Bright Moon

by Andria Canayo

  “What does he want?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Is he too far to hear?”

  “We can’t hear anyone but our pack,” Callan supplied.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he only wants to see you…and me,” Tyson added. A surge of humor welled from Callan. Clara was about to say something in Tyson’s defense, or to Callan’s offense, when Rodger approached.

  Each member of Tyson’s pack was wondrous to behold when in their canine form. Their bodies were massive and strong, their fur glossy and thick, their claws and teeth formidable. She knew Rodger had been older when he was infected, but she had no idea it would affect his wolf form.

  His body was bigger than a mortal wolf, but his limbs were thin and scraggily. Bald spots were clearly visible in his dull grey-brown fur and tufts stuck out at odd angles behind his ears. His snout, paws, ears and tail were speckled white. A few defined lines creased the skin where his lip curled and jowls had formed under his chin. He limped toward them and stared at her, his brown-green eyes unblinking. His attention shifted to Tyson, then to Callan and he huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. A grumble tumbled from his throat before he sauntered off.

  “What was that about?” Clara whispered.

  “He thought it was funny too,” Callan responded with a laugh.

  “We better go to the house if we’re going to clean ourselves up for dinner,” Tyson snapped. They took to running again and it wasn’t long before the house came in sight. “Be careful, your legs will be tight,” he warned when he came to a stop near the door and she moved to slide off. She knew he was right, she had felt her legs cramping even before they decided to return. Keeping a hold of his fur, she lowered her feet to the ground. Her eyes squeezed shut when her legs tingled harshly. She inhaled sharply as his fur changed to cloth beneath her touch, but when she looked up he’d already changed shape.

  “Is it bad?” he asked. She released his shirt and shook her head. Callan was suddenly next to them, having taken his human form as well.

  “Do you smell that?” he asked, and yes, even she could smell the buttery, spicy, savory smell wafting from the house. Callan’s eyes lit and he rushed inside. She shifted her legs, testing their ability before actually taking a step.

  “I recall carrying you the last time your legs gave up on you,” Tyson said quietly.

  “I’m alright,” she answered. “It’s a mortal thing, it will pass soon.”

  He fell into a gloomy silence. Callan occupied the shower by the time she reached their room. There was only one bathroom upstairs and she was inclined to wait. By the time they were ready, five-thirty was upon them. They hurried downstairs to a sort of dining room where Rodger and his boys sat.

  “You must come and sit next to me,” Rodger said when they entered and pointed to the empty seats on either side of him. His chair was at the head of the table, which allowed both Callan and Clara to sit next to him as he indicated. Tyson, of course, took the seat next to hers. The dinner consisted of mounds of meat piled on platters. Thankfully, there were also a few choices of vegetables.

  “You have not met my boys,” Rodger said as he removed his cap to reveal a head that had once been balding when he was mortal. “Dingo you know and I will introduce the rest before we begin our meal.”

  Clara kept her eyes on her empty plate until then, doing her best to follow Tyson’s advice. She looked up to see Dingo in the chair next to Callan. Six others sat around the table and Rodger began rattling off names.

  “Next to Dingo is Lyca.”

  The man was very young looking, even younger than Jack and could hardly be called a man at all. He had tawny hair and a sprinkling of freckles over his nose. His grass-green eyes were sharp and mistrusting.

  “And next to Lyca is Ovid.”

  Ovid was rather small for a werewolf, but still large in the mortal realm. He had sandy hair and bronze colored skin. His face was friendly enough and his dark eyes shone when he smiled.

  “Next to Ovid is Lobo.”

  A Hispanic man with a thin face nodded and waved, but his features remained serious.

  “Next to Lobo is Griseous.”

  Griseous was unusually tall, even for a werewolf. His face was square and he had a firm jaw. His huge, broad shoulders tensed and he gripped the table before relaxing and smiling nervously.

  “Now we’re coming up the other side of the table,” Rodger said. “There at the end is Herk.”

  Herk was twice the size of any man there and then some. He had short, military style hair and a thick, bulging neck.

  “And last is Rusty.”

  Sitting just next to Tyson, Rusty had to lean forward to see Clara. He had dark, reddish brown hair that partially shielded his eyes.

  “Say hello to our guests everyone,” Rodger said.

  A cacophonous response resulted as they replied with their own hello.

  “Now we can get to eating,” Rodger said and rubbed his hands together. He took his fork and stabbed a large piece of beef. Once the food touched his plate, it was as if someone rang a bell and a few of the men leapt at the meat. Callan was just as bad as the worst, taking three massive pieces of whatever he could reach. The scene made Clara forget her hunger and her fists closed nervously in her lap. Tyson touched her knee from under the table. She glanced to him and his plate was empty as well. When the noise died down, he grabbed a bowl of fried zucchini and placed it near her elbow.

  “Thanks,” she whispered and coaxed a few slices onto her plate. Only then did he reach out and take a helping of the juicy looking steaks. She could scarcely eat while watching Rodger cut his steak. The beef seemed to have been cooked, but a puddle of blood oozed from the incision.

  “Dingo tells me you smelled of Felina when you first came,” he said as he chewed. “Have you been to pay her a visit?”

  “We were there just before we came here,” Tyson affirmed. “New pups entered her pack and she wasn’t up for a visit.”

  “I expect that’s why she didn’t want a…that’s why she didn’t want Clara around.”

  “You haven’t had new additions lately, have you?” Tyson asked.

  “Not since Griseous. I’m sure you can tell he’s still not accustomed to his new body. He’s nearly three years into it, but he’s coming along nicely.” Rodger turned his attention to Callan. “What about you, pup? How old are you?”

  Callan swallowed a large chunk of his portion. “Nine months.”

  “Nine months?” Rodger asked, his bushy eyebrows rising in surprise. “And you let him out in public, Tyson?”

  “He’s tamed quickly,” Tyson said. “Having Clara near has seemed to strengthen him some as well.”

  “He draws strength from a mortal?”

  “She’s not just a mortal, she’s my twin sister,” Callan interjected, shooting her a grin.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Dingo cut in, jamming a steak knife into his helping of meat. “She was your twin sister. Now she’s a mortal, an innocent. What you were before died the moment the beast grew in the shadow of your heart. Rodger has taught us to leave everything behind, even those who once strengthened us. You must find your own strength if you’re to survive in this world.”

  “Calm yourself, Dingo,” Rodger said and raised a hand to him. “They have a different way of living.”

  “They’re endangering her as well as others. Haven’t you always said that keeping the infection to ourselves and protecting innocents is more important than anything else?”

  “I have said that, but we don’t know the extent of their story, nor is it our business.”

  Dingo’s eyes lingered on Tyson before he returned to his food.

  “Dingo is a devoted member of the pack,” Rodger said as way of explanation. “He remembers everything I say.”

  Tyson was tense. He’d lost interest in eating and his eyes shot from Dingo to Rodger. “How nice to have such a partisan.”

  “Tell me,” Rodger said an
d waved his fork in the air. “How many pups did Felina have?”

  “Five.”

  A few of the others stopped eating. A fork clattered to a plate when Ovid dropped it and they shared looks of disbelief.

  “Five?” Rodger asked, his aged voice breathless from shock. “She is a fool to take on so many.”

  “How can she control how many she finds?” Callan asked.

  Rodger and his pack chuckled. “She cannot control how many were found,” he agreed. “But she can control how many survive.”

  “You-you aren’t suggesting she kill them?” Clara gasped.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, young woman, what we have become is the exact stuff nightmares are made of. Our thoughts are turned to killing. Our bodies become the unimaginable. If the infection is spread too far, it will begin to take over the population. Then what will this world have to look forward to? Nothing but destruction as each pack fights for territory. So am I suggesting she kill them? Indeed I am. I have ordered my boys to do likewise if too many of the infected are found.”

  “You’ve killed pups?” she asked.

  “Do not speak with such venom in your voice,” Dingo said vehemently. “You don’t understand our world!”

  Tyson’s hand closed over her knee under the table, but anger spurred her words. “What gives you the right to kill? I don’t have to understand everything there is about being a werewolf to know that killing is wrong!”

  “Tyson, you would do well to remind your girl whose guest she is,” Dingo spat truculently.

  Rodger’s hand slammed down on the table just as Tyson rose from his chair. “Dingo! You are excused from the house.”

  “But Rodg—”

  “You too would do well to remember they are my guests. Now out!” He waited until Dingo stood and left. “As for this matter of killing pups, it is necessary to keep the infection under control. We do not simply eliminate every pup we come in contact with, only the ones that have little promise of ever taming.”

  She inhaled slowly as rage built in her chest. Tyson took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Excuse us, Rodger, I think we had better retire now.”

  Rodger nodded and waved a hand. Her brow knit together as he dragged her from the scene and up two flights of stairs to their room. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Don’t tell me you agree with him?”

  “Sh!” Tyson said and pushed the door shut.

  “Have you killed pups?” she asked in a raised voice.

  He rushed to her and placed a hand over her mouth. “Of course I haven’t killed pups!” he whispered. “And of course I don’t agree with him, but what do you want me to do about it? We are on his lands and in his pack. I could challenge him, but that would mean we fight and I don’t think Callan and I can take on all those boys down there. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and he released her mouth once more.

  “Not everything is black and white the way he thinks,” Tyson whispered again. “That being said, I never, ever, ever want to hear you arguing with a werewolf again, alright?”

  She twisted the ends of her hair in her fingers and looked away. “I argue with you all the time.”

  “I mean other werewolves, ones not of our pack. You can argue with me all you like. I rather enjoy this thing we have.”

  “I wasn’t aware we had a thing.”

  “Sure we do, we argue.”

  She smiled, but it quickly faded. “I just can’t imagine…”

  He gently took hold of her chin and made her look him in the eye. “Then don’t,” he said in a breath of a whisper. For the briefest of moments, she thought his eyes softened and he leaned toward her, just as he had so many times before. The door rattled then swung open when Callan strode through. Tyson shook his head and smiled as if someone had just told a joke.

  “I was getting a bit nervous down there,” Callan said while eyeing them. “I am still only a pup after all.”

  “This place is beginning to wear on me,” Tyson agreed. “Come sunup, we’re leaving, with or without the others.”

  Luckily, the others showed up in the dead of night. Clara fell asleep on the bed while dwelling on Tyson’s strange behavior toward her. Darkness covered the land when Mesha shook her awake. She gasped in relief and threw her arms about Mesha’s neck even as sleep clung to the edges of her understanding.

  “I was beginning to think you’d never come!” she whispered.

  “Why has Tyson brought you here?” Mesha asked. “This place reeks of death.”

  “You smell it?” Clara asked.

  “Yes!” she answered in a hushed whisper. “Do you not?”

  “I’m mortal, remember?”

  “Come on,” she replied and pulled Clara to her feet. Callan was there as well, already dressed and holding a suitcase in each hand.

  “I need to change,” Clara said when he made for the door.

  “You can change later,” Mesha said and took a hold of her hand.

  Outside the air was cool and crisp, causing shivers to run up and down Clara’s spine. Tyson had already started the SUV and cranked up the heat when she slid into the passenger seat shivering. Mesha took the backseat and the door slammed shut. With Tyson driving, the car shot backward and swung around until it faced the right direction. They passed under the gruesome arch of bones and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 13 - Lure

  The airport scene had become an all-too-familiar one to the group. Tyson pushed the boundaries of how much his little pack could endure when he kept them airborne for nearly five days straight. They landed in so many different places that Clara could hardly remember them all. The first flight carried them overseas, to Scotland. They only stayed there long enough to let their scent mingle with the locals before returning to the airport and hopping on a flight back to the U.S. This time they touched down in New York, left the airport for an hour, then returned for another flight that dragged them all the way to China.

  In each airport they passed through, Tyson made them practically bathe in scent eliminating soap and had them discard their outfits. Each time, he replaced their clothing—not without Dawn’s help—with things heavily doused in a similar scent killing detergent. During this time, Clara learned that their luggage had been purposefully sent to another part of the world so their scent would lead pursuers on a wild goose chase.

  They made several trips to various airports throughout China, Nepal, Mongolia, Japan and Thailand. Tyson handled all the paperwork and got them through customs. His deep voice was all the more intoxicating when she heard him speaking in the language of each country, sounding a native in whichever dialect they encountered. Every stop, they would wander through the streets for a time before returning and catching another flight

  Finally, a plane carried them to Australia, but they hopped around the country until they landed in the Townsville Airport and Tyson announced they would not be returning to any airport for a few weeks at least. That alone put them in high spirits. They took one last scent killing bath, then left with a sense of relief.

  Outside, an unusually early storm raged and the rain poured relentlessly down on them when they dashed to their rented vehicle. The only vehicle the rental place had to accommodate their numbers was a mini van, but no one seemed to mind as they ducked out of the drizzle.

  With their belongings now missing, a trip to the store was in order. Neither Mesha nor Callan seemed able to withstand a moment more of the closed confinement of the car and the trip was postponed. The trouble was that they had quite a drive ahead of them yet. Somewhere between Townsville and Ravenswood, Tyson led them to an isolated spot where a charming little cabin stood. Despite driving over two hours from Townsville, the rain continued pelting down.

  The moment the van lurched to a standstill, each of the pack members clambered to leave. Naturally, Tyson had chosen a location where they could venture with minimal chances of running into an innocent. Even Dawn, who usually went right inside, was
eager to utilize their surroundings. The driving rain did not dampen their spirits and even helped to ensure they would not be spotted by any mortal eyes but Clara’s. As usual, the only one calm enough to stay was Tyson. Still, he seemed a bit on edge when they ran into the house after he located a hidden key.

  The little cabin reflected Tyson’s large mansion in so many ways, she automatically knew it was his and not some place he’d rented as she’d first thought. Above, the rain beat on the tin roof like the rat-a-tat of an angry drum. Nothing was spoken until he took her to a room and leaned against the doorframe to watch her explore her new surroundings.

  “There are changes of clothing in the dresser,” he said. “I’m afraid most everything was stocked before I met Callan, so the outfits will not fit you very well. There are extra things nonetheless.”

  “That’s fine, thank you,” she mumbled, turning to face him.

  “I cannot stay indoors,” he said without meeting her eye for more than a few seconds at a time. “I will not leave sight of the house. If you need me, I will be able to hear you.”

  “I doubt I will do much more than sleep,” she confessed.

  “Good,” he said. She’d come to stand a couple of feet in front of him. He surprised her when he reached out and lightly tugged a bit of hair from behind her ear, letting his fingers interlace with the strands as they slid down. “You weaken me you know,” he whispered as goose bumps spread over her skin.

  “I weaken you?” she asked, barely able to voice the question as she remembered Koty’s words. His fingers combed her hair again.

  “You are worse than the brightest of moons, Miss Rita,” he whispered. “How can I fight your lure?”

  “I have a lure?” she whispered. He chuckled and leaned toward her, but stopped just when she reached out. His arms crossed his chest as if it was all he could do to keep them still.

  “Yes, you are very alluring. I suppose it is why your mother named you as she did, because your beauty surpasses the moon.”

  Her heart hammered, causing her fingers to tremble. For the final time, he took her hair between his fingers, this time only to tug playfully.