Wolf Moon Rising Read online

  “None of your business, cretin! Set me down!”

  He winced at the shrillness of her shout. “That’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself…to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  They’d reached the boat, so he didn’t bother replying. He bent and put her on her feet.

  The moment she stood, Aoife swung her fist.

  Sigurd darted out of range then grinned. A toothy, wolfy grin.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have anything to cover yourself with?”

  “Is my nudity bothering you?” he asked, his hands on his hips, knowing his cock jutted obscenely.

  She raised a hand and waved it at his groin. “That’s…distracting!”

  He laughed. “That’s how you describe it?”

  She stomped a foot. “Stop laughing. You’re making it bounce.”

  “It’s hard. And it can do more than bounce, witch.”

  “You’re impossible…and crude.”

  “For your information, this,” he grabbed his cock and shook it, “is your fault.”

  “Mine?” Her eyebrows winged high.

  His humor dried up. “Get in the boat.”

  She huffed and stepped inside, making a show of rearranging her skirts, her gaze never meeting his.

  He climbed in, lifted the pole, and pushed off the bank.

  “Can you move back? It’s in my face.”

  He ignored her complaint and sank the pole in the deep silt to move the boat into the canal. Once in the center, he sat and took up the paddles.

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose we can forget this incident ever happened…?”

  He gave her a baleful glare.

  Her lips firmed. “Then I don’t suppose you’ll keep this to yourself…?”

  Shaking his head, he snorted.

  Her fingers worried the edges of the fringed cloak.

  For the rest of the journey, they remained silent. The physical exertion of rowing helped to calm his blood. Eventually, his dick relaxed. As he pulled up to the dock, he noted lights on inside her cottage. They illuminated the figures lined along the porch.

  “Oh, flowers,” she muttered, saying the word as harshly as any curse he would have substituted.

  “Shit just hit the fan,” he drawled, seeing Ethan among those waiting.

  “Flowers, flowers, flowers.”

  Her fear was palpable—and disconcerting. She had to know that even though she’d broken the rules, Ethan would never harm her. Sigurd would never allow it. “Everything will be alright, Aoife. All you have to do is tell the truth.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “That, I can’t do.”

  He arched a brow. “Then flowers it is.”

  After Sigurd dressed, the men accompanied Aoife to Bryn’s bed & breakfast. They gathered around her sister witch’s large dining room table. All the witches had been summoned along with their guardians, all looking as though they’d been pulled from their beds. The witches and Ethan sat while the rest of the demons surrounded the table, standing still like soldiers.

  Ethan sat in the head chair, frowning. His deep-set, green troll-eyes glowed.

  Aoife tried to make herself very small, wishing she could disappear. She didn’t like being the recipient of their frowns. And she dreaded the coming conversation. Lying wasn’t her strong suit, and she was sure Ethan would see through every false word. She worried about what to do and glanced at her sisters, whose expressions reflected concern.

  “Aoife…?” Ethan said softly.

  His gentle tone didn’t make her feel any more secure. Often, his voice softened when he was in a rage. The troll had to fight his true, aggressive nature.

  “Look at me.”

  For a second, she closed her eyes, drawing on her fast-evaporating courage. When she met his gaze, she quivered.

  “Why did you leave your house in the dead of night?”

  She shrugged and attempted a little smile, but the gesture faded when his dark, thick brows lowered. Ethan had always intimidated her, even before she’d known he was a demon. He was too large and too dark. His unyielding stare was sufficient to give her the shivers. His size and strength were enough to make him the natural leader of his tight group of demons, but she’d always feared him, even knowing how much Bryn loved and trusted him. Gods, he was a troll!

  “That won’t cut it,” Sigurd said from where he stood across the table.

  Remembering how he’d treated her, carrying her like a sack of potatoes on his strong shoulder, made her blush. He’d been nude. Although his body wasn’t something she hadn’t already seen—and touched—the strong emotions his physique engendered were disturbing. And he’d known that fact. Laughing at her, and shaking his thick cock, as his anger made him bristle and his eyes glowed gold.

  Her bottom still stung from the swats he’d administered. She shifted in her chair. “I needed air,” she whispered.

  “Stepping out on the porch, with one of your guardians, wouldn’t have sufficed?” Ethan said, his tone low and even.

  She bit her lower lip and dropped her gaze. Maybe she could outwait them. Then she wouldn’t have to lie.

  The scrape of a chair sounded, and from the corner of her eye, she watched Bryn leave her seat beside Ethan and move toward her. No, no, no. Bryn was like the older sister she’d never had. The mother of their coven. Her element was Earth, and she embodied all the maternal, nurturing instincts that went with it. She couldn’t lie to Bryn.

  Despite her very pregnant belly, Bryn knelt beside her chair then slowly enfolded her in her arms. Not saying a word. Simply hugging her.

  Aoife sniffled and let loose a soft sob. Then she sank against Bryn and rested her head on her shoulder.

  Bryn stroked her hair and began to rock. “You can tell us, you know? Whatever it is. We’re here for you.”

  Aoife didn’t lift her head but shook it, drawing in the comfort of Bryn’s scent. She smelled sweet like the pies she’d baked that day. “I can’t, Bryn. I just can’t.”

  “Have you done something that awful? I can’t imagine it,” Bryn cooed. “You’re our joyous little sprite. Let us help you. Because I know something’s been bothering you. We’ve all noticed how quiet you’ve been. What has you so worried?”

  At that moment, Aoife sank even deeper inside Bryn’s embrace, feeling the flicker of witch’s heat coming through her soothing hands. She relaxed. Then surrendered. “I’ve kept a terrible secret,” she whispered.

  Bryn made a shushing sound. “How bad can it be? Sweetheart, you haven’t a hint of darkness inside. I would know. Share your secret. Unburden yourself. We all care for you.”

  Tears leaked in a steady stream. “For years I’ve lied.” Again, she fell silent, unwilling to face their censure—which would surely come once her secret was out.

  Another chair scraped. Gentle hands touched her shoulders from behind.

  “If you can’t tell us, will you let me see?” Radha, her sister witch, whispered.

  Aoife’s breaths shortened. She nodded.

  Radha hummed and glided her hands upward to cup either side of Aoife’s face.

  Aoife let her see.

  The tree, with its golden light. The gleaming doorway that opened.

  She stepped through the portal and along the tunnel of tightly woven gold and green vines. When she reached the end, she straightened.

  A figure stepped in front of her, dressed in black, head to toe. “Your glamour, witchling!” he said, his voice pitched low and menacing. When she hesitated, he reached out and shoved her to the ground.

  Aoife quickly waved a hand and lifted the spell she constantly wore. Her body trembled as it revealed her true form, and she touched the tips of her pointed ears.

  Radha gasped, and her hands left Aoife’s face.

  Slowly, Aoife lifted her head from Bryn’s soft shoulder and turned to glance behind her.

  Radha’s brown eyes were wide.

  Her heart pounding, Aoife swallowed and straigh
tened in her chair. She’d known this moment would one day arrive. She’d grown into adulthood dreading the consequences. Tonight’s journey had been her attempt to negotiate with her past.

  Bryn touched her cheek. “Tell us, sweetie.”

  Aoife felt the blood drain from her face as she stared straight ahead, her eyes filling and blurring the figures standing all around her. Which made dragging the secret into the open easier. “My father…is fae. I’m a half-fairy.”

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Sigurd stood stunned. He’d heard of such creatures but had never actually met a fairy. His body froze, because he didn’t know what this meant. “Show us,” he ground out.

  Aoife raised a hand and turned it, and then gestured as though she was pushing back an invisible hood.

  Sparkles blurred her outline. When they dimmed, he heard the collective intakes of breath as everyone gazed at the witch he’d been so determined to claim.

  She was still Aoife. The same sweet-faced, pearl-skinned young woman she had been. But her ears were pointed at the tips, her face appeared a little slimmer, and her blue-green eyes looked as though small pavé diamonds twinkled from her irises. She was lovely.

  Bryn gasped and reached out her fingers to turn Aoife’s face from side-to-side. “You’re so pretty,” she said, smiling. But then her smile faded. “But this complicates things, doesn’t it?”

  Aoife’s lower lip trembled as she nodded.

  Darcy sat forward, her red hair swinging against her cheek. A frown darkened her green eyes. “I thought you said your father was dead.”

  Aoife cleared her throat and blinked away the tears welling in her eyes. “I told you that my father wasn’t in this realm.”

  “Which you knew would make us think he was dead.”

  Aoife nodded and dipped her head.

  Miren gave her sister witch another frown. “I thought fairies stole their children to live in their realm.”

  “They do. However, I was born a female to a witch, which made me a witch—and we are banned inside the fairy realm. I was safe.”

  Bryn drew a deep breath, and her gaze shot to Ethan. “But that doesn’t mean your children will be safe.”

  Aoife shut her eyes.

  Sigurd felt a little light-headed, understanding at last why Aoife had remained chaste. “If you were to mate and have a male child…”

  Her eyes opened, and fresh waves of tears welled. “That baby would be taken.” She leaned toward him. “It’s why I had to go there. To talk to them. To reason…with my father.”

  Sigurd pulled back a chair and settled into it. “There’s no ban on demons?”

  Her mouth tightened. “They’d be…cleansed. All trace of their demon blood erased. They’d live as fae. Their magic isn’t as strong as a witch’s, so they can’t cleanse one. They can’t make someone like me entirely fae.”

  Silence fell around them.

  Sigurd shook his head. “Then you can never mate. Or at least, never take a human’s or a demon’s seed.”

  Her head dipped, her hair fell forward in a curtain. “Yes.”

  That single word was so filled with angst, he felt the pain in his own gut. “Your father denied your request…?”

  “I didn’t make it that far. The guard stopped me as I entered. Then he called for reinforcements…and a harness.” She grimaced. “The harness was a prophylactic.”

  “To prevent you from using magic?” Bryn asked, her hand now atop the one Aoife held fisted in her lap.

  Aoife nodded. “I told them the device wasn’t necessary, and that I hadn’t come to cause any harm. I just wanted to talk to my father. They said they’d pass along the message then laughed. They wrestled me back to the opening then shoved me through. The harness released the second I was back inside the portal.”

  Which explained why she’d carried another male’s scent. Not a lover’s. He drew a relieved breath, and then stiffened as he realized she’d been manhandled. Now, he wanted blood.

  Radha frowned. “So, what do fairies have against witches?”

  Aoife shrugged. “My mother never explained. She preferred to never talk about my father. Said it was too painful. Apparently, young fairies leave their realm to spend time among humans—one year. Sort of like the Amish with their Rumspringa. It’s a chance for them to get to know our world. Not that they are given a chance to stay if they want to. The tradition is more about knowing your enemies…”

  Sigurd glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else was as dumbfounded as he was. The frowns were dark and deep. He’d never heard of fairies crossing and didn’t understand why they would consider humans enemies.

  “Anyway,” she continued, her shoulders drooping, “my mother met my father during his year. At first, they had no idea the other wasn’t human. When she became pregnant, he grew distant. After she confided her true nature, he acted as though she’d stabbed him in the back. He told her he was fairy, and that if the child was male, his people would claim it. But if the child was female…” she gulped, “they’d return for her male child. Said that was just the way the fae society worked, and then he disappeared.

  “My mother spent years searching for a way to enter the fairy realm to ask him to reconsider. She didn’t want me living under that shadow. When she found the spell I used tonight…” Aoife grew pale and her diamond eyes filled with tears. “She tried it once with me when I was a child. Then again, when I reached puberty. That time, she never returned.” She drew a quick breath. “I can only assume that, with their antipathy toward witches, she’s dead.”

  Bryn sighed. “I can’t believe you kept this to yourself for so many years.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But my mother created the glamour spell that hides my true appearance. Keeping this up has been exhausting.” Her gaze went to Sigurd. “And while everyone’s been so happy here, being wooed and marrying, I’ve been so afraid.”

  Sigurd held her gaze. He knew all she saw was his stony façade, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about her subterfuge. Her lies. While he’d been spinning dreams about making a life with her, she’d ensured no man entered her bed. What he’d thought was modesty was her dodging fate.

  Ethan pushed up from his seat. “We all have a lot to think about, but it’s late. Sigurd, will you stay behind? I’d like a word.”

  Sigurd gave a curt nod then glanced at Hamdir. “Make sure she returns to her cottage. She doesn’t leave again.”

  Hamdir gave a mock salute then circled the table. He waited while Aoife rose, her face drained of blood and her usual vibrancy, then offered his arm.

  The others in the room quickly filed out, leaving only Ethan and Bryn.

  Bryn gave Ethan a stern look, her dark brows drawing together. “I know this isn’t good. The lies. The fact she’s part fae. We have enough complications worrying about my sisters being taken by rogue demons. Now this. But we have another problem. She entered their realm.” Her gaze went to Sigurd. “You followed her. You know where this entrance is…?”

  He nodded.

  “I want the tree burned tomorrow. We need to shut that door for good.”

  Sigurd was glad Aoife wasn’t there to hear that command. His jaw hardened. No matter how important that doorway was to her, her safety and theirs as a community meant more.

  “Bryn, I’m a low demon,” Ethan said. “Too far down the rung to have ever had experience with or even heard stories about fairies. How worried should we be? If she doesn’t have children, she’s safe, right?”

  Bryn sighed. “Ethan, she’s a witch. It’s not just her duty to procreate, it’s a physical imperative. I always suspected she’d never engaged in sex, but now I’m sure she hasn’t. She wasn’t willing to risk having a child. I can’t even imagine how frightened she must be or how hopeless.”

  Ethan drummed the table. “There has to be some way around this. Can’t your coven create some sort of spell to keep the fairies from knowing about any birth?”

  A line formed be
tween her brows. “I don’t know much about fairies. But I suppose we could do a cloaking spell. But we couldn’t discriminate between human and fairy. No one outside of Bonne Nuit could see inside…”

  “But the townspeople who travel—”

  She shook her head. “It wouldn’t work. They’d leave and not be able to find their back. If not for them, we could make an opening, a doorway, and keep it guarded, but…”

  “So, she must never have a child,” Sigurd whispered. The skin around his eyes drew tight.

  Ethan’s gaze was pitying. “You can’t risk a mistake.”

  Which meant he could never risk being inside her. He clenched his hands.

  Bryn touched his arm. “We’d all understand if you stepped away.”

  Emptiness attacked him. Wolves expected to mate, to sire cubs. Multiple children in a single birth. The fact that he faced never knowing that joy caused a burning pain in his belly. He wasn’t sure whether he could accept a future without children. Or what he’d say to Aoife.

  “You’re welcome to stay with us tonight,” Bryn said softly, as though reading his mind.

  But he couldn’t imagine being trapped inside walls. Not tonight. “I’m going for a run.”

  Ethan pushed up from his seat. “I’m not through looking for a solution. We have friends in New Orleans who are still friendly with the court. They might be able to seek counsel.”

  Feeling his jaw tighten, Sigurd gave a nod, but didn’t speak. With a last glance he left the dining room. Outside on Bryn’s porch, he stripped, dropping his clothing into a chair, and then shifted. With a leap, he shot toward the forest, not wanting to think, not daring to imagine Aoife alone in her bed. He’d clear his mind. Run himself into exhaustion then sleep. His strides lengthened. No, he couldn’t bear thinking about her and her haunted eyes as she’d been led away.

  Aoife awoke just before dawn. Gray light filtered around the edges of the curtains. The color perfectly suited her mood. She rose and rifled through her closet for the grayest dress she owned, pulled it over her head, and then stood in front of the mirror.

  My life will be as drab as this dress. She didn’t know why she even had it. Gray was only good as a foil for a more vibrant color. But she needed more. She wondered if any gray hydrangeas remained in the greenhouse.