Page 4 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

“I couldn’t breathe the entire time she walked toward me. Her hair was long and dark, flowing down her back, and she had the most striking eyes I’d ever seen. Green and gold, shining from within.”

Nova had often heard folk speak of her mother’s beauty. Had any other man happened upon her at the edge of the Wood, they would have cast the strange woman out of town. But her father had always treated everyone he met with respect regardless of their rank, earning him a place as a trusted member of the community despite his lack of nobility.

“We were joined at the temple two weeks after we first laid eyes on each other. Folk wished us well, but most kept their distance. Elena was as kind and gracious as any noble lady, but there was an energy about her, a hum like an approaching storm. It was partly what drew me to her, but many found it unsettling.

“We lived together happily until the following summer when Elena left this world giving me the greatest gift imaginable—you. Our time together was so short, I awoke many mornings convinced she’d been only a dream. But there you were, my living, breathing reminder of Elena and the love we shared, however brief it was.”

He cupped her cheek tenderly and smiled down at her, though he couldn’t hide the immense grief she knew he still felt. Guilt gnawed at Nova’s stomach, knowing she didn’t share his pain. It was difficult to mourn someone she’d never known.

A sudden pop from the logs drew Nova back to the present moment, eyes once again scanning the smooth lines of the painting. The artist had captured her father’s likeness perfectly, from the golden swirls of his hair and his wide, proud smile to the playful gleam in his warm brown eyes.

Another image of her father’s face flashed in her mind, unbidden. Ashen skin and a fixed gaze, as he’d looked the day she found him in his bed two years earlier, dead from an attack the physician said had stopped his heart. Prone to bouts of profound sadness, her father had often relied on Nova as a caretaker. His episodes kept him bedridden, refusing to eat or bathe, often for weeks at a time. Nova stifled a shudder, refocusing her attention on the painting. She preferred to remember him that way.

It was the only likeness she had ever seen of her mother, her wavy hair a dark mahogany complementing her olive skin. With their vastly different coloring, Nova could see no resemblance between herself and the beautiful woman in the painting.

Her mother stared down at her from her perch on the wall, head bowed slightly, green eyes gazing up from under thick lashes. Her demure smile conveyed genuine happiness, but she seemed to be shrinking back slightly, her arms wrapped protectively around the swell of her belly in the foreground. Adorning her hand was a unique ring: a simple silver band set with a large oval stone the color of fresh milk.

Nova had spent countless nights analyzing her mother’s expression. Her eyes held a hint of something Nova could never quite put her finger on, as if she knew something Nova didn’t.

Nova set the candlestick on the wide desk on the right-hand side of the room and approached the bookshelves lining the wall directly behind it. The knotted-pine walls glowed warmly in the firelight, giving the den the feel of a secluded mountain cabin, cloistered away from the outside world. She ran her fingertips along the leather-bound spines of the books, her most prized possessions and, somewhat pathetically, she thought, her dearest friends.

Settling on a collection of legends about the creatures of the Fae Realm, she flopped down onto the armchair, hooking her legs over the side. Soon, she was transported to the exciting and dangerous world of the Fae, teeming with mythical creatures like lycane, massive bloodthirsty wolves, and large reptilian cats called yaesira.

As the clock in the hall chimed ten, a sudden surge of energy flooded Nova’s body, an intense sense of awareness settling over her like a shroud. She sprang to her feet and crept to the nearby window, parting the heavy drapes slightly to survey the garden below.

The rain had stopped. The moon, nearly full, bathed the yard in pale light. A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision drew her attention to the narrow laneway at the side of the house. Immediately, she thought of Ryker. Perhaps he’d returned to avenge his wounded pride. She swatted the thought away. Perhaps it was someone in need of a tonic. But no one ever visited her home so late.

A few moments passed in silence. She had nearly convinced herself the flicker had been nothing more than a trick of her eyes when a firm string of knocks sounded against the door at the rear of the house. Her heart leapt into her throat, her breath coming out in a startled choke. She waited for a beat, and the visitor knocked again.

Nova crossed to the desk and threw open a shallow drawer, searching blindly for the letter opener stowed there, her eyes trained on the darkness beyond the study door, which stood slightly ajar. Finally locating the makeshift blade, she grasped it tightly, curling her fingers around its tiny hilt. She took the candlestick in her free hand, the taper melted down to a waxy stump, and entered the darkened hallway, holding both the candle and the letter opener out in front of her.

Nova slipped through the house quickly even in the dim light, skipping over the one step that always groaned in protest as she descended the back staircase to the kitchen. Peeking her head through the archway at the bottom of the stairs, she scanned the room before entering. Nothing appeared out of place.

She crept into the kitchen and set the candle on the sideboard before approaching the door, her back hugging the wall and furniture as she went. Holding her breath, she rose up on her toes and peeked through the pane of decorative stained glass on the upper portion of the door.

She saw no one.

Confused, she flipped the lock and grasped the knob, pulling the heavy door open slightly, her shoulder braced against it as a precaution. She stuck her head through the opening and craned her neck from one side to the other. Suddenly, a towering figure draped in a cloak stepped out of the shadows and into a shaft of moonlight falling upon her doorstep.

Definitely not Ryker.

“Nova Greenmore?” the stranger asked, the voice low and unfamiliar. With the moon at his back, his face was hidden in shadow below his hood.

Nova gathered all the composure she could muster in spite of the alarm twisting in her stomach.

“Yes. Who are you?” she demanded, silently thanking the gods for keeping her voice from trembling.

“My name is Callan Nyhauslen. I’ve been sent on behalf of your mother.”

“My mother?”

Disarmed by the unexpected and unbelievable statement, Nova stepped back and waved the stranger into her kitchen before she could think better of it.

Three

The absurdity of what she’d done struck her like an arrow as soon as she heard the latch fall into place, and she turned to face the imposing figure standing in her kitchen. Water dripped from his charcoal cloak and brown boots, a puddle forming on the slate tile beneath him. Nova took several backward steps before bumping against the wooden worktop in the center of the room. She glanced down at her flimsy shift and the letter opener still clutched in her hand.

Nova slapped the paper knife down on the worktop and spun around, searching the room for anything to serve as a robe. The best option was Agnes’s apron hanging on a hook by the hearth. Nova snatched the flour-dusted smock, slipping it over her head and tugging the strings tight behind her back. Finally, she turned to face the stranger who stood motionless, observing her.