Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1)

Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1) Page 52

And there was no time to even try to understand. Her hackles rose at the oppressive weight in the air, an odd, almost electrical charge that had all of her senses screaming danger. Carly’s ears pricked forward. There was music in the night, a trembling beneath the ground.

Gideon.

She had seen his eyes. He didn’t think he was going to make it.

A wildness rose in her breast, intense. Deadly. Instinct took over.

Protect thy mate.

The Wolf that was Carly raced out into the moon-bright night, all she felt, all she was, focused on one thing.

I can feel you. I’m coming. Hang on.

t t t

Gideon watched, paralyzed, as Malachi leaped from the Stone and a beam of brilliant light erupted from the top of it. The song emanating from it swelled to near-deafening volume, then ceased, leaving his ears ringing in the abrupt silence.

Gabriel whined, ears pinned back, but to his credit did not retreat. Malcolm also stood firm, though his fur was raised almost on end. The scene was static, the four Wolves, even Malachi, transfixed as the light shifted, widened, cleared. And became a door.

Lightning raced through a bruised violet sky. Ominous black mountains stood sentinel in the distance. Across the pale, dusty landscape, oddly bright against the darkness of the rest of the scene, two figures approached. They moved with feline grace, slim, dark silhouettes wearing long cloaks that swirled about them in some otherworldly wind. Though their features were obscured by both distance and the dim light, Gideon could see that their eyes burned as violet as the sky above them.

Drakkyn. His blood knew them, and Gideon’s blood rose in greeting, in anger, in kinship as though he had always understood who and what they were. There was a sharp crack and the acrid whiff of ozone as first one, then the other stepped through the door. Then, with long-limbed elegance, they alighted on the floor in the chamber of the Lia Fαil. Now Gideon did move. He took one step. Forward. And the soft growl that reverberated through the chamber was his own.

Gideon shot a quick glance at his father, left thankfully ignored before the Stone, stepped over as though he were no more than an inanimate object. Still breathing. But for how long?

“Excellent work, Malachi. Others may have doubted, but I was certain you would come through.” The taller of the two gave his companion a sidelong glance full of barely repressed hostility, then reached down to stroke the head of the Wolf who sat patiently at his feet, adoring.

They looked like men … almost. Gideon had expected creatures like Jonas, odd hybrids of man and beast. But these Drakkyn could pass for human. One was obviously older than the other, his hair a short, sleek crop of gleaming silver. But there was a marked resemblance; pale skin, sharp-boned features, tall, thin figures swathed in severe black cassock-like clothing shot through with gleaming thread of vibrant purple. Despite the rebuke, the younger Drakkyn, his own jet-black cap of hair accentuating his fair skin, looked fixedly into the distance, unmoved.

It was the eyes, so intensely violet, that marked them. These beings were no more human than he, Gideon knew. And quite possibly less.

Uncertain, he waited.

It was not long before the one Gideon knew was the leader turned those intense eyes onto him. The intelligence in them, the cunning … the malice … hit him like a fist.

“Well, well,” he said in a smooth voice, soft, but commanding. “I hadn’t thought to see so many remnants of the last age here to greet us.” He bowed slightly, eyes never leaving him. “Well met … Gideon, isn’t it? Hmm. Perhaps I placed a bit too much faith in your kinsman, after all.”

At his feet, Malachi whined placatingly, even as his eyes sparked with hatred at Gideon. The Drakkyn, however, only shrugged elegantly. “Ah, well, no matter. Jonas, who I’m certain you met, was stripped of his powers for a reason. His banishment into the Tunnels could not have proven more useful, to be sure, but … he was possessed of an unforgivable weakness. He used what meager powers your kind still possesses as best he could, but still, he never ceased to disappoint me.” Again, the disdainful glance at his companion. “My lot in life, it seems.”

Gideon stared. Your kind? Were they not all one and the same, after all?

The man continued as though he’d read Gideon’s mind. It gave Gideon a shudder to think that perhaps he had. “But forgive me. I’m rambling when I don’t really have the time. You low Drakkyn obviously don’t remember your own banishment, and as it’s been years since the House of Andrakkar has used an arukhin High Guard, I’ve no interest in anything but removing you from my way.” He looked around him at the carnage, then back down at Malachi, a small, cold smile playing about his lips. “As for you, I can only hope you will serve my son as … enthusiastically … as you have me thus far.”

From the way Malachi’s head jerked up at this, it was obvious that the idea of serving this man’s son was one he hadn’t heard before.

“Ah, yes. I suppose an introduction is in order. My son, Lucien. After some thought, I decided that the rule of this Urth would be better placed in more …” his eyes swept the bloodied room, “ … stable hands. But you will of course have the reward of your continued existence. That is, as long as you do what you’re told. Remember, for the arukhin of old, service was its own reward. Let it not be said that Mordred Andrakkar is not a fair master.”

Malachi slunk back, all of the hatred in his gaze now focused on the one called Lucien. The man Gideon assumed was Mordred watched this, seeming to enjoy it. His heir apparent was more concerned with Malachi’s warning growl, though in truth he looked as though he found the entire situation beyond distasteful.

Odd, thought Gideon. And irrelevant. The Drakkyn were distracted. Gideon wasn’t sure what they were up against, but if there was a time to move, it was now. He looked at Gabriel, at Malcolm, who he saw had been waiting, just as he had, for the right moment. A breath, and they surged forward as one, catching only a split second of shocked surprise on the faces of their targets before the battle was engaged.

Gabriel plowed into Lucien with a snarl, knocking him backwards toward the Stone. Seeing an opportunity to exact revenge, Malachi piled on, though his target was no longer his cousin. Lucien’s enraged howl was evidence enough of that. Malcolm and Gideon headed for Mordred. Gideon saw the surprise, sensed his advantage, and leaped.

Only to be thrown backwards through the air by a blast of sizzling blue light. He crashed into the far wall, heard a bone snap with the force of it as pain rocketed up his left front leg. Seconds later, Malcolm came skidding towards him as well, stopping at the wall with a loud thud. Gideon struggled to his feet, adjusting his weight as much as he could to accommodate the wounded leg. Malcolm, however, lay still, knocked unconscious.

Lucien, he saw, kept trying to rise, but was under vicious attack from two sides. Gabriel gave a sharp yelp of pain, and there was the smell of singed fur and flesh. And Malachi …

God in Heaven, Malachi was on fire. As Mordred advanced on him, his calm expression now twisted into a mask of rage, Gideon both braced himself and watched as Malachi and Lucien struggled. Lucien staggered backwards, trying to keep the burning, thrashing animal from locking onto his throat. They fell, together, back through the doorway and into that strange pale dust of the land that was suspended above the Stone of Destiny.

“Fools,” Mordred snarled, and now Gideon could see his handsome face was only a mask, worn loosely over something ancient and terrible. “Had you done the thing your ancestors failed to do and bowed to me, I might have let you live to serve us again. But I see you are as weak as you ever were. You shun power and favor for your weakling charges, these humans of Urth. They are only suited to be the slaves and playthings of ones such as we are, and yet you protect them.”

Light began to pulse at Mordred’s fingertips, red, angry light. He spat at Gideon’s feet, and the spittle sizzled as if it were boiling.

“You will all bow to the Andrakkar before you die, miserable arukhin, shame of the Drakkyn. Urth is ripe for conquest. And you have forgotten how to fight your masters. A shame,” he hissed with a smile that showed elongated, wicked teeth, “but one, I think, I will recover from.”

Gideon felt, rather than saw, Gabriel at his side, standing with him to the last. And this would be the last, Gideon had no doubt, though he would try to face it without fear.

Mordred’s form began to shift into something Gideon had never before seen, something he had never wanted to see, a massive red thing all dagger edges and biting teeth, horns dripping venomous green liquid that smoked when it hit the stone.

And then he heard it, a high, chilling howl echoing through the night above them. It was a voice sweet and clear, and it reverberated with some intense emotion that carried it to him, here down below. It twined around the heartbreaking song of the Lia Fαil, became a part of it. Until it was the song. He knew that voice, somehow.

That voice.

Carly?

The howl came again, nearer, then faded into silence. Even the thing that had been Mordred turned its vile head to consider the noise, head cocked toward the entryway.

It was Carly. She had made it. Gideon knew it the instant he thought it, and his heart swelled first with unspeakable joy … then terror. She was coming to him, but she had no idea what would be waiting for her at the door. This Drakkyn thing would enjoy showing her, no doubt.

So Gideon centered himself, focused on the sensation he’d encountered the terrible night Carly had been bitten. Of being a Wolf, but then more. Looked within, at the strength he had always prided himself on, at the new love that added to it … and reached out for the Lia Fαil.

His birthright.

Their strength.

Immediately he felt the pain in his leg fade, felt his ebbing energy return in spades. Felt the rhythm of the Stone’s song rise within him, driving him, filling him with what felt like the light of the pure moon. This Mordred Andrakkar had spat upon his kind, and upon the humans he and his Pack kept safe. Whom they had loved, and loved still.

You do not remember how to fight your masters.