Dark Moon Magick [The Moon Series: Book 4]

by Rose Marie Wolf

  "Davis is looking into it at the moment. I'll check up on him in a minute,” Glen broke in. Rose blinked at them, confused. Then her eyes widened in unspoken understanding. Cheyenne looked over to see Glen shrug, helplessly, almost as bad as a teenager caught sneaking out.

  "Are you telling me this wasn't an accident?” she asked in a soft tone. “Someone's trying to hurt me?"

  "We're not sure,” Glen started, but stopped when he saw the wide-eyed panic in his cousin's eyes. “At least, not yet."

  "We're not ruling anything out, so it could be a possibility. It could be anything,” Cheyenne added.

  "Oh, God.” Rose sat up a little more in bed. Cheyenne held a hand out to steady her. Rose almost doubled over. “I'm gonna be sick."

  Cheyenne helped her from the bed and walked her quickly to the bathroom. No sooner had Cheyenne lifted the toilet seat, Rose retched into the bowl.

  Like any good person, Cheyenne held Rose's dark hair back as she leaned over the bowl. She looked horrible as she knelt awkwardly with her unwieldy belly in the way. Her heart went out to her. She had been through so much in such a short amount of time.

  After being kidnapped by Simon the second time, Rose and Jason's relationship had fallen into extreme disrepair. Cheyenne didn't know the specifics of the encounter, save for the fact that all of them—Glen, Rose, Jason and Davis—had returned covered in blood and wounds of varying severity. Whatever it was had been bad. No one had spoken of it and Cheyenne hadn't asked. It seemed better that way, safer.

  Shortly after that, they buried Claire and had her memorial service. It was right before the memorial when Rose took Cheyenne aside and asked her a desperate favor: the purchase of a pregnancy test.

  Cheyenne agreed, buying the test and smuggling it around in her jacket until the service was over. She pondered about it, but didn't linger on the subject too long once she saw the desperate uncertainty in Rose's eyes. A few days later, Rose had called to tell her she was definitely pregnant—a visit to Dr. Nesbitt confirmed as much.

  By then, Jason was long gone and he didn't even know his wife was pregnant. Without having any contact with their alpha male—former alpha male, Cheyenne thought heatedly, a leader should stick with his pack no matter what—no one had the chance to tell him of the pregnancy.

  Rose didn't want him to know, she had told Cheyenne. It was better off he didn't. At the time, the words struck Cheyenne wrong, but she kept her mouth shut about it. It was Rose's business, not hers.

  It still didn't stop her from being concerned and worried.

  Rose lurched forward over the toilet, dry heaving finally. She moaned and closed the lid. Cheyenne helped her off the floor and seated her on the edge of the toilet seat. The sound of the flush filled the bathroom. Cheyenne said nothing, contemplating her thoughts as she turned to the tap and let the water warm. She wet a wash cloth and wrung it out, passing it to Rose.

  Grateful, the pregnant woman took the cloth and wiped her face and mouth.

  "I'm sorry,” she said, once she was able to speak again.

  "Hey, don't sweat it.” Cheyenne leaned against the sink, her back to the wall. She crossed her arms and offered Rose a smile. “It's part of the whole pregnancy deal. I dig it."

  "I don't,” Rose muttered and tossed the wash cloth onto the sink. “Help me back into the bedroom."

  Cheyenne obliged, taking hold of Rose's arm for support as she waddled ungracefully into the room. She eased down onto the bed and fell back against the pillows. Glen watched them from across the room, seated now in Rose's desk chair.

  He leaned forward, bringing his hands together to form a steeple in the middle of his forehead. He exhaled deeply and leaned back. His face appeared grave, age lines more evident on his face. He looked older than his thirty-something years. Cheyenne raised an eyebrow at him.

  Before she had a chance to say anything, Glen rose and approached the bed. “You should get some rest,” he said.

  "Looks like you need more rest than I do,” Rose answered, but she sounded tired too.

  Despite his exhausted façade, Glen cracked a smile. “I'll be fine. You, on the other hand, have a kid to worry about, so get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

  "It's only the middle of the afternoon. How long do you think I'm going to sleep?"

  Glen said nothing and exchanged a furtive glance with Cheyenne as Rose closed her eyes and settled into her pillows. Cheyenne exhaled silently.

  "Dr. Nesbitt thinks you should get a lot of rest, to help with the healing,” she explained. Rose opened her clear blue eyes and stared at her.

  "I'm healing just fine,” she blinked. “I always do."

  "I know, Rose, it's just ... different this time.” Cheyenne settled herself on the edge of the bed and smoothed back a corner of the bedspread. “You have a baby to take care of now, and that fall was really bad."

  Rose stared at her blankly for a moment before her face softened with resignation and understanding. She sighed.

  "Yeah, I know,” she answered quietly. Her eyes seemed heavy and she closed them again. “Do you really think someone is trying to hurt me?"

  "We don't know.” Cheyenne gave a reassuring smile she hoped didn't look forced. “We're working on it. Don't worry about a thing and get as much sleep as you can. That baby needs you to be at your best."

  Rose gave a wan smile and closed her eyes. Cheyenne remained at her side, watching her.

  Glen crossed the room and brushed by her to plant a kiss on his cousin's forehead. She didn't open her eyes, but she smiled.

  "Cheyenne's right,” he said softly, “And so is Deborah. You need your rest to heal properly. Sleep all you want. I'll see you in the morning."

  Rose mumbled something sleepily, but neither of them caught it. Glen stood back, touching Cheyenne gently on the shoulder. Rose was already asleep, her chest rising and falling with slow, deep breaths.

  Cheyenne rose from the edge of the bed and followed Glen out of the room. She flicked off the light and shut the door quietly behind her. She turned to find Glen waiting for her.

  They walked together in silence, reaching the part of the hall where it opened into the foyer. Davis was in the process of cleaning the broken wood from the floor. They paused, watching him as he awkwardly handled the broom and dustpan single handedly.

  Cheyenne hooked her fingers into her belt loops, thinking about Rose and the baby and her close call. She wondered just how much of it was an accident or not, if Rose would be able to handle things in time. She didn't need the added stress. Her pregnancy was tough enough it seemed. She shook the thoughts away and turned to Glen.

  "Do you still want me to get the supplies tomorrow?"

  Glen blinked, considering. “Yeah, I still want you go to. We need a lot of stuff and I can't hold off on it any longer. I think Rose should stay home though."

  "I agree. She doesn't need the added stress."

  "I can send Davis with you."

  Cheyenne held a hand up in defense and shook her head. “No, I can handle it myself. I'm a big girl."

  Glen nodded and glanced back. Davis was finished with the sweeping and he turned to face them. His face looked grave and drawn. “I better talk to him and see what he found out, if anything. If it was deliberate—"

  Cheyenne clamped a hand on his firm shoulder as he trailed off. She looked at his worry-lined face and into his eyes. “Let's hope it's not,” she said softly, praying her words sounded more hopeful than she felt.

  * * * *

  * * * *

  Rose awoke sometime in the early morning, before the sun was even up. She sat up in the darkness and allowed her night vision to adjust before pushing back the suffocating bedspread. The pressure on her bladder was pure torment.

  She climbed to her feet, gingerly stepping across the carpet. The bathroom was too far away, but she reached it in record time. She settled down to do what she needed, leaning forward. Her ankles were swollen and red. Pregnancy was horrible. She wouldn't complain
if she never was pregnant again.

  Once done and she had flushed, Rose stood awkwardly to wash her hands. When she glanced up, she was shocked to see a skeleton staring back at her. She was even more shocked to find the skeleton was her.

  She wasn't surprised she looked horrible. Everyone had been telling her, in their own roundabout way, that she looked like shit. She had been feeling worse. There was something wrong with her, as much as she hated to admit. She was sick. The nausea, the pains, the dizziness—it couldn't be just pregnancy symptoms. There was something very much wrong with her.

  Rose leaned forward, grabbing hold of the sink's edge for support. Her check up with Dr. Nesbitt had revealed no abnormalities, save for the few the doctor had mentioned. Rose sniffed, dismayed to find her nose still stuffed. Her head hurt from the accompanying sinus headache. She grabbed tissues from the counter and blew her nose. It did little to help. She still couldn't smell anything.

  As she threw the tissues away, she caught her reflection once again.

  "What's wrong with me?” she asked herself, but the mirror offered no response. She looked down at her grotesque belly and ran her hands over it.

  The baby...

  Whatever was wrong with her had something to do with the baby, she knew that much. How had Dr. Nesbitt not seen it with her psychic scan? There was something seriously wrong.

  As if the baby understood her thoughts, it kicked against her palm. Rose frowned and let her hand drop. She could still feel the baby squirming around within her and she felt a wave of nausea hit again.

  This child was alive and Rose felt a sudden and fierce determination to keep it safe, no matter what. For the first time during her pregnancy, she felt a connection with the baby growing inside her. Everyone's concern for her wellbeing was not just for her, but for her baby. With a pang of shame, she realized how stubborn she had been not to listen to them. The fall had made her realize that this child—whether Simon's or Jason's—was as much hers as the father's.

  It didn't matter the paternity. It was still hers and Rose wasn't going to let that stand in her way. Simon's or Jason's, this baby was going to grow up with a loving mother and a pack to protect and care for it.

  Rose's emotions took an abrupt turn toward anger as she thought of Jason. Father or not, he had a duty to her. The anger melted away almost instantly into all too familiar sadness when she realized he may never come back, may never know of the baby that may be his.

  The swirling emotions made the nausea come back and Rose leaned forward over the sink, once more fighting to catch her breath. She needed to sit.

  Carefully, she edged herself back to the toilet and sat, leaning forward to rest her head between her knees—or as close to them as she could get—to lessen the lightheadedness.

  She had to be strong—if not for her, for the baby. After a moment or so, when she felt she could stand, Rose did and faced her reflection once again.

  In a month or so, the baby would be here and Rose knew she wasn't ready. She wasn't ready for a child. What would happen if this strange illness wouldn't go away? What if it had nothing to do with the pregnancy?

  What if someone was really trying to kill her?

  It was a thought that almost made her heart stop. She felt cold with fear and the baby kicked her again. Rose pressed her hand to her bulging tummy. The fall had not only opened her heart to her unborn child—it made her more aware of her own mortality.

  When she had this baby, she would be responsible for it and that was something she could not be if she was dead. Her mother had died when she young. While she barely remembered her, she did remember the feeling of not having her around. Rose didn't want that for her son or daughter.

  Rubbing her hands along her belly, she smoothed out the wrinkles of the shirt she slept in. Her stomach was huge. When she peeled back her shirt, she saw the jagged scar along her side, standing out in white contrast with her stretch marks.

  She sucked in a breath as she examined it. The wound had healed and the scar would fade in a short time. Rose was glad that one of the perks to her werewolf heritage was advanced healing. It seemed to be the only one of her abilities she could rely on these days.

  She dropped her shirt back over her stomach and closed her eyes. Once again she reminded herself to be strong. She had to be for the baby. Regardless of what was to happen health-wise or danger-wise, she had to be there for this kid. She was the only parent it had and she wasn't about to leave.

  Rose made her way back to bed and laid herself gently on her side. She cradled her stomach and laid her head on the pillow. Like many times before, Rose closed her eyes as a tear slid down her cheek, wishing Jason was there cradling her.

  Right before Rose fell asleep the baby kicked fiercely once again, then calmed down, resting with its mother.

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  Chapter Eleven

  When Rose awoke again, it was full morning. The sunlight streamed in through the break in the curtains and fell across her face as she stretched, sleep drifted away. She was warm and comfortable, something she hadn't really felt in a long time. She sat up, slowly and rubbed her face. She took a deep breath and exhaled it through her nose.

  She stopped and sniffed. Her nose was no longer stuffed up. She could breathe through it. More importantly to her, she could smell! She could smell the comforting, clean odor of the bed and the lingering scents that belonged to Glen and Cheyenne. It was amazing the flood of odors that came to her once she could smell.

  Quickly, Rose threw back the covers and hurried to the bathroom as fast as she could waddle. She flipped on the light and stared, in shock, at what she saw staring back at her. This was not the skeleton from last night. This was how a pregnant woman was supposed to look—healthy and glowing. Rose touched her cheek. Where it had been yellow before was now pink. Her sunken cheeks were rounded. She looked completely different, completely healed.

  Unable to believe what she was seeing, Rose lifted her shirt. The stretch marks were minimal and the scar from her fall yesterday was totally gone.

  Dr. Nesbitt's healing abilities were amazing. She had never expected such a miraculous change. She didn't feel nauseous, like she did so many mornings, and the usual pain in her back and feet were gone.

  It was a huge contrast to the discomfort and sickness she felt last night. She felt one hundred percent better.

  Her face broke into a wide smile and she laughed, unable to help the giddiness she felt at being healthy again. She rubbed her stomach and tilted her head down.

  "Things are starting to look up, kiddo,” she said softly. “I can be strong for the both of us now, thanks to whatever miracle healed me. It'll be okay. I promise."

  Quickly, Rose showered and dressed, fixed her hair and makeup—a thing she felt too lousy to do properly as of late—and grabbed her purse from the dresser. She was tired of being cooped up indoors. She was going out.

  Her pregnancy and subsequent illness had left her desiring some fresh air and a little freedom. Now that she was miraculously healed—she would have to thank Dr. Nesbitt for that—she was going to get some.

  She left her room and made her way to the foyer. She paused at the stairs, looking up at the large expanse of missing banister spokes in the staircase. It was so far up, she realized. To fall from that height...

  Quickly, she pushed the thought away, but it didn't stop her from feeling cold all over. She looked away before more thoughts of her near-miss came crashing back to her. She was surprised when she saw Cheyenne standing only a few feet away.

  She was dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, her blonde hair tied back in a long ponytail. Her changed-blood scent was faint, overpowered by the scented soap and perfume she wore. She blinked. “Rose, what are you doing out of bed? You look—"

  "I know. I look a lot better. It's amazing.” Rose almost wanted to laugh. “Dr. Nesbitt's a miracle worker. I feel great."

  "You look great.” Cheyenne walked toward her. She looked unce
rtain. “You look like a totally different person. When did this happen?"

  "When I woke up, I guess.” Rose shrugged.

  "Dr. Nesbitt's got some mondo mojo working for her then.” Cheyenne's dubious expression remained. “I've never seen anything like it. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

  "I've never felt better. My sinus infection is gone and I don't feel nauseous at all. And the scar from yesterday—it's gone."

  "Well, it's bound to be. You're a full-blood. You heal fast."

  "But scars still linger for a while. This is totally gone."

  Cheyenne brought her eyebrows together as she thought on it. “Seems kinda strange, but that's how magick works I guess."

  "Yeah. It's amazing."

  Cheyenne nodded her head to Rose's purse. “Going somewhere?"

  "Yeah, with you to get the supplies."

  "Oh no.” Cheyenne shook her head. “You are not going anywhere. Glen's already said."

  Rose scoffed, rebuffed by the thought. “What—Is it because I'm pregnant, or because someone might be trying to hurt me? Glen may be the Head of the PRDI, but I don't need his permission to go anywhere."

  "If you're going on a PRDI supply run, you do."

  "I don't believe this."

  "Well, you better believe it,” Glen's voice sounded out, startling both of them. They turned to see him standing in the hallway entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked upset. Davis lingered behind him, his grey eyes betraying a look of anger.

  "I'm not letting you go, Rose.” Glen walked to them and stopped, appraising her new appearance. Davis still stood in the doorway, a silent observer.

  Rose sighed. “Glen, I'm fine, really. I can do this. I want to do this. I need to do this. I need to get out."

  "No.” Glen shook his head. “Last night, you were almost very seriously injured. I'm not letting you go out.” He paused. “You look different."