Five Moons Rising

by Lise MacTague

  “I have your food.” Malice’s exhausted voice pulled Ruri out of herself.

  Ruri extracted herself from the soft circle of Cassidy’s arms. The woman didn’t so much as stir; apparently exhaustion was rampant in the Hunter’s home. She made her way to the door.

  “She’s out. Why don’t you open the door and we’ll leave her a plate.” Ruri made sure to whisper. She didn’t want to risk waking Cassidy.

  Malice must have lifted up on the door, because it barely made any noise when it opened. Judging by how badly the concrete was scuffed after only a few days of dragging the door back and forth over the floor, it took more than a little muscle. Ruri filed Malice’s strength away in the back of her mind. She didn’t miss the way Malice turned her body and split her attention between the two threats in the room. She was ready for an attack by either of them. That was also interesting. Unless she missed her guess, Malice had received a great deal of training. No one knew a whole lot about the Hunters. They’d appeared a few years ago without any warning. Chicago wasn’t the only city that had one. Lone wolves from other cities had their own stories of the mysterious humans who were a match for them. Here was a chance to find something out about them. She’d have to keep her ears pricked.

  She padded quietly out the door and past Malice, trying not to tense in response to her captor’s anxiety. Malice handed her a plate, which she took without comment, though the beef smelled divine. It was rare, practically swimming in red juices, just the way she liked it. Better yet, it was barely seasoned. Unless she missed her guess, the only seasonings were salt and a little pepper. She’d never understood what made humans want to drown the flavor of their meat in heavy sauces.

  “Can I get a fork and knife?”

  Malice blinked at her like she was surprised at the question. It took her a moment to process it, and then she turned and walked back toward the enclosed portion of the loft. Ruri decided she was meant to follow her and came along in her wake. It amused her to walk close enough to Malice to discomfit her. By the set of her shoulders and the quick glances she threw back at Ruri, she didn’t like anyone behind her.

  You brought me here and made sure I couldn’t leave, so deal. When Malice slowed down enough for Ruri to draw up next to her, she smiled slightly in triumph. There might be some cracks in the woman’s facade after all.

  Her stomach growled loudly enough to echo in the large open area. Ruri looked down at it and glanced up quickly enough to catch the quirk of Malice’s mouth. It wasn’t quite a smile, and it disappeared when she caught Ruri watching her, to be replaced with a dark scowl.

  That’s fine, Ruri thought. I don’t need to make nice with you. I just need you to let down your guard long enough to get out of here.

  “Here,” Malice said when they reached the kitchen. She pulled a knife and fork from a drawer and handed them to Ruri.

  “I’m going to sit on the chair, just like a real person,” Ruri said. “Try not to be too shocked.”

  “Huh” was all the response she got for her efforts. Malice pulled a stool away from the island in the middle of the kitchen and sat, watching Ruri the entire time. Slightly irritated that her sally hadn’t engendered much response, Ruri deposited her plate on the tabletop and sat as far away as she could get and still be at the same table.

  Her mouth watered and she dug into the pile of ground beef in front of her, trying not to drool. After her last crack, it wouldn’t do to slobber all over herself. The meat was fantastic. Malice really knew how to cook and to a wolven’s taste, no less. Her stomach let her know how long it had been since she’d eaten this well.

  “This is really good,” she mumbled around a mouthful of meat. “Aren’t you going to have some?”

  “No.” Malice stared at her hands. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “What?” Ruri scooped up another hunk of beef. “This is too good for you to be prey—I mean vegetarian. You know just how this is supposed to taste.”

  “Yeah, well. I don’t eat meat, and I’m certainly not prey.”

  “Your loss.”

  “If you’re done grilling me on my eating habits, maybe you’d like to tell me about my sister.”

  The mouthful of meat, so juicy and appealing mere seconds earlier, turned to rubber in her mouth. Determinedly, Ruri chewed her way through it and swallowed before deliberately putting down her knife and fork. There was meat juice on her chin, she discovered to her chagrin. Not willing to be rushed, she reached for a napkin from the holder in the center of the island. After thoroughly cleaning her face, Ruri turned and contemplated Malice.

  “You know I’m not responsible for what happened to her, right?”

  “I know.” Malice met her eyes levelly. “But I expect you’ll do your best for her, or I won’t be resetting that bracelet. If I get any inkling you’re slacking on me, I will leave you to your own devices.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” Ruri’s voice heated with her irritation. Her wolf rubbed along the underside of her skin, fur spiky and sharp, not the soft warmth she displayed when she was happy. At least the wolfsbane was really starting to work its way out of her system. She should be able to shift in a couple hours, she estimated.

  “Good,” the Hunter said. “I’m well aware of who did this to me and why. I don’t blame you for getting her into this mess, that’s all on me. You’re just the lucky one who gets to help me get her out of it.”

  “If I can get her out of it, and that’s a big if. A really big if.” Ruri dragged her fingertip through the cooling puddle of meat juice next to the uneaten beef. “She wasn’t meant to survive this. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you know about how wolven are made?”

  Malice cocked her head at the unfamiliar word.

  “You call us werewolves.” Ruri cringed inwardly at the word. “Were” was an Old English word for man. Her people were distinct from humans, not some sort of freakish hybrids. Still it was better than the derogatory furry she’d heard Malice use. That one was fourteen levels of wrong.

  “Oh,” Malice said. “Then more than you think.”

  Malice didn’t elaborate. When Ruri looked over at her and noted the way the cords in her neck stood out, she decided not to push the matter.

  “When a wolven bites a human, the essence of their wolf is shared with them.”

  “We know it’s a virus. The bite injects lycan DNA into the host.”

  Who is we? Ruri went on as if Malice hadn’t said anything. “Sometimes, a human is bitten by two different wolven. When that happens, the two wolf essences compete in the human’s body. Whichever one wins is the one that completes the transformation. Wolven almost always inherit traits from the one that bit them. When there’s more than one bite, the wolven exhibits traits from the wolf that wins out.”

  “So how does that relate to Cassidy?”

  “As far as I can tell, your sister was bitten by at least five wolven. Right now, the wolves are battling it out in her body. That’s why her eyes are changing color. You may have noticed the little fur she’s been able to manifest is in different colors also.”

  “I’d wondered about that.” Her voice was calm, but agitation rolled off Malice in waves, raising the hair on Ruri’s arms. Cautiously, she shifted in her seat, presenting Malice with her shoulder, creating as small a profile as possible should the Hunter choose to strike.

  “So the question isn’t will your sister stay human. She will be wolven, but only if she survives the battle inside her. Even for a human bitten by one wolf, coming through the transformation isn’t a sure thing. When they’re bitten by two, it’s a lot harder. I’ve never seen anyone who was bitten by more than two.” She gentled her voice. The Hunter had her sympathy over the loss of a family member. “I’ve certainly never heard of anyone surviving being bitten by more than two.”

  A loud crack reverberated through the room. The edge of the island where Malice was sitting tore free in her hands. Splin
tered wood groaned in her grip.

  “I’ll do what I can for her. I’ve shepherded more than one wolven through the process. Our best bet is to remind her of her human side.” Ruri cocked her head to one side, wondering how Malice would take what she was about to lay upon her. The Hunter was doing the best she could for her sister, Ruri had to believe that. “She’s wallowing in her own filth right now. That box needs to be disinfected.”

  “I hose it down whenever she gets enough sedative in her to knock her out,” Malice said, her voice defensive.

  “It’s not enough. Her nose is even more sensitive than yours is. If you can smell even the faintest trace, for her it’s like living in a dung heap.”

  “Fine. You control her, and I’ll swab out her…” Malice’s lips twisted as she tried to come up with a good word. “…room,” she concluded quietly.

  “Good. The next thing is that you can’t sedate her anymore. She won’t be able to come through this if she doesn’t know what’s going on. The wolves can’t work through what they need to if they’re always blitzed out.”

  “Got it.”

  “And you need to know there are no guarantees, even under the best of circumstances. Cassidy is in real trouble here.”

  Nostrils flared and chest heaving, Malice nodded. She stared at the wood in her hands as if uncertain how it had come to be there. Carefully, she put the chunk down on the island.

  “I have to go,” she said after a moment. With abrupt intensity, she pushed herself away from the island and stalked off.

  Ruri watched her leave the room. A little while later, she heard a door open and close. It sounded far away and it definitely wasn’t the door to Cassidy’s box. Left alone, she wondered what she was supposed to do. She didn’t want to get back in the box with Cassidy until her wolf was completely back with her. Without Malice there, she wouldn’t be able to get past the lock let alone close the door behind her. As much as she hated to see a wolf caged, she knew Cassidy was wild now. The wolves battling for dominance within her were almost completely overwhelming her human side. She wouldn’t be able to do much more than respond to the constant adrenaline that surged through her system, demanding she shift. That wouldn’t happen until one of her wolves proved victorious. Cassidy’s entire world right now was of internal conflict so intense she couldn’t help but lash out. The next time Ruri went back into the box, she wanted her wolf to be with her. The presence of another wolf who wasn’t trying to dominate Cassidy should soothe her enough to allow her some peace. At least that was the idea.

  The meat on the plate was cold now, but Ruri decided to finish it anyway. A gleaming, stainless steel microwave sat next to the stove, but she chose not to use it. Better the beef be cool than overdone. Reclaiming her knife and fork, she dug back in to the meat, trying to wrap her head around the enormity of the task in front of her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sounds intruded on her from outside the box. Sharp noises, noises that hurt her ears and made her want to burrow into the cloth mounded around her. She shifted, pricking up her ears to make sure there was no immediate threat. Rather, she tried to prick up her ears. They didn’t move. Confused, she stuck her head beneath one paw and stopped. No ears. No paws. The ears were round and almost useless. Her paws had these worm-like things at the end of them. She held one in front of her face and stared, fascinated, as they wriggled around before her eyes.

  Where’s your dirt, worm-things? she wondered.

  Another sharp sound jerked her head up and she looked around, alarm shooting through her. She tried to tuck her tail between her legs, but that didn’t work either. If only the new one was there. That one made her feel safe and warm. She’d been wrapped in shades of blue and tranquility. They were of each other. They were…not quite one, but they were of the same.

  The other one. The hair raised on her body and she whined quietly to herself. The sound was somehow comforting and she did it again. The other one had trapped her in here with only the stench of her own filth for comfort. The other brought food and rage. That one was spiky and red, shading to virulent purple. She was anything but comforting. The food she brought tasted strange and part of her whispered it was the reason she slept so much, but when it came she was so hungry. Always so hungry. No sooner had she finished eating than she was overtaken by that terrible gnawing at her belly all over again.

  Dull pain twisted her innards. Not food this time, something worse. She whimpered again, though this time it brought no comfort. She knew what was coming. This was her world. She bit down with teeth that already ached. The skin around her face and not-paws itched abominably and she rubbed them against each other, looking for some relief.

  Pain. It became her world as her muscles seized and twisted within themselves. They wanted to move, to shift and change. Her body had already given the order, yet her muscles didn’t comply. She trembled on the edge of changing, on the edge of relief. If she could only get past whatever it was that blocked her. She was being drowned in scalding water.

  Unable to take it anymore, she leapt up and ran at the door, with its crack of light that promised freedom but never gave it up. It shuddered under her, creaking and straining, but going nowhere. Again she ran at it, determined that this would be the time. This time she would get to freedom. She would find the new one and be at peace. She would find the other one and bathe her face in the other’s lifeblood as it pumped hot and wet from the ruined mass of her neck.

  That’s not right. She slid down the door, skin still aflame, muscles in cramping knots of useless flesh. The howl that burst from her throat died as suddenly as it had come into being. Mary Alice. Not the other at all. Sister.

  Cassidy. I’m Cassidy. The pain was subsiding, her contorted limbs relaxing into their normal, foreign shapes. Why is this happening to me?

  What did her sister know? She must know something. Cassidy made a note to confront her about it the next time she saw her. If she remembered. Exhaustion dragged down her eyelids, promising numbness, if only for a while. Her back leg twitched slightly and she kicked out, settling it in its proper place before curling up. She needed answers next. Answers and freedom to run.

  Mary Alice trotted down the stairs two at a time. She needed to get away from that female before she ripped its head off its body. A couple of large splinters in her palm itched like the dickens. It was no more than she deserved for losing her cool and ripping the board out of the island, so she ignored them. She couldn’t kill the female; she needed it too badly. If Cassidy had any chance at all, then Mary Alice wasn’t going to ruin it for her, but she still wanted to destroy something. If the Alpha of the North Side pack had been in front of her, Mary Alice would have ripped him apart with her bare hands and thoroughly enjoyed it.

  Only one thing could take the edge off now. She opened the door on the second floor landing and emerged into another huge room. Unlike the one above her that was mostly empty except for her living quarters, this one was filled with scraps of metal and large forms that were indistinct in the semi-darkness, even to her eyes. She swung up the large breaker switch by the door. Fluorescent bulbs slowly flickered to life, marching to the end of the room and bathing the area in cold light.

  Her sculptures danced for a moment until the lights stabilized and the shadows firmed up around them. Heading to the far corner, Mary Alice meandered her way around the large works and raw materials that took up the place. Many of the pieces were ones she meant to take apart at some point. Most of them weren’t worth saving. The ones she thought were of any value were either at the gallery or in the small enclosure to the left of the door. That enclosure was only half full. Her standards were exacting, and she could noodle away on a sculpture, tinkering and adjusting until it was perfect. Anything less than perfection wouldn’t see the light of day until she achieved it. If perfection was out of reach, then she pulled the piece apart and repurposed what she could into a fresh work.

  Repurposing was exactly what she needed now. Some controlled a
nd extremely focused destruction was just the ticket. A long workbench ran most of the length of the far wall. She suspected it was original to the space. Its wood was almost black with age and countless layers of crackled varnish, and its sturdy six-by-six timbers gave it a solidity she never saw in modern furniture. When she worked, she often felt as if the workbench was the only thing grounding her to this life.

  She put on a pair of safety goggles and picked up a small sledgehammer. A particularly stubborn piece she’d been trying to get right for weeks sat in the middle of the bench. It was on the small side as her pieces went, only about four feet tall. Four curved shapes reached upward, almost meeting in a point, clawing forever at something barely beyond their reach. Mary Alice hated the piece, had hated it almost since she started it. The promise of it had been so clear in her mind when she’d begun, but she hadn’t been able to bring it anywhere near what she’d envisioned. The shapes were too squat, too uneven. Lifting the hammer above her head, she brought it down on the base, right where one of the imperfect pieces was anchored.

  A sharp clang rang through the space, bouncing crazily off the weird surfaces. Again, she lifted the hammer and brought it down, and again the metal rang but refused to break. Over and over again, she raised the hammer above her head and swung it down on the defective mess in front of her. She screamed at it until her eyes overflowed with tears. She couldn’t see anything, but she continued to blindly swing the hammer until her arm ached and she slowly came back to reality.

  The sculpture lay in a pile in front of her; jagged metal forms bent and twisted in upon themselves. The goggles had steamed up and she could barely see through them. She pulled them off and scrubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. A small sound, a scuff of rubber on concrete, snagged her attention and she whirled toward the threat, sledgehammer raised over her head, ready to strike.

  The female stared at her with shocked eyes. It turned, trying to present a smaller target, but it didn’t flee. Mary Alice knew lycans tended to align themselves along a continuum of dominance and submission and she caught herself wondering where along that line the female fell. It wasn’t important; she lowered the hammer.