Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,63

was more. So much more than Sabrine would have believed possible before she came among them.

The wolves were not all evil murderers and the humans not dunces for allowing them among them. This group, singing so joyously, was a family, in the truest sense of the word.

While some no doubt still grieved the loss of their former laird, most were clearly content to look to the future and all were willing to celebrate the wedding of their tenderhearted healer.

Their connection was every bit as strong as that among the Éan and she had not expected that. The Faol had always been monsters in her mind and now they were people, some good, some bad—though too many not to be trusted.

When the song ended, Father Thomas smiled. “That was a thing of heavenly beauty and no one will ever convince me differently.”

Verica smiled and Sabrine was glad the priest’s words had pleased the other raven woman, though Sabrine wasn’t certain what he’d said that was so pleasing. He bowed his head and prayed. Though she did not understand a word he said, she recognized the attitude of reverence. Sabrine spoke enough English to recognize the language, but she found not one syllable he spoke now in any way discernable.

She had not closed her eyes and bowed her head as many around her had done, so she noticed the old man glaring at the wedding couple with such loathing. It was the same man who had been so disagreeable at the evening meal. Wirp, she had heard him called.

She met his gaze and his eyes widened when hers did not drop. She let the warrior that lived inside her show in her face and she gave him silent warning should he attempt to disrupt her friend’s happiness.

His glare intensified, but this time it was fixed fully on her. She let him see his hatred did not frighten her. She had lived her whole life believing all among the Faol hated her to the point of death. Learning some did not made this man’s loathing seem petty. It certainly had no power to hurt her.

The same was not true for Verica, however; Sabrine was certain of it. The healer was vulnerable to her clan’s vagaries and Sabrine was not about to stand by while a bitter old man visited misery on her new friend.

For a brief second, the female warrior descendant from the Éan’s royal line surrounded herself with the image of a golden dragon, ancient ancestor of her people.

Dragon changers no longer flew in the skies, but their memories had not been forgotten like the great beasts the Faol dismissed from their own histories as myth. Just as many of them had dismissed the Éan.

Not this man though.

She sensed he knew the bird shifters still existed and he despised them with his entire being. Right now, there was no room for his hatred though. He was too busy clutching at his heart and falling back several steps.

He’d gone as pale as milk with the cream skimmed off the top. She felt no guilt at causing him such fear.

The man’s thoughts had been as transparent as water. He would do Verica and Earc harm if he could.

She would make sure the evil old bitch’s son would have no opportunity to do so.

She dismissed him with a flick of her eyes and focused her attention on the priest, who had finished praying and was now stepping aside for Padraig to come forward and read from parchment he held with great reverence.

Again he spoke in that language that resembled neither Gaelic nor Chrechte enough for her to understand anything, though the more she heard the more she thought it sounded like a strange type of English perhaps.

It is Latin. Barr’s voice in her head held an underlying growl that had to be his wolf and was not present when he spoke aloud.

For a moment, the implications of hearing him did not strike her. She was gifted among her people with the ability to speak to them all in such a way should she choose to do so, but the Faol had no such gift.

Or did they?

They must. The other prospect, that he was her true mate, was too terrifying to contemplate. Would Heaven be so cruel?

Can you speak thus to others? she asked, knowing her panic tinged the mental connection between them.

My brother, my father before he died. No others. He on the other hand sounded supremely satisfied by their ability to mindspeak. In fact,