Page 12 of King of Moon and Claws

But much to his surprise, as he let go of the towel and left it in Elora’s hands, their eyes magnetized to one another. Her voice was dusky in the steamy room.

“I would like that.”

Bastian called for Nerys to tend to Elora while he quickly dressed himself to meet with the shaman. He scolded himself as he pulled on the official robes of his house, the mate effect wearing off albeit briefly. The memory of the shaman’s appointment, if there had even been one, had been utterly eviscerated once he’d encountered Elora.

He rushed into the lounge where the shaman waited, fixing his hair before he walked inside.

Iagan was an elder of the old world, renowned for his knowledge and diplomacy. His triumphs were legendary, bridging the gap between various paranormals with reasonable dialogue and sage council. Shifters, vampires, witches, and other paranormals who inhabited the Wildwoods owed much of the era of peace to his contribution.

In a long cape adorned with charms, Iagan stood beneath the high Gothic ceilings. It was lavish attire that he’d earned over the decades of consolation and negotiations.

But Iagan was still somewhat human, and the age showed on his face through deep grooves and valleys along the road of his forehead, cheeks, and neckline. Rumors had circled that the shaman dabbled in magical practices to limit the aging process. The king took those with a grain of salt.

“My King,” Iagan said, bowing slightly. “I am sorry for my intrusion. I have arrived with an inquiry.”

Bastian waved him off, apologizing profusely.

“No need to apologize. Come, take a seat. My servants will have lemon cakes and tea brought in.”

The shaman grinned and settled on a couch. Soon enough, the servants brought the tasty treats in. The king sat in his designated chair, a wingback with throne-like adornments of gold lace and silver silk.

“I will get straight to the point,” the shaman said, holding his tea and saucer. “Word has been spilled that there was a raid on a vampire bunker. And the word was that you, My King, were that one that led it.”

Bastian stifled a grunt, then folded his legs to keep from visibly bristling. Gossip was a contagion in the Wildwoods.

“There was no raid. It was I, alone, who rescued a witch that a sole vampire had kidnapped. Vasilis.”

The shaman nodded, sipping at his ginger tea slowly.

“I was able to locate her because she can speak to animals. That was, supposedly, why Vasilis kidnapped her.”

Just as Bastian had taken a breath, Elora walked into the room. She may as well have been swanned in by songbirds as far as the king was concerned. She was the epitome of beauty beyond comprehension.

Elora was adorned in a dark navy blue dress that ran tightly along her bust, coloring the curves of her shapely form. Her hair had been dried, sweeping down the front of her chest. It sparkled, no longer unkempt from her months of torture. She was spritely and spirited.

There was a flicker of light in those gray eyes that the king hadn’t noticed before. It was vivid, painting them nearly a shade of a lightning strike. She was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

The shaman cleared his throat, bringing Bastian back into the present. He stood up from his chair and introduced Elora to Iagan, leading her to sit next to him.

Elora recalled the plight of her experience with the vampire leader, recounting his efforts in gaining her telepathy for sinister means. The shaman listened closely, captivated by her tale.

“He wants to make an unstoppable army using my abilities,” she said, using her hands to speak emphatically. “He wants to enslave me. Or at least, take me out so I cannot use them against him. He was quite clear about his intentions.”

Bastian spoke as the shaman mulled over the situation.

“Why do you think, Iagan, that Vasilis would move against the paranormal community after all these years of peace?”

“There will always be peacetime and wartime. It all goes in cycles, My Dear King. Perhaps this is a signal for you to prepare. It would be ideal for you to keep the witch protected, though, during these uncertain times.”

Bastian gazed at Elora, who did not protest. She seemed slightly uneasy from all the talk of war, but he didn’t take that personally.

“She will be under guard at all times in the palace,” Bastian promised.

And he meant it with every cell in his body.

EIGHT

ELORA

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