Dark Moon Magick [The Moon Series: Book 4]

by Rose Marie Wolf

  Glen couldn't help it. He had to laugh. “Yeah I've noticed. There is something about her though, I have to admit. It can't all be bad."

  "Oh God, Glen, don't tell me you have the hots for her...” Rose stared at him in undisguised horror.

  "I'm not saying I'm going to try to get into her pants, but hey, a guy can daydream. That's all I'm saying."

  "You are such a male.” Rose rolled her eyes and made a face at him. “Seriously, though, I don't like her and I think you should stay away from her."

  "Picking up on something?” Glen arched a brow. Rose wasn't psychic by any means, save for a precognitive dream now and again, like many other people.

  "I don't know, but I'd rather keep you safe than be sorry about it later."

  "All right, Rose.” Glen grinned. She could tell he didn't really believe her, but she couldn't argue with him on it. Her headache was coming back. “I'll be careful around her, promise."

  "Yeah, just remember you have other promises that you need to keep too,” she warned him sternly. She couldn't help but smile though, when Glen flashed his trademark boyish grin.

  "Hey, not a problem, just as long as you keep your promises to me.” He pointed at her uneaten salad. “You haven't eaten anything all day. Finish it."

  "Yes, father.” Rose stuck her tongue out childishly at him and Glen laughed.

  "Good to see you in a better mood.” He gave her a one armed hug and a kiss on top of her head. “I've got to see Davis about something. I'll see you later.” He left the room in two quick strides.

  "You're not sticking me with the cleanup again,” she shouted after him. She heard his laughter from the foyer, but he didn't answer.

  She sighed now that he was out of the room and dropped the façade. She wasn't in a better mood, she was in a worse one, but she couldn't let him know. Her head pounded once again with the sinus headache and her heart hurt.

  Having Jason's memory brought up again only made her realize how much she missed him. Her dream and Nola's questions didn't help any. She felt the familiar stab of pain in her chest known as heartbreak. At the same time, she felt the baby push against her stomach. Suddenly, she felt ill, very ill.

  With all current thoughts of Jason melting away, she ran out of the kitchen and into the nearest bathroom to throw up.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Five

  No sooner had the room faded into darkness, Jason Barnett awoke to find himself in the white cotton coolness of a hotel bed. His breath came out in huge gasps and sweat plastered strands of his hair to his forehead and neck. His sheet was a tangled mess around him. He wrenched it away from his body, tearing the fabric easily in his haste. Once he freed himself from it, he bolted out of the bed.

  "Goddamn it.” He ran a shaking hand through his unwashed short hair, making it stand on spikes. “Not again."

  No matter how many dreams he had, they still shocked the living hell out of him. They came more frequently and became more real. He saw things, real things, things that had happened and things that might happen. He rarely dreamed nonsense anymore. There always seemed to be a meaning behind them.

  Just who was the red-haired woman in his dream? Why had they been at the PRDI? More importantly, why had Rose been there?

  Seeing her after all those months awoke something within him, something primal. He had thought of her, missed her, but he kept those thoughts from the forefront of his mind. They had no place there, with the rest of his raging thoughts. His psychic powers were growing; his dreams were proof enough of that.

  But Rose ... oh, she still looked beautiful. She had done something with her hair, cut it shorter than he was used to, but still, she was a vision. However, the words of the red-haired woman burned him.

  So sad...

  Rose was sad.

  The decision to leave her hadn't been an easy one. He wrestled with it for days before he met her at Claire's memorial service. She was just leaving when he saw her on the sidewalk. He pulled his Camaro over, stepped out, and did the hardest thing he ever had to do. He hadn't been able to look at her when he left. The tears in her eyes spoke volumes and he couldn't bear to hear them. So he went quickly, not looking back.

  He disappeared from town that night. Taking what little possessions he needed and a nice wad of cash from their joint bank account—money Claire had left them upon her death—he took the Camaro and split. He tried to tell himself the only reason he left was to find out more about himself but it wasn't the only reason.

  It had been about eight months since he had been on his own, drifting, searching. For the first few weeks, he tried to ignore his growing impulses. He put them out of his mind, risking enormous headaches. Visions would come and go, turned on by a single touch, or no touch at all. He saw flashes of things he didn't understand, people he didn't know.

  Jason learned to repress the visions, stifle them before they really began, though it caused him a lot of pain in the end. It was worth it not to see what he saw. But the dreams ... he hadn't figured out a way to stop them yet.

  He went to the bathroom and did what he needed to, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He had lost weight since he had been gone, but then again, a sporadic appetite did that to people.

  Not to mention a constant worry that he was never going to find out how to stop these visions and dreams, these feelings. The nagging psychic voice still taunted him some days. If anything, he had made it stronger, not stopped it.

  He turned the water on and washed his face. He cupped the water in his hands and washed it over his head. It dripped down his face, but he didn't wipe it away. Again, Jason stared at himself. His bright blue eyes were rimmed in red and looked very tired. He wanted nothing but to sleep, if only for a few hours, undisturbed without dreams.

  He doubted he'd get that.

  Drying his hands on one of the hotel provided towels, he returned to the main room. It was dark out, night, but Jason could stay here no longer. He dressed quickly in his jeans and a button up shirt and threw his boots on in record time. There was very little to pack and it took him less than ten minutes to have everything ready. Throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder, Jason left without looking back.

  He couldn't wait for the elevator so he took the stairs two steps at a time. The lobby of the hotel was brightly lit and a bored looking clerk sat behind the desk. She watched a small television that blared out a news program, while she popped chewing gum in her mouth. She lifted her dull eyes when Jason approached.

  "Checking out?” she asked in a lazy voice. He handed over the keycard without a word and she rolled her eyes as she accessed the computer. In a few minutes he was checked out and gone before she turned back to her television program.

  The Camaro's engine roared as he gunned it loudly in the parking lot. The tires spun, squealing piercingly on the pavement. He was gone from the lot seconds later, leaving the asphalt smoking behind.

  Like so many times before, he had no direction other than what his gut told him. He listened to instinct and his psychic impulses and turned the Camaro to the right. Ahead lay a forlorn stretch of road. Lights gleamed far in the distance. Red tail-lights burned on the horizon and he headed toward them.

  He turned up the radio and listened as hard rock blared through the speakers. The sound was often comforting, drowning out his thoughts. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to remember.

  The last dream puzzled him. It had seemed so real, not a dream at all. Who was that woman? Why had she been there? Why had she gone to Rose's room?

  With a shake of his head, he pushed the thoughts away and reminded himself not to think of it. Thinking about it got him in trouble. Thinking led to pain. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he drove on.

  Being alone these past months reminded Jason how it had been before he settled down with Rose. He had been a wanderer, going from town to town, place to place. He never stayed too long in one spot. Now, he was repeating that life, except this time he had mo
ney, a car and a wife waiting for him at home.

  "Damn it.” Even when he tried, he couldn't force her out of his head. He hissed out a breath and accelerated the engine. As much as he missed her or thought about her, he couldn't go back. Every second, every minute meant more miles put between them.

  There was no way he was going back. Not now. There was so much he had to discover, so much pain he had to deal with.

  He knew he would find out more about himself, about his powers out here. Though logically, the PRDI seemed the best place, it wasn't. Too much shit had happened there. He was sure the place was cursed. Not that he had anything against Glen, the Head of the place—he just preferred not having werecreatures, vampires, psychics and everything supernatural related on file where anyone could access them. The PRDI was good for helping others and he owed them a lot for taking Rose and Glen in when they were children, but it wasn't for him. He would rather just steer clear of it all.

  The PRDI was what had gotten Simon involved. Having stolen some of the files during the PRDI's early days, he used them to kill other werewolves. Targeting them viciously, they didn't stand a chance.

  And the PRDI had done nothing to stop it. It still burned him that they hadn't even warned their students and members.

  Rose's file had been among the ones stolen and Simon had used it to his advantage. He quickly became obsessed with her and set into motion a series of events that threatened them with each turn. He had killed former acquaintances of hers and, with Rose uncertain about her sleepwalking habits she almost believed she had been responsible.

  Then a hunter named Marcus Brown, an ex-detective, cornered Rose about it and tried to kill her. Defending herself, Rose had no choice but to kill him. When Jason heard about it, and found Rose near dead from an almost fatal bullet wound, he saw red. He vowed to keep her safe, no matter what.

  So the decision had been made. He had taken her to the PRDI. She should have been safest there, with Glen and her mentors. But what he hadn't counted on was Simon and his hunters tracking them down. It was only a matter of hours before they found them and raided the safe house. So many people had been killed, Rose had been kidnapped, and Jason had been left for dead.

  Then years later, even after several new security devices had been implemented, Claire Hennessy had been killed when Simon had somehow gotten in again.

  With all the things that had happened, it was no wonder why he hated the place. The PRDI was cursed, as far as Jason was concerned and he was not going back there, not even to learn about who—and what—he was. He would be damned if he went back there again.

  So he was on his own with it and that suited him just fine.

  Right after leaving Rose, he drove for hours until he arrived at the old abandoned warehouse where he and Simon had fought tooth and nail. Being there jogged his memory and with it, strong emotions.

  His newfound ability to have visions gave him some clarity. After touching the ground outside, he had seen the female werewolf—a redhead—helping a battered and bloodied Simon after he had been thrown through a second story window. Through his visions, he saw how he had survived and it boiled his blood to think on it.

  If only he had made sure Simon was dead that night...

  Pulling himself out of his memories, Jason shook his head. Now wasn't the time to dwell on Simon. He had done that once, thought of nothing but him, and it had ruined everything. Simon was really dead this time, Jason was sure. He wasn't coming back. There was no need to think of him anymore.

  It still brought to mind questions that needed answers. He had to find out why these psychic flashes kept coming to him. He knew he was part psychic—at least from what his late father told him—because of his mother. She had been a powerful woman.

  But she was dead. He wouldn't get any answers that way.

  Caught between a rock and a hard place, not knowing where to go, what to do, who to talk to, he was once again going on his gut instinct.

  It was getting tiring.

  Ahead, a stoplight flashed intermittently and Jason slowed to a crawl. The intersection was busy. As he waited for his turn, he turned down the radio, and called on the nagging psychic voice to guide him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Left.

  There might've been a time before when he would've turned his nose up at these impulses and ignored them. He knew better now. More than once, these impulses had led him in the right direction, without hesitation, he flipped his turn signal and took his turn in the intersection.

  Left it was.

  Pushing all thoughts out of his mind for the hundredth time, he cranked up the stereo and put his foot on the gas. He didn't know where he would end up until he got there.

  He passed several cars, accelerating dangerously down the highway. The road ahead of him was clear and he let out a breath. Just a long stretch of road between him and whatever lay ahead. He settled into his seat, relaxed and drove.

  Help me.

  The voice was like a sudden scream, right in his head. He hit the brakes. The car's rear end lurched forward as it skidded. Jason fought to keep control of the car as it swerved. The tires screamed as the Camaro finally came to a stop on the shoulder, inches from slamming into a guardrail. Cars honked as they passed him.

  "Fuck.” Jason slammed his hand on the steering wheel. What the hell was that? He let out a few deep breaths.

  "All right, I get the fucking idea.” He eased his foot off the brake and onto the gas. Checking his mirrors, he pulled back onto the road proper and continued on.

  He had never had anything like that happen to him before. The only voice he had heard inside his head had been his own, and those damn psychic impulses. Maybe he really had lost it this time. He was hearing strange voices—that was never a good sign.

  Jason drove once again, pushing the thoughts out of his head. Strange voices or not, he wasn't going to let anything get to him. He was past all that.

  Help me.

  It hit him full force again, but this time he didn't act rashly. He resisted the urge to hit the brakes again, and instead pulled the Camaro to the side of the road.

  "Shit.” He lowered his head to the steering wheel. Pain blinded him as he heard the voice again. It resonated in his mind, like a terrible scream. It was full of desperation. It sliced at his heart.

  Help me ... please ... help us.

  "Stop it!” He yelled aloud, but it only made his head hurt even more. The pain began to subside and the voice was gone. Jason gasped for breath. His chest hurt, badly. What the hell was going on?

  He had very little time to think on it when another voice interrupted.

  Drive.

  He readily recognized the voice as his own. The psychic nagging was right. He needed to drive. He waited a few minutes though, collecting his resolve and taking a few deep breaths. When he was ready, he once again put the car into drive and pulled out from the side of the road.

  With fierce determination, he drove fast. The growing gut impulse he had was strong, very strong, and he knew better than to ignore it. But he couldn't help but feel that the strange psychic call for help was somehow related to this psychic pull.

  He wasn't looking forward to what it might be, but he was sure as hell anxious to get it over with.

  * * * *

  * * * *

  Dawn was just on the horizon, the sky lightening with the colors of the day. Orange and red blossomed on the treetops and Jason watched the sky, feeling a bitter weight sink into his chest.

  The building before him was huge, even larger than the PRDI and definitely more ominous looking, especially with dawn rising red behind it. Iron gates barred the driveway so he couldn't get in.

  This was it and he knew it. It had taken him hours to get here and he didn't even know where ‘here’ was. The psychic tingle had grown very strong as he neared, though, and became unbearable as he pulled to the side of the road near the place. He sat in the Camaro for the longest time, just staring at the place.
/>
  There was no sign, no indication that the place was inhabited. The windows appeared boarded up. The lawn was yellow and dry and shrubs once lining the driveway were dead and brown.

  What was this place and why had he been brought here?

  Jason listened, trying to will the strange voice to come back, but there were no more calls for help, no more pleas. He felt a little disheartened about it. He was here, but now what?

  He stepped out of the car and slipped off his leather jacket, as the night was warm. He tossed it into the car and shut the door slowly, softly so it did not sound like a gunshot in the dark. Thinking of his gun, he felt the steel at his waist. It was secured in its holster and ready if needed. He hoped he wouldn't have to.

  Jason had taken only two steps when he felt a tightening in his chest and it wasn't just the weight of his situation. It was pure panic. He stopped, leaned forward. His heart throbbed, pounding against his ribs. He couldn't breathe.

  Oh God, what's happening?

  He stumbled forward, bracing himself as he hit the iron fence. He leaned against the rusted bars, gripping them tightly. A wave of sickness washed over him. He was going to puke.

  But he didn't. He fought for control, taking hard, ragged breaths. His head swam, burned, ached. It almost felt as if it were splitting in two. He cried out in pain and pressed his head against the bars, seeking any comfort.

  The nausea began to lessen and Jason could breathe again. The metal felt cool against his forehead and he remained there a moment, curling his fingers around the spokes of the fence. His entire body felt tense, as if the wolf were pressing to get out but couldn't. But the wolf wasn't there. This was something else.

  Not for the first time in his life, he wished he hadn't been given such a cursed gift. He hissed out another breath and pulled away from the bars. He looked up at the building and wondered again why he had been brought here, what this place was. He scoured the area for a sign, a mailbox, something to give him an idea, but there was nothing.