Page 2 of Seduced By Moonlight

As Ward rose to his feet, the ravens took to the skies. He quickly realized they were following him as he trailed after the fox. How very odd.

His senses heightened as he crept through the trees, and the sounds of the forest grew quieter as he ventured farther into the darkness. Very, very odd.

Then Ward sensed it—magic. Black magic.

Suddenly, the usual nocturnal sounds stopped completely, replaced by a charged silence. His foxy friend ran off, and the birds darted ahead. Ward’s senses picked up a faint scent among the damp earth and decaying leaves. It was a scent laced with fear and something else—something metallic.

Blood.

Ward’s protective instincts surged to the forefront as he followed the scent trail. The moonlight cast shadows through the twisted branches, creating patterns that danced on the ground.

Close. He was close. He could smell how close he was, but there was nothing—wait. Wait. What was that? Was that…? Yes. It was chanting. As the moon cast a pale, eerie glow over the secluded grove—hissecluded grove—Ward came to a stop and stared in shock. Who were these people who dared trespass on his land?

The air was thick with anticipation, or perhaps it was just the mist that clung stubbornly to the ground. And where hadthatcome from?

He noticed the ceremonial stones laid out in a perfect circle, along with the four figures in dark robes chanting in an ancient tongue, one that he hadn’t heard in a considerably long time.

Sacrifice. Someone was committing a ritual sacrifice with black magic on his land. Why the hell had the wards not alerted him to the fact? They should’ve.

The chanting words were powerful and resonant, vibrating through the air. With each syllable spoken, the markings on the stones glowed softly at first, then brighter and brighter.

Ward’s heart thumped hard, each beat reverberating through his chest. His body quivered with repressed energy as he approached the circle. The night appeared darker, more ominous and menacing.

Within the circle stood a figure, struggling feebly against the ropes that bound their wrists. Ward froze when the person glanced right at him—her eyes were wide with terror, her mouth gagged to stifle any pleas for mercy.

For a moment they stared at each other, and Ward slowly pressed his finger to his lips in the universal sign of quietness. He had no wish to fight, but he also would not allow whatever this was to happen on his own land.

The robed figures continued their incantation, oblivious to Ward’s silent approach. But the ravens from earlier were not. They watched from the trees.

Drawing on the innate power that coursed through his gargoyle blood, Ward dropped the human glamor. His skin was a mottled shade of midnight blue that blended well with the darkness. Large, leathery wings with clawed digits at the tips rose behind him.

He had to act before the ritual reached its climax. The energy in the air was palpable, a dark murmur beneath the chanting, as if the forest itself was protesting.

His stomach rolled sickeningly as he drew closer. Over the stench of black magic, he now caught another odor, one that disturbed him almost as much. The woman in the circle had the odd scent that was associated with hunters.

All the leaders of San DeLain knew of the DNA experiments by Lennox and Nox on humans, but the witches of their community hadrefused to assist, so why were these witches attempting to sacrifice this hunter?

And a more pressing question was why the hunter smelled like a vampire, werewolf,anda mer? As far as he knew, none of the hunters had a combination of characteristics from each paranormal group like that.

Who was this hunter, and just how strong was she?

There’d be time for questions later. Right now, he needed to end this. With an explosive burst of strength,Ward charged the circle, roaring. Above him, the ravens shrieked, adding to the chaos as they flew off.

The robed figures recoiled in terror, one stumbling back and knocking over a stone that had been part of the ritual’s design. Its disruption caused a ripple effect, and the carefully constructed magic unraveled, sparks of dark energy fizzing into the night air like dangerous fireworks.

Then he sensed his wards screaming a warning. Good gods, the witches had somehow dampened them. The robed figures stared at Ward. One tried to maintain the chant, stuttering over the words, but the spell broke.

“Release her,” Ward commanded, unfurling his wings, his tail whipping menacingly behind him.

One particular witch, distinguishable by an intricate amulet that hung low around her neck, stepped forward, pulling back her hood to reveal a face twisted by dark intent and eyes that gleamed like molten silver. Her hair was an unnatural shade of deep violet.

“You do not understand, gargoyle king, and you meddle in things that don’t concern you. Leave us.”

“My land,” Ward snarled. “My concern. You do not command me. I am king here, and I—”

“I have no time for you.” The robed figure muttered a spell as her hands glowed.

But before the twisted magic could reach him, Ward uttered a single word in the primal tongue of old—a word that vibrated with raw power. The black magic disintegrated before it could so much as touch Ward, fizzling out into harmless sparks that died quickly in the night air.

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