by Mandy Rosko
Westley shook his head, still hiding his face and saying nothing as his shoulders shook.
"Gordon's dead," Fanny replied. Mike nearly jumped. Dead?
Chris snapped his head up, no doubt his dragon hearing allowing him to pick up the statement now that he wasn't in the back of the truck with the wind blowing in his ears.
Mike's blood froze. Somehow he figured that it should have been Anne calling to give him the news. Unless she was unable to do so. The squeezing in his chest started up again.
"Where's Anne?" He demanded.
"Bill's pretty hurt here."
"I didn't ask about him, I asked about Anne," Mike snapped. Icicles formed spikes that stabbed the insides of his chest as she dodged the question, torturing his nerves with horrific possibilities.
"We don't know where she is. Hadrian came and took her.”
Rage boiled inside of him. With no other outlet, he took it out on the voice over the phone. "Took her? What do you mean took her? She has werewolf strength and he's an aging man with limited powers, he couldn't have just forced her."
There was no hesitation on Fanny's side. "You're right. She offered to go with him so he would stop his rampage."
"Rampage?" Bill told them his power was limited, fading because of the curse he placed, and the sun was beating down too powerfully for Hadrian to call any shadows. "He's not supposed to be able to rampage anything."
"Because he’s losing his magic?"
Mike's breath caught in his throat. Westley and Chris turned to stare at him as they listened in on the conversation. Mike ignored them.
He wouldn't beat around the bush and he was tired of playing games. "Brock told you.”
Not a question.
“Yes," Fanny said. "We know you're not really the first werewolf." Her tone held an accusing hint.
Mike bristled, ready to yell into the receiver when Westley snatched the phone from him, wiping his face on his sleeve as he spoke into the receiver.
"I'm coming back. Keep everyone calm until I get there."
He flipped the phone shut and all but threw it into the compartment above his head. Chris jumped back into the back of the truck before Westley did his sharp U-turn. Tires screaming again as they sped off.
He glared at Mike. "Don't even think of telling me that was illegal."
"Wasn't going to. I thought you didn't want to be pack master."
Westley gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "I don't but, with my father dead and no one else ready, there's nothing I can do about it."
Mike sympathized with him for losing his father, and for Chris, who sulked in the back for losing the one chance they might have to elope. However, his primary thoughts were with Annie.
Hadrian took Anne because of him, the supposed first werewolf.
Wasn’t hard to figure out why. The crazed man thought she was Luna. Bill said there was a slight resemblance.
If anything happened to her because that lunatic thought she was somebody she wasn't, Mike would never forgive himself.
***
Anne's hand slid under the covers in a search for Mike. Her brow came together when her fingers found nothing.
Where is he? We’re supposed to be sharing a bed.
The second the thought left her, she snapped upright. The room was dark, would have been too dark despite the moonlight that struggled to reach her room, but Anne's eyes adjusted quickly.
A movement to her left caught her attention. Lace curtains blew in the gentle breeze through an open, floor-to-ceiling, arched window. The moon and stars outside didn’t have their usual glow.
No clock hung on the wall or glowed beside her bed. She couldn't tell what time it was, though she didn't feel like she slept long enough for the sun to go down.
Her skin pricked. Nothing in the room was familiar. She threw the covers off of herself and gasped at her clothes. Her jeans were gone. Her chest no longer bare from having thrown her shirt and bra away.
They were replaced with an elegant gown that resembled nothing she had in her closet.
She could tell it was white and in the style of the Halloween costume she wore as a little girl when she wanted to be a medieval princess.
A square embroidered neckline clung tightly to her braless breasts. Her sleeves were tight, fitting around her arms before flaring out dramatically with enough material to make a few miniskirts, and a brown leather belt that hung limply at her waist accented her figure.
She was no expert on medieval clothing, but she was certain that no one from a thousand years ago ever bothered wearing a white gown like the one she wore. Wouldn't they get dirty too fast?
Her breath snapped out of her throat. Oh shit. What if this was a wedding gown? It was white, so it made sense, but Anne didn't even know what a medieval wedding gown looked like.
If he thinks I'm going to marry him then he's out of his mind.
The most uncomfortable fact about her apparel was that she could feel that she wore no panties. That alone made her feel naked and exposed through the tight layers.
Anne's face heated. She swore then that when she saw that weasel she would make him regret taking her clothes off and dressing her in this strange get-up.
Anne adjusted herself so that her legs hung over the side of the bed. She didn't bother rising to her feet. The long gown made the hairs on the back of her neck stand with fear of the possibility of tripping over it and landing on her face.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes instead.
I need to find out where I am. The second I know where I am, the second I can get out of here. Then she’d shred the gown before she made a run for it just to teach Hadrian a lesson about dressing unconscious women.
She hoped the dress was expensive.
Not a sound greeted her ears. No smell tickled her nose. Almost as though she were sitting in a void.
Frightened, Anne snapped her eyes open to confirm that she was indeed surrounded by material things and not in some strange Limbo.
The curtains still moved in the breeze, a shadow jumped in the corner. She was fine. She had time. No one knew she was awake and planning to escape.
She closed her eyes again, ignoring the unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach as she strained her ears. She searched for the sounds of cars, tires zooming against asphalt.
She waited until sweat gathered on her forehead.
She brought her hand up to cover her mouth. She needed to keep everything down, take deep breaths and remain calm.
It was hard. Her panic made her stomach muscles jump like a rabid kangaroo.
Nothing. Forget the road. There was nothing within miles of this place. No crickets chirped, no owls hooted, and no squirrels jumped in the trees.
There was no breeze, either. Anne couldn’t hear or feel a breeze against her skin even though the window was so close and the curtains still flitted around.
The answer made her want to be sick all over again. She didn't close her eyes and feel like she was in Limbo just because she was going crazy. She actually was in Limbo.
"The Limbo of Shadows," she said, remembering the words from Bill’s stories. If she were to look out the window, she'd see a terrain that looked normal enough, only shrouded in darkness.
The shadow she saw jumping were not a trick of some far away light reflecting on something either. It was a shadow warrior like the ones that attacked her family and tried to kill Mike in the bar.
The curtains were not moving because of some weak breeze either. It was another shadow man.
The hairs on the back of her neck pricked again, this time with anger. They were her prison guards.
The oak door at the far end of the room burst open. A light so bright invaded her chamber that Anne had to lift her hand to shield her eyes. The shadows screeched and escaped the room.
She couldn't keep the hope from her voice. "Mike?"
"Nay, ‘tis I."
Her heart sank as the almost womanish voice st
omped all over her hopes.
Her eyes adjusted. Hadrian, standing in his usual black attire, looked down at her with nothing less than adoration in his eyes.
The moonstone shone brightly in his right hand and, with a start, she knew that the stone was the thing that lit up the room like a small star. It chased the shadows from the room and gave the appearance of daylight.
"I hope you don't mind the change in garments. I thought you may prefer something more familiar."
Anne growled. "I want my clothes back." It didn’t matter if she didn’t have a shirt or bra to go with the pants. As long as she could wear the jeans under the dress to make up for the lack of panties, she didn’t care.
Hadrian's face fell. "Forgive me. I should have asked for your permission before burning them."
He took three steps towards the bed and sat down next to her. Unhindered when she inched away from him, he threw his hand out and snatched her wrist.
With a strength that made a lie out of his seemingly gentle disposition, he clutched her wrist with tight fingers and forced her hand to reach out.
He dropped the moonstone into her palm and released her.
What?
She yanked her hand away from his, marveling at the red bruise his fingers left behind. The ball didn’t stop glowing, if anything it glowed brighter. He stared at her with the same adoration on his face, his eyes glazed as though looking beyond any of her imperfections to see what he wished to see.
He reached his hand out again, slower this time.
His knuckles brushed her cheek.
She slapped his hand away and stood, no longer caring if she tripped and made a fool of herself. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible. "Don't touch me!"
His lips quirked upwards as though she were playing a game with him. Anne held onto the moonstone with both hands, using it as a shield against him. It certainly seemed to protect against his shadow men, why not him as well?
"I have been searching for Edward for a millennia. It never occurred to me that you might choose to become human for his sake. I was unaware you could do that."
Anne shook her head. He’d said something like that before. Repeating himself couldn’t be a good sign. "I'm not Luna. My name is Antoinette. You made a big mistake here."
Again he looked at her as though he thought she were an ignorant child. "I am not shocked that you don't remember—"
Anne lost it. "I'm not Luna, you freak! My name is Anne! It's Anne!"
"Silence!"
His voice barged around the room like a crashing truck, shaking the walls. The quake traveled from her feet to her knees, threatening to buckle her. Anne closed her mouth. What she wouldn’t give to slash the man to pieces with her claws, or even go the old fashioned route and stab him with one of the daggers her grandfather collected.
Hadrian got to his feet and stepped toward her. Anne forced herself not to step back.
He reached his hands up and gripped her shoulders. Anne winced as his sharp fingernails dug at her flesh through the gown.
Hadrian stared her in the eyes, lowering one hand to grip the moonstone with her. "You are Luna. Once you remember, you will activate this stone and we'll go to your kingdom together."
Anne shivered as Hadrian threaded his thin fingers through her hair. "You will be a Goddess once more, and I will be your God."
SIXTEEN
Mike charged passed past Brock and Fanny, on a mission, moving like a rocket. He pushed open the door to Bill's room with the butt of his palm and stepped inside without an invitation.
Strange, the difference between the ways he was treated before he left compared to now. When these people thought he was the first werewolf of legend, they were ready to make him their new pack master.
Now that they knew the truth, their eyes followed him with the suspicious air of a trespasser. He idly wondered about the little girl with the Selena Gomez notebook, and whether or not she ripped up the autograph yet.
The pressure against his shoulder when he shoved pastsed Brock was proof of their switch in loyalties from Mike to Bill, or Edward, as he was really named. The true first werewolf.
Bill lay in bed, his arms above the covers that were tucked securely around his chest. His face made the pillow look like a dark shade of white.
Bill opened his eyes to see who had barged in. Mike jerked to a stop. The man's stare held him in place long enough for Brock to clap a hand on his shoulder and pull.
"Let him stay." Bill's body, while weak and frail in bed, released a strong voice that had the power to stop Brock's hand the way it stopped Mike's feet.
Brock grunted and released him, his eyes apologetic even though he said nothing to Mike.
Westley and Chris entered the room with him. No one protested Westley's presence or moved to halt him as he stepped toward the bed and sat in a vacant chair.
He reached out and took the old man's white hand into his. He held it as though the man in bed were his own grandfather. "Looks like you've been keeping something from us for a while."
Bill's pale lips lifted in a smile. "Everyone has a few little things they keep in the back of their closets."
Westley smiled back at the joke. It was just as weak as Bill's. "That's a pretty big thing to be hiding in your closet."
Westley released Bill's hand and slouched in his chair. Chris went to stand behind him, putting two supporting hands on his lover’s shoulders.
Bill reached his hand out and nudged Westley to sit straight again. "Did you go to see your father yet?"
Mike shifted his feet. He suddenly wished he'd let Brock and Fanny pull him from the room. Now that he watched the scene before him, he felt more like an interloper than a cop.
Westley shook his head. "I don't think I can handle seeing him yet. What about Annie?" He changed the subject. "You said Hadrian took her."
There was only one place Mike could think of that an aging warlock like Hadrian could take anyone. "The Shadow Land."
Annie said it was where he went during the day. Why not take her there?
All eyes snapped to him, as though they'd forgotten about him while in the company of their pack master and creator.
Bill's eyes sparkled. "Smart kid."
Mike stepped closer to the end of the bed and gripped the wooden frame. "I know you can go there. It’s how you escaped. Send me there."
"No."
"What?" Mike pulled back like he’d been punched. That was the last answer he expected. He figured the old man couldn't wait to send someone into the frying pan to pull out the girl he raised as his own.
Even Westley stared down at him with confused horror on his face.
"What?" Mike said again, growling the word this time.
"Wait a minute, you have the power to go there? To the Shadow World?" Westley asked, looking up at Chris for confirmation.
The dragon raised his hands. "Don't look at me. I don't know anything about your myths."
“But, why not send him?” Westley sputtered.
"You don't understand," Bill said, halting any further conversation from the pair. "Those things that attacked you were powerful enough on their own, in a world where light exists. In that world there is nothing; the sun never rises, there only exists enough light to cast shadows. Shadows that move, attack, and kill."
Bill paused. His hand reached to his chest, clutching it during a sharp intake of breath.
Fanny shoved past Mike. "You should be resting. No one should be in here."
She grabbed Mike's arm and, while she did not pull, she looked at him as though expecting him to follow before glaring at everyone else. "All of you, out."
Westley crossed his ankle over his knee, folded his arms, and glared back at Fanny. Behind him, Chris leaned against the head of the chair, also showing his lack of regard for the command.
"Since when do you think you have the power to order around your pack master?" Westley asked.
"When he decided he didn't want to be a pack master." F
anny shot back, this time she did give Mike's arm a little tug. When he didn’t move, she snapped, "Let's go!"
Westley slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair and shot to his feet. Shoulders straight, body tight. He looked ten feet tall. He stole her attention away from Mike.
"Get your hands off our guest and get out of this room, Fanny. Now!"
Even though he wasn't a werewolf, Mike still felt the power of Westley’s command rocketing from his voice. Fanny dropped Mike's arm as though it were diseased.
"That means you too, Brock," Westley growled.
The copper haired man nodded, turned, and left the room with more dignity than Fanny had when she finally turned her shocked face to the floor and walked out of the room.
Brock shut the door quietly behind him, leaving them in peace.
Good, Mike thought. If Westley had stayed silent Mike might have had a fight on his hands, and there was no way he was going down quietly against that tight faced woman or the redhead.
The room was silent for half a second before Mike turned into a cop again and confronted Bill. "Tell me exactly what you know about that place and what I can do to get you to send me there."
Bill eyed him carefully. "Light. You need a lot of light," he said. "The moonstone can produce enough light to create the appearance of daylight, but Hadrian took that with him." His eyes went down at the last part.
Mike turned his head to Westley. "Do you keep any powerful flashlights around here?"
"We have some lanterns. Those should shoot light out in all directions instead of a straight beam like a flashlight."
"Not enough," Bill said, taking in deep breaths and shaking his head. "A small amount of light only creates more shadows. You need something bigger."
"Like me." Chris's face lit up as he called the attention of the other three men in the room. "My scales are reflective, that should help when I send out fireballs big enough to burn anything that casts a shadow."
Westley gaped at him.
Chris slapped his shoulder. "Did you seriously think I was gonna let you go without me?"