Moon Crossed (Werewolf Hunter Series): Season 1 (Episodes 1-6) (Crescent Hunter) (57 page)

“Approve of
what?” I have no idea what he means.

“Of you and Ben.”
He's either fishing or hoping. It doesn't matter which.

“Yeah, I'm kind
of done with wolves.” I try not to express the pain I'm feeling
at the thought of being with anyone other than Cole.

“He's a hybrid,”
Hayden points out, like that somehow makes it okay.

“That is a wolf,”
I counter. “I like him, he's very sweet. But I'm pretty sure
I'm done with all relationshippy things. I'm not good at it.”

“I understand,
but should you change your mind, I don't want you to worry about how
I'll feel about it.” He nods. “I would be proud to call
you my daughter.”

The warmth of his words
travels through me. “Thank you.” I look over at him. “And
I'd be proud to call you my uncle.”

“And thank
you
.”
He nods, keeping his eyes on the road.

We reach the Red Top
Pack's compound. I spent the entire ride trying to remember the
protocol, as it was taught, for an audience with an elder shaman. My
palms and pits are sweaty, and I just want to smoke a cigarette.

“You're going to
be fine.” Hayden tries to reassure me one last time.

“Thanks.” I
blow out a breath and get out of the truck.

“Hayden, great to
see you.” Dugan greets Hayden with a big man hug, hard slap on
the back and all.

Mariah, Dugan's mate,
hugs me.

“Likewise,”
Hayden returns, then hugs Mariah.

Dugan comes to the
front of the truck where I'm standing and takes my hands in his,
holding my arms out. “Claire. It's good to see you” He
leans in. “You should come and see us more often.”

“I know I should.
I've just been busy.” I wrap my arms around him in a hug.

“I'm going to
have to give Locke a good talking to,” he warns.

“What did he do?”
I ask, full of concern.

“He's letting you
get too damned skinny.” He smiles. “Have we got something
we can feed her?” He looks to Mariah.

“I'm sure I can
scare something up.” Mariah smiles and walks ahead of us.

“Thanks.” I
push out a light laugh.

“How is he?”
he asks.

“I haven't seen
him in a while.”
I try not to let the pain of that
statement bleed out in my expression.

Dugan looks at me
questioningly. “Really?”

I nod. “There's
been a lot happening. I thought you knew that the boys moved out.”

“No, I had no
idea.” His smile has faded. “Is everything okay?”

“It isn't.”
I can't lie to him. “But it will be.” I try to spin it
optimistically.

“We'll talk
later.” He pins me down with a serious stare, then looks toward
a small cabin with smoke billowing out of a chimney. “You've
got a meeting with Rayel.”

My whole being shrinks
with apprehension. “Yeah.”

“It'll be fine.”
He pats me on the back, turning me toward the cabin. “Everyone
who’s gone in there came back out one way or another.”

“Thanks for the
vote of confidence.” I roll my eyes and slowly start across the
compound. I take each step hesitantly, knock on the door, and kneel
down, waiting for him to answer.

“Ah, yes, my
child. Please enter.” His tone is formal, and a shiver runs
through me.

I keep my eyes averted
and walk through the door. “Thank you, Elder Shaman.”

“Please sit.”
I look up with hooded eyes, trying to see where to sit.

“Yes, Elder
Shaman.” With my eyes down, I can't see where he wants me. I'm
standing here like an idiot.

Rayel starts to
chuckle. “You kids crack me up sometimes.” He pulls a
chair out from the small table in the kitchen. “Sit.”

I look up at him.
“Thank you.” He's an older man, very round, wearing blue
jean overalls and a John Deer baseball cap.

He sits across the
table from me. “So you're a smoker?”

My eyes widen. “Yes,
sir.” I still don't look directly at him.

“You want a
smoke?” he asks, and I notice his deep southern drawl for the
first time. I don't know how to answer. I really do want a smoke, but
is it proper? I feel like my head is going to explode as I try to
remember the protocol. “Well, do ya?”

“Yes, Elder
Shaman,” I say with a small voice. It would be rude to refuse
him, right?

“Call me Ray.”
His tone is kind, and I can hear the smile in his words. “And
would you stop looking down? How am I supposed to see your soul if
you keep your eyes down?”

Oh, God, he wants to
see my soul. “Yes, sir, Elder Shaman.”

“I said call me
Ray.” He hands me a cigarette. “And look at me.”

I look up at him, full
of apprehension. “There are those pretty green eyes.” A
smile spreads across his lips. “You are the spitting image of
your mother.”

“You knew my
mother?” I ask as he reaches across, lighting my cigarette.

“I did.” He
sits back, as though he's recalling. “She was beautiful, like
you. Mule-headed, like you. And those eyes...she was a heart
breaker.”

“Really?”
No one ever really talks about my mother. Only ever to tell me how
much she loved me.

“Yup.” He
leans across the table, pinning me with a stare. “Just like
you.”

My cheeks redden. “I
don't know about that.”

“Well, I do.”
He sits back in his chair. I don't know if I'll survive this. Rayel
is very disarming, but I'm scared that it's a trick. Get me to relax
so he can go in for the kill.

“I don't mean –”
He cuts me off.

“Neither did
she.” He presses his lips together, and I notice the lines of
time on his face. “But I didn't call you here to talk about
your mother. I want to talk about you.”

Oh, God, here it comes.
I'm so screwed. “Yes, sir.”

“First, quit
bein' so formal. It makes me nervous,” he scolds.

I just nod.

“Now, let me look
at you.” He studies me, and I'm not sure if I should get up and
do a spin or just sit here. I stay seated.

“So much sorrow
in those beautiful eyes.” He ponders long enough that I reach a
new level of nervousness. “Curious Claire...Chaotic
Claire...Clever Claire...Caring Claire...Courageous Claire,” he
laments.

I huff a laugh; I don't
feel courageous.

“Are you laughing
at me?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me.

“No.” My
tone is defensive. “I would never. Unless you told a joke. I
was just...” Oh no, I'm rambling.

He starts to laugh. “I
do have some pretty good jokes.”

His admission only puts
me
a little bit at ease. “I'm sure you
do.”

“Do you not feel
curious?” he asks.

“I do. That's
what my research runs on, my curiosity. It makes me find new ideas,
explore possibilities.”

“Then you don't
feel courageous?” His tone is scolding.

“No, I don't.”
My head hangs.

“You are one of
the most courageous young women I know.” He holds his head
high.

I look at him,
astounded. “That's not possible.”

“It is. It's not
many who would ever try to do what you've done.” He nods with
pride. “In all my years, no one has ever dared to try and come
up with a cure.”

I know that's true. No
one has ever really tried; if they had, I would at least have more
research to go on. His statement did peek my curiosity. “How
old are you?”

He sits back in his
chair, rubbing his round belly, “Age is a number people use to
brag about how many moons they've survived.”

I quirk my eyebrow.
“How many have you survived?”

“All of them,”
he answers quickly.

My eyes widen at the
thought that he could be as old as the earth. Nobody really knows how
long a wolf-borne can live. “All of them?”

“Well, not
all
of them. All of the ones that I've been around for.” He smiles.

“Okay.” I
drag out the word. “How many have you been around for?”
My curiosity is getting the better of me; I have to know.

“You're only as
old as you feel?” he says, questioning whether that will
satisfy me.

I shake my head. “How
old do you feel?”

“Sitting here
with you?” He pinches his eyes closed, then pops them open.
“Well, let's just say that you shave a couple hundred years
off. Your energy and light are invigorating.”

Whoa. I want to act
astonished that he's at least a two hundred years old. But I don't; I
just nod, unaffected. “I'm glad I make you feel invigorated.”

“You're very
special, you know.” He tilts his head down.

“I am?” I
don't feel that way.

“Yes, ma'am. You
are going to do great things.” He nods. “Always know that
I believe in you.”

“Thank you.”
The words get trapped in my throat. What an incredible honor to have
a shaman believe in me.

“You have the
heart of a wolf that beats for you.” His tone wilts from the
sorrow in it.

“I know.”
My shame shows through. “My mother was a wolf and Faramund gave
his heart in the creation of my kind.” I lower my head in
reverence, absently placing my hand over my heart.

“Don't get me
wrong. I can feel Faramund's heart's beating in you, but that's not
the heart I was talkin' about.”

I look up at him
questioningly. His eyes sparkle with wonder. “You've captured
the heart of a wolf.”

A sad smile darkens my
face. “No, I just made some poor choices.”

“Some things
choose us.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette. “They
just sneak up on us and bite us in the ass until we take notice.”
His kind laugh makes me want to feel happy, but when it comes to
matters of the heart there is nothing in me but sadness. Loneliness.

“I noticed.”
My brows knit together.

“Yes, you did.
Now what's your next move?” He lowers his chin.

“It's out of my
hands,” I say softly; part of me doesn't want him to hear it.

“No, it is not.”
His formal tone takes me by surprise. I feel more like a child than I
ever have. “You can choose to love or to hate. They each take
the same amount of passion and energy.” He pauses for his words
to sink in. “So which is it, caring Claire?”

“My answer is
irrelevant. He's wolf-borne, so it's forbidden.” My shoulders
stiffen.

“Your answer is
very relevant,” he warns. “Approval from anyone,
including the one you love, doesn't dictate your heart. Only
you
can.”

His words make sense.
“But choosing love is choosing pain.”

“No, there are
other choices.” He shakes his head and drops his cigarette into
the ashtray, not putting it out. “All religion is subject to
interpretation.” Smoke billows up from the cigarette, forming
shapes.

Where did that come
from? “What do you mean?”

“I'm just saying
that as someone who has seen the ancient texts, there's nothing
forbidding hunters and wolves being together.” He waves his
hand around, and the smoke from the ashtray forms the shapes of a
wolf and a human walking side by side.

“Really?”
I'm shocked.

“Those laws were
put into place by frightened wolves.” He lights another
cigarette.

“Why?”

“Jealousy.”
He twerks his brows. “We gave hunters magic, dominion, and
incredible love. All of those things
carry the greatest power over all.”

I hadn't thought about
it. “But why would the wolf-borne not want hunters and wolves
to be together?”

“That's a
question I think you can answer for yourself. But remember, power is
always the key and many forget that love is power.” He runs his
hands under his overall straps. “Many problems can be solved
with the power of love. Most problems, actually.”

I put my hand on my
heart again. “Love is the key. We are built to love above all
else.”

“Now you’re
on to something, clever Claire.” He blows out a puff of smoke.
“There must always be a balance.” He opens his eyes wide,
and with seriousness, says, “You are at a crossroads of balance
between love and hate. You must choose the right road.”

“Love, right?”
It's obvious.

“I don't have the
answer to that. It lives in there.” He points to my chest.

I pull my lips to the
side in frustration. “I thought you were supposed to give me
the answers.”

“What's the fun
in that?” he asks. “Besides, the right answer for you may
not be the right answer for me. That's why it’s
your
choice.
”

“So, love.”
I study him closely, looking for a clue that I said the right thing.
His expression doesn’t change. I shrink my shoulders a little
before I say it, as though I'm sneaking up on him. “Hate?”
Still nothing.

I growl in frustration.
“I know that pride is bad. I've forgiven him when I shouldn't
have.” I stand up and start pacing the floor. “You can't
make someone care for you who never did.”

“Yes, that is
true.” He waves his hand upward, and the smoke forms a swarm of
butterflies. “You also can't convince someone of false love.”