Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) - By Rebecca A. Rogers Page 0,40
witches in the woods, their secret lair, attempting to find out what their ultimate plan is. The only portion of the story I blatantly leave out is the part where Ben and I are werewolves. Fiona’s face is passive through it all.
When she eventually absorbs all of the information I’ve given her, she says, “Am I correct to believe ye will not pursue these . . . witches?” I open my mouth to respond, but she interjects, “Candra, ’tis too dangerous. My dear, wonderful husband ventured into that forest once, and he never returned. I do not wish the same fate upon ye.”
Perhaps I’m feeling guilty for purposely excluding the bit about Ben and me, who we really are, because my mind comes up with several fake instances in which I explain to Fiona why we’re here. I tell her the truth; not saying anything is killing me right now. But the fewer people who know our true intent, the less we have to worry about them. I’m not even sure if Ben and I can handle these witches, so how can normal humans?
“One other thought I feel I should mention . . .” Fiona trails off, staring at the floor and picking at the hem of her dress. “There was a group of men who ventured into the forest last night. Most of them did not return.”
Collecting myself, I ask, “What?”
“They thought it best to defeat the wolf that has been haunting this town, but they were greeted by something far more sinister, something which took their lives. Only three people walked away from the incident, two of which were bitten.” She peers up at me underneath her eyelashes.
“And . . . who are these people?” I swallow the thick lump in my throat.
“Ulric Conway and Daciana Lowell. She is new to Colchester, the girl in my shop just the other day, but the Conway boys have resided here all their lives. Fortunately, and with a dash of luck, Alaric was unharmed. Word has spread of his heroic act: he helped his brother and Daciana reach safety.”
Attempting to keep a straight face, I ask, “Where were they taken?”
“To Lavenia’s,” Fiona states pointedly. “Of this I am fearful, for if what ye say is true about the witches, no good will come of their stay at her abode.”
I bolt to my feet. “I have to do something. I have to help them.” Because, really, I know how this turns out in the end—they all become werewolves. Somewhere along the way, Alaric banishes Ulric and Daciana to the Otherworld. I just don’t know when that is. This is the reason Ben and I time-traveled to the sixteenth century.
Twisting around, I stare at Ben’s relaxed form. I hate doing this to him, but I need to rescue Ulric and Daciana before time runs out. Lavenia is doing God-knows-what to them at the moment.
“If ye are considering what I think ye are considering, I would advise ye not to go through with this,” says Fiona. “Please, Candra. For thy safety.”
Shaking my head, I respond, “Sorry, Fiona, but my work here isn’t finished. I don’t have long before bad things start to happen, and I have to move quickly if I want to change their outcome. I know none of this makes sense to you, but all I’m asking is that you trust me.” When she doesn’t immediately speak, I add, “Can you take care of Ben for me while I’m gone? Hopefully, I’ll be back soon.”
Defeated, she sighs and nods. “I shall.”
“Thank you.” Before leaving, I dip one of the washrags into hot water and wipe my face off. The cuts don’t hurt as badly as before. Hopefully, they’ll be fully healed by the end of the day.
With my chin up and my stomach a jumbled mess of emotions, I embark on a trek to Lavenia’s cottage. I’m well aware that I can’t just barge through the front door and demand she set Ulric and Daciana free, but I’m hoping to get close enough to figure out what’s going on, what Lavenia’s ultimate plan is for the two of them. The details might help.
I take the long way around the cottage, sneaking up on the backside and peeking through the same window Ben and I used earlier to spy. From what little I can see, Ulric and Daciana are laid out on two separate tables, both unconscious. Lavenia and her minions rummage around the cottage in what seems like an attempt to concoct