Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

She held her breath to the sound of breaking bone and muffled moans. Having witnessed this once before didn’t ease her torment, however her reaction to her child’s pain became easier to hide. As she stood unmoving, Dylan found her hand and brought it to his mouth, uncurling her fist to place a kiss inside her palm.

A quiet calm settled around the moonlit garden. Luc stood proud as he watched his nephew complete the transformation. Joshua unfolded into a standing position, naked and keeping his head down. Before long, he cleared his throat and tested his voice.

“Ah, Mom,” he said, holding out his arm. “Would you throw me my jeans?”

A great burden of worry eased from Sophie’s chest, made verbal by an uncontrollable sigh of relief. “Sure.” She looked around and found the blue material bunched by her feet where Dylan must have dropped it. She scooped up the jeans and tossed them in Joshua’s direction. Although she wanted to go to him, she kept her distance, allowing her son to be seen as a man who didn’t need a hovering mother.

“And just so you know,” he added, catching the pants with one hand and pulling them back on with swift movements, “I can hear and see everything when I’m a wolf. I’m really happy you and Dad are getting along so well, but jeez . . . can you keep it behind closed doors next time?”

THE GAIETY OF THE NIGHT DWINDLED INTO A SOMBER morning, wrought with drizzling rain and unsettled skies as villagers returned to their homes and prepared for the gathering. Dylan had yet to spend time alone with Sophie, having devoted the last few hours to Luc and the guards reviewing security before the other leaders’ arrival.

After a quick search of his home, he found his wife in their bedroom, staring out the window. She sat in a large wingback chair, watching the courtyard below.

She looked up when he approached and offered a brief smile. “You just missed Joshua. He and Malsum are doing more exercises with the sword you gave him. You should be able to catch up with them in the courtyard.”

Dylan walked over to the side of the chair and covered her hand with his. “It’s you I’ve come to see. Did you manage to sleep any?”

“Some. More than you, I think.” Her gaze dropped to her lap and her voice softened. “I missed you last night.”

Her shy admission made his body respond with uncomfortable vigor. “No more than I missed you,” he assured her, adjusting his stance. “I was needed—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she interrupted with a frown. “I understand your responsibilities will keep you occupied, especially now.”

In an effort to expel a burden of emotion, Dylan shook his head, wondering if he would ever get used to having—how had she phrased it?—a cooperative wife. He stroked her cold fingers until she relaxed. “There are no words to express what last night meant to me,” he whispered. “I’d never allowed myself to hope that I would run with our son.”

She tugged her hand out of his grasp, only to rest it on the side of his face. “Make him strong, Dylan. Teach him how to defend himself against these Guardians.”

“I will,” he vowed. It was a promise he had given before, and would give as many times as needed, knowing he would honor his word by making Joshua the strongest warrior of their kind. And still, for her, it may never be enough, because danger would always darken their lives.

Her hand fell to her lap and plucked at the folds of her pants, a nervous gesture that betrayed her worry. “When do you expect the leaders to begin arriving?”

“This evening, after sunset.” He allowed his gaze to travel down her body, appreciative of how the plain T-shirt and sweatpants hugged her curves. He frowned, noting the slight bulge against her hip. “I will ask that you not run tomorrow morning, as I am sensing this thing you do is a daily routine.”

“It keeps me in shape,” she informed him with only a hint of annoyance in her voice. “But I’ll stop until you tell me it’s safe to start again.”

“You’re wearing your gun,” he pointed out. “And not the Serpent.”

“It’s in the box. I did wear it while running, along with my gun, which, I will admit, was a bit cumbersome.” She gave an unrepentant shrug. “I’m used to my gun. It’s instinctive for me to carry it.”

Frustration tightened his chest but he kept his voice calm. “There is a reason I trained you to use the Serpent,” he explained. “In battle against a shifter, the only thing your gun will do is anger your enemy.”

“I shoot with hollow-point bullets,” she challenged.

Her confidence in her weapon of choice only fueled his fear. “To kill a shifter, their heart or head must be completely severed from their body. If not, we will shift and regenerate in the process. Even when unconscious, even when we are shredded, exposed or limbless, our beasts will rise and suck the very life that surrounds us to survive.”

She frowned, seeming more confused than concerned. Would he ever understand this woman?

“But Joshua’s wolf remained dormant,” she questioned. “And you said it was because his environment was constantly changing . . . because he felt threatened.”

“Yes, that’s true.” He gentled his voice but pressed his point. “But only until an initial shift occurs, and when that happens our wolves are not hindered by anything, and are often difficult to control. You must change your strategy of protection.”

She nodded without comment.

Not entirely confident that he had convinced her, he added for insurance, “The only person your gun will harm is you, or others of our kind who cannot shift to heal.” He gave a bitter laugh. “And that will only serve the Guardians’ ultimate goal—”

“Okay,” she interrupted. “I get it. It will be an adjustment for me, but I will try.”

It was as much of a concession as he was going to get, he realized. “I want you to wear the Serpent, even while in our home.”

Her eyes scanned his features, too shrewd for his comfort. “You don’t trust these leaders who are coming.”

“I trust their hatred of the Guardians more than I trust them, especially Isabeau.”

“Tell me about her.”

He hesitated only briefly, having faith in his wife not to cower from the truth, no matter how horrific it may be. It was deceit that Sophie never handled well. “Isabeau’s territory encompasses much of Minnesota. Her family served as slaves in the household of Rhun, one of the more . . . disturbed Guardians. She escaped, but her parents and siblings didn’t survive.”

“You’ve experienced things I’ll never understand.” She held up her hand in a helpless gesture and then let it fall back to her lap. “I can’t begin to fathom that kind of brutality.”

“You bear scars that prove otherwise,” he said, unable to keep the edge of anger from his voice. “You have tasted the scorn of our race.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “What Siân did to me was trivial compared to some of the stories the villagers shared with me last night, and now this about Isabeau’s family. I finally understand why your people resent my presence. They wanted their leader to be with another shifter. They wanted a union their enemies would fear.”

“ Our people have begun to acknowledge your rightful place in my life.” To press his point, he added, “If they are sharing their stories, you have begun to earn their respect. Not an easy accomplishment.”

“I’m sure Joshua’s little demonstration helped.”

“Of course.” The hound, he admitted silently, didn’t hurt either. Noting its absence, he scanned the room. “Where’s Tucker?”