Dark Moon Magick [The Moon Series: Book 4]

by Rose Marie Wolf

  Aurora finished tying her shoe just as Slater reached her. The toe of his boot hit the spine of the forgotten Book of Shadows on the floor. Her heart stopped as she looked up, seeing his eyes drop to the floor. His eyebrows came together in confusion as he bent to retrieve it.

  "Uh.” Aurora stood quickly, intercepting the book from his hands before he began turning the pages. “That's mine—for class."

  "That's a magick book,” Slater answered as Aurora turned, putting the book away in her bedside drawer. “That's not for class."

  Aurora shook her head. “It's nothing, Aaron. Just a little studying I've been doing, on the side."

  Slater's dark eyes met hers. The dubious look he gave her was enough to have her blushing with embarrassment and shame.

  "It's nothing,” she repeated, looking away.

  "It's something,” he said, but his tone, unlike Rose's or Glen's, was not angry or condescending. “Have you been practicing magick?"

  "That's not important now.” She tried to trace the subject away from the book. She didn't look at him.

  "It's important,” he answered with a thoughtful tone. “Look, Aurora—"

  "Aaron,” she returned, sharply. She looked at him this time, expecting to find him staring sternly at her. Instead, he was looking at her with understanding.

  "It's okay,” he began. “You don't have to hide it, not from me."

  Aurora lifted an eyebrow as she grabbed her jean jacket from the chair. She looked away from him as she slipped it on. She heard his step as he moved toward her.

  "I'm not trying to hide anything,” she said, the words thick on her tongue.

  "You can't lie to me, Aurora. I know you better than that."

  Aurora tossed her hair and closed her eyes. “So what if I am practicing magick? It's not that big a deal."

  "It is a big deal,” Slater said from behind her. “Magick is not something to tamper with lightly, but it's not something that can be ignored either."

  Aurora turned part way to look at him over her shoulder. “What do you mean?"

  "Magick is a powerful tool, used to help people.” Slater shrugged when Aurora gave him a confused look. “I once dated a Wiccan girl and she taught me about good magick."

  "Oh.” Aurora felt a slight twinge of jealousy, but she let it go. “What I mean to say is, by all means, study magick if you are inclined to, but be careful. That book,” he said as he gestured toward the drawer she had stuffed it in. “That book feels old, looks old—"

  "There's nothing dangerous in it,” Aurora dismissed it. “I looked already.” She turned fully to face him. “Look, Aaron, I know what you're trying to say and I appreciate it.” She let out a breath and looked away. “I'm just tired of hearing about it. Rose was on my case about it and if Glen knew—"

  "Don't stress it, ‘Rora. Do you trust me?"

  Aurora blinked, turning to look up at his lofty height. His eyes were dark, but there was an understanding in them, an acceptance that she had yet to find from the rest of her pack. She let out another breath.

  "Yes."

  "Then it'll be a secret between us. My lips are sealed.” A grin spread across his face and Aurora returned it.

  "Thanks.” Aurora was glad to get the talk of magick off her chest, but she wasn't really sure she could trust Slater, not with that kind of info. For years, she had kept her desire to learn magick secret, and for him to walk in, discover it and accept it in less than five minutes was mind boggling.

  She wondered about it as an uncomfortable silence started between them and their smiles faded. She really didn't have much of a choice. She prayed he wouldn't bring it up again.

  Slater shifted his weight. “We'd better get going. I told Davis we'd be there."

  Aurora nodded and grabbed her wallet from her dresser. “Let's go.” The dread of Slater bringing up the magick talk again was combined with her dread of seeing the burnt wreckage and having to face the reality of it all. She only hoped she would be able to handle it.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twelve

  The smell of burnt rubber was strong and Davis pressed his nose to the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt to block out most of the smell. He turned his head, staring out at the congregation of police cruisers and fire-trucks.

  A crowd of neighborhood onlookers stood behind a line of yellow police tape, trying to get a good look at the accident scene. The asphalt was scorched black and the branches of the trees overhanging the street were burned to a crisp.

  The car—or what was left of it anyway—was blackened beyond recognition, smoking and smoldering. The firefighters had put it out long before, but the heat coming off of it was still amazing.

  Davis’ gaze shifted, moving along the sidewalk and over. Glen stood about ten feet away from the blast area. A police officer stood with him, clipboard in hand. Davis noticed how drawn Glen's face looked, so much older than before. It was clear everything was taking a toll on him.

  Glen said something to the officer then turned, his eyes moving to Davis. Davis acknowledged him with a single nod of his head. His gaze shifted, behind Glen, watching as Pierce, second in command of the PRDI, strolled away from the amassing crowd to stand beside Glen.

  Davis rolled his eyes, knowing this couldn't be good. The redness of the shorter man's face gave away his anger long before he started yelling and waving his arms dramatically. He gestured angrily, first toward the smoldering ruin of the car, then toward Davis, and the PRDI.

  As if also sensing this was not a good situation, the police officer stepped back, muttering something and Glen nodded in understanding. As the cop walked away, Pierce rounded fully on Glen.

  Davis knew when Pierce's face colored even more it was time to step in. He hurried to intervene, catching the heated conversation.

  "How could you let this happen?"

  Glen made a harsh noise in his throat when Davis stepped up beside him. “What do you mean? You think I planted the bomb? You think I did this?"

  "You might as well have. So much of this ... bullshit ... has gone on since you took over. How many people have died? How many more people have to—"

  "It's not my fault,” Glen defended, his anger rising. Davis caught a sideways glance at him and saw the gold flecks starting in his eyes. He stepped forward, closing in on Pierce while Davis craned his neck to see over Glen's shoulder.

  "It damn well is. I can guarantee you if I hadn't been looked over for Head, that poor girl wouldn't have been torn limb from limb last fall—"

  "Hey.” Davis pushed Glen aside, feeling a sudden rage at the callous and careless mention of Claire. He got in Pierce's bloated face. “You keep your fucking mouth shut about her!"

  "Stop it!” Glen grabbed the collar of Davis’ shirt and yanked him back with his full-blood strength. He stepped between them and Davis was glad for it. He knew he was close to totally losing it. He glared at Pierce and the man glared back, but there was intimidation there and Davis was sure he could smell fear on him.

  "Listen to me.” Glen looked first at Davis, then at Pierce. “I admit a lot of bad shit has happened, but you cannot hold me, or the PRDI, accountable. Circumstances being as they are, we—yes, I'm talking about you as well, Pierce—we have to sort this situation out ourselves. I don't know how well we can do that if there are arguments among us.” He turned, watching the police cars and fire trucks, very slowly beginning to take their leave. “They can only do so much."

  "I see,” Pierce answered, clenching his jaw so that his temples throbbed. He shook his head. “That's it."

  "What's it?” Davis asked through tight lips.

  "I refuse to have anything more to do with this! First, there's the raid on our safe house and several of our valuable members were killed. Then mad werewolves tear the place apart. Finally, we go under new management.” He threw a glare at Glen, who straightened. “And things get even worse. Murders, car explosions—what's next?"

  "I told you, you cannot hold me accounta
ble for those accidents."

  "Maybe not, but there is something I can do."

  "What? Leave?” Davis barked and Pierce turned his livid gaze to him.

  "You're damn right I'm leaving!"

  "Whoa, hold on a second.” Glen reached out to grab hold of Pierce, but he moved back faster than a fat man should've been able to.

  "Don't touch me,” he yelled. Onlookers gawked at them, not hiding their curiosity. “You're damn right I'm leaving,” he repeated once Glen backed off. “I won't stand for this madness any more. I'm gone.” Pierce threw his hands up and turned his back on them.

  Glen stood there, looking shocked as he watched Pierce huff and puff his way to the PRDI.

  Davis raised an eyebrow. “I wasn't serious. I didn't really think he would—"

  Glen flashed him an angry warning look and cut him off. “I need to talk to him."

  Davis was left along on the sidewalk as Glen jogged to catch up with Pierce's quick stride. He let out a breath as he watched another altercation begin. Pierce waved his hands again, his puffy face turning red as a beet. Glen's own anger shone in his gold-tinted eyes.

  This time, Davis went with his better instincts and didn't get involved. He watched as they argued, Pierce's face turning blotchy. Davis didn't catch what was said, but judging by the fact that Pierce shoved Glen away and marched toward the door, it was pretty heated.

  Glen lowered his head, his chest rising and falling heavily. His hands were clenched tightly into fists. Davis knew Glen's fingernail's cut into his palms when he was upset. Davis watched until Glen seemed to calm down.

  When he looked over at him, his eyes were no longer golden and his hands, albeit bloody, were unclenched. With a shake of his head, Glen turned and headed into the house after Pierce.

  Davis turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. The last of the police officers were conversing together. He wondered who was going to clean up the mess that had once been the PRDI's car. Bits and pieces of broken, burned metal littered the road and front lawn. He kicked aside a piece of it; Glen would make him do it.

  But Glen had other things on his mind now. With any luck, he would forget about Davis and appoint someone else to do it. He didn't want the task to fall to him. It was bad enough seeing it happen and having suspicions as to who had done it, but to clean up after it—Davis wasn't sure if he could really handle that.

  A familiar, deep rumbling of an old pickup stirred him out of his thoughts and he looked up. He was almost relieved to see Slater's beat up truck turn the corner and roar up the street. He pulled to the curb about half a block away, near where Davis’ used Honda Civic and Cheyenne's Dodge Ram were parked and shut the engine off.

  Davis watched his half-brother climb out of the driver's seat, and wasn't surprised to see the smaller form of Aurora step out from the other side. He put his hands in his pockets and waited as they walked together down the sidewalk, sidestepping all the yellow tape.

  Aurora's hand was over her mouth as she stared at the remains of the car. She lowered it as she said something to Slater. He nodded grimly in response and they both turned to Davis on the PRDI sidewalk. They crossed the lawn quickly to meet him.

  Though they were brothers by blood, there was nothing brotherly about the way they acted toward one another. Slater, the younger of the two, would always hold Davis responsible for the death of their mother, an act planned by Simon. Knowing of Davis’ werewolf traits even before Davis himself knew, Simon planned an encounter to prove Davis's worth—killing a werewolf woman. He refused to do it, but when shoved by Simon, his gun accidentally discharged, killing her.

  Unfortunately, a younger Slater had been standing there to witness the entire thing. He got away, but not before forever being scarred. Years later, the two met when trying to save Rose from Simon the first time and all hell broke loose. They discovered their family ties and that the woman Davis had killed had been his long-lost mother—their mother.

  Though he had apologized profusely and explained the accident, Slater wouldn't have it.

  Davis looked up at the taller man as he stopped in front of him. His dark eyes were cold, as they always were when they regarded him. They tolerated each other because it was what the pack expected. Davis knew if his brother had the opportunity, he would probably kill him. Glen wouldn't have it and neither would the others, for that matter, so Slater backed off but his hostility was always open.

  Davis had hated dialing his number and hearing his brother's warm voice turn cold and callous when he discovered he was the caller. He wanted nothing more than to repair their relationship, maybe actually get to know each other, but it was a lost cause.

  If he were in Slater's shoes, he'd never forgive him either.

  Aurora stepped beside Slater and looked up at Davis.

  "It's horrible. Where's Rose? How is she? What happened?"

  Davis broke his eyes from Slater and looked at her. “She's fine, for the most part. She's inside with Cheyenne."

  "I'm going to go see her.” Aurora touched Slater's arm softly, and the young were turned his hate-filled attention away from Davis and his features softened.

  "All right. I'll be there in a sec."

  Davis could see the spark of caring on his half-brother's face when he looked at Aurora, but said nothing. Someone in this pack deserved a chance at love. His chance had been taken from him.

  Forcing himself not to think of Claire, he watched Aurora slip by and up the steps into the PRDI. Slater let out a sigh and Davis turned to find him once again looking at him. He knew he wouldn't linger with him if it wasn't something important. A car explosion was about as important as things could get.

  "What really happened? You weren't very specific on the phone.” Slater wasted no time jumping right to the point.

  Davis sighed and closed his eyes. “I didn't have time to explain. There was too much going on—"

  "What happened?"

  Davis reopened his eyes and stared up at his brother. Slater's eyes were stern and his jaw looked strained with determination. He wanted answers and he wasn't going to let up until he got them. “Look, man, I don't know much about any of this. I just know that someone is trying to hurt Rose."

  "Are you sure?"

  Davis shook his head. “I'm not sure of anything any more, but I am definitely suspicious. It's too coincidental. First, Rose had a close call yesterday and then this...” He waved a hand at the skeleton of the car.

  Slater's gaze followed his. “I can't believe it. If she had been in there—"

  "I know,” Davis interrupted, not wanting to hear him finish the sentence. He didn't want to think of it. “It wasn't an accident."

  "Couldn't have been.” Slater's dark eyes returned to Davis. There was something there, a different look, one Davis didn't expect. It almost frightened him. It was fleeting, however, and soon Slater was back to using his cold stare.

  "Any idea who could've done this?"

  Davis winced inwardly at the question. He knew it was coming, but the abruptness of it bothered him. Just like Slater, being blunt and to the point.

  He took a deep breath before answering. “I have an idea or two, maybe...” Davis looked away from Slater, trailing his gaze over the scene.

  "Who?” Slater demanded.

  Davis turned back to look at him, finding his arms crossed over his chest. Davis hesitated, but Slater's stern stare coaxed it out of him. “A new PRDI member. She's a changed-blood. There's something strange about her—"

  "Nola, right?"

  Davis nodded. “How did you know her name?"

  "Aurora mentioned her on the way over. From what she told me about her, I think you're right about something being strange about her. Did you know she threatened Aurora?"

  Davis's eyebrows went up. “No, I didn't."

  He blinked a few times and looked away from his half-brother. Aurora hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Nola had threatened her. He thought about her, about how Nola had confronted him. He shivered, fe
eling the hair on the back of his neck stand at the thought of it.

  "I think it's her,” he said, coming out of his thoughts. “I think she did it.” He returned his attention to Slater.

  "Where is she?” Slater asked, tensely. His eyes blazed with growing anger.

  Davis shook his head. “I don't know. She was here when the explosion happened, but then there was chaos. I don't know."

  "I'm going inside,” Slater said abruptly and brushed past Davis without another word.

  Davis watched him storm toward the steps and followed. He knew Slater would go straight for Nola and confront her. Davis had to admit he wanted to do the same.

  He paused in the open doorway and stared back at the smoldering ruins. Neighbors still stood by, gawking at the mess. He shuddered. Nola had a lot to answer for.

  He shut the door behind him and stepped into the foyer, but Slater had been quick. He was no longer there. Davis sniffed to find his scent and began to follow it. He turned toward the kitchen but stopped when he heard a bellow from the upper floor. He turned toward the staircase.

  Pierce was huffing down the stairs, lugging a suitcase almost as large as he was. His face was red and he looked immensely pissed. Glen followed behind him.

  "I'm through,” Pierce shouted behind him. The suitcase clunked down the steps after him and he grunted, trying to hoist it so it wouldn't drag the entire way. Glen stepped beside him and grabbed the suitcase.

  "Just listen to reason, Pierce,” Glen pleaded.

  Pierce glared at him. “Give me back my suitcase."

  "Not until you listen to me. You can't leave, not now."

  "Like hell I can't!” Pierce shouted. He made a futile effort to retrieve his suitcase from Glen's tight grip. He gave up with a huff and hurried his way down the steps. He rushed past Davis faster than he thought the fat man could walk.

  Glen followed with the suitcase, giving Davis a look laced with annoyance. He reached Pierce before he got to the door.

  "Listen to me,” he said, dropping the suitcase with a thud. He held one arm out, blocking the door. Pierce stared up at him, eyes intense with anger. “You can't leave now. The PRDI needs you—needs all of us."