Dark Moon Wolf

by Sarah E Stevens

  “Who’s out there? I’m calling the cops.”

  The voice echoed from the neighbor’s partly open window, and I heard a muttered curse from Eliza. Darkness seemed to rise from the ground like fingers of fog, encircling all of us, flickering. I hadn’t been on this side of the moon-calling before. I hadn’t actually realized she could call shifting darkness over this large an area, this many people. Carson seemed soothed by the moving darkness and fell quiet again.

  When I reached Tim’s side, he was breathing, albeit with a rasp and a gurgle. Eliza bent her head to his chest wound and for a horrified second, I thought she might lick the blood.

  “Silver,” she snapped, “still embedded.”

  Her ponytail lashed the air as she disappeared back into the house and reemerged with a knife, an ordinary carving knife from the kitchen.

  “Hold his shoulders. Sheila, hold his shoulders, I need to get this out.”

  As soon as Sheila placed her hands on Tim’s shoulders, Eliza said, “Tim, stay with us. You’re going to be okay.” She plunged the knife into his chest, widening the wound, causing a fresh gush of blood to stream thickly down his side. Her taut expression reflected her concentration and I focused on that, rather than Tim’s chest. She turned the knife, twisting and probing and I saw her eyes narrow as she found the bullet. After a very long minute, she coaxed it out of the wound and sat back, relief coloring her cheeks.

  “Definitely silver and nicked a lung before getting hung up on his ribs. Probably would have killed him if I hadn’t gotten to it. I think he’ll be okay now, though.”

  “You ‘think’?” Sheila’s voice came as barely more than a whisper, and her hands still lay on Tim’s shoulders.

  “Well, as you noticed, we’re not exactly in an operating room. I definitely worsened the wound just now, but he should start healing.” Eliza wiped her hands on the grass, leaving long tracks of blood.

  “Where’s Ian?” I asked.

  “He’s inside, watching Dave, who is unconscious at the moment. For a pup, he put up quite a fight.” She moved her lips in what might have passed for a smile in other circumstances.

  “What about the guards?”

  “Also taken care of. Two guards and the infamous Dr. D are tied up in the living room. I see, uh, you took care of this one.” Eliza jerked her head in the direction of the fallen man, and I nodded stiffly.

  The blood flowing out of Tim slowed, and his breaths sounded clearer. Sheila watched him, as if will alone could heal him. I sat down on the grass next to Eliza, my back to the other body. The body I hadn’t let myself think about too much, yet. Carson sighed in his sleep and I breathed him in, deeply.

  “So, we won, didn’t we? Didn’t we? We won.” The whole evening seemed like a blur to me. “Now what?”

  Eliza answered after a moment. “I think we contact the council and let them take care of clean up. They’ll question everyone involved, especially the doctor. And it’ll take the power of the council to cover up all of…this.” She gestured widely.

  Tim made a small sound and his eyelids twitched once, twice. One of Sheila’s hands flew to her mouth, not muffling the sob that shook her. Her other hand moved to stroke his slightly shaggy hair, brushing the short curls.

  “Shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re going to be okay, now. Tim, you’re okay,” her bent head murmured over him.

  Several heartbeats later, his eyes opened and gazed up at her. “Sheila?”

  Sheila laughed, brushing away the tears that fell on Tim’s face, and she bent down to kiss him, first on the cheek and then on his lips, gently, but with an undercurrent of frantic passion. Tim raised one hand, in the direction of Sheila’s cheek.

  I closed my mouth and turned to Eliza, who met my gaze with a bewildered shake of the head. Abruptly feeling like a voyeur, I turned away from the murmuring pair and Eliza did the same.

  The day’s emotions rushed over me, a hangover of fear, disgust, and violence roiling in stomach-turning confusion. I felt relief, jealousy, and bone-deep fatigue. In fact, such weariness, my eyes started to close of their own accord. I sank down onto the lawn. The grass was soft against my face, the night quiet now. From what seemed like a great distance, I was aware of Eliza prodding me, saying my name in a sharp voice, but I brushed her away like a troubling dream. Then she disappeared and I slipped farther away, farther and farther.

  Something hit me, hard, across the face and I startled half awake, mumbling in protest. It came again, a sharp smack across my cheek and I opened my eyes to find Sheila, her hand raised.

  “What?” I tried to say through my thick tongue.

  “Get up, Julie. What are you doing?”

  I started to say sleeping, of course, but then wondered why was I sleeping? Was I…lying on the ground? With Carson still attached to me in his sling? Alarm rang through me and I would have sat upright, if my muscles had responded. As it was, I sat up slowly, carefully, and looked around as full memories of the evening surfaced.

  My first coherent question was, “Where’s Eliza?”

  “She ran that way,” Sheila pointed toward the front of the house, “changing form as she went.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. She tried to rouse you, then jumped up and said, ‘Dave’ and took off.”

  Since I was more or less myself again, Sheila resumed her former place, resting Tim’s head in her lap. Tim’s eyes were open, though still clouded with pain. No fresh blood showed, so I assumed his wound had started to heal.

  He spoke quietly, taking shallow breaths after every few words. “Dave called the moon on you—probably tried for all of us. He must have made an escape.”

  “He made me fall asleep?”

  “Called you into oblivion.” Tim’s breath hitched and he paused for a moment. “One of the hardest powers. Easier on a human than on another Were. Or a Witch, maybe. He really is strong, that one.”

  “So Eliza went after him. Should we try to go help?” I asked, mostly a rhetorical question.

  “Ian.” Tim closed his eyes, but the one word made me jump to my feet. I swayed, but most of the fuzziness had dissipated.

  “Right,” I said, “you guys stay here.” My comment was mostly for show, since I didn’t think Sheila planned to leave Tim’s side anytime soon.

  Since Eliza had taken off around the side of the house, I assumed Dave wasn’t inside, but I still entered cautiously. No surprises, no mafia thugs jumping out at me, no loose Werewolves. In the living room, I found several bound people—I assumed the guards and the doctor—and I checked briefly to make sure they remained secured. Then I moved to my main target: Ian. He wasn’t moving, but I didn’t see a lot of blood, so I was hopeful. But when I reached him, my stomach jumped and I instinctively wrapped my arms around Carson.

  Ian’s neck lay at an unnatural, contorted angle, his head misplaced on his spine.

  As I gasped, he blinked and moved his eyes in my direction. After a moment’s pause during which I tried to conceal my horror and shock, I knelt at his side.

  “Ian, can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” His voice came out through clenched teeth.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  After a silence, he said, “I think so. But not if my neck heals crooked like this. You need to straighten my spine.”

  My mouth went suddenly so dry I cleared my throat several times before my voice sounded. “All right.”

  Hands shaking, I found a safe spot on the floor for Carson and loosened the blanket binding him to me. I snuggled him into a cozy position and tucked the blanket around him tightly. Then, as much as I wanted to find some other reason to procrastinate, I turned back to Ian.

  “I’m not sure how to do this,” I admitted.

  “Me neither. Is Eliza around?”

  “No, she took off after Dave.”

  Fury flashed in Ian’s eyes, but he took a shallow, shuddering breath and re-focused.

  “With my spine aligned, everything can heal cor
rectly. So, it should just be like, uh, setting any other broken bone?”

  I had never had a more surreal conversation, which spoke volumes, considering the last two weeks of my life.

  I looked at Ian clinically, trying to remember my days of CPR, correct positioning of the neck and all of that. Kneeling behind his head with my hands under his shoulders, I first hefted his torso to ensure a straight line from his hips. Then, I cradled his head in one hand, placing the other at the base of his neck. Taking a deep breath, I pulled his head up and out, into alignment, trying to ignore the grinding noise and the small pops that resulted. I held his head firmly in both hands, running my fingers down his neck.

  “That seems okay, now. I think.”

  “Thank you.”

  I swallowed firmly, feeling my stomach roil in aftermath.

  “How long will it take for this to heal? For you to move and everything?”

  “I’m not sure.” Sweat stood out against the pallor of Ian’s upper lip.

  “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

  “No, but can you move those guys? I’m not a freak show.” Ian darted his eyes in the direction of the tied-up guards and the doctor.

  “Oh.” The three prisoners or hostages or whatever they were had been so quiet I’d pretty much forgotten them. Maybe that’s what they hoped—we’d forget all about them.

  As I stood up to walk over to them, Sheila and Tim came into the room. Tim walked quite slowly and leaned a bit on Sheila, but his mobility this soon after taking a bullet in the lung amazed me. Lots of benefits to being a Were.

  “This is the doctor?” Tim looked down at one of the bound figures, the man with jeans and cowboy boots I noticed earlier. He looked like he’d lived in the desert for too long without ever using moisturizer or sunscreen. His brown hair grayed at the temples.

  I shrugged.

  “You,” Tim toed the man none too gently, “Are you Dr. Daniels?”

  After a moment, the man sighed and said, “Yes.”

  “You’re the doctor responsible for mutilating those people?”

  Funny. Tim, barely able to walk, with his baby face, rumpled clothes, and scruffy hair. Yet, somehow, the tone of his voice made Dr. Daniels blanch under his tan.

  “I would not expect you to understand the cost of medical experimentation,” the doctor said stiffly. “Each of those men volunteered.”

  “A volunteer who expected—who had been promised—supernatural powers. Who had been told by you he would be transformed like Ken. Even though you knew Ken was a dark moon and these others were not.” Tim accompanied his words with a short kick in the doctor’s ribs before continuing. “Did you show the later volunteers what happened to others? Did they know?”

  Spots of color appeared on Dr. Daniels’ cheekbones and the haughty look fixed on his face. “All scientific innovation has costs. People risk much to gain the abilities you were born with, Were. With each new set of bone marrow, with each group of stem cells, I got closer to the answers. If I only had access to stronger Weres, I know I could be successful.”

  “Each new set of bone marrow?” My voice was shrill, and I shook. “That’s all they were to you, sets of bone marrow? These were people—people you killed. Including my…including Mac, my…People you killed when they were no longer necessary to your…your fucking experiments.” I spat the last word in rage. “That’s why you wanted my baby. My baby. The strongest, most helpless Were you knew about. To suck out his bone marrow and create monsters.”

  Such rage gripped me, I actually understood why Kayleigh had lost it, why she had torn that traitor Were to shreds.

  “You’re the monster,” I finally said. “You asshole.”

  Pulling my rather tattered dignity around myself, I turned my back on him and walked back to pick up Carson. I sat next to Ian, focusing on him and the baby and trying to calm down.

  From the other side of the room, I heard Tim questioning the guard. He started by explaining, very carefully, Jimmy Bianco and their safe house were under our control. Then he informed the captives he had called the pack Council earlier in the evening and an emergency team of Weres would arrive within two hours. He engaged in drawn-out speculation about the treatment of the captives by the Weres, about the reactions of the council upon seeing the malformed creatures at the safe house, about the chances the captives would ever be allowed to live now they knew Werewolves existed. Tim delivered all this in the mildest of voices, as if he made conversation at a barbecue. But by the end, all three captives spilled their guts, trying to outdo one another by sharing details about their doomed venture, hoping their lives would be spared. The doctor rambled about bone marrow, about stem cells reordering DNA, about Were healing powers overcoming normal complications like “type” or “rejection.” I didn’t listen to it all. I couldn’t bring myself to care. I just sat and watched Ian heal and Carson sleep.

  My semi-trance broke when Tim stopped in the middle of a sentence and turned his head in the direction of the front hall. Ian’s eyes opened wide and a snarl twisted his mouth. His body twitched. A moment later, the front door opened with a bang that would have alarmed me, but for the warning. Eliza walked in the front door, dragging Dave behind her. Literally. She held him by one ankle, and pulled the tall teen behind her with no apparent care for his wellbeing, evident in the way his head crashed up the steps, into the doorframe, and on the wall. Eliza must have knocked him unconscious in their fight and, from the repeated blows his skull took as she dragged him in the house, he would remain so for at least a little while.

  “Everyone okay here, then?” Eliza asked, with a searching glance around the room. “Ian?” Her eyes stopped on him and something in her face eased as she realized, although grievously injured, he was healing.

  “We’re all fine, somehow. Maybe the lucky pins helped?” Tim shot a look at Sheila and a sudden smile shot across his face. She flushed. “The council’s team should be here in two hours.”

  “Good.” With a thump, Eliza dropped Dave’s foot. “They can take care of this one, then.”

  “I’ll take care of him,” muttered Ian.

  “You, idiot pup, will be lucky if your mom doesn’t take care of you first.” Eliza dropped lightly onto the couch.

  “Will he stay unconscious for that long? I mean, until the council’s people get here?” I asked.

  Eliza frowned. “No, probably not. I guess we should tie him up.”

  “With silver,” said Ian.

  Eliza sighed and rubbed her eyes for a minute, then went over to Dave and got to work with the duct tape.

  “Why is there always a roll of duct tape hanging around, anyway? Is it some sort of mafia accessory?” No one responded as I wondered aloud, though Eliza quirked a smile in my direction.

  “More to the point, does anyone have silver chain of any sort?” Eliza sat back on her heels. “I didn’t bring any from the other house.”

  I handed her the chains I’d pocketed after freeing Kayleigh. She hissed as the silver hit her fingers, looped the short chain around his wrists, and said, “We’ll have enough notice if he wakes up. Besides, I wouldn’t mind an excuse to bash him in the head again.”

  “I’ll help,” Sheila and I said at the same time.

  ****

  When Dave roused, however, we weren’t quite so quick to knock him unconscious again. He groaned and tried to move before realizing he was bound. Apparently, the fact his hands were duct taped behind him brought back the night’s events in full, because his eyes opened with a start and he swung his head around, assessing the situation. Immediately, Eliza and Tim were on guard, hovering over him.

  “Try anything and I’ll slit your throat,” Eliza said grimly. “Not with silver, mind you, I don’t want to deprive the council of a full trial.”

  Ian remained on the floor, though he’d gained enough mobility to roll onto his side and look at Dave. The positions of the two teens were oddly mirrored, lying on the floor facing each other. Ian’s expr
ession gave no clues to his thoughts as he stared at his friend. Dave returned the look for a brief moment before closing his eyes, throat moving convulsively.

  “You nearly killed me.” Ian said, voice devoid of emotion.

  When Dave didn’t answer, Ian continued. “You were my best friend. You nearly killed me. You killed my brother—not directly, but you’re in league with them. You might as well have killed him yourself. You were my best friend.” Ian’s voice rose and broke, the emotion suddenly pouring through. I clenched my hands at the raw pain on his face, while I struggled in turn with my own anger and grief over Mac’s death.

  “You—you—you—” After a moment’s pause, Ian voice dropped again, to a near whisper. “You were my best friend.”

  “Ian.” Dave opened his eyes, and I saw anger and sorrow warring in them. “Ian—I didn’t mean to hurt you; you have to know that. I didn’t want it to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I saved you—I got you back when they took you—they weren’t supposed to take you, but they didn’t know, and I got you back and I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “If you didn’t mean to hurt me, then why did you bring me to Las Vegas?” Ian said. “Tell me that. You brought me here to give me to them, didn’t you? Didn’t you? You certainly didn’t come here to help me avenge my brother.”

  “I brought you here so you would understand, so you could join us.”

  Ian recoiled at Dave’s words.

  “No, listen,” Dave continued, urgently. “It’s not their fault they had to kill Mac. That wasn’t the plan either. Mac wouldn’t listen—he could have been helpful; he could have part of my pack—”

  “Your pack?” Eliza’s voice cut in, dripping with scorn. “Is that what they offered you? Leadership over a pack of mongrel—”

  “We weren’t making mongrels.” Dave’s eyes shone with fervor. I sank down on the couch as he continued. My stomach hurt.

  “Don’t you understand? We were making Weres. Making those pathetic, weak, useless humans into Weres. Once we did that, once we allied with the families—once we took control of the others—think of the power we could amass. The pack and the mafia together? We wouldn’t need to live in secret, wouldn’t need to hide our existence from these pathetic humans, we could rule openly, take control.”