Mated by Moonlight sb-3 Page 6

  “Getting high is an excuse to avoid one’s problems. I created a therapy to take us deeper, through our problems and out the other side.”

  Beck let out a huff.

  Nally gave him an arch, professorial look. “Haven’t you wondered why werelings are almost pathologically healthy, happy and whole?”

  Merrilee shook her head. “Pathologically?”

  Nally started to pace, revving up to lecture mode. “How can werelings, who should by rights suffer the worst sort of existential alienation, be so together all the time?”

  Beck slanted a glance at Merrilee, who lifted her brow. They were both thinking of one wereling who wasn’t “all together.”

  Nally didn’t seem to notice the silent exchange. “Because—” he continued on the same breath as he wheeled to face them again “—they are perfectly in tune with the magic inside them.”

  Beck shook his head in a human gesture of denial, while Merrilee said, “It’s not magic.”

  Nally waved his hand again, more vigorously. “Please don’t pretend that the words themselves make any difference,” he said, repeating her. “The verita luna—our Second Truth—gives us a unique access to a deeper reality to open our eyes, our minds, and our hearts.”

  His animation faltered. “There are some—disconnected humans, werelings who can’t find their verita luna, and others—who might be saved by my discovery.”

  Beck sensed the wave of sadness that gave the lone wolf-kind’s scent a minor note. Merrilee must have felt it too because she let her disbelieving stance soften. “So you produced a psychedelic mushroom to imitate the sensation of being a wereling?”

  Nally shook his head. “Not just imitate. Become.”

  Her hands clenched into fists. “What do you mean, become?”

  “The spore therapy can trigger the verita luna in werelings troubled by shifting.” He shuffled his bare feet in the loam. “And it seems to initiate a similar effect in humans.”

  Beck’s surprised whine was half lost in Merrilee’s incredulous, “What?”

  Nally hastened on. “The spores shouldn’t affect the phae. Except they can apparently hijack the ‘journey facet,’ as I call it, and open portals on a whim between their realm and ours. Which is how I accidentally summoned them to my lab. It seems the phae Queen wants my discovery as part of her scheme to take over the sunlit world.”

  Merrilee sputtered. “Take over?”

  Nodding, Nally pocketed the vial again. “Her emissary offered me everything my heart desires. Except...” His plain brown eyes darkened. “Except they couldn’t give me what I really wanted.” He lifted his chin. “And I know better than to make midnight deals with fairies. I gathered the spores, pretending I was willing to trade, but instead I flung a handful of iron fillings I’d been using for some electromagnetic experiments at the phae. I grabbed the spores and I ran. And now I’m here.”

  The story seemed to deflate him, and he sank back to the stump.

  Merrilee looked at Beck, who flattened his ears to echo the worry in her eyes.

  Reaching for the whiskey bottle, Nally said, “The emissary mentioned—just an angry aside—that phae traitors had taken up residence in a valley out this way. I thought if I could find Vaile’s Valley, I might find a haven.”

  Beck exchanged another glance with Merrilee, and she shook her head slightly. “Doesn’t ring a bell with either of us. But our people will start sniffing around.”

  Nally glanced up. “You’ll help?”

  “Phae traitors in our world? That’s a change, and I want to know what it means.” She paused, head cocked.

  Beck lifted his head, matching her tension. Then he heard it too.

  A howl, drifting on the wind. Faint, far away.

  And afraid.

  Chapter 7

  Merrilee knew Beck and Nally were close behind, but she didn’t glance back, not even when she smelled blood from the doctor’s tender paws. Her pack cried out for her, and she would not slow.

  Still, despite the impulse hauling her homeward, she sensed Beck’s powerful presence behind her like the bow of a shockwave giving her fresh energy when the night’s miles wore at her.

  They crested the ridge above the valley—she and Beck side by side, with Nally a short way behind. She scanned the village. All the house lights blazed, and an unfamiliar line of lights—coldly wavering—spiraled through the darkness near the lake.

  They raced down the hill toward the back of her cottage, shifting as they hit the edge of the trees.

  Peter was waiting with an armful of clothing, glancing at the other two males without comment. “The phae are down by the lake. They want...I don’t know what the hell they want. They’ll only speak to you. Keisha is stalling them.” He swallowed, fear for his wife echoing in his human voice just as it had suffused his howl.

  Merrilee took the clothes from him. It was a summer tank dress, inappropriate for the cool of night, but she could rip out of it in a heartbeat if she shifted. “How are we doing on weapons? I hope we have more than sketches.” She strode for the back door, yanking the red silk over her head.

  Peter followed her inside. “We cut apart the fencing after you left. Each shaft is pure iron. It’s all on the front porch, waiting for you. We didn’t want to challenge them.”

  “That’s what I’m here to do.”

  “We. That’s what we are here to do.”

  She swung around to face Beck who was only steps behind.

  Her mouth opened automatically to warn him off, but she closed it with a snap. She wasn’t stupid. Confused and—little though she wanted to admit it—frightened. Not of the phae, but of him.

  But she also knew—as deeply true as her verita luna—he would stand with her against anything.

  She gestured down the hall. “Spare clothes are in the bedroom.”

  He nodded and tossed Nally’s satchel to the doctor. He brushed past her, his skin hot from their run, and disappeared into the spare bedroom where she kept various castoffs for shifting visitors.

  She took a breath to steady herself. Without his presence, the air was strangely bland.

  She faced Nally who was pulling his clothes from the satchel. “Doctor, I want you to stay here, out of the phae’s sight, smell, senses or whatever else they use. Help Peter find this Vaile’s Valley. If these phae have an enemy, I want that enemy as a friend.”

  Nally grunted an assent, but Peter dogged her steps as she headed for the front office. “I need to be with Keisha.”

  She paused to touch his shoulder, feeling the wolf-kind muscle under the layer of computer programmer padding. “I’ll send her back to help with this search, which is more important than any posturing down at the lake.” And if anything happened to her, she wanted her Beta out of harm’s way, ready to take command. “Doctor Nally will explain the situation.”

  Peter looked torn, but he went to her desk and opened a satellite terrain map. “What do we know about this valley?”

  She left them to their search and yanked open the door to the find the fence staves lined up against the flower boxes, looking incongruently dark and dangerous against her blood-red carnations.

  She took a makeshift spear. With the butt end on the ground, it came up only to her belly button, but the blunted arrow-shaped head seemed lethal enough. To anything it pierced, especially a phae.

  Beck appeared at her side and plucked the spear from her hand. “I’ll take that.”

  She bared her teeth. “Don’t start the Alpha shit now, Bexley.”

  He loomed over her, looking as lethal as the iron shafts in his too-tight black T-shirt. The cargo pants she kept for guests had always seemed a reliable choice, but now—on him, considering the circumstances—the leafy camo pattern seemed menacing. He was every bit the warrior with spears in hand.

  Including her spear.

  She snapped out each word. “Give. Me. My. Weapon.”

  He shook his head. “This isn’t the way to face them. You don’t want to lo
ok defensive. You want to look in control.”

  “I am in command.” She knew that wasn’t quite the same thing, but the truth hurt like a spear in the gut. She had never faced this sort of threat. And he had.

  But he didn’t remind her of the fact. “Let me be the dumb muscle. You go down there, cool and collected, and find out what they want, what they know. If they thought it would benefit them, they’d have attacked already. Don’t reveal your hand either.”

  She took a breath. This time, the air was laden with his distinctive earthy scent and the whiff of salt. For an instant, she was tempted to lean in and taste him.

  Salt, like iron, supposedly barred the phae. They were creatures of glamour, not the crude realities of the bodily world. But the earthy, salty truth of the Alpha beside her made her pity them. No wonder they wanted to steal the passions of the sunlit world.

  So why she was fighting so hard against those passions? Was she really such an uncertain Alpha that she doubted her command over herself? She wasn’t supposed to be fighting herself, but the enemy. Who was not Beck, despite what the helpless acceleration of her heartbeat sometimes led her to believe.

  She let out the breath slowly and nodded.

  Beck gave her a crooked smile. He reached over and snapped off one of the blooms and tucked it behind her ear. The carnation’s peppery perfume wreathed her.

  “Spicy and spiky, just like you,” he murmured.

  “In the language of flowers, the carnation means ‘I am but human.’”

  He chuckled. “One, no you’re not. And two, I can’t even believe you know that.”

  She shrugged. “Peter told me. Keisha planted them because they were used to coronate royalty.”

  “If he likes obscure information, hopefully he can find this mysterious phae valley. And I can easily imagine you with a crown of these flowers in your hair, my wolf-kind queen.” He leaned in to kiss her.

  This was so not the time or place, with the invading phae in the valley, not to mention the gossipy Peter right inside the front door. But the brush of his lips was so sweet, so right.

  She tangled her fingers in Beck’s wind-ruffled hair and deepened the kiss.

  The phae wanted passions? She’d show them passions.

  He gave a soft grunt of surprise. Though his arms were full of iron spears, preventing any wandering hands, he tilted his head lower to give her better access. He had perfect lips for kissing, thin and masculine but full enough to tempt her to bite. She sucked at his lower lip, pulling the slick flesh between her teeth.

  This time his groan was all pleasure, and his tongue chased hers as if they had all night and all day and another night besides.

  Slowly, as her breath ran out, damned reality intruded. She pulled away, straightening the flower in her hair. “Okay then.”

  He smiled. “Okay.”

  In silence, they walked down to the lake parking lot. So late, there were no visitors’ cars. Instead, the blacktop gleamed like ice in the reflected light of a dozen torches.

  “Torches,” Merrilee muttered. “Seriously?”

  “Give ’em a break,” Beck said. “They were chased out of the world during the Iron Age. Takes time to catch up, especially if they don’t have a tech-loving modern leader like you.”

  No, their Queen apparently had a more primitive invasion in mind. But this valley was one territory she wouldn’t claim.

  Instead of the hot red flicker of flames, the phae torches wavered like water with a pale silvery hue. The midair ripples were weirdly mesmerizing, and Merrilee had to force her gaze away.

  “Nice trick,” Beck murmured.

  The beings that held the torches were also strangely compelling. They looked mostly human, if severely beautiful...until their forms rippled like the torchlight, revealing a mishmash of wings and tails, claws and scales. Behind the dozen torch bearers stood a line of darker figures. Their shapes did not waver; tall and menacing as Beck, with talon-tipped black wings that arched over their shaggy heads. Obviously the killers.

  But as she and Beck approached the tableau, it was the phae in the lead who truly captured her attention. Mounted on a massive, skull-headed stag with a strange mottled hide that came and went like scudding clouds, the phae was draped in a cloak of ivy and from his brow spread antlers almost as wide as the stag’s. Whether it was his own growth or a clever headdress, she wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered with a creature of illusion, she supposed.

  However, the gleaming fangs of the three-headed dog beside him looked real enough to rend flesh from bone. The middle head snapped as they stepped closer.

  Beck snarled back, full throated. The vicious sound filled the parking lot and the lake beyond.

  Mine, said the snarl, though of course he knew better.

  Or at least Merrilee thought he did.

  She put her hand on his shoulder to stop him. He paused, reluctance vibrating through her fingertips from his every tensed muscle. She continued on alone to join Keisha and two of her werelings who were ranged in front of the phae.

  They parted for her without glancing back, attuned to her presence.

  She smiled at her Beta. “Thank you for seeing to our guests while I was occupied. You may return to your tasks.”

  Keisha blinked at her then inclined her head and slipped away, not needing another word. The other two werelings edged back beside Beck.

  Merrilee faced the phae. “I apologize for not being here to greet you earlier. If only I’d had word you were coming. Welcome to my territory, Lord of the Hunt.”

  The phae studied her a moment, a preternatural red glint in his eye. “You know me, wereling.”

  “Queen,” Beck retorted. “Queen of this valley.”

  Under other circumstances, she might have laughed, maybe a little bitterly. She held only a small lake and a few homes, a spread of trees, a decent Wi-Fi connection, and one aging Cessna. And now she faced this ancient being, barefoot with a flower in her hair.

  Maybe it was Beck’s growl—or the iron spears—but the phae lord inclined his horned head. “It is a fine little valley. Queen.”

  “The lake in the sunlight is quite lovely,” she said modestly. As far as she knew, the phae were not incapacitated by sunlight, but neither could they easily maintain their disguises under the bright, clear truth of day.

  Although, if as Nally said, the spores could open portals anywhere, the phae would not be so proscribed in their comings and goings.

  As for what the spores did to humans... That was too terrible to contemplate.

  “I hope to see it one day.” The hunter smiled thinly. “Perhaps soon.”

  Okay, this was a reason why she wouldn’t be a good queen of old. This little game of words was going nowhere. “Why have you come?”

  Apparently the Lord of the Hunt had as little interest in banter as she did. His tension made the stag stamp restlessly, its revealed bones clattering like gruesome wind chimes. “I have come for the alchemist.”

  She rubbed her chin. “Sorry. Alchemist? I’m not sure—”

  “The professor.” The stag clashed its bones again at the hunter’s anger. “He is one of yours.”

  She shook her head slowly. “My pack is small and simple. I know them all, and not a one is trying to turn lead into gold.” She gestured, taking in the rustic setting. “Would one like you seek really come here?”

  “All manner of rogues and traitors have gone to earth of late.” His eyes blazed with the crimson fury the torches lacked. “If you lie—”

  She spread her other hand, empty palm up. “Werelings are creatures of truth.”

  The piercing red gaze did not leave her, and she felt balanced on the point of those horns. Finally, he lifted his head, and she almost imagined the bloody glow sweeping the darkness behind her. “He is near,” the hunter said softly. “And I will find him.” He returned his attention to her. “It will go better for you if you put your nose to the ground and save me the need to occupy your lovely little territory. We wil
l return tomorrow night for the alchemist. If you do not produce him...”

  Her hackles rose, not at the dog reference but at his presumption. If the phae Queen thought this emissary was doing anything to smooth her way into the sunlit world, she must also like vinegar instead of honey.

  But apparently neither of them wanted a knock-down-drag-out fight.

  At least not yet.

  Merrilee smiled, with almost as many gleaming teeth as the three-headed dog. “I will certainly do all I can to you.”

  If the hunter heard her blatant slip, he didn’t acknowledge it. He spun the stag on its bone hooves toward the torch bearers. Instead of flinching away, they closed in around him in a circle, the black-winged killers in another ring around that.

  Then they vanished.

  For a heartbeat, the cold ripple of the torchlight remained in a thousand tiny twinkling lights. The same sort of light that led travelers into the woods, never to be seen again, Merrilee thought grimly. Then those too disappeared.

  Beck stepped past her toward the space where the phae had gone. “Nice prevaricating,” he said conversationally.

  “Thanks. All that time in the city has some upsides.”

  Where the phae had gone stood a ring of toadstools. Even if she hadn’t had the night vision of all wolf-kind, she couldn’t have missed the circle. Each of the mushrooms was a hand span across with pale green tops glowing eerily in the light of the rising moon.

  “Death caps. Biggest I’ve ever seen. Figures.” Beck used the tip of one fence shaft to methodically knock down the ring. In a snake of greenish smoke, each toadstool withered at the touch of iron.

  Most woodsy folk knew to be wary of confusing the poisonous mushrooms for the edible sort, but this was a different danger. Merrilee shuddered. “Yet another reason to stick to mac and cheese.”

  He slanted a glance at her. “Only because you haven’t tried my chanterelle bisque.”

  She shook her head. “And you call yourself Alpha.”

  Instantly she wanted to take back the bitchy comment, but he only grinned. “A real man knows how to get dirty.”