Dare, Lydia - Tall, Dark and Wolfish

The man's smile vanished instantly. "What sort of trouble, Benjamin?"

He held tightly to the table and willed the words out of his mouth. "I didn't change."

"You didn't change?" the officer echoed.

"With the full moon last night," he explained. "I. Didn't. Change."

For the first time in his life as a Lycan man, Benjamin Westfield hadn't sprouted a tail, long snout, or paws with the coming of the full moon. He'd sought the moon the same way he always did, this time in a clearing in the woods, for his transformation. But last night nothing had happened. A moonbeam touched him, but the change that was so much a part of him didn't come, and he'd stood there for an eternity waiting and wondering why he was broken.

Major Forster's face drained of its color and his mouth fell open. "You didn't

change?" he repeated, this time i

n

sotto voce

, with a world of meaning in his words.

Ben shook his head. "Do you know why?"

"Benjamin, we always change."

"Well, not me. Not last night."

The major motioned for two more glasses. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. The moon hit me like it always does. But I didn't feel the pain, nor the joy, of changing. Nothing happened at all."

Major Forster scratched his head. "Prior to last night, did you feel the same call of the moon in the days leading up to the moonful?" He pushed a glass of whisky toward Ben with the tips of his fingers.

Ben sighed. Now that he mentioned it, he hadn't felt the same call. He hadn't been lusty or angry or felt the need to withdraw. But he hadn't really paid it much attention. Changing was as natural to him as breathing. It had been a part of him for fourteen of his twenty-six years, since adolescence.

Ben could only shake his head in dismay as he slumped in his chair. "No. I don't believe I did."

"Do you believe this has anything to do with that little incident in Brighton last month?" Major Forster raised one eyebrow.

Ben's eyes shot up quickly to meet the major's. "How did you know about that?"

"News travels quickly in our circle, Benjamin."

"I didn't mean to hurt her," Ben mumbled.

"We never do," the major said as he clapped a hand to Ben's shoulder. "What did Blackmoor have to say about it?"

Ben exhaled loudly and shook his head. "What

didn't

he have to say about it?" he breathed.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse," Ben admitted.

"Those of our kind have to be aware of our strength—and our lust—as the moon grows fuller." His eyes narrowed as he regarded Ben.

"I know. Believe me, I have heard it all from Simon. '

You can't be with a woman that close to the phase

of the moon. You could get out of control. How many times

do I have to tell you? Now look what happened!'"

He mocked his oldest brother's imperious tone.

Major Forster chuckled.

"The woman was just scared. Really scared. Who would have thought that a whore would have been so squeamish?"

"Blackmoor, obviously."

Ben finally took a sip of his whisky and appreciated the way it made his eyes water. At least he felt something then. "I went to see the woman after the full moon. She's doing just fine.

She

actually apologized to

me

for screaming loud enough to call the watch."

"What did you learn from that experience?" the major asked.

"That I can't control the beast when it's so close to the full moon. I thought I could." He waved a hand in the air. "Other Lycans control themselves with women. They get along beautifully together."

"You will learn more about the type of relationship they have when you meet your own mate, my boy."

"But what do I do about not changing? I think I'm broken. I need to go back."

"There's only one way to go back," Major Forster mumbled as he scrubbed a hand across his mouth.

"Pardon?"

The major coughed into his hand. "There's only one person who can help you." He stopped talking and fixed his stare on his glass of whisky. Ben watched him for a moment.

"Major?" he finally prompted him.

The man finally tore his gaze from the glass. "Yes?" he asked, obviously distracted by his own thoughts.

"You were going to tell me how to fix it."

"Oh, yes." The man sat forward. "You must find a healer."

"A what?"

"A healer," the major repeated.

"You mean a witch?" Ben fought back a hysterical laugh. He'd come to his father's old friend for guidance, and he was going to send him to find a fabled creature that didn't exist. Oh, life was not working in his favor.

"A witch. A healer. Call it what you will. But you must find one."

"Everyone knows that witches are the things of legends and myths."

"As are we, my boy. As are we. But you can take my word for it, Benjamin. They do exist."

Two

Elspeth brushed her hair from her eyes and secured it with a pewter hair comb. Her fingertips lingered a moment over the raised surface of the comb, which was etched with the form of a large dog, his snout raised in the air. It was one of the only things she had left of her mother.

Despite the fact that it had been given to her mother by the man who left her with child, Elspeth adored the piece because her mother had never been without it. It had held back Rosewyth Campbell's flaming red hair every day that El could remember. And now it held back hers.

The flyaway locks were quite a nuisance at times. She never could quite keep the wayward tresses in a tidy chignon at her neck like most girls. Her hair had a mind of its own. And it didn't want to be tamed. Much like Elspeth herself refused to be tamed.

Before her mother had died, El's lack of social graces had been the cause of their most frequent arguments.

Elspeth smiled to herself as she thought of her mother telling her to tie her hair back with a ribbon to keep it out of her face. Or to tuck it under her bonnet so that no one would notice her constant state of dishabille.

Caitrin broke her from her memories. "I ken ye want ta meet him."

"Meet who?" Elspeth asked, her mind on other matters.

"The one who wears the mark of the beast."

Elspeth sighed. "Since ye can see the future, ye must ken I'm already curious."

"Curiosity is in yer soul, El. No' in yer future," the girl chuckled as she hooked her arm through Elspeth's and dragged her down the street.

"I canna help it if I've a naturally inquisitive mind."

Caitrin leaned close and whispered dramatically, "I believe the word is 'meddlesome.'"

"I am no' meddlesome." Elspeth spat it out like the vilest of curse words. Then she couldn't hold back her grin. "I just need ta ken everythin' about everyone and help out if needed."

"Exactly. Meddlesome," Caitrin laughed, but then she sobered. "What do ye think it means? The mark?"

Elspeth had really hoped they'd changed the subject. "Honestly, I have no idea."

"But that is what yer mother called the mark

you

have?"

Elspeth's fingers automatically slid over her left wrist, where her own moon-shaped mark marred her skin. "She did. My father was a beast. And he wore the mark. So I wear the mark. That's all she ever said about it."

"Ye doona ken more than that? Surely she said somethin' about the man who sired ye."

"Very little," Elspeth confessed. Whenever the subject arose, her mother's eyes would fill with tears and the conversation came to an end. El eventually stopped asking questions. "All I ken is he was a large man. He stood a head and shoulders taller than most others, my grandfather says."

"And he just disappeared?" Caitrin asked, unable to hide her scandalized tone.

Though they were members of a mystical coven, none of whom followed social strictures, being the bastard daughter of Rosewyth Campbell was still offensive to propriety. "Aye. After he got what he needed from my mother, he disappeared. I canna help but wonder what he needs from me now."