Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,2

had developed a soft spot for Circin, the young warrior who had challenged him and ended up being trained in the way of their people for his trouble. Since Circin was to lead the Donegal clan one day, both by the king’s edict and the reality that he would one day be the strongest Chrechte amidst the Donegals, it was imperative he learn to control and utilize his wolf’s nature.

The task was not an easy one though, not with poorly taught Chrechte who seemed oblivious to their instincts and blind to their surroundings . . . on a good day.

Muin wasn’t usually one of the idiotic ones though. That was the only thing saving him from a hard knock to the ground.

The young clansman’s face took on a hue as ruddy as his plaid. “I, uh . . .”

“Acted without thought. I would agree.”

“I’m sorry, laird.” Muin ducked his head, the shame he felt a palpable taste in the air around them.

“Do it again and I’ll toss you like a caber.”

“Yes, laird.”

“And, Muin?”

The youth raised his face to meet Barr’s gaze. Barr had to respect the courage it took to do that. He didn’t usually frighten grown men like his twin brother, Niall, did, mostly because he knew how to smile and his brother didn’t. Not that Barr had had reason to do so lately. However, his size alone intimidated many among the Donegal clan, Chrechte and human alike.

“Yes, laird?” Muin asked.

“We are Chrechte. We respect all life. We hunt for food, not for sport.”

“But the birds, they’re bad luck.”

“They’re birds. Only old men who remember their yesterdays better than today and cubs believe a bird brings or takes luck. You are a warrior. Act like it.”

Muin straightened, pulling his shoulders back. “Aye, laird.”

Barr shook his head and turned to continue their pursuit of the wild boar, for all the good it would do them. If their hunting party returned with a kill, he’d revise his opinion of these young Donegal Chrechte.

Earc would still have the boar’s scent at least. The other Sinclair warrior who had come with Barr to train the Donegal soldiers and the Chrechte among them never gave up on a hunt.

And he had not on this one, but he looked puzzled by the path the boar took through the forest. “It’s running from us,” Earc said in a voice no human would have been able to hear.

“You think it smells our younger Chrechte?” They had not yet mastered the ability to mask their scents for long periods of time.

“I dinna ken. Something has it spooked. ’Tis running without thought for direction, I’m thinking.”

“Circin and I will get ahead of it and chase it back to the rest of you.”

Earc nodded.

Shifting into his wolf form, Barr followed the boar’s scent, determined to bring down their prey. Circin, the other Chrechte who had control of his change, followed suit. The others, who did not, followed at a faster run than most humans could manage.

The scent of something besides boar teased at Barr’s wolf’s senses, demanding his attention with subtle power. Something tantalizing and different. Something his wolf could not ignore. Even more imperative than prey, it insistently drew his wolf’s attention from the hunt.

The boar all but forgotten, the wolf strained to follow the new scent, causing his canine body to twist with preternatural grace. Never breaking the pace of his running, and not waiting for approval from his conscious mind for the change in course, the wolf followed where the inner beast demandingly led.

Barr’s human mind tried to decipher what his senses were telling him, but he had never encountered a scent quite like this one. Nor had he ever reacted to smell alone with this impossible-to-deny need.

A need so basic, it found acceptance in his beast, while his human mind remained mystified.

Was the smell that of a human? He raised his snout to sniff the air more fully. Pine. Loamy earth. Sunshine. A rabbit. A squirrel. Dead leaves and dried pine needles. And the scent. Undeniably human, undeniably more.

And female. Not in heat, but with the subtle fragrance of her sex. Though no wolf’s musk mixed with the other smells.

If not a wolf, she must be human. His sense of other had to come from her unique scent.

For, if not wolf, what else was there?

Mothers told their cubs tales of other shifter tribes, but those were just fairy stories told to entertain little ones. Wolves were the only Chrechte he or anyone in the Sinclair clan