Blood Vow (Blood Moon Rising) (17 page)

“Why did you like it?” Rafe asked, very interested why such a dominant female would give up her power in such a vulnerable way.

She opened her eyes, looked past Lucien at him, then looked back into Lucien’s waiting gaze. “Because it was nice to be told what to do instead of being in control. I felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders for just that brief amount of time.”

Lucien smiled and kissed her. He moved slow and deliberately, in and out of her, taking his time, which made Rafe antsier. He wanted Falon again but when he looked up to the rising full moon he knew they were running out of time. At midnight they would be their most powerful, and it was then they would need to make their move to steal the Cross of Caus.

Giving them the privacy they deserved, Rafe grabbed his clothes and sword, and moved away from them toward the path behind the ruins that led to a small waterfall and pond. The air had cooled considerably and he needed to bathe. The last thing he wanted was for those damn witches and goblins in town to hone in on Falon’s scent because it was smeared into his pores.

He surfaced in the frigid water, then moved back as Falon and Lucien came running hand in hand down the rolling bank. They jumped into the water together.

Rafe shook his head and laughed when Falon grabbed his leg under water. She surfaced behind him, and pinched his ass. He reached behind him and dragged her around to face him. She laughed louder and allowed the buoyancy of the water to lift her legs around his waist.

“Thank you, Rafa!” she cried, hugging him to her.

His heart sang with happiness because she was so happy. He’d never seen her so lighthearted and carefree. “For what?”

“For being brave enough to give the three of us a chance.” She kissed him full on the lips, and dissolved into giggles. “I can’t wait to see the look on the council’s faces when we return all fuck-happy and united.” She laughed, and looked back at Lucien who had a smile twisting his lips.

“They’re going to have to make up a new Blood Law to define us.”

Rafael scowled knowing it was not going to be easy to convince the council or the packs that what they were doing was best for the nation.

“Oh, stop thinking of what everyone is going to think!” Falon pooh-poohed him. “You are alpha, Lucien is alpha, and I am alpha. We have chosen each other as our chosen ones. We are true mates in heart, body, and soul. There is no human or Lycan that can take away what we have built between us.”

“As the eldest, I will take on the council if there is an issue,” Rafe said solemnly.

“No, Rafa,” Lucien said, stepping closer. “Together the three of us will face anyone who has an issue—as one united front. I suspect Anja’s sire, Sasha, is going to have a huge issue with this, but know that I will stand beside you. I’m certain word has reached the northern packs by now that Mara was a Slayer.”

“Oh, no! Luca! Will they try to charge you?”

“No,” he said arrogantly. Typical Luca.

“The council will insist on a trial,” Rafe said, knowing he would fight for his brother’s life to the very end.

“They can go fuck themselves for all I care. Their time is past. After the rising, we will establish a new covenant,” Lucien said, shaking his wet head and stalking for the bank. He grabbed his clothes where he had dropped them, and began to dress.

With Falon still wrapped around him like a spider monkey, Rafe waded out of the pond to the bank where she slid off him. Lucien handed her the flimsy little dress she insisted on wearing.

“We can worry about that later. Right now”—Rafe lifted his nose in the air; Falon and Lucien did, too—“we have bigger problems.”

They looked up and saw that they had been surrounded by dozens of black shrouded figures. Rafe jerked his jeans on and picked up his swords.

The Coven of Caus. Protector of the Cross of Caus,
Lucien said.

How do you know that?

When you took off last night we met them when we went looking for the sword. Not an amicable group, but a determined one,
Rafa answered tossing Lucien one of his swords.

Falon, move between us and take each of our hands. As one, we walk up that hill and through them. If they have a problem with that, then we respond,
Luca instructed.

The coven began a low deep chant, a spell calling upon a greater force to rid them of the scourge of the wolf.

When Rafe, Falon, and Lucien stood united, connected, intractable, power surged between them. In step and focused they strode toward the tallest of the witches who was surrounded by torches, never once breaking stride.

The coven tightened as they approached. Their chanting rose in volume.

Keep walking,
Rafe said. The ring on his right hand flared softly with awareness. Rafe knew it well enough to know that it had an all seeing eye and it knew when the shit was about to hit the fan. And from the glow of the demonic eyes staring from the dark hoods just ahead, the shit was royally going to hit the fan.

As the chanting reached a fevered pitch, Falon snarled, and raised her hands, clasping their hands high above her head. Putting her head down like a bull, she shouted, “Move or die!”

Abruptly the chanting stopped, but Rafe wasn’t fooled. The air hummed with dark powerful magic.

The tallest of the coven stepped forward and before he slid the hood of his cloak back, Rafe knew who it was. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the stench of the man who killed his parents.

“Corbet,” he hissed.

What the fuck is he doing here?
Lucien cursed.

Falon gasped and stumbled. Her hand pulled free from Rafe’s even as he moved to catch her fall. It was that one millisecond before he had her hand again that Corbet struck.

A hot shot of laser energy sliced across Rafa’s chest. The velocity of the hit sent him to his knees, but he did not break his contact with Falon.

She snarled, throwing her wild mane of hair over her shoulder, and yanked him up.

“Corbet, you’re going to regret that!” she yelled, and with her own power she shoved her hands, palms open toward him. He went flying backward several feet, landing heavily on his back.

Like an engine, Falon barreled through the witches that stood in her way, dispelling their magic.

As she came upon Corbet, who had regained his composure and drawn his swords, Falon smacked one out of his hand and snatched it out of the air.

She turned it on him and pressed the point to his throat.

“Tonight you join your brothers in hell.”

Corbet smiled, and shook his head, his blue eyes so much like hers, not blinking once.

“You will not kill me,” he taunted.

Falon pressed the sword into his skin, puncturing it. Blood spurted in a small pop then leveled off spreading in a sputtering wave with each heartbeat.

His eyes glittered excitedly. “You cannot.”

She pushed the blade deeper. Blood bubbled, thickening around the sword tip.

“How does it feel Corbet? To know you’re going to die?” she taunted.

“I’m not dead yet.”

Falon’s hands shook but she pressed the blade deeper into his throat. Blood gurgled like an overflowing fountain.

“Say good night, Slayer,” she whispered.

“You will need my blood to raise your ghost walkers,” he said hoarsely, struggling to speak against the blade in his neck. Grimacing, he looked past her to Rafe and Lucien. Fury and hatred washed off them in hot intense waves. “I have the power to resurrect your parents,” he said, coughing as blood filled this throat. “Kill me and that option goes with me.”

Rafael snarled, and Lucien grabbed the Slayer by the scruff of his shroud. “You lie.”

“To raise the ghost walkers the two bloods must unite,” he wheezed. “The blood that slew them and the blood that binds them.” Corbet tried to laugh but he coughed instead, gagging on the blade. “I am the last Corbet directly descended from the original Slayer.” His eyes glittered as he looked at Falon and challenged her to reveal her secret. She swallowed hard, knowing the time was not right to tell Rafa and Luca. She kicked Corbet away, much to Rafe’s and Lucien’s fury.

Corbet grabbed his neck, blood seeping through his fingers and backed up the embankment.

As Rafe and Lucien turned to go after him, Falon grabbed each of them by the arm to stay them, and watched Corbet disappear into the field as his coven of thieves noiselessly followed him.

And just as they had been fifteen minutes before, there were now alone.

“Why did you let him go, Falon?” Rafe demanded.

She opened her mouth to answer but the truth lodged in her throat. And she could not lie to Rafael’s face.

“What was the purpose of that?” Lucien said, looking across the silvery field. “In chains he will be at our beck and call to raise the ghost walkers.”

Her father was testing her, to see if she would slay him or reveal her truth. She would have slain him, she was so close—but she hadn’t, because if she had, Rafa and Luca would not have forgiven her for taking away what they believed to be the only opportunity to raise their dead parents. Of course they didn’t know that in her alone she possessed the two bloods. Thomas Corbet be damned!

“He’s messing with us,” Falon said softly. “Making you yearn for something he would not give you even if he could.”

Lucien grabbed her suddenly trembling arms. “But
you
have the power, too, Falon. Don’t you?”

“If I do, I have no clue how to use it.”

“That’s a question for Sharia. That old woman knows more than she lets on. The sooner we find the Cross, the sooner she can shed light on the secret to the ghost walkers,” Rafe said, moving past them and gathering up their clothes and swords.

“Rafa!” Falon called, running to him. “Wait.” She suddenly felt shy when he turned those piercing aqua green eyes on her. He was so big and strong and golden, and though she did not fear him, his power could be intimidating sometimes, as it was now.

She swallowed hard as her blood pounded through her. He had a way of making her feel very much the female to his male. She reached up and touched the gaping wound on his chest. Anger was surpassed only by her concern for him. She didn’t ask for his permission to heal him. She was his chosen one, and not only was it her duty but her pleasure.

Standing up on her tiptoes, she leaned into him. Placing her hands on his hard chest, starting between his muscular pectorals, she pressed her tongue to the deep cut and slowly and lovingly lapped his wound, inch by inch until there was nothing more than a faint pink scar. When she was done, she leaned harder into him and looked up into his blazing eyes. Love shown with the brightness of a thousand suns in them. He nudged her chin up with his fingers and lowered his lips to hers.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her.

Falon steadied herself. Rafael Vulkasin was heady stuff and her blood had warmed with her happy chore.

Her lids fluttered open, and she looked deep into his soul. She loved this man as fiercely as she loved his brother and it would be her death if he ever stopped looking at her the way he looked at her now.

“You’re welcome.”

Lucien cleared his throat behind them. “The moon waits for no one.”

As they finished dressing and strapping on their leather scabbards, Rafe led the way to the van.

“We discovered last night that the Cross is concealed in a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the village museum. It’s in plain sight but protected by a powerful spell,” Rafe started to explain. “The problem isn’t going to be breaking the spell. I think if we unite, call upon the ring and focus all of our energy on it, we’ll break it. It’s getting to it that’s the problem.”

“Are the tunnels locked?”

“And guarded by spells,” Lucien explained.

“Does Corbet know about the sword?” she asked, thinking he had to. How could he not? And why she wondered, didn’t he use it.

“The location of the sword isn’t a big secret,” Rafe said. “It’s listed as one of the village’s relics. But what it can do is a secret. I don’t think Corbet knows. If he did, he would have either hidden it a long time ago so no one could destroy Fenrir, or used it as his own.”

“Why protect Fenrir now? Their magic is beyond him.”

“So long as Fenrir lives, the original magic he gave them lives. Without that foundation everything that came after it will evaporate into thin air. As it has always been, without that monster, the Slayers are nothing but despicable humans with no power to fuel them except their hatred.”

Falon understood now. And at midnight they would be their most powerful but for that power to be they had to be in wolf form. “We go in as wolves?”

“Yes, but with our swords.”

“We stay together,” Lucien said.

Several moments later, they pulled up just outside the village. It glowed like a golden orb beneath the glow of the full moon.

“It looks like a festival of sorcerers, pagan priests, and witches,” Falon said, leaning forward to get a closer look. Even on the outskirts of the village where they were, people ran hither and yon dressed in elaborate medieval costumes, most of them masked in ghoulish animal masks.

“They’ve gathered here to pay tribute to the Marcher witches.”

Shivering as if cold worms crawled along her neck, Falon asked, “Just exactly how do they pay tribute?”

“Back in the day, human sacrifice. But now they burn an effigy,” Lucien answered.

“How do you two know all of this?”

Lucien smiled and handed her a pamphlet from the dashboard. “It’s all there, except the location of the sword. That we sniffed out with the help of the Eye of Fenrir.”

Falon shook her head and wished she could fast-forward through the next four weeks to the day after the rising when they rose triumphant from the ashes of battle so that she and the two men she loved and the child she carried could live happily ever after.

She glanced at the multicolored pamphlet but a slight commotion caught her attention. Looking past Lucien through the windshield to a group of masked people who were dragging a large duffel bag out of the trunk of a van parked about thirty feet from where they had parked, her hackles rose. Her night vision was as honed as a wolf’s and— “There.” She pointed to the group that surrounded the bag. “That’s a person in there.”