Twelfth Moon

by Lori Villarreal

  “I’m willin’ to pay good money for your company.”

  So that’s what it was. Just another man thinking he could buy anything with his money. She’d encountered the type many times before, knew how to handle them. Reaching the end of the block, she turned the corner onto another street. “Listen, mister,” she snapped, “you don’t want me. I’ve got the syphilis.”

  That always got them to lose interest. She snickered inwardly at the memory of those other men, the look on their faces, the way they shrank away from her, their expressions filled with disgust.

  He grabbed her free arm, halting her in front of a darkened alley.

  Oh, oh.

  “I’d bet all my pocket money you’re lyin’, sweetheart,” he said smoothly. “And you’re just so delectable, I’m willin’ to take my chances.”

  His grip on her arm was like a band of steel. She looked up at his face, her heart leaping into her throat at the intense way he was looking at her. Even in the shadows of growing darkness, she could make out the steel blue of his eyes, the way his pitch-black hair waved over his forehead, behind his ears, down to his collar. His immaculate suit was that of a wealthy gentleman, and he was tall.

  But she sensed his troubled, twisted mind, his burdened heart. It came at her in waves, like an invisible, ominous storm, surrounding her, suffocating her. The instinct to turn tore through her, clambering in her brain like a separate entity, but she couldn’t do it out in the open where someone might see her. Besides, she didn’t want to, would do anything to avoid it. As her mother had taught her, nothing good could come out of it. She couldn’t risk discovery. The people of New Orleans were too superstitious. She would be hanged – or worse – burned as a witch.

  “Please, mister,” she pleaded in a low voice. “I don’t want to go with you. I’m not one of those women. I’m not for sale.”

  “Well, I really don’t give a fuck, sweet thing,” he responded in that smooth drawl, so at odds with his crude language and the intensity in his eyes. It raised the hackles on the back of her neck.

  He pulled her along, into the alley. She dug in her heels, trying to stop him. It did no good. He was bigger and stronger than her – at least while she remained in her human form.

  “Come on, now, don’t be shy.” He pulled Cadence further into the alley.

  “Please, let me go!” She desperately fought against the defensive instinct to shift and protect herself.

  One large hand came over her mouth, the other grasping her around the waist, bracing her against his solid chest. He forced her up a flight of steep, wooden steps, her basket tumbling back down, spilling its contents. He pushed her through a door, shoving her forward. She fell to her knees. The door slammed shut, the snick of the lock adding an exclamation point to the dire situation she was in.

  She quickly surveyed the room, searching for an escape route, but found no other door leading to freedom. A fire blazed in the small hearth, its glow casting ominous, flickering shadows on the walls.

  “Take off your clothes, sweetheart. I’m eager to see what lies beneath.”

  Cadence jerked at the sound of his low, raspy voice, her eyes darting to the bed, and then back to his face. He stood in front of the door, looking at her with eyes that had turned almost black, glittering in the light of the fire. It gave her a start, for he seemed otherworldly. Surely, it was just her fear making her see things that weren’t real?

  His chest rose and fell as though he labored for breath. Her own breath caught at how shockingly handsome he was.

  He was younger than she’d first thought, his pale face smooth, unblemished and unscarred. But she knew – could clearly sense it as though it were written in the air above him, that his scars were carried on the inside. They festered within him, clawing their way to the surface. He suffered from his madness, and therefore was compelled to make others suffer as well.

  Remaining on her knees in a submissive, non-threatening position, she spoke to him in a soft tone. “What’s your name?”

  He took a menacing step toward her. “My name? Why do you want to know, ma cherie, so you can set the authorities on me?”

  “I was only curious to know the name of my admirer, is all,” she replied softly. If she could calm him, she might have a chance to slip past him.

  “Ah, so you like what you see, eh?” His grin was dazzling. He removed his coat, not taking his eyes off her, tossing it to the floor. A flash of gold drew her attention to the large ring on the last finger of his right hand.

  “You’re very handsome. You must have no trouble at all with willing women, so why do you wish to force me?” Big mistake, she realized, when he directed a cold glare at her, his smile vanishing.

  “Because it pleases me, darlin’, to take what I want. You belong to me now. My mark will testify to that fact.”

  “Y-your mark?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he meant by that.

  “You’ll see.”

  He’d dropped to the floor, then, tearing at her clothes, cuffing her when she fought him. When she’d weakened, he left her for a moment, while she lay sprawled on the thin rug, naked and dazed.

  The searing pain on the inside of her left thigh had brought her out of her half conscious state, her scream captured by his mouth on hers. He was over her, crushing her, burning her, his male member hard and pushing its way inside her. She’d cried out as he broke through her virgin’s barrier, burying himself deeper still.

  “You’re mine, now,” he’d growled with triumph into her ear.

  The animal within her had taken over then, her need to protect herself reduced to its most basic level of instinct.

  She’d become the Pantera – the panther.

  Cadence was de forme apparence – the Pantera – a shape-shifter. Every daughter born in the line of succession since the sixth century inherited the gift – or curse, depending on one’s viewpoint.

  It had happened so fast, there’d been no time for him to even comprehend.

  Sharp claws slashed at him, slicing across his chest, spilling his blood. It spattered her black fur, pooled on the floor, soaking the rug. In her dreams, all she could ever see was the blood – dark red blotches standing out against a blurred background and smelling of copper.

  She’d returned to her human form, cleaned herself up, and then dressed in her tattered clothes, covering herself as best she could. The burning pain on the inside of her thigh, she discovered, was a brand. He’d heated his ring in the fire, held by a long metal rod with small tongs on the end. An imprint of the letter ‘K’ within a circle had been burned into her flesh.

  He’d planned the whole thing ahead of time.

  All he’d needed was a victim.

  She’d run, then, her feet skidding down the steps in her haste and fled into the night. In her panic, she’d run smack into a line of clothes left out to dry. Pushing back her fear, she’d had the presence of mind to search the line for something that might fit her. There was a pair of trousers and a shirt, small enough to have belonged to a boy about her size.

  After grabbing the boy’s clothes, she’d realized she’d lost her locket, and had to return to the room. She found the locket, the chain broken sometime during the struggle, and changed into the boy’s clothes. Afterward, she’d rolled her own clothes into a tight bundle, taking care not to leave any evidence behind that might lead someone back to her.

  As she’d turned, her toe kicked his ring, sending it skittering across the floor. Picking it up, she turned it over in her fingers, studying the engraved ‘K,’ which now matched the brand on her leg, wondering what his name was. She slipped the ring into a pocket of the borrowed trousers riding low on her slim hips, deciding to keep it. For what reason, she wasn’t entirely sure.

  Desperate and terrified, she’d run home, into the comforting arms of her sisters. They’d been waiting for her. Jaelene, who had gifts beyond that of a shape-shifter, had felt Cadence’s pain, her terror. She told Cadence about a vision she’d had of
a dark-haired man wearing a fancy gold ring. She even described the letter ‘K’ on it. It was too much of a coincidence.

  Cadence grabbed Jaelene by the shoulders. “You saw him? You saw the man who attacked me – w-who violated me?” She was near hysterics.

  “Was he handsome…tall, with very dark hair?”

  “Yes,” Cadence whispered.

  “And he had the ring?”

  “Yes.” Cadence dug into her pocket with trembling fingers and held out the ring she’d been branded with.

  Jaelene shook her head. “No. This can’t be right. The man I saw in my vision didn’t hurt you. He…he is your destiny.”

  Her destiny? “I don’t understand.”

  “You have yet to meet that man.”

  Cadence’s mother had always told her that when she met a man who made her feel safe, who made her heart race, one she could trust, then she would be looking at the man God had made her for. Her mother had never mentioned anything about destinies.

  “But he had the ring.” Cadence held it up for Jaelene to see. “This ring. And I killed him. How could he be my destiny? If—” She choked. “If only I had been nicer to him, or maybe if I’d run when I had the chance—”

  “It wasn’t your fault!” Kara stepped forward, her hands balled into white-knuckled fists. She was outraged on Cadence’s behalf, her small frame trembling with emotion. “He deserved it!” she cried. “He took your innocence – he branded you! Don’t you dare believe any of that was your fault!”

  Cadence collapsed into Jaelene’s arms then and sobbed uncontrollably – something she’d never done before, at least not in front of her sisters. They’d never seen her like this – so completely broken.

  After their mother died, Cadence had become her self-appointed replacement. As the oldest, she’d felt it was her responsibility to hold the rest of the family together. And everyone had fallen into line in the natural course of things. Jaelene and Kara, especially, had happily deferred to Cadence, their wiser older sister, even if she was only eleven years old at the time. But honestly, how wise could she be for getting herself into something like this?

  “I’m so sorry,” Jaelene said sorrowfully, rubbing her back gently.

  It was Cadence’s determination to not allow what had happened destroy her that finally stopped her flow of tears. Digging deep inside, she found her composure, and withdrew from Jaelene’s embrace. She gave a watery smile. “I’m fine now.”

  “Oh, I swear, if that man wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself,” Kara vowed.

  Jaelene gasped. “Kara!”

  “Well, I would.”

  Despite her brave words, Kara was visibly shaken.

  “Things could have been much worse,” Jaelene said softly, her blue eyes glistening with tears.

  Kara’s expression turned mutinous. “How much worse could it be?”

  “She could be the one lying dead. Let us not forget that.” Jaelene focused her gaze on Cadence. “You did what you had to do.”

  Cadence sighed heavily. “I’m going to have to leave. Tonight.”

  “No!” Kara.

  “Someone’s going to find him.”

  “How would anyone know it was you?” Kara challenged.

  “I don’t know, but I can’t take that chance. It’s just for a little while. As soon as I know it’s safe, I’ll come home, I promise.”

  Jaelene hugged her, and then pulled back, holding Cadence at arm’s length. She smiled sweetly. “Don’t be afraid. You have your journey, as I do, and Kara. I’ve seen it.”

  “I know,” Cadence said quietly, her tone resolved.

  “Oh, Cadence, don’t go!” Kara cried tearfully.

  Cadence was filled with a burst of tenderness for her youngest sister. “You know I must.”

  “We can hide you until it all blows over.”

  “I can’t stay.” Kara was always so determined to champion any noble cause. Of course, murder wasn’t exactly a noble cause as far as Cadence was concerned, but Kara was biased in that way when it came to family. “I’ll write as soon as I’m able, to let you know I’m safe.”

  Jaelene grasped Cadence’s arm, her brows drawn together. “Are you sure he was dead?”

  “I-I killed him,” Cadence said in a strangled voice. “I’m sure of it.” Wasn’t she? She hadn’t really checked, hadn’t been able to bring herself to look at his body, but she knew he had to be dead. As soon as she’d attacked him, he hadn’t made a sound or moved.

  “It will be a difficult time for you, but you will persevere,” Jaelene said.

  Cadence gathered what few belongings she could fit in a small bundle that could be easily carried. And then she had to say goodbye to her father. He was sitting in his usual chair by the fireplace.

  Charles LaPorte was almost completely blind, caused by a blow to his head many years ago. It had happened while trying to save their mother, who’d been caught in a trap during one of her runs through the forest. He’d fought with the hunters, but one of them had hit him on the head with a heavy branch, rendering him unconscious. When he awoke, his wife, their mother, was dead, and his vision had never cleared.

  Cadence crouched next to his chair. He was tall, still physically strong and handsome for a man his age. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him. She noticed his hair needed trimming. It was blond, just like Jaelene’s, only his was peppered with gray. “I’ll be back, Papa.” She kissed his rough cheek, hot tears filling her eyes. “I’ve gotten into some trouble, but all will be well, I promise.”

  “You’re a good and clever girl, Cadence.” He turned his blue-eyed gaze blankly in her direction, an affectionate smile curving his mouth. “Everything will right itself. You’ll see.”

  Papa had always had so much faith in her. As the eldest, she’d taken on the role of mother to her two sisters, nurturing them, caring for them. And now she’d gotten herself in an awful heap of trouble.

  And almost as if their roles had reversed, Jaelene had been the one to comfort her, to assure her that everything would be all right in the end. Jaelene was never wrong, so Cadence had to believe it. She could only hope to live up to her father’s expectations.

  And then she ran. And ran and ran and ran.

  For days and weeks, she’d moved from one town to the next, never knowing if or when she’d be caught. Every day she prayed that by some possible miracle, the man had survived her attack. Maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t killed him after all.

  But she knew she was being tracked, she could sense it, feel his determination. Why would she be hunted if that man had lived? And her pursuer was good, too. Most of her traveling was done at night, as the panther, so how was he able to stay on her trail?

  As time went on, though, she’d dared to hope that she’d lost him, until about three weeks ago, when she’d read that article in the local newspaper. It gave a good description of her as the boy who had robbed and murdered Robert Kincaid of New Orleans.

  Robert Kincaid.

  He was dead. Which meant she had killed him.

  The news had filled her with a fresh wave of despair, her hope that he’d survived ground into dust. She’d played the scene in her mind over and over. Had she really caused enough injury to kill him? It had all happened too fast. Her memory was fuzzy, making it difficult to fill in the blanks.

  It had been so dark that night, how could anyone have seen her?

  What was even more disturbing was the account of a young woman seen with the boy, who was believed to be his accomplice.

  How could that be when she was one and the same?

  Someone must have seen her go inside with Kincaid, and then witnessed a boy leaving. She could neither shed her disguise, nor could she stick around and risk being recognized as the boy. So, she’d moved on to the next town.

  She’d wondered if Kincaid had a family…a wife, a mother and father, brothers and sisters. She’d killed a man and nothing would ever change that fact. The guilt ate at her, subjecting her to
nightmares in which she was forced to re-live that moment over and over.

  Three

  CADENCE TRIED TO SCREAM, but something cut off her air supply. She clawed at her throat, desperately trying to remove the thing that choked her. Then there was the blood – buckets of it, it seemed, splashing on her chest, in her face, her nose, her mouth. She couldn’t breathe…

  “Wake up!”

  Someone was shaking her.

  Cadence opened her eyes to the ghostly face of the man she’d killed hovering above her. At first, it seemed as though his spirit had returned to haunt her, until her eyes focused and she saw that it was Jonah Kincaid, not Robert, who shook her awake.

  She trembled violently, unable to control it. Her stomach boiled like a raging sea. It forced her to roll over and vomit, the spasms hurting her throat with an agony she’d never experienced before. She lay, suspended on one elbow, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hung her head, too weak to move.

  “Please,” she croaked, “just…kill me.”

  “Do you really think I’d make it that easy for you?” His voice was cold as early morning frost. “You’re going back to New Orleans to stand trial, in which case, you might actually be sentenced to hang…again.”

  His cruel words made Cadence flinch. She struggled to sit up, noticing the rope around her ankle. Did he really expect her to gallop on foot through the desert in this condition? Even as the Pantera, she would be weak. She licked her dry lips. “I…I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t care how sorry you are,” he bit out. “You’re going to hang, either way. Now go back to sleep. We need to get an early start. There was someone suspicious eyeballing us as we left town.”

  “That was Ned Furley,” Cadence said in a hoarse whisper. “He’s the one who really killed Mamma Reba.”