Bright Moon

by Andria Canayo

  She thought she’d seen a shift in the shape of the trees. When nothing came of it, she dismissed it as a trick of the eye. A few minutes later, she saw it again and leaned forward expectantly. The reasonable part of her mind knew full well it was probably Mesha or another member of the pack, but then the movement came again. She instantly realized two things: First, the shape was that of a person and second, they moved at a mortal’s pace. In that moment, she knew the puzzling hope she’d felt was the hopes of seeing Tyson return.

  With a stranger so close to their hideout, she was about to head back to the house when the person dropped from sight once more. They didn’t get up and a small well of concern grew. She decided to investigate what could possibly be a lost hiker. She left her fallen tree and jogged briskly over. While checking around tree trunks and shrubs, she found a man lying on the ground. He was curled in a ball, tightly grasping his midsection. Shock and dread washed over her all at once and she ran to his side to roll him over.

  “Tyson!”

  “Clara,” Tyson coughed and tried to sit up.

  “What happened to you? Don’t move!” She tried to push him back down, an effort she knew would produce no results, even in his weakened state.

  “You should not be out here on your own.”

  “I’m not, Mesha is here somewhere.”

  Tyson slumped back in pain, his face distorted and the veins on his neck bulged. Crimson blood soaked his shirt.

  “Oh, Tyson!” she gasped again.

  “Don’t touch it!” He pushed her hands away with his arm and blocked any access to the wound. “Go get Mesha, or Callan.”

  “I won’t leave you here!” she protested.

  “You have to,” Tyson growled.

  “Don’t growl! You’re forgetting I’m not like the others.”

  He let out a long, drawn sigh. “We can argue later, please just trust me.”

  With a shake of her head, she declined. “You wanted me to trust you when you left to find Mark and look what happened.” She got off her knees and put her hands under his arms, straining to hoist him to his feet. He leaned deliriously into her, his body trembling. Walking was agony, but he moved with her encouragement. He was heavy and difficult to keep braced. With every step they were closer to the house and more help. They were both staggering, and had only gone about half the distance when a rush of wind announced the presence of another. His weight was taken from her. The suddenness of the action nearly caused her to fall. A woman with long, honey colored hair and startling cornflower blue eyes had Tyson, supporting him with an arm around his waist. Besides her long hair and lovely eyes she had a square face with full, pouty red lips. Her form was tall and trim, but graceful.

  “Tyson,” she whispered, her voice clear. “You know what happens when you mix a mortal with our lives,” she said as if scolding him. The girl might as well have slapped Clara in the face.

  “Just take me home, Koty,” Tyson grimaced. “Wait for her.”

  Koty was clearly not very thrilled, but trudged along at the severely slow rate. Clara went as fast as she could. Koty followed closely with Tyson as if she wanted to push Clara along. The house came into view and Callan came running out.

  “What happened?” he asked Koty.

  “How should I know? Your sister was with him,” Koty snipped.

  Tyson growled then collapsed in a spasm of pain. Callan and Koty caught him and, together, they lifted him to the house. All the noise summoned the others who appeared in a blur.

  “Oh dear,” Dawn mumbled as they pulled Tyson into the living area. The cabin, unlike his house, was not equipped with an exam room and they made do with the nearest sofa. Jack pushed his way forward and knelt by Tyson’s side.

  “I need towels and the first aid kit to remove the blade,” he said to Dawn and Callan, who went to do his bidding.

  “What blade?” Clara asked, leaning over the back of the couch, her heart in her throat.

  “It’s silver,” Dawn informed her as she set a pile of fresh towels next to Jack. Callan returned with a metal box as well.

  “Are you sure we should be telling our secrets to someone not of our blood?” Koty asked with venom in her tone.

  “She is one of us,” Tyson barked.

  “Hm,” Koty answered, wisely choosing not to push the matter. Dawn put a hand on each of Tyson’s shoulders while Jack poured alcohol over the wound without warning. He yelled and Clara absently wondered if the couch would have survived if it weren’t for the silver as his fingers dug into the cushioned armrest.

  “Oh dear,” Dawn said again, her face twisted with worry.

  “Take Clara out!” Tyson demanded roughly, his forehead damp with perspiration.

  “No!” Clara protested.

  “He’s right, come on,” Callan said and took her arm, pushing her up the stairs toward her room.

  “I told you something wasn’t right!” she turned on him accusingly once they were out of sight of the others.

  “How could I know that would happen? He’s here now isn’t he?”

  “He shouldn’t have to suffer because of me!” She pointed down the stairs where Tyson’s outburst of pain erupted. “Don’t you understand that?”

  Callan’s mouth opened and shut. Clara could see him trying to work up a good response and shook her head angrily, turning from him. Callan called her name a couple times. She shook her head again and refused to hear him. In her room, she slammed the door and locked it, knowing full well a lock wouldn’t slow them down if they were so inclined to enter. She sat hard on the bed and began strangling a pillow by hugging it to her chest. She hated they had to keep her safe. Additionally, the business with Jothram tangled her nerves. She knew they were wrong, Parker was wrong, and it killed her to see Tyson or any of them suffer for a lost cause. She was only a mortal who had stumbled into their world by mistake. The pressure and anxiety became too much and came draining out in tears.

  Chapter 7 - Conscious

  The nightmares were getting worse. She dreamt of her mother, who was paralyzed with sickness, cold and hunger. She was thin, dirty and on her own, just as in the link Parker sent. The details of the dream were so vivid that she woke with a start and sat up in bed with tears on her cheeks. She struggled to breathe, even though the dream had faded. Her mind needed some serious persuasion to fall back to sleep after, but the rest of the night was dreamless.

  When hope dawned the next morning, light pierced her lids. The beams stabbed to the back of her skull and her eyes throbbed painfully. She sat up, felt dizzy, then lay back down. Each gasping breath tore her throat raw.

  “Perfect!” she said angrily and slapped the pillow next to her. She had little strength and the slap lacked gusto. The peppery hot pain in her throat kept sleep at bay until her body succumbed to the need.

  She thought someone had called her name the next she became aware. Her head felt it was splitting in two and she could focus on little else at first.

  “She’s burning up,” a male’s voice said.

  “She’s not infected, is she?”

  She knew that voice, it was her brother’s.

  “No,” Tyson said. “She’s sick.”

  “I don’t know if I recall how to nurse a mortal in these conditions.”

  “Don’t worry, Jack, all she needs right now is something warm to drink.”

  “I’ll go tell Aunt Dawn,” Jack said and Clara heard rustling as someone left.

  “She needs a doctor,” Callan said. She felt a weight on the bed.

  “No,” Tyson argued. “I’ve seen this before, it’s from mingling too closely with us.”

  “Will she be alright?”

  “Yes, I’ll take care of her.”

  “You?” Callan sounded surprised.

  “Why not?” Tyson challenged.

  “No reason,” he answered sheepishly.

  She tried to speak, but wound up moaning. Someone took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Are you awake?�
�� Callan asked softly. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy.

  “She needs to rest,” Tyson spoke.

  “I know.” Someone pushed the hair from her face. “Try to sleep, sis.”

  She didn’t have a choice as she became too tired to stay awake any longer.

  The line between reality and nightmare was lost in her feverish state. Wild wolves transformed into the crazed beasts that had demolished Tyson’s mansion. She knew it was impossible to outrun them, but tried anyway. Then, as always, Tyson came to her rescue. There were too many of the dogs and he was attacked over and over until they buried him. She yelled, “STOP! STOP! STOP!” when she struggled forward to save him. Someone took a hold of her arms, keeping her from progressing.

  “Clara!” Tyson yelled, confusing her. She had just seen him buried by the mutts, how could he be yelling at her? She tried to break away, dismissing it as a delusion. “Clara, wake up!” he yelled again. She came to with a jerk. He knelt on the bed, holding her arms, his face inches from hers. His icy blue eyes filled with concern before he released her and backed off the bed. She sat up and leaned against the headboard, hiding her face in her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “What happened?” he asked gently. She shook her head.

  “Nothing.”

  “You were yelling.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. Callan burst in just then, panting after running hard.

  “What is it? What happened?”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him when he moved to sit next to her. Callan repeated the query, turning his attention to Tyson.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, she won’t tell me. I think she had a nightmare.”

  Visibly relaxing, Callan breathed a sigh of relief. “Is that all?” She glanced at Tyson, wanting to reprimand Callan for dismissing the near death in her dream as trivial. He gave her a hug. “I’m glad you’re awake, I was worried.”

  “I’m fine,” she said again and pressed her fingers to her head, refusing to look up.

  “What was it about?” he asked.

  She bit her lip and glanced to Tyson again, looking away quickly and shaking her head.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I think I want to sleep some,” she mumbled.

  Callan grinned. “You just woke up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You know I’m teasing, sis. Get better so I don’t have to worry, okay?” He gave her hand a final squeeze then stood.

  “Are you coming back?” she asked before she thought. A small spasm crossed Callan’s features. He went back to her side and hugged her close.

  “I will always come back, alright?”

  Feeling childish, she nodded. She fell to her pillow and saw a pink rose smiling at her from the dresser. It was the first she’d seen since their arrival.

  An empty stomach woke her when a tantalizing scent drifted to her room. She sat up and toke note of the darkening sky beyond her window. She pushed the covers aside and her feet over the edge of the mattress.

  “Don’t you dare step out of that bed.” Tyson’s voice startled her. He was standing inside the door and she was sure he hadn’t been there a second before.

  “I’m feeling much better now,” she argued. Tyson raised an eyebrow at her and leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes fell to where his wound had been. “You look better too.”

  “That’s one of the few upsides of being a werewolf,” he pointed out. “I was healed the moment Jack pulled the silver out.”

  “If you heal so quickly, why did he use alcohol to clean the wound?”

  “Infections are rare, but they can get trapped under the skin if we aren’t careful. Our skin heals so quickly that not all of the infection clears sometimes, especially when the wound has had time to fester.”

  “Oh. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said while slowly lowering her feet to the floor.

  “Don’t make me call your brother, he’s out wandering and he’d have a long way to run.”

  She pulled her feet back up. “I don’t see why I should have to stay here if I feel better.”

  “If I’ve learned anything about you it’s that you’ll push yourself beyond reasonable expectations. Stay in bed,” he warned sternly.

  “You have a habit of bossing people around.” She hoisted herself to the pillows.

  “You have a habit of not listening to reason,” Tyson retaliated.

  “I’m hungry,” she pouted.

  “Dawn’s warming soup for you, have patience. I came because I heard you moving about and knew you’d try to get up.”

  She thought of when she’d woken with him kneeling over her and how her emotions had surged. She wondered where Koty was and what she would do if she knew how she felt about Tyson. Trying to push the thought from her mind, she stole a peek at him, as he seemed to be standing guard until Dawn arrived.

  “Would you mind telling me more about Jothram?”

  He immediately scowled and moved closer while keeping his distance from the bed. “What do you want to know?”

  “I was wondering if you know where he might be.” Clara ventured, doing her best to ignore his glower.

  “What if I did?”

  She pulled a strand of hair over her shoulder and started fiddling with it. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea if he and I met at some point?”

  “You want to meet him?” his voice was low and disbelieving.

  “I want to settle these silly ideas that I’m the…” she hesitated.

  “The cure.”

  “Yes, I want to settle this thought that I am the cure once and for all, and the most obvious way would be to find Jothram, right?”

  He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “That makes some sense, yes. You seem to think you’ll disprove the idea.”

  She looked from him and stared out the window.

  “I heard what you said to Cal while Jack was extracting the silver,” he said.

  “Of course you did, you hear everything.” She tried to sound as if she hadn’t forgotten.

  “You said I shouldn’t have to suffer because of you.”

  She waited for him to make his point. He said nothing and she finally returned her attention to him, thinking he might have left the room. He waited until her eyes locked with his. “Anyone who thinks they’re suffering because of you is a fool.”

  Her heart quickened as her mind worked to understand the full meaning of his statement. She sat up straight. “You—” she started to say, but was cut off when Dawn entered the room carrying a tray. She placed it carefully over Clara’s lap.

  “Hello, dear, you’re looking marvelously better. Do you like tomato soup?” she asked quickly.

  “Yes, thank you,” Clara answered gratefully, even as her appetite seemed to vanish with Tyson so near.

  “I’m sorry, I have to run back, there are things on the stove,” she explained as she backed out.

  “You’re an angel, Dawn, thank you,” Tyson said appreciatively. Dawn beamed and Clara watched her go then stared down at her food, still marveling over what Tyson said.

  “Jothram has gone into hiding because of how ashamed he is over being the first of our kind.”

  “You don’t know where he might be?”

  Tyson sighed. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can stop us protecting you if you aren’t the cure. I’m telling you now it wouldn’t matter if you were or not, I would protect you anyway.”

  Her mouth went dry. “Why?”

  “Discard any notion you aren’t worth protecting, because you are,” he said forcefully.

  “That’s very nice of you to say, but—”

  “No buts,” he cut her off. Dumbfounded, she paused, giving him enough time to change the subject yet again. “I came up here for another reason, I wanted to ask why you were out in the forest?”

  “I just wanted to walk.”

  “I know
it can be overwhelming for someone in your situation where nothing is familiar, but you can’t go out there. I wish it could be different, but the fact is you are in—”

  “Danger, I know.” She took a deep breath.

  “Yes. Please don’t go out there, especially when you’re alone.”

  “I won’t,” she agreed.

  “Good, I will leave you to your dinner then.” He moved to the door only to pause. “And don’t push yourself anymore for now, I think you’ll be surprised how easily you tire.”

  He was right once more. Within minutes, she remembered how hungry she’d been before Tyson disrupted her calm. She ate the soup and toast slowly, all the while trying to forget how her heart fluttered at his presence. After eating all she could, she moved the tray to the nightstand. As her eyes drooped close, the rose’s beautiful face seemed to reach toward her and it was just the comfort she needed.

  Chapter 8 - Move

  The next morning, she felt refreshed and didn’t think twice about getting out of bed. Although, she half hoped Tyson would appear in the door when she did. She dressed and started out her bedroom door with her hair damp from showering. The day seemed so bright that she almost left before noticing a large bouquet of pink roses that had replaced the vase from the day before. She couldn’t help the smile that spread on her face and she pulled one from the bunch, putting it to her nose. It smelled lovely, more like a garden rose than one from a shop. Clara broke most of the stem off and tucked the flower carefully into the top of her braid.