Hungry Ghost

by Allison Moon

  HUNGRY GHOST

  Tales of the Pack: Book Two

  ALLISON MOON

  Published by Lunatic Ink

  HUNGRY GHOST Copyright 2013 by Allison Moon

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover by: Julianna Parr, juliannaparr.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information contact info@lunaticink.com.

  ISBN 978-0-9838309-4-8

  (Print IBSN 978-0-9838309-3-1)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013900971

  Learn more:

  http://www.TalesofthePack.com

  Contact the Author:

  moon@talesofthepack.com

  Follow on Twitter:

  @TalesofthePack

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  The headline declared the most recent death in all capitals: MISSING WOMAN FOUND MAULED. Lexie’s naked feet picked up the ink from the newsprint as she tip-toed across the pages spread out over the carpet of her new bedroom.

  The girl’s death was news to no one. Even the police chief’s statement at the end of the article sounded more resigned than revelatory: We regret that the young woman appears to be yet another victim of a Rare wolf. We continue to advise all citizens to maintain a ten p.m. curfew and avoid unnecessary forays into the forest.

  Just below the quotation was a picture of Governor Blackwell at a press conference discussing plans for a new highway project, his teeth and tie too straight to be natural. The caption read Governor Blackwell expects new highway to disrupt Rare wolf territory and put an end to Rare attacks “once and for all.”

  The paint fumes were getting to Lexie’s head. She would need three coats of the pumpkin orange to cover the cayenne color of the walls that had once belonged to Renee. She enjoyed smoothing the paint onto the walls; it was a cleansing act declaring clear endings and new beginnings.

  A chill wind gusted through the window, half-open to keep Lexie from passing out. Tiny flakes of snow fell, barely enough to stick, covering the grass beyond like a light dusting of talc. The sun cast the room in the same orange as the fresh paint, breaking below the cloud line for a few moments before diving to its death behind the trees.

  Lexie sighed at the recollection of autumn nights watching the sunset through cedar needles, warm and naked, tangled in Archer’s arms. Maybe orange was a bad choice.

  Outside her bedroom, Lexie heard the shuffling of coats in closets and the jangling of keys in pockets. She poked her head out of the door.

  Hazel skipped through the hallway, ruffling the lime-green tulle beneath the skirt of her black and white polka-dotted dress, looking like a gothy anime character.

  “She lives!” Hazel shouted, flipping her sleek, black ponytail over her shoulder.

  Lexie heard Renee sigh from the foyer.

  “Where are you guys going?” Lexie asked, creeping to the top of the stairs.

  Renee stood below in the foyer, pulling on a burgundy leather jacket. “Out. The holidays were rough. Classes start next week and I’m T.A.-ing for four classes plus managing the animal labs. Mama needs a little R&R to prepare.”

  “What about the new mauling?”

  “Dead girl gonna stay dead,” Renee said, checking her wallet for cash. “I need a little life.”

  Lexie knew Renee to be clever, but never so callous. Maybe she was just deflecting; that was more her style. “What about you, Hazel?”

  “I’m pulling a shift at Luscious,” she said, smearing a layer of lip gloss on her lips. The fake vanilla scent drove a sugary dagger into Lexie’s head.

  “Since when are you a stripper?” Lexie asked.

  “Since two years ago, dummy. It’s my first night back since before I joined the Pack. Blythe wouldn’t let me dance.”

  Renee sat on the stairs, pulling on a pair of short-heeled brown leather boots. Her hair was pulled back into a perfect black puff at the crown of her head, and black eyeliner accented her wide, brown eyes.

  “Wow. Hot date?” Lexie asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” Renee answered.

  “Oh my god, you should come!” Hazel clapped and did a small leap.

  Lexie flinched. “What? Why?”

  Renee slumped her shoulders. “Christ, Hazel.”

  “What?” Hazel said. “She’s depressed.” Hazel looked to Lexie as though she were staging an intervention. “You need to get out of the house. You haven’t put on underwear in four days.”

  “Why would I need underwear to go to a strip club?”

  “You don’t need it,” Renee said, standing, “but it helps.”

  “I’m not twenty-one,” Lexie said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Renee said to her reflection as she smeared her own sugary, black cherry gloss on her lips.

  Hazel whined. “Come on, Lexie! It’s my first time back, and I need support. Plus, it’ll help you get out of your break-up mope spiral, which is kind of a drag.” Hazel placed her hands on her hips, making her look like a bossy fourth-grader. “It’s not like you have homework or anything.”

  Lexie groaned and buried her face in her hands.

  “What?” Hazel asked.

  “I forgot to register for classes,” Lexie whined. “I’m going to get stuck with a bunch of Victorian Literature crap.”

  “Dude,” Renee said. “Registration was three months ago.”

  Lexie peeked through her fingers. “I was a little   …   distracted then.”

  “Face-down in werewolf snatch, you mean,” Renee said, checking her hair in the mirror.

  “See?” Hazel said. “It’s a sign! Have a little fun tonight. Get out of the Den. Live a little. You can deal with registration and all that tomorrow.”

  Lexie was coming up with a myriad of excuses, her skills of evasion well-honed. She was preparing to utter the first when from the end of the hall, behind Corwin and Sharmalee’s door, came passionate moans and screams. The girls all paused at the interruption.

  “Uh   …   ” Lexie laughed nervously.

  “Is that them?” Hazel asked with a scrunched nose, edging down the stairs.

  “No,” Renee answered. “They’ve been watching that porn on repeat for days.”

  “That’s porn? I thought that was just … them.” Lexie said, making a face.

  “Blythe wouldn’t let us watch porn either,” Hazel said. “We’re all off the leash a
bit, I guess.”

  As the performers’ shouts of climax faded into sighs of satisfaction, Corwin and Sharmalee’s own sounds ramped up. Lexie widened her eyes and said, “So … Luscious.”

  “It’s a super queer-friendly venue,” Hazel assured Lexie.

  “Yeah, half the crowd is dykes,” said Renee. “It’s actually pretty cool. Hazel’s right, you should come.”

  “Really?”

  “You can be designated driver. Just don’t crush my mojo.”

  Lexie cleaned herself up, removing her flannel pajamas and unbuckling the knife from her hip. She tied her auburn hair into two braids and put on the only clean t-shirt, underwear, and jeans she had. She restrapped her mother’s knife to her hip and yanked the hem of her t-shirt over it, the bottom of the sheath just peeking out.

  The knife had lived there day and night for the three months since the night Renee killed Blythe. Since the night Archer left. Since the night Lexie tried to change and couldn’t. Since she discovered her mother was dead.

  Its continued presence soothed her. She found that meditating on her mother’s memory kept her calm, as though calling forth that lineage, no matter how hazy, kept her breathing.

  At least for now. The full moon was coming up in less than two weeks and Lexie didn’t look forward to it like her packmates did. Her wolf always stalked beneath the surface, like a parasite that wriggled in tiny but nauseating ways. It didn’t beg or plot. It merely paced, eager to kill—and more distressing, readily able to do so. Lexie didn’t know how to unlatch the cage, but she knew she didn’t want to, regardless. She hoped that the wolf would never return, hoped that her monthly blood proved as much. While the rest of the women of the Pack went running on each moon, Lexie wrestled with tampon strings and stained sheets. Despite the pain and loneliness, she knew this to be the better deal. She wasn’t ready to revisit the feeling she had only once, when she made love to Archer beneath October’s full moon. She discovered two bodies that night: Archer’s and her own wolf form that followed. Four perfect, wicked bodies in the space.

  Lexie didn’t need to feel that way again. Blood was the way for now.

  She gave her image a once-over and decided she looked strange but fine. Her skin didn’t suit her anymore, but it was all she had. She knew she’d never be as glamorous as Renee or as stylish as Hazel, so she didn’t try.

  The parking lot was full of cars and smokers. It did feel nice to be human again, away from the Den and the ever-present mixture of anxieties it offered, though the wall of cigarette smoke at the club’s entrance undid all the good of her recent shower. Layers of oil, sweat, liquor, and sugar oozed out the front door, so thick as to suffocate. Renee breathed it in and gave Lexie a slow nod. It’s all part of the illusion, her eyes said. Look human. Lexie hid her disgust with a wary smile.

  A leggy, mahogany-skinned woman in tight jeans and a tube top waved at them. Her red-painted lips parted to reveal a gap-toothed grin, her shellacked nails twirling a strand of hair that looked expensive, if not real. She leaned like a greaser’s girl against a vintage Mustang, a display of dangerous curves. Renee urged Lexie toward the door, abandoning her and Hazel to greet the pin-up with a kiss.

  Lexie held her breath as the bouncer made fleeting eye contact before waving her through the door. Inside, Hazel bounded for the bar, throwing herself at the bartenders for hugs. She knelt on a stool as the enthusiastic staff caught her up on all the dirt of the past two years. Lexie found a chair between the bar and the stage and warily scanned the crowd: an even mixture of men’s and women’s faces, and plenty in-between. To the right of the stage hung a blackboard listing women’s names in chalk: Athena, Lolita, Octavia, Jezebel, Bijou, and Valencia. Lexie shifted on the spooled oak chair and wondered which one was Hazel. She guessed “Jezebel” because of the z rather than the biblical myth, which Lexie didn’t know the details of anyway.

  Fumes like ethanol pushed at her eyeballs, and she felt as though a migraine would soon follow. Lexie tried to snuffle out the tumult of scents pummeling her sinuses. Renee approached, trailed by the girl from outside, and offered Lexie a cold can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

  “I can’t drink in here,” Lexie said with a furrowed brow, hiding her voice behind the blare of the jukebox. Renee shoved the can into Lexie’s hand and sat, pulling her girl onto her lap. The girl smiled tightly at Lexie through those red-painted lips. Renee introduced her as Nina. Her hair was glossy black and swooped in rigid architectural curves. Her breasts threatened to spill out of the simple tube of fabric that supported them. Lexie wondered where Nina’s jacket was, or if she actually went out on a February night in the mountains of Oregon in nothing but a goddamned tube top. Lexie smiled back without showing her teeth.

  Hazel hopped over from the bar.

  “I gotta go change. Get out your singles and make me look good.”

  Hazel didn’t need their help to look good. Growing up riding show horses, first on her grandfather’s ranch and then on a small carnival circuit, Hazel had developed both an elegant flair and extraordinary quad muscle strength. Lexie sipped her beer as Hazel, or as the club’s DJ announced, “Bijou”, stepped across the stage in five-inch heels and a black ruffled “skirt” that didn’t even attempt to cover her backside. She wore a tiny vest over a black and white-striped bikini top.

  Renee reached into her pocket, pulled out a single dollar, and gave it to Nina. Hazel danced to a loud rock song that Lexie couldn’t identify, though she guessed it was from one of those ambiguously sexualized rock bands of the 80’s. When Hazel reached the brass pole at the center of the stage, she gripped it and whipped her body around it twice. Then she climbed it to the ceiling, wrapped her legs and fell back. Dangling upside-down, she removed her vest from her body and let it fall to the floor. She giggled, shaking her small breasts with a naughty smile. The crowd hooted and cheered.

  Lexie leaned toward Renee’s ear. “No wonder Blythe was so against Hazel dancing.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Renee groaned.

  Hazel lowered her legs, locking the pole beneath the crook of her knee, and spun with her arms outstretched. Several people whistled at the difficult-looking move, and wadded dollar bills bounced onto the stage.

  Renee stroked Nina’s bare shoulder, her eyes glued to Hazel’s contorting, hip-swaying figure. “Blythe was always telling us what was or wasn’t feminist based on her own ideas of everything. But it’s hard to watch Hazel and not see how authentic this whole sexy display is for her, you know?” She shrugged. “I think it’s kind of sweet.” She wadded up a dollar bill and tossed it onto the stage.

  Hazel gripped the pole with her hands again and swirled to the floor, where she spread her legs wide and dropped her heavy heels to the stage with an attention-grabbing thud. Clearly her preternatural strength had kept her in shape during her time away from the club. She stood and walked to the edge of the stage to flirt with the customers.

  “Sweet.” Lexie nodded, scanning the crowd and finding a mix of hipsters in flannel, grizzled mountain men, and a smattering of dykes. “Okay.”

  Nina held her dollar bill as though she were presenting a ticket to a train conductor. Hazel squatted so that her crotch was at Lexie’s eye level. She winked as Nina placed the bill in the garter she wore high on her thigh.

  Lexie looked away, embarrassed. Though the Pack members’ various sex sounds were becoming a regular fixture in the Den, Lexie wasn’t prepared to see any of the girls grind their pelvises to bad rock music in front of a cheering crowd. Hazel stood and strutted, unfastening her skirt and wrapping it around her wrists, faux-tying herself to the pole. She writhed, and the crowd roared.

  Lexie scanned the audience, taking shallow breaths to avoid inhaling too many of the pheromones wafting through the cramped space. Still, they teased their way into her bloodstream, cycling through her body and reminding her of the desires she’d spent three months dampening. She could be lying beneath Archer somewhere, looking up at warm stars, running at her side beneath
the full moon, chasing rabbits. Instead, Lexie was living in a house of seven alpha-less werewolves, all trying to figure out how to live without Blythe the oppressor, and how to live with Renee, her murderous replacement.

  At the far end of the stage, a woman with a cougar’s grin caught Hazel’s eye. Hazel lowered herself to all fours to crawl to the woman. The stranger held a single between two fingers like a cigarette. With a stoic grin that Lexie decided was the standard expression of strip-club arousal, she teased it along Hazel’s arm and chest. Hazel rolled onto her back, letting the woman caress her torso with the bill as she stroked her own thighs to the music. The woman leaned forward and slid the bill into Hazel’s thong. Hazel arched up and kissed the woman lightly before returning to the pole. She whipped off her bikini top to expose tiny sequined pasties as the big finale.

  Twenty minutes later, Lexie was at the bar picking up two beers and two tonic waters when Hazel bounded over. She’d changed into a new costume— cotton-candy boy shorts and a teal bra. Not much to strip out of, Lexie thought.

  “What’d ya think?” She scooted onto the vacant barstool next to where Lexie leaned.

  “You’re really good,” Lexie said, unsure if that was the best adjective to use, so she revised. “You’re strong. Like, that hanging stuff was incredible.”

  “Thanks! That was so fun! Man, I missed this place!” Hazel said.

  “Good job then. Here. Tonic for you.”

  “Sweet, thanks. I have to go work the room for a bit and then I’ll be back for my next number. You having fun?”

  Lexie nodded with a shrug.

  “Cool. Ta-ta.”

  Renee and Nina were kissing when Lexie returned with the drinks. Lexie scanned the room to find Hazel sitting on the lap of the woman at the end of the stage, chatting. The woman wore a crooked smile that reminded Lexie of Archer. She sighed and looked for a distraction.

  “I’m going outside for a smoke,” Renee shouted over the blaring music. “Wanna come?”