Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) - By Rebecca A. Rogers Page 0,23
it?” Ben questions.
Ulric shakes his head. “Nay, my eyes did not see it again until this very day.”
Ben sends me a sidelong gaze, expressing concern. His interest returns to our long-lost family members. “Neither of you have any clue as to why this wolf is following you?”
They deny any knowledge of the why’s or how’s, which only causes more uneasiness. Here we are, facing our ancient flesh and blood, and they are absolutely petrified. They don’t know why a werewolf is after them. They don’t even know that it is a werewolf. All they know is that some wild, rabid, ginormous wolf has a vendetta.
“This might sound a bit crazy,” Ben says, “but do you know anybody around here who has a hand in the dark arts?”
“As in . . . magic?” questions Daciana. She furrows her eyebrows, mystified. “Does such a thing exist?”
“Oh, it exists all right,” I say. “It’s all over the place where we come from.”
Though he’s a little timid, Ulric exhales a weighty breath. “There . . . might be someone in Colchester, but this person, for the most part, is respected by many. Should thy accusations fall on suspicious ears, her life will be forever changed, and her reputation will suffer greatly.”
“Who is she?” Ben asks. “Are you friends with her?”
“I am afraid I am not,” Ulric replies. “However, my brother, Alaric, and this woman are quite familiar.” He smirks while voicing the last part. Collecting his self, he says, “Ah, ye want her name. I shall give it to ye, but ye must promise me one thing.”
“What?” Ben and I inquire in unison.
“Ye must never, ever speak of the conversation we had this day, and ye must never, ever bring Daciana, Alaric, or me into thy feud. Whatever comes of thy allegations, our hands are washed clean.”
“Done,” I say, before Ben has a chance to respond.
Ulric inhales a shaky lungful of air, then discloses, “In town, she is known as the herb witch, but her true name is Lavenia.”
Chapter Six
Since Ulric made us promise we won’t involve him, Alaric, or Daciana, Ben and I are on our own as far as finding this Lavenia chick. We trek back to town, always keeping a wary glance over our shoulders to ensure the werewolf doesn’t sneak up on us. I guess that crazy woman in the forest really did a number on the wolf, though, because we arrive safely and without incident.
Most of the shops have closed for the evening, the patrons and owners calling it a day. Even Fiona’s boutique is locked. The only noise coming from the village is that of music and raucous chattering at Murdock’s Inn. I’m beginning to think the citizens have the right idea: drinking away their problems after a hard day’s work. If Ben and I had money, that’s almost certainly were we’d end up.
“Fiona’s probably wondering where we are,” I say, lifting my skirts as we traipse across the mucky main road.
Ben’s stomach growls. Patting his belly, he says, “I hope we haven’t missed dinner. I’m starving.”
“Yeah, being chased by a werewolf is quite the workout,” I respond, “and walking in these damn heels isn’t much better.”
Smirking, Ben says, “Maybe if you wore heels more often, your feet wouldn’t hurt as much.”
“Maybe you should keep your mouth shut before I take one off and stab you with it.”
He narrows his eyes. “So violent and angry.”
“Yeah, well, if I wasn’t so stressed out, I wouldn’t be.”
Ben scoffs. “Poor baby.” I jerk my head toward him and scowl. Undeterred, he continues mocking me. “I know just the thing to relieve stress.”
“Oh, God. I probably don’t want to know.”
With a mischievous look, he hooks one arm around my waist, tugging me closer to him. Lowering his head, he whispers in my ear, “A nice, hot bath.”
My insides ripple with pleasure, and several heartbeats pass before my mind can process words. Then I realize how much of a game this is, so I shove him. “You’re doing this to me on purpose,” I say. My throat feels like someone suctioned out all the saliva.
His pearly whites gleam as he smiles proudly. “That I am, Princess.”
I kick at a clump of mud, sending it flying onto the side of a building, where it sticks. Ben’s chuckling wards off my punting another pile of wet dirt for the moment, but that only lasts until I see the next cluster. He laughs noisily as the clomp hits the side of a shop.
“Careful, Ben,” I caution,