Page 28 of King of Moon and Claws

Iagan leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The sky was growing darker around them, and Bastian supposed a storm was impending. Soon enough, it was only the light from the fire that was present, casting them both in an ethereal, rusty glow.

When the shaman responded again, he sounded more confident. Both his eyes had dulled with age, but the roaring flames brought color back to the sunken sockets.

“The only way Vasilis would know about Elora is if he has been working with a witch. Perhaps this witch was aware of her powers, able to pick them up before anyone else could.”

The hearth crackled with a harsh splitting of wood, and Bastian cocked an eyebrow.

“Are you saying that a witch planted the idea in the vampire lord's mind to torture Elora? To bring more of her powers to the surface?”

Iagan nodded, then unfolded his legs. He leaned into the flickering firelight, the hollows of his gaunt face like deep shadows.

“And I would imagine that this witch must have access to you. You not only have power, but Elora is your mate."

The consideration soared into the king’s mind. He felt foolish and angry.

“Are you trying to suggest that Serife is the mastermind behind all of this? That she wants the war to happen so she can… manipulate Elora into growing her abilities?"

Iagan leaned back into the shadows. Bastian could no longer read his repression, cloaked in the darkness.

“You must come to your conclusions about all of that. I am merely here to advise you and give you my opinion on the matter."

Bastian was dumbfounded, quickly leaving the cabin to mull it over as he returned to the castle.

SEVENTEEN

ELORA

Elora woke with a pep in her step the night after sensational lovemaking with the king. She burst with energy, proud that she had spoken her truth and that her feelings for Bastian were blossoming. What that would eventually entail, Elora didn't know, but she finally felt willing to trust her emotions.

The ground beneath her feet was starting to feel stable again.

Vasilis had tortured the confidence out of her and drained her of her lively spirit. She hopped out of bed, dressed, and rushed toward the library, feeling like a tiny sprout bursting through the earth again.

Her ego had been bruised, too, her nature stolen. It had been a lingering black spot in her mind ever since Bastian had rescued her, but she could feel it lifting. It couldn't just be post-coital bliss, right? It had to be something else, something far more profound and mystical.

The triumphant return of her true self revealed Elora’s natural tendency toward knowledge. She loved hearing about the war witches from Serife the day before and felt thirsty to know even more. The royal library was a place she had only briefly explored, so she decided while Bastian was out dealing with his business that she could do some research for herself.

In her pajamas and silk robe, Elora fingered through the library in a section specified for witches. Finally, she found the title she had been seeking. A History of War Witches.

She slid the book out from the shelves and tucked it under her arm as she darted back down the hallway to the king's private chef. There, he made her a special omelet and hazelnut coffee, the table scented with a vase of fresh lavender.

Elora then carried the book with her out to the garden and sat between two rose bushes. The sun peeked out between slate gray clouds and warmed her skin pleasantly.

It made her think of Bastian’s hot, but tender touch. She sunk onto a bench, popped open the book, and lost herself in the thrilling content.

She had no idea how long she’d been reading when she heard the soft ambling of paws against the stone pathway. It was only when she looked up from the pages that she realized she'd disappeared into the book, having devoured nearly a hundred pages since planting herself down. The air was cooler than before, the sky gray.

“Bastian?” she said aloud.

I’m here.

Elora realized she was able to feel his presence before actually seeing him. It made her skin prickle with excitement.

He rounded the corner and passed the sea of slipper orchids in his wolf form. Elora found herself stunned by the sight of him, in awe in a way that didn’t make her afraid. She remained on the bench as she responded telepathically, smiling gleefully at him.

Hi, honey. Sorry, I forgot you can only speak like this when you’re in wolf form.

He did not seem as lighthearted as her. Elora knew that wolves didn’t have the same capacity for varying expressions as humans, but she swore she could see a scowl embedded deep into that dark fur.

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