The Luna's Vow

Chapter 15. A Visit to the Goddess

The more exhausted Blake was with his toils, the deeper and longer he usually slept, once he actually let himself climb into bed. Ah, climb into bed intending to sleep, I have to clarify.

I wish I was so lucky. No matter how many times I told myself to relax, I could never shut down when something burdened my mind. I could meditate or count sheep, drink warm milk or camomile tea, take long, frigid showers and chew Brazil nuts—and my mind would still race faster than all the bullet trains in Japan.

That night wasn't different.

At three A.M., I still hadn't slept a wink. I slithered out of bed, threw a resentful glance at Blake's angelic smile, listened to his gravelly snores and tip-toed into the kitchen.

The state-of-the-art coffee machine filled the air with the magic smell. Now, coffee, that's a reliable thing compared to a million remedies to get a girl to sleep. That's why we only need one...too bad it works to wake you up, not the other way around!

I took my mug to the armchair by the window. In the winter, at this hour, the view beyond our panoramic windows was impenetrable. I peered into the darkness, imagining the mountains that lay there, as they lay for millions of years, sheltering the sacred sites of the Pacific Nother-West Pack.

The pulse of headache subsided after a few mouth-burning gulps of my coffee. I bobbed in tune with my thoughts—yes, yes, I have to visit the Moon Goddess.

When the coffee truly kicked in, I emptied the mug in the last huge swallow and rushed to get my jacket. It was heavy with moisture and crusted with salt from yesterday, but I wrestled my arms, then shoulders into it anyway. A bit of discomfort couldn't stop me, and as soon as I left the hotel, I'd be in my werewolf form.

A group of early travelers rattled their bags across the lobby of the Olympian, but otherwise the hotel was quiet. The Gamma at the desk called out to them with a rooster's cheerfulness. I stopped for a second to appreciate the gilded plaster, the marble and, most of all, the pack.

The smallest pack in North America, my Dad had called us. It might very well be true, but my pack built this layer into something that was second to none in the world and everyone, from Alpha to Omega, kept on improving it.

As I entered the forest and shifted into the werewolf form, the thoughts of the tireless Gamma at the desk, Blake sleeping in our suite, and the cloud hanging over Grauberg moved my feet towards a different destination.

Instead of the well-trodden path to the Night's Mirror Lake, I wound deeper into the woods to the boundary of the pack's influence. There, the grumpy spruces hid a grove of birches. Even by the starlight and with the clouds hiding the first-quarter moon, their silvery trunks were clearly visible, all lined up like columns of a nature's temple. Threads of mist stretched between the trees in a ghost's shroud.

As if the sight wasn't eerie enough, the protective wards sent chills down my spine, dotted my arms with goosebumps, and made me hear phantom rustles behind me. They used to be in place to turn away random hikers so that no human could glimpse the Moon Arch by accident, but tonight even I would have bailed the second I lost my focus. The wards this strong had to have a living source nearby. A werewolf, protecting his pack's territory.

"Hello?" I called, fighting to keep the quiver out of my voice. "It's Luna Celeste. Watchers, show yourself!"

Two shadows slipped out of the cover of the spruces, black cut-outs against the backdrop of the faintly glowing grove. A coal-black werewolf and a coal-black wolf, the perfect predators of the night. Red eyes gleamed at me like embers.

I exhaled, fighting down the jitters, as recognition dawned on me. "Harold, you really should get some sleep. You look awful."

"So do you, Luna."