Celtic Moon by Jan DeLima Read Free Book Online Page A

good leg to scoot backward against a tree, holding her belly and sucking in deep breaths of air as she lifted her eyes to her attacker.
    And a red wolf stared back, eye level to Sophie’s sitting position, smaller than Dylan, with softer lines and golden eyes filled with hatred, too much hatred for mercy.
    Sophie recognized her death in those golden eyes, and in a moment of calm clarity, her brain adjusted to her predicament. These were wolves. They did not show compassion. They did not respect fear; prey showed fear.
    They understood dominance.
    Sophie lowered her chin and leveled a glare at the female wolf. “If you harm me . . . you harm Dylan’s child.”
    In response, the wolf lifted her head to the sky. Sophie sensed the air thickening, as if the earth stilled to give its breath, its very life force, to another. And again, in a surreal show of melted fur and broken bone, a being changed its form, this time from a wolf into a woman.
    Sophie, unfortunately, recognized that woman.
    Siân unfolded into a standing position, naked and unashamed, tall and lithe like an athlete. Wet strands of dark red hair trailed over pale skin as she glared down at Sophie.
    “Look at you,” Siân sneered. “So weak. So . . .
human
.” Full lips peeled back over small white teeth, wolf’s behavior despite the human form. “I don’t believe that child you carry was fathered by Dylan.”
    Sophie was about to dispute the vile accusation, but something in Siân’s voice stopped her, something desperate and a little . . . unstable.
    Sophie stood, slowly; her wounded leg threatened to crumple but eventually held her weight. She stole a quick glance at her shredded jeans covered in blood. Just a flesh wound, she prayed, because she needed the ability to run.
    She wanted freedom, not death; she wanted her baby to live, and a lie was such an easy price to pay for what Sophie wanted.
    “You’re right.” Somehow she sensed those words were her key to freedom. “My baby isn’t Dylan’s.”
    A triumphant smile touched Siân’s lips. “Then you don’t belong here.”
    “No, I don’t.” Sophie almost laughed at how much she agreed with those words.
    “You’re not worthy of Dylan. You’re not strong enough to lead by his side. You’re not strong enough to protect us.”
    Sensing victory, she kept her voice calm. “Let me leave and someone more deserving can have him.”
    A predatory light entered Siân’s golden eyes. A different plan danced within those eerie depths that the wolf within found more appealing.
    “Dylan believes my child is his,” Sophie reminded her. “Even now, he may smell my blood on your hands. What would your punishment be, I wonder, if he thought you had harmed his child?”
    Doubt filled Siân’s expression, and then fear as she dumbly stared down at her hands, where blood remained even after changing forms, damning streaks of burgundy against pale skin. “So fragile . . .” Her voice was breathless, almost in awe. “Like a newborn lamb.”
    “If you let me leave,” Sophie continued, weaving threats and planting ideas, knowing her only defense was ingenuity and not physical strength, “you’ll have time to clean up, to go home. He’ll never know . . .”
    Siân frowned then, as if weighing her options. “Yes,” she whispered finally, “that would be for the best. Your only chance is to keep to the water. You don’t have much time. The guards have separated but they’ll circle back soon. Go south along the stream. Stay in the water. It will hide your stench.”
    “I know the way.” Adrenaline rushed over her, fueling her resolve. She headed straight for the stream, refusing to look back, the pain of her wounded leg dulled by the promise of freedom.
    Laughter whispered through the trees.
    “Run, human. Run far away and never return . . . because if you do, I’ll kill you and that bastard child you carry in your womb.”
    Sophie didn’t run,
couldn’t
run—her injured