Autumn Moon (9 page)

But he was pleased. No, he amended, he was happy, the happiest he'd been in a long time—and he'd be damned if he'd let Pendaran and his followers threaten his family yet again.

The reign of the Guardians must end.

Which prompted him to confide his own news. “Isabeau has called a meeting with other leaders who have joined our cause. It will take place in her territory on Thursday.”

Her hands stopped their ministrations. “You're going to Minnesota?”

“I have to.”

“This isn't a good time.”

“There's never a good time. After Avon's battle many of the leaders have decided to stay close to their own territories and not get involved. Isabeau has helped us twice now. I need to go.”

Instead of arguing, she sought reassurance. “But it's just a meeting?”

“Yes, as far as I know. She's been contacted by Edwyn, one of the Council members. She has more information she doesn't want to share over the phone or by messenger. I have news as well. Others might too. It's time we meet to see who's still with us, and before we're in the middle of another crisis. I would bring you with me—”

“No, I need to stay here,” she said before he had a chance to finish, claiming her role as the alpha's mate in his absence without hesitation.

It affected him as it would any wolf.

Tired of war talk, he swiveled in his office chair and
caught her up in his lap, capturing her mouth as she gasped in surprise. “I need you tonight,” he whispered against her lips, kissing down to the sensitive skin under her ear. “We'll check on Elen, and if she's well, I want you home in our bed.”

She turned her neck to give him better access, running her hands along his arms and clutching him closer. “Do we have to wait until tonight?” Her body unfolded, and then she began to release the buttons of her shirt.

A knock sounded on his office door.

Dylan snarled at the interruption. “Unless the Guardians are at our bloody gate,” he barked at the intruder before they were stupid enough to open the door, “go away.”

“Only one.” Porter's voice came with muffled displeasure as the bearer of bad news. “But you might be wanting to talk to this one.” A pause. “It's your mother.”

Sometime later, and she wasn't sure how much later, Elen stretched in her bed, awakened by the warmth of sun on her face. Was it morning already? The rays of light came from her north-facing window, righting her disorientation; the sun was high and that placed the time around noon.

Had she been asleep since yesterday? The bed was empty. She remembered Cormack holding her for a while, and waking her to drink throughout the night. Elen sat up, and then frowned. The dress had been removed at some point and replaced by a nightshirt. Had he undressed her? No, she was soon remedied of that notion, vaguely recalling gentle orders to raise her arms and a soft scent that was Sophie's and not his, guiding her to use the restroom.

But she'd dreamt of him. Oh yes, her subconscious had replayed those minutes before Pendaran had arrived to steal her joy. Excluding her family, everyone in Rhuddin Village
feared her touch. Her lovers, few that there were, had been mortals during her time at medical school. Needless to say, it had been a long while since she'd felt pleasure by a hand other than her own.

Out of respect, she'd never fulfilled her urges in Cormack's company. She'd understood the mind of a man was trapped behind the eyes of a wolf. He had no way of knowing about the neglected state of her needs. If so, he never would have lifted her skirts and proclaimed, with utter confidence, of what he could do
in less than a second
.

Even now, her nipples tightened at the memory of his hand on her bared hip, and his thigh wedged between her legs. She was deprived of all sensual comfort—utterly and completely deprived. And she craved it like air. Little did he realize that if she'd felt evidence of an erection when he'd threatened to bend her over, she could have easily climaxed in his arms.

Heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs, causing her to jump. Cormack turned the corner holding a tray of food. A smile spread across his face when he noticed her sitting. “I thought I heard you stirring up here. I brought you something.”

Her heart pounded so hard she had an urge to press her hand against her chest to calm its frantic rhythm. He was shirtless and freshly showered, his damp hair drawn back like he'd given it a quick comb with his fingers. His jawline, strong and as stubbornly set as any Celt's, lacked stubble, so he must have shaved. His jeans rode low on his hips. A smattering of dark bronze hair—not much, but enough—trailed from his hardened stomach to his waistband. The width of his shoulders filled the doorway, and the more she stared, the more intense his gaze became.

Feeling heat crawl up her neck, Elen looked away. Why couldn't he have been hideous? Not that it would have
mattered if he were. Desire was fueled by the heart, and since her heart ached for him, her flesh responded in kind.

Surely, she wasn't the only one who felt this longing building between them. Not after the suggestions he'd made, and the possessive behavior he'd shown. He struggled with the nature of his wolf, she knew, as all shifters did. Human minds maintained their conscience while in wolf form, but wolves had no such limitations when the forms were reversed.

Or was all this attention his way of repaying the kindness of friendship? And if she suggested a physical relationship, would the idea revolt him? Or worse, would he leave again?

So many unanswered questions, and the unknowing was torturous, but she dreaded a refusal more.

Cormack stepped into the room, lowering the tray. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”
Everything.
And she must learn to control her emotions around him because he read her too easily. But they had greater concerns than her wanton libido and needy heart. “Is everyone all right? Are they still here? Has there been any fallback from Pendaran?”

The muscle on the side of his jaw clenched, as if he knew she'd avoided his question. He wasn't pleased, she realized, but allowed it. “All is well,” he assured her softly. “Your family left this afternoon, but they've called and sent enough food to last a month, and they'll be back to check on you in the morning. No word on the Guardians, but we are preparing.”

Sensing a guarded tone to his voice, she asked, “Did anything happen that I should know about?”

“Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow.”

“Good,” she said, not ready for another major challenge just yet. “Still, I should call Dylan and Sophie and let Ms. Hafwen know I'm awake.”

“Already done. And you have been officially ordered to rest for another day. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”

“I still have to go to the barn.” Elen did her own chores. “The animals need to be fed.”

“Done,” he said again.

She relaxed back against the pillows. “Thank you, Cormack. Thank you for being . . .” She almost said
my friend
, but that term had become rudely genteel for what he meant to her. “Thank you for being here.”

He paused as if to say something, but then gave a sharp nod instead.

To fill the silence, Elen scooted over to make room for the tray and patted the bed. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” He handed her a piece of buttered toast. “Eat.”

She almost choked on her first bite.
Two days?
Snagging the glass of orange juice off the tray, she took several sips to wash it down. “I need to shower and change.”

“You need to eat first.” He handed her another piece of toast with a look that suggested he might force-feed her if she didn't accept it.

After the third piece, she said, “Enough. I'll eat some more after I shower.” She felt a bit woozy, but otherwise fine. Her need to use the facilities prompted her to move. Cormack stood to follow, but she held up her hand. “I can manage.”

And it was then that understanding dawned. Yes, some things did deserve privacy, especially when desire and pride blurred the line between caregiver and consort. And with that awareness came a fluttering in her belly that refused to subside.

The shower cleared the remaining cobwebs of sleep, and after a thorough teeth brushing, she combed her hair and
applied a layer of her moonflower moisturizer. Wrapping a towel around her torso, she opened the door to find him leaning against the opposite wall. Had he been waiting there this whole time?

His heated gaze traveled from her wet head to her pink-polished toes. “How do you feel?”

She almost gripped the doorframe for support, but suspected he would mistake it for tiredness, when her weakness was anything but. “Much better, but I'm not ready for any of Ms. Hafwen's lessons just yet. I would like to go for a walk outside and get some fresh air.”

Apparently not satisfied she wasn't going to fall on her face, he said, “I'll wait here while you dress, then we'll go for a walk together.”

“Okay.” At the moment she had no mind to argue. Closing the door was another change in their relationship, because as a wolf he'd never been barred from her rooms. She dressed in black cotton pants, fuzzy socks and a T-shirt. Underneath, she wore pink lace underwear and a matching bra. Lingerie was her selfish pleasure, but as Ms. Hafwen often reminded her, it didn't hurt to be prepared.

*   *   *

Sophie sat next to Dylan and resisted the urge to place a comforting hand on his arm. The great room had been cleared of all villagers, while Sarah and Porter stood at both entrances. Merin sat on the opposite sofa, with a rod-straight posture and her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore a plain black pantsuit, and if not for the slight rise and fall of her shoulders, her nervousness would have gone unnoticed.

Sophie didn't trust Dylan's mother, though she couldn't help but sympathize with her. Having made her own
desperate decisions to keep Joshua safe, she would be a hypocrite not to. Her sympathy only went so far, however.

Tucker, her hound, sauntered around Porter and into the room, glaring at Merin while he sat on his haunches, leaning his torso against Sophie's legs. The dog had once belonged to Taliesin, although to say he
belonged
to anyone was debatable; Tucker chose where he stayed. He was the size of a Great Dane, with white fur and red-tipped ears, and as a hound from the Otherworld, he came and went as he pleased.

A low growl rumbled from his throat; it was an announcement of his authority, not a signal of intent to lunge. Sophie had learned the difference. This sound was much less ominous than the other. But it obviously unsettled Merin, who eyed the swords mounted on the walls.

“Shhh,” Sophie soothed, running her hand down his back.

“Then it's true.” Merin's gaze landed on her, so like Elen's it was eerie—but harsh instead of gentle, like a winter without sun. “It responds to your command.”

She refused to cower. “Yes.”
Sometimes.

An unexpected grin turned her lips. “My son has chosen his mate well.”

“I'm human,” Sophie announced without shame.
Judge me how you will, I don't care.

“My mate was human.” Merin gave an absent wave. “Power does not make a warrior's heart, and there was no greater one than his. No, it is what a person is willing to sacrifice to protect their family that proves true strength.” As if reminded of her purpose, she turned her attention to Dylan. “Pendaran has forgotten this, and it will be his downfall in the end. I know I am not welcomed here, but I have knowledge of the Council that you need to know if you are to survive. Will you accept my help?”

“He attacked Elen from the spirit world,” Dylan challenged, his voice a distant storm waiting to unleash if given the chance. “How are you to help us with that?”

Merin sucked in a breath, and then stood. “Did she survive it?”

Sensing genuine distress, Sophie realized that others before Elen had not. “She is resting now.”

“I should have killed him,” Merin sneered, beginning to pace. “I want to see her.”

“Not today.” But after a long pause, Dylan signaled Porter to enter the room. “I will ask Elen if she's willing. If not, you will respect her wishes. Do you understand?” He waited until his mother gave a tight-lipped nod. “We have a lake house nearby. You are welcome to stay.”

Merin paused and then looked away briefly, blinking something out of her eye. “Thank you,” she said, turning back, her former composure in place. “I accept your offer. I have much to share, but I'll need to return to my own household within a few days.”

Sophie had remained neutral throughout this tense reunion, not sure if Dylan would kick Merin out or invite her to stay, and ready to support his decision either way. But his offer of the lake house was the sign she'd been waiting for. His judgment wasn't completely closed against his mother, or the information she seemed willing to share. True or not, he intended to listen.

And as that thought unfolded, another more potent one followed, only this one didn't come from her consciousness. Sophie stiffened as a brush of power stroked down her spine, circling her waist. The scent of apple blossoms filled the air. Merin's nostrils flared, and her gaze landed on the serpent weapon Sophie wore around her waist. Like the hound, the weapon had been given to her by Taliesin. The wearer
received messages from beings in the Otherworld, and she tensed every time one came. As they were never sent without purpose, she'd learned to appreciate them.

Melissa, Cormack's five-year-old niece, was saved because of one such message.

Merin is not your enemy.
The serpentine voice wove about her senses.
Listen to her, and listen well.

Dylan waited with interest in his dark gaze. “Well?” He too had come to appreciate the messages.

“It speaks to you?” Merin asked. Not with resentment but with approval, like a predator welcoming another warrior into her pack.

“Yes.” Sophie didn't lie, placing her hand on her husband's arm and squeezing gently, a gesture he understood.
I will tell you after and let you decide what you want to share.
He gave a curt nod.

Standing, Sophie avoided Merin's curiosity by asking, “Would you like to join us for dinner? We still have a few hours yet, but that will give you time to settle in the lake house and return later.” Protective instincts raged, but Joshua was an adult, a fact of which he constantly reminded her. If she didn't include him, he would, no doubt, include himself. “Your grandson will be there, if you would like to meet him.”

As would Sophie and Dylan, fully armed of course, but forgiveness did not come in day, or even a summer.

“There is nothing—” Merin's voice broke, and she looked away again, obviously uncomfortable with showing emotion. “There is nothing I would like more.”