“If you’ll take your own dose, you can leave.” He holds out a small vial of green liquid toward me with a neutral expression on his face. His voice is not angry, sad, or even disdainful. Instead, it’s just flat and emotionless. As he says, he’s completed his duty. I’m the idiot who forgot what this was supposed to be—a business transaction.
For the love of the Overrealm, I lost myself, and now I am paying a steep price. I snatch the vial from his outstretched hand and gulp it down, praying for the erasure of every kiss and every blissful moment upon its consumption. I hate this man, and he doesn’t even deserve it. Not just because that’s far too much emotion to waste on him, but because he’s not the one who lost sight of our goal. I am.
“I included a few more vials, Megan,” the High Priestess’s voice calls out, her words ending the starting contest between David and I, “I know shifters have a hard time letting go of their feelings.”
I suffer her insult in silence; the potion has already begun to work, placing a veil over the memories of what we once had. I still remember, but there is no pain, I feel nothing. I nod at her and turn to exit the room, but her words stop me.
“Megan, remember the child of this union’s power belongs to us. On her 25th year, you will perform the Blood Moon ceremony, and as is our agreement, that power will be turned over to us. Do you understand?”
“I do,” is all I can muster, and then I exit the temple.
Running into my room, I pack up my few possessions so I can leave. It’s time to go home; I want to go back to my pack and away from David. There is nothing left for me here, but I’m going to be a mother. I take solace in the fact that finally, I will have a child of my own.
After I finish packing, I load my car and head out of the Overrealm. For those who are permitted, we can enter and exit through a portal just like driving over a bridge. The way to the Temple of Elders is much more difficult without permission. It’s pretty much impossible unless one knows the spells required, and most ritual spells books have ‘lost’ those pages.
I stop at a hotel later that evening, too emotionally drained to continue. That’s when I spot some blood in the toilet bowl.
“No, fuck,” the keening wail bursts out of me, breaking through the veil of the potion.
It’s all too much. I’m losing my child, and I’ve already lost my mate.
My Mate. My child.
The words echo through my head as the numbness rapidly wears off. Running to my bag, I grab one of the extra vials and drink it down, and I calm as the blissful veil settles over me once again. Then, I head to the bed and curl up with a pillow, hot tears soaking the case as I focus on the only loss I can comprehend at the moment, my child.
The next morning, I am still bleeding. I need to get home to Sacha. She can help me.
By the time I return home, I’m bleeding steadily, but I refuse to give up.
“Sacha, please,” I say, running into her room.
“I’m losing my baby. Please, save it!”
She doesn’t ask when I got pregnant, or what’s happening. She just grabs her medical bag and urges me to lay on the bed. For hours she works on me using potions, spells, chants, and the best her medical science knowledge has to offer to try to save the life of my child. Eventually, she gives up, sitting on her heels and looking up at me.
“I tried so hard Meggie, I did! I am so sorry, but I don’t know what else to do. You know how hard it’s been for women to have viable pregnancies lately.”
Tears stream down her pale, creamy skin I’ve envied so often and her wolf eyes speak of sorrow and guilt. I don’t want her pity. My wolf rears its head, desiring nothing more than to snap at her. Distraught, I turn my bloodshot eyes to her.
“Well since you couldn’t save my child,” I bite out, lashing at her though I know she doesn’t deserve it.
“Why don’t you do something useful like find me a bottle of whiskey, and leave me alone.”
She takes the vicious insult in stride, and purses her lips,
“Well you can’t stay like that, so let me get you cleaned up first, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
She doesn’t actually let me get wasted. She brought me a drink laced with a painkiller and sleeping draught instead. I sleep for over a day, but when I wake, the grief is just as raw. I am one endless throbbing wound.
On a particularly shitty day a few days later, I stumble into my sister’s room and inform her that I’m going out. I’m sure it makes no sense, but all I want is a fight, and I know exactly where to go to get one. Everyone grieves in different ways, and I want to grieve in someone else’s pain. Something inside urges me to leave the den.
As expected, my sister refuses to let me drive myself. So, I amble my already drunk ass into the car. As she starts driving in the direction of our safe and predictable den bar, I call out, “No! Take me to the Death Claw bar instead.”
“Megan! I know you’re feeling like shit, but that is suicidal.” She’s trying so hard not to lecture me like the big sister that she is.
“I can take them,” I say, slurring a bit because I already broke into the whiskey and downed most of the bottle.
“I want a fight, and I don’t want to fight my packmates.” The logic of this statement seems self-explanatory.
She presses her lips into a firm line but changes directions and takes me to where I want to go.
When we arrive, I’m in rare form. Slinging back shots and dancing on the bar like a stripper is not a good idea, but I don’t give a damn. I’m asking for trouble, and I know I’m going to get it.
“I knew this was a shitty idea,” she mutters as she fends off yet another Death Claw from trying to pull me off the bar’s ledge.
“I’m fine, I’m great,” I interject while singing the wrong words to some song I don’t actually know. As I twirl around and fall, I land right into the lap of a burly brunette.
“Well since you fell into my lap, you’re mine,” he growls and locks his arms tight around me.
“Hmm, I think not,” I toss the words back and struggle out of his arms. I’m able to slip out of his grasp and stand up teetering on unsteady legs.
“Well, I say you are.” He roughly yanks me to him. I am drunk, and in heels, so I fall as expected.
Sacha gets up to save me, but I wave her off.
“No,” my words are slurred, but my alpha power works just fine.
“He’s mine.”
I hear his chuckle, but it turns into a choking cough when I slam my fist into his nose, and the blood starts pouring.
“Yes, that’s right,” taunting him, I sweep my leg and bring him to the ground. I’m am very impressed with my drunk fighting skills.
“I am not yours.”
I slam my fist into his face again and again, but when I go to punch him one more time I’m pulled off of the offending douche by my annoying sister.
“Let’s go,” she grabs me and drags me towards the door. I want to fight her, but even my alcohol-fuddled brain can recognize the danger of the situation. It’s probably a good time to leave.
“I’m going to go grab the car. You can’t move fast enough in those heels, so stay hidden, and I’ll be right back.” I can hear the exasperation in her voice, and I almost feel guilty. Almost.
She sprints towards our car, and I hide as well as a drunk shifter can hide, which is not well at all. So, when a hand is clamped over my mouth, I am not really that surprised.
“I like my girls feisty, so thanks for the show. Now, how about we take this back to my place and I show you who’s in charge,” a voice rumbles in my ear.
“You know what? I think I’m alright. I don’t even know your name, and I’m not really feeling a one-night stand with anyone from your pack.”
“Well, you came here for a reason,” he says, pressing his erection into my ass.
Yeah, I don’t like that.
“So, why don’t I just give you what you want?” he continues, oblivious to my internal musings.<
br />
Holy crap, where is Sacha?
“No, as I said, I don’t want any strange penis today, okay? Thanks.”
“Megan Flores, fated alpha of the Dama de Noches; I am Nathaniel Samuelson, alpha of the Death Claws. There, we’re not strangers anymore.”
Oh, shiiiitt, Megan. You have really stepped in it this time.
“I still don’t want to fuck you,” I say, and struggle harder to get out of his grasp.
“I honestly don’t care if you want to or not. Like I said, I like them feisty.”
Okay, that’s gross and rapey.
I am trying to think of my martial arts training, but I have tequila-brain and can’t think fast enough. Apparently, my drunk fighting skills were single use only.
I grab his hand to break it when a zip of magic reaches out and hits us.
You’re fucking kidding me! Him? He’s my mate? Oh, hell no. Reject! I reject!
Obviously, I’m not the only one shocked because he drops me and stares in abject horror. Sensing my opportunity, I kick him in the balls and then lose the shoes. Running full tilt toward Sacha’s car, I fumble with the door handle and slide in when it opens.
“Sacha, let’s go.”
The next morning, I spend the day vomiting. Proper penance for the amount of alcohol I put away, I assure myself. I am so sick in bed; I don’t even notice my feelings for David have returned.
The morning after that, I feel much of the same and decide I will never drink at hole-in-the-wall bars ever again. When I am still throwing up on day three, a small blossom of hope fills me, quickly followed by a sense of dread.
Am I pregnant, and did I just give my child Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?
After spending two solid weeks puking whenever my body feels it appropriate, which means all day, I finally take a test, and it’s positive. I don’t know what miracle kept me from losing my child, but I thank them.
Being pregnant makes missing David hurt less, and I start getting better. But one morning I can’t tolerate my usual tea, so I stop drinking the bitter brew Sacha brings me each day. For the first time, the pangs of separation come back.
“Sacha, what’s wrong with me?” I cry. She looks at my untouched tea and grimaces.
“You haven’t been drinking your tea?”
“Not for a least a day. I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Look, I didn’t want to tell you, but the Bonding was real. The potion was a placebo. There is no way to fake the Claiming. The High Priestess sensed your compatibility and used you,” she says as in a placating tone.
“But he said he felt nothing for me!”
“He lied, Megan; he’s taking the same drug you are.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I went to the Elders and asked for more of the Claiming remedy potion when I saw you weren’t getting better, and they told me the truth. They didn’t think that multiple doses would be needed, but I saw that it was the only thing that could help you. I’ve been adding the potion to your tea every morning to help you cope with the pain. The Elders told me the only way to end the pain is to go back to the Temple or for him to come here.”
“That won’t happen.”
“I know it won’t. You’re both stubborn, so this is your only choice.”
That was all twenty-five years ago, and I still love that bastard. I send a message to Sacha to set up a trip to grab more supplies. My daughter was kidnapped. I don’t have time to reminisce. Instead, I need to think of a way to eliminate the man who has been making my life hell for two decades. The man who threatened to rape and kill my daughter.
I grab the phone on my desk and call the Wyvern alpha.
“Seamus, hello. We have a problem.”
“Megan, what a delight it is to hear your voice.”
“Look, sweet talker, I don’t have time for your charm. I’m serious!” I snap, already at my wit’s end.
“We have an issue with Nathaniel. He attacked Marcus and stole my fucking daughter. I have her back now, but I want him to pay.”
“He did what?” he roars into the phone.
“He stole my daughter, her best friend, and one of our packmates.” Cold rage fills me.
“I want to kill him, but I cannot kill in cold blood. I have to do it in ritual combat or some other method. Help me find a way. I need to avenge my daughter.”
“Megan, darling. Calm down,” he tries to soothe me.
“Fuck you, Seamus. Don’t tell me to calm down!”
“Megan, sweetheart. Why don’t I come over and cook you a wonderful dinner, and we can talk this out?”
“You will not talk me down; I will not let this go; I want him dead!”
“Come now, Megan. Let me take you out. We can do dinner and dancing, and we can talk about this. I’m sure it’s been ages since you went out for a nice meal.”
I recoil at the phone. The patronizing tone in his voice is setting my teeth on edge. Under the surface, he’s apparently just like the other alphas I’ve come to know.
“Actually, Marcus spoils the ladies here regularly, and he’s quite the chef. Plus, I don’t want to be wined and dined. I want pain and vengeance, and if you won’t help me, then I’ll do this my damn self.”
Anger is my talisman, keeping me focused on the road before me now that my daughter was nearly murdered at the hands of my rejected mate.
“You know you cannot kill an alpha; your life would be forfeit unless it’s a during a challenge.”
“Are you serious? I know that I cannot kill him, but no one said he couldn’t die in an accident.” Frustration is clogging my throat, making it difficult to speak. I take one calming breath and then another.
“Seamus,” I enunciate slowly, “I do not want to go out with you, and I have repeated that more than once. I want to protect my daughter. If you don’t want to help, then I suggest we only speak for pack purposes from here on out.”
“Now, Megan,” he begins, but I’ve had enough condescension for the day and hang up.
I don’t need a man to do my dirty work; I’m badass enough to do it myself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Abby
A few days after my escape, he’s perched on the bed as I sit between his knees. He brushes my hair, and the soothing strokes of the brush lull me into a half-sleep as it massages my scalp. He is as patient and meticulous with detangling my curls and waves as he is with a knife in the kitchen.
Ever since my kidnapping, Marcus has been very attentive. It started the night the men came to help me break out of the Death Claw den. When he saw my swollen and battered face, his walls came crashing down. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, as his eyes roved the bruises and cuts that marred my face and body, he opened the connection wider than it has ever been.
The downside is that I could feel his soul shatter as he took on the weight of guilt from my injuries upon himself. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on his thoughts, but I could hear him cursing himself out and blaming himself for what happened to me. My heart clenched when he vowed to find a way to make it right. It seems that Marcus, the reluctant, has finally fallen.
I sigh as the smoky timbre of his light brogue rolls over me, and he finally begins unburdening his heart.
“My father used to beat us.”
He doesn’t need to tell me the dark secret he is hiding; I saw it all over his face that night. Nonetheless, I am thankful he is saying it aloud. More for him than for me, because he needs to get the words out.
He threads his fingers through my hair and tilts my head back for a thorough kiss, before continuing. I can feel his desire to touch me as he reveals the secrets that have kept him distant so long. He draws the brush absentmindedly through my long strands, his voice low and rumbling as he finally admits what he feels makes him unworthy of love.
“It’s supposed to be impossible to lay hands in anger on your Bonded mate as you know. And us dragons, we worship our women. Even in the beginning, before the birth rates dropped, dragon
women were scarcer than men.”
“My mother was a sweet soul, but a mighty dragon. She was unique.”
I hear the pride and the pain in his voice as he speaks of her, but I tamp down any pity. I want him to tell me everything, so I keep my mouth closed, and my heart open. As he speaks, I use our connection to send soothing waves of encouragement to him.
“My mother was petite like you, Abby, with long hair that reminded me of freshly-tilled earth, rich and brown. I have her eyes, but hers were always shining green with her power and her spirit. She was so special, and one of the largest dragons in our pack. She dwarfed my father; I think it’s one of the reasons he despised her so much. Even Alpha Seamus would look at her sideways when we shifted. She was a brilliant green dragon like me, but her wings were as black as coal. And she was a gifted fighter who rose fast in the ranks.”
He begins to dextrously weave my hair into a set of complex braids as he continues.
“Eventually, she was promoted above my father. Before, when they were the same rank, he would swallow his feelings, but after that, he became so angry and full of rage there was no hiding it.”
He pauses, holding my hair with one hand and using the other to hand me a glass of wine.
“I look like my father. I have his hair, his build, and,” he says with a swallow, “his temper.”
I want to argue, but instead, I say nothing. I’ve never seen his temper, not even after all this, so I don’t believe him.
“We moved here from Ireland when I was a child, and my Dad swore allegiance to the Wyverns immediately. We left our clan to come here, and I never once asked why. I was too young to question him, and at the time, still hero-worshipping them both.”
He pauses and says nothing for a while as he finishes a complicated braid.
“My dad had always been violent, but he hid it well until he began to work for Alpha Seamus. Then it was like he was free to be his true self, and that person was an asshole. He claimed that Seamus was a cousin. That’s why the Wyverns accepted us without all the usual rigamarole. My father would come home after some secret mission and start in on us. At first, the abuse was verbal. He called us names, berated us, and generally made us feel like shit. It took a while before things turned physical, but when it did, it was nothing short of hell.”
Blood Moon Magic Page 25
