Hunter's Moon

by Rose Marie Wolf

  She stopped suddenly. Her tongue lolled from her jaws, heavy and hot. Trees surrounded her on all sides. She took a step forward, her front paws adding pressure to the cracking branches beneath. Eagerly, her hyper-sensitive nose sniffed and tried to find the source of this new scent.

  She recognized it, vaguely. It smelled of werekin, of her kind specifically. It was male. She knew it. It was familiar. Who was it?

  She searched the trees with her wolfen eyes, her vision excellent in the dark. Time seemed to move slowly. Everything was heightened beyond realness.

  Her blood pumped through her body. She felt the subtle caress of wind against her fur. She smelled the scent grow stronger and fuller. A shadow materialized from the trees to her right.

  It was a black wolf, fur as inky as the shadows that clung to him. His eyes shone bright yellow, perhaps the only indication he was even there, save for the scent Rose finally knew.

  She had smelled it before, years ago, when she had been his captive. It would always be a scent that inspired terror. But something was different about it. She wasn’t afraid.

  There was something she liked, wanted.

  She stood her ground, lowering her head close to the ground. Her eyes never left his.

  He seemed to grin at her, muzzle drawn back to reveal his fangs. She was frozen. The black wolf Simon—she knew it was Simon—made the first move.

  He took a slow step forward. Brush trembled, shook and cracked beneath his heavy paws. It was just one step. He stopped, black fur glistening with silver in the moonlight.

  His scent was even stronger now that he had stirred and come closer. She breathed it in and felt a tingle, heightened irrevocably by the surreal dream. It was a familiar tingle. Rose readily recognized it. It was desire, arousal.

  Suddenly, she could smell her own scent. It was musky, somewhat metallic. It was her heat-scent. This was what had drawn him here. She was in heat and he wanted her.

  Everything smelled like sex. The wolf felt its warmth spread through her. Her desire was strong. She eyed the black wolf for a long time. He didn’t move and neither did she.

  The warmth continued to spread through her body, resting in the pit of her stomach and moving lower. The human within her awakened and came to her senses.

  No. This is Simon. You cannot give in to him!

  The wolf had other plans. She shoved the human part away, securely locking her away within, as the human had done to her so many times before. Now, trapped within her impetuous animal self, she had little choice. She could only watch.

  Rose could not stop herself from stepping forward, toward him. Simon remained still, his muzzle pulling back farther in what she was sure could’ve passed for a wolfish smile.

  No, no. You can’t do this! She yelled at herself from within but the wolf ignored her, tuning her out. This is Simon. He killed your friends, he tried to kill your mate!

  Lust overruled her senses. His were-scent was strong and it drew her close. Though every part of her warned her to stay away, the desire continued to bring her forward.

  The black wolf walked forward, lifting his head high. He was close to her now, close enough for her to touch. His lithe, wolfen body was warm. She watched him, cautiously.

  He nuzzled the side of her head. His muzzle pressed into her fur, breathing in her scent. It made her shudder. She could smell his male scent so close to her.

  Going against all warnings, she buried her nose against his back and breathed in deeply. He smelled of fur, of blood. She ran her muzzle against his back, baring her neck to him in a sign of trust.

  No, you can’t trust him.

  Once more, she tried to shut out the voice, but this time she failed. Panic gripped her. The human was right. Simon couldn’t be trusted. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. She felt her blood pumping faster.

  She slipped away from him and leaped to the side. She spun quickly. Simon remained where he was, the wolfen grin still plastered to his face.

  Now she growled, lowering her head and baring her fangs as she snarled. It didn’t break Simon one bit. He took a step slowly to her. She backed away. She knew better now. She would not let her desire get the better of her.

  Almost as if he had read her thoughts, the black wolf stopped. He lifted his head. Rose heard a voice, distinct and loud in her head.

  You want him, it said. Give in to him. Quench your desire. The voice taunted, seduced. Rose felt it waver only slightly. The desire was growing thick again. She needed him. She needed release.

  She breathed in once again, caught a whiff of his strong, masculine odor. It was coupled with blood and something sour, mildewy. It puzzled her.

  He moved forward again, inches from her. The scent became overwhelming, overpowering. It smelled stronger of mildew and mold and there was a faint, burnt smell, like a campfire that had been put out by water. It was disgusting.

  Give in to it.

  No.

  Give in. You want him. Simon’s muzzle touched hers, nose against nose.

  I will not give in to him. I will not let my desire control me. I will not. I will not. It became a mantra. She lowered her head away from his, her eyes staring cold and angry at him. She tried to convey this message to him through her eyes, but her heat-scent gave away her physical desire.

  You will give in. The desire spoke. He will have you. You will give yourself to him. You can’t deny you want him.

  As a wolf, she could not speak but she could growl. She did so loudly and began to back away from Simon. The grin no longer rested on his wolfen muzzle. His eyes shone with anger. She knew exactly what he was telling her. He would not be denied.

  Fear rose in her, brief and fleeting, soon replaced by a fierce determination. She backed away from him, her growl amplified. She would not let her lust win.

  Simon approached her, quickly. He growled at her, angrily. He snapped his jaws and lowered his head.

  You will give in. The incessant voice would not stop. The desire flooded her. She couldn’t control it.

  No, she tried to scream but it came out in a snarl. Simon bore down upon her. She couldn’t even run, frozen where she was. As he approached her, his scent became stronger and less desirable as it once was. It smelled again of wet wood, burnt and charred. She stared into his golden eyes.

  There was nothing but those eyes and his scent that grew overpowering as he came closer.

  The dream ended. Rose awoke, startled in the darkness. Her first instinct was to growl at Simon, to push him away, but the wolf wasn’t there. There was nothing but blackness.

  She let out a hissing breath. Sweat plastered hair to her forehead. It smelled dank and musty. Where was she?

  Her head throbbed. Gently, she touched her forehead. There was a large lump there. When she withdrew her hand, it felt wet and sticky. She smelled blood.

  Memories slowly began to come back, pushing aside the dream images for now. She had been home, with Jason. They had been arguing.

  Then something bad had happened. The window had broken and Simon had appeared. There had been a scuffle. She remembered trying to hurt him, but even that was a bit blurry.

  Once again, Rose rubbed the lump on her forehead. She must’ve hit her head, been knocked out.

  So where was she now?

  She sat up from where she lay. The floor around her was made of dirt. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness.

  It looked like she was in a basement of some sort. The walls were cement, cold and unfeeling. They were discolored from water that ran down them. The floor was dirt. That’s where the musty smell came from. She shuddered.

  She looked around her. She was laying on something that might’ve once been a mattress. It was flattened, resting on a squeaky thing that may have been a box spring. The headboard was metal, the spokes rusted. A spring poked against her hip uncomfortably. Directly above this bed was a pipe that spanned down from the low ceiling and across the room, disappearing again into the ceiling several feet away. If she were a foot
taller, she may have hit her head on it.

  There were a few furnishings, as if someone had been using it as a living space. There was a table that was probably used as a desk. A chair sat askew next to it, one leg bent at an odd angle, broken. Papers and a dusty box took up most of the available table space.

  Boxes covered the floor. A shelf against the wall held jars of what had might’ve once been preserves. The contents of the jars were blackened, rotted.

  She stood slowly. She was petite but when she lifted her arms above her head she touched the ceiling with her fingertips. Dirt flecked away, spewing dust into the air. She coughed and covered her mouth with her other hand. Her fingertips were blackened. A burnt smell lingered in the air.

  Suddenly, dream images came back to her in a growing flood. That burnt scent had surrounded Simon, overpowering everything else around her. This is where it had come from. She hated when real life carried over into her dreams.

  Simon’s scent lingered here. He had been here. He had brought her here.

  Heat flooded into her face and she was suddenly embarrassed, though there was no one here to see it. The desire she had felt for him, the lust—it had been so strong. She cursed herself silently for being in heat. She told herself it was this and nothing more. She tried not to think about it as she explored the dank, small room.

  Dangling from the middle of the ceiling was a long, thin shoe string. Rose grabbed hold of it and pulled tentatively. The light bulb it was attached to came on, spilling a dim light through the film covered glass. Everything looked even more dismal than with the lights off.

  There was a door to her left. She went to it, easily taking the three concrete steps that led to it. Her hand closed around the rusty knob. She turned, but it didn’t open. It wouldn’t budge at all.

  She was locked in.

  Rose furrowed her brows together and applied a bit of force. Being a full-blood, she was very strong, but the door hardly gave. That surprised her, considering how derelict the rest of the place was. The door was barred shut. Someone had taken precautions.

  “Simon.” She pounded on the door. The sound echoed around her.

  “Yes, Rose?”

  His voice sent a cold chill down her back and she broke out in a clammy sweat. She froze where she was, facing the closed door. Her heart pounded faster. She didn’t want to turn. She didn’t want to see him and face her nightmare for real. Her hand clenched around the rusty doorknob, bending it slightly. She released it and looked down. Her hands were stained red with rust, almost like blood.

  “So you are alive.” She hated how her voice revealed her weakness. She closed her eyes, tightly.

  “I’m not that easy to kill,” he said.

  She felt sweat trickle down her back. She had heard that phrase before, from Jason. She let out a shuddering breath and turned.

  His back was against the wall, in a place where she hadn’t looked. He was surrounded by shadows. They played across the pale skin of his naked chest. His eyes were dark. He stared at her from where he sat. He held a cigarette in one hand, the smoke curling from it. How could she have missed him? The stench of the smoke was strong and unmistakable.

  She blamed it on her head wound and tried to let it go. Simon remained unmoving, save for the arm and hand that lifted the cigarette to his lips. There was blood on his chest, but his wound was healed.

  For the first time in three years, Rose was face-to-face with Simon. She had made it plain and clear on their first meeting that she did not want anything to do with him. A knee to the groin made a very good point. But here she was, with him again. And once more, there was no way out.

  “You’re looking well.” She spoke through clenched teeth, trying to make her voice sound tough. It wavered slightly and heat flooded to her cheeks. She masked it by forcing a grin. “Considering the last time I saw you, you were spread-eagle, flying out a window.”

  A slow smirk spread across his face. “So are you, Rose.”

  She hated how he said her name. She narrowed her eyes at him. His muscles flexed as he moved slightly. The cigarette glowed cherry red in the shadows. She looked away from his face, staring at his chest.

  Blood darkened his stomach, smeared in the hair trailing down his abdomen. He was wearing tight jeans. His bare feet were caked in mud. She returned her eyes to his face. He was still smirking.

  “Where are we?”

  “Home,” Simon said. He waved his cigarette in a wide circle to gesture around the room. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. She blinked.

  “Home? This? You live here?”

  “I did, once,” he said and the smirk faded. She didn’t know what he meant, but at the moment she didn’t really care.

  “Let me out of here.”

  “I can’t do that,” Simon said. He rose. She had forgotten how tall he was. The top of his head touched the ceiling. The yellow light caught his dark hair and it seemed to glow.

  His eyes peered at her ruthlessly. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He crushed out the cigarette on the concrete wall beside him.

  “Let me go, Simon.” She tried to make it sound like a warning but her voice trembled too much. Simon advanced. There was nowhere she could run. She was backed against the barred door. He didn’t respond.

  Flashes of her dream came back to her: Simon near her, his strong scent and her desire overpowering her senses. She felt a wave of it, a remnant of the dream she hoped. She was wrong.

  No, God, not now, please not now.

  Simon was in front of her, inches away. He towered over her so she had to crane her neck to look at his face. Light danced in his eyes. Dark stubble grew along his strong jaw. He looked fierce, determined. His lips parted.

  “You can’t keep me here,” she said. “I won’t let you—” She stopped there. She could not bring herself to say it.

  “Give it up, Rose,” Simon whispered. She felt his breath against her forehead. His hand touched her shoulder. He began to caress her arm, up and down. Chill bumps pimpled over her skin. He leaned down and breathed in deeply against her hair. She wanted to move away from him but found herself immobilized.

  “I can smell it.”

  His words made her tremble. “Simon, no—”

  “Yes. I want you, Rose. I always have.”

  The desire rose within her once again, just like in the dream. This could not be happening. She would not give in to him. She could not let her desire, her need for sexual release overcome all reason. Her mind worked quickly. Images of Jason flashed in her mind. She loved him but the rift their arguing and Jason’s obsession had caused had changed something between them. Nevertheless, she would not hurt him further by giving in to her need with the one person they both truly despised.

  Simon’s body was hot against hers. He had her pinned against the door. His hand trailed down her arm, locking fingers dangerously around her wrist. His hardness pressed against her stomach. He was fully erect and Rose felt her desire quickly collect and become liquid. Her legs trembled, weak with need.

  Rose tilted her head back, revealing her throat. Simon bent, running his face along her neck in a gentle nuzzle. His mouth rested near her ear, his breath hot. It made her shudder. She could no longer resist.

  “And, this time, you want me as well,” he whispered. A soft whimper escaped her as the wolf responded. Yes, she wanted him. Yes, she needed him.

  Going against everything reasonable, sensible and right, Rose allowed the wolf to surface. There was nothing she could do now. The wolf was in heat, she needed to mate and Simon’s full-blood scent called to her.

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice a low, sensuous growl. Simon pulled away from her throat, his eyes golden. She felt her own burn with a similar stare.

  Then Simon’s lips locked to hers, fevered and passionate. And this time, she didn’t resist.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I need some air,” Jason finally said after a long, smothering silence. He stood up from the chair
where he had finally sank and walked to the front door.

  “I’ll come with you,” Glen offered. He followed him and Jason didn’t protest. He opened the screen door and stepped out first. Glen turned and glanced back at the others in the room. Claire had disappeared into Rose’s study, where she could work in peace and quiet. The others were lounging, watching television without much interest. Glen knew they would stay as long as necessary, until Claire found something.

  It could take days. Glen wasn’t sure they had that much time.

  He stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind him. Jason stood at the railing, leaning forward. Glen walked up beside him and looked out at the field, toward the road in the distance. A few cars went by but not many. Sometimes it was good to be secluded as they were. It made for less danger, less chance of discovery.

  But it hadn’t been in this case. Simon had still found them.

  It boggled Glen. He was surprised, extremely shocked that Simon was alive. All these months, all these years he had denied Jason’s claim. Now he was faced with the truth. Simon was alive and he had Rose once again.

  Glen thought on it as he stared out. The sun would be setting in a few hours. With any luck they would be out of here and on their way to finding Simon. He only prayed Claire would find something.

  He turned his head a few inches to stare at Jason. The young man’s blue eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He looked like hell. Glen could sympathize. He sighed softly.

  “Jason,” he began, his voice cutting the silence. Jason stirred only a little, lowering his head and closing his eyes. He probably thought he would chastise him, lecture him.

  “You did the right thing in there, telling them that. It was very brave.”

  There was a moment’s ringing silence before Jason scoffed, “Bravery had nothing to do with it.” He paused and opened his eyes. “They would’ve had to find out, sooner or later.”

  Glen studied him carefully. “Why do you say that?”

  “Why not?” Jason pushed himself way from the railing and turned his back to Glen. He walked a few paces and leaned against one of the wooden supports that held the roof above the porch. He crossed his arms, staring toward the backyard.