Some Lycan Hot: Chapter 1

DARRIUS

Darrius sat a table in the corner of the Consortium’s extensive library with Lorcan O’Halloran, vampire and friend.

Lorcan spent most of his undead life either with his wife, Eva, or writing about the histories of parakind. He liked writing in script that hadn’t been used since the Middle Ages and he wrote on parchment. It was Eva who input the stories into digital files and saved them on the Broken Heart cloud.

“I’ve been through the histories that Damian gave me about the werewolves, but there’s not a lot about the 1944 village attack in Schwarzwald,” said Lorcan.

Darrius frowned. That part of their history was not one they often talked about. “My big brother asked you to write this?”

“He asked me to piece it together the best I could,” said Lorcan. “I do admit to taking some literary license based on what witnesses told me.”

“You mean my brothers?”

“Mostly,” admitted Lorcan. “Would you read it and let me know what changes I should make?”

Darrius took the parchment and pressed it against the table. He had a hollow feeling in his gut. Re-living the night that changed him and his brothers forever wouldn’t be pleasant. But the worst thing would be remembering how he lost Alaya, his mate, his heart, forever.

“Darrius, are you all right? Your heart rate has increased quite a bit.”

“What are you, a doctor?” groused Darrius. “I’m fine. Really.”

He started to read…

1944, Schwarzwald (The Black Forest), Germany

“Blood on the moon,” intoned the High Priestess. In the temple’s smallest chapel, candle light flickered against the gray stone walls. She stared at the crystal held by the life-sized statue of the Moon Goddess. Most lycanthropes could see the swirling colors, but only she could interpret their meanings. “It does not bode well.”

“Alaya, I’ve known you since we were pups,” said Damian with a grin. “You worry too much.”

“You might show some respect,” she said, one regal blonde brow rising. “I am the High Priestess.”

“And I am the crown prince.” Damian tweaked her nose.

Her lips twitched to keep from laughing. “Prince does not trump High Priestess.”

“Tonight, it does,” he said jovially. “Tonight, I will dance with my wife under the full moon.”

“Don’t jostle her too much,” said Alaya, only half-kidding. “Those babies are precious.”

“I know it too well,” said Damian. “But a celebration requires dancing. We have much to be grateful for.”

He gave Alaya a hug. His joy was so thick, she could almost breathe it in.

He had married a Roma noblewoman, a faction of werewolves who could only shift on the full moon. They were more human than wolf. Roma and full-blood lycanthropes hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye, but Damian wanted all lycanthropes to be one family.

His wife carried in her womb the hope of both their peoples.

Though she knew it had not been a love match, Damian and Anna had a deep respect for each other, and for their common goal of uniting the lycanthropes.

Alaya looked down at her scrying bowl. The dark red rim around the moon meant death. She wished she was wrong. Yet, her gift had never betrayed her.

She could only hope that Damian would be able triumph when Death arrived to claim his souls.

“Damian!”

Damian hurried into the bedroom already drawing his gun. His gaze swept the area as he assessed the danger to his wife.

She laughed. “We are not under attack. The babies are kicking.”

Grinning, Damian holstered the weapon and crossed the room, splaying his hand over her abdomen. Her stomach bulged under his palm.

“Restless,” he said. “You will come out soon,” he told his pups, “but for now, rest.”

“Why are you so jumpy?” she asked.

“I’m not jumpy.” He drew Anna into his embrace. “The Goddess has blessed us,” he said, “and tonight, we will celebrate those blessings.”

“The full-bloods and the Roma are at peace,” said Anna. “We are truly becoming one people.”

“Yes,” he said. “What we’ve created here is a good thing.”

“It’s too bad the humans continue to war,” she said. “Do you think they will discover us?”

“Nein,” said Damian. “Protections are in place. We are not part of their world.”

“I have heard terrible things,” she said softly. “I wish the whole business was done.”

“I was raised in America,” said Damian. “They are strong people. They will win.”

Anna looked uncertain, and Damian felt some inadequate. He always felt that way with her. She was fragile, always had been. She was soft-spoken, and kind-hearted. She could fight, just like all the lycans could, but she preferred discussion over violence.

“Go on,” she said. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“That means an hour.”

“Shoo!”

He left the room, smiling. He couldn’t stop smiling, not since Anna confirmed her pregnancy. Still, the High Priestess’s warning made foreboding claw at his guts. He would call Reiner and discuss their security plans. Maybe they could tighten patrols. He had no worries that the war being fought by the humans would spill into their village. They were protected, by spells, by warriors, by the Goddess herself.

No. Nothing would happen to them. An era of peace between the packs had unfolded, one he intended to keep.

The Roma and the full-bloods were one people, and would remain so. Damian stepped outside and looked at the bright, full moon. It was tinged red, just as Alaya predicted. He refused to believe that anything bad would happen on this night.

“Protect us, Goddess,” prayed Damian. “Protect her.”

The celebration was in full swing. Even High Priestess Alaya was dancing, her color high as she swung around the pavilion in the muscular arms of Darrius.

“You are lovely,” he said. His eyes suggested he wanted to kiss her, but the public place, and her public position, forbade such an intimacy.

“You shouldn’t look at a high priestess that way,” she said, laughing. “I believe you are violating the fourth sin listed in the Goddess Accords.

“Ah, yes. ‘And look not upon the maiden with lust, lest the essence of Tark take control. Let always the heart of your goddess whisper your choices.’”

“Very good,” said Alaya. “I’ve never known you to read, Darrius, much less study the religious scriptures.”

“Maybe I had a reason.”

“To impress the high priestess?”

Darrius twirled her, and she easily handled the moment, spinning back to land more securely in his arms.

“To impress the woman I want for my wife.”

Alaya blinked, her smile falling into an “O” of shock.

“Darrius. You know the duty to my goddess comes even before the bond of a husband. And you are not … blessed with patience. Nor do you share well with others.”

“Are you saying no, Alaya?”