by Jan Delima
“Then I will ask.”
“Good.” He turned to the sound of feminine laughter, and found Sulwen, with her adoring gaze filled with mischief and promise, hand-spooning cookie dough into his son’s mouth. Lydia glared at her sister with open disgust.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Joshua, follow me, if you would. I have a gift for you.”
Ignoring his son’s guilty flush, Dylan motioned for him to continue down the hallway, and away from treats of more than one variety. Silently, he made a mental note to make time for a certain conversation. Every unmated female in Rhuddin Village may well vie for Joshua’s attention, simply for being his son. But once he shifted . . .
Dylan shook his head, unprepared for this aspect of parenthood.
The pungent scent of lemon oil and vinegar, Enid’s staple cleaners, lingered in the great hall. He paused under the carved entry, holding out his arm for Joshua to enter. Enthusiasm brightened his son’s features, and yet a feeling of impending disaster lingered.
He had more to lose, Dylan realized, with his wife and son back home and the approaching gathering hovering around his family like a poisonous fog of uncertainty.
Not to mention the Guardians. Their silence was at odds with their normal behavior. Shouldn’t they have contacted him by now? Made demands?
The meeting of the guards had gone well this morning. Their defense was as sound as their limited numbers could provide. Dylan had faith in their skill, trusted their honor without question. Unfortunately, their numbers, or lack of, were just cause for concern. The weak, the people who needed protection, outnumbered the strong. His territory was massive, blessedly abundant, and consisted of far more terrain than sixty-two men and women could cover at one time, regardless if they ran as a wolf. Nonetheless, they had planned well, plotted the most vulnerable areas that needed protection. And, Goddess willing, the gathering would prove productive.
But was it enough?
“I don’t need a gift,” Joshua said, interrupting his father’s troubled thoughts.
“You will receive one regardless.” Dylan walked over to the mantel on the far wall where his father’s sword was displayed; copper, iron and glass forged together in unrivaled craftsmanship. “This belonged to your grandfather, my father.” He lifted the weapon off its mount along with the iron chain that would secure it around his son’s waist.
“That’s for me?” Surprise mingled with awe.
“This weapon is for your protection. I want you to wear it at all times when not in my presence.”
“You’re really giving that to me? It’s mine, like, to keep . . . forever?”
Dylan repressed a smile at his eagerness, remembering his own at a younger age of thirteen, a few months before his father was killed—a few months before Merin, heavy with her third child, had lost her sanity along with her mate. “It’s yours until your first born comes of age, then it is my wish, as it was my father’s, that it goes to him. Or her.”
“Wow. Yeah. Of course, I’ll do that.” His voice lowered, turned serious. “I promise.”
“It’s Celt-forged, not Roman,” Dylan explained. “Made by our kind. It’s also several inches longer than other weaponry of my father’s time.” He pointed to the curved end, another anomaly. “It was designed with a distinct purpose, to separate your enemy’s head from his or her body. As you know, if you listened to your uncle this afternoon, staking a shifter is pointless.”
He nodded emphatically. “I listened.”
Dylan gently handed the sword over. “It must never fall into human hands. The differences will be noted and questioned.”
“I understand.” He stared down at the sword as if searching for an appropriate reply. “Thanks, Dad.”
Such a modern phrase, but given with heartfelt sincerity. Dylan felt his throat thicken and repeated the same direction his father had given him. “Wear it well, my son. Use this weapon to protect your family . . . Use this weapon to protect the innocent who cannot protect themselves.”
“I will,” Joshua vowed.
Twenty-two
ABERDOVEY, WALES
STANDING ON THE NORTH SHORE OF HIS HOMELAND, Taliesin looked out upon the moon-kissed ocean. His flight had been long and depleting, since he had been confined within a body of metal for over eight hours. Angry winds whipped his long coat around his legs; even the gods were displeased with his mortal choice of travel, when they had given him the power to live beyond human entrapments, to soar in any form.
Not that he gave two fucks what they thought about his fondness for humanity.
As if in divine answer to his blasphemy, he tasted salt on his tongue and the coppery hint of blood-soaked earth, powerful elements that clung to the back of his throat like an overdone birthday cake. Tempting?
Oh, yes . . . the power was always tempting, and just as sickening in the aftermath. His so-called “gift” had its own set of fucked-up consequences; it was those he loved most who paid the price for his unnatural existence.
An image of Francine weaved through his mind, fiery and full of life, laughing with the pure joy of the untainted. Heart-burdened, he buried that image away, unable to stomach her fate—a fate rearranged by his own actions, because he had chosen to help Sophie.
And Siân, poor Siân . . . May her next life be filled with an armful of healthy children. A mere sixteen years had passed since Siân had scarred Sophie in a stupid act of madness and jealousy. Despite her actions, Siân’s life did not deserve to end under Math’s cruel hand, an unjust fate for misunderstood wrongs.
A turbulent wave crashed upon the shore, pushing an approaching figure closer to the dunes. Thankful for the distraction, he watched the cloaked woman weave her way toward him. She paused by his side, hesitant, an unusual behavior for this formidable ally.
“Merin,” he acknowledged with a slight nod, knowing she would not speak until he did.
“Sin,” she returned with a low curtsy.
“Get up,” he snapped, annoyed. “Humility doesn’t suit you.”
A flash of long golden hair escaped her hood as she rose to his side. She was the mature image of her daughter, though more confident . . . sensual. Merin understood the power of her allure, whereas Elen didn’t care.
“When you stand just so,” Merin said, tucking the fallen strand back under her hood, “I wonder if you are contemplating our future . . . or our demise.”
“I fear they may be one and the same.”
She stilled. “So then it is done?”
“Your banner was planted,” he confirmed. “And found. Your warning was successful.”
Merin exhaled slowly, her breath a whisper on the wind wrought with possibilities. “Have you seen them?”
It was a common question whenever they met, one he answered freely. “Yes.”
“How are my children?”
“Powerful.”
A satisfied smile turned her lips, reminding him of a mother cat watching her kittens devour their first rodent. Merin had been ruthless in her quest to make her offspring strong, so ruthless that even they did not know her true heart.
“Do they suspect it was I who left the banner?” she asked.
“They assume that it’s a warning from the Guardians, just as they assume that you are one of them.”
“I am a Guardian,” Merin professed bitterly. “And must remain one until the timing is right.”
Taliesin snorted. “I would not do your bidding if you were one of them.”
She laughed outright, a musical sound that resonated across the beach, skittering on the waves like a fleeting caress. “As if you have ever done my bidding. You listen when it suits you.”
“Did I not kill Madron for you?” He would have done so without Merin’s request, having no stomach for a man who raped children. However, it was in her best interest for him to appear aloof, persuaded on occasion by boredom or fancy, rather than affection. Those he cared about had a tendency to live short lives. Consequently, Madron’s death had been
the last time he had wielded the Serpent against a Guardian. He had allowed Elen to watch the execution; innocence was a virtue she could not afford, even as a child.
“Madron needed to die.” Merin shrugged without remorse. “He had tired of Leri and wanted my Elen.”
“Stupid man,” he mused openly, knowing he had granted her too many leniencies over the years. But it was easy to do, if one knew the sacrifices she had made, if one knew the secrets she had kept. “How have the Guardians never suspected the truth about you, Merin?” He shook his head. “How have they not realized that everything you’ve done has been to protect your children?”
“The Guardians are too distracted with their own needs,” she pointed out. “Whereas you see too much.”
“You’ll get no argument from me there,” he said dryly.
Hugging her cloak around her chest, Merin stared into the distance. “Will you tell me about my grandson?”
“If you wish.” His thoughts roamed an ocean away. In his mind’s eye he saw Dylan and Joshua, walking toward the Great Oak on Katahdin. The others followed a short distance away, with hundreds more in the forest, waiting, hopeful. A slight ache tugged at his heart, for Sophie looked none too pleased. He missed them still.
Not allowing Merin to know his dangerous attachment to her offspring, he schooled his voice and guarded his words. “Sophie has returned to Dylan by her own choosing. Your son and grandson have been reunited.” He paused, dropping his voice to a mere whisper, fearing the wind would carry his news to unwelcomed ears. “Joshua is going to run as a wolf tonight.”
Merin closed her eyes briefly in a rare show of emotion. As if called by her tempestuous spirit, a gust of wind thrashed her hood, revealing the prominent features of a Celt, fierce and proud. Laughing, she lifted her chin and spread her arms wide; she absorbed the power of the ocean, letting the salt air wash over her. Her hood fell back and long golden strands flew around her face, a wild beauty magnificent to behold.
“The Council meets tonight,” she said, composed once again with a plotting light in her silver-blue gaze. “When the others learn Dylan has sired a shifter, they will demand control of his territory. I suspect they will go to Castell Avon in the White Mountains, with Math and Rosa Alban’s cooperation. Until now, they’d assumed Rosa was the last shifter born.”
“Don’t concern yourself with Math and Rosa.”
“I will concern myself with whoever brings danger near my children! Math is Gwarchodwyr Unfed, loyal to the Council, as is Rosa’s aunt. Not to mention,” she continued on a familiar rant, “the White Mountains of New Hampshire are close to Dylan’s territory.” Agitated by worry, she began to pace. “Rosa is weak. She agreed to marry Math with no resistance.” She turned abruptly to glare at Taliesin. “Do you know what the Council has planned for her this coming Beltane, with Math’s approval I might add?”
“I know what they have planned,” he reminded her.
She made a disgusted sound low in her throat. “Three hundred years married to that vile creature is more misery than any woman should endure in silence, even one as meek as Rosa.”
Inwardly, Taliesin shared her sentiment of Math, but not of his young wife. “You of all women should never misinterpret silence as meekness. Rosa is strong enough to endure what is to come.” He purposely veered the conversation back to Dylan, the only topic that would distract her sharp mind. “And you’ve warned your children, Merin. Because of the banner, they now know the Guardians are coming. You have given them time to prepare.”
“Yes, but is it enough?”
“Dylan has organized a gathering with all the leaders not loyal to the Council.” Taliesin wanted to offer more reassurance but feared changing the course of events even further than he already had.
“This is good news.” Merin calmed, turned thoughtful. “Let’s hope the others listen. Or the Council will destroy us all in their quest for power. They think this is about land, about ownership of the earth that belongs to no one. They’ve forgotten that our gift is given—not taken.”
Taliesin reached down and enclosed her small hands within his. Her skin was cold with fear, provoking him to share a private assumption, an idea conceived by a simple question from her son. “Dylan asked me why I thought Joshua was chosen over all the others.”
She pulled her hands from his grasp and tucked them into her cloak. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing of significance,” Taliesin said, keeping his real response to himself out of respect. “But I’ve come to realize Ceridwen may have a personal bias toward women who are ruthless when it comes to protecting their children.”
Like the goddess Herself, he thought bitterly, my mother. His story was not much different from Dylan’s, the very reason, he supposed, he felt compelled to help this family.
“I hate it when you talk in riddles,” she said, sounding much like her son. “What are you insinuating?”
He spoke plainly. “I believe your children are powerful because of you. I believe Joshua will shift tonight because of Sophie.” He shrugged. “I believe Ceridwen favors mothers who make wrong decisions but with a pure heart.”
Merin’s brow furrowed with annoyance. “How have my decisions been wrong when my children still live?”
“Exactly,” he said, knowing Sophie had the very same mind-set; two different women with the same tenacious objective. Was it a coincidence that their children were rewarded?
He thought not. “I know your heart weeps for them, Merin. One day your children will know the truth.”
“Perhaps,” she said quietly, “but will they ever forgive me for what I have done?”
Twenty-three
THE WHITE SHAPE OF A CRESCENT MOON HUNG LOW IN the darkened sky. Sophie remembered this path well, on a different night with a different agenda. No guards blocked her way this time, just Elen and Luc, and Joshua up ahead with his father. Tucker trotted by her side, with his tail wagging as if they were going on an afternoon jaunt.
Only immediate family had been invited to watch Joshua’s first attempt at a transition, everyone except Sophie’s mother. Dylan had convinced her that Joshua needed minimal distraction. There were guards stationed in the woods, she knew, but Dylan had promised they would not interfere.
The rich scent of earth filled her lungs, her steps cushioned by a carpet of moss as they approached the familiar clearing. Over the last few days, spring had settled fully within the Katahdin area, as rain and warmth had melted away any lingering patches of snow. Energy pricked along her skin, or perhaps that was just nerves. “Always the oak tree,” she muttered under her breath.
“It is sacred to us,” Elen said, reaching out her arm to lace through Sophie’s.
Sophie stilled for a moment, surprised by the gesture, but soon took comfort in the contact as they walked arm in arm down the path. “Does it hurt?” she asked, trying hard to keep her voice neutral. “Does it hurt when you shift?”
“I have no personal experience,” Elen said. “I cannot shift. But I am told that it does, followed by an equal amount of pleasure. And Dylan will teach Joshua to manage the pain.”
Sophie gave a sharp nod. “Thank you for being honest.” Although in that instance a small lie might have been preferable.
Elen pressed further. “Joshua needs to attempt a transition. The longer he resists, the more the need will grow, and the more painful the transition will be.”
Sophie waved away her warning. “I’m not arguing with you. I just don’t like the thought of him in pain. I would take it onto myself if I could.”
“To become a worthy man, your son needs to overcome his own challenges without his mother’s help.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. But sometimes knowing what was best didn’t necessarily make it any easier to handle. “I’m sorry for ranting. I’m just worried.”
“Do not apologize for loving my nephew.”
The tree stood alone in the center of the clearing. Thick roots formed a massive knot th
at reached out like octopus arms toward the shadowed forest. Dylan guided Joshua to stand under its woven branches as Luc hovered around the outskirts, watching the darkness.
With wide eyes, Joshua looked toward his father. “What do I have to do?”
Stepping away from Elen, Sophie fisted her hands by her sides until her nails dug into her palms. She wanted to scream, Nothing. You don’t have to do anything. But because of the longing in her child’s voice, because of the pain she knew he tried to hide, she remained silent.
Dylan stood in front of their son and placed a hand on his shoulders. “Reach out, like you did in my truck, and draw from the power that nature offers.”
Joshua frowned with concentration. “Should I think about a wolf?”
“Your wolf will know what to do,” Dylan said. “It will take over . . . once you give it the power.”
“I’ve never done that.”
“I know.” When Joshua scrunched his eyes closed, a gentle smile touched Dylan’s lips. “You might want to take your clothes off first.”
“Can’t I just go down to my boxers?” He inclined his head toward Sophie and Elen.
“If you want.” Dylan stripped without hesitation, although he kept his briefs on.
Following his father’s lead, Joshua removed his clothing down to his boxers. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then it doesn’t work,” Dylan said simply. “But I believe it will.”
“Okay.” Joshua took a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s do this.”
Closing his eyes, Dylan opened his arms and reached to the sky. Pine branches whispered behind him, brushed by a wind that didn’t exist. Joshua mimicked his father’s actions, tentative at first, and then more aggressive, more confident.
Oh, God, Sophie thought. This is really happening.
The forest shivered as a flurry of pine needles floated to the ground, slowly, like falling through water, suspended by an unseen energy.
