Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

“I’m having a difficult time picturing Matthew as this person you speak of.” She had lived next to the man for almost four years, cleaned his house—cooked his dinners. “How is it that you could possibly exist because of him?”

“The first of my kind were given the power to shift into wolves to protect Taliesin, to live by his side, to raise Ceridwen’s son where she could not. She taught them how to see beyond our realm of existence, taught them how to pull power from other living things. They called themselves Gwarchodwyr . . .” Sophie frowned at the word and he translated it into English. “Guardian. At first, the term was meant for Taliesin alone, but now they consider themselves the guardians of our kind.”

“These are the others you spoke of earlier?” She hadn’t forgotten his warning. “The ones that will eliminate any threats to your race?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” she said, not overly thrilled that this fantastical world was beginning to make sense, and that Dylan’s motives were quickly becoming more honorable than confining. “The Guardians that raised Matthew . . . are they still alive?” She went on to explain, “Because he had no visitors that I’m aware of while I worked in his home. He was always alone.”

Dylan nodded as if that information didn’t surprise him. “Some are still alive, but not all, and Taliesin holds little affection for the Gwarchodwyr Unfed . . .”

“ Gwarchodwyr Unfed ?” She fumbled with the pronunciation. “What does the Unfed stand for?”

Again, he translated, “Guardians, First in Order. They’re the men and women who personally cared for Taliesin as a child. Sometimes we refer to them as the Original Guardians. Or the Originals.” His voice was calm, even patient, like a teacher explaining a lesson to a teenager. “There are only twelve Original Guardians left. Those remaining twelve have formed a council meant to govern our kind. They call themselves the Council of Ceridwen.”

She rubbed her hands over her eyes. “So, the term Guardian doesn’t necessarily refer to an Original Guardian?”

“That’s correct. A Guardian can also be a descendant of an Original who can shift, one who has aligned their beliefs with the Council.”

“You can shift,” she pointed out. “Are you a Guardian?”

“No,” he clipped. “The Council and I don’t share the same beliefs.”

“You say that with disgust in your voice.”

“The Guardians have earned my disgust.”

“How so?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s a story too long for this short night. Just trust me when I tell you it’s a blessing only twelve Original Guardians remain.”

“Where do they live?”

“Everywhere,” he said bluntly. “But mostly throughout Europe. They convene in Wales . . . they still hold rituals in our homeland.”

“How many Original Guardians were there in the beginning when Matthew was a child?”

He frowned at her continued barrage of questions but answered without complaint. “Forty-eight.”

“And when . . . exactly was the beginning?”

“The Guardians have been around for over two thousand years, give or take a hundred. We didn’t have a written verse at the time, so the actual date is debatable.”

“But they can die?”

“Yes . . . they can die.” He gave her a pointed stare. “There’s not a being that walks this earth that can survive without its head, not even the first of my kind. Why do you think that serpent whip was forged? Why do you think I mount swords on my walls, and not guns?”

She assumed his bluntness was meant to frighten her, maybe even challenge her, but it only fueled protective instincts. “Are these Guardians a threat to Joshua?”

His stance changed, a subtle movement into aggression, reminding her he wasn’t entirely human. “It will be better for our son if he can shift. The Guardians don’t value human life, or others of our kind that can’t shift. They would see them terminated to strengthen our race back to where we were in the beginning.”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “You speak of genocide . . . of a demented view of a perfect race.”

“I don’t share their beliefs, Sophie . . . I’m just telling you what they are.”

She took a deep breath and let it out, a moment of contemplation before digging deeper into this secret world. “You told me earlier that a shifter hasn’t been born in over three hundred years. Is that true?”

“Yes, as far as I know. We are losing our connection to the earth, and therefore our power to shift. Many who live in Rhuddin Village came here for protection from the Guardians, for sanctuary. Those who can’t shift are vulnerable; their bodies don’t heal as well. It’s the reason I’m so protective of them. It’s the reason my sister became a doctor.”

She began to understand why he turned a blind eye to their faults. “Why has your kind begun to lose connection to the earth? And why would Joshua have it now after all this time?”

“I wish I had an answer to those questions. Unfortunately, I don’t.” He reached out to cup her chin. She flinched, startled by the gentle touch. He frowned at her reaction but didn’t remove his hand. “And I think that’s enough for tonight. When was the last time you slept?”

She blinked, adjusting to the changed subject, distracted by the way his thumb caressed the side of her cheek. “I don’t know.” Sleep? What was that? “It’s been a while.”

“You need to rest,” he said, letting his hand drop. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Ah . . . okay.” She felt awkward discussing sleeping arrangements after what had almost happened. “Do you mind leaving in the morning before my mother wakes up?”

His eyes narrowed with annoyance, the first indication he wasn’t pleased about her mother’s presence. “Fine. I have responsibilities in the morning. But I’ll be back before eight.” He frowned then, as if reminded of another unpleasant matter. “There’s one more item I need to discuss with you. Enid is moving to a cottage in the village. Her living quarters will no longer be in my household. Would it offend you if she continues her duties as my cook?”

She cocked her head to one side, confused. “Why are you asking me this?”

His jaw tightened. “Because you are the reason she’s being punished, and because you are my wife.”

He had punished Enid.

“You need to stop calling me that,” she said softly.

“I will call you nothing other than what you are.”

She pressed two fingers into her temple, too tired to continue this argument tonight. “I don’t care if Enid continues as your cook.” His eyes narrowed, obviously displeased by her lack of thought on the subject. She sighed. If he had taken the time to address the woman over a past digression, the least she could do was give his request ample consideration. “Who is her backup cook?”

“We don’t have a backup cook.”

“Who cooks on Enid’s day off?”

“Enid doesn’t take a day off.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” she said. “I suggest you let her keep her position but allow someone else to cover for her on . . . let’s say . . . Mondays. The competition might do Enid some good.”

He took a moment to ponder her suggestion, ending with a sharp nod. “It’s a fair judgment. I will announce the Monday position in the morning.” Then a slow smile touched his lips. “This ought to be interesting.”

Another thought crossed her mind. If Dylan had punished Enid . . . “Have you spoken with Siân?”

“Siân has been banished from my territory.” His harsh statement didn’t welcome further inquiries.