Warrior of the Moon Read online

  WARRIOR

  of the

  MOON

  Books I, II, & III

  (COMPLETE)

  GARNET HART

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  Book I

  INTRODUCTION

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Book II

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Book III

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  INDEX

  Published by LOVE MATCH DIGITAL

  Copyright © 2015 by Garnet Hart

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Book I

  WARRIOR

  of the

  MOON

  (The Fall of a Warrior)

  GARNET HART

  INTRODUCTION

  Grimrist, the Beast Slayer

  Before the shape-shifters known as the Lycans came to prominence, the world of Vanar was the home of the ancient gods, far superior to the gods of Asgard. Odin, who had just obtained great wisdom from the well of Jotun, began his search for greater power. He had stolen the Dragon Orb, an artifact in Midgar that allowed humans to summon the Dragons to their aid, and ordered the guardians to fight alongside Asgard to annihilate the Vanir gods.

  After the defeat of the Vanirs, the few survivors decided to fuse themselves with the forest-dwelling Lycans, thus creating the Alphas. Fenrir, the strongest of the Alphas, became the new king and the Lycans became the new primary dwellers of Vanar.

  Grunt, a legendary mutant Lycan, who believed he was stronger than any other Alphas, was not pleased and reigned terror in the land. Fenrir then ordered one of his generals to travel to Svartalfar to ask the Dwarves to forge him a weapon, an artifact that could inflict mortal damage to any beast.

  With the help of the sword known as the Grimrist, Grunt was defeated.

  The gods of Asgard knew that the existence of the Alphas may bring threat to their supremacy should they grow in number. Assisted by the giant forces of Jotunheim, the gods once again attacked Vanar and killed every living Alpha they could find.

  The wise Fenrir knew the fight must stop or his race would vanish just as the ancient Vanirs had. In exchange for the lives of his subjects, he vowed to serve Asgard with his life.

  But Odin did not keep his word.

  Even as Fenrir and his Lycan army fought alongside Asgard in their battle against the Giant Demon, Surt, the gods continued to hunt down the remaining Alphas hiding within the forest. But the Alphas were as strong as the gods, and Odin knew annihilating them was not going to be easy, except if he had the Grimrist.

  Odin would stop at nothing to find the beast slayer.

  But Fenrir was wise.

  Imprisoned in Asgard, Fenrir only knew one way to save his race from extinction. He hid the Grimrist in a place where Odin would least expect to find it.

  Chapter 1

  Present, London, England

  Lior Wolverton smiled and shook hands with dozens of the most respected and famous film producers, directors and actors of Britain.

  The British Academy Film Awards just concluded and he was on his way out of the Royal Opera House, but being the recipient of the award for Outstanding Debut by a British Producer, people flocked around him to congratulate him and the media hurried to capture his triumphant exit.

  The first film he had produced was a tremendous success. It did not only earn him the Best Producer, it also took the Best Film and Best Cinematography awards.

  It was more than what he’d expected since he started in the movie industry just a year ago. He never wanted this fame. As far as he was concerned, he was content being a rancher, but a need to delve into other businesses so he could sustain the growing needs of his pack had forced him to accept a proposal to throw his money in a movie production. He had reviewed the script, assessed the capability of the director, found everything great. His twenty million euro investment just got tripled.

  The creatures here in Midgar, also called the land of the humans, loved bloodbath with a lot of drama in their movies, though he found it quite ridiculous. Guns were a very boring invention of mortals. He loved killing his enemies with his bare hands.

  Anyway, his executives were now busy reviewing new scripts.

  Movie production proved to be quite lucrative. But there was a drawback. His desire to stay private and live in peace had ended. He could not help it. No matter how he’d tried to avoid the media, these people never ran out of means to find him. Tonight, he had not expected that this event would put him on the spotlight.

  “Mister Wolverton.” One female broadcaster chased him all the way out of the building. “Do you have bigger plans after the success of your first movie?”

  He glanced at her briefly. “Definitely,” he replied. He could have said more, but a few women came screaming toward him, hugged him, kissed him, and asked for autograph.

  His bodyguards had to surround him to fend off the paparazzi and the fans who were about to mob him. They quickly escorted him to the limousine where his chauffeur was waiting.

  He took a deep breath of relief when he got in the car and the limo drove away.

  In Asgard, the world of the gods, he lived the same lifestyle. As the commander of the Elite Forces of Asgard, he was feared, revered and admired. Gods and goddesses were always around him, vying for his attention. When he came to Midgar, no one knew him. It felt strange at first, but he liked the feeling of finally having some privacy even if he was in public.

  But that would not happen now. Winning that award had put him in a brighter limelight here in Midgar, and there was no going back.

  He pulled out a magazine from his pile of subscription lying in a compartment beside him.

  The cover page surprised him. It featured one of the previous Chiefs of Dunvegan who lost a wife and a daughter and died without an heir. It was Norman MacLeod, the twenty fourth Chief of Dunvegan, the father of the half-Elf that he was tasked to kill.

  It had been almost two centuries since then. Time had flown so fast, yet he was still in this world of the humans atoning for the sins he had committed against the almighty Odin. His father, Fenrir, had twice sent him a message to go back to Asgard, but he felt he was not yet worthy to return. He felt he deserved to be cast away for much longer, or probably forever.

  Staring at the placid face of Norman, he wondered who between them had more bitter fate. This man here lost a daughter while he lost his honor because of this man’s same daughter.

  As the bitter memories of the past began to haunt him again, he turned the pages of the magazine and saw some pictures of the Dunvegan Castle. That
old huge piles of stones, was once the home of the clan MacLeod who had ruled the Isle of Skye for centuries, but now it had become just another of Scotland’s museums in an effort to preserve the customs and traditions of the High Lands.

  Norman’s daughter was supposed to inherit this castle. She could have been a great chief… but her existence was not meant to be. His order was simple. He just needed to kill that woman, but a soft side of him failed him. Instead, he took her to a place where she had no means of escape.

  But that was not all that happened. That was not the only sin he had committed. Along the way to Svartalfar where she agreed to come along because of his promise to take her to his kingdom and marry her there, he had fallen to her charm. Many times, during the seven-day journey, he had sex with her in the most mind-blowing way he could imagine.

  It was a week full of bliss and pleasure, but afterwards, he was filled with guilt, especially whenever he remembered the look on her face when she realized she had been deceived.

  He had never heard of her again after that. Many times he was tempted to pay her a visit, but he restrained himself. His godliness had been gravely tainted since he mated with that woman. It must never happen again.

  Bran Tower, Central London

  Lior took his eyes from his deck of cards to watch Lysander dancing with his beautiful wife, Ceres. Tonight was their first year anniversary, and they had invited their friends and business allies to celebrate with them. Only Raith had not made it.

  The party was being held in a ballroom at the 25th floor of this 45-story skyscraper built by Lysander in honor of Bran, his Creator, a very powerful Vampire.

  “Raise that to five,” the man on his right said, prompting him to get back to his cards.

  He stroked his freshly shaved chin as he realized he had a set of useless cards. It felt strange for him to actually feel the skin on his chin. He had rarely shaved this clean his entire life but this occasion called for it, especially so that he was wearing a six-thousand euro Armani suit which would go to waste with his usual scruffy look.

  “Call,” he replied and pushed five chips at the center of the table. As professional gamblers, his opponents appeared calm and confident, but to a six hundred year old Lycan under the guise of a twenty-eight year old man, no humans could escape from the scrutiny of his senses. He could see deeper into their eyes. He could hear every breath and every beat of their hearts. He knew if they were worried, or if they were excited.

  He exchanged three cards and got another ten and a pair of threes. It looked good enough to him, especially that he could sense disappointment from his opponents.

  He won for the fourth time, and his playmates slapped their cards on the table, frustrated. It’s a shame this was just a game for fun and no real money was involved even if there were chips provided. If there were, he could have won thousands of dollars by now.

  “I’m impossible to beat,” he said and stood up. “Might as well leave to give you a chance to win.”

  “Hey!” the other men protested but he just laughed at them and turned away. He’d been in that table long enough. He’d find other things to do until this night ended.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” a woman said behind him as he was walking to the bar. He turned around and found a lovely brunette smiling at him. Compared to his six foot four inches height, she was very petite that she had to strain her neck up in order to see his face. “My name is Margaux Laine. I’m a biographer.”

  He’d never met her but he certainly knew that name. “Were you the one who penned ‘The Life of a Gambler’?” he asked, referring to a published book about the life of Lysander Rochford, the world renowned greatest gambler.

  She nodded proudly with a wide grin on her face. “That’s right. And it made the British as well as the NYT’s bestseller list.”

  He knew what this woman wanted from him, and he was not interested to be featured in any books.

  He turned away.

  “Have you read the book?” she asked as she followed close behind him. It looked like she was not about to let him go off easily.

  “Aye,” he replied without looking at her. “But I dunna think they’re that precise.”

  The truth was, almost everything about Lysander’s life in the book was a lie, but of course, Lysander had to make up a story. He couldn’t possibly tell the whole world that he was over five hundred years of age and was the leader of the Ancient Forces whose existence was unknown to humans.

  “What do you mean? I wrote exactly what his butler recounted to me.”

  Lior turned to look at her again. “You did a good job. Your book is a bestseller, right?”

  She shrugged. “It surprised me as well. And this month the book of Raith is coming out. He’s such a wonderful man and I’m sure the book will change the way people see him.”

  His brows met at the center. “So you wrote about Raith, as well?”

  “Yes. You see my books are about young billionaires, and I’m hoping you will be my next feature.”

  Just as he thought. If this woman only knew that her subjects were all older than half a millennium, she’d definitely not call them young.

  He grabbed a glass of wine from the counter and shifted direction to the terrace to get away from her, but she grabbed his arm. This woman was persistent.

  “Please, Mister Wolverton,” she begged. “It won’t take long. I understand you’re a busy man but we can set an appointment for later on.”

  He sighed and scratched his nape. He didn’t have that much patience, but during his centuries of stay in this human world, he had learned to deal with women well without being disrespectful to them, especially with a pretty girl like this one.

  “What made you think I’m a billionaire?” he asked.

  “Raith referred me to you. He said you’re his friend and that you’re even richer than him.”

  A quick laugh burst out of his throat. “I’m sorry to disappoint you Miss, but I’m just a farmer. You have to ascertain your information before you decide to write about them, because not everything that you hear is correct.”

  She smiled. “Hmm, let’s see… You’re a film producer and you just won several awards for your first movie. My research says you practically own the whole of Dunvegan and Portree.”

  “That’s an exaggeration,” he said evasively. “The lands in that area are harsh. Nobody wants to stay there. So even if I own the whole Isle of Skye, it would no’ prove anything, except that I’m the only person crazy enough to invest my money into nothingness.”

  “But you do own thousands of cattle and is currently employing hundreds of workers to tend them?”

  He drew his brows together. This woman knew more than she should. “Did that come from Raith as well?”

  She nodded.

  “If you can prove that, go ahead and write about it. But if you canna, you might as well become a fiction writer.”

  When she couldn’t say another word, he turned away. To his relief, she did not follow him.

  If these mortals were not obsessing on celebrities, they were obsessing on wealth and they had Forbes to prove their extreme fascination with currency. If the gods of Asgard were obsessed with power, humans gained their power through amassing fortunes in the forms of metals, gas and minerals.

  But of course, the gods didn’t live by the day like these mortals did, worrying about death or the future. He couldn’t blame them for making the most of their very short lives. Wealth in the eyes of a mere mortal held no meaning to the Aesirs. Gods did not measure their powers using little rocks and substances that paved the roads of Asgard.

  Indeed, maybe he was one of the richest citizens in Midgar, the land of the humans that they called earth. But he’d kept the real bulk of his wealth to himself and had not flaunted it. He’d only registered enough legitimate money under his current identity to keep the humans from suspecting he was not like them.

  When he’d decided to remain here on earth, he had asked his men to bring him ca
skets of rocks so he could afford a luxurious Midgar lifestyle. These precious rocks the humans called diamonds and rubies were regular rocks in Asgard. The gods were fond of ornaments and like the humans, gold was a material perfect for forging adornments. Gold in Asgard was like wood on earth, easily available. His men brought him plenty of gold, too.

  In the midst of his shame and self-disappointment for failing Odin, he’d found a new purpose here in Midgar. He had made it his obligation to take care of the Lycans who had escaped from their ruined world, Vanar. He bought a big portion of Skye and turned it into a safe place for his pack. Quickly adapting to the ways of the humans, he had invested his fortune in what they called real estate and bought huge parcels of land and several islands, too.

  Gold was always a good medium for trade and he had plenty. He’d traded gold early on and in a couple of years, his gold bars had piled up in his basement. He had not trusted any banks to take care of his wealth. He had protected it himself. That saved him from the troubles of several economic collapses such as the Great Depression.

  Money had been flowing like cheap wine to him for almost two centuries. At the end of the Great Depression, he held the majority of stocks of various corporations that he knew would come to rise again after the financial crisis.

  Ironically, now that he was living with the humans and leading his own pack of Lycans that had now reached more than three thousand, he had adopted the human way of worrying about the future. Lycans must exist in Midgar like normal humans and it took an iron hand to do so.

  He had to make their dwelling in Skye an ideal habitat for Lycans so that they won’t stray and go on a rampage all over Midgar. He had to keep making billions to support his growing pack.

  The balance of power had been set among the four Dark Forces that dwelled in Midgar. No one must abuse the humans as they were necessary to their existence, as well, no matter how puny their lives were compared to the immortals. It was a symbiotic relationship. No dark being was permitted to reveal themselves to humans and show them their powers.