Blood Vow (Blood Moon Rising) (32 page)

The days and nights blurred one into the other, and finally the tension in her body eased even if the heartache did not. The heartache would always be there, a dark miserable cloud preventing the sun to shine on her life. It would always be, and she had no will to fight it. There would never be another for her. Rafael and Lucien were her true loves. Her chosen ones, her true mates.

Blinking her swollen stinging eyes, Falon focused on her surroundings. She was still on the foothill, enclosed in a small glade of trees. Raising her nose in the air the salty scents of the Bering Sea teased her senses. Lifting up on an elbow she caught her breath as she came face-to-face with the gray she-wolf she’d encountered the day of Sasha’s death. The genuine wolf whined and lifted her head and trotted toward Falon.

She licked her face, and whined again as if to say, “Welcome back.”

Tears filled Falon’s eyes and trailed down her cheeks unchecked. “Thank you,” Falon whispered, rubbing her face in the wolf’s silky fur. She whined but allowed Falon the time to collect herself. When she did, she sat back and looked for her backpack. Instead she found a blanket beside her she must have thrown off. Bringing it to her nose she inhaled Rafe’s and Luca’s scents. It was from their bed. Beside it was a small basket with food and water, and behind it, a fresh set of clothing. She remembered a soothing voice when she thought she had lost her baby.

Who? Layla? No, she would not dare return to camp. Sharia was too old. Perhaps Talia? Would she bear the wrath of her alphas to aide their mortal enemy? Did it matter? Falon swallowed against her raw throat and grabbed one of the water bottles from the basket. As she slowly drank she looked across the wide-open field. The tall grass blew gently in tune with the wind. A herd of caribou grazed peacefully one hundred yards off. The beauty of the place was lost on her. Would she ever look at the world in wonder again?

The she-wolf moved beside her and lay down like a sphinx gazing upon the valley below with Falon. Absently she stroked her as she thought of the first time they met when her pack had paired with pack Ivanov. Falon’s thoughts went beyond what happened to Lucien’s taking of her just down the way. Her body shivered in remembered desire even as her chest tightened painfully.

“Ah, Luca,” she whispered. “You told me you would do anything for me. I beg you, take me back. Forgive me my parentage.”

The wind kicked up defiantly scoffing at such an outrageous request. “Rafe, you promised me you would never stop loving me!” She choked back another sob. “You promised!” she screamed. “You promised!”

The wolf looked at Falon with sadness in her eyes. It was too much for Falon. She stood. On shaky legs, she made her way down to her father’s place of death. Most of his gray ashes had scattered with the wind. Though the imprint of his body was still visible. She squatted next to where his face had been, and shook her head. “Why, if you loved my mother, could you not embrace all Lycan?”

She pressed her palm to where his heart would have been, and her tears dropped into the ashes. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the point of contact. It smelled of earth and rain and evergreen. Her father’s scent. At least in his death, they had connected. As she stood, a tiny flash of metal caught the sunlight. She reached down in the ash and withdrew his amulet necklace. The one he had returned to her. She must have dropped it. The stone warmed in her hand a reminder of the sacrifice that went with it. Falon clasped it around her neck, and felt stronger already.

She looked beyond the ashes to the grass and saw the hilt of a sword sticking out. It was her father’s. Reaching down, she grasped it and felt the souls of the hundreds of Lycan it had slain. She threw it back into the grass, not wanting their blood on her hands.

As she moved past the remaining ashes, Falon stopped. Though he was not the man she would have chosen to sire her, he’d been her father and she would lay him to rest. She grabbed a flat rock from the cold campfire and began to dig a small hole. After she scooped what was left of her father’s ashes into the hole, she covered it with earth and then rocks from the campfire. As a last tribute, she struck his sword, blade first into the earth, his tombstone.

Returning to her hillside camp, Falon washed with the water and dried herself with the blanket, then dressed in her jeans and—she smiled bittersweetly—the moccasins Lucien had made for her. She was warm enough in a long-sleeve pullover fleece. She finished the jerky and fruit, forcing down the food for the baby, even though her stomach protested and she had no appetite.

As the moon began to rise she noted it was waxing gibbous. One week. One week until the rising. One week since she lay in Rafa and Luca’s arms. A wracking sob shuddered through her. One week and they had not come for her.

And they would not. She was Slayer, her father the master of all Slayers. Once she had been the love of their lives, now she was their mortal enemy. If she did not carry Lucien’s or Rafe’s child she would walk right through the camp and let them tear her apart. It would be easier than living the anguish that was now her existence.

For hours Falon sat quiet in the little camp with the she-wolf for company. Every thought returned to her broken heart and her yearning to know where her alphas were, what they were doing. She missed them. She missed Talia, her pack. Even, Falon thought shockingly, her mother. They were her people; did none of them see that?

The sun sank far on the western horizon. The sound of the sea wafted across the valley, eerie and soothing at once.

The wind shifted, and coming up from the east, Lycan scents swirled around her and—her heart thundered. Strong and powerful the two scents she would never forget swirled in the air around her. Rafa’s and Luca’s.

She stood, and hurried closer to the edge of her little camp. Had they come for her? She watched as a hunting party cleared the ridge. Rafe and Lucien at point, Joachim, Anton, and several others following close behind. They were in full-fighting wolf, and on the trail of the caribou herd that grazed there that morning.

Fascinated, though her heart ached to join them, she watched as Lucien caught sight of a big buck two hundred yards straight ahead. He and Rafael split and the pack formed a gauntlet.

In perfect symmetry, born of power and cunning, Rafe and Lucien took down the huge male. His bleating reduced to a gurgle as the two alphas viciously killed him.

As the rest of the pack came around they shifted and expertly and efficiently cut up the carcass, stored it in their backpacks and headed back to camp.

Not realizing it, Falon had moved down to the ridge where her father had made his last stand. The wind shifted and she knew the second Rafael and Lucien caught her scent. Their bodies tightened, their nostrils flared, and they could not help but look her way.

Falon stood straight and proud as the wind whipped her hair around her body. She would not be ashamed of who she was. She was a combination of two bloods and, for better or for worse, she was who she was. A powerful, ferocious, and loving alpha.

For the first time in more than a week, anger sparked in her belly. She was not to blame for who she was! She had no choice in the matter. And yet she was punished for the blood that gave her life? The life two great alphas had thought enough of to save on several occasions? Was she truly less because of who her father was, or was she made less because of an age-old feud that had nothing to do with her?

Righteous indignation grabbed ahold of her. She had just as much right to life as any being! Good Lord, she was proof that the two bloods could blend and create something beautiful not ugly as each of the two parts were. And Lycan
were
ugly. They hated as the Slayers hated, they killed as the Slayers killed, justifiably so, but they still hated, still killed. Would they really change if the nation survived the rising? Would they all of a sudden, with Slayers gone, live happily ever after?

She doubted it. Lycan had their own issues just like any other culture. If they were to prosper, they would need her. If she was to thrive, she needed them.

Defiantly, she held their stares refusing to look away. Never again. She was who she was, and she was proud.

Cowards!

The pack caught up to their alphas, and followed their stare. She felt the tumultuous emotion roll through them. It rolled through her, too. There was yearning, fear, and regret, but beneath it, hope flared in each one of them. But not in their two stubborn, vengeful alphas. Those two had closed their hearts and their minds to her.

Cowards,
she said again.

Falon nodded ever so slightly, and her heart leapt when Joachim and Anton nodded back. The movement was barely perceptible to her, and unseen by Rafael and Lucien who stood in front of them. Then the rest of the pack moved on, leaving the twin brothers standing alone, frozen in their stubborn refusal to once again do what was right out of pride.

The she-wolf she called Petra stood vigilantly beside her, her constant companion. Falon turned, leaving Rafael and Lucien staring after her. She had made up her mind. In the morning she would bathe in the creek below, dress, and with her father’s sword strapped to her back and with Petra at her side, return to her people. If their alphas would not take her back, she would fight for a place among the pack, stand with them come the rising, and fight for their lives.

She smiled smugly, picturing cutting herself with the Cross and spreading her blood on the battleground. She would raise her arms to the gods and demand they raise the ghost walkers. Her heart pounded. At least she would be able to return to her stubborn beloved alphas what her father so viciously took from them. Maybe then, they would not look at her with such hatred.

Thirty-one

RAFAEL SAT MOROSELY staring at the bonfire, a warm beer in his hand, and his heart at his feet. He had lost his best friend, his lover, his life mate, and the one person who could make him forget the horrors he had endured. That person had turned out to be not just the daughter of his greatest enemy, but a direct descendant of the first Slayer, Peter Corbet. The one who had started it all!

He stood and hurled his beer into the fire. Those around him started but didn’t dare ask what was wrong. They knew. The entire nation knew! He couldn’t even deny that his chosen one, the woman who may this very moment carry his child, was a Corbet!

He rammed his fingers through his hair, and began pacing. Since he’d learned the ugly truth he had not stepped foot in the tent he’d shared with Falon. He’d had all of her belongings removed and burned. He couldn’t stand the scent of her. His chest tightened. Smelling her, seeing her things, brought back too many memories.

Swallowing hard, he looked for something to throw again or, even better, something to tear apart and annihilate just as his heart had been annihilated. He grabbed the bench he had been sitting on and smashed it over his knee. He roared furiously as he hurled the pieces into the darkness.

How had he been so blind? How had he
not
seen her for what she was?
A fucking Slayer!

Raising his fists to the heavens he roared his frustration, heartbreak, and fury. “Is this some kind of test?” he yelled. “Because if it is, fuck you Singarti!
Fuck you!
”

The beast within him snarled and snapped, clawing for release. Never, not once, had Rafael lost control, but tonight, after seeing Falon standing there on the ridge, looking so proud and defiant? He was not sure he could contain the beast. His impulse had been to rush to her and take her in his arms. A lifetime of hatred for her father stayed him even though he smelled her sorrow and felt her pain, clinging to her like a shroud despite her proud demeanor. God, he didn’t want her to feel this pain. He knew it was not her fault, her father. She was an innocent, but she
was
still
a Corbet.

“Argh!” he screamed, dropping to his knees. The pain in his heart was unbearable. He could not breathe when his very breath, the woman he loved, had been snatched from him by fate.

He was incomplete without her. She was his heart. His soul. Without either he was not whole. And the gaping hole in his heart would not stop bleeding.

He wanted her. In his bed and in his life. Even now.

But he knew each time he would look at her eyes, he would see her father and all that he had destroyed. His parents, most of all.

Slowly, Rafael rose. There was only one thing he could do. What he should have done the instant he learned the truth. Giving up, he released the beast.

* * *

LUCIEN WATCHED HIS brother from across the camp. Rafe’s agony mirrored his own. Lucien’s life mission had been to destroy the entire Corbet bloodline. To fulfill his vendetta meant destroying Falon. How could he destroy the one thing he loved above all others? The one thing he would still, even knowing what she was, sacrifice his own life for?

How could he embrace a child of his knowing the vilest of Slayer blood flowed through his veins? How could he be sure the child would not turn out like his grandsire? How could he be sure that Falon would not one day turn those onyx eyes on him? He could not be sure of any of those things. All he was sure of was how he hurt. How the pain had not eased with the passage of time, but intensified.

His gut shuddered at the thought of Falon turning on him but, if he were honest with himself, he knew Falon would never hurt him, not on purpose. Much of the anger that Rafael still wrestled with had left Lucien. He realized it when he saw her. His anger was at fate, and that had driven him this last week. Not anger at Falon. Fate switching up the game just before the final inning pissed him off.

What he felt from the instant he learned the truth about Falon was such a profound sense of loss his heart and brain at first would not accept the information. They had compartmentalized it, knowing it would be impossible to cope with.

The day he’d watched powerless as his parents were massacred, he’d experienced fear so soul shattering it paralyzed him. He hadn’t left his bed for months, hadn’t spoken a word for a year. He could not process what he had witnessed. It was the same with learning Falon’s truth.