Jan Delima: Celtic Moon

He yanked up his T-shirt with one hand, showing off his midriff. “Look at this six-pack.”

The muscle tone was there, barely . “Oh, God . . . put your shirt down. You’re going to traumatize your mother for life.”

He laughed, letting the shirt drop. His confidence at fifteen boggled the mind, something else he had inherited from his father.

“What’s for dinner?” Joshua hovered over her, crowding the kitchen.

“Did you find the subs I left you?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Thanks. I had those for a snack.”

Sophie thought of food in the fridge that needed to be used. “How about a meat loaf?”

“That takes too long.” The deep timbre of his changing voice contradicted the whine of an adolescent. “How ’bout chicken Alfredo?”

“The chicken’s frozen. Do you want a BLT?” She worked around him, organizing food on the counter. Not an easy task considering he was a half foot taller than her and twice as solid.

And hungry.

“Come on, Mom. I’m starving. BLTs are, like, hello , a lunch. I need real food. Cheese. Pasta. Chicken. I’m wasting away here.”

“Ravaging locusts eat less than you do, I swear.” She searched the fridge for Parmesan cheese and cream. “I don’t know where you put it all.”

“I’m a growing boy.” Again with the grin. “That’s why you should make me chicken Alfredo.”

“Okay,” Sophie conceded, putting four chicken breasts in the microwave to defrost.

“Thank you, Mama.”

“Mama” was his latest term of endearment when she caved on something he wanted. She tended to give in a lot.

How could she not? He was, it seemed, her only weakness. She had done the unthinkable to keep him close. And she would do so much more if necessary.

“Where’s your grandmother?” Sophie chopped garlic for the Alfredo and set it aside. She then pulled frozen basil from the freezer, along with cream, wine, cheese, and butter from the fridge to start the sauce.

Joshua leaned his head out of the snack cupboard, his hand in a bag of Oreos. “Huh?”

“Your grandmother?” she repeated. “Where is she?”

“Playing chess with Mr. Ayres,” Joshua mumbled around a mouthful of cookies.

“We need to talk,” Sophie said calmly, even though her insides heaved in protest.

Joshua stilled, eyeing her warily. “You’re using your serious voice.”

Sophie waited until she had added the wine to the pan, and then set the sauce to simmer. She turned to face her son, searching for the right words, and decided on blunt honesty. “I called your father today.”

His reaction was physical, a slight shifting of skin and an unnatural narrowing of the skull, hardly visible and gone in a second.

The changes were so minute a regular person might not even have noticed. But she wasn’t a regular person. She was his mother.

She knew her child.

Just as she knew the shifts caused him considerable pain, although he tried to hide that fact. They had begun three weeks ago, each one more pronounced than the last.

He could die.

Her stomach clenched with the sickening reminder of those words, and she reached out to her son. The instant her hand touched his arm, gooseflesh formed on her skin as if kissed by lightning.

An unusual scent filled the air, like rain on hot sand, elements colliding. Nature manipulated. The scent was sharp and distinct and forever ingrained in her memory. It took her back to the only time she had witnessed Dylan become the wolf . . .

LEAVES AND PINE NEEDLES CRUNCHED UNDER HER SNEAKERS, crisp from rain starting to freeze. Evening clouds obscured a waning moon, masking their journey with darkness. Dylan held her firm, dragging her by one arm down a cleared path as Luc, Porter, and five other guards walked ahead and behind, blocking all escapes.

They were far from the house now, deep in the forest, surrounded by trees going dormant for winter, with leaves shaded red, orange, and yellow, happy colors muddied by night that didn’t soothe her racing heart.

Sophie shivered, more from disbelief than fear. “Where are you taking me? Why are you doing this? I don’t understand . . .”

Dylan pulled her farther into the woods, his grip unyielding, bruising her pride more than anything else. He spoke for the first time since their argument. “There is much about my world you don’t know or understand.”

She yanked at her arm, numb to the wrenching pain as she fought for freedom. He always spoke in vague references, alluding to some great secret, as if she were a child too naïve to comprehend his adult reality. “You can’t keep me here against my will.”

“Yes, I can.” And his voice held complete conviction in his ability to do just that. “And I will . . . as long as you carry my child. If you choose to leave after the birth, I will not interfere, but if you do leave . . . the child will remain with me.”

Sophie felt a tear slide down her cheek, disgusted by her own weakness but unable to stop the rush of emotion. She wrapped her free arm around the small bulge of her belly. Protective. Instinctive. Possessive.

Hers.

He let her go suddenly, almost as if he felt her intentions. She stumbled forward into a glen sheltered from the rain by an arching oak tree.

Dylan walked before her, his blond hair plastered against his face and neck, streaks of rain trailing down his rigid jaw. There was no warmth in his expression, no emotion other than harsh resolve. The passion they had once shared as lovers had turned to anger months ago. Once he’d become aware of their child, everything had changed.

He changed.

His eyes met hers, black as death in the distance, holding her rooted to that spot in the glen, even though every instinct in her being screamed, Run!

“Now you will know why I keep you guarded, Sophie. Why you must forget your old life.”

He methodically began to remove his clothing until he stood before her naked. The lure to watch was potent. Shadows danced across the hard planes of his chest and stomach, like a gypsy’s dance teasing a potential lover.

Even in anger, she was drawn to him.

Undaunted by their audience, he stood before her confident and glorious, his wide shoulders squared under her inspection, his thick legs braced a foot apart, his stance unconsciously dominant, innately beautiful.

His sex hung dark and heavy against his thigh.

Luc and two other guards surrounded him, like warriors falling in behind their leader. Dylan opened his arms wide, tilted his somber face to the sky—and the forest wept.

The scent of elements filled the air, rain and earth and heat churned by the wind. Nature combined, melded together into one constituent of furious power. Leaves fell around her feet like snow in a blizzard, night creatures stilled, and the earth went silent in one hushed moment before reality as she knew it irrevocably changed.

She watched in stunned horror as the father of her unborn child melted into a mound of distorted flesh. Bones snapped and reformed, fur covered skin, human moans turned animalistic, and then there was no sound at all as the black eyes of a golden wolf returned her stare.

And she ran.

She ran out of fear, yes, but also for other reasons, intuitive reasons. As her mind struggled to accept the impossible, she was certain of only one thing: Dylan would never let her leave now that his unearthly secret had been revealed.

His earlier comments were spoken only to pacify her into compliance. She would be guarded forever by people-wolves— these things that despised her. And eventually, if she stayed, so too might her child one day follow their example.