Moon Burning (28 page)

Princesses did not cry. Warriors did not show weakness.

The sound of a wolf scratching at the bottom of the tree she was in yanked her attention from the past to the present with a harsh jerk.

The wolf’s pelt was a reddish brown she did not recognize; fear’s metallic taste filled her mouth. She could not fly and she had no weapons with which to defend herself. She went absolutely still as the wolf’s head came up and sniffed the air.

He snarled and barked. Though she knew he could not see her through the foliage, she did not doubt those sounds were directed at her.

He turned and loped away, then spun on his paws and took a running leap at the tree, landing high up the trunk. His claws dug into the bark and he began to climb.

Sabrine’s heart stilled in her chest. She knew some of her enemy had taught themselves to climb in their wolf form to better get at the Éan. She had been warned by the older warriors, but she had yet to meet one herself.

She did the only thing she could: she herself climbed higher by hopping from branch to branch, hoping she could reach a height where the wolf’s bigger body could not follow.

Without warning, a giant blond wolf came flying, his leaping body so high in the air he was able to knock the reddish brown wolf from the tree. The reddish brown wolf crashed clumsily to the ground, but the blond wolf landed smoothly on all fours. The other wolf turned and bared his fangs.

The blond wolf leapt. He clamped his jaws on the other wolf’s neck and picked it up, an adult carrying a cub, but there the similarity ended. He sent the smaller wolf hurtling toward another tree.

The reddish brown wolf hit the tree with a thud. He yelped, landed and did not move again.

The blond wolf shimmered and then Barr’s double stood there naked at the bottom of the tree. His scent was like Barr’s but just off enough she could not mistake it.

“Come down, mate of my brother. It is time we met.”

She was so shocked, she shifted without thought and then for the first time in memory, she fell off the branch she’d been perched on. She fell, but her reflexes took over and she grabbed the next branch, landing with a jar to her shoulders. She cried out in pain as her injured arm was strained, but she clung to the branch with her good hand and carefully felt with her feet for purchase on a limb below her. She found it and managed to make her way to the trunk of the tree where she took a seat on a sturdy branch, high enough up that the wolf could not touch her.

In an inexplicable, to her, bout of modesty, she turned her naked body to minimize his view of her.

After all, they were both Chrechte and shifters often removed their clothes communally before taking their other forms.

“Who are you?” she asked to cover her confusion with herself.

“You cannot tell?”

“My guess is Niall, brother to Barr.”

“That would be me. My face isn’t as pretty as his, but we’re identical otherwise.” He turned a scarred cheek toward her.

“No, you’re not identical.”

“That is what Guaire says.”

“Is Guaire your mate?” she asked, though the way Niall said the other man’s name left no doubt as to their relationship.

It was the same tone Barr used to say her name, or had done, before their harsh and painful words in the clearing.

“
Aye
. He is my true bond.” He sounded so like Barr when her mate was pleased with something that despite everything, Sabrine found herself smiling.

“Who is the Faol over there?” she asked, indicating the still form.

“I was hoping you would tell me.”

That made no sense. “Why did you attack him if you do not know him?”

“He was intent on prey. All I could smell was my brother’s mate.”

“But you do not know me.”

“I know you are family.”

Her heart contracted at the claim. If only that could be true. “I am Éan,” she blurted out.

“I had that figured when you shifted from raven to human.” His sardonic tone made her smile again.

Though it was quickly followed by a frown. “You saw?”

“My face is flawed, not my eyesight.”

“I’d say your face looks pleasing enough to keep your mate on his toes around others.”

His head thrown back, Niall laughed loudly at that.

Men. They could be so vain.

“Do you need help down?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded, the laughter gone as quickly as it had come. Without another word, he turned away. She had been naked around her brethren before shifting many times, but the Donegal clan must be wearing off on her because once again her modesty was relieved he didn’t watch her make her way out of the tree. Sabrine fetched her clothing on her way down and donned it quickly once she’d reached the ground.

As she adjusted her final pleat, the wolf at the base of the other tree stirred. Niall had not killed him then.

She had been far more interested in meeting Barr’s brother than the fate of the other wolf. It shimmered into human form as it came to consciousness.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

“You know this tree-climbing bitch’s son?” Niall asked.

“He is Wirp, grandfather to Muin.” She wished she was surprised, but she wasn’t.

The old man glared at them from the ground. “You know damn well who I am, whelp.”

Niall had the man on his feet and dangling over the ground between one breath and the next. “Who are you daring to call whelp?”

Wirp’s brows drew together in confusion as fear became a rancid odor around him. “You are not the laird.”

“Nay, I am his brother, the mean one.” Niall’s snarl would have done any wolf proud.

“They don’t get meaner,” Wirp spat.

“Well now, if you think so highly of him, what the hell were you doing trying to climb a tree and get to his mate?”

“I don’t think highly of him,” the old man sputtered.

Foolishly, Sabrine thought. Considering his circumstances.

Niall’s scowl was every bit as intimidating as Barr’s. “You insult my brother?” he asked in a tone both quiet and controlled that still managed to convey Wirp’s imminent death at the wrong answer.

“He mated a raven.”
Each word dripped with venomous loathing.

Niall turned his head and gave Sabrine a smile of sublime delight. “He did at that.”

“She’s an abomination!”

Even knowing they were spoken by a prejudiced old man who should mean nothing to her, the words pricked at Sabrine’s heart like the tip of a newly sharpened dagger.

“What is the matter with you?” Niall sounded truly perplexed. “My brother has managed to discover a member of the old race and draw her to himself. ’Tis a miracle our laird Talorc of the Sinclairs will thank him profusely for.”

As if Barr had a thing to do with her falling out of the sky and infiltrating his clan. Men! Still, she liked Niall’s interpretation better than Wirp’s.

“She’s carrion eater, not worthy to be called Chrechte.”

“She’s Éan, magical and powerful with Chrechte gifts a wolf will never know.”

“You know more about my people than your brother,” she could not help observing.

“I listened more closely to the stories than he growing up. And I believed them. Somewhere out there are Chrechte that share natures with the big cats.”

She knew the stories he spoke of. Ancient tradition said that back before the Chrechte settled in caves, when they roamed the earth like the animal herds, there were more races of shifters and they all lived together, submitting to leaders much like the Éan’s Council of Three. But those stories were so old, she had never given them credence.

The fact she was just such an unlooked-for legend to Barr made her rethink the truth of the oldest stories.

But those were thoughts for a different day.

“You hold no dislike for the Éan?” she asked, having to be certain.

“I am Chrechte.”

“So is that hate-filled old goat.” She jerked her head toward Wirp.

He dismissed Wirp with another wolf-worthy snarl. “Chrechte respect all life. We have learned the great cost of not doing so.”

“I think some of the Faol have,” she admitted. “But some still hate the Éan for their differences.”

“Jealous more like.”

“Me? Jealous of that abomination?” Wirp yelped, spittle flying.

Niall grew very still and looked down at Wirp. “Do. Not. Call. Her. That. Again.” He punctuated each word with a small shake of the man dangling in his grip. “Ever.”

“She has no place in our clan.”

She might agree with him, but she didn’t have to admit it to this horrible dog. “That is not for you to say.”

“You are wrong. I will protect my clan from your kind, whatever it takes.” The light of murder burned bright in his faded eyes.

She let death show in her own gaze. “You are welcome to try, old man. You’ll not find me as easy a kill as others.”

Fury at her challenge suffused him and he lost control, his wolf’s scent filling the air around them for the first time. Memory washed over her for the second time in an hour, this one the most painful she had yet endured.

“You!” Quick as a snake, she grabbed the dagger from Niall’s belt. “Drop him, let my parents’ murderer face me.”

Niall looked down at her with shock. “The females among the Éan certainly are different.”

She didn’t bother to reply, dropping into a fighting stance, rage turning the edges of her vision red.

“What the hell is going on here?” Barr’s demand cracked like thunder.

“I believe your mate wishes to kill this old man. It’s a fair want to my way of thinking. He was intent on killing her when I came upon them.”

She looked at Barr, the anguish of earlier replaced with this new-old pain. “He killed my parents.”

“You are certain?”

She looked back at the now-hatred-filled visage of the older Faol. “Yes.”

“No doubts?”

“I smelled his scent on their bodies. I’ll never forget it. He’s kept it masked, or I would have known earlier.”

Barr turned to Wirp. “You stand accused of murder. What say you?”

“It is not murder to rid the world of an abomination.”

“You do not deny the charge of killing?”

“She looks just like her mother. It is how I knew she was raven from the moment I saw her.” Wirp’s implied admission and lack of any remorse cut at Sabrine’s soul.

How could he think killing her gentle mother and the fair and giving ruler her father had been a good thing?

“They never caused you harm.”

“Their existence caused offense; that is harm enough.”

“That is admission enough.” Barr’s cold tones sent a shiver through even her.

But the old Chrechte did not appear affected. “If you are looking for a confession, I will gladly claim the kills. Her father was king of his people. His death was a great blow to them, but not enough . . . not nearly enough, for here his daughter stands.” The fury and repugnance in his face and voice made Sabrine want to shake.

But she would not let this disgusting murderer see her weak.

“You are guilty.” Once again, Barr’s voice carried the weight and chill of final judgment.

Wirp shrugged. “Accuse me before the clan then.”

Suddenly, Niall released him.

Barr stepped forward. “I am laird. I need no one else to find you guilty.”

Wirp’s eyes filled with understanding and fear came too late as Barr grabbed the older man by the head, twisting and yanking at the same time. The snap of breaking bone sounded and the light of life died from Wirp’s eyes that quickly.

Barr allowed the body to fall.

She stared at him in shock. “You killed him.”

“Chrechte justice is swift. He admitted to killing two others of our kind; he showed no remorse. I had only one course of action open to me.”

“Will you hide it as a hunting accident?”

“I am not Rowland. The clan may well petition the king for a new laird, but I will not pretend to be less than I am. I am leader of this people and justice is my responsibility.”

“I wanted to kill him.” Only as she said the words, she realized that no matter how much she might wish she had, killing in anything other than defense did not come naturally to a raven.
“I could not do it.”
The words came out a whisper.

The knowledge broke something inside her and she fell to her knees, all strength gone.

A
harsh keening sound accosted her ears, but she could not cover them. Could not protect herself from the broken sound so filled with pain.

The grief of her parents’ death welled up from deep in her soul and mixed with her sense of failure, shattering her heart.

She had abandoned her brother when he needed her most, believing she was doing what was best for him. Now, she had no choice but to abandon her mate. No true Chrechte would abandon the mate gifted them by grace.