Taken by Moonlight (34 page)

“A mate
protects, serves, and treasures his mate above all else, until his dying
breath.”

She
swallowed. That sounded like a husband. Well, it sounded like something a
husband was supposed to do. Some—
many
—fell short. Conall’s eyes flashed
yellow.

“A mate is
nothing like a husband.” His face had grown serious, his lips thinning out as
if using the words “mate” and “husband” in the same sentence were distasteful
to him. “Humans marry for different reasons, many of which are insignificant.
Very few human marriages last and those that do are many times weak. A husband
does not necessarily feel compelled to protect his wife, or his family. I’ve
seen atrocities committed by a husband to his wife that would never occur had
the male been a
were
with a true mate
.
” His eyes grew softer, his
fingers traced her lips. “Wolves mate for life or we don’t mate at all.”

Vivienne
nodded, even as the human part of her screamed that the whole mating thing
sounded surreal. “So we’re mated?”

His eyes
hooded and he allowed his fingers to move from her lips, down her throat,
between her breasts, and finally to the small indentation that marked her
navel.

“You are my
mate, Vivienne,” he said slowly, the warm palms of his hand brushing across her
belly. Her muscles leapt, and she stole a quick glance at his hand, tanned
against the darker complexion of her skin, before looking back to him. An
unreadable expression played over his face, a cross between being aloof and
being annoyed. “But we are not yet fully mated.”

“Fully
mated?”

“Yes. To be
mated in the full sense of the word, we would have to complete a mating
ceremony.”

“Mating
ceremony?”

His face
grew even more shuttered, and Vivienne’s eyes narrowed, sensing he was going to
try to hide something from her. Before she could think on it, she closed her
eyes, and concentrated on Conall, using their connection to get into his mind.

The image
she saw in his mind shocked her to the core. In the middle of a clearing,
surrounded by naked humans and pelted wolves, stood a woman and a man, both
equally nude. The only person wearing clothing was a white-haired male who wore
some sort of flowing, ivory robe. The image shifted, and another replaced it.
The human female was on her knees, the male moving into position behind her….

Vivienne
…. Conall trailed off. Another image
took the place of the last, and Vivienne felt her heart race as she watched two
wolves copulate, knowing instinctively that these were the two humans she’d
seen just moments before.

She pulled
away from him, releasing a rush of breath as a fierce blush stained her cheeks.
God, she felt like a voyeur, watching something she shouldn’t.

“I’m
guessing that was the mating ceremony,” she said, trying to make light of her
nervousness.

“Yes.”

He didn’t
elaborate, but Vivienne could feel the weight of his gaze on her face. Were
they expected to do that at some time in the future? Because she couldn’t—
wouldn’t
.
One, she couldn’t very well change into a wolf, and two, she wasn’t going
commando before God-knew-how-many people, and then performing for them. She
stole a look at Conall’s handsome face. She didn’t care how hot her partner
was, she wasn’t putting on a show.

The hand at
her waist began to lazily draw circles around her navel. Closing her eyes, she
moaned. So, here she was, a druid who was partially mated to a werewolf, with a
witch for a mother, and a best friend who was some sort of warlock hybrid.

She lowered
her hand to Conall’s and kept it still on her belly as she turned to face him.

“What about
Max? Did you hear anything about him at the meeting?”

“No. If
Cronin has him, there’s nothing that we can do. As Cronin’s son, Max belongs to
his covenant.”

Vivienne
nodded and pressed her lips together. She’d almost forgotten Max had been
captured. He would be okay, though. His father wouldn’t hurt him. He was his
father, for crying-out-loud.

Conall
listened as Vivienne tried to convince herself of the safety of her friend. He
said nothing to parry her hopes, but couldn’t share them. Max had betrayed his
father, who happened to be a Grand Wizard. Cronin wouldn’t take that lightly.

Seconds,
then minutes, streamed by with him listening to the steady sound of her
breathing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so calm. His wolf
seemed at ease; the man was as sated as he could be lying next to her. After he
took her to Cedar Creek, he would give her time to adjust to his way of living.
He’d heard her thoughts about the mating ceremony, and while they hadn’t
pleased him, he understood.

“Did it
hurt?” Vivienne traced her fingers along the crafted lines of black ink on his
shoulder.

“It
tickled,” he replied, and smiled when her eyes narrowed and she chuckled
lightly. His mate had no idea of exactly how beautiful she was.
Were
females
were mostly vain with their beauty. Their race worshipped perfection and a
female of perfect face and form was the first to admire herself.

She shifted
closer to him, and her breast rubbed against his tattooed arm. “How long did it
take?”

Conall
thought of his uncle painstakingly applying ink to his body over the course of
weeks. It hadn’t been the most pleasant experience, but he’d just completed his
training, and he’d wanted the symbolic tattoos. Had been adamant about it.
Every male member of his father’s pack had been tattooed. Some of the females,
too. The ink made them individual from the pack, and at the same time, united
them. A tattoo could identify a beheaded body, and enable the pack to make sure
that wolf received an honorable burial.

“A few
weeks.”

She lifted
a brow and continued to run her fingers along his shoulder. “What does it
mean?”

“The Celts
are an expressive people. We dabble in the arts and music. Any form of
creativity is welcomed.” He paused and pushed the covers down. “It means many
things. Life.” He paused and took her hand, pressing it to one of the symbols
wrapped in the curves and loops on his chest. “Death. Peace. War. Brotherhood.
Family.” Each time, he touched her hand to another spot, and each time,
Vivienne traced the symbol.

“You’re a
Celt?” Vivienne was no scholar on Celtic lore but she remembered a couple of
things. Conall nodded.

“Do you
speak Gaelic?”

He said
some foreign words that sounded lyrical and wonderful. Her brows furrowed in
confusion. “What—?”

You are
more beautiful than any woman I’ve seen.

Vivienne
blinked, and then an almost embarrassed smile touched her lips. He only
chuckled.

“Thank you.
Was that Gaelic?”

He nodded.
“Yes,
alainn
.”

She felt
herself tremble as the word rolled off his tongue with ease. “What does that
mean?”

“It means
‘beautiful one’.”

A slight
blush touched her cheeks as the weight of what he’d said settled in. “If you’re
a Celt, how old are you?”

“I’m old by
your standards, Vivienne,” he said slowly.

She lifted
a brow. “What is ‘old by my standards,’ Conall?”

“I’m over
four centuries old.” He paused, and nodded when her eyes widened and she pushed
herself further onto her arms to stare down at him.

“O-over
what?”

“I was born
in 1558 in a village called Bransley in Ireland.”

“F-fifteen-f-fifty-eight?”
Her eyes grew even wider as she did the mental calculation to arrive at his
age. “You’re four hundred and fifty years old?”

He nodded.
Vivienne fell back to the bed. She’d just slept with a man that was hundreds of
years older than her. It had been extremely, extremely good, but he was…
old
.
She’d just slept with an old man—no, an old werewolf.

A chuckle
sounded to her right and she turned to find Conall staring down at her in
amusement. His hair fell forward, cocooning his face. Masculine jaw, thin,
beautiful lips, sparkling blue eyes. He didn’t look a day over thirty.

“I am only
old by human standards, Vivienne. Werewolves are not immortal because we live
forever. We’re immortal because we age very slowly.”

She stared
at him long and hard before she slowly nodded. “So what’s considered old age by
your standards?”

“Any wolf
who lives past his thousandth year can claim the title of Elder. Most
werewolves died in battle or childbirth before the twentieth-century, but with
the changes in times, and increased medical technologies, we are living much
longer.”

“Thousandth
year…” she repeated before trailing off and asking, “What about druids and
witches? Do they live as long?”

Conall
blinked. It was obvious he hadn’t thought of it. “Druids are immortal. They
don’t age past a certain year.”

“So am I
immortal?”

When Conall
only stared at her for long seconds, she repeated, “Well, am I?”

“I’m not
sure,
alainn
. If you’re a druid like the druids of old, then I would
think yes, but because you were born of a witch and human, I’m unsure. You’d
get better answers from your mother.”

Vivienne
sighed. Great, here she was thinking that she would grow old and die like
regular people and there was the possibility she would live past old age.

“And
witches are immortal, too?” How old was her mother?

“They
were
immortal until the druids cursed them.” When she looked up in confusion at
him, he elaborated on that as well.

“So, the
druids cursed the witches to live mortal lives because the witches banished the
druids for killing lots of witches?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s
why Max’s father wants me and Cass? To bring them back so they’ll be immortal
again?”

Conall nodded.

“How does
he know that the druids won’t just continue where they left off?” It seemed
stupid resurrecting the very same creatures that wiped out many of your people
in hopes they wouldn’t do the exact same thing once more. Especially as they
were going to be pissed off about the whole banishment.

Shrugging
his shoulders, Conall replied. “He probably intends to strike a bargain with
them.”

“Can he
even resurrect them?”

His eyes
chilled. “I don’t know, and we’re not going to find out.”

Lying back
on the bed, he secured an arm about her shoulders and pulled her closer to him.
The lights went out and Vivienne almost scrambled from the bed.

“Easy.” His
fingers stroked her arm. “I turned it off.”

She turned
to him in the dark, surprised she could still see him clearly. She quickly
scanned her bedroom. She could see everything. Of course. It was those spanking
new perks that came with being a druid. She almost rolled her eyes but
refrained when she recognized Conall was staring at her with that half-smile on
his face. No doubt he was in her mind, and knew exactly what she was thinking.

She lifted
a brow in challenge. The smile expanded but he said nothing.

“How did
you do that thing with the lights?”

“Close your
eyes, concentrate, and think it.”

“My, my,
that doesn’t sound hard at all,” Vivienne retorted. Conall chuckled.

She was
quiet for a long time. “Will you teach me?”

 “Yes. I’ll
teach you,
alainn
.”

If he’d
thought it hard convincing Evelyn that her daughter would be safer in Cedar
Creek, it was almost impossible convincing Vivienne. His mate was extremely
stubborn, and it took him resorting to a level of patience he didn’t know he
possessed before he saw any progress. She didn’t want to leave her house. She
didn’t know anyone in Cedar Creek. She’d just met him. It wasn’t the sixteenth
century anymore! Men couldn’t just order women around….

It took him
over two hours of explaining to her that her location had been jeopardized,
that there was a high chance Max would be forced to talk—she refused to believe
that—and that her family and friends could be hurt. She’d been less inclined to
argue when he brought that up, and Conall had to hammer those points home
before she agreed.

She
insisted upon one condition.

She wanted
Cassie and Drew with her. Hours ago, Conall might have argued, but after
spending the better part of the morning engaged in this battle with Vivienne,
he was willing to agree to almost anything that would get her to Cedar Creek.
If they wanted to come, they could. It would give her access to people she
knew, and make the transition easier. It was at times easy to forget that
Vivienne was still very new to all of this. It was impressive, the way she
seemed to be taking most of it in stride. As he looked over at her, in conversation
with Drew, he thought of Brennus and Gresham. Not only was he bringing a druid
mate to Cedar Creek, but he’d agreed to bring her human friend and her druid
twin. A smirk touched his lips. They were not going to like this.