Jan Delima: Celtic Moon

I feel very fortunate to have friends and family who have supported me throughout my writing journey. To all of you, and you know who you are, I am forever grateful to have you in my life.

There are a few who helped directly with this project whom I must mention by name, an amazing group of women I am honored to call my friends: Ann Marie, whose advice on firearms and self-defense from a woman’s perspective was invaluable; Sue, an expat Brit, classicist and teacher, who is as generous with her time as she is with her knowledge; Kathy, a coworker (and cohort in crime), who always encouraged my writing; Wendy, a prolific reader with a keen eye for small details; Janet, for her sound and gentle guidance; Patricia Allen, an intelligent woman of many talents, who proofread my manuscript every time I asked. You’re awesome, Patty!

Thanks also to Michelle Vega, my editor, for believing in my story, and to Grace Morgan, my literary agent, for her continual supply of patience and wisdom.

Lastly, I must acknowledge the scholars and translators throughout history who undertook the monumental endeavor of transcribing The Mabinogion , or The Mabinogi , into English. Because of their insight and dedication, the magical tales from primarily two medieval Welsh manuscripts, The White Book of Rhydderch and The Red Book of Hergest , have inspired many authors over the years. Hence, the tradition of storytelling continues . . .

I shall be until the day of doom on the face of the earth.

—Taliesin

From The Mabinogion

Lady Charlotte Guest Translation

RHUDDIN VILLAGE, MAINE, USA

Present Day

Described in a recent travel guide as, “A quiet town tucked into the base of Mount Katahdin at the end of the Appalachian Trail.”

ANOTHER WAR WAS INEVITABLE.

Dylan felt this with utter certainty. The Katahdin territory, his territory, had remained unspoiled over the years by human progress—due to his calculated precautions. Nature thrived in untouched glory, raw and powerful, a precious achievement during these modern times.

An achievement his enemies coveted.

“It’s a message,” Dylan said with deliberate calm as he watched his brother stalk across the kitchen.

“No shit,” Luc snapped, throwing a crumpled ball of linen in Dylan’s direction. Dressed only in a pair of faded jeans, with wild black hair tangled about bare shoulders, Luc looked just as much a predator now as he did in wolf form. His skin was absent of tattoos, indicating that he had shifted in haste, a warning to those who knew him well to tread lightly.

Dylan snatched the offending item in midair and smoothed it out on the wooden island. It was blue linen with a gold stag embroidered across the top, circled by a horned snake. The royal banner of the Gwarchodwyr Unfed , the Originals of their kind. The Guardians. Vicious, powerful, and without conscience. Self-appointed protectors of their race.

Inbred assholes, the lot of them.

He traced the hand-hewn embroidery of the banner. “Where was it found?”

“On the north ridge.” A dangerous light sparked in Luc’s silver eyes, promising vengeance. “Tied to the Great Oak.”

The tree stood a short distance from the north entrance to their territory. Not a direct challenge. Not yet. But the message was clear: We are watching you.

“It seems”—Dylan brushed the banner to the side, his inner battle carefully masked by a calm exterior—“that the Guardians are restless.”

“We must respond.”

“I know,” Dylan growled. The walls of his control began to fracture. His wolf didn’t understand politics or passivity. It wanted the blood of the idiot who dared challenge his dominance.

He walked over to the sink, shoved open the window, and breathed in the fresh spring air. The scent of his forest, pine and wet earth, soothed the animal within.

Luc stilled, watching, waiting, utterly quiet—a pose unnatural to a wolf just as dominant, just as powerful as Dylan.

“We will respond,” Dylan continued after a few moments, arriving at a dangerous decision. “But not in the expected way. I’m going forward with the plan as discussed. It’s time to gather with other leaders who have valued territories.”

Leaders without loyalties to the Guardians.

Luc stayed silent for several moments, and then gave a sharp nod. “I just wonder who’ll have the balls to come.”

“All of them,” Dylan surmised. “Either out of curiosity or need.”

“Or deceit.”

“That too.”

“But they are Celts.” Luc sounded more persuaded by that simple fact.

Celts protected their people.

They were also suspicious, stubborn bastards, unwilling to follow any form of leadership other than their own. Add a little wolf blood to the mix and any gathering had the potential to be downright volatile, as history had proven countless times.

“So be it.” A malicious smile of anticipation spread across Luc’s face. “The time is ripe for a gathering.”

Dylan ignored his brother’s comment as he looked out the kitchen window. Spring was quite possibly the worst time of year for a gathering of their kind.

Orange hues from the setting sun filtered through bare branches, forming dark silhouettes against the horizon. His forest looked dormant, with brown fields and patches of snow lingering in sunless areas. However, Dylan knew the truth, as did his brother, as would anyone with wolf blood running through his or her veins. Underneath the shroud of a waning winter, plants grew, buds formed, animals ended their hibernation. Life awakened. Its energy hummed along his skin like a thousand fingers, whispering promises of power. “We must watch our sister closely.”

“Elen can take care of herself.”

Dylan braced his arms on the counter, letting his head fall forward. “That’s what concerns me.”

Luc chuckled, a sound more sardonic than amused. “It may be time we revealed our strength.”

“If our enemies push us,” Dylan said, looking over his shoulder to meet his brother’s gaze, “they will learn soon enough.”

Luc crossed his arms and leaned against the center island, his relaxed stance a controlled deception. “I suggest we call everyone in from the cities.”

“Agreed.” A few of their people lived amongst pure humans, secret ambassadors of sorts, as was necessary to influence the laws of an accelerating world. “Let’s bring all our people home.”

SOPHIE THIBODEAU STOOD OUTSIDE THE PROVIDENCE Public Library trying to decide who was more insane, the homeless man practicing a colorful sermon on a milk crate, or her as she punched in Dylan’s number on her shiny new disposable prepaid phone.

There was a strong possibility that she may have won the crazy contest, considering the man she was about to call had been hunting her for over fifteen years.

Sophie hugged her jacket closed as a chill shuddered down her spine. She had traveled into the city specifically to activate the phone using a public computer at the library. Her location needed to be as untraceable as possible. Was she being a tad paranoid? Hell, yes. Hiding from a man who wasn’t exactly human had taught her a few lessons.