The Wolf's Moon

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Rebecca Brochu

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-479-5

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Marie Medina

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For you, as always.

  THE WOLF'S MOON

  Naughty Fairy Tales

  Rebecca Brochu

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  Silke stops a short ways from Oma’s house to rest beside a burbling creek. She knows that she’s on the last leg of the journey, and that she’ll be within sight of her cottage with only a half hour more of travel. She could press on, but the day is young and her throat is dry and the combination makes the cool waters of the creek entirely too appealing to pass by.

  She’s resting on the edge of the bank, thin cloak doing little in the way of protecting her from the cold and the light dusting of snow on the ground as she rests, basket filled with bread and other gifts sitting beside her. She’s leaned over the edge of the creek, hands cupped to lift icy water to her lips, when the feeling of being watched creeps down her spine. She tenses, feels the hair on the back of her neck prickle with awareness as she slowly raises her head. Silke jerks in shock, water clinging to the tips of her fingers as one of her hands automatically moves towards the dagger at her waist, because standing on the opposite side of the creek is a man.

  The first thing Silke notices is the fact that he’s massive, taller even than Emil, Silke suspects. He’s dark is what Silke sees next, skin tanned to a rich golden hue. His hair is a deep brown and long enough that it brushes the nape of his neck, edges uneven like they’ve been hacked off instead of cut smoothly. Too much space separates them for Silke to make out the color of his eyes, but she’s sure they’re dark as well. What gets her attention the most is the fact that he’s also bare-chested, flat copper nipples and thick ropey muscles on full display despite the winter’s chill. Clad only in a pair of light tan breeches that strain against the thick muscles of his thighs and a small pouch tied securely at his hip, he looks more than slightly wild.

  Silke feels a bubble of appreciation well up in her stomach, a sense of awareness sliding along the edges of her mind before she shakes it off. She cannot afford to allow herself to be distracted, no matter how tempting the stranger’s skin looks, or how Silke is sure that it would be more than pleasing to run her fingers over the well-defined muscles of his stomach. Eyes moving over the rest of the stranger, Silke’s startled to notice that he’s not even wearing boots and his feet are dirty from trekking through the forest.

  The man takes a step forward, and Silke hastily levers herself to her feet so she can take one back to match. She watches, confused as the stranger’s thick brows draw down and his lips twist into a deep frown of displeasure.

  “Do you have business with me, stranger?” Silke’s voice is steady and her hand grips the hilt of her dagger firmly as she calls out her question. The man is large and obviously strong, muscles thick and shoulders wide, but Silke has seen scarier things. She’ll be damned before she’ll flee at the first sight of an unknown man.

  “What is your name?” The man ignores her question and asks one of his own in a deep, honey smooth voice that sends a shiver down Silke’s spine.

  “I see no reason to answer a man who will not answer me.” Silke is ridiculed and pushed around enough in her own village; she will not allow some stranger in the forest to run roughshod over her as well. Not even a handsome one.

  “I saw you from a distance. I mean you no harm.” He waves a large-palmed hand in the air to punctuate his statement and then he takes another step forward, stopping just shy of the creek. “What’s your name, little one?” This time his voice is gentler, almost coaxing.

  “Silke. They call me Silke.” Silke eyes the stranger warily, but she can see no actual harm in giving the man her name.

  “Silke.” He says it slowly, like he’s testing it out or savoring the flavor of it on his tongue.

  “Yes, and your name?” Silke prompts him.

  “Raoul.” The now named Raoul gazes at her steadily, attention focused to such a degree that Silke has to resist the urge to fidget. It’s unusual for her to be the focus of someone’s attention like this, for someone to seem so eager to observe her. She doesn’t have long to focus on the thought before Raoul is speaking again.

  “You’re going to see the old woman in the woods, the one called Oma.” He gestures down towards Silke’s feet as he speaks. It’s not exactly a question; it’s more of a statement as if Raoul knows exactly what Silke is doing. Silke glances down, eyes locking on the covered basket that she’d forgotten all about and when she looks back up she draws in a sharp startled breath.

  That quickly Raoul has made his way across the creek, moving so silently through the icy water that Silke had not heard him approach, and is standing directly in front of her.

  Raoul holds her gaze as he bends at the knees, movements slow and careful, and reaches out a hand to pick up Silke’s basket. Silke goes to protest, hand still on her dagger and words on her tongue, but before she can, Raoul straightens to his full height, basket in hand, and takes a step back and away.

  “These woods are not always safe, Silke. I’d like to go with you, at least part of the ways if you would allow it.” He says it with a sort of soft, gentle patience that seems so out of place with his massive size that it renders Silke speechless.

  Mouth agape and mind blank, Silke stares at Raoul for a moment before she manages to shake herself out of her daze. Then, caution rearing up inside her once more, she takes another step back so that she’s even farther out of arm’s reach. She is aware that Raoul has had ample time to harm her and hasn’t, but it’s a delayed reaction. It’s a survival tactic that she has honed over the years spent in her village where being close enough to grab is never a wise idea. Mistakes like that can get her beaten in the wrong company, and it’s a lesson that Silke has taken to heart and normally tries to follow.

  Raoul frowns at her again, his brows drawing downward and his lips tightening like he can sense the direction of Silke’s thoughts, and for the first time his eyes capture Silke’s attention. They’re not dark like Silke thought they would be; instead they’re a strange shade of blue green, the colors seeping into one another in a way she’s never seen before. For a moment they remind her of her own eyes, of what it would look like if her own green and blue were to mix.

  Their gazes lock and hold, and Silke feels like she’s floating and sinking all at the same time, like some part of her that she never knew existed is waking up for the first time in her life. A sense of awareness, an almost nervous sort of energy that’s never been there before is running underneath her skin. It’s curling fitfully in her chest and making her aware of Raoul on a level that’s almost uncomfortable.

  “Why?” Her voice sounds far away to her own ears, but she knows the question is an important one, knows that she needs the answer for Oma’s safety if not her own.

  “Because I would not see you trek through these woods alone and without proper protection, Silke. You’re far too precious to be lost to some beast on the prowl for easy prey.”

  The words send a jolt through Silke’s system, and this time when Raoul ta
kes a step closer to her Silke doesn’t move away. Instead she sways forward into Raoul’s space, head tipped back and throat exposed as she gazes up at him. Raoul’s eyes narrow, and Silke doesn’t miss the way his gaze dips down to stare at the pale expanse of her neck. She can’t help but lick her lips as a surge of lust hits her low in the belly at the way Raoul’s eyes brighten. It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before, and it makes her almost giddy, makes her willing to consider doing all sorts of things that she’s never been willing to do before, especially not with a stranger.

  “Will you let me take you where you need to go, Silke?” The question rings with dual meaning, like there are two conversations happening at once. Silke can’t help but respond to both of them, can’t help the way her body and her heart are tugging her to respond even though she doesn’t know why.

  “Yes.” It comes out like a breathy sigh, a quiet little noise that’s practically pulled out of her.

  “Silke.” Raoul’s voice is a low rumble of sound bordering on a growl. Raoul’s head dips down towards Silke, so close she can feel his breath on her face, warm puffs of air warming the tip of her nose and her red bitten lips. For a moment Silke thinks Raoul is going to kiss her, lick his way into her mouth and tangle their tongues together hotly, and she sucks in a sharp breath. The sound seems to break the spell that’s holding the both of them, and Raoul takes a step back and away, massive chest rising and falling in a deep sigh as he pointedly turns in the direction of Oma’s cottage.

  Silke can feel her cheeks flush red as the embarrassment over her lapse in attention and obvious staring sweeps over her. She can’t believe the way she was so easily swayed and tempted by this man. She can’t let herself get tangled up in some shallow infatuation with a stranger when she knows that it will more than likely only end in her getting hurt.

  Silke clears her throat loudly and does her best to keep from meeting Raoul’s eyes as she steps up beside him, hand held out to get her basket back. She’s slightly ashamed and extremely embarrassed that she’d acted like some weak-willed, swooning village girl for a moment. Still she’s not going to go back on giving Raoul her permission to escort her the rest of the way. All other things aside she’s extremely curious. Even though she knows better, even though she knows she should walk away and never look back, she still wants to know more about this man. This man, whose presence alone makes Silke hungry, makes her want to press herself closer to his chest when she’s always been wary of contact and distant with most people. This man who can make her ignore the precautions she’s always lived by so easily.

  “I have it.” Raoul seems adamant about it, and Silke drops her hand back down by her side, slightly puzzled. She doesn’t understand why it seems like such an important issue to Raoul but letting him carry the basket is a small matter so Silke does her best to ignore the childish urge to snatch it back. She has other things to focus on, like trying to tamp down her reactions to this man she’s only just met and making her way to Oma’s house. She needs to keep her mind focused firmly on those issues and not wandering off on fanciful daydreams.

  “Do you know Oma well?” she asks curiously after they’ve been moving together for a bit and she can no longer abide the silence. Silke is sure that Oma would have mentioned Raoul to her if they were acquainted, would have told Silke somewhere along the line about the stranger in the woods.

  “After a fashion. Most know of her and her ways, and she’s well known for being generous and kind when it comes to bartering for healing,” Raoul replies, voice even and eyes trained on the path before them.

  Silke smiles softly to herself because she remembers Oma lecturing her about the importance of such things over the years. She’d always made it a point to tell her that with her runes and charms, the potions and poultices, came the responsibility to help others. While Oma was open about her anger with the villagers she’d never encouraged Silke to turn them away when they approached her. Oma’d always told her to help them while she was still there and that a time would come when they would no longer be her concern. Silke’s still not sure Oma meant by that exactly but as always she took her words to heart. Brought out of her thoughts, Silke catches the way Raoul is staring at her curiously and arches a brow in response.

  “I had heard rumors that she’d finally taken on an apprentice a few years back, a girl with a gift for charms and runes. You must be powerful if she took you under her wing.” Raoul’s voice is casual, but Silke tenses and draws in on herself anyways, used to the idea of her gifts bringing her nothing but grief.

  “Indeed.” She doesn’t try to deny it, doesn’t try to act as if it isn’t true, but she can’t bring herself to say anything else either.

  “I’ve said something to upset you.” There’s a tension in Raoul’s voice that wasn’t there before. Silke is pleasantly surprised to find only confusion on the man’s face when she looks at him again.

  “It doesn’t bother you to be alone in the woods with a sorceress? I could curse you.” Silke feels ridiculous saying the word, calling herself by the same title the villagers do, but she wants to know the truth for once. If this stranger is leery of her then there is little hope of her ever finding companionship.

  “Sorceress, is that what they call you?” Silke is surprised by the way Raoul bites the question out.

  “Yes, well it’s one of many names the villagers have for me. I’m surprised you didn’t know that if word of Oma teaching me has spread as far as you say,” Silke says.

  “None I know of would ever be so disrespectful. People with your power should be honored, their abilities treated as the gifts that they are. Your village is filled with fools.” Raoul practically snarls, and Silke is stunned when she looks up at him and sees the barely leashed anger in his face.

  Silke is silent as they keep walking, surprised at his defense and surprised at the idea of someone else besides Oma who openly appreciates her gifts instead of shunning them. The thought is enough to distract her from her other questions for the moment so they walk together in silence. She’s lost inside her own head; mind consumed with thoughts of what her life would have been like in a village filled with people like Raoul. Silke almost doesn’t notice it when Raoul stops walking. She takes a moment to look around and realizes that somehow they’ve covered far more distance than she thought they had and Oma’s cottage is just past the next line of trees.

  “What’s the matter, Raoul? Why’ve you stopped?” Silke is looking forward to seeing him and Oma interact, to finding out just what the older woman thinks of him.

  “I have no need to visit her today, Silke. I only wanted to walk with you for a while.” Raoul steps forward until they’re close enough again for Silke to feel his breath on her face, to see the pulse beating strong in his neck. Silke feels her own breath catch in her throat, feels her heart speed up again in her chest just like it had before. She has to force herself to breathe deeply, to take a step back and to ignore the way disappointment flashes across Raoul’s face when she puts a bit of distance between them. She can’t let herself fall into the same daze she had before.

  Desperate for a distraction, for anything to focus on that isn’t Raoul’s eyes or the tiny licks of lust that are once again stirring to life in her own belly, Silke casts her eyes around frantically. The expanse of Raoul’s wide, bare shoulders catches her eyes, and Silke blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

  “Aren’t you cold dressed that way? You should at least have boots.”

  “I’ve clothes elsewhere, but the cold doesn’t bother me overmuch.” Raoul’s eyes rake over the thin and obviously old cloak that Silke is wearing. “I could ask you the same, Silke. Your cloak is little more than a ragged cloth.”

  “True, but it’s the only one I have and at least it covers me for the most part.” Silke doesn’t bother acting offended. She knows it’s true. She’s had the cloak for years, but she’s never gotten around to buying or making a new one. She knew the villagers would overcharge her for eithe
r the cloth required to make one or a new cloak itself.

  “You should have a fine cloak, little one, something to keep you warm on your travels.” Raoul smiles, and Silke is almost dismayed to realize he has dimples, deep little nooks carved into the corners of his mouth. Silke needs to get away from this conversation quickly.

  “I’m afraid this one will have to do. Now thank you for walking with me.” Silke holds her hand out for her basket, fingers curling around the handle when Raoul finally hands it to her. She shifts it to the crook of her elbow and reaches back to draw her hood up again when Raoul reaches out and wraps thick fingers around her left wrist.

  “What are you doing?” Alarm arches through Silke, and she curses herself for not heeding a lifetime of learning and staying out of arm’s reach the entire time. Raoul’s grip is strong, his fingers a hot, unbreakable circle around her wrist. The skin of his palm is warm enough that Silke can actually understand why he’s only half dressed even in the face of such a chill.

  “Hush now, little one, I’m not going to hurt you,” Raoul says calmly.

  “Then let me go!” She tugs against the hold Raoul has on her, but her struggle goes unnoticed. Silke can feel her breathing begin to quicken again, can feel panic forming in her breast and she’s ready to drop her basket and reach for her dagger when Raoul lifts her captured wrist up towards his face. She watches, confused, as Raoul simply runs his nose across the soft skin of her inner wrist and breathes deeply like he’s taking in her scent.

  “Raoul?” She can’t help the way it comes out, a half breathless whisper.

  Raoul drops her wrist like he’s been burnt and takes a hasty step back, face blank and thick eyebrows drawn down in a harsh arch.