her, feeling his wolf react in earnest. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me? Wondering if you were alive? Wondering about my child?”
He heard a whisper of movement before he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t shove her off, she moved closer.
“And for that,” she whispered, “I am truly sorry. I was scared, Dylan. I was scared of losing my son.”
He had no argument against an assumption caused by his own words. “Did you teach Joshua to fear me?”
“No.” She released his arm and walked away. “I taught him not to trust the people around you.”
; His chest tightened with her admission. “Why would you do such a thing?”
She faced him with a hardened expression, reminding him of a warrior after a first kill, of innocence lost. “Because the people you’re so eager to defend are not worthy of our trust.”
“What have they ever done to you to warrant such dislike?”
She tilted her head to one side. “You have no idea, do you?” She shrugged. “But then why would you? I made certain you wouldn’t.”
“Speak openly . . . because your evasive words grow tiresome.”
“Then I’ll save you the details.” A dead calm stole over her. “But there is something you should know . . . Siân found me in the woods the night I ran from you. I convinced her to let me go by telling her my child wasn’t yours. However, she threatened to kill us if we ever returned, and I have reason to believe she’ll try.”
Her words robbed him of air. He had no memory of Siân from that night, but if she had found Sophie and not told him . . .
“Siân has been contained,” he said quietly. “I will investigate your claims. If they prove true then she’ll be punished accordingly.”
“If they prove true?” she sneered, shaking her head as if the betrayal of their past was his fault alone. “You are blind when it comes to your people. I was stupid to believe that anything I might say would change your mind.”
“I’m protective,” he corrected. “And I told you I would investigate your claims.”
She gave him an odd smile. “Do you want to know the main reason I didn’t call you?”
He remained silent, waiting to hear her reasoning, no matter how irrational, because whether they were true or not, he was quite certain that Sophie believed her accusations.
“It was for Joshua’s safety,” she continued. “I’ve waited until he was strong enough to defend himself against the people you are so eager to protect.”
Her lack of trust in his ability to keep their child safe left a foul scent in the air. His voice lowered to a soft growl. “No harm will come to you,” he vowed. “Or to my son, while you’re in my territory. I will make certain of it.”
“Thank you,” she said, sounding genuinely relieved.
Her gratitude annoyed him; their safety should have been expected, not appreciated. “I still have a few questions I’d like you to answer.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Has anyone helped you since that night in the woods?” He found it incomprehensible that she’d been able to hide from him all this time. She had no idea of the lengths he had gone to find her.
“Not in the manner you’re suggesting. The only help I received was from family and old friends, nothing that was connected to you. And not once did I betray your secret.”
“Where have you been?” Thanks to Porter, he knew she’d made her first call from Providence. It had taken the guard a good amount of time to locate her signal, but by morning he’d been able to report some useful findings—and yet not nearly enough for Dylan’s satisfaction.
“I didn’t leave the country,” she admitted, still protecting something, or someone. “I taught grade school until the fingerprinting laws started to take effect. Then most recently I’ve been working as a chef and housekeeper for a nice employer.”
“Mr. Ayres,” he supplied dryly.
“Yes.” Her tone dropped in warning. “And I would be very angry if you tracked this person down and questioned him. He knows nothing of my past. He’s innocent.”
“I promise not to track him down if you promise not to run.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Dylan, as long as Joshua wants to stay.” She lifted her hands and let them fall back to her side. “I only ask that you work with me, to at least be civil with me in front of him.”
He frowned, not knowing how to respond to such a rational request. “Agreed.”
“I know my son.” She sighed with resigned acceptance. “I’m not sure how long he wants to stay, but I have a feeling it might be for a while.”
“Our son,” he corrected quietly, “is old enough to make his own decisions.”
“I know that,” she said softly. “He’ll need to enroll in school. And I’ll have to commute to find a job.” She began to pace, a delicate frown creasing her forehead. “But Bangor’s only an hour away. If it’s not in your territory then it must be somewhat close. You can make a compromise, I’m sure, if you really want to.” A sparkle of hope lifted her features; her voice turned wistful. “I’d love to teach again.”
“Teach? Commute? A job?” Being with Sophie was equivalent to standing on a small ship during a nasty storm, the ground beneath his feet constantly unstable and threatening to toss him on his ass.
“Will you rent me the lake house?” she asked cheerfully.
“Rent you the lake house,” he spat, livid once again now that her words had sunk in. “You’re not a servant. I don’t expect payment from you to live here. I’ll provide whatever you need. You’re my—”
“Don’t even say it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare! I don’t acknowledge those vows as a marriage. If you still do then I’m sorry, and I release you from them. Even ancient Pagans recognized divorce,” she said with just a tad too much knowledge for her own well-being.
Dylan bared his teeth as his beast clawed at his spine, demanding a voice. “We have a son together. There’ll be no divorce.”
You are my mate!
She opened her mouth to object, then snapped it shut. “We can discuss this at a later time.”
He shrugged. She could talk whenever she wanted and for however long she wanted. Years, decades, centuries, it was irrelevant; his decision on this matter was nonnegotiable. However, he needed to think further on her request to teach. If it would pacify her, perhaps he could find a way to make it happen without compromising her safety.
“We have eight children here in the village,” he said. “Gwenfair is their classroom teacher. I’m sure she’d appreciate your help anytime. She can also tutor Joshua if necessary.”
“You can’t be serious?” Sophie stared at him in stunned shock. “You haven’t been listening to me, Dylan. The people in your village hate me. And that was before I ran away with your son. I can’t even imagine how they’ll react now that they actually have a reason to.” She laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “They certainly won’t let me anywhere near their children, that’s for sure.”
“They are wary by nature,” he explained, keeping his voice calm to her prejudice. “You just didn’t give them enough time.”
“Whatever you say.” Submissive words laced with malevolence, as if arguing suddenly became a waste of her time.
“You can’t live as you were!” He sensed her determination, her unbreakable will; she fully intended to do whatever she pleased, even if it went against his wishes.
“Really?” Her chin lifted, only to validate his concern. “Why can’t I?”
“There are precautions that must be taken.” He clenched his hands by his sides in frustration. “The knowledge of our kind can never be revealed. You must come to terms with that.”
“And how high a price will I have to pay under your terms?”
He tried to defuse her ire with truth. “There are others of my kind who will eliminate any threats to our race.”
“I’m not a threat. Unless,” she amended, her eyes narrowing with a dangerous light so unlike her former self that it took him by surprise, “they come after my son.”
A real possibility that he kept to himself. “I’m grateful that you and Joshua are here now, healthy and unharmed.”
“Are you trying to scare me?”
“My motivations have always been to keep you safe.”
From the other side of the building, Dylan heard the soft click of a closing door. Footsteps approached, one heavy and one light. Joshua and Elen appeared around the corner a moment later, halting the conversation.
Elen commanded his attention with her expression, her face aglow in a
we. She whispered in the old tongue, “He’s whole. The Goddess has blessed us, brother. Your son is whole.”
Dylan closed his eyes briefly at the confirmation of what he’d already suspected. Still, he refused to celebrate, not until he saw his son change with his own eyes. Porter was whole, according to Elen’s special gift, and he was unable to call the wolf.
Soon, Goddess willing, they would know for sure.
Sophie pulled Joshua aside, the concern in her voice palpable. “Are you okay?”
He rolled his eyes. “Chill, Mom. I’m fine. Aunt Elen just listened to my heart rate and did a few other tests.” He grinned then. “I think I passed.”
Aunt Elen, is it? Dylan smiled.
So did his sister. “You passed.”
His wife, however, wasn’t smiling when she leveled Elen with a searching glare. “Should I be relieved or concerned?”
Elen looked to Dylan. “Can I speak openly?”
“Yes, we will no longer protect my wife from the truth. I believe she’s ready to hear it.”
His sister nodded with approval, not inclined to soften her words. “Joshua is powerful enough to shift into the wolf. Are you strong enough to handle that? If so, then be relieved. If not, then be concerned.”
Sophie flinched, unaware that Elen had been her greatest defender. “You have no idea what I’d do for my son.”
“No, I don’t.” Elen crossed her arms in front of her chest. “But then whose fault is that?”
Sophie turned her back on them and ran a gentle hand down Joshua’s arm, searching his face. “I’m strong enough to handle anything but losing you.”
“I know, Mom.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Are you ready for a new adventure?”
By the look on Sophie’s face, the simple question had personal significance. It made Dylan painfully aware of his exclusion from their life.
Sophie laughed, and it was a musical sound of pure love and acceptance. It was, Dylan recognized, a sound he’d never heard from her.
It made him ache.
