Sara's Moon (Moons of Mystery Book 1)

by S Bolanos

  I ventured to the glass doors for want of a distraction. They offered a spectacular view of the sunset. A nearly transparent moon punctuated the shades of red and orange.

  Why am I so worked up? It’s not like I haven’t been spending time with Michael almost every day.

  I shifted my focus to the thin streams of clouds left in the wake of planes.

  It’s not that I don’t enjoy his company. I do. It’s just…

  I glanced down at my bare feet. The toenails were unpainted and clipped short. The heels I'd daringly chosen sat beside the door waiting to be put on at the last minute. I dragged my gaze back up to the sky.

  Why did he have to call it a date?

  I groaned and rested my forehead on the glass. The winter air outside made it cool to the touch and it was actually helping to ease my anxiety, if only slightly.

  Maybe it’s not really a date-date and he’s teasing me because of Charline. Curse that woman and her scheming.

  I picked my head up and tried harder to lose myself in the nuances that I'd never noticed before, like the way the trees seemed to reach into the breeze or how the grass waved delicately. A lot of things had unexpectedly changed along with the obvious. The neighbors’ fighting was louder than ever, the neighborhood cats avoided me like the plague, and even though the sun had been down for a while, I could see crystal clear.

  I checked the sliding door again to make sure it was locked, then sighed heavily, letting my breath fog the glass. The white mist cleared and I saw two glowing orbs across the yard. A knock came from the front door and I jumped as every hair on my body stood on end. I raced across the house and yanked open the front door.

  "Sara? Wh—"

  "Something’s out back.”

  Michael set his jaw and gave me a curt nod as he flowed past me, then out the back door. Some of my sense returned and I shut the door, bolting it for good measure. I stared at the knob as if any second it would start to twist. The back door clicking shut snapped me out of my trance.

  "He's gone, but he was definitely there. Pack an overnight bag, you're staying with me tonight."

  I quickly moved to comply, my overwhelming fear blinding me to the bossy nature of the command. He followed me to my messy bedroom where I dragged a duffle bag out from under the bed and started throwing things into it, not really registering what I was grabbing.

  "Sara," a voice said right behind me.

  "Jesus, Michael!" I punched his arm and glared at him.

  "Ow, I was just trying to help,” he said as he rubbed his arm. My flurry of movement continued unabated. "Sara, stop for a minute." It wasn’t until his hand stayed mine that I realized I was shaking. "Put the brush down," he said quietly and drew me into a tight hug. His warmth banished the lingering terror and I loosened my grip on the hairbrush. "You're safe, I won't let anything happen to you."

  I sighed all of my tension into his shoulder and for a brief moment, allowed myself to appreciate the small comfort. "Michael?"

  "Hmm?" he responded absently as he continued to stroke my back.

  "You're mussing up my dress.”

  "Oh." He released me and took stock. "You look beautiful, Sara," he said as he looked me over.

  My cheeks heated. "Thanks. It's a shame it was for nothing."

  "Why is that?" He frowned.

  "You can’t honestly want to go out?" He raised an eyebrow and I let out a huff. "There’s a killer on the loose. Who was just here, in case you've forgotten."

  "Why not? You need the distraction, I'm hungry, and you're going to stay at my place to be safe. Now let's try this again." He dumped out the oddities I'd been shoving in the bag. There was nearly nothing useful, except the hairbrush clutched in my hand.

  While I focused on calming breaths, I grabbed the rest of my personal hygiene items. After I finished packing, Michael zipped the bag and swung it over his shoulder. Once outside, he slid an arm around my waist, the warmth of the contact a sharp contrast to the chill in the air.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, unsure what to make of this latest development. First, he called this thing a date and now he had his arm around me like it actually was one.

  He leaned closer to whisper in my ear. "Consider it a deterrent to...others."

  I nearly giggled as the words tickled my ear, but they made sense too. The memory of being blanketed in his scent was still fresh. If it could somehow protect me from the monster hunting me, then I was all for it.

  I leaned into the ruse and pretended that I wasn't enjoying the possessive feel as he pulled me closer.

  "I hope you're hungry,” he said as he helped me into my seat.

  Quite frankly, after the scare I'd had, food was the last thing on my mind.

  11

  Reservations

  "I realize we're a bit late for our reservation,” Michael said, oozing charm. “But something unexpected came up and detained us." He flashed the hostess a smile that should have melted her where she stood. As it was, she did look a bit flushed. To her credit, she kept it together as well as anyone could expect.

  “Uh, um, policy…” she stammered.

  “We really would appreciate anything you could do to help,” Michael implored in a low voice, giving me a slight squeeze as he did so.

  "I'll see what I can do.” The poor hostess attempted to subtly fan herself as she scanned the sheet before her.

  "I didn't realize you made a reservation," I whispered.

  "Looks like there was a cancellation. It’ll just be a minute, Mr. Howell," she cooed, leaning forward slightly.

  "Thank you, Rachael,” Michael rumbled, and I swear the hostess got starry-eyed before darting away to make sure the table was ready. Then he turned back to me and answered my earlier question. “Of course I made a reservation, this place is nearly impossible to get into.”

  "When did you make it?" I asked, thinking about how Charline had spent weeks trying to get Ted to take her here.

  "A week after it opened,” he said, affecting an air of nonchalance.

  “Your table is ready, Mr. Howell,” the hostess said when she returned, sounding more than a little pleased with herself. Her gaze slid past Michael to me and what could only be envy flashed in her eyes.

  I wanted to scream at her—It’s not what you think!—but she was already turning to lead the way.

  “Here we go," Michael said, applying gentle pressure at the small of my back to get me moving.

  I followed after Rachel in a bit of a daze.

  I wonder who he was originally planning to bring here.

  We sat at the table and waters were brought as well as a small basket of bread. I fussed with my napkin and silverware becoming increasingly uncomfortable. This wasn’t at all like our lunch meetings. This place was the kind of fancy you wanted when you were going to propose or got a killer new job, not one where you took a casual office acquaintance.

  His real date is supposed to be sitting here, not me.

  “What do you want to say?” Michael asked, taking a sip of water.

  “What makes you think I want to say something?” I asked in turn, knotting the napkin in my hands.

  He gave a small smile and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Because you always fidget when you want to say something.”

  I scowled and straightened the fork, then promptly realized I was fidgeting again.

  Dang it.

  “Out with it,” he prompted.

  I glanced back towards where the hostess was greeting another couple at her podium before responding. “That poor girl practically swooned when you started talking to her.” He gave a small chuckle and took another drink. “I’m serious,” I hissed. “Do you even know the effect you have on women?” The question was dangerously close to things I didn’t want to admit to myself or to him, but it was too late to take it back.

  Rather than laugh again like I expected, Michael gave a soft sigh and stared at his water glass. The lemon floated amidst the cubes as condensation ran down the perfectl
y clear glass. “Consider it another perk to…what we are,” he finally said. When he looked up and caught my eye, there was something else in his gaze I couldn’t quite place.

  Nervousness? Resignation?

  “You have the same effect on men,” he added.

  I snorted. “That’ll be the day.”

  He frowned at the wry comment and sat up. His mouth opened to say something right as the waiter walked up to the table.

  “Good evening. Would you like to start with any beverages tonight? Might I recommend the Cabernet Sauvignon or perhaps a more earthy Pinot Noir?”

  Michael glanced at me and the waiter’s focus shifted as well. I had a sneaking suspicion I was going to need a drink tonight and surely one couldn’t hurt.

  “I’ll have a glass of Pinot, please.”

  “And it’ll be the Cab for me,” Michael said. Although the waiter had a pad, he made no note before disappearing.

  We sat in awkward silence while we waited for the drinks to arrive. Michael seemed equally lost in his own thoughts as I was mine. By the time the wine arrived, I’d simmered long enough.

  "Michael, what's all this really about?" I shuffled the silverware around once more, then balled my fists in my lap to keep them from touching anything.

  "What? I can't go out with a charming woman?"

  I stared back at him. Charline could believe there was more to our interactions all she liked, but I knew better. He put up a good front, but eventually his persistent smile slipped and he sagged in his chair.

  “Fine, I also need to speak with you about something.” He glanced at where our server was currently taking another table’s order. “But let's wait until the food gets here, so there is less of a chance we'll be interrupted.”

  "I knew there was something." I pointed an accusatory finger at him.

  "Honestly, Sara, I don’t see why you can't appreciate things for what they are."

  “Because nothing is ever what it seems, there’s always an ulterior motive,” I countered.

  “You’ve got that right,” he mumbled almost so low I didn’t catch it.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  Before I could press, the waiter returned to take our orders and dashed off again. Once he was gone, Michael resumed our conversation albeit less enthusiastically.

  He laced his fingers on the table and asked, “How have you been feeling?”

  “Aside from knowing that something is wrong with me? I feel great—amazing actually.” I hated to admit it, but I had more energy than I’d had in years.

  “Nothing is wrong with you, you’re just different,” Michael admonished. “And the feeling of invincibility is to be expected.”

  “But I didn’t say—”

  He gave me a knowing look. “That’ll change when you start learning your limits. Don’t get me wrong though, compared to the average person, we’re pretty damn close.”

  “Is Max still breathing down your neck?” I asked, uncomfortable with the current line of conversation.

  “No more than usual.”

  “Did he resolve the budget discrepancy?”

  “Yes,” he said bluntly. He clearly noticed the ploy and my cheeks colored.

  This is going to be the most awkward dinner ever.

  A little later, the food arrived and we were left in relative peace.

  “Alright, what did you want to talk to me about?” I asked the second the waiter was out of earshot.

  “Woman, you're insufferable. What’s wrong with enjoying a nice meal first?” I shrugged and waited for him to get on with it. He gave me a sour look and took a dramatic bite. “Have it your way. Do you know what next week is?”

  “No, does it have to do with something at work?”

  “Not in the least. How long would you say it’s been since your…incident?”

  The sip of wine soured in my mouth. “I don’t know, three weeks maybe.”

  “Which would mean that the next full moon is coming up.”

  “Yeah, so what? I mean it’s not like…” I choked on my steak as his words finally struck home. “No, you can’t mean…not again.”

  “You didn’t really think it would only happen once?” he asked, his face stamped with disbelief. “We talked about this.”

  “No.” But I'd hoped. “I thought that after I changed back the first time, I don’t know, I’d be able to control it or something,” I admitted.

  “Sara, even with all the control in the world, it’s nearly impossible not to change during the full moon. And I hate to break it to you, but it takes years to acquire the kind of control you’re talking about. For all intents and purposes, you could change at any time.”

  “Now you tell me this!” My fork and knife slammed into the table hard enough to rattle the dishes. The people around us turned to stare at the racket. I sank down in my chair beneath the weight of their collective gazes, but refused to give up my glare.

  “You’re right, I should have told you sooner. I was concerned that if you knew, you’d worry yourself into a change.” His hand reached out to cover mine.

  I stared at the appendage and recognized that he was aiming to make this look like a lover’s tiff. A little abashed at my behavior, I played along. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, it’s not like you haven’t had ample opportunity,” I said, somewhat calmer.

  “I know, but you were adjusting to things so well and I didn’t want to add to the situation.” He sounded genuine enough, but that didn’t excuse that he’d intentionally omitted pertinent information.

  “Michael, as you have reminded me time and again, ignoring it won’t change anything. How am I supposed to understand how I’ve changed if you don’t tell me everything I need to know?”

  He started to respond, but I cut him off.

  “Wait. I think the rest of this conversation might be better held away from prying ears.” I caught the eye of the woman who’d been whispering to her companion and she suddenly became very absorbed with her soup.

  “You’re right.” He squeezed my hand before releasing it. “I wanted you to have a nice evening out before things got complicated again.” Sadness swept across his face and my guilt returned.

  “The evening was nice. And things were always complicated,” I added with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. He lightly touched my hand on his arm, which seemed to have gotten there of its own accord. I quickly removed it. “We should be going before that woman chokes on her spoon.”

  He chuckled and nodded. In a matter of minutes, the bill was settled and we were getting up. As we walked to the exit, his arm once again slid around my waist. I looked up sharply.

  “What? I told you it was a date,” he said, calm as a stone. I shook my head, but left it alone.

  The silence of the drive seemed to become a living thing as the tension between us increased the closer we got to his place. Once there, he disappeared almost immediately into the kitchen. When he returned, he was holding two glasses and a bottle of wine.

  He caught my look and answered the unspoken question. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

  "I suppose one wouldn't hurt," I caved.

  "Only one?"

  "I'm a bit of a light weight," I admitted as the cushion sank beneath me.

  He laughed, surprising me and relieving some of the tension. "Sara, you could probably drink a grown man under the table before you started to feel anything. Consider it another perk."

  "Then what's the point?" I asked, not sure if I believed him.

  "It's still nice." He passed me a glass and sat down. "Now, where were we?”

  “You not telling me important information about being a werewolf."

  "Sara, I said I'm sorry. I was wrong..." I held up a hand to stop the flow of apologies. His mouth snapped shut and he took a sip of his wine to hide the scowl growing on his face.

  "It's frustrating. Every time I think I've got this figured out, something else s
urfaces.” I looked down at my nearly full glass and rolled it between my hands before taking a sip. “You said I could change any time. How?"

  He settled back into the couch and took another drink as if mulling over his answer. "Typically, it's when you feel like it. For instance, I could change now if I wanted. But you'll probably need more time before you can do that."

  "Is that why you didn't say anything?"

  "Not exactly. You still could, but I didn't want you to be so worried about it, that you accidentally triggered a change." He must have read something on my face, because he added, “Yes, that’s a real probability. It doesn’t happen very often, but it does happen. Kind of like trying so hard not to think about something, that you end up only thinking about that.”

  I eyed the contents of my glass which was now only half full and spared a glance at the bottle sitting on the coffee table. As if reading my thoughts, Michael reached forward to grab the bottle and topped off both of our glasses.

  "Let's see,” he began as he settled back cradling the delicate drinkware. “You know most of the obvious stuff already. What have I missed?” He glanced around the room and back at me. “How's your night vision faring?"

  "I don't know. I'm not exactly taking midnight strolls right now." Bitterness coated the words and I took another sip in an attempt to wash it out.

  "True, but I was talking about in here," he clarified.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The only light in this room is coming from the moon outside." Unnerved, I leaned over and turned on the lamp. "That's one of those things you'll have to look out for. We take it for granted, but it tends to seem unusual to everyone else."

  "Kind of like the smell thing?"

  "You could look at it that way. I'm sure you've also noticed that your body is running hotter than normal.”

  “Aha! It wasn’t my imagination. And Charline thought I was weird for going without a jacket,” I said to myself.

  Michael gave a small laugh and polished off the remainder of his glass. “It would take a lot for you to feel cold now.”

  I took a congratulatory sip, pleased with myself for having figured out at least one thing on my own. “Okay, what else?”