By the Light of the Moon by Laila Blake

her rebellious little head, trapped in an oddly feeble body riddled with insecurities, little ticks and twitches. Not then though, there in that room, she sat quietly, eyes wide with focus. An odd beauty, but a beauty, nonetheless.
    “What can they do?” she asked then, changing her line of questioning when the last one had made her feel small and insignificant.
    “It depends on their age and their experience, but you don’t have to be afraid of the one your father hired. They are turncoats but they are not cruel, really. Not known to harm the innocent.”
    “I am not afraid.”
    “Good. And they do have weaknesses … ”
    She looked up and Brock knew that he had her attention then.
    “Fire, for one. They like water, but fire makes them uneasy. Too much sun. And then there’s the full moon, of course.”
    When he saw her brows rise again, at that he let his eyes swing to the sliver of sky displayed by the narrow window. It was still light out, but afternoon was visibly drawing into evening. “You must know that the full moon compels them to shift into their animal form, so at night … ”
    “ … they aren’t human.” she finished, wrinkling her brows in thought.
    “They are never human, milady,” Brock warned. His eyes flickered. “Don’t you forget that.”
    Moira looked down and shrugged her delicate shoulders. She didn’t approve of Owain’s presence in their house, but it was difficult to see him as anything but a person. He was quiet and polite and she couldn’t find animal or monster in his countenance.
    “Are you keeping up with your star charts and the moon calendar?” Brock finally asked after allowing her to follow her own thoughts for a while. He was pleased when she nodded with a bit of an eager smile and he gave her an approving one in return. “Have you found any influence of the moon on your insomnia?”
    “No,” she offered with a shrug, “Not really. We’ll see tomorrow.”
    Brock grinned knowingly. “Indeed,” he said, and then straightened himself up to his full height, which despite his age, was still impressive. He let his eyes linger on her face for a moment longer, making sure she followed the steps he had so neatly laid out for her. He was positive of it when he saw a small flicker move across her face and then a smile. Then he patted her shoulder and ended the lesson.

    • • •
    Deagan was still angry. He had taken his favorite horse out of the rickety Bramble Keep stables — just one of the many things he was planning to modernize once this pathetic ruin was his — and gone for a ride and a hunt in the nearby woods. His crossbow had hit the mark in a squirrel, hardly worth the bolt that had torn through its tiny body like a sword through water and shattered on the branch behind it. He had left it for the carnivores and when no other wildlife appeared, he’d lost patience and steered his stallion back toward the Keep.
    He and his delegation had been set up in a usually unused wing of the building. The vague smell of damp and moss seemed to hang there in a way it didn’t in the other rooms. It was a clear sign of tight-fisted housekeeping not to keep them constantly lit and heated. Another item on his ever-growing list of necessary improvements and he was beginning to think that the young lady was in need of several herself.
    “More wine,” he grunted at his manservant when he stepped into his chambers to stand by the fireplace. In the capital, it was still summer with warm glowing days; here, the change of color in the leaves had just begun and there was already an uncomfortable chill in the air. And of course, the village tailor didn’t sell anything he’d consider wearing. Even the Rochmonds didn’t seem very intent on displaying their social stature through their clothing. All the wool and fur and leather made more sense now, but there had to be something that could be done with it that livened up the fabric and the dire appeal of a room filled with