Beneath a Midnight Moon

"Get back into bed!" Kylene glared at Hardane, her hands fisted on her hips. "Right now!" she said, practically shouting the words.



"I've been in this blasted bunk over a week. That's long enough!"



"Hardane of Argone, you are the most stubborn man I've ever known."



"I'm the only man you've ever known!" he retorted irritably. "Now give me my breeches so I can get up."



"No."



"By all the saints, Kylene, I've a mind to turn you over my knee."



His dark gray eyes really looked like thunderclouds now, she thought.



"Kylene!"



She cocked her head to one side, a smile flitting over her lips. "Are we having our first fight, my lord wolf?"



He grinned back at her. "So it would seem." He swung his legs over the bunk, biting back an oath as the movement sent long tendrils of pain skittering up and down the length of his thigh. "And I mean to win it."



"Please, Hardane, just one more day in bed. You need the rest."



"I can't, Kylene. I can't leave my parents in that dungeon another day. Don't ask it of me."



She relented immediately, touched by the pleading in his eyes, the urgency in his voice.



"I'm going with you," she said, handing him his breeches.



"No."



"Yes."



"Kylene . . ."



"Hardane . . ."



He glared at her as he pulled on his breeches and then, with a sigh of resignation, he drew her into his arms. Ah, but it felt good to hold her close, to inhale the sweet scent that was hers, and hers alone. Her skin was soft and smooth under his hands. As always, her body molded itself to his, two halves of the same whole, the same heart.



Closing his eyes, he buried his face in the wealth of her hair. When he'd been locked in the dungeon of the Fortress, certain he'd never see her again, he had dreamed of holding her like this just one more time. And now she was here, in his arms, and her very nearness made all his senses come alive.



Kylene wrapped her arms around Hardane's waist and held him tight. No matter what happened, she vowed she would not be parted from him again. Not in life. Not in death.



She drew away as there came a knock at the door, followed by Jared's voice advising them that the coast of Mouldour was in sight.



Sharilyn blinked several times in an effort to bring her vision into focus. She'd been drugged, she thought absently, a sleeping potion of some kind.



She glanced around the room, and the movement, slight as it was, made her head ache. She was lying on a large, circular bed in a narrow, low-ceilinged room. There were bars at the windows.



Sitting up, she saw that the bed took up a good portion of the floor space in the middle of the room. There was no other furniture save for a small rough-hewn oak table that held a white porcelain bowl and a pitcher of water.



How long had she been here? Days? Weeks?



Slipping her legs over the edge of the mattress, she stood up and went to the door. It was locked, as she'd known it would be. Turning, she crossed the floor to the window. Outside, she saw the high walls and towers of Castle Mouldour.



Her first coherent thought was for Kray. Closing her eyes, she summoned her husband's image to mind. A low cry of despair welled in her throat when she saw him. He was locked in a dark cell in the lowest dungeons of Mouldour. The wound in his chest, located high, near his right shoulder, was festering. Lying on the cold stone floor, he tossed restlessly, his body racked by chills and fever. She called out to him, willing him to respond, but he seemed unable to hear her.



She whirled around at the sound of her door being unlocked, took an involuntary step backward as the Interrogator entered the room, closing the door behind him.



"So, what do you think?" Renick asked, his hand making a gesture to indicate the room.



"I think you'll regret this."



"Indeed?" His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "I mean to have you as my mate," he said coldly. "Should you refuse, should you do anything other than what you're told, your husband's life will surely be forfeit."



"He's nearly dead now," Sharilyn retorted.



The Interrogator's eyes gleamed with interest. "How do you know that?"



Sharilyn glared at him.



"You will tell me, or Kray will suffer for it."



"He's suffering now!" she exclaimed, and even as she spoke, she could feel the fever raging through Kray's body, feel the hard, cold floor beneath him. He was only barely conscious.



"I want to know the secret of that bond," Renick said. "If we mate, will it pass to me?"



"No."



"You're lying."



Sharilyn shook her head. "It's the truth. The bond cannot be taken by force. I cannot give it to you."



"Then what is the secret?"



"The bond can only be shared between those who are predestined to be life-mated, my lord," Sharilyn answered quietly, "or by those who are joined by bonds of love. My mind bond with Kray was forged out of our regard for each other. Had I been forced to wed against my will, no bond would have been possible, even though I have the power."



Renick frowned. "I don't believe you, but there are ways to get the truth."



"No! Leave Kray alone. I'm telling you the truth, I swear it on the lives of my children."



"Tell me the secret of shape shifting."



"There is no secret. As Kray said, it cannot be given away. It is inherent in the seventh born of one seventh born."



Renick stared at the woman, a vile oath whispering past his lips. She was telling him the truth. He knew it without doubt.



Rage and frustration welled up within him. He had spent a lifetime in pursuit of the secrets of the Wolffan, only to learn that he'd been chasing something with no more substance than a rainbow.



Crossing the floor, he snatched the bowl from the table and hurled it against the wall. The pitcher followed, and then the table.



With a wordless cry, he grabbed Sharilyn by the arm and threw her down on the bed, his body covering hers to hold her in place.



"If I can't have the secret of the Wolffan, then I'll have you," he muttered, his hands tearing at her clothes.



Sharilyn screamed as the Interrogator's hands clawed at her bodice. She scratched at his face, pummeled his body with her fists, and when her puny efforts to protect herself failed, she transformed into the wolf and bared her teeth.



Renick cursed his lack of foresight as he found himself straddling a wild-eyed she-wolf. Instinctively, he threw up one arm to ward off the wolf's attack, screamed with pain and terror as he felt the wolf's fangs sink into his shoulder.



Scrambling to his knees, he jumped off the bed and ran for the door, the sound of the wolf's growls and snapping teeth spurring him onward.



The wolf's jaws closed around his ankle as he opened the door. Panic added strength to his limbs and he lashed out at the animal with his free foot, catching the beast in the side and flinging it across the floor.



With a gasp, Renick ran out of the room, slammed the door behind him, and twisted the key in the lock.



Panting, he slumped against the wall. By all the saints, he thought, staring at the bloody gashes in his arm and ankle, he was lucky to be alive.



Hardane led the way toward the Fortress, grateful for the clouds that hung low in the sky. Kylene was behind him, followed by Jared and three of the crewmen from the Sea Dragon.



Silent as drifting shadows, they made their way to the outer wall. Jared and the crewmen overpowered the guards at the gate. One of Hardane's men stayed behind to make sure the guards didn't alert anyone to their presence.



Crossing the courtyard, they made their way to the dungeon. Hardane drew his sword as they reached the entrance to the dungeon, but there were no guards stationed at the doorway.



Frowning, he glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Kylene and the others were behind him, and then he started down the long stone stairway that led to the nethermost cells.



Each step he took sent a jolt of pain shooting up his right thigh. Perhaps Kylene had been right, he admitted grudgingly; perhaps he should have waited another day. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn't have waited any longer. He knew what it was like to be imprisoned in the bowels of the Fortress, knew he couldn't leave his parents there a minute longer than necessary.



He paused at the bottom of the steps. Head cocked to one side, he listened to the darkness, his nostrils testing the air, before he started forward.



He knew, even before he reached the first cell, that his parents were gone, the dungeon was empty.



"What is it?" Jared called.



"They're gone."



"Gone?" Kylene said. "Gone where?"



"I don't know."



"Do you think he . . . that they're . . ." She broke off, not wanting to say the words aloud.



"I don't know."



"Now what?" Jared asked.



"Castle Mouldour," Hardane mused aloud. "Renick must have known I'd come as soon as I was able. I think he would have taken them there."



"But why?"



"It's practically impregnable," Hardane replied, his voice thoughtful. "But one man might be able to steal inside."



"One man?" Jared mused, frowning. "Do you think that's wise?"



"I don't know, but I won't put Kylene's life at risk again. Come," he said, taking her by the arm, "let us go back to the ship."



He was limping badly by the time they returned to the Sea Dragon.



Kylene insisted that Hardane go to bed at once, and he didn't argue. He dutifully drank the warmed white wine she offered him and then he sank back against the pillows, his eyes closed, while she removed his shirt, boots, and breeches.



He sighed with pleasure as she began to massage his thigh. Her hands were warm, her touch as light as down as she gently rubbed the soreness from his leg.



Kylene felt her heart swell with love as she massaged Hardane's thigh. What a brave man he was, her warrior wolf.



Thinking him asleep, she started to draw away, but his hand closed lightly over her arm.



"Don't stop," he murmured.



With a wordless murmur of assent, Kylene began to massage his other leg, her fingers straying of their own accord higher and higher along the inside of his thigh.



She felt a quickening low in her belly as he moaned with pleasure. Boldly, she let her fingers knead the hard muscular plane of his chest and belly, the width of his shoulders, pleased by the little sounds of delight her touch elicited.



She let her hands slide over his strong, sturdy neck, and then over his shoulders again, marveling at his hard-muscled flesh. His skin was smooth and warm.



Impulsively, she began to press feather-light kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his navel.



With a groan, he caught her around the waist and pulled her onto the bed until she was sprawled across him.



"Lady," he murmured, and his voice was low and husky with desire.



"My lord?"



He cupped the back of her head with one hand and drew her toward him. Eyes still closed, he kissed her, a long, slow kiss that gradually grew in heat and intensity until she was clinging to him, everything forgotten but the power of his touch, and her need for him.



Without taking his mouth from hers, he somehow managed to ease her out of her dress and undergarments. When she would have pulled away to remove her boots and stockings, he shook his head, unwilling to let her go for even a moment.



He caressed her, his hands gentle, entreating. As if she would refuse him, she thought, overcome with a rush of love for this man who had risked his life for her, who knew her, and loved her, body and soul.



She basked in the adoration she read in his eyes, thrilled to his touch. He was a big man, hard-muscled and strong, yet he made love to her with infinite care, mindful of the new life she carried beneath her heart. His hands worshiped her; his kisses fanned the fire between them.



"Lady," he murmured, raining kisses along the side of her neck. "Ah, lady, you're like fire and silk in my hands."



"Am I?"



"Aye, lady." He groaned deep in his throat as her fingertips skimmed over his chest, trailing fire.



Kylene drew back. "Are you in pain, my lord wolf?" she asked, afraid she had accidentally jarred his injured thigh.



Hardane gazed up at her, a wry grin on his lips. "I'm in pain," he muttered, "but not where you think."



Kylene frowned at him, and then grinned, her cheeks growing warm as she took his meaning.



"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "To torment me with your nearness and then pull away?"



Before she could answer, he rolled them over and tucked her beneath him.



Careful not to crush her, he kissed her again, groaning softly as she arched against him. Her skin was smooth and soft, unblemished and beautiful. Her scent rose all around him, warm and musky. She moved restlessly beneath him, the friction of her skin against his inflaming his desire until he was trembling with need.



"Now, my lord wolf," she crooned softly, her hands gliding restlessly up and down his broad back, her nails lightly raking his flesh.



"Now," he agreed, and buried himself deep within her welcoming warmth.