By the Pale Moonlight (Book One of the Moonlight Series)

by Jennifer Hendren

  I couldn't help but notice that Ty didn't look at me as he approached. In fact, he seemed to look anywhere but, even when we stood mere feet apart, facing each other.

  "Thank you for coming back," I opened, dying a bit inside when even my words couldn't prompt him to look at me. In the distance, Melanie lingered near the Cutlass. She could hear us, of course, and I just knew she was hoping that her presence would keep me in check. Not this time.

  "It's Melanie," I said, not daring to allow even the slightest bit of hesitation or doubt to weaken my tone. He had to believe me. And he had to believe me now. There was no way I could let him walk out of there with her.

  He did look at me then. Just for the briefest of moments, our eyes met. Then he jerked his head away in exasperation. Disbelief. And what cut worse than anything—pity.

  "Come on, Mac," he said. "This isn't the time or place for this."

  "But—" I stopped, the meaning behind his words registering a heartbeat later. Heat flared into my checks—part anger, part humiliation. "It's Melanie. You have to believe me."

  Ty rocked slightly on his heels, eyes on the ground. He gave me the impression of a parent trying to figure out how best to scold a child.

  "I'm right about this. You have to believe me."

  His eyes tilted up to mine then. I found myself pinioned by the accusation I saw in their green depths. He jerked his chin at Carrie's casket. "Like I believed you about Carrie?"

  His words lashed out at me, and I took a step back. "What? No. This isn't like that."

  "Isn't it?" He stepped closer. "I let you convince me Carrie was the one. I believed you, and look what happened. She's dead."

  He never raised his voice, but it felt as though each word pierced my skin. My heart. He blamed me.

  Tears pricked my eyes.

  "I—" My voice faltered.

  He was right. I blamed myself for what happened, but to hear him voice my deepest fears, my own condemnations, was something I didn't think I could bear. Not from Ty.

  I dropped my eyes to the ground, the weight of his accusation too much for me. And that's how we stood for several minutes, in silence. Me too afraid to look at him lest I stir up more horrible words, Ty unwilling or unable to comfort me.

  It began to rain then, a light downfall that wet my already dampened cheeks. I pulled my coat around me, wishing I could somehow bridge the gap between us and step into Ty's arms. But for the first time in my life, I didn't think he would welcome me in.

  That thought alone caused my tears to thicken.

  "Don't you see," I choked out. "She's turned you against me."

  Even to me, my words sounded feeble. They were the words of a desperate person. Someone who would say or do anything to keep Ty's confidence. I knew how they sounded, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.

  "She's trying to come between us. She—I don't know. She hates me for some reason. She—God..." Somewhere in the middle of my outburst, my mind started putting everything into its proper place. What seemed a jumble of mixed up pieces, slowly began to take form. "God, Ty," I said, looking at him, pleading with him to believe me. "Don't you see what this means? She killed Kim. Carrie. She attacked me...she...God...she pretended to be my friend, but the whole time she was setting me up." If I'd had the slightest reservation about talking within earshot of the girl, it dissolved as the full impact of my words found their mark.

  "She knew the entire time," I spoke low, almost to myself. "She knew and she toyed with us."

  Ty and I both allowed Melanie to lead the hunt for answers. Had her eagerness to help been a clever way to hide the fact she was pulling us around by the nose, leading us away from the truth? Jesus. She had slept by my side during a night of Ty's cycle. She knew how to keep herself from shifting—probably knew things we hadn't even begun to puzzle out. My mind reeled with all this implied.

  Ty rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and glanced in Melanie's direction. She had gotten into the passenger side of his car, probably when the rain began, and sat with her head turned away from us. I had to hand it to her. She feigned ignorance well. I almost believed she couldn't hear us. But she couldn't fool me. Not now. I could feel the tension radiating off of her. She, too, wondered if Ty would believe me. And she wondered how far I would go to make it happen.

  "I don't know why she's doing this, but you can't trust her," I said. "I wouldn't lie to you. You have to know that."

  Ty's mouth was a grim line when he turned around to face me again, his eyes full of such sadness. "Tell me one thing, Mac. Just one thing that proves that what you're saying is true."

  It would've been so easy to tell him in that moment. To simply blurt out the truth of what I had become. That I knew what Melanie was because I could smell it on her very being. But I could see the pain in his eyes. The anger—and now, as I really studied him, the guilt. True to his character, Ty blamed himself for everything. And no matter how strong his shoulders, it was a burden he would never be able to bear alone.

  I couldn't—I refused to add to his self-recrimination. If he were to find out he had played even the smallest role in making me into a werewolf, he would lose himself to the guilt. No, there had to be another way.

  My mind flipped through the past month, scrambling for anything tangible I could present to him as evidence. None of it worked in my favor. Melanie, for all intents and purposes, had appeared devastated by Kim's death. And whatever her reasons at the time—I suspected to throw us off her trail—the fact she had attacked Ty didn't help my case. If my suspicions were correct, Ty had always been the main objective. Like it or not, her friendship had been a ruse—a way to get closer to him.

  I tried not to dwell on the fact that if I failed here, she would most likely succeed at just that.

  Try as I might, I couldn't find a single thing to point to that would be irrefutable. Nothing but the words I knew would send him into a tailspin.

  Out of frustration, I started to say them, determined that if it was the only way, I would go through with it. The truth weighted down my tongue, though, and I closed my mouth again, the words unspoken.

  "I just know," I said finally. "I know. You have to trust me."

  Again Ty looked away, his gaze locked on something in the distance as he spoke. "I know you mean well, Mac. But you're wrong."

  Whatever feeble hope I had of convincing him began to slip from my grasp. He simply couldn't believe me, and I couldn't blame him. I had been so convinced Carrie was behind it all, that I helped blind him to what was essentially before our eyes the entire time.

  In the end, maybe I was to blame for it all. Kim. Carrie. Maybe even Ty. Was it really Ty Melanie had been after the entire time, or had he simply been a product of her need to destroy me? Could her anger for me really run that deep?

  Dig as I might, I couldn't find the answer. To any of it.

  "I have to go," Ty said, studying the rush of emotions playing across my features. I must've looked half-crazed to him. Maybe I was.

  He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm, stopping him. I met his eyes full on. "I'm right, and somehow I'm going to prove it to you." A tremor streaked its way through me, making my words sound weak. Even to me.

  Ty didn't answer, only pulled his mouth into a tighter line. I reluctantly let go of his arm and watched him walk away.

  To go to her.

  o0o

  End of Book One

  o0o

  Thank you very much for reading.

  I hope you enjoyed the first book in my Moonlight series.

  To keep up with the latest news concerning this and other projects of mine,

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  About the Author

  BY THE PALE MOONLIGHT is Jennife
r Hendren's debut novel. She's currently hard at work on the second book of the Moonlight series, WALKING IN SHADOW. Chances are, she's drinking too much coffee and begging her dogs to go outside and play. (But that's only a guess.)

  Please continue reading for a sneak peek at:

  WALKING IN SHADOW

  Book Two of the Moonlight Series

  Coming in Spring, 2012

  WALKING IN SHADOW

  Book Two of the Moonlight Series

  An Excerpt from WALKING IN SHADOW

  “Tell me just one thing.” Caleb took a long drag off of his cigarette and slowly exhaled as he took me in from head to foot. “What the hell are you?”

  I was shocked mute for a long heartbeat. Even if I could form the right words to explain what it was I had become, I wouldn’t have been able to utter them in that moment. Whatever Caleb may be, he wasn’t a fool. And clearly he knew more than I had given him credit for. But just how much did he know? Surely he was fishing to see what I would give up. He couldn’t possibly fathom the truth. It was a fairy tale to most. A horror story left for dark and stormy nights.

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

  He flicked the ashes of his cigarette and popped his neck, first one way and then the other. “Come on, Princess. Give me some credit.”

  Anger flared in my chest. “I told you not to call me that.”

  His eyes tilted my way, but he said nothing. Instead, he dropped down on his haunches and crushed the tip of his cigarette into the ground. “This is the way I see it. You and your little boyfriend back there...” he gestured vaguely in the direction Ty had gone.

  I bristled at the condescending note in his tone, but held my tongue, waiting for him to finish.

  “...got yourselves messed up in some nasty business.” He stood abruptly, brushing off the seat of his jeans. “Only question is, what kind?”

  My heart thrummed against my chest.

  He’s playing with you. He doesn’t know.

  I turned on my heel, but he stopped me with a firm grip on my upper arm. “Don’t play with me. I’m not stupid.” He smiled then, no humor in his expression. “And I’m not above using whatever means necessary to get the answer.”

  We locked eyes. His were hard, unyielding, and seemed to penetrate down to my very core. I was the first to break away, dropping my focus to the top button of his shirt.

  “Tell me the truth. That’s all I want.” He removed his hand and blood flowed through my arm again. “Otherwise, I’m sure there are more than a few people who would be interested in hearing about where I saw you and your boyfriend…that night.”

  I met his eyes again. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up further. “Try me.”

  I licked my lips, my pulse quickening. I had no doubt he wasn’t one to make idle threats. He was just the type of guy who would get enjoyment out of watching other people suffer. And suffer we would. Placing Ty and me at the scene of Carrie's death would have unimaginable ramifications. Even in my darkest hour, I hadn’t allowed my mind to go down that road. Just a few words spoken to the wrong person and Caleb would destroy us both.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said, feeling like a caged animal. I knew my face was red, and I swiped the hair out of my eyes, not caring that I scratched my cheek in the process.

  “Sounds to me like you’re saying no.” With that, he started back towards the school. I watched him go, his stride purposeful, measured, not once letting up.

  “Shit,” I hissed through clenched teeth. He was a good twenty yards away. Thirty. Forty.

  Damn him. Let him go to the police. I would rather that happen than confide in a low-down dirty piece of pond scum like Caleb Martin.

  Fifty.

  “No,” I said, setting out across the grass towards the football field. “Not gonna do it.”

  I didn’t get far. By the time I turned around, Caleb was a good hundred yards ahead of me. I shouted his name, my voice coming out a little hoarser each time. I had no doubt he could hear me, but he let me yell out for a good thirty seconds before turning back in my direction.

  “Fine!” I yelled. “You win!”

  I’ll give him credit for not smiling in triumph. He simply strode back towards me, digging out a cigarette in the process. He had it lit by the time he reached me. On a slow exhale, he took in my angry, slightly crazed expression. “Was that so hard?”

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  Demon High

  by Lori Devoti

  1

  The envelope had arrived open. I wouldn’t have read the page inside otherwise, wouldn’t have thought to, honestly.

  And I wouldn’t have known I was about to lose my home. The only home I’d ever known.

  Letter still in hand, I went where I always went when I needed to think: the hall closet. It was big for a closet but cram-packed with old comforters, wool coats, and the scent of my grandmother’s perfume. The space had got me through a lot of bad, scary and lonely times.

  As I pulled open the door, the hinges creaked. As I tugged the heavy door closed, the knob rattled and came loose in my hand. A line in the letter came back to me...“due to disrepair and continued devaluation of the property.”

  This was what the bank executive whose name was scribbled across the bottom of the letter had been talking about. This and the peeling paint, rotting windows, and cracked sidewalk. The tree branch that had crashed through our front porch during a summer storm probably hadn’t helped either.

  I settled myself on the floor and stared at Nana’s green wool coat—the one with the real fur collar. The collar had bald spots. What I’d once thought of as luxurious was just old and worn out.

  I hadn’t noticed before.

  I glanced around the closet’s interior, taking in cracked plastered walls and the worn oak floors. Even the old heat vent was rusty.

  The front door flew open and smacked into the other side of the wall beside me.

  “Lucinda?”

  Nana back from the store.

  Still holding the letter, I waited for her to hobble away before burrowing deeper into the closet. I shoved aside a stack of embroidered pillowcases that hid the floor board I had loosened when I was eight. Under it was a cloth-covered box, my storage place for things I didn’t want my grandmother to find.

  Memories of my mother, mainly. Pictures, some of her books.

  Old report cards were stashed there too. The ones with notes about how I didn’t talk, seemed withdrawn, and one letter suggesting that my grandmother come in for a meeting.

  I stared at the stack of papers and odd objects, my secret life of not having a life tucked away under once-crisp cotton linens.

  My fingers brushed over the leather top of one of Mum’s books. A shiver shot through me.

  I tried not to touch my mother’s things. I just kept them stored away where Nana wouldn’t find them and throw them out.

  Today, though, I paused. There were no words on the book’s cover, but I knew what was inside.

  “Lucinda?” Nana stomped away from the door, heading toward the kitchen.

  My fingers wiggled. The letter fell from my hand and floated into the box. It landed on the book.

  I hadn’t touched the book since I’d put it in this box. I didn’t touch anything once it was in the box. The box made things go away. At least that’s what mother had told me when she’d given it to me. She’d had me write down my nightmares and place them inside.

  And she’d been right. Those nightmares had gone away, but then she had too.

  “Lucinda!”

  Nana was getting angry. There was a thump, her cane hitting the floor. If I didn’t appear soon, she’d get suspicious.

  I slid the lid onto the box and shoved it back under the floorboard. Then I reached for a striped stocking cap. Before pulling it onto my head, I glanced back at the floorboard and the book hidden beneath it.

  I hesitated.

  The door flew op
en. “What are you doing in there?”

  I held up the hat. “I was cold.”

  Nana leaned to the right, putting her weight onto her cane. Her gaze darted behind me, over the contents of the stuffed closet. Apparently not seeing anything suspicious, she looked back at me and the hat. She wrinkled her nose. “Not that cold.”

  I glanced at the cap. It was gold and green with a tassel on the tip. I jerked it down over my ears.

  Shaking her head, Nana tromped toward the kitchen. “Dinner’s soup, from a can. Tomato or chicken noodle. Your choice.”

  She pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen, then, one foot in the kitchen, the other in the dining room, she paused.

  “Nana?” I asked.

  She tilted her head, waiting.

  “The Baxters moved. Do you know why?”

  Her cane rose an inch, then slowly settled back onto the floor. “Spent too much on cruises and big screen TVs. Bank foreclosed.”

  “Really?” I’d already known that, but I’d hoped bringing it up would get Nana to come clean about our own situation.

  “Really. Now what do you want for dinner?”

  “But we own this house, right?” She’d always said we did. It was one of the reasons the letter had been such a shock.

  She stood straighter, her gaze shooting across the room and locking onto me like a spotlight on an escaping convict. “I’m not making payments to anybody on anything. You know that.”

  Buy what you can afford and nothing more. It was the mantra I’d been raised with.

  Nana didn’t borrow money. The letter had to be a mistake.