Blood Vow (Blood Moon Rising) (13 page)

“Could be something as simple as a spell or they could have been brought in to hunt,” Rafe answered.

“Looks like some kind of Pagan gathering,” Lucien whistled.

“Wiccan,” Rafe said. “It’s a damn witchfest.”

As the van slowed to accommodate the throng of people in the streets, one by one they stopped and turned to stare. Pale faced and sullen, scores of intense eyes glared at them. Some from their sickly sweet scent she knew were Corbets, others smelled of sage and hemlock, a witch’s scent.

“We’re outted,” Lucien hissed. As he said the words, the crowd began to chant.

Falon grasped Rafe’s right hand in her left and Lucien’s left hand in her right. Their combined auras flared red, blue, and gold, infusing the inside of the van with spectacular color.

The demonic chanting escalated.

Slowly the crowds backed away as Rafe kept his steady speed, refusing to back down.

“The Abby is three kilometers north of the village,” Lucien said, looking at his iPad.

“Are you sure that’s where he’s buried?” Falon asked. Was it public knowledge?

“I’m not positive but there are some of his relatives buried there.”

As they exited the witch-infested village, Falon’s worry eased. Until they came upon the Chapel of Alberbury, or what was left of it.

“It’s nothing but ruins,” Falon said, disappointed, getting out of the van.

Malevolent scents assailed her as she walked toward the ruins. The howls of hunted wolves and the battle cries of their hunters filled the air. The pain of her ancestors cried out from the earth, the scent of their blood clogged her nostrils and the malicious triumph of her sire’s forefathers rose up before her, demanding she forsake her Lycan heritage and join them in their worldwide extermination of the scourge. It was here in 1281 that her father’s ancestor, Peter Corbet, was given the charter by Edward I to eradicate every wolf on the island. It was here they relentlessly called to her now, demanding she join with them on their never-ending quest to destroy the wolves.

No!
Falon shouted.
I will not join you!

But they would be heard, and more. The macabre specters of hundreds of dead Corbets rose from the earth around her, begging her for life, for the chance to avenge the deaths of all Slayers.

No!

Insistent they pressed upon her, raising their swords with the heads of dead wolves impaled on their tips.

“No!”

“Resurrect us!”
they shrilled.

Falon clamped her hands over her ears, violently shaking her head.
“No!”

They circled her, the blood of the wolves dripping from their swords to her hair, down her arms to her back and legs. She dropped to her knees shaking her head, refusing to answer the darkness.

Falon,
Rafael called from far away. Yet his hand touched her shoulder. She shifted, snarled and snapped, sinking her fangs deep into his hand.

“Damn it, Falon!”

Panic choked her. Dear God what had she done? What was wrong with her? The same rage that possessed her when she attacked Anja exploded inside her now. But this time it was fueled by the blood of her ancestors.

She snarled again wanting more of Rafe’s blood, and with that hunger, terror she had never experienced gripped her by the throat. She snarled again.

If she stayed—she would kill him.

“Oh, Rafa,”
she cried.
“Please,”
she sobbed,
“stay away from me.”
And then she leapt into the enveloping darkness where she could not harm either of the men she loved.

Blindly she ran from Rafe and Lucien. Any place they weren’t would be safe. For them. She didn’t care about her life. She cherished theirs above all others. Until she knew what was happening to her, and she could control it Luca and Rafa were in danger. First she had attacked Lucien, then Rafe, next? Would she kill one of them?

She could never live with herself. Moments later, gulping for breath, she found herself on the fringes of the village they had just passed through.

Falon!
Lucien called.

Stay away from me! Please!

Tell me what’s wrong.

Just find the
sword!
she cried.
Find the sword.

The low drone of the chanting witches permeated the air around her. Did they know she was here? Were they waiting for her? Why? Feeling a pull she could not explain or resist, Falon walked solemnly toward the village square.

Like Daniel had centuries ago, Falon walked into the lion’s den, but with no God, only her violent rage that linked her to these people and her untold power that could destroy any one of them or all of them if they provoked her.

Slowly she walked down the middle of the cobblestone main street. Completely focused on her, the witches kept a respectable distance between them. If any one of them had their sights on Rafe or Lucien they appeared to have lost it now. It was her shiny black pelt they salivated over now.

A wolf in hand was worth two in the ruins.

Oblivious to their taunting pitchforks and torches, Falon allowed them to cast a circle around her. Even as they cast spell after spell upon her, trying to force the wolf from her she ignored them.

With each incantation, her power withstood the ancient black arts. And with it, her rage escalated. Not for the taste of Slayer blood but for Lycan. Her Corbet blood was strong, and it wanted what it wanted.

For hours she paced the circumference of the widening circle. For hours, she howled her throat raw. For hours, the witches chanted, hummed, and droned their spells in their attempts to cleanse her of her wolf. For hours, she forced herself to stay within the circle while she continued to fight the black rage inside of her. It was the safest place for her alphas.

Into the wee hours of the next morning, Falon continued to force herself to stay within the confines of the magic circle, praying that Lucien and Rafa had unearthed the sword. For more hours after that she forced herself to focus her fury on her father and his people so that she didn’t lose what tenuous grip she had on her sanity and go after the two men that she loved.

But the darkness in her was too strong. Unable to stand the confines of the circle any longer, Falon broke free of it and ran toward the ruins.

As she moved into the shadow of the thousand-year-old wall, the scent of fresh earth caught her nostrils. Moving around to the back of the tallest remaining wall she saw it. A freshly unearthed grave. Tentatively she stepped closer to it, afraid and excited. Had they found the sword? The sword that could kill Fenrir?

Falon shifted and slipped on her clothing she had torn off the night before. In human form, dark whispers of long dead warriors called to her. Promising victory and greatness.

“The blood doesn’t lie,” a deep, oddly familiar voice whispered.

She snarled shaking her head.

My blood is Lycan!

“You are Corbet!”

Falon snarled and approached the open grave. She had expected Rafa and Luca to have destroyed what was left of Peter Corbet. But what she saw when she looked down into the damp ground amazed and terrified her.

Thirteen

BLUE EYES SO much like her own stared back at Falon. Full sensuous lips parted into a genuine smile.

“Hello, daughter,” Thomas Corbet said softly, as his body rose like a specter from the empty casket.

Rage, longing, and an unexpected elation slammed through her, momentarily confusing her loyalties. She grasped the protective amulet she never took off. Her father’s, her mother had told her.
This was her father?
This was her enemy. The man who had killed Rafa and Luca’s parents, kidnapped her mother and no doubt raped her, at least in the beginning. He was the most abominable man on earth and he was her father!

“I am not your daughter,” she spat, stepping back from him. Looking expectantly behind him, Falon’s gaze swept the quiet cemetery and beyond. Where were Luca and Rafa? A different panicked anxiety swept through her. Suddenly she didn’t want them near. What if side by side they saw her likeness to this man? What would they do? She didn’t want to know.
Ever.

Corbet landed lightly on his feet before her. Nervously Falon stood face to face with her father for the first time since she was a little girl. And for the first time she was glad there was no love lost between them.

He was imposingly tall, brilliantly blond with blazing blue eyes and if she didn’t hate him so much, she’d think he was handsome. He was dressed in the old way, his broadsword sheathed in a gold and silver scabbard around his trim waist.

“The blood doesn’t lie, Falon. My seed sprang you to life. My only regret is that I was not there to raise you.”

She shoved out her hands, the force of her action pushing him back a dozen yards. “My only regret is that your seed gave me life! If I did not carry a child, I would slit my throat rather than acknowledge you as my father.” She spat on the ground but continued to move toward him. “Why are you here, what do you want?”

He reached out a hand to her. “I am here because I love you. I want you to stand beside me during the rising, and fight for our cause.”

She slapped his hand away but the contact burned her palm. She hissed, jerking her hand back. “How can you speak of love when you are so toxic?”

“You call the kettle black, Falon.”

“My hatred for you knows no bounds, I agree, but it’s because of what you have done.”

“Are Vulkasin and Mondragon no less toxic?”

“They have been persecuted!”

“If they had the option to drop their swords today and walk away, they would not.”

“And I would not blame them! After what you did to their parents you deserve to die the same way.”

“What of your mother, Falon? She loves me. Has never stopped loving me. If you kill me, you would destroy her.”

“Then she can die! I have no respect for her. How could she?”

“I see the rage inside you has not subsided.”

Her head snapped back. “What do you know of it?”

“Your Slayer blood is rising, Falon. In a month it will control you.”

“No,” she breathed, terrified he told the truth. “It will not.”

He laughed, not quite demonic more like gentle amusement, as a father would for a foolish daughter. “
Only
if the alphas accept you, but for full acceptance, they must know your true parentage.” He moved closer and his voice lowered conspiratorially. “And we both know what will happen to you when they realize your father slew their mother and father.” His aura snapped red and black around her, betraying his mood. “Come with me now and spare yourself the heartache. You can raise your child as a Corbet. I will protect you both.”

Inadvertently, Falon’s hand slid down to her flat belly as hot tears welled in her eyes. “They will accept that I had no hand in my parentage.” She raised her blurry eyes to his. “They love me.”

He pressed his hand on hers. It was big and warm, and oddly comforting. “But they hate Corbet more.”

“No!” she cried, jerking away from him. “They will understand!”

He shook his head and stepped back. “If I could rewind time, I would change everything, Falon. I would not have allowed Layla to take you away from me even as I struggled with my destiny.”

He strode past her to the stone wall behind her and leaned against it. “I didn’t know if you were safe around me. I knew there was no way I could take your mother and you to my clan. I had no choice but to abandon you both at the time. It was the only way to save your lives.”

“I wish you had let me die,” she said harshly. “I wish my mother had resisted you. I wish—” She shook her head as hopelessness engulfed her. Everything, everyone she loved would be lost to her if her secret got out.

“You have the power of both bloods, Falon. If you swear fealty to Clan Corbet you will thrive amongst my kind. If you do not, you will die a Lycan.”

“I
am
Lycan! If that is how I die, then so be it!”

“Then you will. Fenrir becomes more powerful each day. Do you think even with the Cross of Caus you can get close enough to destroy him?”

Falon knew that with the power of three, they had a chance, but she wasn’t going to say it.

Thomas shook his head as if reading her thoughts. “The power of three will work
only
if your precious alphas accept your Corbet heritage. We both know that will never happen.” He pushed off the wall and strode toward her. “Don’t be so stubborn, daughter! You cannot beat Fenrir, and you cannot beat me.”

“Why does there even have to be a battle? You’ve proven that a Slayer and Lycan can love. I’m proof of that!”

“This has been coming for three hundred years, Falon. I cannot stop it any more than you can. It’s destiny. Only one survives.”

“Don’t show up!”

“Fenrir will show up and a thousand Slayers with him.”

“Will you slay my mother?”

Her question startled him. And he refused to answer, and by his nonanswer, Falon knew what he would do. As angry as she was at her mother, Falon’s heart broke a little for her. The man she loved could not see past his past to live a future that included the woman he loved. She inhaled sharply then exhaled. If they learned her truth, would Lucien and Rafe be able to look past their own pasts to share a future with her? Or would they be like Thomas, unable to love more then they hated? “Then you never really loved her did you?”

“I love her more than my life.”

“Then yours holds no value.”

Falon raised her nose to the morning breeze. Rafe and Lucien approached. Her stomach rose to her throat. They could not see her like this, with her father.

“Your lovers approach.”

“Leave now before we destroy you, but leave knowing this: if you reveal yourself as my sire, to
anyone
, I will kill you.”

“I’ll give you two weeks, daughter. Two weeks to tell them the truth. If they do as you say, love you enough to look past your Corbet blood, then we will meet again at the rising. But if they cast you from them, the only way you and your child can survive is by returning to your clan.”