Taken by Moonlight (21 page)

With them
no longer impeding her view, Vivienne stared at the woman who’d birthed her.
Curly black hair hung loosely around delicate shoulders. Honey-colored brown
eyes, the exact replica of her own, stared back at her. Evelyn took a step
forward and Vivienne swallowed. Along with the intense heat pulsing through her
body, her knees were growing weak, her head felt heavy, and she could feel her
heart slowing down to an alarming rate. Lethargic. She felt lethargic.

“You are
safe,
ma puce
. I will explain everything.”

Turning her
head, she saw Conall and Max, changed into things that could not be mistaken
for human on a good day, things that shouldn’t exist. She remembered her
mother’s voice in her head, and her mother appearing out of thin air.

Witch.

Someone had
called her mother a witch. She blinked as an image flashed into her mind. Her
mother was kneeling, one hand on Vivienne’s forehead, the other on her
sister’s, as she repeated words in Latin. Vivienne blinked. That had never
happened, so why was she remembering it? She tried to shake her head, but
instead, settled for blinking again.

“You are
safe, Vivienne.” She felt hands touch her face, gentle, warm hands. Someone
roared her name in the background. Conall. She blinked once more but her lids
refused to reopen this time. Her mother was speaking—chanting—once more. She
felt herself falling.

Conall
watched with his heart in his throat as the witch leaned over an unconscious
Vivienne. She froze suddenly and lifted her head, locking pitch-black eyes with
his yellow glare. Growling, he took a step in her direction, forgetting for the
moment that he was still in the midst of fighting the trackers. A searing pain
shot through his thigh and he looked down to see a bleeding gash there. The
tracker who’d delivered it pressed forward again, but Conall was focused once
more, and as the tracker charged, he jumped aside as his claw laid open the
bastard’s jugular. Eyes widening, the tracker clutched his throat and fell
backward.

Before the
body hit the ground, another ran toward him. He blocked the magic thrown at him
and launched himself at the tracker. Four long talons, as sharp as diamond-cut
blades, pushed into the soft tissue of the man’s belly, and ripped up.

A gurgle
left his lips as his mouth opened on a silent scream. Pushing him back, Conall
looked around, noticing that the number of trackers was steadily dwindling.
Most had died and disintegrated but some still squirmed on the floor. Two were
attacking Max, and he watched, impressed, as Max, now a creature he was
unfamiliar with, held them back. Now certain that Max was protecting Vivienne,
he ran for the one at Max’s back. They fell to the ground together, with the
tracker conjuring a spell to render Conall immobile. It was a weak spell, one
that he, as an ancient
were
with Celtic roots, had learned years ago to
counter. The witch smiled, thinking he would be unable to move, and readied his
attack. Conall returned the spell, moments before his wolf fully took over and
rows of sharp teeth closed over the confused man’s throat. The tracker’s scream
was cut short when he tore savagely. At that moment, another scream rang out,
and the black wolf turned in the direction. Another tracker was suspended
mid-air by Max’s hand at his throat. Max pulled something…mist-like and
fine…from him.

Lifting its
massive head, the black wolf scanned the area where Vivienne had been. She
wasn’t there. None of them were! He paced the lobby, with unflinching precision
snapping the necks of those who still lived. He didn’t know the reason behind
the attack today, but whenever trackers were sent after someone, it was usually
because someone wanted the person dead. He snapped his jaws together as he
walked over to the last place that he’d seen his mate. The wolf picked up her
scent as well as the scent of the witches, five males and a female. He snarled,
remembering them crowding Vivienne as he was attacked by other members of their
covenant.

The witches
had reneged on their oath when they attacked what was his, and he was going to return
their assault tenfold. A growl left his lips and he forced the change. His
beast retreated as his naked body crouched low. Small red cuts, a result of his
fast-healing blood cells, marred his previously smooth skin.

A body hit
the floor and he turned his head to find one of the trackers lying prone on the
ground. Within seconds, he disintegrated.

“She’s in Scarsdale,” Max grunted out. His human color had returned, but his face was ashen, and a
hand held tightly to his side.

“The
witches took her.”

“No, that
was her mother. I’ve been to her house before so I can lead the way.”

Conall’s
ears perked at that information. Her mother? Of course. If Vivienne was a
witch, then at least one of her parents was a witch as well.

“Give me
the directions.” He stood. Scarsdale was about an hour’s ride away from Cedar
Creek, so about an hour and a half from the city. He would get them there in
less than forty-five minutes. “Let’s go.”

A hand
landed on his arm, and Conall spun angrily. He didn’t like to be touched without
permission.

“You walk
outside like that, and you’ll get arrested,” Max said, his voice strained. He
was referring to Conall’s nakedness as well as the blood stains that covered
most of his body. “Vivienne’s safe with Evelyn. She’s a strong witch, and she’s
managed to hide her for twenty-three years.”

“Hide her?”
Conall asked immediately, “Hide her from what?”

Max nodded
and swallowed, the hand at his side tightening. “I’ll tell you everything I
know. Just give me a minute.”

Conall’s
gaze fell to the younger man’s hand. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” He
paused and his eyes closed briefly before his hand dropped. When Max next
opened his eyes, they were clear, and he seemed to breathe easier. “I need to
change clothes.” He gave Conall a once-over. “And you need clothes. I’m sure I
have something that’ll fit you.”

Conall’s
lip curled upward but he didn’t protest. Max was right. He could walk outside
as he was, and get into a brawl with a cop that would expose his race to the
humans, or he could put on some form of clothing—no matter how tight it would
probably be—and be on his way. When he thought of it like that, it wasn’t
really an option.

Vivienne
snuggled closer to the soft, cushiony pillow and opened her eyes. She was
mid-stretch when her memory surfaced. Bolting upright, she looked around,
homing in on the soft green walls and bay windows. She was in her old room, in
her parents’ house. Strange, but she didn’t remember coming here. But
everything had happened, hadn’t it? The ninjas in black, Conall turning into
the wolf-man, Max turning blue, her mother?

At that
moment, the door opened and the person in question strode in, a large smile on
her face and carrying a tray of tea and Swiss chocolate biscuits.

Vivienne
shot from the bed and pressed herself to the wall.

“Oh,
ma
chère
,” Evelyn said softly, placing the tray on the covers before taking a
seat at the edge of the bed. “You and Cassandre are dearer to me than my own
life. I know you are afraid, and how could you not be, but everything I have done
was for you and your sister.” She paused and closed her eyes, and Vivienne saw
the sadness in her mother’s expression before Evelyn smiled once more and
patted the bed. “Come, my Vivienne, sit down and I will explain everything.”
She looked up at Vivienne and smiled, before turning her attention to the
silver teapot.

Vivienne
watched as she poured hot tea into two cups, and lifted one in her hands. Her
mother took a sip and sighed.

“It’s your
favorite—orange pekoe, and I remember how much you like Swiss chocolate
biscuits,” Evelyn coaxed softly.

“What are
you?” Vivienne asked, her voice trembling as she braced back against the wall.

“Won’t you
sit, my Vivienne?” Evelyn asked softly, and then said, “I am a witch, but if
the explanation were that simple I would not need you to sit as well.”

“What
happened? Why—how did I get here?”

“You
fainted, Vivienne. I brought you here.”

She nodded,
and her gaze left her mother briefly to look around the room. “Where’s Drew?”

“Sleeping
in the guest room. Much like you, she’s had a traumatic day.”

“Conall?”

Her
mother’s dark brows lifted a fraction but she said, “I am sure he and Max are
on their way here as we speak.”

Evelyn
smiled and patted the bed once more. Vivienne cautiously took a seat at the
edge of the mattress, her body ramrod straight as she faced her mother. Evelyn
indicated the tea. “Drink the tea,
ma chère
.
It will calm you.”

As she
stared at the silver cup, her eyes narrowing. Her mother huffed and Vivienne
lifted her eyes to the face she’d known, yet apparently not known, for years.

“It is not
poisoned, Vivienne.” She sounded hurt, but covered it with a small, almost
understanding smile. “I’ve only added orange pekoe, and two spoons of sugar.
Would you like me to taste it?”

It was
amazing that Evelyn, even after revealing she was a witch, could reduce
Vivienne to a guilty-feeling six-year-old with her rebukes. Trusting the
instinct that told her her mother would never hurt her, Vivienne reached for
the tea and took a sip. It was the perfect temperature, extremely warm, but not
hot, and as the warmth seeped into her body, she felt her muscles relax, and
her head clear. She took another sip, and closed her eyes. When she opened
them, Evelyn was holding out the tray of biscuits. She immediately took one, and
when her stomach demanded more, Vivienne polished off three more.

Satisfied
that she was drinking the tea and had eaten, Evelyn began to speak. “I was born
in Paris to parents whose love for each other defied their communities. My
mother was the daughter of a witch and a druid—”

Vivienne
almost choked, but recovered quickly. “Druid, as in the druids we read about in
ancient mythology?”

Her mother
leaned over and rubbed her back gently, before nodding. “They are one and the
same, but as most historians are human, they don’t know the true origins of the
druids. It is said that the gods played a part in the creation of the druids.”

“Gods?”
First druids, and now gods? She only knew of one God. Vivienne gulped her tea.

“Yes, the
gods
.
They are most popular in their Greek names: Zeus, Artemis, Apollo, Aphrodite—”

Vivienne
let out a disbelieving chuckle, and placed her cup back onto the tray. She
lifted her hands to her temples and shook her head before saying in a clear,
passionate voice, “You’re Christian, Mom! I know you’re not a devout Christian,
but we celebrate Easter and Christmas and Thanksgiving.” Thanksgiving wasn’t a
Christian holiday, she knew, but Vivienne felt the need to throw it in there,
too.

“Because I
wanted to raise you and Cassandre in a normal setting. That is why I haven’t
told you any of this before now. I hoped you’d be able to live normal, human
lives. Also, your father is Christian, sweetheart.”

“Dad’s a
witch too, isn’t he? You’re both witches and so Cassie and I are witches too?
Is that it? That’s the secret? That’s why you wanted me to sit down?”

Evelyn
reached for Vivienne’s hand and clasped it in her own. “Vivienne, listen to me.
Your father is not a witch. He’s human, and doesn’t know what I am. Remember
what I’ve said: everything I did, I did for you and your sister.” She paused
before continuing. “Do you remember the stories I told you and Cassie when you
were children? Of a powerful woman named Selene, who created children in her
image?”

Vivienne
shook her head, but the name sounded familiar.
Selene.

Evelyn
sighed. “Perhaps you were too young to remember. Selene is a goddess, and she
is known by many names. Luna is more familiar to some people, but Artemis is
the name most humans know her by: the goddess of the hunt. She created the
witches first, and later on, the werewolves. Please, just listen,
ma chère
,
I promise it will all make sense.” She paused and Vivienne noticed her eyes
were darkening. Lifting her hands, Evelyn slowly reached forward, scooting
further up the bed, until her palms rested on either side of Vivienne’s head.
“As my mother explained it to me, I will explain it to you.”

Once more,
that feeling of the winter chill and just as quickly the summer heat blasted
through Vivienne’s body.

Relax,
ma puce. I am here and you are safe.

She did as
her mother commanded, and slowly blinked her eyes open. She was no longer in
her room, but in another, watching as a pale little girl with golden eyes and
thick, black hair sat up in a tiny bed, love and adoration in her eyes as she
stared at the woman kneeling beside her.

Opening her
mouth, she spoke the quick and excited French of a child.

“Will you
tell me the story of the gods, Maman?”