Alpha Moon (2 page)

“And rightfully so,” said Ulric. “Who else would take care of our bloody father?”

Alaric threw his head back and laughed vociferously. “Indeed, my brother. Indeed. Come, open thy pockets and drink with me.”

“’Tis only noon.”

Alaric smiled. “Then the day has just begun.”

Chapter Two

London, England

“
D
aciana! We have no time to lose.” Angelica had been calling her daughter for nearly ten minutes.

Daciana languidly entered her mother’s bedroom two doors down, standing in the large, ornately-crafted doorway with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Is father as adamant as thee about packing our possessions?”

Angelica bristled and pursed her lips. “Men care not for such small matters; this is a woman’s job.”

It took great effort for Daciana not to spit on the floor. After all, this was her father’s doing; he created the grim financial circumstances they were in, and now they had to flee London before scandal caught up. Had her father stopped his gambling, they would still be living a life of luxury, complete with silken frocks, dazzling jewels, and the finest delicacies the world had to offer. Now they were naught more than peasants.

“I daresay, mother, he should be the one to stuff trunks and swallow the shame he caused, not us.” A swell of raw emotions rose into Daciana’s throat, constricting her airflow. She contained her feelings by thinking of her escape; she had been planning this for a fortnight. Once her family was properly situated in their new country cottage, she would gather what few belongings she owned and run far, far away. Mayhap another town would bode well, even improve her outlook. She was fearful of the consequences, however, should she be caught.

“We are a family, Daciana. And, as a family, we must stick together. We are all we have left. When all is said and done, none of our material possessions matter.” Angelica waved her hand over the lace-and-fur embellished dresses lying atop her duvet, ready to be set into a chest.

“Thou art married, so ’tis easy for thou to say. As for me, my debut would have been next week had the most recent turn of events not taken place.”

Angelica continued folding her gowns and arranging them on her bed. “Thy debut shall continue. We are not postponing it because of our travels.”

How was that possible? They would be leaving London tomorrow. “What dost thou mean?” Daciana asked, stepping twice toward her mother.

“What I said, dear. Thy debut shall be next week . . . in Colchester.”

Daciana nearly fainted. “Col—? Naught but peasant boys wait for me there. I cannot and I will not marry some poor man so I shall birth children and work from sunrise to sunset.” Her fists clenched at her ruffled skirt, all but ripping the fabric from its seams. The tears from moments earlier, when speaking of her father, threatened to spill. “Father knows about this?”

Upon seeing her daughter’s distraught face, Angelica contained her smile. “Dearest Daciana, do not fret over such petty matters. This shall be our new life, our new home, and we cannot change that.”

“He has ruined everything! My future, my dreams, my life here in London—all of that is now gone. He
stole
from us. He is naught more than a thief of our very existence.” Daciana stomped off, fists balled. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and she angrily wiped at them. Slamming the oversized, mahogany door as she entered the room, she ran over and leapt onto her feathered bedding, face down.

Three quiet knocks sounded outside the entryway.

“Go away!” she cried. “I am not in the frame of mind to speak now, mother.”

“’Tis me, miss Daciana,” said the small voice on the other side. ’Twas Daciana’s maid, Frida.

Daciana sniffled. “Come in.”

Gradually, the heavy door slid open and Frida’s slender figure emerged, her face full of concern. Daciana watched as Frida padded over to the water basin and dampened a strip of cloth. She hesitantly turned toward Daciana and raised the fabric like a white flag. Swiping away the last remnants of her tears, Daciana sat up and held out her hand, beckoning Frida to step forward. Though Daciana wanted to wipe her face with the cool rag, Frida clucked her tongue and insisted she do it herself.

“If I may be so honest, milady,” Frida started, looking to Daciana for approval. Daciana nodded for Frida to continue. “Thou should not worry over this new change in thy life. Thou may think me odd, but I believe this trip to Colchester will be for the best.”

“Oh, how can thou say such a thing? My life is here, not plowing fields like a commoner.”

Frida bit her lip in an attempt to figure out how best to approach the subject. Instead, she decided to be outward with her thoughts. “Thy future husband awaits there.”

Daciana stopped breathing for mere seconds. “How dost thou know such a thing?” She eyed Frida warily.

Licking her lips, Frida asked, “How well dost thou trust me, milady?”

With a hand planted over her heart, Daciana replied, “I trust thee as I would a sister, if I had one.”

Frida leaned closer to Daciana’s face, so near the exhaled air from their lungs merged. “Promise me thou will tell no one of this conversation.”

Noting the seriousness of Frida’s face, Daciana’s stomach sunk in fear of what her maid would tell her. But, out of curiosity, she nodded in compliance.

“I have ears and eyes in other places of this world. An ally in Colchester sees many things, and thy future has already been written in the stars. On the full moon of the following month, thou will change—and not for the better. The world will tremble at thy feet. The forests will speak thy name in harsh whispers and cruel tongues. Thou shall be immortalized under the silvery moon, and the bright sphere in the night sky will become thy fatal enemy. Speak not of this curse to a soul, for if thou dost, ’twill be passed along to thy children and theirs. Thou must live with this blight in silence.

“Fear not, though; thou shall not suffer alone. There will be another, one who gives his whole heart to thee. One who will move mountains and turn everything to gold. Thy hearts will be connected as one and shall always remain so. Even in times of darkness, when the world has turned its back on thee, the coupling of thy souls shall endure. Forever.”

Daciana remembered to breathe, but she suddenly felt lightheaded. “I-I think I must lie down for a while.”

“My intentions were not to scare thee,” said Frida. “I am only keeping thy best interests at heart.”

Best interests be damned! Frida spoke in riddles, explaining that Daciana would be cursed. Daciana knew not what to believe. All she knew was that she needed to stay away from Frida until tomorrow, then she would never see her again.

Dutifully, Frida dismissed herself. As the door closed behind her, Daciana could not help but wonder if she stood corrected. Frida had always been a trustworthy and loyal servant, and Daciana would bestow absolute confidence in Frida, should the need ever arise. Yet her claim of Daciana’s future was eerie. Depressing. Any talk of a curse was nonsensical, and Daciana knew there was only one way to prove it untrue—she would flee and never look back.

Chapter Three

S
tealing one final glance toward the only place she knew as home, Daciana suppressed her emotions. If her mother or father saw her weeping, they would think it utter nonsense. She did not understand her father’s temperament toward the situation. How could he be so cruel? How could he put his family through this? He should have thought of these questions before he gambled their lives away.

Settled into their seats, the Lowell family glanced past the curtains in their carriage as the coachman whipped the horses to a start. By Daciana’s best estimate, they would arrive in Colchester sometime tomorrow afternoon. This would give her plenty of time to gather what few belongings she could carry and run like the wind. Her parents would be none the wiser of her departure until ’twas too late. Inwardly, she smiled.

“I sent correspondence to an inn last week. We shall stay there tonight,” said Daciana’s father. His gruff voice irritated Daciana. Even his bulging waistline was disgusting. She could not tolerate a glance his way. “Of course, ’tis hours away, and we have a long road ahead of us.”

Angelica patted her husband’s arm. “We will not be fully rested for another week, I suppose. Traveling never was my forte.”

“Never was mine, either,” he said. Daciana could feel his eyes upon her. “And thee, daughter? Dost thou travel well?”

Daciana did not return an answer; she did not think her father deserved air from her lungs. He did not deserve any good of this world. So she remained silent as the carriage bounced and creaked with every new pothole they came across.

As promised, hours later, they stopped for the night at an inn. The tavern below was loud and alarming. Men upturned tankards of ale like water, and Daciana could hardly contain wrinkling her nose at the overbearing, sweaty odor. She and Angelica waited as Theodore spoke with the innkeeper, and a couple of their trunks were moved to the upper floor by the coachman and footman.

“This is thy room,” said Theodore, as they topped the stairs.

Daciana snatched the key from his hand and entered her room without a goodnight hug or kiss to either of her parents. She assessed the lowly area: one wooden bed pressed against the far wall, the mattress probably filled with fleece; a lone window, which only offered a view of the small village and the forest surrounding it; and a wooden chest of drawers. All the wood was light in color, carved from cheap, common oak trees. There was a single candle holder sitting atop the chest of drawers, but Daciana had no use for it, not with the bright moonlight streaming in through her window, creating an unearthly aura of radiance.

She knew she would not sleep well tonight. Her muscles were sore from the bumpy ride, and she had too many pressing thoughts. Frida’s words were still fresh, like a cut which had not healed. Though her wound was not physically harming, Daciana could not help but wonder if ’twas meant to be mentally damaging. Frida planted the seeds which sprouted into too many unanswered questions and not nearly enough answers.

Daciana sighed as she treaded to the window. Leaning against the open frame, she allowed the cold night air to swathe her senses, to wake her from this never-ending nightmare which was now her life. What would be different a month from now? What about a year from now? Would she survive on her own, on the hoodlum-riddled streets of England? She was trained in the fine art of being a lady, not how to pickpocket or scrounge for food in days-old trash. And she would never be used to the stench.

Movement against the tree line caught her eye, pulling Daciana out of her profound thoughts. ’Twas late, and men would not be hunting at this hour. She guessed drunken fools staggered about the forests at night, but that seemed unlikely. The person stepped to the edge of the wood, not clearly enough for Daciana to see a face, but enough that she could see an outline. Only, ’twas not a person; ’twas a creature of Hell itself. Daciana covered her mouth, swallowing a scream. The creature had not noticed her watchful eye, but it seemed to be searching for something, or someone. Its black snout lifted toward the moon, as if to catch a particular scent on the icy breeze. Breath puffed out of its nostrils in short, white billows.

Normally, wolves remained deep in the wooded areas, not in plain sight, not near so many people. The creature must be rabid, though ’twas not snarling as Daciana had imagined. This wolf looked . . . different. Daciana could not rationalize why the fierce monster would be so close to humankind, but she feared for peoples’ safety.

Just then, a couple of men strolled out of the rear of a shop, lighting cigars and sipping spirits. The creature’s jowls rose as it honed in on the two unsuspecting men. They had no inkling they were about to be eaten alive.

I have to do something
, thought Daciana.
I have to stop it!

But she did not know how. And with a creature so large, her tiny frame would do naught to prevent an attack from happening.

Stepping into the moonlight, the wolf’s fangs glinted in the pale glow. Its eyes radiated a burnt gold, which reminded Daciana of wheat fields in summertime, or brilliant wildflowers swaying in the pastures. She could almost feel its strength and power.

The wolf lunged toward the men, and Daciana cried out, “No! Stop!”

Both the creature and the men glanced all around them for the source of her voice, but the men were too inebriated to notice from whence it came. The creature, however, knew immediately; its golden eyes locked with Daciana’s, and, even from a distance, she could tell this creature was not of her world.

Ever so slowly, it backed into the forest, blending in where moonlight could not penetrate. The trees encased the demon with their scrawny limbs, like loving arms surrounding a newborn. Yet, somehow, someway, those golden eyes watched her long after the creature’s body had disappeared.

Chapter Four

O
nce the snow had slightly melted under the warm afternoon sun, Alaric and Ulric climbed atop the roof to patch leaks; ’twas long overdue and, quite frankly, they were tired of listening to their father’s complaints. Both men had worked their fair share of keeping the cottage and farm intact, but their labor never seemed to satisfy Frederic. The summer months were tough as is, but the slippery surface of the house’s covering proved to be even more difficult.