Moon Cursed: The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles, Book 1

by Centanni, Tori

  “She has my hair, blood, and a old tooth and I haven’t been cursed yet. Then again, I am a werewolf.” I grinned at my own joke.

  Raff did not smile back. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Acting like being a werewolf is some kind of horrible disease,” he said.

  “Because it is,” I said, suddenly irritated with him again.

  Raff’s jaw tightened. I ignored him. We didn’t have time to argue. Maybe he liked having zero control over turning into a hairy monster every month, but I definitely didn’t. Of all the supernatural creatures, werewolves got the short end of the stick.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I said, and moved toward the shelf I knew well. It was filled with accounts of vampires from the beginning of recorded history. Many of Ellianne’s books were hundreds if not thousands of years old, transcribed from source material that was much, much older, though she did have a few more modern books: diaries and journals and research projects from people who traded them in exchange for a glimpse at some of the other books in her collection.

  I moved from the vampire section and found the section that had to do with shifters. I only found five books on werewolves specifically, but I’d have to check her card catalogue to see where else werewolves might appear. I also pulled a few books on monster hunters of the Pacific Northwest, including one book written in 1998.

  I piled all of the books onto the elegantly carved white wooden table in the center of the room. Raff picked up a book off the top of the stack, flipped through for exactly three seconds and said, “This is hopeless.”

  I rolled my eyes and picked the most modern book, A Recounting of Werewolves in Washington, written in 1975, which I slid toward Raff. It was typed, not handwritten, and probably easier to read. It seemed more his speed. “Start with this one. Look for anything about hunters or haters, or mysterious wolf disappearances that might indicate they were killed. That’ll give us a place to start.”

  Raff eyed the book dubiously but finally pulled it toward him and carefully opened the cover. I was glad I didn’t have to lecture him on treating the powerful faerie’s books gently.

  I started with a diary, handwritten, from a werewolf in the 1860s, who’d come to Seattle after the Gold Rush in California, where they’d been bitten and infected. It was fascinating stuff and the dude was as pissed about his condition as I was, but halfway through I realized I didn’t have time to savor his personal struggles. I had to move on. So I picked up the book about hunters, the newer one from the 1990s.

  Despite its recency, it was also-handwritten, but the writing was blocky print letters, not cursive that could be harder to decipher. I skipped past a section on a vampire hunter in Portland in the 1980s, complete with a creepy illustration of a guy in acid-wash jeans, and skimmed the long chapter on a group who was after Bigfoot. They called themselves the Guardians of the Natural Order. Pretentious as heck. They were a group of mostly men dedicated to finding and destroying Bigfoot and any Bigfoot relatives. They were “anti-cryptid” and thought Bigfoot was an abomination of the natural world. According to this book, they never caught Sasquatch and eventually dissolved in the late 80s, due to infighting.

  “Is this something?” Raff asked, yanking me out of my reading.

  “What?”

  Raff cleared his throat and read, “‘In 1966, the werewolf population of Tacoma and Seattle dwindled from several hundred to a few dozen. The werewolves themselves were tight-lipped about the cause. One who spoke off the record said the numbers had merely been exaggerated for the illusion of safety and had never been that high, and therefore there was no decimation of the population.’”

  I frowned. “I’m not sure,” I said finally, after trying to think it through. I doubted hunters killing hundreds of werewolves would go unnoticed by a keen observer, and couldn’t think why werewolves would deny it if it were true. “See if it mentions any rumors of hunters. If not, move on.”

  Raff nodded, letting out a soft sigh.

  I flipped further in the book on hunters, but the rest focused on a group of vampire hunters in Canada, and a half-fae bounty hunter who tracked anyone and anything for the right price. The group attacking us was probably new, or new to the area, and unlikely to be in this book.

  I closed it and rubbed my temples before checking my phone. It wasn’t quite midnight. Dawn was five or so hours away. I picked up the next book on the stack and starting skimming.

  By dawn, Raff had fallen asleep on the table, his cheek pressed against the cool surface. He breathed softly, looking angelic and peaceful. I envied him. I hadn’t slept since Friday night, since wolfing-out definitely didn’t count as restful. I’d made notes on my phone about various groups to look into, none that still seemed to be active, but hadn’t found anything super helpful, like, say, a sketch of our monster hunter with a name and address.

  I put the books back where they belonged and then turned to Raff. He was actually kind of handsome when he wasn’t frowning or giving me strange looks. It seemed a shame to wake him, but Ellianne had granted us use of the library until dawn. Staying longer would mean she would demand further payment and we’d have no choice but to pony up.

  “Raff,” I said. He didn’t stir. “Hey, Raff,” I said a little louder. Nothing. He was dead to the world. I put a hand on his shoulder. He was so warm, almost feverishly hot. I shook him gently. He jolted awake, eyes widened until he saw me and seemed to remember where he was.

  He sat up and groaned. “What time is it?”

  “Almost dawn. We’ve got to go.”

  He rubbed his eyes and pulled out his phone, as if to check that I was correct. “How long was I out?”

  “A few hours,” I said.

  “Sorry,” he said, getting to his feet and pushing his chair back in. “Guess I wasn’t much help.”

  “It’s been a long few days. Honestly, I could use some sleep some myself. After breakfast. I need a mountain of pancakes.”

  His lips quirked up into a small smile. “Are you always hungry or what?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “All right.” He ran his fingers through his hair, which somehow managed to look even better now that it was rumpled and unwashed. “You can get me up to speed while we eat.”

  Chapter 9

  Given the early hour, even the local diners weren’t yet open (most didn’t start serving breakfast until six-thirty or seven), so we ended up at a Denny’s. We drank coffee until the waitress brought our food. I had a stack of pancakes with bacon and eggs. Raff had a ham and cheese omelet with an extra order of toast.

  While we ate, I told Raff what I’d found, or more accurately, what I hadn’t found. “Most of the hunters who’ve passed through the area are after vampires or, weirdly, Bigfoot, and most of them don’t live long,” I said. “There are stories of fights with werewolves on the full moon, but those seem to be cases of wrong place, wrong time, more than actually hunting anyone down.”

  “How do you know a faerie?” Raff asked.

  Thrown by the question, I took an extra big bite of pancake and spent a long moment chewing. “I just do. She has cool books.”

  “Yes, but the Fair Folk are dangerous. One wrongly worded promise can get you get killed.”

  I did not roll my eyes, but it was a massive exercise in self-control. “Ellianne and I have an arrangement. I pay for the use of her books, end of story. She isn’t going to trick me into anything.”

  “If you say so,” he said.

  “Werewolves are way more dangerous than the fae,” I said. “We’re uncontrollable monsters for twelve hours a month.”

  Raff put down his fork with a little too much force and it banged against the plate so loudly that our server peered out from the server station to make sure we were okay. His expression hardened, like I’d insulted his mother or something. (Was his mother a werewolf? I didn’t think one could pass it on that way, and added it to my list of things to look into. Really,
I’d neglected to answer so many basic questions about my own condition.)

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. He glared at me and I immediately went over the last few things I’d said. “Do you think werewolves aren’t dangerous?”

  He let out a long breath. “I think you don’t really understand what you are.”

  We finished our food in silence and then, because I had demanded the stop, I paid our bill. In the car, it was decided that we both needed sleep and he drove me home. To my home, because I was still in my work clothes without any else to change into.

  I found Raff an extra pillow and blanket in the linen closet and then collapsed on my bed. I was out within seconds of hitting the pillow.

  * * *

  I awoke to sunlight streaming brightly through my blinds. Not for the first time, I wished I’d gotten blackout curtains like Michael had in his bedroom in the event Damien wanted to sleep over. (He rarely did, no doubt in part because I was usually deeply unhappy to see him.)

  I fumbled for my phone. It was after three o’clock. I was lucky I wasn’t on the work schedule today or I’d have slept through the majority of my shift. I stretched and then showered before pulling on a pair of black leggings and black tunic with lacy sleeves. I put my hair in a messy bun that I hoped help hide that my roots were growing in before heading out into the living room. Raff was still sleeping on the sofa, his mouth hanging open and his blond-blue hair falling in his face. He’d taken off his shirt to sleep and I couldn’t help but notice the fine cut of his shoulders and muscular arms above the blanket.

  Michael cleared his throat behind me. I jumped.

  “I made coffee. I hoped it would wake sleeping beauty but no dice.”

  “He’s a heavy sleeper,” I said, with a yawn, because obviously that was true. Michael raised an eyebrow in question, as if to ask just how I might know that about Raff. I felt my cheeks heat up. “Oh my God, Michael, not everyone in this house has a monster fetish.”

  Michael smirked at me. “Technically, you can’t have a monster fetish.”

  I ducked into the kitchen to end this ridiculous conversation. I poured myself a cup of coffee and then opened my laptop on the kitchen table. Michael joined me, if only because there was no where in the living room to sit with wolf boy on the sofa.

  “I figured you’d be at Damien’s until this whole thing blows over.”

  Michael shrugged. “I came home to pack a bag and grab a few hours of sleep. Not really sure what I’m going to do, but it feels wrong to let those jerks scare us out of our own house.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Still not sure I want to be here after dark.”

  Michael nodded. “How long is your wolf protector going to be shadowing you?”

  “I want him gone more than you do.”

  “I don’t want him gone. If I’m staying at Damien’s, I want to make sure you’re not alone.” He studied the patterns in the kitchen’s ugly tile. “The other night really freaked me out.”

  I reached across the table and took his hand. It startled him, but then he squeezed back. Michael and I had been BFFs since middle school thanks to our shared love of vampires. In eighth grade, we dyed our hair black for the first time together. When I’d figured out vampires were real—thanks to thorough and exhausting research that my mom definitely thought could be applied to something more “useful,” like grades—I’d told Michael immediately and we started our quest to find and become immortals.

  In hindsight, I’d been arrogant about it. I should have gotten to know a vampire, taken it slow, let it happen. I’d blown my chance. Meanwhile Michael had started dating a vampire and was very likely going to become one before he hit thirty. Sometimes, looking at him made me so jealous that I had to leave the room, which had made it a rough couple of years.

  But he was still my best friend even if sometimes I was crappy at showing it.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m alive and those bastards are going to pay. Raff and I are working on it.” I gave him a quick synopsis of our trip to Ellianne’s. Michael was no stranger to her archives, having traded her blood and hair of his own.

  “Damien is looking into it, too. Apparently there have been a few attempted vampire slayings in the past few months. This might be connected. So if he hears anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, man,” I said.

  I got up and filled a mug with coffee. A cell phone rang in the next room so loud that it sounded like an alarm. At least it woke Raff up, because I heard him answer with a groggy “Hello?”

  I started to relax. And then Raff wailed so loudly, with so much agony, that I nearly dropped my coffee.

  * * *

  Raff was blubbering nonsense into his phone as Michael and I ran into the living room. He hung up. His eyes were wet with tears and he rubbed at the blond stubble on his chin and cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He opened his mouth but then shook his head, as if forming words were too much for him. Michael ducked back into the kitchen and brought Raff a mug of coffee, which Raff accepted gratefully. He sipped at it and then took a shuddering breath. “Holly’s been hurt,” he said.

  “She what?” I yelled.

  “She’s okay,” he added quickly, before I’d even finished speaking. “She was hit in the face and her arm is broke, but she’s fine. Drake is dead.”

  I had only a vague recollection of Drake, the man who owned the apple orchard where the wolf pack meeting was held, but I felt a pang of sadness for him, which mingled with my sheer relief that Holly was okay. I may not have been Holly’s best buddy or whatever, but I didn’t want her dead.

  “Sasha wants us to go over there, now. She’s calling everyone, but she’s especially worried about you,” Raff said, setting the mug on the coffee table.

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because they already have their sights on you,” Raff said, his tone suggesting I was a little slow. His gaze landed over my shoulder at Michael. “This place definitely isn’t safe. We should go.”

  Michael cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “So they’re still coming after Charlie?”

  Raff shook his head. “I hoped they’d give up on all of us until the next full moon. But clearly that’s not the case. So you should find somewhere else to stay until this blows over.” He pointed a finger at me. “You, pack a bag. You’re not coming back until then, either.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” I said, thanks to my knee-jerk reaction to be defiant. But then I remembered the bullet hole in the window downstairs and the feeling of a gun barrel pressed against my spine, and I went and packed a suitcase.

  I packed my two work uniforms, aprons, hats, and a couple of non-work outfits, pajamas, makeup, hair stuff, and then took a spin around my room. The white apartment walls were covered in gothic art purchased at the local horror convention. My bedspread was black and my bed was covered with pillows in shades of black, purple, and blue. I liked my bedroom. I didn’t want to be kicked out of it because of a couple of nut cases with guns.

  “Nice place,” Raff said behind me. I jumped. He was leaning in my doorway, examining my bedroom, which made me feel strangely self-conscious. I pulled a bra off the back of my desk chair and shoved it into my suitcase. Raff had taken a quick shower and his hair was damp, though his face was still covered in light stubble. Apparently he’d brought a change of clothes because he now wore a blue t-shirt and clean jeans. “You about ready?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said. “How long do you think this is going to take?”

  I only had enough clothes for a week, if that, and I’d need to wash my work clothes after a couple of shifts. And where was I going to stay? A freaking apple orchard out in the middle of nowhere? I don’t think so. Maybe I would make Holly let me crash on her sofa after all, as unpleasant as that proposition was.

  “As long as it takes, I guess,” Raff said. “Come on. Holly is anxious to see you.”

  “What for?” I asked, as I slung my
purse over my shoulder and rolled my suitcase out into the hall.

  “She’s worried about you,” Raff said, again like I was stupid. “And you should be worried about her. She was hurt and almost shot.”

  “I know that! I am worried,” I said. And I was. But I was also overwhelmed. A week ago, everything was normal. Well, as normal as it gets for a werewolf like me. Now everything was so chaotic that it didn’t even feel real and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react.

  “Okay then,” Raff said.

  And we headed up to the orchard to find out what exactly had happened.

  Chapter 10

  It was dusk when we finally reached the orchard. The barn-like meeting room was empty, and instead we walked down a path between fences that broke up parts of the orchard. The path led to a huge farm house with all of its lights blazing in the windows. The white house was the size of a mansion. The front door was red and held a decorative wreath of flowers in orange, yellow, and red, the colors of fall. It was probably changed out every few months.

  Raff rang the doorbell, and then ran his hand through his hair. He was buzzing with impatience, unable to stand still. He was scared, I realized. And then something else occurred to me that probably should have a lot sooner.

  “Is it smart to congregate here? Isn’t this where Holly and Drake were attacked?” No one had said so, but it was a safe guess.

  “Out near the road,” Raff said. “It’s fine. The others chased them off.”

  “But the hunters know where it is, and there are literally acres of trees to hide in. They can come back with more people—”

  Raff gave me a look that plainly willed me to shut up so I did. The door opened at that moment anyhow, and it didn’t seem polite to expound on how this whole orchard could be a deathtrap with the owner right there. The woman was around Drake’s age, though she had no gray in her hair thanks no doubt to help from Clairol. It was a reddish brown that looked nice, if not natural. Her expression was grim, her eyes moist. She wore jeans and a man’s work shirt in plaid, and I wondered if it was Drake’s shirt, or if she simply preferred the cut of men’s clothes (they do have better pockets).