Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

The silence seemed to ease Elen. Her hands fell to her lap. “Cormack,” she whispered on a broken voice. “Find Cormack.”

“He’s here.” The announcement came from Luc.

“Bring him to me.”

Awareness tightened Dylan’s spine. He knew then what she had done, he knew because he’d been the one who’d planted the idea in her head. Perhaps it’s time, he had advised her just a few days ago, to explore your gift beyond plants. Elen had not meant to kill the Guardian; she had meant to take his humanity, his other half, and the separation of the human and wolf forms had not gone well.

And now she intended to give that other half of humanity to Cormack.

Dylan looked to what remained of the Guardian. Softly, he said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Elen.”

“It’s different when I give,” she snapped. Wildflowers burst around her in rainbow hues; their petals bloomed and withered in a span of seconds, singed by her anger.

Hearing his name, the wolf limped through the gathered crowd of leaders with his right foreleg hugged to his chest. As he drew closer to Elen, he paused, staring at her mantle of green in a moment of doubt.

Elen stretched out her arms. “Please . . .”

Moved by her plea, he took that final step into her circle of power. And she pounced.

“Forgive me,” she said, wrapping her arms around his body. Cormack shrieked, sending a ripple of unease through the leaders. The wolf stood frozen for the barest of seconds before his knees collapsed. He rolled onto his side, gripped by seizures. Elen tightened her hold.

The scent of elements filled the air, pure and uncluttered by evil, like fresh-cut grass in summer, or laughter from a child learning how to swim. Power built to a crescendo, different from that of her brothers, or any others of their kind.

Elen’s power didn’t take from nature; it gave, teased, offered pleasure beyond salvation. A growl emerged from one of the leaders, Ryder perhaps, and then a muffled curse as he lost control of his wolf and began to shift. Dylan resisted the pull, awed nonetheless by the visual affirmation of his sister’s ability.

Cormack began to elongate. Fur receded into skin. Bone snapped and reformed. Tears streamed down Elen’s face but her hold remained steady until a man filled her arms and not a wolf.

When the transformation was complete, when he saw clarity in his sister’s gaze, when he saw a human body whole and unbroken in her arms, Dylan turned to his brother.

No verbal communication was needed.

“You’re going after Sophie,” Luc said.

“You will stay here and handle this.” It wasn’t a question. “Bring Francine and Malsum to the clinic along with Elen and Cormack.” He paused. “Contact Malsum’s tribe. Francine will be honored according to Sophie’s wishes when we return.”

Luc gave a low nod, accepting his role as leader of the Katahdin territory in Dylan’s absence. Not a small favor, considering . . . “Math sent the Guardians to us,” he said. “I would not be surprised if they headed straight back to the White Mountains. They’re too arrogant to assume we’ll actually follow.”

“I know.” And for the first time in sixteen hundred years, Dylan walked away from his siblings, his people, and his responsibility as their protector, and followed his heart. Before leaving, he gave his son a gentle squeeze around his chest, a final promise. “Stay with Luc. I will return with your mother before morning.”

“I’m coming with you,” he announced. “I know the White Mountains well. Believe me, Mom made me study every stupid map in this tristate region. I know how to find my way in and out of any area.”

Dylan understood in that moment Sophie’s fear, understood what it meant to be a parent, understood being willing to do anything, to sacrifice anything, for the protection of a life that meant more than his own.

He shook his head. “No, son, not this time.”

“They took my mother.” He lifted his chin with an air of determination. “They killed my grandmother. I can’t just stay here and do nothing.”

“Listen to me.” Dylan closed both his palms around his son’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I need you here to help your uncle in my absence. I need you to lead our people, to protect them.” I need you to be safe. “Can you do that for me?”

Frustration and anger filled their embrace; anger from Joshua, frustration from Dylan. Slowly, Joshua’s tension began to ease as he understood what his father was asking of him, a response of a true warrior and not a boy. With a nod, he closed his eyes and growled, “Just bring Mom home.”

“I will,” Dylan promised, letting his hands drop.

With an edge of anticipation, Madoc stepped forward. “Let’s get going, shall we?” He snorted at Dylan’s puzzled glare. “As if I would let you have all the fun without me.”

“I’m coming as well,” Isabeau added with more seriousness.

A brown wolf sauntered next to Isabeau, nodding his intention to join them. Ryder had been the only leader to shift, his brow furrowed as he snuck wary glances in Elen’s direction.

“Aw, hell,” Drystan muttered. “Let’s do this.”

SOPHIE TRIED TO MOVE, TO TURN, BUT FELT RESISTANCE biting into her wrists. Her head hurt. Why did her head hurt? And where was she? She tried to open her eyes but her lids felt heavy, as if she’d taken an entire bottle of sleeping pills and only had an hour’s worth of sleep.

And then bits of memory poked at her subconscious. The children. Joshua. Elen. Her mother.

Her breath hitched in her throat. Oh, God, Mum . . .

Her heart pounded against her chest in a vicious onslaught of awareness. Sophie recalled every horrific detail, right until that last moment when the Guardian had hit her from behind.

They must have taken her. But where?

Her legs were numb, unresponsive. That was the first sensation that pressed through her panicked haze.

They must have drugged her.

With what? And what was that god-awful smell? The scent of iron, rot and mildew coated her throat, triggered a gag. She fought against the cobwebs that muddled her thoughts with some success. Awareness came to her in flashes; a continuous drip echoed off the walls, something soft by her calf, cold air and high ceilings, dirt under her sneakers. She was in a room that echoed sound and seeped moisture, a room with a dirt floor that reeked of dampness and death. A basement?

The warmth at her leg moved. Something wet pressed against her arm, followed by a soft whine, then a tug on her sleeve. Tucker? They had allowed Tucker to follow, to stay?

Movement came from her right, a warning.

“I know you are awake.” It was a man’s voice, deep and refined, devoid of any discernible accent.

Adrenaline rushed through her veins and fought against the poison that inhibited her response. She tried to speak but her words came out garbled. After several attempts, she managed to say, “What did you give me?”

“You will not ask questions, human.”

Willing her eyes to open, Sophie began to glimpse her surroundings through her drugged fog. Gas lanterns provided the only light. Iron restraints, polished to shine like treasured toys, hung off stone walls. Crude furniture filled the room, half tables with holes, steel chairs with vise grips for arms and legs. Something scurried through an arched doorway to an inner chamber.

The face behind the voice came into semi-focus, pallid and shrunken. Wearing a dark suit, he stood hunched over a staff carved from knotted wood, using it more for balance than anything magical. A white haze covered silver eyes, much like the Guardian Rhun, though not as stark, not as completely immersed in evil. There was intelligence in his gaze, awareness.