Servant of the Moon #1 - unedited draft

Comhnyall ran into the chaos of the blizzard and his burning home. Shifting to his warform, he tore out the throats of two wolves who had Cameron pinned down. Comhnyall swallowed his horror as he knelt over his oldest friend while shifting into his skin. He could feel the heat of the fires around him in stark contrast to the frozen ground biting into his knees.

Cameron was gutted, but he reached up and pulled his friend’s head to his lips, “Nyall... Cullen... father... aire traitors... Thay.... thay took M-Moire an’ Ainsss.” His strawberry blonde head lulls as his hand falls away. He had gone to the Moon.

Comhnyall howls for his childhood friend as fur covers skin, then he turns and tears the two wolves stalking toward him in half. A third flees from him. His wolf wants his blood, but Comhnyall doesn’t have time to chase the coward down. He must find his mate.

‘Where aire ye, Moire?’ Comhnyall asked in desperation, as he threw himself onto another wolf.

These were not rogues, these were trained pack warriors, but he was trained in the traditions of the Wemyss warriors and they were no match for him. His golden warform glowing with the fire around him, as he killed every wolf who was not of New Wemyss. He was almost blinded by his wolf’s rage and grief, so many were dead and yet they still attacked. They had killed most of the females and children and were still killing them. If he died this night, he would die a warrior with honor, but first he had to get Moire and Ainsley to safety.

‘We’re in the barn by the north wall. Hurry, Comhnyall. Cullen wants ta kill Ainsley.’ Moire sounded like she was fighting.

He dropped from warform into wolf and ran for the barns on the far side of the Keep, dodging groups of battling wolves. Their home was lost, most of it was burning. Most of the pack were dead. The Alpha and a few warriors and pack members were still fight against overwhelming odds. He shifted into his warform at the door, listening. Controlled rage was all he feels as he heard Cullen’s father’s voice.

“Give us tha brat, Moire, an’ we’ll let ye live.” Beta Cauly was standing beside Cullen. Three warriors were with them, two have crossbows. Comhnyall knew he couldn’t risk charging in, he could smell silver.

A bloody Moire was by the back wall of the barn, 5 year old Ainsley pressed against the wall behind her. There were four dead warriors on the floor between her and the traitors.

Her voice was fierce.“Yu’ll nah touch ’er, Cauly. Aye’ll nah let ye harm ’er.”

“She can nah live Moire, all tha Wemyss wolves aire ta die tonight. But thay gave ye ta meh ’cause I love ye. Yur meh mate, now come along,” Cullen growled.

“Nay, I’m nah yur mate, an’ I’ll nah let ye kill mo sister. I’ll end ye like I did these dogs.” Moire’s courage made Comhnyall feel so proud.

Quietly, he moved to the wall behind her and sunk his claws into the mortar between the logs. He could feel her on the other side and she could feel him, ‘I’m here Moire, jus’ behin’ tha wall. Be ready ta run.′

A large, burnt and bloody form bumps him. Alpha Wemyss was almost dead, half his face was torn to shreds and his flesh was hanging off in ribbons, but he sank his claw into the wall above Comhnyall’s.

He looked at Comhnyall with his only remaining blood-filled eye, as his wolf spoke to Comhnyall in the old language, ‘Tearruinn mo nigheanan, fìrinneach agus mhac dhileas (Save/rescue my daughters, my true and faithful son).’

Aloud the Alpha growled softly around his broken fangs and dislocated jaw, “Traaaaitorrrrss airrre minnne.”

Comhnyall bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Together as one they ripped the back wall of the barn away, Comhnyall caught Moire and Ainsley away as the Alpha charged through the hole, roaring a snarling challenge. Comhnyall felt Cauly and Cullen die before the Alpha loses his final battle and goes to the Moon. Comhnyall uses his claws to climb the wall behind the barn with Moire and Ainsley on his back. He felt something stab his lower back, shoulder, and his leg, it burned like silver, but he didn’t stop climbing. Jumping down, he held the sisters to his back as he fled into the whiteout and the darkness. He felt Moire pull the one out of his shoulder, but the tip remained buried and burning in his muscle. The one in his back bounces against his flesh then stopped. He can feel the warmth of blood running down but he kept running until miles were between them and the enemy.

Comhnyall struggled for breath in the frigid air as he ran the Black River Road. He knew it was the fastest way to escape and they wouldn't be followed. It was an unspoken rule of werewolves, never take a human road, but he ignored it. No human would be out in this storm. Silver burned his wounds but he did not stop until he realized Moire was losing her grip. He lowered himself to the snowy surface of the road, letting Moire and Ainsley slide off his back. He reachds down and pulled a crossbow bolt from his thigh then reaches for the one that was in his back, but his hands are so numb he can’t feel it. He couldn’t shift until the silver in his shoulder was dug out.

Moire was kneeling in the snow, hunched over. Suddenly, he realizes the blood on his claw, and his back isn’t his. She sagged against his warform, clutched against her lower stomach. Her hand impaled completely through by a crossbow bolt with a jagged three sided arrowhead. The arrow had gone through her body to wound him.

“I’m sorry Comhnyall, I’m... I’m so tired,” she whispered as her eyes fluttered shut.

He whined because he cannot speak in this form. It was a skill he had not yet learned. He motioned to Ainsley to get on his back and she does. He carefully lifted Moire in his arms. Two more miles and they would be safe at Mamó’s hidden home. He knew he must hurry, he could feel Moire slipping away to the fields of the Moon with the rest of their pack. Comhnyall reached out to the pack link, but there was no one else left of the once great warrior wolves of New Wemyss. Everyone else had gone to the Moon.

Mamó was waiting when Comhnyall limped onto the icy path of the Hellgate uillt, the wind had completely stopped. The lidded eye of the moon peered down on the wounded wolves through flying clouds. Mamó splashed him with a strange smelling liquid, but he was too worried about Moire to wonder what it was. Inside, his warform whined as he carefully laid her on the table. He did not notice the wind began howling again worse than before, as if the storm was aiding in their escape. Nor did he notice Mamó cut the silver arrowhead from his shoulder, he only felt his mate falling away from this world.

“M’ogha, shift back now, I need ye to hold ’er while I take tha arrow out,” Mamó’s ancient voice commanded him and he had no choice but to obey. His frozen fur sinking under his numb skin hurt, but the pain Moire was feeling coursed through his stomach like fire and he wanted to scream for her. Mamó cut the tail of bolt off and slid it carefully out. Pouring hot oil and herbs into the wound, Moire tried to thrash but Comhnyall held her still as gently as he could. She was so strong, she had to live. He prayed to the Goddess to give them more time together. Suddenly, Moire’s thrashing body stilled and he heard her heart stop.

“Comhnyall, ye must mark ’er now!”

“M-Mamó?” he stuttered in question.

“Bite ‘er, lad an’ go bring ’er back,” Mamó hissed, pushing Moire’s body into his arms.

Ainsley sat down by the hearth, tears running down her face, as she stared at nothing. Moire’s little sister opened and closed her mouth like she was speaking, pleading, but no sound came out of her blood crusted throat.

Sobbing, Comhnyall sunk his teeth into Moire’s shoulder. He felt his soul ripping apart, twisting and knotting as Moire’s soul tried to take him with her to the Moon, but instead he held onto her with everything in his being.

Around them everything was lush and green, like the perfect springtime. He could see their families and pack waiting for them in the Moon Goddess’ fields.

Far away, he heard Ainsley’s childish voice calling in the old language, begging, “Mo phiuthar, airson beagan den nas seusan, a ’tighinn dhachaigh, (Sister, come back home for a few seasons more.)”

Comhnyall shouted Moire’s name. His tawny wolf was already dragging her coppery one back to the land of the living, as he ran after her. Ahead of him, Moire stopped and looked over her shoulder, then she turned and ran toward him, throwing herself into his arms. Comhnyall lifted her like a bride and turned to follow his wolf. He did not look back. He knew if he did, he would turn around and stay with their loved ones.

Moire clutched his neck as tears ran down her face.“Ye came for meh, Nyall,” she whispered, “I knew ye would nah let meh go alone.”

He breathed in her scent of dawn and flowers and sea air, “I told ye, mo ghradh (my dearest), I would chase ye ta tha moon an’ back.” Then the darkness took them into the land of dreamless sleep.

A day later...

A thousand or more miles away, an aging silver-blonde Alpha watched his son training in the winter sun. His beloved Luna clapped her hands and praised him with each warrior he bested. She was exceedingly proud of her son, even if she hadn’t birth him. Their son was a gift from her Alpha through a Breeder or so she believed. The young Alpha looked exactly like his father and would soon be taking over his pack. Five or ten more years and he would be ready. The Alpha already had the perfect Luna picked out for his son, the daughter of the oldest Alpha bloodline on the continent. A she-wolf his oracle believed was born to be a queen. Soon his warriors would be back with the young Luna and the courtship could begin.

He smirked, courtship... the girl would be given a choice, submit or die a slow death of silver chains and starvation.

The Des Rues High Oracle walked into his office without knocking. She refused to be called the Elder Oracle, declaring she was not old and her beauty would not allow it.

More like her vanity would not allow it, the Alpha thought malevolently. She was lovely in body, but her dark, selfish soul made her hideous to him. Even his wolf disliked her. She came to stand beside her Alpha as if it were her place.

“What news from the Tides?” He demanded without turning his head.

“The attack against the stone cave wolves was a success, the kingdom should now come to the sons of Des Rues as the oldest pack in this land,” she answered pensively.

“But?”

“But what?”

“When the Moon speaks there is always a 'but', Oracle,” the Alpha retorted.

“The shewolf born to be queen has vanished from my sight. She may be dead. Now, it is unclear if it will be our son or grandson, who will inherit the prophecy.” She shifted in her flowing red robes as though nervous. “And another omen that I do not understand appeared. I saw an ancient signal of betrayal burning and twins moons standing before the Moon closed Her Eye to me. She felt... angry. When I returned from my vision, my scrying bowl was dry.”

The Oracle shifted on her feet as they watched the Luna and the young Alpha. The young warriors watching their future leader fight cheered for him. His mother clapped and the oracle felt a twinge of jealousy, she should be the one sitting there, not her.

“That will be all, Oracle,” The Alpha said. Then he turned and caught her arm in a vise like grip, in a low deadly tone he added, “And Valeria, if you ever call him ‘our son’ again, you will meet your Moon Goddess sooner rather than later. He is my son, mine and Luna Ann’s. I purchased his birth for her from a Breeder whore. Do you understand?”

Valeria trembled with fear and desire as the sparks of the mate bond shivered across her skin, setting the bond ablaze between them. She was afraid and tantalized at the same time by the magnificence and malevolence of her true mate. But she was an Elder Oracle, so she held her head high and held his gaze, “Yes, Alpha Charles. I understand. Anything else?”

He sneered at her before looking back to watch his son, Charlemagne, training to be an Alpha King, the first in this land. To be a king, he would need a queen. “Oracle Valeria, contact the temple and make my offer again, If she still refuses, find her weakness. My son will have a powerful Luna, one who is worthy to be a queen and the mother of my grandpups. She will suffice if the other has been lost.”

“Hmmph! She does not need him, she speaks for the Goddess Herself,” Valeria reminded scoffing, “That is all the power and influence she will ever need.”

He laughed. “Your Goddess is dead or sleeping. If She wasn’t, She would have stripped you of your power long ago. Now get out, I do not want a conniving whore like you in the presence of my Luna and son.”

Feeling bold, Valeria leaned in and sniffed his shoulder, “As you wish my Alpha, but do not forget your promise and that my payment is still unmet.”

The Council of Oracles had stripped her of her rank as Delphi when they caught her using her influence to help her True mate, but he had promised to destroy them and make her the New High Oracle. She would have her own Temple here in the heart of this continent where she was given the respect she deserved and those twin brats would bow to her, as their mother and grandmother had refused.

She turned in a swirl of red silk and glided out of his office. Charles grimaced, Valeria wanted to be the Delphi and to have her own school and temple for oracles. The only way it would be possible would be if the child Delphi agreed to be his son’s Luna, she could not be both Delphi and Queen Luna, or could she? Charles tapped his finger contemplatively.

He sent a message to his brother Lothaire. The girl had found her mate and they were waiting to for her to come of age and for the two years of courtship required of the Delphi's rank to be met. Young, mate-lost females often sought a replacement mate quickly, perhaps the Delphi just needed a little encouragement before being brought to his son’s kingdom.

Hidden and safe, Mamó would not let the wounded Comhnyall leave Moire’s side for almost two weeks, telling him he must hold her hand until he fully healed and she finally woke. The wounds left by the silver headed bolts healed very slowly, and Mamó was certain the tip that had impaled Moire had been poisoned with something since she wasn’t healing as she should. But what the poison was, Mamó could not figure out.

With each passing day, the silence became unbearable for Comhnyall. He had listened to the constant murmur of the pack link his entire life and now there was only emptiness. Even Moire’s warm soothing presence, like sunshine after a dark, cold night was gone. His body healed under Mamó’s ministrations, but his soul ached. He thought he would go insane from the silence. He even found himself wondering if perhaps it would have been better if they had stayed on the Moon with their loved ones, or if he should send Moire, Ainsley, and Mamó before seeking out those who wanted them all dead.

The desire for revenge began to bind itself to his soul with silver chains, forged with every nightmare he dreamed about that night. Twisted with grief, his mind played over and over the many scenarios where Moire had died that night. Fear of her death became a sickness to his soul and he wanted to shake her awake. More often than not, he woke with his face wet with tears and still she slept, pale as the dead who haunted his sleep.

One day when he had fallen asleep in a deep depression, he woke to the sensation of tingles along his scalp. Jerking his head up, golden dawn eyes held his blue ones.

He wasn’t sure it was real until she whispered, “Ye came fur meh, mo ciele (my mate).”

For the first time since that night, he breathed out in relief. He had not even realized he had been holding his breath, awaiting her death. “Aye, I told ye I would chase ye ta tha Moon and back, mo ghradh (my dearest).”

She smiled at him weakly, then lifted her head with a terrified look, “Nyall, I can nah hear tha pack.”

He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head violently as tears glistened and ran into her hair as she lay on her side.

“Nay, do nah tell me, I will nah believe ye. Et is nah true. Nay. Et is nah true.” Her voice rose every time she repeated it. Sobbing, she bit the back of her hand. Suddenly her eyes flashed with rage, “’Ye ’ave nah been back ta tha Keep?!?” It as more an accusation than a question.

“Nay, Moire. Mamó woul’ nah let me leave ye.”

“Go. GO! And do nah come back until ye checked tha whole Keep. Thar may be wounded, or children or...” Moire started hysterically.

“Moire, thay aire nah there,” he interrupted. “I felt ’em all die. When I came after ye, I saw ‘em all, thay were en tha Fields of tha Moon waitin’ fur us. Thay...”

Moire’s slap silenced him, she had never struck him unless they were training. “Go an’ check tha Keep! An’ do nah come back ’til ye ’ave,” she hissed angrily.

Comhnyall nodded, and stood. He had spent two weeks thinking about their losses and his grief, she had just awakened to it. Mamó and Ainsley were standing in the doorway of the only bedroom. He walked between them and went out the door. As he stripped outside the door, he listened to the sound of Moire’s grief before he dropped into his wolf and ran across the frozen frithe and along the shore of the ice-bound Black Lake.