Page 2 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)

Night fell, and the rain continued to come down in sheets, falling at an angle and pinging against the windowpanes.

Agnes had returned to the cottage she shared with her husband outside the city limits.

Nova draped a damp washcloth over her face, wondering what she would do once Agnes’s baby was born and Agnes left to begin her new role as a mother.

Perhaps she would travel. Seek out some far-off destination and start fresh as she’d so often dreamt of doing when she was younger.

Ryker’s increasingly aggressive pursuit of her certainly made the idea of disappearing all together an appealing one.

In all likelihood, though, Nova would refuse to hire a replacement, fully submerging herself into her life as a social outcast.

Every night, Agnes made a fuss before she left, going on about how she hated leaving Nova alone at the end of the day.

But Nova considered herself a night owl and secretly treasured the time alone, cocooned in the quiet safety of her home, free to spend the dark hours however she pleased.

All too often, memories blew in on the evening breeze, wrapping around her thoughts like coiling snakes and hindering her sleep.

Rising out of the bath once it started to go lukewarm, Nova toweled off her long limbs and walked from the bathing chamber into her adjoining bedroom.

She stood before the mirror, turning her face from side to side to inspect her reflection.

Ryker insisted she was nothing special, but surely judgments made on the basis of looks were subjective.

Nova regarded herself in the antique glass.

Her pale cheeks were still pinked from the steaming bath.

Glossy black hair hung to her mid-back; it fell in loose waves when dry.

Her gray eyes, admittedly piercing, were crowned by fine, dark brows.

One brow arched a touch higher than the other, giving her a somewhat prim, inquisitive expression.

Her nose sloped delicately, the end slightly upturned over her mouth with a full bottom lip.

Wide cheekbones tapered down to a pointed chin.

Nova rose on her tiptoes, glancing down at her body. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were perky. Her torso narrowed at her waist before spreading out at her wide hips and round bottom. Long, shapely legs, strong from regular horseback riding, extended down to slender ankles.

Nova huffed and turned her back on the mirror. Honestly, who cared what that pompous prick thought anyway?

She pulled a white sleeveless shift over her head, the airy fabric gliding over her warm skin. Taking the candlestick from atop her chest of drawers, she padded barefoot past the gallery wall lining the hallway to the den, which had once been her father’s study.

A low fire crackled amiably in the fireplace.

Agnes had kindled it before she left, knowing Nova spent most nights curled up in a chair reading.

Nova fed another log to the flames, her eye catching on the lifelike oil painting of her parents hanging above the mantel when she stood.

As she studied it, her mind wandered to an evening many years before.

She’d been thirteen, sitting on the carpet, resting her chin on the worn-leather arm of her father’s chair, and staring up at the canvas.

“Will you tell me the story of how you met?” she asked.

Normally, she didn’t press her father for information about her mother, wary of dredging up painful memories and setting off one of his moods.

But she’d heard the story so many times it could have been one of the tales in her anthology of faerie stories tucked away on the nearby shelf.

Her father smiled faintly, taking a deep breath before he began.

“It was a fine autumn day,” he said, looking up at the portrait of his late wife.

“The sky was a wide-open field of blue. Not a cloud in sight. I’d been out surveying property lines at the far end of the fields near the Wood all morning.

Around midday, I found myself with an empty stomach, so I settled onto the bench of the wagon and signaled for my horse to head home. ”

He always acted out this part of the story, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth and jiggling a set of imaginary reins.

“She didn’t move. I tried again and gave her a little tap with the switch, but she stayed put.

Just turned her head and looked at me. I hopped down and checked all four hooves, legs, and .

.. nothing. But still the horse wouldn’t budge, just stood there twitching her tail without a care in the world.

I was scratching my head like a fool when suddenly I saw her—Elena—standing at the edge of the Wood. ”

He paused, and Nova knew he was seeing her mother in his mind, as clearly as if it had been only the day before.

“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.