The Alpha's Concubine (Historical Shifter Romance) (2 page)

"It's probably not," Layon whispered, but he gripped the spear with both hands and raised the point in front of him. The flint tip was old and dulled with use. Not as sharp as the fangs on the skull.

Netya moved in close beside him, stifling a cry of alarm as she bumped into one of the grisly ornaments on the wall behind her. Its jawbone clacked, the wind whistling in her ears like the laugh of an angry spirit. Now she was afraid. Now she was ready to believe the stories Layon's brothers had told.

He gripped her arm suddenly, his fingers digging in with a sharpness she had never felt before. Without speaking, he gently raised the tip of the spear. When her eyes finally followed it, she saw what had provoked him to grab her so tightly.

It was far away, so dark it could have been a shadow, but it moved with the grace of something otherworldly. It wasn't the creature's size, though Netya quickly realised it was far bigger than any wolf she had ever seen, but its movements that filled her with fear. It melted into the shadows like smoke, spilled out across the grass like black water, then leaped atop the wall in a bound so smooth Netya couldn't be sure whether she had even seen it happen at all. With a lazy sweep of its hind leg the creature sent a heavy slab tumbling to the ground, before raising its muzzle to the sky and howling a second time.

The experience was so surreal that Netya's fear couldn't help but take its leave of her for a moment as she stared in wonder at the beast. It was a childhood legend come to life. The work of the spirits, or some other powerful magic she could never hope to comprehend. She longed to watch it for just a moment longer, to see the way it moved again and hear that eerie howl erupt from its chest one more time. Her curiosity drew her toward danger, but her fear was strong enough to pull her away from it.

As the creature shifted its position Netya realised it was looking down the length of the wall in the opposite direction to her and Layon. In a moment its head would swivel, and it would see them standing in the moonlight just as clearly as they saw it.

"Behind the wall," she whispered, so softly and so fast it was barely a hiss. "In the shadows."

Without waiting for Layon to let go of her arm she pushed her foot into a crack between the stones and hauled herself up alongside the skulls, wobbling on top of the wall as she bent to help her friend up after her. Had the beast looked yet? Had it seen them? Her heart beat so hard it stole her breath away. Layon clambered up alongside her, tossing his spear into the grass on the other side as they toppled over the wall in a heap together.

A dull pain shot through Netya's body as she landed hard on her hip, but she dared not cry out. Layon landed almost on top of her, the weight of his body pressing uncomfortably against her back for a moment before they scrambled to extricate themselves from one another. A loose piece of slate they had kicked free in their clumsy ascent thudded into the grass on the other side of the wall. It was barely louder than the sound of the wind in the trees, but it made Netya's heart jump in her chest.

Layon grabbed the spear with one hand while tugging her back against the wall with the other. They hunkered down together, the dampness of the grass seeping into their fur clothing as they pressed themselves into the tiny patch of shadow, letting the darkness swallow them up.

For a few moments they were alone with the sounds of their quickening breath. The beast was obscured from sight by the angle of the wall. All they could do was wait, the hard shaft of the spear pressing against Netya's breast as Layon held it close.

In a flutter of shadows, the beast hopped down on their side of the wall. It looked their way, yellow eyes shining like the stars above, but it had nothing to see but blackness. It moved again with such sleek grace that Netya found herself captivated by the wolf's movements once more. It had looked like a creature made of water and shadows when she first glimpsed it, but now she could see powerful legs and a swishing tail as it crept across the field, eyes set on the enclosure of wood and leather in the distance where the livestock were kept.

This creature was like nothing she had ever seen before, but it was no spirit. It was hungry, just like any other earthly being, and it prowled on the legs of a wild animal guided by the grace of a dancer. It was one of the Moon People.

The slates on the wall clacked as another wolf mounted the barrier and jumped down into the field behind the first. A third followed, and then a fourth.

"We have to get the others," Layon breathed into her ear.

Netya nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from the procession of shadowy hunters making their way across the field. It took a tug on her shoulder to finally make her follow after Layon, crawling on all fours along the strip of shadow at the base of the wall in the opposite direction to the wolves. They moved at an agonisingly slow pace, barely daring to let their bodies brush through the damp grass as it wet their palms and knees. They had only just cleared the stretch of wall ornamented by the skulls when the shape of another hulking wolf dropped down directly in front of them.

Netya froze, swallowing a cry of shock. The beast was so close that even the shadows wouldn't hide them if it chanced to look their way. Layon was ahead of her, rising slowly into a crouch, the spear clutched in both hands.

Panic erupted in Netya's chest as she realised what he was about to do. She couldn't tell him to stop. Even a whisper would alert the wolf. It all happened within the space of a few seconds. The wolf's paws hit the grass, Layon drew back his spear to lunge, and Netya, in her desperation, reached out to try and stop him. She wasn't sure what made her do it. Perhaps it was fear: for Layon, for herself, or even for the majestic beast standing before them. She had never seen real violence before, nor did she want to. The thought of what had happened to the creatures whose skulls now adorned the wall suddenly hit her with nauseating force.

Her fingers found Layon's fur shawl just as he lunged, tugging back as he leaped at the beast with the spear held out in front of him. He was too strong for her to stop him, but her grip sent him off balance. The thrust that had been aimed at the wolf's neck missed its mark, the dull tip of the spear grazing the creature's shoulder with a long gash. Dark blood spilled out through its fur.

The wolf's howl of pain was deafening, so loud that Netya stumbled back in shock, the stones of the wall digging into her back. Whatever impulse had driven Layon to attack the creature abandoned him as it whirled around with anger in its eyes, teeth snapping at the bloodied tip of the spear. He tried to back away, jabbing at the wolf to keep its jaws at a safe distance, but with the wall behind them there was nowhere to go. A wild animal might have bolted in fear or thrown itself straight on to the spear in its anger, but within seconds the spurt of bestial aggression left their attacker. It paused, backing off, eyes studying its opponent, then twisted its head to the side and lunged.

The wolf slid past Layon's panicked thrust with ease, jaws snapping shut around the shaft of the spear and clenching tight. With the sound of splintering wood it tore the weapon from his hands, hot breath snorting from its nostrils as it snapped the spear in half like it was a twig.

Rough stone scraped Netya's palms as she scrambled backwards over the wall, trying uselessly to tug Layon after her as she lost her balance and toppled over, landing on her back on the other side. The wolf cleared the wall in a single leap. She didn't even manage to sit up before a heavy paw struck her in the centre of her chest, knocking her back down and driving the wind from her lungs.

As she gasped for air she could hear Layon shouting nearby, calling for help, raising the alarm that the Moon People were here. Only a gracious wind would carry his voice all the way back to the village from where they were, but even if it did, there was no time left for help to arrive.

Netya huddled on the ground in fear, the heavy breath of the wolf in her ears as it stood over her. A threatening growl rumbled in the back of its throat, warning her not to try and fight or run. At some point she had closed her eyes, but once she caught her breath she forced herself to open them and look at the beast standing over her. It was a monster. Huge and vicious and powerful. But its golden eyes watched her with intelligence. Intelligence, and perhaps even fear. An anxiety that mirrored Netya's own. For an instant she was able to see not just the enormous wolf that loomed over her, but another person. One who had been attacked, and had responded in kind.

"I'm sorry," she said in quavering tones, looking at the creature's bleeding shoulder. "I didn't know he'd do that. I tried to stop him."

The wolf stared at her, then raised its head and let out a low howl. Netya could not see what was happening on the other side of the wall, but she heard the drumming of heavy footfalls against the earth, the sound of fur whipping through the long grass. The rest of the Moon People had come back, and they were going after Layon.

"Please don't hurt him!" Netya cried out, trying to climb to her knees, but the wolf pushed her back down with a growl.

A male voice she did not recognise called out nearby, speaking words she could not understand. The stones on the wall rattled, and three more wolves jumped down to join the first. She did not know who had spoken, or what might be about to happen to her, but she was not dead yet. Perhaps the wolf was only waiting. Would her skull soon be adorning a wall somewhere, in whatever land the Moon People called home?

Two more wolves mounted the wall further down, followed by a man. For a moment she thought it might be Layon, but this person was taller, broader, and his long hair was the colour of the night sky. A shiver ran through Netya's body as she realised that he was no man from her own village. He was one of the Moon People. Not a beast, but a person. At first glance he looked like any other hunter, his legs bound with fur moccasin boots and covered with a kilt of animal skins, a headband of soft leather keeping his hair back from his face. Aside from a necklace of animal teeth his thickly muscled chest was bare in spite of the cold wind. He seemed not to feel it at all, approaching her as though he wore the same thick coating of fur as the wolves around him. In his hand he held the head of the broken spear.

Netya's eyes flitted desperately between the wolves surrounding her, but it was the man to whom she directed her pleading look. He was the only one she could appeal to. Was he their leader? And where was Layon? She heard his voice in the distance, still calling for help, but it was growing fainter. At least he had gotten away.

The man looked at her, but his expression held no sympathy for her wide eyes. He looked her up and down, then knelt beside the wolf standing over her and put a hand on its flank, examining the gash Layon's spear had left. He leant in and murmured something into the creature's ear, but once again Netya could not make out his words. He seemed to have a strange cadence to his voice that sounded nothing like the way her own people spoke, and she only made out snatches of words that made no sense by themselves.

The wolf snorted and bobbed its head, then stepped back. Netya didn't have time to feel relieved before her breath was taken away by what happened next. For a moment she thought the wolf was rearing up on its hind legs, but it wasn't just rearing, it was changing. Its body rippled with the same uncanny grace she had glimpsed in the shadows, fur seeming to melt away into the night as smooth skin and clothing of animal hides replaced it. Yet again the motion was so fast and so unnatural to Netya that she could barely make sense of what had happened. Just like all the other tales of the Moon People, this one was now real to her too.

A sandy-haired girl stood where the wolf had been, close to Netya's own age by the look of her, but a little taller, her bare arms toned by labour and bronzed by the sun, just like the body of the man beside her.

He spoke again, examining the wound that had remained on the young woman's arm even after she changed, and when she responded Netya finally realised that they were not simply talking in voices that sounded unfamiliar to her, but with words that her people did not use. Every now and again their speech sounded familiar, so close to Netya's own that she could almost make sense of it, but try as she might she couldn't wrap her thoughts around their exotic tongue.

Two more of the wolves changed, taking on the bodies of men as they approached the one who Netya was now sure must be their leader. They bound the injured girl's shoulder with a strip of cloth, much to her apparent protest, but a concerned look and a few hard words from the leader silenced her, and she hung her head in shame.

Netya was still recovering from the shock of everything she had just witnessed, her heart racing as the Moon People conversed in hurried tones. The leader pointed in the direction of the village, then gripped the arm of one of the other men and shook him roughly. As their eyes fell on her, Netya realised that she must be the topic of their conversation.

She finally sat up, shivering as she curled her legs to her chest, looking to the leader once more. "Did you let Layon go?" She tried not to stammer. "Are there more of you going after him?"

The Moon People fell silent. The leader looked at her for a long moment, then stepped forward and spoke.

"We do not kill without need."

She thought she saw his eyes move to the skulls on the wall for a moment, but perhaps it had just been her imagination.

"You can speak like me?" she said.

The leader did not respond. Instead he bent to pick her up by the arm and hauled her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. He turned to his people and rattled off another sharp set of instructions in his own tongue, then walked Netya to one of the wolves and pointed at its back.