Blue Moon

by J. A. Belfield

  If he completed his transition, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

  I whimpered in my defeated state, trapped beneath his altering shape—until images of Marianne brought a new surge of determination, and my body bucked, legs kicked, and the clash of my teeth missed his ears by only a hairsbreadth.

  A low growl vibrated in my throat. Ethan’s jaws tightened and cut off my actions and vocals.

  I ceased to fight. The heave of my chest met and left his—the only part of me that continued to move.

  He released my gullet and stared down into my eyes. Sending me a snort, he stepped off.

  Flicking over onto my paws, I advertised my wounded pride in the form of a growl. My feet kicked into the dirt for traction, my legs braced for a leap. I sprang, but got no more than a metre before teeth clamped my hind leg and hauled me backward.

  My yelp seemed to falter his attack.

  He loosened his hold. His breaths travelled the length of my hind leg, hitting my rear.

  I froze.

  His muzzle made contact, pushing into me.

  I spun to face him, sent him a snarled warning.

  He didn’t back off. His eyes glistened and nostrils flared as he studied me.

  At a second warning, he ruffled the thick fur of my collar and licked my face.

  With one final huffed snort, he raced off in the direction of Connor’s house, leaving me to follow.

  • • •

  We changed back when we reached Connor’s, and Ethan jogged into the lead before creeping along the garden close to the wall.

  I tugged back on his arm. “Let me go in front.”

  He pointed at his necklace and his still sported triangle on his stomach. “Who do you think is better protected here?”

  With no decent argument, I gave in, and we arrived at the back door in a crouch.

  Ethan raised his head high enough to peer through the glass panel. “Empty,” he whispered.

  “Try the handle.”

  As he pushed upright, he waved me out of the way and positioned himself at the side of the door. He pressed down on the handle, frowning when the door nudged open. Nose pointed toward the created gap, he inhaled. When he withdrew, he beckoned to me. “If they’re not here now, they definitely have been,” he whispered.

  “Are we going in?”

  He nodded.

  With Ethan in front, I tiptoed through the house, senses of hearing and smell on alert. Unable to see past him, I lifted his arm, grasped his waist to watch around him.

  We reached the bottom of the stairs. Ethan inclined his head as though listening above before we ducked into the living room. Still in our two-man train, I searched the shadows, scanning every corner of the room.

  A noise from the staircase took our attention. Ethan’s deep inhalations arrived loud, battling with my own. He spun at the same time as me, but I reached the door first and swung it wide.

  I halted. Ethan rammed into my back.

  Heather froze, too, as her foot hit the bottom step, and her gaze locked with mine.

  The other two witches descended, their eyes widening as they followed.

  The whole episode appeared to take seconds, yet as I evaluated the situation and went to respond, so did they.

  Three arms swept out from the women in a wide arc.

  “Jem, look out!” Ethan’s hands grabbed my hips.

  He shoved me sideways—out of the path of fluids streaming from the witches hands in our direction.

  Unable to do anything else, I lifted my arms, closed my eyes mid-flight, and hit the deck beneath a shower of liquid.

  • • •

  I opened my eyes. Darkness filled every inch of the hallway. It took a few moments to understand I was in Connor’s house and not at home.

  At a curse to my right, I turned.

  Ethan’s naked body crouched beside me, his head bowed, hands fisted into his eye sockets.

  “Ethan? Are you all right?”

  “My eyes.” He gave a low groan. “They aimed it straight for my bloody eyes.”

  “Um …who did what?”

  “They went out the front. I can’t see a bloody thing. What the hell did they throw at us?”

  “Who?”

  “The witches.”

  “What are you going on about? There’s nobody here besides us.” I peered around, listening for sounds of other life. “Where is everybody?”

  “Look out the door, Jem.” He rubbed at his eyes some more. “See if they’ve already gone.”

  My brow lifted. “Who?”

  “For God’s sake, Jem. The bloody witches.”

  “Ooo-kay.” My mouth carefully formed the word, and, humouring him, I reached for the front door. “Funny.” My lips pursed. “It’s open.” I gave a shrug, pulled it inward and stuck my head outside. The driveway stood empty. “See? Like I said, no one’s here. Where are the others, Ethan?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I scowled over my shoulder. “There’s no need for tetchiness. I was only doing what you asked.”

  “Get me to the bathroom. I need to rinse my eyes. They’re stinging like crazy.”

  Sighing, I turned to take his elbow. “Come on then. This way.” Taking a step up, I dragged Ethan behind me. When he tripped on the bottom one, I snorted out a laugh. “Mind the step.”

  “That’s the whole point of you leading me, Jem,” he said. “You’re supposed to guide me.”

  “Tetcheee,” I sang.

  “Maybe you should just stay quiet if you haven’t got anything sensible to say.”

  I clicked my tongue, pulling a face I knew he couldn’t see. “Last step,” I said before continuing down the landing. In the bathroom, I tugged Ethan over until he stood in front of the sink and turned on the taps.

  Bending low over the bowl, Ethan cupped his hands, drawing up water and splashing it over his eyes.

  Watching him, hearing on alert for the others, I swiped at dampness tickling along my inner thigh. When I wiped at it for the third time, I brought my fingers to my face, found them covered in red. I sniffed them. “Did I cut myself? I’m bleeding.”

  Ethan straightened, gazing at me from bloodshot eyes. Creases marred his forehead. “Jem, you didn’t cut yourself. You’re menstruating.”

  “I’m …what?” Eyes wide, I glanced down at myself. “Shit!”

  Ethan’s hands brushed over his hair and a slow breath pushed past his lips. “What did they do to you?”

  I looked back at him. “Who?”

  The lines deepened across his brow.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  Frustration pumped from him as he shrugged. “How would I know? Must be about five, I guess.”

  “So where is everybody?” Something seemed very off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Where’s Sean? Shouldn’t he be here?”

  Ethan took my face and stared hard into me.

  “Your eyes look really sore,” I said.

  “They are. Find some clothes, Jem. I’m taking you home.”

  His tone of voice and the way he studied me instilled me with unease. “Aren’t we running? We usually run home on Sundays.”

  “No, we’ll take the Porsche.”

  I snorted a laugh at him. “Does Sean know you’re taking his car?”

  He nodded, but his eyes appeared distant. “He said it’s okay.”

  I smiled. “Is he already there? They’ll all be moaning if they’re waiting for us to eat.”

  “Sure, Jem,” he murmured. “Get dressed.”

  • • •

  Padded up and clothed, I opened Josh’s bedroom door to a dressed Ethan leaning against the doorframe.

  “Ready?” he asked
.

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” As he took my arm, he angled his body in front of mine, leading me down the stairs. He halted at the bottom. “Wait here.”

  “Sure, Ug.”

  He shook his head as he trailed off down the hall to the kitchen. When he returned, he held the Porsche keys.

  Ethan stepped to the front door, stuck his head out before he drew his body back in and faced me. “Stay behind me this time.”

  I offered him a scowl. “Why?”

  “Please.” He sighed. “Just do it, okay?”

  He didn’t seem his usual self. His vigilant scour of the driveway on our walk to the Porsche bothered me, too.

  He pulled open the passenger door and shoved me inside.

  “Hey,” I said, pushing him off.

  He shut the door and relocked it before jogging to the driver’s side. His door opened, and Ethan slid in, one swift movement of his hand bringing the engine to a purr.

  The second we hit the road, he drove like a lunatic. His body seemed to hum with anxiety.

  I peered at him out the corner of my eye. “What’s up with you today?”

  He shot me a glance, setting his sights back on the road. Shoulders tight and hunched, he didn’t even sit back in his chair—not an easy feat for so big a man in a relatively small space. “Nothing’s wrong,” he mumbled. “Everything’s just fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “I’m peachy. Quit worrying.”

  The span of headlights illuminated the grey road surface before us. The forest blurred to my left as we whizzed past.

  “I’m starving.” I ran my hands across my stomach. “Did your dad say what we’re having today?”

  Ethan gave what sounded close to a groan, rubbing at his hair until thick strands stuck up in disarray.

  I stared at him. “It’s not a difficult question. What’s for dinner?”

  His sigh arrived loud. “I don’t know.”

  I returned to watching the muted scenery. Grittiness invaded my eyes as I strained to see more. “I hate these dark evenings, don’t you? Unless it’s the full moon, of course. Then I don’t mind so much. But I miss not being able to sit out in the garden until late, and having barbecues. It’s just been too cold this last week to sit out. Even the conservatory is getting cold. Your dad should get a radiator fitted out there . . .”

  Ethan made no comment to my pointless mumblings. Facing forward, shoulders bunched, his hands gripped the wheel as though his life depended on it. He only shifted position to rub at his hair or eyes. By the time he pulled up on the driveway at home, he looked a wreck with his wild mop.

  I climbed from the car. “Fancy a ball game?”

  Staring over the roof of the car, he heaved out a sigh and shook his head.

  The front door opened. We both turned as Nathan approached with harried strides.

  “I know, I know”—I lifted my palms—“we’re late. But …I …um …why are we late, Ethan?”

  Nathan halted. He turned from me to Ethan.

  My gaze flicked beyond him to Connor emerging, his pace almost as fast as Nathan’s.

  When a chestnut-haired woman appeared on the top step, I stepped closer to Nathan and whispered, “Who’s the female?”

  Nathan stared at me as if he thought I’d lost the plot before glancing over his shoulder. He swung back to me. “Beth,” he muttered before looking from me to Ethan.

  My eyebrows shot up. “Beth?” My head tilted to the side as I took her measure and tried to figure out when she’d shown back up and why the heck nobody had told me.

  “Something happened to her,” Ethan said.

  “Is she staying?” I asked Nathan. “Did you invite her for dinner?”

  Nathan’s focus remained on Ethan. “Were they there?”

  I followed his gaze to catch Ethan’s nod. “They attacked us with some kind of liquid,” he said. “She’s been like this since.”

  “Just ignore him,” I whispered to Nathan. “He’s been acting weird since he hurt his eyes.”

  I strolled around Nathan and his look of confusion, past Connor’s of bewilderment, and up the steps to Sean’s mother. “Seeing as the men are too rude to introduce me, I’ll do it myself.” I held out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Beth. I’m Jem.”

  She frowned. I thought for a moment she’d ignore my greeting until a hesitant hand folded around my outstretched fingers. “It’s …nice to meet you, too, Jem.”

  I smiled and nodded. “So, what time’s dinner ready, then?”

  • • •

  For the sixth time in thirty minutes, I tried ringing Sean’s phone. “Voicemail—again.” After all the lectures I’d endured from him about my mobile being switched on so he could call if he got the urge, Sean had the nerve to turn his off. “Where did he say he was going, Nate?”

  Nathan sighed, his expression indecipherable. “Maybe his battery’s flat.”

  My eyebrow lifted. He knew as well as I did we always ensured our batteries didn’t run low.

  Connor walked over. “Here, Jem, drink this.” He placed a steaming mug of milky hot chocolate beneath my nose.

  “Thanks.” I peered up at him. “Did Josh and the others go with Sean? Maybe you could call them to find out where they are?”

  His broad finger nudged the drink closer to me. “We’ll try as soon as you’ve drank that.”

  I turned where Ethan sat beside me, twiddling a pen between his fingers. “Did Sean tell you where he was going?” I asked.

  “No.” He paused in his pen acrobatics and leaned toward me.

  “Don’t get that on me.” The thought of scribbling down phone numbers on the back of my hand made me shudder. “You know I hate pen marks.”

  His eyes lifted to mine. “What?” He smirked. “Like this?” His pen-wielding hand shot forward and marked the flesh of my shoulder.

  I jerked away, grabbing his wrist as he attempted to bring it closer. “Stop it. I don’t want bloody pen on me.”

  He switched hands and drew another line across my exposed skin.

  Temper bubbling, I shoved at his hand. “Stop!”

  Another rapid move from him scraped me. I raised and twisted my shoulder to find a third line connecting the first two into an ugly triangle. I darted my hand out, yanking the pen from his fingers. “What is wrong with you? I told you I don’t like it.” A flick of my wrist flung the pen into the corner of the kitchen, and I stood and stomped from the room.

  In the bathroom, I flicked the tap on full, grabbed the soap and scrubbed at the pen marks. “Bloody marring my skin.” I rubbed my hand up and down, over and over the same spot. “Probably gave me ink poisoning or something.”

  My flesh turned red before all traces had been eradicated. I double-checked in the mirror, gave a nod of satisfaction and trudged back downstairs.

  The three men and Nathan’s wife hadn’t moved. I sent Ethan a glare as I snatched up my drink.

  In the living room, the sofa cushions sank beneath my weight, and I curled up with my legs tucked beneath my rear.

  Sipping at the chocolaty sweetness, my mind fussed over Sean’s absence. He’d never gone out before without telling me, never been unreachable. The fact that nobody else seemed to know where he’d gone—or the other three—only made matters worse.

  I downed the rest of my drink, headed back to the kitchen. “You don’t think something’s happened to them, do you?” I swilled out the dregs that dwindled in the bottom of the cup. “This isn’t like Sean. We’re never this late eating on a Sunday.”

  “He could have gone shopping,” Ethan said.

  He received my best scowl. My eyes grew weighted with the effort. I rubbed at them. “Well, I can’t wait any longer.” I ran my hands
across my face. “I’m bloody starving. Does anybody want some toast?”

  They all shook their heads, mumbling a unified, “No.”

  “Suit yourselves.”

  I popped four slices of bread into the toaster. Whilst I waited for it to brown, my fingers drummed out my hungry impatience on the countertop. I paused to give another rub at my eyes. An almighty yawn built in the back of my throat, bursting out until my mouth gaped like a cavern, and my body juddered in its aftermath.

  “Tired, Jem?” asked Connor.

  I turned to him, tilting my head when I found him right beside me. My eyes rapid-blinked, yet my vision refused to focus on his face. Another ground-shuddering yawn erupted. I went to lean back against the cupboard but almost fell. Thinking it to be nearer, I turned to glance behind, losing my view of the room as everything blurred.

  My body dipped to the side, uncoordination stumbling me forward. “I don’t feel too good.”

  “Sorry,” Connor said as strong hands grasped my waist. “We had no choice.”

  25

  A loud snore penetrated my thoughts with startling proportions. My eyes opened to slits in search of the source. As my breaths rippled across my lips like deep growls, I realised it had been me.

  Even the jump-start from deep slumber couldn’t prepare my eyes to fully open. I closed them again. The light pierced like pins, anyway. Or, that could have been the drumbeat happening inside my head. Whichever held the blame, I couldn’t have been any groggier if I’d been on a drink-binging hen weekend—as if I’d overdosed on sleep at the same time as not having had enough.

  Voices carried to me from somewhere in the house. Drifting amidst a state of semi-consciousness, I attempted to listen in.

  “I don’t know what it was,” came Ethan’s voice. “I just know I got a much bigger hit of it than Jem, but wasn’t affected like her. I can only presume it had something to do with these beads, and the thing she drew on me, but I don’t know.”

  “Thing? What thing?”

  My brain perked up as it recognised the second voice. It sounded like …No, it can’t be, Jess.

  “Some triangle she insisted on drawing on us,” Ethan said.