Page 120 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Aidan had every intention of kissing every single inch of her until the sun rose, but the moon rose first. It had climbed over the treetops as they lay by the river, and was inching to its zenith.

A full moon on the autumn equinox was a powerful time. If May Day was popular with the flower witches and Samhain with those who spoke with the dead, the equinoxes were a sacred time for the Lycan. They were a time when day and night were equal. It held significance for the Lycan, who considered their two halves to be the sun and the moon. With the addition of the full moon, any magic would be even more effective.

It called to his wolf, the ceremony he knew the others were gathering for even now.

Sorcha smoothed the lines between his brows. “What is it?”

“Equinox ceremony is about to begin.”

“Is it?” She sat up. “I’ve never been to one. Can I come?”

He smiled, kissing her. “After what you’ve done, I’m sure Freya will allow it.”

She leapt to her feet and hurriedly pulled on her dress. “Come on, then.”

“I think you just want to see more naked backsides,” he teased.

She grinned. “I have been assured that Tavish’s is the best.”

“What am I going to do with you?”

She slipped her arm through his as they picked their way through the woods. “I have some ideas.”

“Aye, so do I.” A hundred ideas, a thousand. He wanted to show her Inverness and the Orkney Islands and the museum. He wanted her naked. He wanted her to show him how exactly one played fetch with a bleeding Black Shuck. He just wanted her.

But first, dozens of wolves in a clearing in the woods.

A wolf shape had been created out of lines of trampled grass filled with white flour so that it glowed. There was wine and baskets of bread and grapes and apples. Freya sat in the center, moonstones in her hair. The only candles that burned were in honor of the missing wolves. Simon had refused to divulge their location. Yet.

A drumbeat sounded softly between the trees. Sorcha rose on her tiptoes.

“They’ll stand under the moon when it reaches its peak, and then they’ll run. All of the Packs together.”

Sorcha squeezed his arm. “Then you’ll run too.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I am in the Wolf Wood. Simon is chained up. What could happen to me?”

“All the same.” He shook his head. “I am perfectly accustomed to controlling my wolf.” Though he scrabbled behind his ribcage, called by the moon and the gathered Packs. Alphas grew stronger under such a moon.

“You’ve controlled him long enough,” Sorcha insisted.

His wolf agreed. His wolf was starting to prefer her to him, and who could blame him? Not Aidan.

The drums changed and Freya began to sing a haunting melody, an ode to the moon, to teeth and fur and running as fast as your legs could take you. A wild hymn. A prayer.

The last of the Lycan shifted into their wolves. The song was underscored by bones re-forming, teeth snapping, and howling. The many howls joined into one that was so primal and so perfect, Aidan saw tears spring to Sorcha’s eyes.

And then something changed.

He frowned. “I smell roses.”

Sorcha was also frowning, in a way that made his hackles rise in alarm. His wolf pushed at him frantically, desperate to get out.

She squinted over his shoulder. “Aidan.” Sorcha pointed just as he heard the rustle of paper, just as the wolves lifted their noses to the wind with confused growls. “Look.”