Bad Moon Rising

Kieran

Judging from the changes of light through the basement window, sunrise wasn't far off. That made it at least an hour since Declan had brought the girl down.

She was still out cold. Lying on her side as she was, facing the wall, I couldn't really see her face. Just her back. And her hair, a mess of brown curls that spilled down her shoulders and across her pillow. I wondered if she'd been given the same drug those motherfuckers used to take me down.

Christ, I hoped not. Or, if they had, that they'd given her a hell of a smaller dose.

Another coughing fit came on, harder than the last one. I winced, coughed again, and spit out more red phlegm.

Fuck.

Coughing up blood was a more recent development in the three days that I'd spent in this shithole. Sucked, but certainly not fatal. I had a pretty good idea of what-and who-I was being kept for.

Laignech.

I cracked my neck a bit, then leaned back against the wall with a sigh. My cell had no lights above it, leaving me almost entirely in the shadows. That didn't bother me-I'd spent more of my existence in the dark than I ever did out of it. Whatever s**t they gave me was enough to keep me from breaking free of this cell, but my wolf's eyes worked just fine. I returned to studying the girl.

The girl's breathing was slow but even. Her ripped collar line left one bra strap exposed, the pink lace standing out against the black cotton shirt.

Her blue jeans looked dirty, but otherwise intact. Scuffed sneakers on her feet.

I lifted my head and sniffed. No body fluids that I could detect, other than sweat and a little blood. Scratches and scrapes, most likely. The bastards hadn't raped her, but in a way, that was worse.

It meant she was being kept alive for just one reason.

Fuck.

Images of other women popped to my mind, unprompted and unwanted.

Niamh. Blonde hair, dancing green eyes. She had been the first.

Aisling. Red hair, eyes the color of the sky. Barely more than a child.

And...

Fiona. Her beauty had only been surpassed by her bravery. She had done what I couldn't, at the last, and still managed to smile up at me as she died in my arms, the fires of the torched encampment burning around us.

I closed my eyes.

Goddess, please. Don't make me do this again. I know it's why I continue to exist, and I've always accepted that. Once upon a time, I could do what must be done.

I knew the price that must be paid.

But I can no longer bear the cost.

I hadn't been too surprised when the basement door opened and booted footsteps headed down the stairs. After all, I'd smelled her. Soon as they'd carried her, already unconscious, into the house.

"Brought you a roommate," Declan had said, his tone genial.

He'd spoken in Gaelic, as most of our people did when amongst our own. The girl's limp body was draped over one shoulder, his arm around the back of her thighs. They'd set up a narrow bed against the wall, opposite of my side of the basement.

He'd laid her carefully on the bed, in the position she still slept in. Then he'd grinned at me over his shoulder.

"She's quite beautiful. Too bad she's not for you, eh?"

Knowing I was watching, Declan reached down. He trailed a hand through her hair, down her back, and over her ass. I'd growled in response, which made him laugh.

"Down boy," he teased. "Look on the bright side, fealltoir. You don't have to worry about killing this one. You won't get the chance."

Whistling, he'd gone back up the steps. The door opened and shut, and then silence. No one had been down here since.

Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath and opened my senses.

I could smell her.

Residual sweat and fear from whatever Declan and his merry little band of fucktards put her through.

Blood. Not her own, though. I frowned, concentrating. No, not hers, but not exactly the metallic tinge that always came with shifter blood, either.

A man's scent. But again, odd - not exactly human, but not exactly that of a shifter. I filed that little piece of information away for later and refocused on the girl herself.

Vanilla. The warm, somewhat peppery scent of cinnamon. Her shampoo, perhaps, or lotion. Whatever it was, it smelled delicious.

I drew in another deep breath, enjoying it. Inside, my wolf rumbled pleasure at it, too. That was no surprise-after three days down here, she was literally a breath of fresh air. And she was attractive - I didn't need to see her face to know that.

But there was something else....

I breathed deeply, then again.

There.

She was an unshifted wolf. Not quite of age, then - our kind couldn't tap into their wolf's essence until their twenty-first birthday. She had to be close, though - based on what I'd seen of her so far, she looked to be around twenty. My shoulders slumped. There was no doubt about it, then.

After all these years, all this time-Laignech had found another one.

A Chosen.

It was more than that, though.

There was something about her that was putting my wolf on edge. Wolfsbane or not, he'd been agitated and restless since she'd been brought over the threshold of the house. Even moreso from the moment Declan had carried her down. This restless unease had only grown stronger since then.

Who are you, ceann beag?

"Why does everyone keep calling me that," she mumbled into her pillow.

My eyes went wide. I sat up straight, staring at her. She'd shifted, but was still turned away from me.

Holy s**t. How-

She heard that? We could mindlink with others of our kind, at least while in wolf form, but I'd never heard of it happening in an unshifted wolf. Not even between shifters and their underaged pups. The only way it'd even be possible was between-

Oh, f**k," I whispered, stunned.

My heart pounded almost painfully as the realization set in.

"You gotta be shitting me."

Between fated mates.