Free Blood Moon by Goldie McBride Page B

direction.
Her life had changed. It would never be the same. And if it had
not, then she would have been wed long since and very likely have a
babe at her breast by now.
    In any case, she was very doubtful that
his intentions toward her were of a seductive nature … however
treacherously her body interpreted every word, look, and gesture he
bestowed upon her. Possibly, he viewed that as a potential bonus to
his efforts, but it was not the ultimate goal. Of that she was
fairly certain. His behavior toward her had been that of a
gentleman from the very first. Unlike Lord Algar, he had made no
attempt to take advantage of her situation.
    “A breaker of hearts, perhaps,” she
responded finally, teasingly. “But I cannot see you as a seducer of
innocents.”
    The comment was rewarded by one of his
rare grins. “I never said it was true, only that it was rumored …
and, in any case, I don’t recall that I suggested it had to do with
the seduction of innocents at all.”
    Aslyn’s jaw went slack. “But …
uh….”
    He chuckled at the look on her face.
Instead of commenting, however, he began to pluck a tune and sang a
ballad. Regardless of his claims, his skill was far more than
merely modest. He played well, and he sang even better, his voice
deep and rich, reaching down into her soul, curling a tight fist
around her heart that made her yearn for all those things she’d
missed in her life … husband, hearth, and children … the passion of
a man she could love who loved her in return. She was so enthralled
she forgot her guard, clapping enthusiastically when he’d finished,
smiling at him warmly. “That was beautiful!”
    He bowed his head slightly. After a
moment’s thought, he played another tune. The ballad he sang,
however, was completely unfamiliar to her. It was hauntingly sad,
and spoke of a people hunted, misunderstood, despised.
    When he’d finished, he set the lute
aside and moved to check the meat.
    “What is this ballad? I’ve never heard
it before.”
    He shrugged, intent upon his task.
“It’s from a legend as old as mankind … as old as Uthreana, the
Earth Mother.”
    “This is about a people that lived long
ago?”
    He turned to look at her, his
expression unreadable. “Many believe they still live among
us.”
    Aslyn frowned, thinking back to what
she remembered of childhood lessons, but she could not recall ever
having heard a tale anything like it. “I don’t think I’ve ever
heard about them.”
    He returned his attention to the meat,
cutting into it experimentally to check it for doneness. “It’s the
legend of the werefolk—the beast people—or, as they prefer to call
themselves, the brethren, who appear as ‘normal’ as you and I much
of the time, but who are virtually immortal, and change themselves
into beasts and roam the night. According to legend, there are
those born into the clan, and those fortunate enough to be … chosen
as mates.”
    A dizzying rush of fright washed
through Aslyn as she studied his back, realizing this was no idle
conversation. He knew, or he suspected. In either event, her
situation was far more dire than she’d supposed. The realization
threw her mind into such turmoil that it took a supreme effort of
will to force herself to consider how one not guilty, as she was,
would react to the story. Should she dismiss it? Or would it be
best to express some interest in the subject? Would it be dangerous
to show any interest at all?
    In truth, despite her fear, the tale
held more promise of her possible salvation than anything she’d
learned in all her years of travel. If there was any truth at all
to it, and surely there must be, she wanted—needed to know whatever
he might know about it.
    She decided it wouldn’t be safe to
appear too intrigued and forced a scoffing chuckle that sounded
hollow even to her own ears. “Werewolves? But these are just
stories simple folk frighten themselves with. In any case, I
wouldn’t think being ‘chosen’ a very