Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

“You’re shooting low because you’re tensing last minute,” Julie explained. “Relax, site your target and just pull the trigger gently. Don’t tense up.”

The lessons continued over the next few weeks, until one Sunday Julie asked the inevitable. “Why are you doing this? Who are you afraid of? An ex-boyfriend? Husband? I may be able to help.”

“You have helped.” Sophie gave her instructor a sad smile. “More than you know.” It would be the last time they saw each other. Once the questions began, Sophie moved on.

The following day, she bought her first gun from a little man with a ZZ Top beard who called himself the Country Cowboy. His home was located on a ten-mile-long dirt road decorated with No Trespassing signs. More important, he believed in the second amendment and in not prying into other people’s business when it concerned their constitutional rights. Afterward, she found a remote gun shop that sold the equipment to make handmade bullets; press machines, brass casings and molds all sat neatly on the shelf like groceries in a convenience store. The kiln to melt silver came later.

Within a month she could load bullets in the dark, because she practiced every night. Within six months, as long as the target was in range of her vision, moving or stationary, it didn’t matter, she never missed her shot. Never.

OVER THE FOLLOWING YEARS, SOPHIE HAD MOVED ON TO other instructors, other lessons, and other weapons. She hoped never to have cause to use them but would—without question—if necessary.

For now, she tucked the gun under the mattress. Normally she removed the magazine, but tonight she kept it in. Two knives followed, one from the holder strapped to her left calf, the other from behind her waistband; she placed one under a pillow and one under the bed. All were within arm’s length if needed.

The woman Dylan had loved was gone; the wildlife activist with nothing more than a tranquilizer gun and innocent ideals had died in these very woods. Now she was older, in mind if not in body, and not so innocent.

She felt jumpy as hell when unarmed, too anxious to sleep. To keep her mind busy, she removed her pants and placed them neatly inside the bureau. The purple scar that ran the length of her leg caught her eye. Bracing her foot on the nearest chair, she smoothed her hand over the puckered flesh, wondering if Dylan would find her scars repulsive.

Chastising herself for caring, Sophie let her foot drop to the floor. Vanity had no purpose in her life. She hefted her suitcase to the chair to search for her sweatpants and nightshirt. The brown paper bag Matthew had given her fell forward onto the floor with a loud thump. Frowning, she tugged on her sweatpants and then retrieved the bag, set it on top of the long bureau, and opened it.

NOT BOTHERING TO KNOCK, DYLAN WENT IN THROUGH the side door of his brother’s apartments, located on the top floor of the west outer building. Paintings of animal life and wilderness lined the walls, all Koko’s. The furniture was an eclectic assortment, some pieces masculine, some hand carved from wood.

Dylan found Luc pouring a glass of water in his private kitchen.

“Your boy is healthy,” Luc said, downing the water and setting the glass in the stainless steel dishwasher. “But immature.”

“I know.” Dylan leaned against the doorway and sighed.

“His mother coddles him.”

“There are worse alternatives.”

Luc’s eyes darkened with the reminder. “Elen told me her findings.”

“According to Sophie, the changes began three weeks ago. I have no reason not to believe her.”

“Why now, I wonder?”

“From what I’ve gathered, Sophie and Joshua moved around a lot, except for the last few years.”

Luc nodded with understanding. “His move today won’t help.”

An initial shift wasn’t possible if one of their kind felt threatened, a contradiction to the Guardians’ original belief. Even simple environmental discord kept the other half dormant. Age was irrelevant. Luc had remained in wolf form until after they’d settled into the Katahdin region, almost six hundred years after his birth. Regrettably, their earlier years in Cymru had been turbulent ones, Luc’s presence barely tolerated, and only in the camps of other outcasts.

“Yeah, well,” Dylan said, “we both know once the wolf awakens, it doesn’t back down easily.” The first shift was the most difficult. After that, the wolf’s instincts often dominated. Transformations, once completed successfully, were no longer hindered by one’s environment. If threatened, the beast would most certainly emerge.

His brother gave a crude snort. Having been born in wolf form, his dominant nature was that of the beast. It was his human side that fought for control, and more often than not, lost that battle. “When will you try for a shift?”

“Tomorrow. I’m taking him to the gathering place after nightfall. I want you and Elen there . . . but no others. Not until I know for sure what Joshua’s abilities are, if any. Either way, he doesn’t need the whole village watching.”

Luc dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I’d be honored.”

“I spoke with Enid,” Dylan added before being asked. “She will be moving to Constance’s cottage in the morning, along with her daughters.”

“A good solution,” Luc replied, keeping his voice neutral. “From what I’ve seen tonight, I believe your mate has learned to defend herself. If she continues, she will earn the respect of our people without your interference.”

“In time, perhaps. Until then, I have a greater problem.” Dylan walked farther into the kitchen and braced his arms on the counter, letting his head fall forward. “Sophie informed me tonight that Siân found her in the woods . . . after my wife ran from us.” Dylan looked up and met his brother’s narrowed glare. “Siân found her and let her go, but not before issuing Sophie a death threat if she returned.”

Luc whistled softly under his breath. “And you believe Sophie?”

“I’m choosing to believe her.” His only regret was that he hadn’t sooner. “Do you remember Siân from that night?”

Luc frowned, shaking his head. “No, but we weren’t looking for Siân. Also,” he added with some hesitation, as if recalling a distant memory, or revealing a personal confidence, “Koko felt Siân had the potential for violence.”

Rarely did Luc mention his late wife in conversation. For him to do so now gave Dylan pause. “We all have the potential for violence.”

“As I’m well aware. But Koko knew the difference. She married the Beast of Merin, did she not?”

Dylan scowled. “I despise that name.” The moniker was coined by the Guardians upon Luc’s birth. “Why do you continue to flaunt it?”

“Because I can.” His sardonic smile turned serious, changing the subject back to the matter at hand. “What are you going to do about Siân?”

Dylan sighed, finding no pleasure in his next decision. “I have no other choice but to banish her.”

Luc remained silent for several seconds, his stance subdued. “I’ll come with you.”

“I want time with her alone first.” Dylan headed for the door. “Give me an hour. I’m stopping by Alise’s office before I head over.”

Alise was Rhuddin Village’s official town secretary. Her unofficial job was to create new identities every eighty years or so, over a normal human life span. Those who worked outside Rhuddin Village on assignment were more of a challenge for her. In most cases, they returned within fifteen years—before it became noticeable that they were not aging. At that time, Alise planned a life-changing—or -ending—event to suddenly occur in their “human” lives. “Gather Taran and her brother,” Dylan continued. “I’ll allow them to say farewell to their sister . . . or go with her, if they so choose.”