Servant of the Moon #1 - unedited draft
biscuits and home

Lothaire Des Rues walked unusually quiet for a wolf as large as he was, especially considering he was ready to murder not one, but both of his brother’s sluts, one was a wolf and one was a witch, and he wanted them both to be corpses. He could hear them screaming at each other from the far end of the mansion. Since Luna Ann’s sudden illness and death, followed immediately by the arrival of Soleil, Sakhma, and Helios, his life had become almost Shakespearean in its level of drama. The Bard of Hamlet and MacBeth had nothing on how interesting Lothaire’s world had become. That was why he took every opportunity to be away from Des Rues, but more often than not, he was tracking the newest Des Rues Alpha.

Valeria had waited barely a month before trying to move in and now was here almost everyday having claimed a large room as her “meditation and scrying” space. She claimed it was because she needed to be near Charlemagne. But he believed it was because Soleil lived here with her son, another one of Charles’ bastards. Helios looked too much like a Des Rues for Charles to deny him, but Lothaire’s wolf had gone crazy with distrust and he had demanded a blood test and other proof of paternity. Finally, Charles had told him to back down, admitting having sex with the witch who already had a half vampire daughter.

Charlemagne had been ecstatic to have a sibling, even if he was a half-sibling. They spent days at a time together, traveling or sparing or whoring, they were their father’s sons, while the work of running the pack and keeping it safe fell to Lothaire and others. Charles spent more and more time in his office, obsessed with his maps and annexing or allying with every pack who would agree. Des Rues was now the largest allied pack on this continent, maybe the world, but when marked on a map the territory and its allies looked like a slice of swiss cheese.

He slammed open the door to the rooms Valeria had ‘claimed’. Charlemagne stood between the screeching females.

“ENOUGH!” Lothaire may be the Beta to his brother, but he was an alpha in his own right, his wolf barely less than his brother. A fact he now secretly questioned after knowing his brother had bound himself to a witch, and was mated to a powerful oracle, while Lothaire's mate had died carrying their pup and weakening his wolf. He had begun to believe he should have been Alpha after their father’s death and not Charles.

“Oh Lothaire, this wretched witch came into my sacred scrying rooms, and knocked down my tools, make her leave our lands.” Valeria’s voice whined like broken glass dragged on a slate.

“This useless water-gazer claimed my power to see the sun’s path is a lie. I will not let her insult my God,” Soleil shouted. “And they are not tools if you can’t use them, they are junk, so I made them into junk.”

“You insult my Goddess by being alive on pack lands,“Valeria screamed back. “We are werewolves, children of the Moon, not some fake sunshine god. Your own kind refuse to worship your god, the worship our goddess’ sister; the earth. A REAL Goddess of the witches.”

Soleil lunged at Valeria, but Lothaire picked the witch up and threw her over his shoulder, as she screeched profanities in a language he didn’t know but her meaning was clearly understood.

“Charlemagne, keep your mother here till she calms down. I’ll deal with this one.”

Valeria threw her shoe after him, “Of course, you’d take her side! You’ve always hated me, Loathsome! You’d chose a witch over a wolf, you traitor.”

Lothaire dropped Soleil on her butt on her bed and shook his finger in her face, “Stay put, Witch!”

He stormed back down the hall to face Valeria, she slapped him before he could even speak. His hand closed around her neck, “I have had just about enough of you and your little drama, my brother may not see the joke that your school is, but I do. You and your Oracles have one week to give me a useful vision concerning the Queen-to-be, or I will personally have all of you thrown in with the breeders.”

Valeria gasped but growled out, “You can’t dictate to the Goddess when She will open the Tides.”

“No, I can’t. But I can remove the one who is the reason She shut them,” he shook her before shoving her at his nephew.

“You can’t turn my mother into a breeder,” Charlemagne snarled, closing his arms around her.

Lothaire leveled him with a glare, “She has always been a breeder, she just got paid better than the rest do.” He slammed the door behind him.

Soleil was standing in her door, smirking. He wished he could slay her with his dark look. “Get back in your rooms, witch.”

“If you have a question about the future, you should ask me, wolf. I can look into the light and find what you seek, the Sun sees all. Your Goddess no longer cares about her children,” her voice purred and he remembered why he hated felines. In a few strides, he had backed her against the wall in her room. She licked her lips as she looked him up and down, “I could show you the pleasures and rewards that come with serving a real God.”

He cupped her breast with one hand while palming her cheek with the other, sniffing her and growling. He could smell her arousal, it disgusted him. He put his lips a mere inch from hers as his hand closed around her throat and squeezed.

She choked as he whispered hatefully, “I would rather rip off my own maleness than let my brother’s concubine touch it.” With faster than human speed, he left her trembling against the wall, the door slammed so hard the furniture jumped.

Lothaire stormed back to his office but halfway there he stopped, staring at his hands in disgust. He had touched both of those harpies. Veering off to his rooms, he went straight to his shower. He decided to burn his clothes rather than try to get the stench of those females off them. He knew his brother was still fu cking both of them, but he didn’t understand why. He groaned in disgust as he scrubbed his hands raw. He was getting too old for this. He just wanted to find a young gentle choice mate who would give him child and a comfortable, calm home.

Nyall pulled in the last set of lobster cages, quickly pulling and banding the claws of the spiny creatures. Oh, how he despised these disgusting sea-bugs that brought such a profit from the fancy restaurants down the coast. This catch would finish the Seawolf’s season. The autumn seas were rough, a hurricane almost a thousand of miles away had stirred the waves and cast them north before slamming into the coast near one of the largest cities in the world.

He and Shamus had filled their share of the new quota system in record time, and Nyall would have sworn the old wolf could smell the vile creatures crawling on the bottom of the sea. He had decided he hated lobsters, hated their smell, hated their flavor, hated the way they would try to take off one’s fingers, and fought with each other. Yesterday,when they were setting the last trawl of 8 lobster pots, his foot had almost gotten caught in the sinking line.

Caught in a line had taken many a fisherman the hundred fathoms to the shelf of the sea floor. It was shallower fishing than crabbing, but being closer to shore meant rougher seas, and the swim from the bottom to the surface would be a hard one, even for a wolf.

Every time they returned to Harborville or Dartmouth, he would drive home to check on Moire. Her pregnancy was not going well, he needed to be home with her. His wolf was anxious. The last time, he had heard his son’s heartbeat for the first time, fluttering and fast, he had been laying with his head on Moire’s lap as they watched the dawn from their special spot. He feared for her more now than ever and could not shake the dread that their carelessness during her heat would cost more than he was willing to pay.

The Moon had promised to protect her for a season, how long was a season? Mamó had said it could be any length of time and that Moire should have gone to the Moon that night, but that Comhnyall and Ainsley had brought her back, often reminding him that he needed to be grateful for the time they were given. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know the Moon was rising in the lavender and sapphire sky, silver clouds stripped the horizon. The tattoo on his right side pulsed and vibrated whenever her light fell on him. As he stacked and secured the last of the lobster pots for the long haul home, he could not hold back the tear that escaped his eye. He had spent almost half his time since that night at sea, time with Moire that he could not get back. When he went home this time, he would not leave her again.

They would sail for Old Wemyss as soon as they could a year after she gave birth. They would find a healer to cure her. He could feel the season fading, fearing there would come a time soon when his dawn no longer glowed, when his sun was no longer shone for him. In a single word, dread, like a thick fog obscuring everything around him and he did not know what to do except pray for more time.

Autumn held on, the weather was unseasonable mild. The equinox weeks past. Wood was split and stacked in neat cords, the fuel oil for the hot water heater purchased, fields left to fallow for the winter. Comhnyall’s wolf looked down on their hidden home. Moire was asleep in a chair on the porch. Ainsley was feeding the chickens grain from her hand, and Mamó was probably inside or among the trees. In the distance, he saw the post come, they rarely received mail. His wolf loped easily to the road, cautiously looking for traffic. The Cape Split park was becoming a popular place to visit and sometimes hikers got lost and wandered up to their farm. City folks often drove the road too fast. He nosed open the post box and snagged the letter, it smelled like the Wolfville apothecary and he knew it was another order for Mamó’s soaps and creams. There was a milkbone laying on top of it. He wrinkled his nose and flung the dog treat away. He heard a car and laid down in the tall grass, it was the post delivery driver returning up the road. He stopped and stared at Comhnyall, muttering under his breath that it was the damnedest thing he had ever seen.

“Hey boyo, have another,” the letter carrier called.

Comhnyall dreaded what was about to happen but in this form, he had to continue to pretend to be Moire’s farm dog. So Comhnyall dropped the letter and wagged his tail. He caught the treat tossed to him and made a sound that was almost a bark. The first time Heilm had seen Comhnyall retrieve the post, he had driven all the way up to the house. Moire had lied that he was some golden retriever – husky mix and that was why he looked like a giant golden wolf. Heilm had bought the story easily but now whenever there was mail, there was also a milkbone.

They were awful, and his wolf did not understand why they had to eat the horrible, rock hard biscuit when the human offered them. It was convinced the treats were some kind of poison. Every time Comhnyall had to convince him that the human was just trying to be kind and it would be rude to refuse. Heilm told him what a good boy he was as he crunched up the ‘treat’ before picking up the letter and loping away. Today’s flavor was a particularly noxious fake bacon and it made him want to gag as he ran back to the house carrying the mail.

He dropped the letter in Moire’s lap, she sleepily rubbed his ears, then sat up suddenly making a face.

“What be tha’ stench?” She demanded.

Comhnyall licked her hand and she smelled it before turning pale, “Oh, I take it tha postman gave ye a treat?” He nodded, she huffed disgusted, “Well, go find ye some rotted carcass ta chew an’ freshen yur breath. Ye’ll nah kiss meh when ye smell like tha’.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He shifted into his skin and pulled her up into his arms, mischief shining in his eyes “But ye love meh, jus’ give us a lil’ kiss.”

She was laughing and pushing his face away with her free hand, “Nay, nay, nah till ye brush yur teeth, or chew some mint, or eat a seven day ole dead fish. What did he give ye today?”

He grimaced and licked his teeth, it was awful, “I do nah know, et smelled like those fake bacon pieces they put on salads at the cafe, but it tasted worse than anythin’ I ’er put in meh mouth. Mo wolf wants ta know why we ‘ave ta be nice ta him if he keeps tryin’ ta poison us?”

Moire just laughed at him,“Yur such a fool sometimes, Comhnyall.”

“Aye, but I be yur fool, and ye be stuck weth meh,” he grinned.

She smiled up at him, “I ne’er said I minded fools.” He bent to kiss her but she put her hand over his mouth, “Teeth first, honestly I think I am gonna get sick fur tha smell. Aire ye tryin’ to kill meh? Whew!”

He chuckled behind her hand then groaned. He couldn’t even stand his own breath right now, his wolf agreed that anything would be better than the taste and smell, promising to bite the postman next time they were forced to eat a biscuit.

Suddenly, the warmth of the sun was faded by a cloud shadow, their warm day quickly replaced as a cold wind blew. They looked up to see clouds flying across the sun and the scent of the air held the promise of a heavy snow. Moire shuddered in his arms and he drew her into the warmth and safety of their home. Winter was finally here.

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