Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

And anger, a deep anger that bled from his pores as he looked to Tucker, then her. “The hound protects you. Why?” When she didn’t immediately respond, he slammed down his staff; the thud of wood on packed earth resonated off the walls. “Answer me, human!”

Tucker gave a deep, rumbling growl, his shoulders down, his gaze primed on the Guardian.

“I am your master,” the Guardian informed Tucker, who responded with a snarl, moving forward, teeth bared in warning.

The man flinched as if betrayed. Without further comment, he backed out of the room. The door closed with a groan of heavy wood held by old hinges. The sound of scraping metal followed. Muffled voices raised in anger filtered through the door.

She was locked in, tied to a chair. Her eyes drifted closed, still drugged, still heavy. She couldn’t keep them open no matter how hard she tried.

God help me, she prayed as the darkness claimed her once more.

“HUSH, PLEASE HUSH, I WILL NOT HURT YOUR mistress.”

The feminine voice pulled Sophie awake, soft but with a frantic edge of urgency. She became aware of Tucker’s low growl and a tug at her wrists. Pain shot up her arm and she flinched.

Her senses were suddenly sharp, no longer muddled. Good, she thought. Whatever the hell they had given her must be wearing off.

“Call off the hound,” the woman whispered from behind. “I’m here to help you.”

Not questioning this stranger, not yet, not until her arms were free, Sophie swallowed, cleared her throat. “Tucker, heel.”

When Tucker sauntered to her side, the woman said with quiet surprise, “So, it’s true. The hound protects you.”

“Where am I?”

A slight hesitation. “You’re in the White Mountains, territory of the Guardian Math.” Another tug, followed by a sigh. “Hold still.”

With a snap of leather on metal, Sophie felt the binding give and her wrists loosen. Disabled with disuse, her arms fell to her sides, numb and powerless. She flexed her fingers, turned her wrists, grinding her teeth against the burning sensation of blood returning to her extremities.

The woman walked around to face Sophie with a swish of dark skirts. She was curved, not athletic like Siân and Taran, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths of nervousness. She was smaller than most Guardians, at least the ones that Sophie had seen, with wolf eyes the color of purple pansies, striated with streaks of blue and burgundy. Her hair hung to her waist like burnished brass in the flickering light. She looked no older than her early twenties but that meant nothing.

“Who are you?” Sophie asked.

“My name is Rosa. My husband is Math. You met him earlier although you may not remember.”

“I remember.” The age difference, as much as the betrayal, took her by surprise. “Why are you helping me?”

Rosa lifted her chin. “I have a message for you to give to Dylan.”

Wary, Sophie managed to keep her voice neutral. “What is your message?”

“Tell Dylan I know of the gathering. Tell him I will be in his territory sometime before Beltane, and that I am coming in peace and without my husband’s knowledge. Tell him I have a proposal. Will you do this?”

She didn’t ask how Rosa had known of the gathering, not wanting to indicate there had been one. “I will give Dylan your message.”

“One more thing,” Rosa added. “Tell him he owes me.”

“For what?”

A calculating smile turned her lips. “For saving your life.”

Sophie only nodded, choosing not to argue with a woman offering freedom. The price of that freedom could be negotiated when she was home with her family. Grabbing the arm of the chair for balance, she hauled herself into a standing position, working the muscles in her legs until her circulation returned. A dark stain drew her gaze to the arched doorway. The stench, she realized, emanated from the inner chamber beyond. “What’s in that room?”

Rosa followed the direction of Sophie’s gaze. “Siân came to Math for sanctuary.” She did not refer to Math as her husband, or her mate, or with any form of affinity whatsoever.

“What are you saying?”

“Siân spent too many years with a kind leader. She forgot our ways . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Sickened, Sophie turned. “Is Siân in that room?”

“Don’t—” Rosa grabbed her arm when she took a step toward the chamber. “There’s naught you can do for her now. Siân’s dead.”

She glared down at her arm. “Dead?”

Rosa dropped her hand. “I heard she handled Math’s interrogation with honor and strength.”

“His interrogation? You mean torture!”

“Lower your voice,” Rosa hissed, pointing to the inner chamber, silent and pleading. “Or we will both follow Siân’s fate.”

Sophie swallowed her reply in silence, survival instincts overpowering her conscience. Taking a deep breath and almost gagging on the stench, she gave a sharp nod for Rosa to continue.

“Let Dylan know I don’t believe Siân spoke of the gathering. I know Math well.” Too well , her tone suggested. “He would have acted differently had he known.” She went on to say, “It wasn’t until the end that Siân told them of Elen. And from the rumors circling our halls of what Elen did to Minka . . .” A smile of respect turned her lips. “It may have been Siân’s final vengeance on us.”

Perhaps it was, for Sophie had seen the way the villagers had treated Elen in the basement; they feared her, and for good reason. “I will let Dylan know.”

With a nod, she unlocked the chamber door and motioned for Sophie to follow. “Come.”

A man stood outside, pointing to a maze of hallways lit by torches, his face knotted with scars. A jeweled patch covered his left eye; his right eye scanned Sophie with blatant contempt. “Is it true your son is a shifter?” he asked.

His voice tagged a memory, no longer muffled but still familiar. It was the voice from outside the door when Math had visited earlier. The guard, it seemed, was more loyal to Rosa than to her husband. There was dissension in this household.

Good.

“Yes,” Sophie said. Lying was pointless now.

His one eye, dark gray surrounded by scarred flesh, lifted over Sophie’s shoulder to where Rosa stood. “Then you are no longer the last.”

“I am the last unmated female shifter. It won’t change the Council’s plans.” Tucker sauntered past Sophie and rubbed his nose inside Rosa’s palm before moving toward the hallway. Rosa jumped, her wary gaze following the hound.

“What do they have planned for you?” Sophie found herself asking, even though it was none of her business.

Unsurprisingly, Rosa ignored her question. “Can you run?”

A sardonic smile tugged her lips. “Yeah, I can run.”

“Take a left at every doorway. There will be a tunnel that opens behind our burial grounds. You’ll be surrounded by rivers. Go north until the rivers meet. There is a shallow point where you can cross. I’ll do what I can to distract Math but you must hurry.” Her eyes darkened to an inhuman color of burgundy mixed with blue that reflected purple in the surrounding torchlight. A wolf resided not too far under the surface of this woman’s skin. Those otherworldly eyes landed on Sophie, threatening yet desperate. “And remember our agreement.”

SOPHIE EMERGED FROM THE NARROW DIRT TUNNEL AND took her first breath of clean air. Immediately, she scanned her surroundings for movement and found none, then smoothed a hand over her hair and face to remove cobwebs from her climb. It was dark, the moon a mere haze in the sky, blurred by clouds. Grave tombs stood like sentries in the night, casting shadows on the ground and concealing the secret exit.