Bound: Turning Moon, #1

Bound

Turning Moon #1

Julie Embleton

Copyright © 2012 by Julie Embleton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. All characters are events in this publication are either a product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Bound is written in British English by a human being, not AI. It contains mild violence and mild bad language.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost , I want to thank my family for their support, encouragement and belief. To my daughter, I give endless thanks for inspiring me to be the best I can, and for her gentle reminders that I need to step away from my writing and back into reality so she can be fed and watered. To my friends, thank you for your love and support, even though I know that most of the time, you think I’m bonkers. And finally, to my readers—those of you who are silent, and those who send comments, emails and general giddiness my way—your words and support mean more to me that you’ll ever know, and even though it’s entirely inappropriate, if I could, I would hug every single one of you

For Mum and Dad

The words to convey my immense gratitude have yet to be created.

Contents

1. 1

2. 2

3. 3

4. 4

5. 5

6. 6

7. 7

8. 8

9. 9

10. 10

11. 11

12. 12

13. 13

14. 14

15. 15

16. 16

17. 17

18. 18

19. 19

20. 20

21. 21

22. 22

23. 23

24. 24

25. 25

26. 26

27. 27

28. 28

29. 29

30. 30

Bonus Content

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

1

H ey, Dad. It’s me. Nyah Morgan stood at the edge of her father’s grave, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, and eyes watering against a boisterous wind. Crisp winter laced its edges, glee whipping strands of her hair into a frenzied dance to momentarily shroud her view of wilting wreaths.

Jackson did a great job with the headstone, she stamped against the chill creeping through the soles of her boots. I hope you like it.

Hearing herself, she cringed against the stupidity of talking to someone who couldn’t hear, or reply. What are you doing, Morgan? When she rolled her eyes to where pale sky stretched far above the naked tree tips, tears blurred the colourless afternoon. This is so hard, Dad. I hate it. I hate that you’re gone.

Determined to behave braver than she felt, Nyah wiped her cheeks dry. She forced the tears to retreat with a loud sniff, and firming her stance on the icy ground, exhaled an ‘okay’. "So, here’s what he carved. ‘Harper Morgan’, she read aloud, wanting the epitaph broadcast so the surrounding earth would understand the importance of the man now resting in its depths, ‘fearless leader, beloved husband and devoted father. May he rest in peace’."

A small carving graced the black granite. In the upper right corner, a lone wolf stood on the highest of three peaks, its neck chiselled into an eternal arch as it howled under a swollen moon. To the human eye, not that many ever wandered this deep into their territory, the carving appeared to be nothing more than a motif. To her, and all fellow werewolves, it represented how her deceased father had served as alpha.

Nyah traced the etching with numb fingers. I miss you, Dad. With her throat swelling again, she gave her head a shake. Enough.

The scent of Alan, the werewolf set to succeed her father, carried on the unruly breeze. Nyah tried to fix a neutral expression in place, preferring to keep moments of weakness to herself. Tears were best reserved for behind closed doors, or huddled under the duvet at night, as was her preference.

What do you think? Alan strode through the wrought iron gates surrounding the simple cemetery. He came to stand beside her before stretching out to give the regrettable addition an affectionate pat. Jackson did us proud, didn’t he?

He did. It’s perfect. Knowing Alan hadn’t come to the cemetery to share his thoughts on her father’s headstone, Nyah made a point of checking her watch, aware she still had half an hour before two o’clock arrived. I’m not late for the meeting, am I?

No. I wanted to talk to you about something beforehand.

What’s up?

Alan nodded towards the open gate, inviting her to walk with him, as if what needed to be said would disrespect the memory of his deceased alpha. Simon Northfell’s attending the meeting.

Nyah groaned. Alan shared her less than pleasant opinion of Simon Northfell—in fact, the entire pack held little tolerance for the man.

I told him no, Alan followed her through the gate, but as he constantly likes to remind me; I don’t officially have the right to deny his attendance.

He’s such a pain in the ass. Nyah ensured the rusting gate latch had caught properly before they walked on. I wish he’d crawl back to whatever rock he hid under for the last ten years.

I doubt the rock wants him either.

Next Thursday can’t come quick enough, she grumbled as they strolled towards the trees arching over the forest track. Bare limbs clacked overhead, the sound too close to rattling bones for Nyah’s comfort. It’s a pity we can’t find a way to make you alpha sooner.

I don’t think me being in charge will change anything. Northfell wants a place on the council and he’ll fight tooth and nail to get it.

I’d love to know in what reality he thinks he’s entitled to it. He left for a whole decade. Who in their right mind believes they have any sway on any lycan council after abandoning their pack for ten years?

Simon Northfell, apparently.

Nyah kicked a fallen pine cone into the shadowy depths to her right. It rolled down the dip, quickly disappearing. Along with his ancient alpha descendants, if we’re to believe his bullshit.

Alan scratched the back of his neck. Yeah.

Nyah ignored the fidgeting as her rant gained momentum. I bet if every wolf looked into his or her ancestry they’d find some tissue-thin connection to an alpha. He’s got some neck thinking his entitles him to a seat on the council. Or to re-join the pack for that matter.

An exhale of remorse trailed from Alan. Nyah.

His tone slowed her irritated stride. What.

Unfortunately, his connection is a little more substantial than tissue paper.

She came to an abrupt stop. Above, swaying limbs clapped in disapproval. No—that can’t . . . are you sure?

Yes. Alan dragged a hand through his wavy dark-blonde hair, a familiar sign of frustration. I traced his bloodline. Twice. And I checked the statutes. He does have the right.

That’s not good. Nyah hugged herself, unsure if it was against the nipping breeze or the cold truth.

It’s not.

What can we do?

Nothing. Resignation dipped his shoulders.

Nothing at all?

We’re bound by Lycan Law.

Silence hitched a ride for the final stretch of narrow path. It was only when the first of the houses skirting their modest settlement were visible before Alan spoke again.

Nyah. Taking her arm, he urged her to a halt once more. I’ve a bad feeling about all of this. Simon has an obnoxious plan formulating, and whatever it is, I think he’ll announce it at the meeting.

Concern stripped softness from his tawny eyes. Nyah smiled up at him, hoping it would chase the darkness away. And you’ll be ready and able for it.

It’s not me I’m worried about.

So it’s me? she tried to laugh.

I don’t want him upsetting you.

He won’t.

Ignore whatever he says, okay?

Just like you do? she teased, tugging his sleeve as he wrestled with his hair.

His hand dropped. A smile appeared, but didn’t make it past his lips. As he tipped his chin at a call from the direction of the pack house, unease lingered, continuing to dim his expression. I’m watching out for you is all. Old habits die hard, you know. And anyway, you’ve been through enough without that idiot upsetting you.

I’ll be fine, don’t worry, she promised as they left the rustling tree tunnel behind. She was used to Alan’s protective ways. His concern for her had gone into overdrive since her father had passed, and by her reckoning, Alan had another few weeks of big brother duty before he’d ease up.

On her seventh birthday, Alan had declared himself as her older brother. The week before, they’d been making family trees in school. Upon seeing Nyah’s tree empty of siblings when his had five leaves occupied, Alan had stared at her with horrified despair. In response, he’d stolen her sheet off the classroom wall and added his name to the leaf above hers.

When the folded page fell out of his birthday card to her, his solemn promise to always watch out for his little sister came half-choked under emotion. He’d never once faltered since.

He gave her a final careful glance before reluctantly backing away. See you in a few. And remember what I said, okay?

I will. Nyah watched as he jogged towards her father’s house. Pack members were already gathering on the lawn outside, and she threw across a quick wave before turning into the pathway of her new home.

Despite her promise to Alan, the last thing she needed was a meeting waylaid by Simon Northfell. Yesterday’s crazed idea of believing she might be stable enough to start packing away her father’s belongings had left her emotionally drained, emptying the reserves a spat with Mr Obnoxious would require. Wincing at the memory of how her tears had turned the entire packing operation into one big blurred, sobbing mess, Nyah shut her front door and hurried upstairs. She called out to Karen, but with no reply, guessed her to be already at the pack house.

The bathroom mirror highlighted the shadows under her eyes as Nyah brushed her hair. After dragging herself home the previous night, she’d fallen straight onto the bed in a state beyond exhaustion. When she’d woken that morning, tangled in her clothes, sleep hadn’t worked an ounce of magic. You’re a mess, Morgan, she warned her pasty reflection.

Downstairs, she grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the dining table, glancing out the window to the opposite side of the street where her father’s house sat. The sight stung afresh.

For twenty-two years she had lived in that beautiful house, and everything about it she now desperately missed. Some days she feared the hurt for her loss would never ease. How she longed for the comfort of her home’s familiarity and the security her father’s presence had brought. Even the layered scents belonging solely to the old building continued to haunt her dreams. But most of all, profound bereavement came from the knowledge she was now alone. Nyah couldn’t recall a single occasion of ever being the only person inside the four walls of the pack house; it was what she had loved most about being the alpha’s daughter. Her friends used to think she was crazy, wondering how she didn’t go out of her mind with pack members traipsing in and out of her house every day. They had never understood how the comings and goings made her feel as if she had dozens of brothers and sisters, when in reality, it was only her and her father.

With Harper Morgan now gone, she was truly alone. Her mother had faded into nothing more than a cloudy memory of a smiling woman in a lemon-coloured dress her father had once said was his favourite.

Give the self-pity a rest, she threw the banana back to the apples and plums. She wasn’t really alone. Her new house was beautiful, and would soon contain its own unique scents. She and Karen had slipped with ease into sharing, and truth be told, Nyah couldn’t have wished for a better housemate—even though they’d sworn as young girls and BFFs that this was exactly what they’d do—along with never marrying or having children. Boys and babies were stupid and annoying, their wise seven year-old selves had declared. In their house they’d have neither, but they would have six puppies, cake for breakfast, pink wallpaper, and music blaring as loud as they wanted. Grown up Karen and Nyah hadn’t yet secured six puppies, but they did sometimes have cake for breakfast, and Karen regularly blasted music at top volume. Thankfully, they changed their minds about the pink wallpaper.

Funnily enough, they changed their minds about boys, too, especially when Karen met Peter. Nyah had watched as her best friend fell madly in love, and with the No Boys rule officially ditched, the happy couple eventually married two weeks after Karen’s twenty-first birthday. Fourteen short months later, a car accident tore Peter out of Karen’s life.

Sisters in grief, on one of Nyah’s many sleepless, tear-filled nights, Karen had told her that her time with Peter had been the best of her life. ‘And nothing could ever take that away, just like nothing can take your memories from you,’ she had consoled, ‘so take your time grieving your father, but remember; everything that’s up here—,’ at which point she had tapped the side of Nyah’s head, ‘is yours to keep forever.’

It was advice Nyah would have to keep in mind when Alan and his family moved in to her old home next week. Five generations of Morgan Alphas and their families had lived under that roof. Now it was time for the Stensons to reign. ‘The wheel must turn’ her father used to stay. ‘Nothing can ever stay the same’.

Contemplating her father’s sage words, Nyah left the house. She tensed halfway across the street when Simon Northfell’s grey-streaked hair marked his movements amongst the gathering pack members. Although the stiff shoulders and curt nods of those he addressed were subtle, the sense of her pack mates’ resentment blared. Incoming storm, she murmured, and ducking her head, slipped inside to find Alan.

2

The room reserved for pack meetings sat at the front of the house. Flooded with a sudden appearance of afternoon sunshine, Nyah crossed to where the antique mahogany table made by her great-grandfather waited. Pack members ambled in with her, chatting in small groups.

The wall to her rear held a row of portraits displaying former alphas of the Blackwater Ridge pack. Her father’s portrait had been hung on the same day his headstone had been erected; exactly twenty-one days after his death, and as with the headstone, she didn’t want to dawdle on the image of her father. It was hard enough to see traces of him every time she glimpsed her own olive skin, warm brown eyes and black hair in a mirror. The pungent aroma of oil paint lingered and she wondered if his spirit hovered, too. She could almost picture him drifting above her, arms folded while one finger tapped on his upper lip; his pontificating pose, as she had liked to tease.

Alan’s arrival broke through her musings. He pulled out the chair beside her, casting a dark look in Simon’s direction when he strolled into the room. I meant what I said about you remaining on the council once I’m alpha. You know we all want you to stay, despite what tradition dictates.

I think for now it’s best I step away.

There’ll always be a place for you here, don’t ever forget.

I won’t, thanks.

Are you still planning on taking the college course?

At the mention of the only subject which had the ability to lift her spirits, a smile broke free. Yes, definitely. Registration takes place at the end of next month. I hope I’ll qualify for a place.

Sure you will, and before we know it you’ll be a wealthy business tycoon, he grinned.

I want to open a single bookshop, she reminded him, not a nationwide chain.

Ah, you claim that now, but when money starts rolling in, you’ll be talking about expansion and profits and market-share.

What’s this about market-share? Michael, Alan’s soon-to-be beta, dropped into the chair beside Alan. Who’s expanding what?

Nyah’s college course starts next month.

A rare smile creased the corners of Michael’s blue eyes. Ah, yes, the college course. You’ve been talking about it for long enough. It’s about time you took the leap.

I’ve been too busy minding you boys, she teased. If you could stay out of trouble for more than five minutes, Michael Vincent, I’d have been a shop owner long ago.

Michael feigned insult before sudden worry returned his more familiar sombre expression. Does that mean you’re not staying on the council?

When she nodded in reply he looked to Alan for an explanation.

Nyah’s stepping down, Alan told him. I’ve told her she’s more than welcome to stay, but I think she’s just had enough of us.

That’s not true, she hurried to correct, knowing that although Alan joked, she’d hate for anyone to ever think such a thing. I enjoyed being on the council, and I will miss it, but it’s time for a change—for me and you.

But you’re the last—you’re a Morgan, he argued, catching himself just a fraction too late. There’s been a Morgan on the council since—.

Now it’s time for the Stensons, she cut in gently. You know what Dad always said about the wheel turning.

Michael didn’t look convinced. He folded his thick arms on the table and leaned towards her. A sharp jerk of head indicated the figure hovering at the back of the room. Did that asshole say something to you?

Fixing a tight smile, Nyah didn’t dare shift her attention to where Simon might catch her eye. Come on, she fought to sound nonchalant, you know I won’t be able to stop sticking my nose in; once an alpha’s daughter, always an alpha’s daughter.

Despite how authoritatively she stated her position, being an alpha’s daughter carried little weight. It was her father who had drawn her onto the council once he’d accepted his end neared, and had stated in his Bidding Documents, the lycan equivalent of a will, that upon his passing, Nyah should remain on the council and continue to be treated with the respect his position had afforded her.

Alan hadn’t needed an official document to honour Harper Morgan’s wishes. Seamlessly picking up where her father had left off, he continued to include Nyah in all pack business. But despite Alan’s request for her to remain, she knew it wasn’t truly acceptable. The only females who held any kind of authority were alphas’ wives. Daughters, although respected, were regarded more as window dressing within a council. If she did keep her place, she knew as the memories of her father faded for the pack, so would her influence.

Michael flung another glare at Simon as Alan called the meeting into order. The agenda was brief; patrol assignments, an update on the buddy system for the young pack members due their first change, and a final run-through of Alan’s inauguration ceremony due to take place the following Thursday evening.

Simon waited until then to raise his hand.

Simon, Alan invited him to speak, impatience bubbling in the sigh only those close enough could hear.

With smugness stretching his thin lips, Simon drew himself upright. I understand the deadline for alpha nominations is midnight tonight?

That is correct.

And any lycan with an alpha bloodline is entitled to put himself forward?

Growls immediately rumbled.

Also correct.

Simon cast a sneering grin at the heads swivelling in his direction. In that case, I would like to formally announce my submission for the position of Pack Alpha.

Nyah’s heart staggered to a near stop. Snarls exploded, the detonation scattering chairs as the room erupted. In rigid, incredulous shock, she stared as wild gesticulating began, the accompanying shouts barely breaching the sudden pounding in her ears.

Simon simply watched in response, a schooled expression of innocence barely masking his gratification.

Alan had known. He had suspected Simon’s intentions since his return after her father’s death, but couldn’t find the courage to tell her. How could he? Who could ever utter the words aloud? Her hands had already curled into fists. Nails bit into her palms. She wanted to phase, launch herself at Simon and rip his throat out. ‘You want to be alpha?’ rage screamed internally, ‘you think you deserve to become alpha of this pack? You want to take the legacy my father and his ancestors built so you can piss all over it? You’re not good enough! You will never be good enough!’

Already standing, Alan gripped her shoulder, aware her wolf trembled for release. He barked a sharp order for silence. Simon has every right to put himself forward for Pack Alpha. The Show of Hands will take place on Monday night as arranged. The only amendment is you now have two candidates from which to choose. This meeting is adjourned.

Nyah slid into the darkness behind her eyes. Snarls and shouts continued to swamp the room, goading her wolf further. Alan’s perceptive grasp remained. She held still in obedience, clenching her knees until hush settled. It was only then when she opened her eyes. With the exception of Alan, the entire room had emptied.

Nyah, I’m so sorry. Alan deflated into his chair, dragging his hands down his face. I wanted to tell you earlier, I really did, but I just couldn’t find the words—and honestly, a very small and stupid part of me hoped the idiot wouldn’t actually put himself forward.

When she swallowed, bitterness coated her tongue. It’s so, it’s just so. . .

Disrespectful, he finished, but not as meekly as her choked mumble. To return here after such a long absence and think he can take over as alpha is nothing but pure contempt towards every member of this pack.

Why would he do this? He doesn’t care for a single one of us.

I don’t know what the fool is thinking. It’s not like he’s going to be voted in. Hell, if he gets one vote beyond his own I’ll be shocked. And a week from now, when I’m alpha, he’ll be a laughing stock.

"And hopefully leave Blackwater Ridge