Celtic Moon (7 page)

D
YLAN FOUND HIMSELF AT THE RECEIVING END OF AN
angry woman’s displeasure, one who should be groveling for forgiveness and not leveling him with a very astute glare.

“Joshua’s not the least bit in danger of dying, is he?”

He saw no reason to carry the untruth any further. “No, not unless vital organs are removed from his body.”

She pursed her lips at his blunt response. “But he’s different?” She exhaled softly, amending her words. “Well, different even for your kind?”

Again, very perceptive. “Not exactly.”

“Can you just give me a straight answer for once?”

“You speak to me with venom in your voice and yet I’m not the one whose actions require atonement. So choose your words wisely from now on, because your audacity has reached its limit.”

She sighed then, an anguished sound that called to his soul, if he even had a soul. With her, it seemed that he must, because he always felt tortured in her presence.

“You’re angry, and you have every right to hate me for what I’ve done.” She lifted her hand in a helpless gesture before letting it fall back to her side. “But if our situations were reversed, you would’ve done the same thing.”

“Never, Sophie. I never would’ve kept you from our son.”

Her features pinched. Whether from guilt or anger he wasn’t sure, nor did he care.

“You’re so certain,” she said. “So quick to judge. But then you never considered my position in your life. You just expected me to conform.”

“I expected you to trust me,” he ground out.

Her eyes widened. “
Trust you?
How do you trust someone who’s suffocating you? I couldn’t breathe without you or someone hovering over me, watching me—
following me
. I was constantly guarded by people who despised me, not permitted to contact my family—”

“I was protecting you!”

“You were protecting your secret,”
she snapped. “And when my father died you wouldn’t even let me go to the funeral.”

“The man had already passed on. Your presence over his dead body would not change that fact.”

She went completely still. “And how does that justify your response to my grief? You locked me in a room like . . .” Her voice shook with raw anger. “Like a dog.
You made me a prisoner—
”

“You were threatening to leave me!”

“—and then you dragged me through the woods and changed into a . . .
a wolf
.
And
, if that wasn’t enough, just before your little demonstration, you gave me an option to leave, but without my child.”

When he didn’t respond she glared at him as if he were the king of idiots. “And you wonder why I left you?”

With great effort he managed to keep his voice restrained. “I would never have made that offer if I’d known how much you wanted our child.”

She scoffed, “Every mother wants their child.”

No,
he thought,
not every mother.
“There are more lives at stake here than just yours or mine, or even our son’s.”

“I didn’t betray your secret.” She misunderstood his point. “Joshua’s the only person I told.”

“I believe you.” Unfortunately, that wasn’t the betrayal that had caused him over a decade of sleepless nights.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her delicate nose. “Fighting will not solve our differences. Can I make a suggestion?”

“I’m listening.” He crossed his arms, leery of her sudden tone of cooperation.

“I will answer any question you have for me, truthfully—if you do the same.”

It wasn’t, Dylan decided, an unreasonable request. “What do you want to know?”

“What’s different about Joshua that you’re not telling me?”

He regarded her for a long moment before answering. It was time, he agreed, to end her ignorance. “A shifter hasn’t been born in over three hundred years. So,
if
our son is powerful enough to change into the wolf, it will be an incredible blessing for me and my people.”

She frowned, absorbing that information, and not, it seemed, particularly pleased with the idea of her son becoming a wolf.

Tough shit.

“
You’re
a shifter.”

“Yes.” He knew where this was going.

“How old are you?”

He hesitated only a moment, but then answered with blunt honesty. Whether she believed him or not was irrelevant. The time for lies had ended the moment Sophie had reentered his territory.

She was never leaving again.

“I was born 329 years after the modern calendar lists the birth of Christ. In a place called Penllyn. You would know my country as Wales.”

She remained quiet for several moments. “I would call you a liar,
or a lunatic
, if I had not watched you change from a man into a wolf with my very own eyes.” She gave a soft laugh, a calming means of self-preservation when the mind was forced to accept knowledge it didn’t want or understand. “The only thing I’m sure of is how much I don’t know about this world.”

“That night in the woods was my attempt to open your eyes, to teach you, although I must admit now that I may have been overenthusiastic in my approach.”

His attempt at humor was rewarded with a slight smile.

“Wales, early fourth century,” she mused. “Celtic then? Pagan?”

He nodded, his eyes drawn to her full mouth as she worried her bottom lip, taunting him with desire that he didn’t want.

Soft brown eyes lifted to his, unguarded and without malice. “That explains a lot.”

This conversation had taken a dangerous turn. In the face of anger he could resist her, but not this—not her looking up at him with newfound understanding. It was her gentle nature that had drawn him to her in the beginning.

He could do nothing but respond. “Like what?”

“Your beliefs. The way you live. Your fortress of a home.” She lifted one delicate shoulder and let it fall, causing light to dance around her long curls. “Your dominant temperament.”

“The last is from my wolf.” The treacherous beast that wanted to reach out and snag one of those curls to explore its texture.

“Joshua has your eyes,” she whispered. “Those are not the eyes of a Celt. Or a wolf.”

“Roman,” he supplied, taking a step back before he gave in to baser instincts. “My father was a legionary commander during the Roman occupation of Britain, his mother an Egyptian slave.”

She blinked twice and began to rub her temples. “Are your parents still alive?”

“Not my father. He wasn’t of our kind.”

“Neither am I,” she said softly, wrongly assuming that Dylan and Joshua would exceed her in life. And yet it was not with resentment but awe that she asked, “How long could Joshua live?”

“Thousands of years.”

Still, denial lingered. “But he’s aged normally.”

“Our children age at the normal human rate until adolescence. But then the aging process slows.” He waited for her to assimilate that information before moving on to something he knew would truly unsettle her. “The same way your aging has slowed since carrying my son.”

Her expression again turned wary. “You said your father’s no longer alive because he wasn’t of your kind.”

“It’s different for mothers,” he explained. “You carried my child, shared your blood with his for over nine months. Because of that biological bond, an incubation of our blood with yours, you’ll live much longer than you’ve assumed.”

He did not, however, inform her of the rarity of a female conception with a male of his kind.

Sophie had initiated their affair that fateful summer. He had accepted the pleasant distraction only because he’d thought nothing would come of it.

Obviously, he’d been wrong.

Just one of many misjudgments concerning this woman.

“Let me get this straight.” Her voice was thick with disbelief. “Are you saying I could live for over a thousand years?”

“That’s very possible.”

“As long as no vital organs are removed.”

“Yes.” He would kill anyone who dared try.

She slowly slid into a waiting chair, resting her face in her hands. He left her alone, a difficult stance when all his instincts itched to pull her into his arms.

Finally, she lifted her head. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“Why would I lie about something that will only be proven in time?” He sighed at her lowered glare. “It’s been sixteen years and you look the same. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Women in my family age very well,” she said defensively.

“Not that well.” And just to prove his point, or so he justified to himself, he stepped forward and ran a finger down the smooth perfection of her cheek. “The sooner you accept that you’re a part of my world, the easier it will be for you to accept your fate.”

She leaned away from his touch, visibly shaken. He let his hand drop to his side as an inner battle raged.

He’d underestimated the effect of one simple touch.

He’d been denied physical comfort for too long.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sophie asked, oblivious of her precarious position. “I don’t believe in fate,” she huffed. “I believe in choice and free will.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “You’ll learn there are some things beyond our control, and that we are just pawns to a higher power.”

That annoyed her. “Fine. But how am I supposed to accept
my fate
, as you call it, if I don’t even know what you are.” She held her hands up, waiting for an explanation. “What are you? Werewolves? Shape shifters? How are you possible? How are the shifts possible? Are you even from this earth?”

“Shape shifter is an apt term.” He did his best not to smile at her naïve questions. “And yes, we are from this earth. But werewolves, as far as I know, are just a legend.”

“Then you’re not allergic to silver?” When he hesitated, she blurted, “I ask only for Joshua’s sake.”

“We are not allergic to silver.” He let his eyes drop to her waist, having noticed earlier she favored her right side. “That gun under your sweatshirt won’t protect you, whether it’s loaded with silver bullets or lead.” She remained silent. He suspected she had other weapons planted on her person or she would have shown more concern. “Nor are we compelled by the full moon. However, some of our elders still shift on the night of the dark moon to honor the Goddess Ceridwen. I would not be surprised if the werewolf legend began with an unknown witness to a ritual, thousands of years ago.”

“And how do you shift?”

He gave thoughtful consideration to his answer, knowing a woman born of modern times would only understand the scientific explanation. “The earth is a powerful instrument; creation is constant. The same element that makes a seed grow into a tree, and animals age, and winter turn into spring, can be used in different applications, if you know what to look for and how to draw from its energy.” He eluded the full explanation for another time. Better to let her adjust in increments. Sophie didn’t react well to surprises she didn’t like. “Now, I think it’s your turn to answer my questions, and I expect the same honesty I’ve given you.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m always honest. You’ve always just chosen not to listen.”

“How could you have done it?” He didn’t know who was more surprised by his first question, him or Sophie. “How could you have taken my son?”
How could you have left me?
“Did you even think of me, just once?”

“Of course.” She lifted her hand as if to touch his arm but then let it drop. “How could I not? I almost called you the night Joshua was born. He was so beautiful and I wanted to share that with you. I even dialed your number.”

He scowled. “Why would you tell me this other than to torment me?”

“I’ve given you no reason to believe me, I know . . . but I never wanted to hurt you.” Conflicting emotions bled from her pores in a murky spiral of scents: sorrow, bitterness, frustration, and beneath them all, the pungent trail of fear. “Did it ever occur to you that I may have had valid reasons for staying away?”

His nostrils flared; he inhaled slowly, savoring the evidence of her remorse on the back of his tongue like a perfectly aged Scottish whisky. “I can think of none worth what you’ve put me through.” He turned his back on her, feeling his wolf react in earnest. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me? Wondering if you were alive? Wondering about my child?”

He heard a whisper of movement before he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t shove her off, she moved closer.

“And for that,” she whispered, “I
am
truly sorry. I was scared, Dylan. I was scared of losing my son.”

He had no argument against an assumption caused by his own words. “Did you teach Joshua to fear me?”

“No.” She released his arm and walked away. “I taught him not to trust the people around you.”

His chest tightened with her admission. “Why would you do such a thing?”

She faced him with a hardened expression, reminding him of a warrior after a first kill, of innocence lost. “Because the people you’re so eager to defend are not worthy of our trust.”

“What have they ever done to you to warrant such dislike?”

She tilted her head to one side. “You have no idea, do you?” She shrugged. “But then why would you? I made certain you wouldn’t.”