Children of the Moon 04 - Dragon's Moon

enough to sustain a sparrow much less a wolf caught up with her in that one confusing moment. Swaying on her feet, she tilted forward.
    She jerked back, but overcompensated and one foot slipped out from beneath her.
    Suddenly, unbelievably, despite her wolf’s grace, she pitched forward. She tumbled into the night air, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the stone, one finger connecting. She tried to make it two, to get a better grip, but she could feel her fingertips giving way even as she did so.
    She refused to let the joints unbend, but she could feel blood welling around cuts in her fingers from the stone. The wetness proved her undoing. No amount of will could force her fingers to hold as the wet blood made them slip and she fell.
    Her wolf howled as she tried to shift, hoping against all to live.
    But it was not the hard ground that broke her fall. Sharp talons curled around her body, warm scales that felt like living chain mail pressed against her face and suddenly she was not falling, but flying upward. In the arms of a dragon.
    That was the last her tormented mind could take. Ciara welcomed the black oblivion as it came.

Chapter 2

The dragon wing of night o’erspreads the earth.
    —S HAKESPEARE
    T he woman’s body went limp in his arms and Eirik knew she had fainted.
    Fury fueled by an inexplicable worry and having to shift into his dragon where other Sinclairs might be watching filled him as Eirik flew back toward his people.
    At least it was night, but the moon was nearly full and a keen-eyed Sinclair could not help but notice a dragon flying in the sky over their holding.
    What had the bloody-minded female been thinking to climb onto the tower, instead of staying safe inside it?
    What was she doing out at all this late at night? He could smell her wolf, so he knew she was Chrechte. Did she think that made her safe from dangers that lurked in darkness?
    Despite his anger, he was careful when he laid her on the grass to regain her senses. He was dressed and strapping his sword back on when her eyes fluttered.
    Eyes the color of emerald looked up at him in confusion. “You are dragon.”
    He did not deny it.
    “You are.” She tried to rise, but fell back weakly. “You are the dragon .”
    “And you are clumsy for a Faol.”
    She shook her head, but he did not think it was in denial. Dark shadows marred the perfect pale skin below eyes in an oval-shaped face, so lovely it almost hurt to look at her. Her collarbones were outlined by that same pale skin, as if she had not been eating enough. And her hands trembled.
    Was Talorc not taking care of his people?
    Eirik could not believe it of the arrogant but honorable Chrechte laird.
    The trembling could simply be from fear though. He could smell it on her, a sour stench that did not coincide with her beauty or Chrechte spirit.
    “My…I…”
    “What were you doing on top of the tower?”
    “Waiting for you.”
    He gave her a look that doubted her words. Was she addled then? He could sense the heat of her blush before her alabaster skin turned pink.
    “I mean for all of you. I wanted to see the new Chrechte that would join our clan.”
    “You are a Sinclair.” Of course she was. She wore their plaid, though her dress was a little different.
    Her skirt was the pleated tartan of the Sinclair, but she wore a black bodice laced over her white blouse, a tartan shawl pinned to her shoulders.
    It was far too many layers for a wolf to wear for easy shifting. Did the Sinclair not teach his Chrechte the importance of speed when doing so? It could make the difference between life and death.
    Had Eirik not been able to shift near instantly only moments before, that death would have been hers.
    “I was a Donegal.”
    So, she had married into the clan. Why that knowledge should make his dragon feel like casting fire Eirik did not know.
    “And now you are a foolish Sinclair who does not knowbetter than to keep your vigil of curiosity on the top of a tower. You are no bird to save yourself with a shift.”
    She frowned, clearly affronted by his plain speaking. Too bad. Someone should have spoken to her of such before.
    “Your husband has failed in his duty to protect you.” And Eirik would tell the idiot just that when he met him.
    “I have no husband.”
    “Then how did you come to be a Sinclair when you were a Donegal?” Only his younger cousin would dare to interrupt Eirik’s discourse with the Sinclair wolf.
    Ciara turned her head so she could see