Blood Moon's Fury: A Young Adult Fantasy Thriller (Curse of the Blood Moon Book 1)

by Leah Kingsley

  Ash shook his head. “Johnson said I was supposed to go with him.”

  Alex grabbed Amy by the hair and dragged her toward a dark doorway. She kicked and clawed at him in an effort to get back to her sister. He yanked on her hair, and she fell to the ground. Alex hauled her across the threshold, her knees scraping painfully over an uneven plywood floor. He released her and slammed the door to the living room.

  This second room was even less attractive than the first. It was empty apart from a rickety table and chairs situated in the center of its unfinished floor. The walls had once been painted either a watery blue or a pea green. It was difficult to tell in the fading light. The room had a single slit of a window high up on the far wall, and a door in the corner that appeared to lead outside. Amy made a mental note of the possible escape route.

  Jenkins flopped into a peeling leather chair. “What now?”

  Alex forcefully turned her in a circle as if cataloging her weaknesses. He seized her wrist, and she bit back a yelp of pain. Last night’s cuts were still open and raw.

  He rolled up her sleeve. “Look what we have here? This one’s a cutter.”

  Amy winced and tried to shove him away. He held her wrist in a death grip. She ducked her head, her cheeks burning with shame. She cut when life was hard to take, and this past week had been one long nightmare.

  “How about we help you out.” Alex smiled amicably as if offering to pay for a movie ticket she couldn’t afford. “You stay with her while I find a big enough knife,” he told Jenkins and strolled from the room.

  Jenkins picked up a remote and flicked on a tiny TV she had failed to notice. It was tucked away in a corner, crammed precariously on a narrow shelf. Jenkins channel surfed with military intensity and refused to meet her eyes. Alex’s idea was bothering him. Why?

  Alex pranced through the door with a butcher knife in his fist. “This is going to be awesome!” Unbridled joy danced in his eyes as he sliced a jagged gash from her elbow to her wrist. The throbbing sting of pain was achingly familiar. She set her jaw and fought to feign indifference.

  “Your turn,” Alex crowed, passing his knife off to Jenkins.

  “No thanks.”

  “Come on, dude. Everyone gets to participate.”

  “No.” Jenkins shook his head, his brow shiny with sweat. He rose from his seat like a mind-controlled zombie and reluctantly pressed the blade to Amy’s arm. He ran it lightly across her skin, barely leaving a mark.

  “That’s what you call torture?” Alex grabbed the knife’s handle and pressed down hard as Jenkins moved to make another light scratch. This gash went even deeper than the first. Amy scrunched her eyes shut, silently riding the wave of pain. Metal clattered against wood. Jenkins had dropped the knife. “You’re such a baby.” Alex laughed.

  He seized the knife and slashed at her skin with feverish delight. Amy tried to predict where the blade was going to strike next. Alex moved too fast. Fear unfurled within her like a kite on a gusting breeze. Alex was wielding the knife with practiced efficiency. How many others had received this same torture? What had become of them? She scrambled backward to huddle against the wall and raised her arms to shield her face. Alex tore into them, reopening old scars.

  She stumbled into a corner, seeking protection from the knife that was everywhere at once. Alex pinned her against the wall, pried her arms away from her face, and forced her to meet his feral gaze. Alight with happiness, like a child’s on Christmas morning, his cold blue eyes were far more terrifying than his knife. Alex enjoyed seeing others in pain.

  He pressed the butcher knife to her neck. She held her breath, her pulse beating wildly beneath its sharp steel blade. She was no murder expert, but slicing open someone’s throat was a surefire way to kill them.

  “Alex!” Jenkins lunged forward and wrested the knife from his friend. “We’re not supposed to kill her!”

  “Who says? She’s a problem and she needs to go.” His gaze was locked on Amy’s throat, his stormy eyes smoldering with passion. His look made her physically ill. She was cornered like a cow in a slaughterhouse.

  “She’s not a problem. Are you, Amy?” Jenkins grasped her arm and yanked her away from Alex. She hated being grabbed but welcomed the distance from the knife. “You’ll forget this ever happened, right?” Amy nodded mutely. She’d promise anything to get Susan out of the mess she had created.

  Alex’s lips drew back in a snarl. “Whose side are you on? You’re with us, remember? That X tattooed on your arm is a permanent symbol of your loyalty. You chose this. Suck it up!”

  Amy glanced down. A small, bold X marked the inside of Jenkins’s right forearm. It was identical to the one concluding Johnson’s note, except that his tattoo more clearly depicted two crossed daggers. She flicked her gaze to Alex. He had the same tattoo.

  “Excuse me for not wanting to spend the rest of my life in prison. With you.” Jenkins tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her close against his side. His gentle green eyes sparked with anger.

  “You’re right.” Alex’s cruel mouth twisted unpleasantly in a sneer. “Good thinking. We’ll make her death look like an accident.”

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  Alex grabbed her arm and wrenched her toward the outside door. Jenkins held her close and refused to let her go. Amy winced at being the human center of a bone-crushing tug-of-war. She threw her weight toward Jenkins, the lesser of two evils.

  Alex dragged them both outside into a ferocious Ontario storm. They sloshed their way across a muddy yard to an old, run-down toolshed, Amy thrashing like an animal in the grips of a snare. Alex dragged her into the ten-by-ten space, calmly handed her off to Jenkins, and busied himself removing tools from an old cedar chest. Fear solidified within Amy as if the musty air had frozen her core.

  “What are you going to do to her?” Jenkins closed the door, plunging them all into darkness.

  The storm beat against the shed’s lone dusty window like a wale in the background of a grisly horror film. Alex pulled on a cord and a dusty bulb flicked on above his head. The dim light illuminated a large, square room. The walls were lined with shelves, and every shelf was piled high with a myriad of tools. Amy swallowed hard. From the nail gun to the handsaw to the innocent-looking broom, everything could be used as a torture device. As if on cue, Alex lifted a power saw from the bottom of the chest.

  Amy tried to run, but her legs were useless pegs that refused to move. She tried to speak, to use her words to shame them, condemn them, but her tongue was heavy, her mouth impossibly dry. An unnatural blanket of blinding terror had wrapped her in its smothering embrace.

  “Okay, Amy.” Alex gave her a twisted smile. “Your coffin is ready.” He grabbed her shirt collar, swung her into the chest, and slammed the lid with a bone-jarring crack. Total darkness surrounded her once more. “How long do you think it will take for her to suffocate?” Alex’s voice vibrated with elation.

  Jenkins did not reply. Amy clenched her fists and counted the rapid beats of her heart. A rising tide of panic threatened to sweep her away. The airtight wooden chest was as good as a vacuum-sealed coffin. She was going to suffocate. She became acutely aware of her racing heart pumping precious, oxygenated blood through her veins. Panicking was a waste of her valuable air. She needed to calm down and fast.

  Amy curled up on the bottom of the chest and pictured her sweet little sister curled safe in bed beneath her floral-print quilt. Her breathing slowed, and her heart tried to follow suit. She took deep, careful breaths, holding each one for as long as possible before releasing it into the musty box.

  Her lungs cried out for air and her heart pled for oxygen. The air had thinned like a bowl of watery ice cream left on the counter to melt. She was lightheaded and woozy. She knelt on the chest bottom and pushed up on its lid with all her might. She refused to die at the hands of these lunatics! Susan still needed her.

  “This is boring.” Alex yawned. “I’m going to check on what they’re doing to the l
ittle one.”

  The shed door slammed, and the chest was flung open. Strong arms helped her sit up.

  “Thanks.” Amy gulped a lungful of the cool, damp air and pressed a trembling hand to her throbbing chest.

  The shed door flew open, and Alex stormed back in. “What is with you tonight?” He fixed Jenkins with a hate-filled glare.

  “What’s with you?” Jenkins exploded, his arm tightening around Amy’s shoulders. His toned body was an unyielding wall of iron at her side. “You’re going to kill her because she’s smarter than you? That’s insane.”

  Alex snatched a large metal wrench and clonked Jenkins in the forehead. He stumbled and Alex, taking advantage of his temporary imbalance, shoved him backward into the chest alongside Amy. Alex slammed the lid shut, sealing them both in the dark, coffin-like box.

  “Hey!” Jenkins pounded on the wood. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He strained against the lid. His triceps rippled, but the lid refused to budge.

  “I already tried that.” Amy was pleased at how calm she sounded. The limited space was squeezing her way closer to this buff gangster than she ever wanted to be.

  A roaring mechanical racket drowned out Jenkins’s response. Alex had fired up the power saw.

  Her heart beat a wild tempo of terror in her ears. “What’s he going to do now?” she shrieked, her calm gone in an instant. “Chop us up?”

  “Don’t give him any ideas.” Jenkins grimaced. Amy joined him in his efforts to lift the lid. It rose a centimeter and caught on the latch. “He locked us in,” Jenkins said.

  “Let us out!” she screamed. Ice-cold certainty froze her heart in her chest. Alex was going to kill them.

  A deafening crunch sent vibrations through the wood. Strong arms wrapped around her waist. Jenkins had pulled her tight against his chest, as far away from the saw as possible. Amy stared in horror at a tiny sliver of light and the bottom of a deadly metal blade.

  Twenty-four

  ALEX SAWED THROUGH the soft wood, delighting in their terror-filled screams. He licked his lips to taste the air. The dizzying aroma of Amy’s blood filled him with euphoric pleasure, and the anger and dread humming around Peter got him high. Their desperate cries and rising horror quickened his heart and heated his blood with a heady rush of power. He was a fearless hunter, about to slaughter his cornered prey.

  Peter Jenkins was weak. Killing him would make Assassin’s Honor stronger. The others would eventually see things his way. Their gullible minds were delighted to accept his thoughts and directions. Peter was not. Alex had to fight him for every ounce of control, and Peter still managed to rebel against his influence. Having to force him to hurt Amy had been the last, annoying straw. Alex was sick of it and wanted him gone.

  He pushed the chest closer to the saw and sliced through the lid above Amy’s legs. His lips parted in a lurid grin as he eyed them through the slit. They were huddled against the far wall, Amy cowering in Peter’s lap. Alex grinned as he shredded the chest, inching the saw closer and closer to their toes. The humans were trapped in a shrinking tomb with the spinning blade blocking their only escape. They could either wait to get chopped into mincemeat or risk diving under the jagged metal blade. Both options would result in death.

  Peter struggled to shove Amy behind him, but the chest was too narrow for them to switch spots. He would have to watch the girl die before greeting death himself. Alex smiled. That ought to mess with his head. Peter had a major problem with violence against women.

  Alex shaved leather off the ends of their shoes. Amy readied herself to jump the blade. He suppressed a mirthless chuckle. Her death would be faster than Peter’s, but much messier.

  An unseen force wrenched him backward and hurled him into a wall. The saw landed inches from his face with a clanging whirl of sharp metal teeth. Alex scrambled to his feet and turned to face the idiot who had dared oppose him.

  Charles Banks stood framed in the doorway, his skinny frame shaking with terror. Alex bared his teeth in a feral grin. He had been planning to kill the mage tonight, as well as Amy, Peter and Zack. He got to his feet with a lighthearted chuckle. Charles had delivered himself like a willing sacrifice. The Blood Moon would be pleased.

  Alex swept a cool look over the terrorized trio. He had to lose the humans before he offed Charles. They would go insane if they witnessed a supernatural battle. As much as he would love to put Peter in a psych ward, Alex couldn’t risk his powers going public.

  He glowered at Peter. “Go tell Johnson we have an intruder. Take that with you.” He jerked a thumb toward Amy.

  Peter grabbed Amy’s hand, and they bolted from the shed. He halted out in the torrential downpour and glanced over his shoulder at Charles. What was he doing? Waiting for the smaller kid to follow him to safety? Peter and Charles had been friends for a time. Was the fool still loyal? Alex curled his lip in disgust.

  “Go, you idiot!” Charles shouted as Alex influenced the humans to run.

  They tore across the yard holding hands as if the forces of hell were after them. They were like frightened little rabbits fleeing their burrow. His lips formed a malevolent smirk. “Yes, flee little humans. Flee for your lives. I’ll finish you later.”

  A bright flash of lightning bathed the shed in red. Rage far more powerful than his own roared through his veins and set his blood ablaze. The storm had better not dim the Blood Moon’s night of glory. He peered through the window at the violent night sky, longing for its arrival with every taut nerve and every pounding beat of his heart. He must kill, and soon.

  He turned his attention to the mage. “So, decided to man up and face me, eh? If I had known pretty girls made you grow a pair, I would have set you up ages ago.”

  A disturbing thought crossed his mind. Charles never stood up for himself, let alone others. Was someone manipulating him? He shook his head to dislodge the silly notion. Surely The Dark had more efficient ways of stopping him than manipulating fragile mages.

  “You’ve lost your mind.” Charles hit his knees as Alex broke into his mind in as brutal a way as possible. “They’re human. They’re of no concern to you.” Charles’s face contorted in pain. “How come you never pick fights with other Darks? You too weak to face anyone more powerful than a defenseless high school junior?”

  Fury ripped through him like a red-hot bolt of fire. He squeezed Charles’s mind with darkness, intending to crush it like a grape. The darkness acted as a ring of razor blades, slowly slicing into and pulverizing his brain. Charles was surprisingly resistant. He blocked the darkness with barriers of magic and shoved Alex away with sheer willpower alone. Alex bit back a roar of molten rage. Charles’s fragile body presented an easier target. He hooked the power saw with a fine, dark tendril and flung it at the mage’s head. Charles dove out of the way on a magical swoop of luck.

  Alex couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air like a fish out of water. Charles had removed the oxygen from Alex’s side of the shed. The remaining gases, nitrogen and carbon dioxide, made him sick to his stomach. He retched on the molecules he had nearly swallowed and expelled them on a choking breath.

  “Fitting, isn’t it?” Charles struggled to his feet. “It’s time you got a taste of your own medicine.” He hurled the power saw at him atop a glowing burst of magical energy.

  Alex deflected the tool with a hand and received a jarring stab of pain as the blade scored his arm. An unpleasant sensation churned in his gut. Fear? He pushed past it with a thunderous rush of rage. The mage needed to learn his place, and fast. Nathan was going to arrive at any moment and could not find them dueling with supernatural powers. Worse, he could not find him losing to Charles Banks.

  His throat burned and his lungs throbbed. His body fought to breathe the poisonous gas. He scrambled to the other side of the shed, gasped in a breath of oxygenated air, and sent an array of tools flying at Charles. None hit him. The drill lodged in the wall above his head, the hammers and mallets clattered harmlessly to the floor, and a barra
ge of nails sprayed from the nail gun merely decorated the ceiling. Alex let loose a stream of curses. The infuriating mage had used magic to alter his chances of being hit.

  A suffocating pressure slammed into his chest. Charles had done something different to the air. Alex clutched at his ribs and struggled to breathe. The pressure tripled. His lungs were on fire. His chest threatened to explode. Was he having a heart attack? Fear careened through him. The room spun in wide, dizzying loops. He fell to his knees as his vision flickered. He clawed at his shirt in a wild frenzy of panic. The pressure was coming from within. Charles had forced an air bubble into Alex’s chest. It was crushing his lungs and making it impossible for him to breathe.

  He lassoed Charles’s ankles with darkness and yanked his feet out from under him with a vindictively vicious jerk. Charles crumpled backward, his skull hitting the concrete floor with a satisfying crunch. The pressure in Alex’s chest evaporated. He gulped a relieved breath and clutched his head between his hands. The little mage had horrifying powers. Payback time. He spent the next thirty seconds beating Charles to a pulp. He had to look messed up for the humans’ benefit and Alex wanted him awake when he murdered him slow.

  Peter and Nathan crashed through the door, drenched from the rain and reeling from their latest trauma. Nathan’s skin had a sickly green hue, and Peter’s eyes were wild as if he was living through a nightmare. Alex regarded them with a satisfied smile. Susan’s torture had gone as planned.

  Nathan gaped at Charles. “How did he find us?”

  “Relax.” Alex influenced him to stay calm. “The kid followed Amy without her knowledge and tried to play the hero.”

  “This is so messed up.” Peter’s green eyes blazed.

  Alex frowned. Had Peter told Nathan about his near-death experience yet? “Where are the girls?” he asked before Peter had the chance to sell him out.

  “With Ash.” Peter cut his steely gaze to Alex.