Blood Moon

by Rose Marie Wolf

  The captured woman was seated right beside him. Her scent was intoxicating and he longed to touch her, to finally do what he had wanted to do for so long. But he refrained. He couldn’t do it now. He had self-control at least and could wait, although looking at her made it more difficult.

  He wanted to laugh out loud suddenly. He wanted to howl, let out some deeply hidden emotion, but he couldn’t. No, he had a cover to maintain. Instead, Simon let out a scoff and shook his head, playing it off like something not worth his or anyone else’s time.

  No one here knew what he was, and no one knew just what he was up to. All they knew was that werewolves were an evil that needed to be destroyed and most were only too willing to do so.

  They had no idea that their leader was of the same blood as those they had been hunting all along. They had no idea that Simon Conner, werewolf hunter, was a werewolf himself. And it would only take one mistake to open everyone’s eyes. Simon was careful though. After all, he had been running this deception for quite a long time…

  It had started more than a few months ago. It had started years ago, in fact. This was something he had been planning for a long time, and he had been biding his time killing those weak-blooded werewolves until just the right woman came along. And her smiling picture in a nondescript PRDI folder made up his mind.

  For years he had been “hunting”, not just for werewolves to be rid of, but for reliable members of his team. Eric had been the first, and perhaps the most valuable asset he had acquired. He had a deep knowledge of military procedures and knew how to get in and out of places quickly. Not only that, but his tracking skills were exceptional. Simon would keep using him to his benefit for as long as he needed.

  But now that he had the girl, did he still need him? Simon brooded on the question, while he moved one bloodstained hand to wipe a stray hair from the girl’s face. Her skin was soft against his fingertips.

  Maybe.

  After all, there were still werewolves out there that needed to be destroyed and he couldn’t do it alone. He’d have to be careful around Eric, though. He wasn’t stupid, like Davis or like “Detective” Marcus Brown, now dead because of his stupidity. Eric would figure it out.

  Sean wasn’t what Simon would consider valuable, but he had resources, and that’s all that mattered. So what if half his men were slaughtered? That only furthered their need to be rid of these creatures. If they didn’t kill them now, who else would?

  It was taking a lot of self-control to keep from laughing aloud.

  He was aware suddenly that Claire was watching him again, but instead of glaring at her as he usually did, he let out a low, exasperated sigh. The desire to laugh was forgotten.

  “Don’t you have something useful to do? Stop watching me.” The tone in his voice would be enough to keep her from bugging him. From the corner of his eye, he watched her turn her attention away. The fear stink emanating from her grew. He smirked. Chuckles came from the front seat, and Sean still talked away on his cell phone.

  Claire was not what Simon would consider an asset. She had been helpful at first. Mommy and Daddy’s inheritance money was well spent on new vehicles, equipment and guns, but that was about all she had been good for. She morally objected to everything that happened, and a goody two-shoes bitch like her could get him into a lot of trouble. His earlier threats had affected her somewhat, but he would have to keep it up to make sure she still got the right idea.

  Claire was smart and Simon was afraid she would be the one to figure things out. She wasn’t ignorant and he wished suddenly that he had chosen someone else for the mission.

  Well, too late now to change things. Best to keep an eye on her, just the same… He would have to take extra care of his “wounds”. They had already healed, for the most part, but he’d keep under the pretense that the wounds hurt. And as for denying Claire’s help, well, that could be chalked up to his arrogance. They’d believe that.

  Davis was gone now and Simon smiled to himself as he thought of him. He wasn’t really going to call the cops. He wasn’t that careless, but he wanted Davis to feel afraid, to know that he was not wanted, that he had failed. He wanted him to know he was useless.

  And to think all along he had thought Davis was capable of something more. Pity so much unused talent went to waste on the young man. It made Simon sick to think it. Davis had been more of a liability than an asset. It was for the best that he left him there, and it was just a simple matter of telling everyone he was dead. They wouldn’t see him again, he was sure, and besides, who would mourn him?’

  The van jostled and bumped along, and they neared their destination. Sean’s incessant chatter into the cell phone soon confirmed the meeting place. Soon, they would have a place to rest, and a place for interrogation. Simon remained stone-faced, pondering all this while seated beside the captives. His eyes roamed over the girl’s placid face. Her dark hair had a shocking contrast against her pale skin.

  This is what it was all about… Getting rid of the others and finding someone, finding her… She’s perfect.

  Again, he felt the urge to celebrate his victory, but he quelled it quickly. A slight smile formed on his lips. The first step in his plan had been completed, and he was well on his way. There would be time enough for celebration later.

  But for now, he could wait, just a bit longer.

  * * *

  He couldn’t stop screaming. In his dreams, he saw her again, the woman Simon made him kill. The woman was staring at him and her eyes were burning yellow. She foamed at the mouth, and the foam was the color of blood. She reached for him with reddened hands, trying to grab at him. Blood was all over her. He was horrified.

  The woman’s son, the red-haired boy who had walked in just as the gun went off, stared at him with the same yellow eyes as his mother. You killed her! Murderer!

  It jerked him out of his sleep. When he awoke, he was still screaming. Pain shot through his leg as an involuntary spasm wrenched at him, and his hands reached for the wound.

  The screaming came to an immediate halt as a crash of thunder boomed overhead and a strike of lightning simultaneously hit. It illuminated the front door and the hall. The wolf’s dark and wet fur flashed with the light and his golden eyes glowed menacingly at him.

  His throat locked up and all screaming left him. Dumbstruck, Davis stared at the wolf. Teeth were bared in a snarling growl and bristly fur stood out on the back of the wolf’s neck.

  There was the distinct scent of wet dog that permeated the air. The wolf paced forward, rainwater dripping from the wet fur on his underside. The growl grew louder. Davis swallowed hard.

  He had never seen one of the wolves in this form. He had never seen them change. Whenever he encountered them, they looked entirely human, and now, he was nearly face-to-face with one. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t run away, not with his busted leg. This was the end of the line. He didn’t even have a gun now to shoot him with.

  But the intimidating creature stopped several feet before reaching him and Davis, unable to coherently think, much less understand, witnessed yet another thing he would never, ever forget.

  The wolf lowered his head, his muzzle touching the floor. After sniffing a couple of times, as if to gain on a scent, he let out another growl. Davis nearly pissed himself, pushing his back hard against the wall. He was aware that sweat ran down his face. It stung his eyes, but he wouldn’t dare blink. He couldn’t look away.

  The fur was receding. There was a horrible popping sound and the bones of the wolf’s legs seemed all wrong. Davis felt ill once again, but he could not look away. His fascination and fear clouded all other thoughts.

  With more sickening pops, the bones contorted. The spine grew straighter, and the muzzle began to slowly return to something that looked almost human. The nose and jaw were out of place and longer than they should’ve been. Sharpened canine teeth jutted from the lower and upper jaws, cutting into the flesh as the face returned to that of a human.

 
; The fur was completely gone in a matter of minutes and the tail that had once extended had disappeared into the receding spinal column. The paws became feet and hands, and the sharpened nails disappeared into the nail beds and were no longer claws.

  The now naked and undeniably male figure took on a human shape. A groan sounded from his throat, not unlike a growl. His now human eyes still burned with a golden light. His lip was torn and the blood dripped down the hairy chin. The man did not move to wipe it away. He remained crouching, nude and with a livid gaze fixed upon the injured man.

  Davis’ breathing grew harsh and he could hardly get the air into his lungs. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, as if he were going to pass out. The man glared at him. Davis' back was against the wall, painfully pressing as if he could will it to become transparent and allow him to sink in.

  The man made to stand and Davis let out a cry of terror, and his shrill, scared voice broke the growing silence.

  “Don’t come near me!” he shouted. “I mean it!” The words were spoken without much confidence, the tremor in his voice giving it away. The man stared at him, eyes narrowing as he stood to his full height, casting an unwieldy and lengthy shadow over Davis.

  “Were you bitten? Did any blood touch you?” the werewolf demanded. His voice was loud, deep, and it boomed off the foyer walls. It made Davis cringe. The questions were absurd, and for a moment he couldn’t think to respond.

  The man's fists were clenched at his side, water dripping from the knuckles into a quickly growing puddle on the floor. His long hair was a shaggy and tangled mess. His skin was wet and beads of water trailed down his nose. He was still glaring.

  “What the fuck do you mean?” Davis was finally able to say.

  “Were you bitten? Did you come in contact with any werewolf blood?” The man moved forward, faster than Davis was prepared for, and reached for his arm. A sudden shock ran through Davis and he jerked back, swinging his arm away from the werewolf. His elbow cracked hard against the wall behind him and fresh new jolts of pain shot through him. He cried out.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Get away from me!” Davis screamed.

  To his surprise, the naked man stopped and once more resumed a crouching position. His eyes were still yellow, but now, Davis could see a resemblance of something more than wolf. Flecks of brown disrupted his stare.

  Davis went silent, but he kept his distance, or rather tried to. He pressed himself against the wall and the bottom step, carefully avoiding the puddle of puke that remained beside him.

  The werewolf, or man, whichever he was, stared unwaveringly. And because he was keeping his ground, Davis felt a bit braver and finally questioned him.

  ”Listen…wolf…” he could barely choke the words out, “…I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t bitten or anything, so why the hell do you keep asking me?”

  The man-wolf snarled, his lips curling back over slightly elongated teeth and Davis was quickly reminded of the wolf that stood before him not a few minutes before, and those teeth that were capable of tearing him to shreds. He shuddered.

  “The name is Glen.” His gaze left Davis and he moved his hand across the floor, where blood from Davis’ leg had begun to dry. He lifted the stained fingers to his nose and inhaled. He let out a snort. His accusing gaze once more locked onto Davis.

  “The pain… Fuck, I want some painkillers.” Davis groaned.

  Despite the situation, Glen smirked and, for a moment, looked almost like Simon. Davis stared at him.

  “You don’t want painkillers. They only make it worse. Trust me.” Glen said.

  It sounded so crazy that Davis felt tempted to laugh, but there was something in the tone that made him think otherwise. Glen stared at the blood once again. Davis watched him, unable at first to comprehend, or ask.

  “Painkillers slow down the healing process,” Glen explained. He touched the blood again, as if he didn’t believe it were there and had to feel it to consider. He looked up and started to grin.

  “You mean for you,” Davis answered, his voice sounding strained. It squeaked out of him.

  “And for you.”

  “What?” Davis blinked. He must not have heard correctly.

  Glen chuckled a bit and his golden eyes burned threateningly at him. It made Davis feel cold and scared. They looked almost like Simon’s eyes, but yet…not. He felt sick.

  “The moment I came in here, I knew something smelled different.”

  “I don’t fucking understand what you mean.” His head swam. He felt like he was going to pass out again.

  “You smell like a fucking werekin,” the werewolf growled.

  Glen stood, towering over him again, launching another bulky shadow across Davis. His fists were balled up and he looked angry. Davis thought he could feel the anger surge.

  Davis couldn’t see him anymore. Spots danced before his eyes and he felt sick, very sick.

  “And I want some answers!” The voice sounded far away.

  Werekin? Me? That’s crazy.

  But as he slipped into unconsciousness for the second time, it didn’t sound so crazy. Strangely, it made sense.

  * * *

  She floated on a bed of air. Weightless, she drifted through the sky. The wind’s soft caress brushed over her skin, warm and comforting.

  Suddenly, she was pulled back into herself, jerking into her body. Her eyes flew open and were immediately blinded by a harsh light. She closed them. Her heart pounded and her head hurt. She wanted to float again.

  It never happened though and Rose Sullivan forced her eyes open. Disoriented at first, it took her a moment or so to get her bearings. It was dark, save for a bright light coming from the right side of her. The light would flash in undetermined intervals and was so bright that she was blinded when they shined in her direction.

  Her eyes narrowed, filtering the light and trying to adjust her vision. Everything was blurry, and even with her preternatural vision, it was hard to make out shapes in the dim light. There were people around her. The harsh acrid scent of cigarette smoke assailed her nostrils and she would’ve snorted if she had the strength. She could smell sweat, blood and cologne. She caught the distinct scent of a female human as well.

  The familiar scent of a werewolf male found its way to her nose, and her mind tried to comprehend and grasp. Had someone else been captured? Glen? The air was heavy with a myriad of smells. She couldn’t tell.

  She was so tired. She wanted to go away. She wanted to fly in the wind again. Her head pounded hard.

  Shadows moved before her blurred eyes and Rose blinked once and then twice to clear her sight. Through the haze, she could see the female, a blonde with her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her face seemed sad. The female disappeared from sight as a new shadow moved in front of her.

  She wanted to move her arms, but they felt too heavy. Her head wouldn’t move either. She was stuck. A face loomed before her and the scent of the werewolf male became stronger. It was almost stifling, hardly comforting.

  Golden-hued eyes stared at her and Rose’s eyes once more felt heavy. She blinked. Her focus was off. She tried to speak, but found her mouth was cotton dry. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them.

  Golden eyes.

  A warm hand moved over her forehead, brushing hair away. The hand moved down her cheek, almost lovingly. She wanted to flinch away, but couldn’t. The palms were rough and not the hands of someone who could be a lover. They were not Jason’s hands.

  Jason…

  His name fell silent in her thoughts and her mind began to drift once more into unconsciousness. She was flying again.

  Chapter Three

  While the werewolf female tossed and turned in her feverish dreams, Claire watched her with increasing worry. She furrowed her brows together and gave a mild shake of her head as she turned away. Simon released his hold on the female as she fell back into unconsciousness and Claire's attention now fell on the boy beside the captive woman.<
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  He had hardly moved and she feared the worst. His chest rose and fell, but it did so at too quick of an interval. It was shallow. She wondered just how much of the drug had been injected into him. He didn’t look so well.

  His head lolled back even farther as the van hit a bump and his neck twisted in an ugly and odd angle. It looked so thin, precariously balancing his head. It would snap if struck just right. Claire shuddered to think of it.

  She knew nothing about nursing and even less about what could be wrong with him. She didn’t know if he was in danger or not. She was really worried, but she was denied any opportunity to help with every cold and hateful stare Simon shot her way. Claire lowered her eyes to the buzzing laptop and stared at the blur of words.

  Anger flared inside her, but she kept it down. Her heated gaze could’ve burned a hole through the laptop’s screen, however, and she was glad when Simon directed his attention back to the girl.

  I cannot stand for this…

  Enough tears had been shed from her and she was through with the crying. Now was time for action. Davis was gone, others had died, and the web of mystery was growing stickier. She was trapped.

  Fear gripped her and clenched like an iron band around her heart. She thought it would explode within her. The source of this fear sat across from her.

  Simon, I hate you.

  The words curled on her tongue, ready to spill from her lips, but she remained silent. There was nothing she could say to change his ways. And she had once thought herself persuasive.

  Something about Simon kept her away from him. Any other guy she probably would’ve retorted with a smart ass comment, much like she had done to Eric and the late Davis Miller. Simon was too strong.

  He was very iron-willed and passionate about what he was doing. He was also very temperamental, unpredictable in his actions and dangerous, very dangerous.

  And Claire was scared of him. She couldn’t find the nerve to stand up to him, not again. Once before, she had told him how she felt about the killing of innocent people and he had mocked her and laughed.