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

Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1) Page 53

But perhaps, something in him did.

Gideon gathered all that was in him, all that made him what this creature hated, and focused it at the monstrosity before him. When the light erupted from him, throwing Mordred backwards, it did so with a roar like all the voices of the Pack raised as one. He stood, and fought for his kind. And the power of that slammed his enemy to the ground. Seizing the advantage, Gideon fell upon him, sinking his teeth into foul-tasting flesh that burned his mouth on contact. There was a louder roaring now, full of pain and fury, and it came from what bucked beneath him. But Gideon hung on, teeth sinking ever deeper, whatever vile-tasting fluid that ran through this beast’s veins trickling through them to drip onto the ground.

Only when the thrashing had stilled did he release his grip. Mordred, form melting fluidly back into the one in which he had first appeared, lay gasping before him, thick, dark liquid bubbling from the gashes in his neck. He grasped it, pushing himself backwards with his heels. Gideon simply watched, unmoving, impervious to the black hatred that was reflected at him through burning violet eyes. There had been enough bloodshed here tonight.

But this scum would, God willing, bear the marks Gideon had given him forever as a reminder to him and his kind.

Wherever his people had come from, this was their world, this magic stone theirs to protect. Its doorway theirs to keep shut.

“Go,” Gideon growled, jerking his great, shaggy head at the glowing entryway. Malachi and Lucien had disappeared from view. He found he didn’t care what had happened, so long as they stayed gone.

Mordred made it to his feet, fell. Rose again to fumble, wound in his cloak, back to the Stone, all the while clutching his neck as that viscous black liquid flowed faster, harder. He paused before it, glowing eyes full of humiliated rage … and death. “This is not the end, Guardian. Your arukhin remnants cannot hold this place from me and mine. The warrior caste is dead. And this is not the only door.”

Mordred stumbled up onto the Stone. The second he lurched through the glowing entryway back into that foreboding, desert-like place, the light flashed, then shrank into nothing but a pinpoint of churning violet night. And was gone, with a wind that snuffed even the candles, and left the chamber in darkness.

The only sound in the silence that followed was heavy, agitated breathing. It took him a full minute to realize it was coming not only from Gabriel, but from himself.

As though sensing all was now safe, Duncan stirred weakly where he lay, while a thick moan behind Gideon told him that Malcolm was also still, miraculously, with them. He swayed slightly on his feet, and immediately felt Gabriel’s muscular shoulder dig in to prop him up. Though Gideon suspected Gabriel was holding himself up by doing this as well, he accepted the help without qualm.

For the first time in his life he thanked, truly thanked, the moon that still rode high in the night sky above. Because he knew that at this point, the only strength he had left, flowing like liquid silver in his veins, came from its luminescent pull.

A flash of white caught his eye then, appearing in the doorway like a wandering spirit. But instead of simply vanishing like so many wisps of smoke, it only hesitated, then approached him, eyes glowing the rare and beautiful blue of the sky at daybreak.

Gideon waited for her, his magnificent white Wolf. The love of his life, his mate now in every way she could be.

His Carly.

And as she reached him in the carnage of the chamber, sparing a look for nothing but him, putting her head to his, Gideon realized that his restlessness, his doubt, had vanished. All there was now, no matter what came next, was peace.

In love, at last, he’d found contentment. The Wolf had given him strength.

But Carly had made him whole.

t t t

The house was quiet when she awakened.

Carly opened her eyes to the first faint rays of dawn, burrowed beneath the covers, protected from the cold outside by the creaking, popping coziness of Gideon’s home. Her memories of the night before were a blur, from her own difficult transformation, to the horrible scene beneath the chapel ruins, to collapsing, exhausted, into bed after seeing that Gideon’s father and friend were settled and mending. It was probably a blessing, to have so few clear memories of such chaos.

An added blessing that with this dawn came sanity.

She smiled at the weight of Gideon’s hand across her stomach, the feel of his body curled so tightly behind her. He hadn’t wanted to let her go, even in sleep. He’d stayed by her side all night, touching her, looking at her, as though constantly needing to prove to himself that she was real.

She turned over to look at him, to admire the strong features she loved so dearly relaxed in sleep. Mine, she thought with satisfaction. And she’d only had to turn into a werewolf to get him. Still had the aches and pains to prove it, Carly thought with a wince as her abused muscles protested at her movement.

One golden eye opened as she shifted, regarding her with wry humor as she wiggled to get comfortable.

“Enjoying the view?”

She laughed, and was rewarded with that heart-stopping grin.

“Not going to punch me in the head this time, I hope?” His voice, always deep, was husky from sleep, a sensual rumble that immediately wiped all awareness of her sore muscles from her mind.

“Oh,” she said lightly as she slid up against him, as he cupped her backside with his strong, rough hands. “I can think of a few better uses for you than that, I think. Although you do still owe me a pet.”

She squealed as he flipped her in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath him. Gideon grinned wickedly down at her through the curtain of his sleep-tousled hair.

“I’m much better than a pet,” he growled, sliding smoothly into her. Stopping her laughter with a gasp.

“Well,” Carly admitted breathlessly as he began to move in her in slow, languorous strokes, “I’ll give you this … you know much better tricks.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Gideon murmured, his breath fanning her face before he claimed her in a hot, demanding kiss.

And as he brought her quickly to the edge, as she cried out his name when wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, she was forced to concede the point.

“I suppose,” she panted, still trembling from the aftershocks even as Gideon nipped at her neck, her mouth, the incessant rhythm of his hips starting her on the climb once again, “I could keep you around to find out.”

“Mmm,” Gideon groaned, his eyes closing as the pleasure began to sweep him along with it. “Just you try and get rid of me now, Miss Silver.”

“Gideon,” she whispered against his neck, realizing she hadn’t yet given him the words that were in her heart. Words she desperately needed him to hear. A truth she needed him to know. “I’m never getting rid of you. Because I love you.”

When he stopped, looking down at her with his heart in his eyes, and then cupped her face to pull her into a lingering kiss, Carly realized that no matter how much she’d needed to say the words, Gideon had needed to hear them even more.

“And I love you,” he told her, as she arched up to him, tangled her fingers in his wild, soft hair, joined to him heart and soul.

“Always.”

Epilogue

Christmas Day, Iargail Estate

“FLASH IT AT ME AGAIN. COME ON, YOU KNOW YOU want to.”

Carly obligingly held out her hand and waggled the glittering diamond and sapphire ring that had, as of last night, taken up permanent residence on her left hand. Regan had teased her for admitting she hadn’t even taken it off to shower that morning.

Of course, Carly thought with a catlike smile of satisfaction, her company in the shower hadn’t seemed to mind at all.

“His mother’s, you said?” Regan asked, her dark eyes glinting in the light from the enormous tree Duncan and his sons had wrestled into submission and forcibly decorated some two weeks before. Regan twisted Carly’s hand back and forth, admiring the way the ring caught the light from where the two of them relaxed on a couch in the massive foyer.

Carly nodded, still pleased beyond words that Gideon had insisted upon flying the people that mattered most to her to Scotland for the holiday. Her family had arrived three days ago in a jumble of loud voices, hugs, and well wishes, not to mention opinions on everything from wedding plans (Maria already had a folder going, to Carly’s amused dismay) to an ETA for their first grandchild.

Gideon had done well with the onslaught, but that last one had sent him nearly running on some forgotten errand to the kitchen. Not that she blamed him.

“Yeah. One of the many reasons I cried when he gave it to me.”

“I cried when he gave it to you,” Regan laughed, dropping Carly’s hand and picking up her glass of wine. “Not that, thank God, anyone noticed.”

“Nope. Too busy crying.” Carly took one more look at the ring, an emerald-cut diamond flanked by two sapphire baguettes and set in white gold, before forcing herself to stop mooning over it for that moment in time. Regan had a high tolerance for happiness, but she was pretty sure making goo-goo eyes at her engagement ring for hours on end would eventually make her best friend nauseous.

“I love that he wanted everyone to be here when he formally proposed,” Regan sighed. “I always thought heavy-duty romance grossed me out, but not that.”

Carly had to agree. While their engagement had been a foregone conclusion after all that had happened, Gideon had still insisted on a measure of formality about it. He’d won her father’s undying affection by asking him for her hand. And her mother’s for putting the ring on Carly’s finger and professing his love in her presence.

That it had happened on Christmas Eve at a mansion in the Scottish Highlands by candlelight probably hadn’t hurt her mother’s opinion about the whole thing either, Carly thought with a grin.

Or her own, for that matter.

“You just don’t like romance when it involves men in period dress wielding swords,” Carly pointed out. “I always knew you’d like a contemporary. You just don’t listen.”