Alpha Moon (Silver Moon, #0.5)

By Rebecca A. Rogers

First love.

First kiss.

First . . . werewolf bite?

Five hundred years ago, brothers Alaric and Ulric worked tirelessly on their father’s farm to keep mouths fed and sell remaining crops for scanty wages. With a rebellion stirring in northern England and a country at war over the throne, the heavy gloom felt for so long by brothers Alaric and Ulric finally dissipates when a new family settles into town.

Daciana’s parents uproot her from London to begin a new life in Colchester. Here, she won’t be whisked off to decorative parties and elegant balls; she’ll have to put forth effort into back-breaking labor. But her thoughts of eloping from the quaint town subside when she meets Ulric. Together, it’s as if they’re exactly where they should be.

During a late-night hunt for a wolf, Ulric and Daciana are attacked. Before their bodies can fully succumb to the wild animal inside, the town witch claims she holds the cure. Instead of healing their wounds, she places a curse on Ulric and Daciana, so they must live with who they truly are. In a town where secrets can’t be kept and betrayal runs thick, Ulric and Daciana are hunted for the monsters they’ve become, even by those they love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca A. Rogers
• Release date: Oct 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301390144

Rebecca A. Rogers

Rebecca Rogers expressed her creative side at an early age and hasn't stopped since. She won't hesitate to tell you that she lives inside her imagination, and it's better than reality. To stay up to date with Rebecca's latest books, check out her website at www.rebeccaarogers.com, sign up for her mailing list, or find her on social sites such as Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter. Mailing List Sign-up Link: http://eepurl.com/bDDMPL Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/rebecca_rogers

Book preview

Alpha Moon

Rebecca A. Rogers

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2012 Rebecca A. Rogers

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Smashwords Edition

First Edition: October 21, 2012

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Dear Reader,

When I first began writing Alpha Moon, I wanted to maintain the authentic 1500’s feel. This originally included language commonly used in the 1500’s, words such as hither/thither/whither, dost/doest/doth, hast/hath, etc. Not only was Early Modern English slowing me down, I was afraid it would be too time-consuming for the reader, as well. Therefore, I continued using words such as ye, thou, thee, mayhap, aye, nay, etc. Hopefully, this won’t protract anybody’s reading, yet still be sufficient for any historical enthusiasts who happen upon this book.

Happy reading!

Rebecca

Anyone who has ever heard it, when the land was covered with a blanket of snow and elusively lighted by shimmering moonlight, will never forget the strange, trembling wolf cry.

- Unknown

Chapter One

Colchester, England

November, 1569

A rebellion stirred in the north. The fight for the crown was ruthlessly elevated as Catholic nobles vied to overthrow Elizabeth I’s sovereignty and, in her place, position Mary, Queen of Scots, as their new ruler. Rumors and gossip abounded off the tips of every stanch Catholic tongue—Queen Elizabeth I was not the rightful queen. Nay, Henry VIII detached himself and his country from the Church’s power, allowing him absolute control. The majority of England believed Henry and Anne Boleyn’s daughter, Elizabeth, was not a suitable and legitimate heir.

Word spread quickly throughout England and into the lives of every commoner of the coming battle for the throne. Rebel forces sought to obtain aid from those who were willing, including farmers and land owners. The time to act was upon them.

Father, we have received a letter! Ulric shouted as he burst through the entrance of their homely cottage. The ceiling continuously dripped from melting snow, and wooden buckets were strategically placed across several rooms, catching each drop. Ulric and his brother, Alaric, had promised their father—who was too old to climb atop a thatched roof—they would patch up any remaining holes and absent straw. Conversely, summertime brought backbreaking labor in the fields by harvesting enough crops to sell for levy and storing the remainder for the upcoming winter months. A messenger just arrived.

Stand not like a blubbering fool! Hand it over, said Frederic, as a gob of spittle flew from his mouth. The fire was not supplying him with the warmth he would have preferred, and the bitter gust of wind from Ulric’s unexpected entry tampered with his disposition.

Pray tell me, what does it say? Ulric pressed, with widened eyes and strenuous breaths.

Frederic watched him over the rim of his spectacles. If ye would shut thy jaws for two blasted moments, I may very well be able to read!

Ulric immediately cowered. He knew his father had a temper; he always did, for as far back as Ulric could remember. Careful to avoid his father’s angry side, Ulric thought it best to do as he instructed.

Absentmindedly, his eyes perused the fields dusted with light snow through the lone window. Where was Alaric? He had been slipping out more and more lately, and his absence worried Ulric. What was his brother up to? There were a couple of girls in town who had their eyes set on Alaric, but surely he would keep his wits about him and focus on the farmstead.

Frederic grunted, still slogging over the contents of the letter. He said naught, though, which only made Ulric become restless.

Father, if ye do not mind me saying so . . . Ulric bit back his words just as Frederic glowered at him. His tongue was laden, his throat clogged; he felt as if he were choking. He just had to learn what information was in that letter. ’Twas not every day they received news.

Frederic twisted the paper into a ball and threw it into the hearth.

Nay! Ulric shrieked, pitching forward. He reached his hand toward the letter, but the blaze was too hot for his touch, and the fire had consumed nearly all of the parchment. Why would ye do such a thing? At least tell me what it said.

Naught in that letter pertains to ye. Best keep thy head fastened on and worry about the fields. ’Tis the only future ye have. Frederic stood from his stilted chair, the sudden weight change causing his seat to groan and creak in delight. And where is thy brother? Seems he cares nary for this house, his name, or the honor my family have brought to this town for so many years.

Ulric bit his tongue. Once upon a time, his father had not been so ornery and insufferable, though he was always quick-tempered. After his wife passed away two years prior, Frederic had lost the will to live. He only cared that he was fed every morning and night, leaving Alaric and Ulric to carry the burden of nursing the land. But with Alaric disappearing left and right, Ulric was the last man standing. Everything depended on him.

I-I know not his whereabouts, father. I wish I did.

Already wobbling down the hallway, Frederic waved off Ulric’s comment over his shoulder. His door slammed shut, and Ulric flinched. One of the few paintings remaining on their walls swayed at the impulsive jolt caused by Frederic’s exit. Ulric knew he must locate his brother. Mayhap he would know what tidings the letter held. He pulled his coat tighter against his chest, as he headed back out into the frigid weather.

In town, chickens clucked across the slushy lane, Mrs. Bartholomew tutted her children for their mud-covered faces and hands, and somewhere in the tiny cluster of houses and shops, bread was fresh and warm, no doubt cooling on a rack after baking in Mr. Dawson’s oven. Ulric’s stomach grumbled.

Mitsy, a young, fair-haired girl and daughter of Colchester’s one and only bread maker, dipped out of her family’s shop, meeting Ulric’s eyes. She blushed and quickly ducked her head, treading in the same direction. Ulric caught up to her.

’Tis a fine day, he said.

Mitsy pursed her lips to refrain from giggling.