Autumn Moon Page 3

  “Nothing of significance.” Truly, the jewels, brooches, paintings, garden statues, and silk gown held no value to her when given with ill intent. The collection of pebbles she kept on her windowsill, given to her by Melissa, Cormack’s niece, was far more precious.

  Cormack turned to Dylan. “And you allowed this?”

  Her brother sneered at the insult. “Do you think I haven’t considered every other alternative that doesn’t involve ceding my territory to our enemies?”

  A trail of mottled red began to crawl from Cormack’s neck to his face. He was angry, Elen realized. Livid, actually. “If you’ve sanctioned communication from their leader, is that not yielding?”

  “Spoken like a wolf,” Dylan returned with more appreciation than annoyance. “But you must learn to embrace your humanity if you’re to protect others who have.” He went on to state the stark reality of their precarious position. “The Guardians have attacked us twice now; once here, and once in Avon. As you know, there are other leaders willing to stand with us against them, but not enough. You saw how many followed Pendaran’s orders in Avon.”

  Cormack’s lips peeled back at the memory. “Cowards,” he spat.

  “Some, but not all. Power is seductive to our kind.” Green bled into her brother’s dark gaze. He held tight control of his wolf, but lines bracketed his face with strain. “I have five hundred and seven people living in Rhuddin Village under my protection, but only eighteen of them can shift. Nineteen,” he amended, “now that you’ve returned. Luc and Rosa have eleven shifters among two hundred and twelve, and I included them in that tally.”

  All true, of course, but hearing their numbers stated in such a way only strengthened Elen’s resolve for the approaching evening. Rhuddin Village and Avon were mostly inhabited by members of their race born without the ability to shift. They lived for centuries, healed faster than humans, but were vulnerable in a battle against shifters who healed instantly during the change. The Guardians, led by Pendaran himself, viewed them as undeniable proof that their bloodlines were weakening due to overbreeding with humans. A ludicrous notion born of fear and prejudice. But poisoned minds weren’t easily swayed. And like her brothers, she would do what she must to keep their people safe.

  As if he hadn’t heard, or didn’t care, Cormack shoved the balled parchment in her face. “You’re not going.” He spoke low, but his eyes raged.

  “Agreed,” Dylan confirmed. “It’s time to end this farce. Elen, make a list of what you need from your cottage. You’re moving into Rhuddin Hall.”

  “No,” she said. “I won’t bring danger directly into your home, not with Sophie and Joshua here.” Not again. He’d almost lost them six months earlier because of her, and she refused to risk their lives when she was fully capable of defending herself. “My cottage is close enough. I won’t leave our territory, but I must face him from my own environment.”

  Like sun on wet earth, Dylan’s frustration rolled off his shoulders in waves. “Elen—”

  “No,” she repeated, shaking her head with conviction. On this matter, she wouldn’t bend. “You treat me as if I need protection.” She flicked her hand toward Cormack. “Assigning me guards without my consent.” She could rip the very life force from any living thing, plant or creature, if she so chose. “As if I’m weak—”

  “Your compassion is your weakness,” Dylan asserted with annoying insight. “Correspondence is one thing, but this is a different situation. If you are harmed . . . if you are taken . . . if I, as a leader, allow that to happen without retaliation—what will the consequences be?” His voice rose, unbending in its authority. “Answer me, Elen!”

  She closed her eyes, knowing the answer, and hating that he was right. “The war will begin in earnest.” Because neither of her brothers, Dylan nor Luc, would submit to Guardian rule, since it would only bring more deaths to the weaker members of their race. Or enslavement. Worse, she couldn’t bear the thought of another battle because of her. Not when it was her family who suffered most.

  “Elen needs her cottage,” Cormack said. He spoke low, but his calm intrusion gained both Elen and Dylan’s full attention—hers for more personal reasons. “You would encase her in a fortress of cemented rock,” he explained, waving his hand around the office with its whitewashed stone walls, “when her greatest weapon is her garden and the forest that surrounds her home. Nature is her sword. How would you react if asked to face an enemy without yours?”

  Elen leaned into the polished wood of the desk to steady her balance. His understanding rendered her speechless. He knew her. Of course he knew her, but now he had a voice that gave him the ability to articulate that knowledge. And he’d done it in a way her brother would appreciate.

  And he wasn’t quite finished. “Avon put her at the same disadvantage.” Cormack lifted his arms in demonstration of his fairly new form. “The battle before, the one that took place in these very woods . . .” His voice trailed off. The one, he might have said were he less considerate, where she’d ripped the power from a Guardian and given it to him. He said instead, “You see before you what she can do in her own environment.”

  Seeking confirmation, Dylan pinned her with an assessing glare. “If this is your reason for wanting to stay, I would hear it from you.” He thought like a warrior, and all this talk of weapons and defenses swayed his decision more than any of her former arguments.

  If she weren’t so grateful, she may have been put out. Either way, she didn’t deny its accuracy. “He’s right.”

  Dylan pushed back from his desk and shoved open his office window. A crisp breeze ruffled the drapes and carried the scent of pine and earth. Ivy grew along the outer wall and spilled over the sill, a blanket of green edged by red as autumn’s cool nights painted its glossy leaves.

  Knowing her brother needed reassurances, Elen crossed the few paces to stand beside him. She reached out to stroke the twisted stems with her right hand and gently placed her left over his. This ivy was strong and old, and so was its power as it rose to greet her. Touch was a direct conduit for her gift, and she allowed just a taste of what she held to flow along her arm and into his skin.

  As always, she felt the transfer. It began as a tingle, like the awakening of blood-deprived limbs, but soon burned like red embers against tender flesh. The energy of his beast recoiled at her invasion. Pure in soul and savvy in spirit, it knew when to run.

  Where most men would have shrunk from her grasp, Dylan only sucked in his breath. “Enough,” he said. “You’ve made your point.”

  Slowly, she eased the flow before removing her hand. The vine gave one last surge at her withdrawal. Five months earlier it would have made her knees buckle at the cost of its life. She weaved slightly, but as Ms. Hafwen had taught her, she mentally closed off her sense receptors until the energy receded without harm to either her or the ivy.

  Pleased with her own improvement, Elen scarcely contained a smile. “I don’t know why the Gods chose me for this gift, but the time has come for me to use it.”

  He scowled, unimpressed with her claim but observant of her progress. “You’re learning to control it.”

  “Yes.” She dared not discuss how in current company, because only Ms. Hafwen chose who knew of her existence. Breaking the trust of the Fae yielded nasty repercussions. “If Pendaran wants to make contact, he’ll find a way. Avon is proof of that.” When he’d summoned all unmated females with power, including a child. Even Elen hadn’t been able to resist his call. But, as Cormack had rightly known, she’d been weakened then.

  No longer.

  “If you remain at your cottage,” Dylan said after a long pause, “you’ll be keeping a guard with you.”

  A concession, but not a full one.

  However, she knew when to push and when to negotiate. “Fine, but whoever stays with me must do so by choice—and not by your order.” When he went to argue she held up her hand.
“No,” she pressed her concern. “Anyone who accompanies me becomes a potential casuality. I’ve no use for a guard unless they’re willing and aware.”

  “Elen,” Cormack interrupted, “I am both.” His familiarity caught her off guard, as did her name on his lips. “I know what you’re capable of better than anyone. And I’m willing to stand by your side in whatever capacity you need.”

  Oh, that was so unfair. How many times had she imagined him professing those very words over the summer, only for more intimate reasons other than this? Don’t go there! Elen mentally shook those dangerous threads from her thoughts. She mustn’t presume what he may or may not want from her, for the sake of her sanity, not to mention her heart.

  Thankfully Dylan saved her from making a response. “That’s settled, then. Cormack, you’ll go with her now. I’ll inform Sarah of what’s happening. Report directly to me. Elen has a secure landline in her kitchen. Use that for communication. Porter will watch the boundaries while Sarah prepares the villagers. I’m posting Gabriel and John between Rhuddin Hall and the cottage. I’ll update you on further plans once I discuss the situation with my wife.”

  “Understood,” Cormack said.

  Her brother’s gaze landed back on her, black like their Roman father’s had been before his death, and just as stern. “If Pendaran finds a way through our guards, under no circumstances are you to go with him. No matter what he offers or who he threatens—you will resist him. Do you understand?”

  Hearing him plan for the possibility made her stomach churn, and rightly so. “Of course.” Because she knew the consequences were she to fail.

  Four

  The late-morning sun set the forest ablaze with the rich colors of autumn. An emerald carpet of moss lined the packed clay of the trail, while oak trees formed a ceiling of glimmering copper and gold. A paradise, if there ever was one. Cormack allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate the view, well aware that his senses were muted in his human form, that the pine was less pungent and the rustle of woodland creatures reduced to whispers of scurrying feet. And that Elen marched ahead of him in a flurry of silent scorn.

  He was home, or nearly there, since her cottage was around the next turn. And the rightness of it defied all challenges to come. If she continued to ignore him, he would correct her soon enough. Their enemies would arrive by evening; of this he had no doubt. But for now he watched her from his new perspective, standing a head above instead of waist-high and looking up.

  His gut tightened as memories flooded his thoughts, made more poignant by the danger that threatened them. How many times had they walked together along this trail to her cottage? Hundreds maybe? Even thousands? He remembered when this path had been the only passage to her home, named Emerald Trail for its endless carpets of moss. But then his observation had been through the eyes of a wolf, keen in ability but useless for what he desired most.

  From either viewpoint, there was no sight in this world more beautiful than Elen in her forest. This place belonged to her. Dylan may be its defender, but she was its master. Her fair hair danced in the wind, as if the element of Air couldn’t resist touching a flowing part of her. Slender but sturdy, she kept her shoulders back and her face forward—or any direction away from him.

  He scanned the area for anything amiss, but the only disturbance he found came from her. Now that they were alone, her obvious resentment thickened the air like poison. Was she even aware that trees wept as she passed? Of course she was—or might have been, if fury hadn’t muddled her judgment. Leaves still green, not ready to fall, wilted on their branches in her wake, trickling down like weak rain.

  “You’re angry with me,” he voiced aloud as humans found necessary. Dylan had advised him to talk, so he would to breach this dangerous silence.

  “I’m not,” she clipped without lessening her pace. She wore a simple top over a printed skirt that wrapped around her waist, held together by meager strings that formed a bow by her side. One tug would unravel it.

  Did she not know how such things tempted a man? “Now you’re lying.”

  She whipped around so suddenly he almost plowed into her. “I’m hurt,” she corrected, “not angry. There’s a difference.”

  Maybe there was one, but he couldn’t make out the distinction just then. Not when storm clouds held less turbulence than her gaze. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  A delicate frown marred her features as she studied him for a long while. “What are you about, Cormack? You wanted nothing to do with me for six months, and now . . .” She waved her hand about in a frantic gesture as if trying to grasp his reasoning from air. “And now you volunteer as my personal guard. I don’t understand you.”

  “What’s there to understand? I’ve always protected you.” From the day she’d served him dinner on a porcelain plate and not thrown scraps on the floor, he’d been hers. She’d given a wolf dignity at the price of his trapped human heart.

  “Not since last spring, you haven’t.” She folded her arms under her chest, and the delicate mounds rose with her breaths and heated accusations. “You want me to act as if you never left. Well, I can’t. I can’t go back to the way it was.”

  Yes, he much preferred this perspective. “Neither can I.”

  When her lips pressed together, he realized he’d said something wrong. Her gaze held more sadness than the entirety of a barren ocean. They called to him, those eyes, as they always had. A color not uncommon to their race, they were the blue of winter horizons, so light they sometimes appeared gray, but rare because of the kindness within. And they were finally seeing him as he’d always wanted to be seen—as a man.

  “Because of what I did to you?” she asked on a broken whisper. “I’m sorry. Had I known—”

  “Don’t!” Cormack wanted to drag her into his arms but resisted the urge. Less than a pace away, her scent rose to tease his sanity, a mixture of moonflowers that bloomed in her garden and the sweetness that was her.

  “Don’t what?” She leaned forward and almost drove all thoughts of resistance from his mind.

  His body was weak, and impatient, considering her nearness after all these years of waiting; it awakened an inconvenient response. He may be new to this business, but even he understood it wasn’t a good time for that. Regardless, he could correct a misunderstanding without making her aware of his uncomfortable predicament. “Don’t regret what you’ve given me. You freed me from a half existence. I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry.”

  Her gaze returned to meet his, filled with uncertainty. “Then why?” She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “Why haven’t you told me this sooner? Why have you stayed away? Why have you avoided me?” The questions flowed like rivers in spring. “I thought we were friends.”

  Her last insult saved him from babbling like an idiot. She wasn’t ready to hear what desires haunted his soul. Like boiling blood through his veins, he wanted her with a fierceness that would frighten her. “I needed to learn how to be human.”

  “But I would have helped you.”

  “I know.” He cringed at the thought. “But there are some things a man needs to learn on his own. Private things.”

  “But we’re Celts.” She scoffed as if he’d made a tasteless joke. “Since when do you value privacy?”

  Since I’ve been given a chance to have you. Needing to put an end to her questions, he provided a reason she couldn’t refute. “Yes, I am a Celt, which is why I deserve to have my will respected.”

  And, more importantly, his pride.

  That first week in an unfamiliar body was not a story for her ears, or the months that followed. Accounts of him dripping soup down his chin or fumbling with buttons and shoelaces. Forming his first words and bumbling the sounds. Or slicing his leg while learning how to swing a sword. Having his face crisscrossed with cuts like an adolescent teen after shaving.

  Or enthusiastic body parts that ar
ose every morning without fail. And, yes, their race was known to openly love without shame, and not to judge, as it should be, but Celts also respected each individual’s journey and preference.

  And his was, and always would be, Elen. He’d waited centuries for her. Was it too much to ask that she wait a few months for him to be worthy of her?

  “I’m a doctor,” she added when her first argument failed. “And I was a healer long before that title came about. I can assure you there’s nothing I haven’t seen.”

  He hadn’t needed the reminder. His loneliest times had been during her excursions to learn various medicinal techniques. She’d studied at monasteries, temples, conferences, hospitals and universities. And he hadn’t been able to travel with her without attracting dangerous attention.

  “Let it go, Elen . . . please.” When she winced, he realized he’d spoken too harshly. Was an apology in order? He believed it was, but if he offered one, would it put an end to her questions—or welcome more? He wanted her to see him as a worthy mate, and not an invalid to be nursed. But her heart was too pure to understand, so he kept silent; a safer option that saved him from sticking his tongue farther into the mud.

  “Fine,” she eventually said. “You obviously didn’t want my help six months ago, and I won’t force it on you now.” She turned and continued walking.

  Cormack ran a hand through his hair. This business of talking was a complicated thing. He’d hurt her again, he knew. If not an apology, he probably should say something at least. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t receive a reply.

  * * *

  Tears gathered in her eyes, and Elen quickened her pace before they betrayed her. She’d experienced her share of pain, but none this useless; it was an ache that held no physical substance but felt as if rocks pressed against her heart nonetheless. Worse, it hurt in a way that none of her medical training could fix.

  And all because his evasive attitude reminded her of a certain wager. She suspected exactly what private things he didn’t want to discuss, at least not with her.