Shadow of the Moon: A Fantasy of Love, Murder and Werewolves

by Kwen Griffeth

  “Alwyn, are you hurt?”

  As soon as she asked the question, Gennadiya thought herself stupid. Of course he was hurt.

  “Mother, I’ll be fine. I was mugged, nothing more.”

  The women helped him into the rear seat of the car, and then climbed in the front seat.

  Gennadiya turned and looked at her son.

  “Don’t lie to me. This has something to do with why the FBI lady came to see you, doesn’t it?”

  Alwyn squirmed in the seat and wedged himself more or less erect, using both the rear of the seat and the side of the compartment. He held a hand over his left upper chest in an effort to stem the flow of blood from the most serious stab wound. He closed his eyes and visualized the separated skin reconnecting and the blood no longer escaping. He felt the muscles inside his body searching out the other part of their torn tissue and reconnecting. Blood vessels sought out matching ends. The blood flow slowed.

  “Alwyn, answer your mother. This has to do with the nonsense in New York and Central Park. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Mother, please.”

  It had been long known that werewolves heal faster than their human cousin. His mother had taught Alwyn the visualizing technique years earlier when he was but a boy. There were times it was not wise to be seen in a human emergency room. Doctors who witnessed wounds heal seemingly before their eyes asked questions and wanted laboratory tests conducted. Questions that couldn’t be answered and lab tests that could not be conducted.

  Werewolves could be and had been killed by means other than silver bullets and or blades. If a heart is cut out of a body, regardless the metal of the blade, the body dies. A man or wolf trapped underwater without air dies. Pure and simple. But, if given a chance to heal, the wolf could and would repair and return stronger than before.

  Armed with that knowledge, over the ages, werewolf mothers prepared their young. Part of that preparation was the ability to visualize healing. Blessed with a natural ability to heal faster than a mere human, the wolf who could visualize and mentally direct the healing process was that much the stronger. Alwyn sought to calm center of his mind and think of health.

  “Alwyn, answer you mother. This mess is caused by the FBI woman who showed up here, isn’t it?”

  Interrupted, Alwyn opened his eyes and looked at the back of his mother’s head. Her hair blew, and her nose was lifted above the windshield. He knew she was scenting his attackers.

  “Mother, I don’t think Andee set this up. It’s not her fault. She asked for my help, and I agreed.”

  “Andee now, is it? I knew that woman was up to no good when she showed up at the door. I should have sent her packing then. Wait until I see her again.”

  “Mother, when and if you see her again, you’ll say nothing of this.”

  “Alwyn, you...”

  “I know, Mother, I am your son, and you love me, and you want to care for me. Fine, drop all this and let me focus on healing. I know you’re huntin them, and I will need my strength.”

  For the next several minutes, Miranda focused on driving, Gennie continued to scent the attackers and Lloyd laid across the back seat and focused on healing.

  “Look,” he said, “three men were waiting for me, and as I crossed the lawn, they came at me. I’m pretty sure they were sent by a wolf who killed a man, a boy really, in the city. I think he is trying to take revenge for the Ferreira forfeit.”

  “That action was sanctioned,” Gennadiya murmured. “No one is allowed to seek retribution.”

  Alwyn grimaced when he smiled.

  “Maybe someone forgot to tell him, but there is a wolf on the wild, and it appears he has followed me home.”

  The mother turned in her seat and studied her son with eyes that fought to contain the rage she felt.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  He knew what she meant and nodded, “There is nothing wrong with me a few days’ rest won’t mend.”

  The mother smiled a thin-lipped smile, touched her son’s cheek, then turned back to face the front. She sat as tall as she could to hold her face above the windshield and catch the air rushing by the car.

  “Follow my directions,” she said to Miranda.

  Miranda glanced up, “Are you sure you can follow them?”

  Gennadiya looked at the daughter of her sister and gave her a wicked smile.

  “I have had the scent of Alwyn’s blood in my nostrils since the day he was born. They wear his blood now. I can follow them to hell. Drive faster.”

  Twenty minutes later, Gennadiya directed Miranda to pull into the gravel parking lot of a small single-story motel. It was the kind of place only used by those one step above broke and those not wanting to be found.

  “Pull up right there,” the older woman directed. “That is their car.”

  Miranda did and parked. Alwyn started to push himself into a position to get out of the car.

  “You stay here,” his mother directed.

  “I can…”

  “Stay,” his mother repeated. “Miranda and I will take care of this. We won’t be but a moment, and then we’ll get you home.”

  She turned to the redhead, “Come dear, we have work.”

  Chapter 9

  Three men were in the motel room. Two had removed their shirts and were applying ointments, gauze bandages and wraps to various parts of their bodies. The third had gone so far as to remove his pants and was wrapping his thigh where a knife wound had left him bleeding. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

  “I thought that was supposed to be an easy job,” he complained. “The bastard nearly killed me.”

  “Maybe you should have kept control of your knife,” offered one.

  “Getting stabbed with your own knife,” chimed the second. “How lame is that?”

  “Well,” said the first, “I just hope we got the job done. If he doesn’t die, we’ll have to go after him again. You know that, right?”

  “Only next time, if there is a next time, we take more men,” said the man with the cut leg.

  The second man without his shirt looked at his companion and shook his head, “If you want to take more men, it comes out of your cut. We won’t get paid more money.”

  Then he laughed and added, “Your cut. Get it? You almost lost your leg by your own knife and if we have to take more men, you get cut again. Get it?”

  Two of the three men broke into laughter, which was cut short at the sound of knocking at the door and a voice outside. A voice that dripped sexuality.

  “Oh, boys… Boys? I’m just a lost little girl looking for fun.”

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “Like I should know.”

  One man pulled a shirt over his head and walked to the door. He peeked through the security peep hole and saw the gorgeous redhead standing outside the door.

  “Come on, boys,” the woman pouted. “Let me in or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your door down.”

  She giggled.

  The man at the door turned back to the others.

  “You ain’t gonna believe this.”

  “What?”

  He grinned at his partners and opened the door. The woman stood framed in the doorway.

  “Hi boys,” she said, “you wanna party?”

  “With you, Red?”

  “No, not with me, silly,” she giggled. “With my friend.”

  The woman stepped aside, and a white wolf filled the doorway. It growled. It’s ears lay flat along its head. The men screamed and backed away. The one who had opened the door turned to run, but tripped on the end of the bed. He landed hard and rolled to his back. The wolf landed harder and took his breath. When he tried to scream not sound was managed. Frozen by fear, unable to breathe, his last thought was he didn’t know wolves had blue eyes. The animal ripped his throat out.

  The second man took two steps backwards before he remembered there was not a second exit. He had to go past the wolf, past the redhead and out the door. He
lowered his head, in the manner of the running back he used to be, and charged. The wolf was scrambling over the bed after the last of the three, so only the woman stood in his way. He was going to make it. There was no way she could stop him.

  Afterward, Miranda would boast to her uncle that her form had been perfect. She had watched the approach and at the exact distance, thrust forward with her entire body. Her left foot planted into the floor and turned slightly outward for maximum leverage. Her left thigh angled toward the rushing man, and she turned her body to bring the force of the planted foot and the tensed thigh into line with the right shoulder, arm, wrist and hand that ultimately struck the man’s nose.

  “My entire body was on the same angle,” she bragged.

  Her hand was held upright, fingers curled, so the blow struck with the heel of her hand against the base of the man’s nose. The force sheared off the cartilage and forced the tiny bone that formed the nose through the skull and into the brain. The man’s forward momentum carried him two more steps toward the door, but his head stopped at the point of impact. He ran out from under his head, fell to the floor, and landed on his back. He died so quickly, he felt no pain.

  “You should have seen me,” Miranda bragged. “I was as graceful as a dancer.”

  The third man was not so lucky. He watched his death approach. He had crawled into the corner of the room, curled up, and begged forgiveness. He promised, crossing himself in sincerity, he’d never hurt another person and swore he would leave the area. He had family in California.

  He screamed when the white wolf bit into his lower leg, crushed the bones with a jerk of its head and pulled the man from the corner. The man lay on his back, trapped between the bed and the wall. His leg was twisted and bloody, but the ache of injury was dulled by fear. He whimpered as the wolf stood over him and looked into his eyes.

  The last sound the man made was a muffled scream. It’s difficult to make sound without a throat, and his was in the white wolf’s jaws.

  Miranda stole a towel from the room, wet it and gave it to her aunt after the women climbed into the car. The older woman’s hair was messed, and her face stained with blood. She twisted the rearview mirror and used it to see where to apply the washing.

  “Are you guys okay?” Alwyn asked from the back seat as he squirmed to get more comfortable.

  “We’re fine,” his mother answered. “You would have been proud of your niece. She was fast and accurate.”

  “And you?” he asked his mother.

  She turned and looked at him.

  “I did what was needed to be done. Nothing more.”

  Gennadiya turned back to the front, looked at Miranda and, with a nod of her head, said, “Let’s go home.”

  Trakes walked into Hubbard’s office. She was angry, and it took all of her self-control not to show it to her supervisor. She had requested the meeting and told the man it was urgent. Still, he had kept her waiting fifteen minutes.

  “Sir,” she began, “I need to travel to upstate. Professor Alwyn Lloyd has been attacked, and he is injured.”

  “Are you now a nurse, Special Agent Trakes?”

  She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath.

  “No, sir, I am not a nurse. I am not going there to tend to his wounds. I’m going there to follow up on the professor’s attack and on the killings of three men in a motel not far from the campus where Lloyd was injured.”

  Hubbard squinted and blinked his eyes several times.

  “You think the two are connected?”

  She nodded.

  “I suspect they are not only connected, but I have a feeling the attacks are somehow connected to the killing in the alley last week.”

  Hubbard leaned forward. His gaze intensified.

  “And you told me that attack was somehow connected to the murder of the Ferreira boy in the park?”

  “Correct, sir.”

  He nodded.

  “I will have the paperwork done to release you a car from the pool.”

  “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

  He canted his head and frowned, asking, “How do you plan to get there? Are you going to hitchhike or take the bus?”

  “No, sir, the family is sending a chopper for me.”

  “A chopper? As in helicopter?”

  “Yes, sir. Miranda, Professor Lloyd’s assistant and niece, called me and gave me the news. She offered the family helicopter as a way to speed my arrival. I accepted their generous offer.”

  “And you just assumed I’d go along with this? Presumptuous, aren’t you?”

  She allowed the smallest of smiles as she replied, “No, sir. Sending me there to be a first-hand witness to the carnage is the correct move to make. I counted on you making the correct move, sir.”

  He studied her, and his expression told her he wasn’t sure if he believed her explanation. She kept her face neutral. At last, he nodded.

  “It’s good when the team agrees on an approach to the crime. Keep me in the loop, Agent Trakes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How soon will you be leaving?”

  “I need to run home, pack a bag, make sure my dog is taken care of, and then I’m gone.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I expect no more than two, maybe three days.”

  “I’ll have your lodging arranged. It will be ready for you by the time you leave. I’ll text the address of the motel to you.”

  She shook her head.

  “Again, that won’t be necessary sir. The Lloyds are a peculiar family. Last time, they demanded I stay with them, as their guest. I expect the same treatment, as they, more or less, invited me to follow up on this.”

  “You are maintaining your objectivity on this, I hope?”

  “Of course I am, sir. You know, as do I, we are expected to follow the leads where they take us, until we close in on the perpetrator. I am doing no less.”

  Hubbard nodded, “And the NYPD and Detective Meeker? Where do they fit in?”

  “I called Meeker, told him of the attack and being outside of his jurisdiction, he is grateful we are able to follow up for him. He too believes the attacks are all connected.”

  Hubbard smiled and looked at her, “Agent Trakes, let it never be said I am anything but a team player, but it does feel good to be out in the lead for a change. Does it not?”

  She joined him in smiling, “Indeed it does sir. Indeed, it does.”

  She started toward the door. He called her, and she turned back to face him.

  “I’m not one for giving gratuitous compliments, Agent Trakes, but you are doing a good job.”

  She nodded her head.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Lloyd wore baggy white cotton pants that tied with a string in the front and an oversized white pullover. His feet were bare, and his hair uncombed.

  Andee stood in the doorway to his apartment, fighting the feelings of attraction racing through her and wishing she had taken her travel bag to the house before coming the check on him.

  “What are you doing here?” he greeted her?

  She had on faded blue jeans that fit snug and accentuated her curves. Her flat brown shoes added to the casual look. Her shirt was blue, and her jacket a two-button blazer. Her dark hair was tied back at the nape of her neck. As always, her issued firearm, a Glock chambered to fire .40 caliber rounds, rested snug against her right kidney.

  He immediately regretted the tone of his voice and the challenge in his words. He had not meant them in the way they sounded, but the woman surprised him.

  Her smiled wilted.

  “You requested to see me,” she snapped in anger. “I was told to hurry, and come directly here. You even sent your helicopter.”

  He shook his head.

  “I made no such request.”

  They studied each other, both now feeling foolish. In unison, they agreed, “Miranda.”

  They smiled.

  “Please,” Alwyn said as he stepped aside, �
��please come in.”

  He moved stiffly, and Andee saw the bruising around his eyes and along the side of his face.

  “How bad were you hurt?” she asked as she stepped into the apartment. As she waited for him to answer, she scanned the room.

  The front room was big and the ceiling tall. It was painted white, which she thought fit the professor. The place was relaxed, with overstuffed furniture patterned in pale colors. It was a place to relax, a place to shed the cares of the world, even for a few hours. Alwyn noticed her interest and said, “The doorway there leads to the two bedrooms. “

  “The doorway there,” he continued, pointing to another hallway, “leads into the kitchen, the dining area and a small balcony overlooking the countryside.”

  “I’m sorry,” Andee blushed. “I asked how you are, and then tune you out to examine your digs. I’m not usually that rude.”

  He laughed.

  “And I don’t usually greet visitors by challenging their intentions. I think we’re even.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “By the way,” he said, “I am on the mend.”

  With a nod, she indicated the bruising, “How much worse than that?”

  He looked at her and debated how to answer, then decided to tell the truth. He raised his shirt, and she saw the four knife wounds along the left side of his body. They started at his ribs, with the lowest a slice about four inches long. Above it, also a slicing wound, was a cut about two inches long and then just under his arm was the third, about three inches long. Below his collar bone was a stab wound.

  In addition to the cuts, his chest and stomach were multiple shades of blues, purples, yellows and browns. The bruising and abrasions marked him from belt line to collar bone.

  She winced.

  “That looks ugly. They hurt you,” she stated.

  “They tried.”

  “Why? Why would you be attacked?”

  “We live in dangerous times,” he shrugged. “Someone wanted to mug me, I guess.”

  She stepped close to him. He could smell her soap. She touched the wounds on his chest. He fought the shiver her touch caused him.

  “I don’t see stitches or staples in these injuries. Didn’t you go to the hospital?”