by Jan Delima
Rosa scoffed. “Guardians under my husband’s command infiltrated Dylan’s territory and imprisoned his mate. And then, during his mate’s capture, had her mother and several others under his protection tortured and killed. And you think Dylan is going to be forgiving toward the widow of the man responsible? Truly?”
Gareth ignored her sarcasm. “Dylan took his revenge on Math. Had he wanted more deaths, he would have claimed them.”
“Perhaps,” Rosa admitted. “But he is not a leader who tolerates dishonor, or deceit. I must stay faithful to my word.”
He gave a reluctant sigh of agreement. “Don’t mistake Dylan as our ally just because our enemies are the same, nor his brother, Luc. They are not to be trusted.”
“You think I don’t know this?” She found it strange that he hadn’t included the sister in his warning. If rumors were to be believed, Elen was more powerful than both brothers combined. “That is why I need you here to protect the others if I fail.”
“You’re too stubborn to fail.” He gave a crude snort. “That’s not my concern.”
Her vision, always keen in the darkness, saw his marred features in clear detail. Striations of green and gold bled into his one good eye, revealing a wolf that had dwelled too long under the surface of human scars.
“Then what is it?” She shook her head, suddenly confused. “What has you so troubled that you would detain me here at this time?”
His voice thickened with an emotion she chose not to acknowledge. “I fear that in my absence you’ll offer them more than what’s already been given.”
“I’ve nothing to offer them other than an alliance with their closest neighbor.”
“You’re not so naïve.” A bitter laugh fell from his withered lips. “And I’m not one of your idiots to be duped by your guile. You’re the last pure-blooded, unmated shifter of our kind. You’re more precious than any alliance, or parcel of land infested with our vile leaders.”
“I’ll be no man’s breeder,” she sneered, “Guardian or otherwise.”
Unless she chose to be—but that was her decision to make and her gift to give.
He began to protest but was silenced when a side door flung open and a shaft of light streamed into the garage, followed by the lewd voice of a curious guard.
“How long does it take to unlock a door, Gareth?” His lanky silhouette identified him as Briog, one of Math’s favored guards, not for sexual sport but for his creativity toward torture. “I wonder if there is another task to be done, one I might be inclined to assist you with.”
“The woman wants to take the Porsche,” Gareth shot back with convincing annoyance. “It’s mud season. She’s bound to get stuck and I’m in no mood to haul her out.”
“Figures,” Briog said.
Gareth grabbed Rosa’s hand. It took some effort for her not to cringe, more from displeasure than true aversion. She simply didn’t care to be touched. It was her bane of existence that most unmated males felt compelled to fondle her in some way, while her reactions to them were altogether opposite.
“Take my truck.” He pressed a key into her palm. “And I expect you to bring her back unharmed.” His voice left little doubt that it was not his vehicle he spoke of. “There’s a winch under the seat if needed.”
“I will do my best.” She wrapped her hand around the key, grateful Gareth had finally conceded without exposing her mission.
She climbed into the truck and quickly started the engine. The sound was not unpleasant because it always preceded a run, and like Pavlov’s dog, she had found her own peculiar bell. The outer carriage door began to open, filtering in natural light; Gareth must have entered the security code and hit the inner remote.
Electricity had been added to the building during its restoration, a convenience the Guardians hadn’t dared bring across the river. Her island held secrets, powerful forces that even the Guardians feared, contained only by a moving circle of water. Connections inland were unsafe, especially one as volatile as lightning in a wire.
Tendrils of doubt skittered across her spine, made worse by Gareth’s final warning. Was she prepared for the aftermath of what she was about to do? Probably not, and before she had further second thoughts, Rosa adjusted the seat and rearview mirror to her smaller frame and pulled onto the cobbled drive.
As miles separated her from Avon, her tension began to ease. She half expected to be followed, but why would the Guardians suspect her of wrongdoing? Over the last three hundred years, she had given them no cause to doubt her. She had assumed a lifetime of obedience for this singular act of defiance.
When she crossed the New Hampshire border into Maine, sunlight hit her windshield and blinded her with warmth. It was a beautiful spring morning. Aught not the weather show some sign when one turned traitor? Or perhaps this was a sign.
A giggle escaped, an absurdly childish sound for a woman who’d lived as long as she had. Is this what hope feels like? she wondered. If so, this emotion could be quite addictive. With each hour that passed, burdens fell from her shoulders like seeds from a dandelion, wishes floating on the wind wrought with possibilities.
I can drive away, straight into Canada and beyond. I can be free, truly free, if I choose . . .
The selfish thought lasted only a moment, chased away by the image of Tesni hanging pillowcases on the line—with her back hunched because Guardians had violated her the night before. And Rosa mustn’t forget Cadan, as if she ever could, who continued to offer himself, even after Math’s death—for this mission.
And there were others who waited for Rosa’s return. More than thirty Hen Was resided in Castell Avon, forced to be servants because of their inability to shift, and more in the woods. They counted on her to succeed.
At the very least, they trusted her to try. Running away was not an option. She had endured too much—kept silent for too long—to abandon the people who needed her protection at this crucial time.
A war had begun between the Guardians and the rebels who refused to follow their demented ideals, and in times of war it was the innocents who suffered most. She would not leave them stranded, regardless of summer’s rapid approach.
Even so, the mental reminder of the upcoming holiday made her stomach churn with dread. For many of their kind, the first of May brought happy celebrations—but never for her. Her husband was gone from this world, and still he had found a way to punish her.
In four weeks hence, the Guardians and their Council were preparing a grand festival. They meant to reenact an old fertility ritual, suggested by Math before his death, to include Rosa and eight unmated Guardians. Contrary to what they assumed, she had no intention of being a willing participant in their desperate plan.
But, if all went well, her neighbors to the north would be a willing participant in hers, bribery notwithstanding.
Two
RHUDDIN VILLAGE, MAINE
240 MILES NORTHEAST OF AVON
Luc Black watched his brother pace around the gathering room of Rhuddin Hall. A fire had been lit to take the dampness from the air, but the added warmth served only to agitate Luc’s inner wolf. He felt the stone walls close in, wanting—no, needing—to get his ass outside and into the forest.
The room was relatively empty, save for five occupants. Sophie and Joshua, Dylan’s wife and teenage son, sat on the nearest sofa, while Taliesin, the subject of their current debate, sulked in the far corner with a withdrawn expression on his deceivingly young face.
Dylan stopped pacing across the floor and shot Luc a frustrated glance. “You’ve been sitting there quiet as a stone, brother. Come on. Speak up. Let us hear your opinion on the matter.”
Luc would rather clean stalls in the guard’s shit house than serve as referee to an argument between a man and his wife, so he stood to leave instead. “My opinion is pointless when you’ve already promised Sophie that Taliesin can stay. I think
my time would be better served having the lake house prepared.”
“Bloody hell, you too?” Dylan sighed in defeated frustration. “I didn’t think he would actually take me up on the offer.”
Ignoring her husband, Sophie gave Luc a grateful smile, one that he welcomed so soon after the death of her mother. Shadows lurked within her soft brown eyes but acceptance had begun to settle, along with determination to move on for the sake of her family.
Absently, Luc fingered a tiny gold charm tied to woven twine around his wrist, two circles that formed a Celtic knot, once worn by Koko, his late wife. He had given her the charm on her fifty-fourth birthday, when her woman’s flow had ceased and not returned, and it had become certain that she wouldn’t carry his child. Koko had been gone more than sixty years now; she had been the balm that soothed his darker half. Now he felt much like the battered charm, worn and broken with time.
Luc understood the grieving process well and admired his sister-in-law for not showing the sorrow he knew she carried. Time lessened the pain of loss but it never diminished, not truly; it just became easier to hide.
“I’ll help.” Joshua jumped up, obviously sensing an escape. Gangly and full of youthful energy, he brought much-needed life back to Rhuddin Hall. And, like Luc, he had wolf blood running through his veins. The woods that surrounded their territory flourished with the song of spring, a powerful temptress that beckoned their inner beasts to play. Joshua toppled an antique side table in a hasty retreat to the door. “Er . . . sorry ’bout that,” he said sheepishly, righting the furniture before tromping next to his uncle. “I can come, right?”
Luc bit back a smile. “Of course.”
Taliesin stretched out his legs before him without standing. His wardrobe looked much like Joshua’s, his age hardly much older. He sported ripped jeans, a faded T-shirt, and worn-out sneakers. His fair hair hung to his shoulders, cleaned and combed, because Sophie had requested it. He was more than two thousand years old and could afford a country if it suited him to buy one.
Taliesin was also a Seer, a curse from the goddess Ceridwen, his mother by birth but not much else. Poor bastard had been raised by the Gwarchodwyr Unfed, the Original Guardians, also blessed by the goddess to transform into wolves to protect her son. Over the years, Ceridwen’s gift had been used for darkness, cruelty and prejudice against humans and weaker members of their race, and therefore, like all misused gifts, dwindled with each passing generation.
It was no wonder that the man was touched in the head. He knew things, and usually not good things. It was a harsh burden to bear, and one that never boded well for the families that housed him. Worse, it was obvious that he had a soft spot for Sophie, like an orphan who had found motherly kindness after centuries of abandonment.
Luc understood the appeal more than most. All the same, he felt for his brother.
With disdain in his tone, as if he’d known his history had been under retrospection and didn’t care for it, Taliesin said, “I wouldn’t bother preparing the lake house.”
That made Luc pause. “Why not? Have you changed your mind about staying?”
“Oh, no, I’m staying. Just not at the lake house.” Eyes that belonged on a woman, the color of the sky before twilight, glazed over with what Luc could only assume indicated a premonition. The haze cleared. Taliesin shrugged absently. “You’re about to have a visitor.”
A chill skittered across the back of his neck, sensing danger in what wasn’t said. “What kind of visitor?”
By the look on Taliesin’s face, very few had the balls to ask about his premonitions, but it would be stupid, and a damn shame, not to use his Sight to their advantage.
After all, if the man was going to stay, he might as well be of some use.
“You’ll see.” His expression became guarded, then aloof; two protective shields that didn’t denote great tidings.
“Are we in danger?” Sophie asked.
Taliesin’s features softened to her concern. “No.” Then he amended, “Not at this time.”
Dylan demanded, “Then who—”
“You know how this works,” Taliesin warned, turning stoic. “I can’t tell you any more without risking repercussions. I’m not allowed to hinder free will and personal choices. When I do, it never works out well for those around me.”
Luc winced for his brother, considering the two people that Taliesin hovered around most were Sophie and Joshua. “That sucks,” he said, using one of his nephew’s modern phrases.
“You think?” Dylan strode over to Joshua and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Stay here while your uncle goes to take a look.”
Luc met his brother’s narrowed glare, always black, like their Roman father. Or so he’d been told, never having known the man who’d died before his birth. Dylan had assumed their father’s role, and Luc would honor him with his own life if necessary for doing so. Acting as second-in-command of their territory was a responsibility that he accepted without question.
Regardless of the fact that it wasn’t a position he wanted; Luc kept that opinion to himself. Still, it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to follow orders—even ones given by the man who’d raised him.
As an alpha, Luc was meant to lead his own territory.
And his beast had begun to demand control in physical ways. He had managed, so far, to contain the attacks internally, but . . . bloody hell they hurt like a bastard, and he could tolerate a fair amount of pain. His insides were continually shredded, literally and without respite, and the struggle had grown tiresome.
He wanted his own territory, but leaving his family during this dangerous time stunk like a betrayal. He’d rather tolerate the silent torment of submission than that particular stench.
“I’ll go warn the others.” Luc took the side exit closest to the inner courtyard, and then made his way to the main gatehouse. His scabbard and sword chafed his thigh as he walked. Over the last century there had been no need to carry weapons on his person, but those days of peace had brutally ended less than a week ago—when the Guardians had come for his sister and left a trail of death in their wake.
A mental image of the carnage fully awakened Luc’s inner wolf, primed and ready for retribution. Not that his wolf ever withdrew far below the surface of his humanity. He tightened his belt and forced his beast to recede, gritting his teeth against the discomfort that action caused, as though twenty keen blades slashed him from the inside out, tearing sinew from bone to free his more dominant half.
If he coughed, there would be blood.
Annoyed by the distraction, he paused and inhaled deeply. Letting his breath out slowly, he willed his muscles to ease. It was almost noon; the sun rode high above the peaks of their mountains, nurturing and warming the newly budded plants and rows of kitchen garden beds. Every shade of green blended in the forest beyond, deep like the furs, and pale with recent growth that would darken each day toward summer.
Nature thrived in untainted glory, a treasure in these modern times of overbuilt cities and depleted resources. It was a treasure their enemies would soon demand control of, now that they were aware.
I will die fighting before I let that happen. His vow satisfied his beast into submission.
Moving forward, he tapped the rungs of the wrought iron gate as he passed to the outer door, giving the guards due warning of his approach. They were jumpy and there was no need to test their responses. Too many false alarms muddled reactions when true danger arrived.
Sarah and Teyrnon, his newly appointed second- and third-in-command, had been assigned to the area directly around Sophie and Joshua. They stood as Luc entered the small building that allowed or refused visitors to the inner courtyard. Not surprising, there was an edge to their stances and darkness in their gazes. They were clearly troubled with what had transpired less than a week ago in their woods.
Reading their apprehen
sion, Luc shared, “Taliesin informs us we are about to have a visitor.”
Sarah began to pace inside the small room. Tall and lithe like all shifters, she had the bright red hair of a Celt, shorn above her shoulders for efficiency. She wore studded leather pants, zippered up on both sides for easy removal before a shift. A scabbard hung from her waist, her hands flexing by her sides, ready. To accommodate her build, her sword was longer than Luc’s, thinner and lighter, but she wielded it with deadly competence if needed.
Luc would know. He had trained her to use it.
“Should we sound the alarm?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he said. “Warn the other guards but not the villagers.”
Their main alarm didn’t consist of modern technology, but rang from the steeple of their local church and meeting hall, where many residents of Rhuddin Village gathered and worshiped. Peaceful faiths were allowed without persecution, a reflection of these modern times, the diversity of their human lineage, and the Constitution of their new country.
They had lived too long in complacency, under the protection of his brother, a strong but fair leader. They had forgotten the cruelty of the Guardians who revered the old ways with self-serving fervor.
Recent events had, however, reminded them.
“Our people are weary,” Luc added. “Let’s not cause unnecessary fear when Taliesin didn’t seem overly concerned. Let’s see who it is before we sound a full alarm.”
No sooner had he spoken than a gray truck slowed and pulled up to the gate. The female driver turned off the ignition and held up her hands. The gesture was either naïve, desperate—or incredibly bold; his instincts warned that it may be a combination of all three.
Teyrnon growled low under his breath. “That’s Rosa Alban. Does the woman think she can just enter our territory without an invitation?”
“We’ve been expecting her,” Luc reminded both guards, a warning not to act without due cause. He and Dylan had discussed in great detail what this woman’s motivations might have been for freeing Sophie from Math’s dungeon. “It seems she’s come to collect her reward sooner rather than later.”
