Cursed by the Moon (Shifter Rising Book 2)

by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  "You don't have a car?"

  "I'm saving up."

  Natasha honked again.

  "Have a good day." She tucked her hair behind her ear and rushed out into the fresh air. With the door closed behind her, she sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear her head. What the hell was that? Had she not seen a hot guy before?

  She shook her head and pushed open the gate.

  "We're gonna be late," Natasha called.

  Cara looked both ways, then jumped in the car. "Sorry."

  Natasha studied her. "Did something happen?"

  Cara's cheeks heated. "Nope."

  A grin spread across Natasha's face. "Yes, but did anything happen?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

  "You know me better than that," Cara replied. "That's not my style."

  Natasha continued to smile. "True. But he's hot." She put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

  Cara looked up at the kitchen window, which overlooked the street. He sure was.

  ****

  Noah stood in the shadow of the kitchen curtain as Cara and Natasha drove away. He crunched down on his strawberry lollipop. He couldn't do this. Couldn't be attracted to someone like her. She was sweet and beautiful but, she was a werewolf.

  Tate and Donovan had taken him to a secure basement, to shift, the night before he'd come to stay with her. He didn't know how they did it. The pain had been like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Shifting into an animal. Bones breaking, skin stretching, every organ shifting and shrinking. He hated to admit he'd passed out, but he had. They'd said everyone passed out the first few years and some never stopped. Though they'd told him it wasn't shameful, showing such weakness, especially in front of other Marines, was the ultimate kick in the balls.

  He wondered if it was the same for Griffin.

  He located the trashcan, tossed the lollipop stick into it, then headed to the front door. Before his hand hit the doorknob he stopped to do a mental check.

  Knife, check. Lollipops, check. Keys, phone and wallet, check. Finally he reached down to his right ankle. Gun, check.

  He blew out a heavy breath and left. His meeting in Los Angeles was in an hour and a half. He took the stairs down to the street, slow and steady, just like his therapist had taught him. They were steep but he made the descent without so much as a hitch. That feat gave him more satisfaction than he thought it would.

  "Come on Marine. It's just a set of freaking stairs. You've went through a thousand times worse in your first week of boot camp." He pulled his keys from his pocket and hit the button. His large, white pickup beeped twice.

  Noah climbed up into the driver's seat, situated himself, then turned the truck over. He needed to do this. If he didn't, Tate and Donovan would kick his ass.

  He turned on his phone and stared at the directions to the VA hospital.

  An hour later Noah pulled into the parking lot, just as the shakes started. The knot in his stomach, which had coiled like a snake as he'd hit the 118 freeway, tightened inside him until he’d almost had to pull over. Now, sitting in front of the VA building, his hands shook so hard he could no longer grip the steering wheel.

  He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth and wished for a bottle of tequila. The phone buzzed on the seat next to him. The number that shone from the screen was just another twist to the rattlesnake in his gut. Brigette.

  He didn't want to answer it; but a part of him knew there was no way either of them would heal and move on if he didn't.

  "Hello."

  "Noah." The sigh of relief that floated through the earpiece shot like a bullet to his heart.

  "Hey Brig."

  The silence stretched, like the expanse of a football field, between them.

  "How are you?" He rubbed his brow.

  "I'm doing okay. How are you?"

  He nodded. "Sitting up and taking nourishment." It was something his dad had always said.

  She laughed. "Better than the alternative."

  "Yeah." What did he say? Sorry I haven't been in touch I've been busy dealing with the fact that I'm a werewolf now and contemplating taking my own life. Oh, and I told you we were through months ago so why are you still calling?

  "So are you gonna come home for the 4th of July? Your parents are having their annual barbeque."

  Just the thought of going home was enough to send him into a full-blown panic attack.

  He wiped his palms on his jeans. "I can't. Sorry."

  "It's okay… So, I was thinking. A group of us are going to be in Los Angeles in a couple of weeks. Maybe we could stop by and say hi. Just for a minute. It'll be me and Scott, John and Jesse. Maybe Addy and Sara."

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. She was still trying. The eagerness in her voice told him she wasn't ready to let go. Problem was he'd let go by his first full moon.

  "I don't really think that's a good idea."

  "Why not?" Her pain stabbed him in the chest.

  "Brigette, I told you months ago. Move on. You're beautiful, and smart, and, you deserve better."

  "I want you." Her choked sentiment was enough to suck the air right out of him.

  "I have to go Brig. I have a therapy appointment."

  "Yeah, sure. I love you."

  He bit the inside of his cheek. "Ditto." He ended the call and emotions bubbled up inside him, like an over shaken soda can. He slammed his palm onto the steering wheel, several times, in rapid succession.

  "Dammit. Dammit. Dammit!" He shouldn't have told her he loved her. Shouldn't have given her hope. They'd been together for over three years but that time was over. Why couldn't he just shut her out like he'd done everyone else?

  A sharp rap on his window made him reach for his ankle holster. He locked gazes with a stern set of storm gray eyes and sat back in his seat. Tate looked like a surfer model with his wavy blond hair, tan skin and sandals. Though a head shorter than Noah, Tate had at least twenty pounds of muscle on him. Behind Tate, Griffin waved.

  Noah rolled down his window.

  "You about done beating up your car there, Sarge?" asked Tate.

  "Yes sir."

  "Good." Tate pulled open his door. "Then let's get you to therapy, then your meeting."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cara dropped onto the couch as soon as she got home that evening, totally beat. She'd barely had the energy to walk the four blocks home from the bus stop.

  The smell of chicken and vegetables made her stomach growl. She looked over and could just make out Noah's back from where he stood at the stove. He was as amazing to look at from behind as he was from the front.

  She closed her eyes and stifled a groan. What the hell were her hormones thinking? Noah was a newbie bitten. Not boyfriend material. Not one night stand material. Not anything material. She needed to give the guy a break and keep the fact that she hadn't had sex in over three years to herself.

  She opened her eyes again and her heart fluttered. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him. She started at his shoulders and took him in, all the way down to his trim waist and round, ample backside. She looked down to his calves and had to stop herself from groaning. A shapely set of calves were her biggest weakness.

  One leg was tan with light brown hair but the other one… She cocked her head to the side. The tattoos that covered the other calf were vibrant. More vibrant than any tattoos she'd ever seen. Too vibrant for human skin.

  She sucked in a breath and Noah turned. Their eyes met and he gave her a tight smile.

  "Hey, you hungry? I made chicken and I'm roasting vegetables."

  Her heart thundered. Noah had a prosthetic left leg.

  "Uh…" She blinked rapidly. "Sure. If you have enough. I don't want to impose."

  He laughed and threw a towel over his shoulder. "It's me who's imposing by being here. Feeding you is no trouble at all."

  He turned back to the stove and she couldn't help but stare at his prosthetic. It was beautifully carved and exactly the same shape as his natural leg but a tattoo of
the American flag, clutched in an eagle's claws, encompassed the entire thing. She wanted to get closer to it, to see the intricacies, but… That would be weird.

  "How about if I set the table?" She jumped from her spot on the couch and tried to give her mind something else to focus on.

  "Sounds like a plan."

  She opened the cupboard to pull out two of everything, then laid it all out on the table, the way her mama used to. She couldn't remember the last time she hadn't eaten off paper plates with disposable silverware. She retrieved a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge and set it on the table as well.

  "Do you drink tea?"

  He shook his head. "Water for me, please."

  She filled his glass from the fridge as he plated the food and set it on the table.

  "Wow." She sniffed the savory looking dish. "This is amazing. I've never known a guy who liked to cook."

  "I didn't used to." He sat opposite her. "But when I had to change my eating habits I had to learn to fend for myself."

  "Because of your leg?"

  He stared at her for a minute.

  "Yeah. To avoid issues I have to stay as healthy as possible."

  Curiosity scratched at her. She wanted to know so many things. How did it happen? What did it feel like?

  She took a seat. "Does it hurt?"

  "Sometimes." He held his hand out to her.

  She looked at it for a minute. Her mama used to do the same thing with her for every meal. She licked her lips, then set her fingers on his.

  He bowed his head. "Dear Lord, we thank Thee for our food, our roof, and thy bounteous goodness. Amen."

  Cara gave him a tight smile and slid her hand away.

  "I take it you aren't the praying kind." He picked up his knife and cut into the chicken.

  She took a slow drink of her tea. "Not for a long time now."

  ****

  Noah tried not to stare at Cara but it was difficult.

  "So tell me about yourself." She poured another glass of tea from the pitcher and sipped it.

  I'm a freaked out Marine with PTSD who's a danger to himself and everyone else. Probably not the best thing to say.

  He shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

  "Where are you from?" she asked.

  "San Diego. How about you?"

  "Midwest."

  Noah's phone buzzed and he looked at it. It was a text from Griffin saying he was leaving; they'd talk soon.

  He texted back "thanks and talk soon".

  Tate had told him leaving for Idaho would put all of his therapy in jeopardy; that he should wait at least ninety days before making a decision.

  Noah took a giant gulp of water, trying to clear the knot that had lodged in his throat at the thoughts of home. "Do you have any family close by?" he blurted.

  Her round, doe eyes held sadness. "I have Liam and Natasha. That's good enough."

  His ribcage squeezed. She was on her own, just like him. "Sorry."

  "Don't be. It's for the best." She picked at her plate. "So have you been to college? We have a pretty good community one here, if you're interested."

  "Already graduated."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Really? What's your degree in?"

  "Engineering."

  She smiled and nodded. "Very respectable."

  He chuckled. Not according to his father. "How about you?"

  "I have a couple semesters left. I haven’t been able to take as many classes as I wanted, because I have to work."

  "And what are you studying?"

  "Social work. I want to help kids."

  He wanted to ask if she'd been in the system, as a foster kid herself, but he didn't have the heart. "So what's there to do for fun around here?"

  Her eyes lit up. "Well, there's a pizza place that kids from school like to hang out at. And Pinky's is down the road. We get some decent bands there sometimes. The beach isn't that far so there's always surfing and swimming. And the local pack goes there for bonfires and parties."

  He rubbed his thigh. "I haven't been to a beach since I've been home."

  "Because of your leg?" Her eyes widened with genuine interest. "I'm sorry. Do you not want to talk about it? My mama always said that I asked too many questions."

  "It's okay. I'd rather people ask than stare." He had the desire to reach across and touch her, but he didn't. "And yes, because of the leg. I'm still getting used to some things and sand isn't exactly my best friend. I just got this prosthetic a few weeks ago."

  "What did you use before that one?"

  "Just a simple appliance. My dad had this one specially made for me."

  "It's beautiful. I love the artwork."

  "That part was all me. I found an artist in Los Angeles who's also a tattoo artist. He did it for me; for free."

  "Wow. That's super cool."

  "He's a great guy. And a vet himself."

  "Well if I ever decide to get a tattoo, you'll have to give me his info."

  "Don't ever do that Cara. You're much too beautiful for ink." He bit his tongue. Use lame pick-up lines much?

  "Well. Thank you." She picked up her fork and shoved some chicken into her mouth. A pleasant silence fell between them, which lasted for several minutes.

  "If I pay you, will you cook every night? I haven't had food this good in ages. I'm starting to think maybe I should give up freezer food, fresh from the microwave."

  He burst out laughing and she did too.

  He shook his head and pointed his fork at her. "I'll cook if you promise to throw that thing away. Microwaves will kill you."

  "You have a deal."

  For the next hour they talked about everything from movies, to art, to school. She both fascinated and soothed his soul. He realized, for the first time since coming home, he hadn't once thought about having a drink, or a smoke, or had even one flashback; not in the whole time they were together. Her calming presence was like a fresh bath after a hot California day. She neither put on airs nor expected anything from him in return. With her he could just be himself. Even the easy way she'd asked about his leg hadn't caused him to tense up. Most people stared and didn't say anything. Or, if they did, they were embarrassed or anxious about it.

  He watched her clean the dishes and put the food away. He'd tried to help but she'd insisted the cook didn't clean up in her house.

  "Do you have studying to do for class tomorrow?"

  "What's tomorrow? Thursday? No. I don't have class till Friday so I usually spend this evening doing something fun to relax."

  "Like what?"

  She sent him a sideways glance over her shoulder. "Promise you won't laugh?"

  He gave a solemn nod. "I promise."

  "I usually play a video game."

  He hid the smile that threatened to unfold across his face. "Seriously?"

  "What? Can't a girl like video games?"

  He held up his hands. "So you play what? Candy Crush or Wii Fitness or something?"

  She cocked her head and stared at him. "Okay now I didn't take you for a stereotypical jarhead, but I've been known to be wrong before."

  "I apologize. So what do you play then?"

  "Join me and find out."

  "I don't know. How good are you?"

  "Good enough to kick your butt." The cocky smile she shot his way had his heart beating like a rock ballad.

  "You're on."

  ****

  Cara pulled out the wireless controllers for her Xbox and put the game in.

  "So what am I getting myself into here?"

  "It's a two person co-op shooter game." She flounced to the couch and plopped down opposite him.

  He snorted. "You might want to rethink that butt kicking part sweetheart."

  "Show me whatcha got."

  A brilliant grin spread across his face, revealing two, amazing dimples. "Should we have a wager?"

  "What kind of wager?" she asked.

  "If I win you have to tell me what your dreams were about last night. And if you win�
�"

  "You have to tell me how you lost your leg."

  "You're on."

  "Watch out." Cara slammed her thumb down on her button as fast as possible.

  "No. No. No. Don't go that way."

  She laughed. "Yeah whatever. I've run this maze before, I know exactly what I'm doing."

  "Fine don't listen to me but I'm telling you–"

  His words were cut off as an explosion to her right shook the screen and made her remote buzz. "Dang it. I forgot about that one."

  "Who's the jarhead now?" He laughed.

  She glanced over at him. His tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth and his eyebrows scrunched up. She smiled at the sight of the cute little boy, hidden inside the large man body. She'd never had someone to play with before. At least someone who wasn't online.

  "This way. This way. This way." He barked the orders like she was a member of his platoon.

  She listed her character to the left and jumped onto the hood of a car. "Wait here. After this interlude comes a boss."

  A skinny dog wandered onto the screen, sniffing the ground. She shifted her position and took a drink of her sweet tea, waiting for the next round.

  "So tell me. What do you usually do for fun?" She turned. Noah's eyes were glued to the screen, wide and fearful. A trickle of anxiety poured down her spine. "Noah?"

  She glanced back at the TV screen. The skinny dog lapped at a puddle of ooze on the ground and his form morphed, hair growing longer, body enlarging.

  Noah's breathing increased and his eyes grew even larger.

  "Noah?"

  The dog turned and snarled at the screen before lunging at her character.

  "Watch out!" Noah jumped from his seat, blocking her with his body.

  "Noah!"

  He didn't move a muscle as every taut inch of him faced off with the computerized dog.

  She grabbed the remote and turned off the screen. For several seconds his shoulders heaved up and down as he stared at the blank screen.

  "Noah?" Her voice squeaked out.

  The muscles in his back loosened. He didn't turn but slowly slipped his hands in his pockets.

  "Five things you can see. Four things you can touch. Three things you can hear. Two things you can smell. One thing you can taste," he mumbled. "TV, wall, carpet, stairs, picture. Pants, carpet, knife, wall. Dishwasher, air conditioner, vacuum next door. Left over chicken, Cara's shampoo. Butterscotch lollipops."