Blood Moon

by Rose Marie Wolf

  Eric spoiled his fun a moment later when he arrived with a syringe filled with the drug.

  “Stick her,” Simon told him. The girl shoved at him again and nearly broke away from him. He had allowed himself to become distracted. He stared at her while Eric injected her. Her muscles quivered under his grip.

  The needle made contact with the upper part of her leg and Eric injected the serum. Simon held tightly until her felt her body relax. Her eyes fluttered a moment. The yellow faded back to blue. They clouded over as she fought to stay awake.

  In the end, she lost the fight and slipped into darkness. Simon sighed as she slumped against him. He pulled her into his arms.

  “I’ll take her,” Eric offered, but Simon shoved him aside.

  “I have her.” He lifted her easily and headed back into the darkness of her holding room. Eric watched him closely and waited until Simon had returned her to her room.

  “Now what do you plan on doing with her? Do you think you can get answers from her?” Eric asked.

  Simon locked the door, but kept his gaze from Eric.

  “I don’t plan on killing her, if that’s what you’re asking.” Simon spoke slowly and turned to face the door. He breathed heavily. He couldn’t risk Eric seeing the burning in his eyes. He would see the wolf, and he would know. Had he heard the girl’s words? Did he already know?

  “I have other plans,” he said instead.

  “Such as?”

  Simon didn’t answer for a long moment. He kept his head lowered and his forehead against the door. He closed his eyes. “That would be my business, Eric.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Mustang accelerated dangerously along the rain-slicked highway. Wind blew wet leaves into his path, but he disregarded them as he drove. The sun streamed down, cutting through the clouds that were quickly moving on. He didn’t care. He had things to do.

  It had taken him only a few minutes to hotwire the Mustang. He was gone before Glen and Davis even realized it, heading west just like Davis had said. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and risked a glance in the rearview mirror. He caught the glimmer of his yellow eyes and no cars behind him. He turned away.

  He stared straight ahead. He barely saw the road through his anger. His mind was a hundred miles away, thoughts in a place he had never wanted them to go. With a set jaw, Jason stared out as the asphalt rolled beneath him.

  He had been shot and left for dead. His mate had been kidnapped by a hunter, a hunter who was one of them. Jason snarled under his breath and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. He had left indentations in the leather.

  Anger and determination fueled his pursuit. Even if the cops tried to chase him for speeding or reckless driving, they wouldn’t be able to catch him. And even if one did, he pitied the poor soul who would shine his flashlight in the window and stare into the eyes of an enraged werewolf.

  He would get her back, one way or another, even if it meant he had to die trying. He would kill every one of those motherfuckers. Jason let out a deep breath. Every single one of them.

  How was he even sure this was the right way? He had no clue other than what Davis and his gut told him. And while he didn’t trust Davis, his gut instincts were enough for him. He kept going.

  Jason didn’t know who this Simon guy was, or why he had taken Rose, but he knew one thing: He was a dead man. As soon as Jason could get his hands around that prick’s throat, he’d rip it out once for himself, and then again for his mate. It had gone too far. So many were dead…

  He didn’t realize he was growling until he snapped himself back to reality. A car loomed ahead of him, driving much too slowly. He sped up and turned the wheel of the Mustang just enough to move into the oncoming lane. He zoomed by and the car on his right became a blur. Turning the Mustang back into the right lane, Jason went back to his calculating and angry thoughts. The road ahead was blissfully clear now.

  His anger had not dissipated much and he felt it stir within him, dangerous and hot, like a pot of water boiling over. It sizzled on the surface of his skin, just waiting to erupt. He exhaled a deep sigh. Oh, he was going to enjoy ripping Simon to bits…

  He ignored what Glen had told him, that he couldn’t do it alone. Glen wasn’t ready for anything like this. But he was. He wanted to kill and felt it in every fiber of his being. It was a calling. It was something he had to do and he alone. Glen and Davis couldn’t help him. This was his fight.

  Again he let his brooding settle and came back to reality. He listened. The only sound was the roar of the engine and the whine of the tires on the wet asphalt. It was a maddening sound. He felt trapped, as if in slow motion. He wasn’t making enough progress. No matter how fast his wheels spun, he wasn’t getting there.

  Annoyed with the constant growl of the engine and this realization, Jason leaned forward and flipped on the radio. Heavy rock music blared through the back speakers of the car and he found comfort in that. The drums and electric guitar screamed as he gunned the engine, allowing him to forget his problems, however briefly.

  He wiped a strand of hair from his face and closed his eyes for just a second. The song ended, and the radio personality began the usual rant and rave of the early morning hours. Jason ignored his voice.

  The countryside he drove through was hilly, with trees lining the roadside. Their nearly bare branches flashed across the top of the windshield as the car flew under them. Now and again, he passed a field, sectioned off from the road by black fences. The posts became one single blur as he continued traveling.

  The DJ’s voice gave away to another rock beat and Jason listened to the heavy hitting song, beating his fingers against the steering wheel in time to the drums. It was angry music, but it seemed to soothe him. He glanced briefly at the gun Glen had given him, resting in the leather seat beside him.

  Up ahead, he could see a couple of vehicles quickly coming into sight. Jason prepared himself to shift gears so that he could pass them. He didn’t bother to slow down.

  He was still far enough behind the vehicles that the one trailing had enough time to make the attempt to pass as well. If he kept his speed up, Jason could zoom right past them both once the vehicle was back on the right side. The radio continued its song.

  The vehicle assuming the pass was an SUV, sinister gray in color; the car it attempted to pass was a dark green Dodge Neon. The SUV’s tail lights gleamed as the brakes were applied. Jason cursed.

  “Damn it. Don’t fucking slow down,” he whispered. As if the driver of the SUV heard him, he sped up. Jason’s foot still held a significant amount of weight on the gas pedal. He wasn’t about to let up off of it either. The SUV held its speed steady.

  He bore down behind the SUV, in the oncoming lane of traffic, ready to exceed both vehicles once the SUV had made its pass, when it happened. The SUV swerved, as if it were trying to avoid some unseen object and hit the side of Neon at seventy-five miles per hour.

  “Shit!” Jason shouted. His foot instinctively hit the brakes. He watched as the scene unfolded before him. The car swiveled, trying to regain control, to not be forced into the guard rail on the side of the road. Its brake lights burned.

  The SUV struck again. It slammed hard this time into the driver’s side. The Neon was pushed into the guard rail, embers flying. Metal screeched as it met with the side of the car. Sparks danced onto the pavement. This was no accident.

  At such high speeds, applying the brakes, as he had, did little to stop Jason’s Mustang from slamming into the back of the SUV. The vehicles spun. Jason braced himself for the second crash. His passenger side smashed into the Neon.

  The Neon was pinned against the guard rail, and Jason was pinned between the SUV and the car. He struggled to turn his wheel to get out of this deathtrap. He felt a sharp pain in his side and his arm suddenly felt heavy and wouldn’t work. With a final jerk of the wheel, he broke t
he Mustang away from the Neon. The SUV and the Mustang broke into a spin, melded together. The Neon disappeared as they revolved across the pavement.

  They impacted against something and both vehicles flipped and fell into each other with a deafening crash. Glass shattered, metal twisted. The vehicles were stuck together. Jason let out a cry of pain as his head hit the windshield of the car. They were no longer on the road. They slid down an embankment on the left side of the road. The vehicles broke apart. The Mustang spun yet again.

  Then as quickly as it had all began, it stopped. The cars settled on the grassy slope. Glass tinkled as it cascaded from the broken remnants of the vehicles. Jason groaned and his head swam.

  The Mustang was totaled. The passenger’s side was caved in and he felt bits of glass and metal graze against exposed skin. There was no airbag, which Jason found odd. Used cars, if involved in previous accidents, sometimes didn't have them he knew. That had to be the case. Whatever the reason for it not being there, he really wished it had been.

  He lifted his arm and tried to move, but pain shot through him. Now he knew why his other arm felt heavy. His shoulder had been dislocated. His side hurt. He was sure a rib or two had been broken.

  He could smell the rich coppery scent of blood. The windshield in front of him was cracked, crimson smeared on the broken web. He touched his forehead with his good hand and removed it to find it was warm and sticky.

  Jason took hold of his useless arm. He clenched his teeth hard to bear the pain and with one quick jolt, he snapped his shoulder back into place. He yelled out in pain. Blood trickled wetly down his chin. He waited a moment until the pain subsided, then tried to get out. The driver’s side door was melded shut and even with his werewolf strength he couldn’t budge it. He shattered what was left of the glass with his boot and lifted himself through the window.

  Carefully, he crawled out of the mangled car and stood to survey the damage. He wiped his bloody and scratched hands on his shirt. Shattered glass littered the grass, bits and pieces of broken metal here and there. The engines to both vehicles smoked.

  Jason lifted his eyes up the embankment toward the road. They had gone through the guard rail. It was tangled in with the twisted metal around the SUV. The SUV’s windshield was nonexistent and a lifeless body was strewn across what was left of the front of the car. The man was bloody, arm twisted at an odd angle and definitely dead. The blood scent was strong.

  The side door to the SUV had caved in during impact and had been ripped off completely. The door lay off to the side on the ground and the inside of the vehicle was clearly visible. The airbag had deployed, but it had done no good. The steering wheel had been jammed into the driver's chest, preventing the airbag from fully doing what it was meant to. Blood trickled from the man’s parted lips. His eyes were still open, but he was dead. It was a horrible sight.

  Jason strode closer, holding arm close to his body. There were more bodies inside. He peered in to see two more men, dead. There wasn’t anyone else in the vehicle. He stepped forward and lifted his hand to wipe the blood away from his mouth. It didn’t look good.

  The remnants of camera and audio equipment were strewn about the grass just near the door, and sparks crackled from something that had been torn away. What looked like a gun lay near the hand of one of the dead men in the backseat. Jason’s eyebrows furrowed together as he examined. His foot crushed something underfoot as he moved closer to investigate.

  Stepping back, he looked down at the broken metal under his boot. He stood still, in shock. Glittering on the ground was a broken clip, silver bullets glinting in the pale light.

  “Goddamn it…” Jason whispered. In shock, he stared down. His intuition had been right. They were hunters. Suddenly the accident that was no accident made sense. Quickly, he moved forward and climbed into the SUV. He stared at the broken bodies and rubble. The only people in the van were the four men and they were all dead. He didn’t recognize any of them. He wasn’t among them. It wasn’t Simon’s gang.

  Furious, he punched his fist against the metal siding. Pain spread through his knuckles and hand. He stepped out and away from the SUV and glanced once again to the road.

  These men had been trying to run a car off the highway. Suspicious thoughts ran through Jason’s mind. Could they have been after another group of his kind? His aching hand clenched into a tight fist. He visibly shook with rage. He would look into it.

  He made his way back to the ruins of his car. Jason reached in through the smashed window and retrieved his gun.

  A few commuters had stopped along the highway. He heard people shouting down at him. They were coming down the embankment toward the wreckage. He had to get to the other car before they did…if they hadn’t already.

  Jason didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had to find out for himself if the people or person in the green Neon had survived. The hunters wouldn’t have risked killing themselves if not to destroy what they were hunting.

  He didn’t have much time to think on it. The voices grew louder. In a quick blur of motion and incredible speed, he broke forward and scaled up the embankment. He crossed the highway to search for the remains of the Dodge Neon.

  Chapter Twelve

  When she opened her eyes, Rose was greeted with nothing but a surrounding darkness. Her face felt tight from dried tears. Slowly, she sat up.

  There was dull pain in her leg. She vaguely remembered the struggle and the sting of the needle. It would leave no lasting damage, but it was an unsightly reminder. She wanted to growl, but in the gloom of her “cell” no one would hear her. Besides, futile attempts like that would only weaken her further. She had to save up what strength she had left. And getting injected with something every time she acted up wasn’t exactly helping matters.

  Fresh tears began to well up in Rose’s eyes once more. Aidan was dead, Jason was dead. The PRDI members she had grown up with and loved were gone. Glen was gone. She was unable to fight the tears this time. They burst from her in broken sobs.

  I can’t go on anymore. It’s all over…

  She sniffed and wiped the tears away from her cheeks. They wouldn’t stop. She was able to drag herself away from the door and crawled toward the corner of the room. The floor was cold as she curled up in the fetal position, her back pressed against the wall. Rose stared at the door, not seeing it through the blurring tears. The sobs continued.

  * * *

  Claire had been crying, but her tears were long gone. She shuffled through the papers sprawled before her, searching for something. The page she sought was elusive. In frustration, she shoved the papers away from her. A few of them fluttered to the floor and she left them there.

  She hunched over the desk, her head in her hands. Her hair was loose and she tangled her fingers through it and let out a deep sigh. Things were getting much, much worse.

  There had been no need in killing the boy. It was only a game to them. She remembered the look on Simon’s face when the gun fired and the boy fell. It was triumphant and he held the werewolf woman close to him like some sort of trophy. Claire had seen the blazing in his eyes.

  And things were slowly becoming clear. The paper she had been reading earlier had fallen somewhere into the pile of PRDI files and she desperately wanted it back. There was something she had read there, something important.

  Silently, Claire cursed her tired mind. She could hardly remember anything. Sleep would be welcomed, but her body would not let her relax. She couldn’t let her guard down around them. She trusted none of them.

  Now, more than ever, she longed to get out of this. She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and began her search again. She went through each paper individually, scanning them for what she looked for. Each page that failed went into a pile near her.

  It was a while later when her burning and tired eyes found it. She pulled it away from the pile and read it, moving her lips silently as she did so.

  “Werewolves are most remarkable for their non-phy
sical attributes. Many traits that identify the werewolf cannot be seen by the eye alone. These include an increase in physical strength and acute sensory perceptions (Hearing and smell). Those traits that are physical include advanced regenerative capabilities and the physical traits associated with the ‘change’.”

  Claire paused there and mulled over it a moment. She gave a brief shake of her head and continued, this time in a low whisper.

  “The ‘change’ includes an increase in body mass and muscle tissue. Bones extend and become stronger. Hair and fur sprouts along the body. An elongation of the spine creates a tail. The skull re-forms and the jaw pushes forward creating a muzzle-like appearance. The bones of the hand curve and become claws…”

  She remembered that all too well, having seen one change before her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore that thought. She continued to read.

  “…and the eyes take on the hue of their wolfen counterparts (yellow, or golden-brown). This is identified as the ‘half-shift’. The ‘full-shift’ occurs when…”

  She stopped there. She had read enough.

  The eyes she had seen from Simon on the catwalk were not the dark brown she had noticed before. They were fiery and intense. They had been golden, or at least had a golden hue.

  Simon was a werewolf.

  “No…no way,” she said. The hand that held the paper shook violently and her fingers let go of it. It fell to the floor with the other papers. She stared down at it. Her hair flew around her as she shook her head wildly.

  It’s not possible! It can’t be. It makes no sense.

  Claire found her breath coming out in hard gasps and she placed her hand over her chest, as if that action alone could still the racing of her heart.

  She was in more danger than she could’ve ever imagined.

  “Oh God.” She felt nauseous. She wanted to throw up, but she choked it down. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She had to get out and soon.

  Claire bent down and gathered the papers that had fallen to the floor. She put them in a messy pile and stared down at them. The words blurred. She made up her mind, grabbed the stack of papers and started for the door.