Hunter's Moon

by Rose Marie Wolf

Chapter Eight

  Simon shifted in mid-lunge, colliding with Jason’s still-human form. He had been waiting for this moment for three years. He would have no mercy. His claws ripped into Jason’s upper arms. The scent of blood grew stronger.

  Simon growled, his mouth no longer able to form human words. Jason could only groan beneath the weight of the half-shifted werewolf.

  As Simon breathed in the scent of Jason's fear, he caught another smell. There was a scent of female sex, musky and heavy. He turned his head, peering at her. He had almost forgotten she was here. She seemed frozen where she was, unable to move as she stared in horror at what he was doing.

  The scent lingered in the air around him, heady, strong. It distracted him.

  Jason gave a mighty shove and pushed the wolf away. Simon barely stumbled, quickly regaining his footing. He charged toward Jason.

  It happened exactly as Simon hoped. Jason was caught off guard, and didn't have the chance to brace himself. Simon’s full weight slammed into him, propelling him backwards. His back collided with a glass cabinet full of knickknacks. The glass shattered and the wood splintered, stabbing into his back. Jason howled as Simon dug his claws in further.

  As suddenly as the attack began, Simon withdrew his claws and backed away. He stared at Jason, smelling the fear and blood surrounding him. He relished the scents that surrounded him, particularly the heat-scent that suddenly became stronger.

  As he turned from Jason to look at Rose, a board slammed against his backside. The wolf snarled, more in anger than pain and spun quickly.

  Rose stood there, finally moving to Jason’s defense. Her hands were firmly wrapped around a broken plank from the cabinet. Blood dripped from the many nails that stuck out from the end. She hit Simon with it again, blood splattering on her arms and shirt.

  She hurried to hit him again, but one swipe of his huge paw knocked it from her hand. Another swipe hit her across the side of the head. The force knocked her sideways and her head collided with the wall and bounced off. She hit the floor and didn’t move again.

  Simon snarled at her, but turned his attention quickly back the Jason. He was moving.

  Jason staggered to his feet, blood oozing from multiple cuts. He rushed forward, uttering a guttural roar, more beast than human. The wolf was ready for him and growled out a warning. He crouched to the floor, ready to spring. He kicked off with his strong back legs, propelling himself forward with speed and strength. The half-shifted Jason was no match for the weight and power of the wolf.

  Simon collided with him, teeth sinking into the soft flesh between Jason’s shoulder and neck. The taste of blood was like copper, strong and metallic. He went for the kill. More pressure and he would rip his throat out.

  Pain tore through him and Simon released his jaws and howled. He broke away from the human, pain pulsing and his blood pumping wildly. Jason, still conscious and very much alive, held a stake of wood from the broken cabinet. Blood dripped down the sharpened edge. Simon slunk back, but kept his eyes affixed upon Jason. The wound pulsed in his abdomen.

  It was a tense moment. Neither male moved. Simon breathed heavily as he watched Jason. Blood dripped from a cut on Jason's face and his eyes were dark golden. Simon narrowed his own, waiting for Jason to strike.

  Jason rose from where he lay slumped against the wall. The blood dripping from the stake stained his already ruined jeans. He narrowed his eyes once he was at his full height.

  Simon licked the blood from his muzzle, once more reveling in the bold taste of his enemy. He rose as well, ignoring the searing pain in his side from the stab wound. He took a few slow steps forward, his paw smearing the pooled blood beneath him.

  Now was the time to finish off his enemy and Simon knew it. He shifted back, easily becoming only half-wolf. His hands had lengthened into long claws. He could stand on two legs, but chose not to, not yet. His mouth was still a muzzle and his teeth were sharp, cutting into his lips and tongue. He tasted his own blood.

  His eyes drifted toward the prone Rose. Blood reddened the side of her face, clinging to dark strands of her hair. She was still alive. He could see her chest rise and fall with deep breathing. Her scent was just as strong as ever.

  It was an intriguing and intoxicating smell. It brought to the wolf’s emotions desire, want, lust. He would have her, soon. For now, his attention must not stray. His anger was like a drug, addicting, but he held it back. He knew what to do. His eyes returned to the human still slumped against the wall. He pulled away, taking one slow step forward.

  Simon growled a warning low and deep in his throat. Jason didn't heed it. He jumped forward, finally making the move Simon knew and hoped he would. He lifted the wooden stake, ready to strike.

  Simon brandished his claws, digging them readily into Jason’s torso. He screamed, as he stabbed futilely at Simon's back.

  It only took one shove and Jason was once more pinned against the wall. The back of his head collided with it, leaving a round, deep indentation in the drywall. Simon eased him back just enough to slam him into it again.

  When Simon stepped back again, Jason groaned and fell forward onto the glass and splintered wood. Simon crouched to better reach the body on the floor. He drew his hand back, claws extended and brought them down to slash.

  The door opened suddenly. He paused, hand lifted in mid-air.

  It was a boy and a girl, both young. Their scent was unmistakable to his heightened senses and he knew they were werewolves. The boy shouted something, anger quickly replacing the shock on his face. The girl remained poised in the door, the smell of fear strong around her.

  Simon snarled. He jumped back from Jason’s body just as the boy rushed forward. He was quick, but not that quick. The wolf knew he had to run. There was no other way around it.

  He turned hurriedly and started to flee. He was only a foot from the unconscious Rose. Her scent surrounded him. He didn’t have time to think. He only knew.

  In one quick, sudden motion he grabbed Rose by the arm and heaved her onto his shoulder, holding her with one strong arm. He tore through the room and exited through the windowless door he had crashed into and jumped the deck railing.

  He headed for the line of trees. Once there, he would have the cover of the forest to keep him out of sight. He knew he had to move fast.

  * * *

  “Rebel, no!” Aurora shouted at him, but her brother was already in the backyard, beginning to strip off his clothes. She ran after him, but having longer legs and a more fierce determination than she, he outdistanced her. “Stop!”

  “He has Rose. We have to stop him,” he shouted back at her, never missing a beat. He tore off his t-shirt and jacket, ripping them in his haste. He reached the hill and climbed it steadily.

  “Rebel, you don’t understand.” She couldn’t let him catch up. Aurora picked up the pace, using werewolf agility and speed to reach him.

  Rebel could shift and he was fast and strong because of his youth, but he was inexperienced. A full-grown, full-blooded werewolf, like the one that had taken Rose, could tear him apart without a second thought. Aurora knew it and she had to stop him.

  Far in the distance, the black-furred werewolf disappeared into the tree lines. Aurora caught a brief glimpse of Rose’s white skin before they were gone. She refocused her attentions on her headstrong brother and headed him down.

  Rebel was in mid-shift. His bare back began to discolor, turning gray as his pelt covered his body. He had to stop to finish the shift. It was just long enough for Aurora to reach him.

  “Rebel, you can’t do this,” she pleaded. “He’ll kill you.”

  “We have to stop him.” His voice was a low growl, his words slurred. Soon, he would no longer be able to talk.

  He doubled over as the shift ripped through his slender body, causing his muscles to grow and double in size. Aurora could hear the awful, but familiar sound as his ribs cracked. His jeans burst at the seams, tearing as his legs grew longer, stronger. She knew once he was no
longer hindered by his clothing, he would be gone.

  She grabbed his arm. His muscles quivered under her touch. He yanked away from her and growled low.

  “Let go of me, ‘Rora,” he warned. His teeth were fangs, long, sharp and yellow.

  “You have to stop this.” She knew she sounded desperate, but she had to stop him. Fighting him wouldn’t be an option she could choose. As a male, he outmatched her.

  “Stop.” She demanded it this time. Her voice was angry. She could hear the power of the wolf in it. If her eyes had turned golden, she wouldn’t have been surprised. She reached for his arm again, this time gripping it tighter. Her nails dug into his fur and flesh. “You cannot fight him. He is too strong, Rebel.”

  Her new tactic wasn’t working. Rebel sneered, his face becoming more wolf-like and angry. Once again he ripped his arm away from her. The force of it nearly upset Aurora’s balance, but she stood her ground, fiercely staring at him. Tears burned in her eyes, but she would not cry.

  Rebel’s eyes scared her. She would never get through to him. Whoever this werewolf was, he would rip her brother apart. He would kill Rose.

  “I can’t lose you, too.” Her voice quivered, all her bravery and anger gone, replaced with only fear. She had lost her parents. She couldn’t lose the only true family she had left. A cold sweat washed over her and an uncomfortable knot grew in the pit of her stomach, twisting her insides.

  Rebel stopped. His golden eyes softened in understanding and Aurora knew she had gotten through to him. The knot lessened slightly.

  “Please, Rebel,” she said softly.

  He heaved a great sigh and lowered his head. In a moment, he was back to his human form. His jeans hung off his body in tatters. His shoes were ruined bits of leather. He avoided his sister’s eyes and Aurora could see the blush creep across his face. He was embarrassed, ashamed.

  “You’re right,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

  Aurora couldn’t help it. The tenderness and sadness in his voice did her in. She began to cry and threw her arms around her older brother. Rebel allowed the embrace, pressing his face against her neck. His face felt hot.

  “Let’s go back.” He drew away from her. Aurora wiped her eyes on a sweater-mittened hand and nodded. They knew the fight would have to wait for another day.

  “We should call Glen,” Rebel continued. “Who was that guy?”

  Aurora couldn’t answer. She didn’t know. Together, they walked back down the hill and toward the cabin.

  * * *

  Jason groaned and came to just as Rebel and Aurora entered through the broken door. Rebel carried the ruined remains of his shoes and clothing in a tightened fist and was careful to avoid the shattered glass.

  The first thing Aurora noticed was the strong scent of blood. She hurried to Jason.

  “Oh God, Jason.” She knelt beside him, gingerly touching his back. He stirred and groaned. He rolled over. He looked horrible. Blood crusted, drying in splotches along his chest, back and arms. The scratches were deep. Aurora couldn’t help but wince at the sight of them.

  Jason opened his eyes, blinking and narrowing them at the brightness of the room. He moaned and tried to sit up, but slumped back. Aurora caught him, supporting him in her arms. Her clothes would be ruined with blood, but it didn’t matter. Rebel pushed aside debris, searching for the telephone.

  Jason seemed disoriented. He opened his mouth to speak, but immediately closed it. Jason’s short hair was wet, matted with blood at the back. Was his head wound that serious? Did he have a concussion?

  “Found it.” Rebel lifted the phone’s receiver and placed it to his ear. “It still works.” He began to dial.

  Jason pulled away from Aurora and stood, shakily, with her help. The wounds looked even worse once he stood in the light. “Where is he?” he croaked.

  Aurora glanced at Rebel. He looked worried. He quickly avoided her gaze and turned his back. He began speaking in low tones into the phone.

  “Where is he? Where’s Simon?” Jason demanded. Aurora was uncertain how to answer.

  “Simon?”

  “The werewolf—Simon. Where is he?”

  “He’s gone—”

  Jason ran a hand over his head, gingerly touching the back of his head. He withdrew his fingers to find them red with blood. “Gone, again,” he said. “He took Rose.” His eyes turned yellow and feral.

  Aurora took a cautious step back. She had seen this look before, long ago. “Jason—” she started, but her voice barely squeaked out.

  “He took Rose,” Jason said again. It was a statement, but his voice was edgy, hard. “He took her again. Goddamn it.”

  Rebel finally turned. His face was ashen. He held out the phone, his hand shaking.

  “It’s Glen,” he said in a soft voice.

  Jason didn’t hesitate. He moved across the floor and grabbed the phone, leaving bloody smears along the white plastic.

  “Yes?” he said hotly into the receiver.

  As Jason listened to what Glen said, Rebel moved to stand by his sister. She glanced at him and he shook his head, a silent indication that Rebel was fine.

  Jason’s hot stare moved from one teen to the other. “Glen, shut up,” he said abruptly. He narrowed his eyes. The intensity of them frightened Aurora and she gulped. She took a step closer to Rebel and reached for his arm.

  “He’s alive, Glen. I was right. Simon’s alive and he has Rose. Now, get your ass over here and fucking help me.” With that, he threw the phone against the wall, where it crashed, shattering the plastic. The bell gave a despondent ring and was silent.

  His emotions broke, finally overwhelming him and the once hardened, angry, untouchable figure Rebel and Aurora had grown to fear, as well as respect, hit the floor and began to sob.

  Chapter Nine

  The night was still young, but Claire Hennessy was tired. The digital clock on her desk read the time at nine-fifteen, much too soon for her bedtime. She stared as the clock flipped over to nine-sixteen and wiped her bleary eyes once again. No matter how many times she did so, the tears always seemed to come back.

  Crying wore her out. All her pent up frustrations, anger and fear exploded after she hung up her call with Davis. Now that she had no more emotion, she was weary. She flipped off the computer monitor in front of her and rose from the desk. Her legs and back felt stiff. How long had she been sitting here? She couldn’t recall, but it had been too long.

  She stretched lightly before grabbing her coffee mug from the desk. She sipped the decaffeinated coffee, but made a face when she discovered it was cold. She really should dump it out in the sink, rinse out the mug and head to bed, but she was too tired. The path downstairs to the kitchen seemed too long. She compromised by leaving the mug on the desk. She’d do it later.

  One lonely light lit the hall leading to her bedroom. She followed it slowly. This branch of the PRDI was spooky at night. It was said to be haunted and Claire believed it. She remembered the night they came here. Though she had not been an active participant, the raid had gone horribly wrong. Too many people had died, innocents as well as the hunters who deserved death, and staying here at night made Claire a bit uneasy. She could handle it during the daylight hours. Night was entirely different.

  But she endured it. There were bad memories here. Everyone, especially Glen and Rose, felt uneasy spending too much time here. Claire didn’t blame them. They had lost friends, family.

  She liked the solitude, most of the time. She didn’t know entirely why she stayed here. It just felt like she had to, needed to. It had been fixed up, thanks to her generous donations. It was very new, very high class. The new security worked wonders. It was safe. And she took a comfort in that.

  The others wouldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand it and she wasn’t about to waste her time explaining it to them. She was alone here, holding down the fort. It was still a safe haven for werekin, vampires, psychics and anyone else that came along in need of a place to stay or any sort
of protection. The PRDI couldn’t deny them that and Claire was on hand to do whatever she could to help out. Maybe that was the biggest reason she felt obligated to stay here, to help to make up for all the bad.

  Claire’s hand brushed against the coolness of the wall, trailing along the paneling as she made her way down the hall. She slept in a room that had been remodeled after the raid.

  A stifling dark greeted her when she reached her room and she fumbled for the light switch, desperate to be relieved of the darkness. Light spilled into the room from the lamp next to the bed, turning looming shadows into a dresser, bed and armchair. Everything was just as she left it.

  She crossed the room, running her fingers through her short hair to loosen any tangles. She sat on the bed, sinking into the mattress with a sigh. She wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget about Davis for tonight.

  Davis. There were times when Claire could do nothing but think of him. She tried to tell herself she felt nothing for him, but lying was never one of her best qualities. Truth was, she cared for him and deeply, but she was scared. Since the incident with Simon and the hunters, they had both changed.

  Claire vainly fought to convince herself that she was afraid of Davis’s were-side and that it was the sole reason she denied them billing as a real couple, but it wasn’t that.

  He was different. Anyone would be after discovering they were half werewolf and a pawn in some sick game devised by a madman. Simon had screwed Davis over, forcing him to kill his mother, without Davis even knowing of it. It scared her to think of what Simon might’ve done to her if she had stayed any longer.

  At least I got out when I did, she thought thankfully to herself. She undressed quickly, tossing her clothes into the laundry basket in the corner. She wore just her panties and nightshirt to bed. The nights were getting too cold for sleeping in anything less and she wasn’t ready to turn the heater on this early in the season.

  As she lay in bed, more thoughts of Davis plagued her. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had been here. They shared the bed over the weekend, making love, the embarrassment of Friday night forgotten. Let the pack make fun of them. She didn’t care.