Autumn Moon (5 page)

The scent of spiced pumpkin and coffee filled the kitchen as Cormack watched Elen clean the mixing bowls and place them on the counter to dry. She had no way of knowing how many times he'd longed to sit at her table as a man, to share conversation and to use utensils as her equal. His throat thickened, and he looked out the window to get a grasp on his emotions. A winter wren sat perched on a cherry tree branch, its head cocked, watching him closely with a one-eyed glare through the glass pane. It issued a sharp cry when Elen placed two coffee mugs on the knotted-pine surface between them.

“I need to run outside to the garden,” she informed him.

“How long will you be?” It was common for her to gather fresh herbs while she cooked, but it was also harvest time and she might be longer.

“Only a second.” She slipped on her garden clogs by the
back door, sending him a smile that felt like a punch to the gut. “I'll be right back. I promise.”

It was the smile that had given him the strength to live his cursed existence, and to wake each morning knowing she would give him another, and then another. If he spoke, it would reveal more than she was ready to know, so he only nodded as she left.

And he'd thought arguing with Elen was difficult? When a smile had turned his tongue into a bloody knot?

While she was gone, he took note of the changes in the cottage. His chair was missing, for one; she'd had a captain's chair custom made to fit his size as a wolf. And plants no longer grew inside but had been contained to her garden. She was learning to control her gift, as Dylan had mentioned earlier. A new couch filled the gathering room, large and overstuffed and inviting comfort. A stack of garden books rested on top of a trunk that contained knitted blankets within. In the center of the cottage, a stone hearth provided heat on cold winter nights.

Yes,
he thought,
I am home.

*   *   *

As Chihuahuas were to the canine family, Ms. Hafwen was to pixies, and her voice chirped in a similar crescendo when annoyed. She called from the shade garden, her usual spot for lectures because of its privacy. A miniature stone cottage rested below a hedge of hydrangeas, framed by blooms that had darkened to a dusk-colored rose. As Elen approached, the pixie flew to the top of the single turret, which brought her almost chest level.

Hands on hips, the pixie clipped, “This is not the time for you to be courting your Cormack.”

“He's not my Cormack,” Elen defended. “And I'm not courting him.”

“Bring a man to your hearth and then feed him”—she made an impatient motion with her wings, not one to tolerate deception, especially if the giver wasn't aware—“that
is
courting.”

“My brother assigned him as my personal guard. It was either that or move into Rhuddin Hall.”

“Wolves,” she muttered, but her annoyance dissolved with the explanation. “Too domineering to see their arses under their tails. It is both annoying and endearing. Well, there are worse challenges. We will just have to work with your Cormack. I have a lesson prepared, and it's important for you to master this one before the sun sets.”

“I understand.” Bitterness settled in Elen's stomach because what she really wanted to do was spend the day with him. Okay, perhaps she
wanted
to court him, but circumstances posed limitations that she couldn't ignore. “I'll meet you in the orchard barn in fifteen minutes.”

The timer chimed just as Elen returned. Grabbing a pot holder, she pulled the tin from the oven. The muffins had risen perfectly. Cormack stood by the kitchen window, crowding the cozy space with his size. His nearness made her skin feel tight and jittery at the same time.

“This is new.” He lifted a mason jar filled with pebbles she kept on the sill, and held it up to the light.

“They're from Melissa.” She wanted to wrap her arms around his waist, knowing what he lost in the same battle that freed his human half, but his stiffened stance didn't welcome pity, or consolation. Plus the intimacy of such a gesture seemed awkward in their new relationship. “She began giving them to me after . . .” After Elen had healed
her, but Cormack needn't be reminded of what his niece had suffered that night. “I made a big deal out of the first one,” she explained instead. “Now every time Melissa sees me in town, she finds a way to bring me another.”

Cormack had lost two sisters in that battle and almost lost his niece as well. Only four years old at the time, Melissa had been beaten to near death by a Guardian to obtain information from her mother. Taran, Cormack's sister, had died protecting her child.

The Guardian was now dead, thanks to Sophie.

Darkness and light in their most brutal balance.

“And you keep them?” His voice was soft but strained as he gently placed the jar back on the sill.

“Of course.” Her earlier thoughts on the subject flowed without hesitation. “Rocks given with a pure heart are far more precious than any jewel given with ill intent.”

His lips turned slightly. “To you, perhaps.” There was no insult in his remark but rather something more possessive. “Thank you for saving her. I doubt my brother-in-law ever told you that.”

No, he hadn't. Like all the villagers, Melissa's father kept his distance from her. Regardless, gratitude wasn't necessary when she used her gift for the purpose for which it was given.

Suddenly off balance, Elen busied herself placing muffins on a serving tray and pouring two fresh cups of coffee. A change of subject was in order, she decided, before she babbled something too personal. “Can you carry the mugs back over?”

The hint of his former smile turned into a full grin. “I can.” Two simple words that held such impact, because now he could do many things he couldn't before.

And Elen was trying very hard not to think of those other possibilities.

Spiced steam rose as she set the tray on the table. Knives, napkins and a tub of fresh butter followed.

Pulling out a chair, Elen sat, scooped a good chunk of butter out of the crock, and began to spread it on a split muffin.

Cormack immediately removed it from her hands. “Let me do that.”

His incapacities as a wolf had been a source of distress for him, she understood then more than ever, so she handed him her muffin to finish as well. “Mine too, please.”

His gaze lifted to hers; there was gratitude there, and something else, a glint she'd never seen in his eyes as a wolf. Yes, she was trying really hard not to think of other possibilities—and she was failing miserably. He spread an even amount and handed it back to her. She ate one to his three. He was going for a fourth when he informed her, “Sarah's dropping my gear by in the next hour, so don't be alarmed if you see her truck pull up.”

It wasn't normal for her to receive company. “Thanks for letting me know.” Since she'd ripped a Guardian of his power, even the shifters had become skittish around her. They were partial to their wolves.

Unfortunately, it only reminded her of why their fears were justified. “Did I hurt you that night?” Avoiding personal subjects proved impossible. Even if it made him uncomfortable, their history was too intense to pretend they were strangers restricted to politeness. He stiffened.
That night
needed no clarification between them. “I already told you I have no regrets.”

Which was his way of not affirming her suspicion. “And
the Guardian?” She gripped her mug for courage, afraid of his answer but needing to know. “Did any part of his personality influence you?”

“No.” He reached out and pulled her hands from the mug to hold them within his. It was the first time she'd ever touched his skin. Did he not know how intimate that gesture was? Or how it affected her? When everyone feared her touch? “I'm a stubborn bastard. No man's power can dominate mine.”

She rolled her eyes at the arrogant statement, not unlike many her brothers had issued over the years. Cormack's scent had changed after she'd given him a Guardian's ability to shift, which had fueled her concern, but it still held his signature, a meld of forest and night.

“Look at me, Elen.” He waited until she did. “Don't waste your worries on me, when I know what it cost you.”

She threaded her fingers through his, taking note of the calluses from his training. His fingers were long and well formed, and they relaxed to let her explore. The Guardian's was the only life she'd ever taken with her gift. Worse, she didn't know what frightened her more: That she felt no guilt? Or that she would do it again to have Cormack sitting here with her like this?

The sound of Sarah's truck broke the moment. He squeezed her hands gently before pulling away to open the door, accepting a black duffel bag from the female guard. Sarah offered Elen a respectful wave as she filled Cormack in on defenses for the coming evening.

Once Sarah left, he walked down the hall that led to the second floor, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. A flush crawled up his neck. “I'll just put my bag in the spare bedroom.”

She swallowed, understanding his hesitation. He'd always
slept with her. Platonically, of course, but for obvious reasons, that dynamic had changed like boiling water over ice, and it shattered her quiet world with booming cracks.

“That's fine,” she managed to reply in a somewhat neutral tone. “You know where everything is.” To ease the tension, she stood, placing her empty mug in the sink. “I have chores to do in the garden and barn. I'll be outside while you settle in.”

“Wait for me. I'll come with you.”

“That isn't necessary.”

“It is,” he pressed, not backing down this time.

Well, Ms. Hafwen would just have to deal, because Elen wasn't good at lying, especially to the people who knew her, and there was no one who knew her better than Cormack. “Suit yourself. I'm going to the barn first. I haven't fed the animals yet, and there's something there I need to get.”

Once he returned, they walked through the orchard in comfortable silence. Not quite noon, the sun had yet to begin its downward climb, and her garden danced with life. A honeysuckle ran along the outer fence and hummingbirds flitted about consuming nectar for their flight south.

“You painted the barn.” Cormack craned his neck to inspect the change.

“My nephew did.” Joshua had helped her with several chores over the summer. She suspected Sophie, her sister by marriage, had something to do with that. Elen accepted the help because she enjoyed his company. That, and family was too precious to refuse.

Her barn was now blue to match her cottage shutters and garden arbors; it housed four laying hens and a milking cow named Pumpkin. Turning the latch, she swung the door wide and inhaled the scent of fresh hay strewn the day before after a thorough mucking out of the stalls. The girls eyed
her with greedy expectation, waiting for their midday treat. “No corn muffins today, ladies. Sorry.” But she did take a moment to replace their water and feed, since her morning routine had been foiled by a letter.

“What of your clinic?” Cormack asked. “Do you not spend your days there any longer?”

A bitter laugh fell from her mouth. “When I'm there, no one comes, so I've stopped wasting my days waiting.” It was the non-shifters who needed her assistance, and they'd always been skittish around her. And now with the proof of her power walking about in all his sinful grinning glory, they all but ran from her. Some still came as a last resort, but usually in the dark hours of the night, and almost always for concoctions unrelated to their health. “There's a call button by the door. Porter programmed it to send an alert here if I'm needed.” She patted the small bulge of a cell phone clipped to the waistline of her skirt. An alarm also rang within the cottage. “For a while I thought to open the clinic to humans, but . . .”

“That's too much of a risk,” Cormack finished for her.

“Yes.” For all appearances, Rhuddin Village was like any other town, but certain amenities demanded too much contact with the outside world, so they kept the clinic disguised underground. Humans, usually hikers gone astray, were sent to a hospital on the other side of their mountain region.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Having sat through many of her frustrated rants over the years, Cormack understood her. It was upsetting to have a skill and the means and not be able to use it. But she'd buried those demons when she'd accepted Ms. Hafwen's help. Happy with her choice, she no longer craved the company
of people who shunned her and was ready to begin a new chapter in her life.

“Don't be sorry,” she said. Her brother had the clinic built in the event of a war among their kind. “When it sits empty, I know that no one's suffering and that the war has yet to come.”

“For now.”

“Yes, for now.” Elen shared his gruesome opinion. The likelihood of another conflict had been the second reason for this visit to her barn. The garment box she came to retrieve sat on a shelf in an abandoned stall, trimmed in gold embossment. She snagged it off the shelf and returned to where Cormack waited. With the sun at his back, he filled the doorway as a shadowed figure silhouetted by light. And as she drew closer his expression became more discernible—and clearly displeased.

“It's the dress Pendaran sent me,” she admitted before he asked.

He glared at the box as if it held snakes within, or the destruction of the world. “Please tell me you're not thinking of wearing it.”

She couldn't, because she was. “He's powerful, Cormack. I want to prepare for any outcome. If he finds a way through
our defenses, I'd rather not challenge him on something as pointless as wearing a dress.” No, she reserved her energy for more important battles. “It's not woven with poison or enchanted with curses.” She'd checked for the former and Ms. Hafwen the latter.

“Why would he need to,” he growled, “when the message you'll send by wearing it is vile enough.”

A rolling series of twerps announced the approach of a winter wren, the piercing sound more amplified in their closed space. Cormack jumped at the unexpected noise, then frowned when Ms. Hafwen swooped over his head and landed on Elen's shoulder. She had the impact of a falcon hunting its prey; a miniature harpy, if there ever was one.

Elen straightened her spine and lifted her chin; if she was to stand before him with a bird on her shoulder, she might as well do it with confidence. When otherworldly tingles touched her cheek, she was relieved; Cormack was to be one of the trusted few to know her tutor's true form. She felt slight tugs of her hair as Ms. Hafwen shifted and then stood in all her dragonfly-winged glory.

“A pixie,” he whispered in reverence.

Of course
he
would know what form of Fae she was, when even Elen had mistaken her for a faery upon their first meeting. “Ms. Hafwen, this is Cormack.” She tilted her head slightly so as not to squish her tutor. “Cormack, Ms. Hafwen.”

A look of panic crossed his features, or perhaps indecision. Abruptly, he unsheathed his sword, placed it point down and hilt forward—and then kneeled.

*   *   *

Wasn't there a vow he was supposed to say? Siân, his eldest sister, had recited it often enough. Cormack kept his gaze lowered to the hay-strewn floor and tried to
remember the blessed thing. Something about trust, honor and kept secrets . . .

“I will honor your trust by keeping the secret of your existence safe from . . .” He paused, scrounging his brain.
Safe from what? Mortals? Guardians? Humans?
He went with, “Harm.” He hoped it was close enough.

The pixie twittered. “Was that supposed to be some sort of fealty?” Like a wren, her voice carried strong and sharp. Was she connected to her animal, he wondered, as they were to the instincts of their wolves? Comparable traits made him believe so, and for a tiny creature to emit such a mighty sound gave witness to the many marvels of nature. “Lucky for you, young man, I am not royalty. You will keep our secret safe from
all
, but
harm
was a noble attempt. I choose who knows of my existence, do you understand?”

He understood that the Fae enacted vengeance in creative ways, if the stories were to be believed. And that she must be ancient to consider him young, since he was more than four hundred years old. “I won't betray you.”

“Do
not
disappoint me! Now, you may stand in my presence, or sit, or do whatever suits your comfort.” Ms. Hafwen added, “Within respectable reason, of course. I am not a monarch. There are quite enough of them already in the Faery High Courts. I am, however, an advisor at both the Summer and Winter Courts, and now Elen's tutor.”

He chose to stand, sheathing his sword after straightening to his full height. “I've never seen your kind.”

“Well, now you have. So there's no need for you to look all gobsmacked over it.” The pixie rearranged herself within the curtain of Elen's hair, poking out a regal head with dark curls tucked under a golden coronet.

Gobsmacked?
He wasn't sure what that meant but cleared his expression just to be safe. The crown challenged her
claim about not being royalty. For all he knew, court advisors held prestigious positions among the Fae, and by her bearing alone, he suspected they did. “My sister told me stories, but I never thought they were real.”

Siân could have filled a library with tales about the Otherworld, or
Annwfn
in the language of their ancestors. There were many names for the Land of Faery, where the fair folk lived and the Fae reigned over seasonal courts. A place where winged creatures sipped nectar from flowers—and others craved a darker sustenance. The Irish Celts called it Tír na nÓg.

His sisters should have been here to witness this. The futile wish strengthened his resolve. He'd survived the loss of his family, but if something were to happen to Elen . . .

Never.
It was a thought too painful to finish, let alone endure its reality.

“Another disbeliever,” the pixie scolded. “And from a man who carries the blood of wolves in his veins. Well, that's no surprise, I suppose, not with all the preposterous tales the humans have woven about our kind. We are real, but the last gateway between this world and the Land of Faery was destroyed a long time ago. A new one has formed, but it is still very young. Travel will be limited for many years to come . . .” She paused and then amended, “Many centuries to come in your moon phase. Time passes at a gentler pace at home.”

“What Court do you prefer?” Learning of worlds other than this one gave him something to focus on. Plus, curiosity overrode better judgment. “Winter or Summer?”

“Winter, of course. My animal is a winter wren, after all.” She inhaled, and the delicate sound traveled like a whistle on the wind. “I can smell it coming. Can you? When the snow falls, I will stay in my animal form until spring.”

Practical, he thought, doubting that dragonfly wings
carried well in cold temperatures. “Is your home as beautiful as the stories say?”

“It is,” Ms. Hafwen said, “but there are certain things I've grown to appreciate here as well. Our kind should never have meddled with the lives of humans, but I understand their temptation now and will admit I have become less critical.”

A delicate snort came from Elen.

“You speak of Ceridwen,” Cormack dared to broach. The Celtic Goddess was the creator of the first Guardians, and the reason they, and their offspring, had the blood of wolves in their veins. He was a third generation descendant; his grandfather had been an Original Guardian, beheaded for mating with a human.

Elen hissed at his blasphemy, “Cormack—”

“He has a right to ask,” Ms. Hafwen interceded. “As do you all. Yes, curious wolf, I speak of Ceri the Crone. She has made her own mistakes, to be sure, but not the worst. At least she is remorseful for hers. She has sent me here to help right one of many wrongs.”

“I hope you're referring to Pendaran.”

“You may be surprised to hear this,” Ms. Hafwen informed him, “but his mind was not always corrupt, nor was the rest of his brethren. They were quite honorable in the beginning. Ceri had a son with a mortal, as you know.”

“I'm aware of Taliesin's story,” he said.

“If you are referring to that fable the humans have spun, then you know little.” Ms. Hafwen either sneezed or made an indignant sniff, he wasn't sure which, but if someone were to thump a flute, it might make a comparable sound. “Ceri was betrayed by her apprentice; that part is true enough. And there was a chase, you can be sure of that, but it was far more earthly than magical. It lasted decades in
your time, and as these things are bound to do, resulted in a child who resembled his father. They are not one and the same, as your story is told.”

“According to my mother”—Elen offered her own bit of knowledge—“Taliesin was found in a basket on the banks of a river. She said he was barely born.”

“Merin was there,” Ms. Hafwen confirmed. “She would know the truth of it.”

Hearing Elen speak of her mother made him wonder if they'd been in contact since the battle at Avon, where Merin had betrayed Pendaran to save her children. It was a painful subject for Elen, and for good reason, so he reserved his concern for a private time.

For now he had a pixie eager to impart her knowledge, and with the threat of the Guardians lurking, he was keen to know more about their beginnings. “Will you tell us what really happened?”

“Young man, you warm this teacher's heart with all your questions, but I can share only some of this sad story. Ceridwen, for reasons that are not mine to divulge, was unable to bring Taliesin into our world and was forced to leave him here. In her grief, she destroyed our oldest gateway, but not before assigning guardians for her son. Forty-eight warriors to be exact. She gifted each of them with the knowledge of transformation sealed by the blood of wolves.”

“A dangerous binding.” Elen's tone extended sympathy without judgment.

“Indeed,” Ms. Hafwen agreed. “I have often wondered if Ceri's anguish seeped into that initial joining. Fear can make a mother do desperate things, and that binding was as powerful as it was dark. In return, they all vowed to raise and guard Taliesin where she could not. They called themselves
Gwarchodwyr
, ‘Guardian' in your mother tongue, and
they were noble warriors until power that was not meant to be theirs tainted their human souls.”

Cormack had better words to describe their taint. He took more pleasure than he should by pointing out, “Only nine of those Original Guardians remain.” They formed a self-proclaimed governing body and titled themselves the Council of Ceridwen, led by Pendaran in all his putrid flesh and fur. And they hunted, enslaved or killed any descendant born over the last two thousand years who they deemed as unworthy.

Having been born a Bleidd, he was considered the most unworthy of them all.

“Where beings seek power, there will be divisive ways.” Ms. Hafwen's voice carried the melancholy song of a wren. “I cannot judge, for the Fae are not immune from its lure. The quest for power sullies even our gilded courts.” A hand no larger than a dried pea made a dismissive gesture. “But we've wasted enough time discussing the past, when it's our future that deserves our attention in the present. All that has come must not come again. So be off with you now. I have prepared a lesson for Elen, and she needs to master it before the setting of the sun. Since you're such a curious wolf, I'm confident you can find the sheets to make your own bed.”

“I can.” Cormack realized he'd just been sufficiently shooed by a pixie. “But if you don't mind, I'd like to stay and keep watch.”

His gaze lifted to Elen's and held. Did she have any idea the picture she formed? Standing in a humble barn as hens pecked the floorboards around her feet? Like Ceridwen in that legendary fable; embellished or not, if the Goddess had looked like this in the barn at the end of her chase, it was no surprise a child was conceived.

Like a rare jewel that glimmered more because of her unassuming surroundings, Elen's hair hung about her
shoulders in wild waves with an enchanted creature entangled within. She'd grown more assured over the summer; her gaze still soft, still welcoming—but with less fear now, and more notably, less regret over a gift that was meant to be hers.

Mine,
whispered his beast as it rose to make its claim. Bound by the blood of wolves; there was no denying that. In fact, he felt the binding more than others, having lived in the form of his beast for most of his cursed life. He winced as an uncontrolled snarl fell from his lips.

“I do mind,” Ms. Hafwen clipped with finality. “Especially with you about to go all growly on us. You will only serve as a distraction, so you must leave.”

“A run might do you some good,” Elen offered as a gentler rebuke. “I'll be safe with Ms. Hafwen while you're gone.”

Pain shot down his spine as his darker half demanded release, forcing an acceptance of the inevitable. “I will check on you in an hour.”

“Cormack,” Elen called just as he turned to leave. “Have you heard news of Taliesin's whereabouts from Avon? Sophie's worried where he might have gone, as am I.”

He shook his head. “You were there with us the last time he was seen. He left the day after the battle on Avon's bridge.” Cormack didn't blame the poor bastard for wanting to disappear, but he had left Elen's family to deal with the aftermath of the Guardians' last assault. In consideration of current company, he kept his opinion to himself. “As far as I know, he hasn't contacted anyone since.”