Moon Bound (The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles Book 3)

by Tori Centanni

  “When did that happen?”

  I stared at him, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. I’d met vampires before, of course, but never a vampire I’d known as a human. The transformation was subtle and yet total. It was Michael, and it wasn’t.

  “Last night,” he said, turning away from me. “It’s a long story.”

  “So I’d guess,” I said.

  It came out strange, the words struggling to escape the tightness of my throat. He tapped long fingers on the table. They were so pale that it seemed impossible he’d ever been alive. His nails gleamed as if they’d been topped with a clear coat, and maybe they had. But every tiny movement seemed slightly out of Michael’s control.

  “Sorry, I should have given you a heads up. It just seemed easier to… you know. Show up.” He shifted in his seat. “I didn’t know it was going to happen. There was an accident?” He asked it like a question, as if I would know. “Anyhow, Damien didn’t have a choice, and I definitely prefer this to the alternative.”

  “Death,” I filled in, my voice still too an octave too high. “You almost died?”

  “Technically, I did die,” he said, with a wry smile dancing over his lips.

  I shook my head again. This was too much. Raff was in mortal danger, I was in mortal danger from a faerie who might soon have the power to make me do practically anything, and Michel had freaking died. And now he was a vampire, the thing I’d once wanted to be more than anything else. I didn’t know where to begin processing my emotions. There were too many thoughts zipping around my brain like angry bees.

  “I’m adjusting just fine, thanks for asking,” Michael said with an unmistakable tinge of sarcasm.

  “I’m just surprised, that’s all.” I tried not to stare, but it was impossible to stop. It was like looking at one of those old Magic Eye pictures that changed the longer you stared at them. “It suits you.”

  He perked up a little at that. “It does. I mean, it’s weird, Charlotte. Like, super weird. I can’t wait to tell you all about it. And it means I’m kind of done doing my YouTube channel, which I realized all of two hours ago and had a massive panic attack about. I mean, that’s my life. What am I going to do now?”

  I relaxed. This was the Michael I knew and loved: high-strung and worried about everything.

  “Why can’t you do your channel?”

  I knew the answer before I finished asking.

  “Look at me. I can’t pass for human without layers of foundation. And my hands.” He held them up. They were as nearly translucent as the rest of him. “Damien says it’s too much of a risk right now, and he’s right. It sucks.”

  A pang of jealousy gnawed at my midsection. I tried to ignore it, but it was hard when Michael had the thing I’d always wanted and had the audacity to complain about it. And yet… did I really want to be like that? As I watched him struggle to control the speed of his gestures, I had the strangest sensation of seeing two Michaels at once, superimposed upon each other: One was vibrant and alive, and the other was a corpse. That made no sense. I shook my head. I seriously needed some sleep.

  “I mean, being a vampire doesn’t suck,” Michael continued. “Or it does, technically, not that I’ve done that. Not from a person. I would never kill anyone.” He met my eyes, as if urging me to understand that.

  “I know.”

  I reached across the table and took one of Michael’s hands in mine. His hand was a block of ice. It took my all effort not to recoil. He smiled at me weakly.

  Odd how being an immortal creature seemed to make him even more nervous, but maybe that would be good for his survival. Years ago, I’d unkindly thought he wouldn’t be cut out for it, back when I was determined to be a vampire myself. But now, I knew he would adapt. Damien would show him the ropes. He’d be fine.

  And I… I was a werewolf. Hot blooded and alive. My hand seemed to burn in his.

  I finally let go. He pulled back.

  There was a long silence. I listened to my heart beat. Felt my blood pumping through my veins. Even the cold of Ellianne’s Faerie Mark couldn’t keep my blood from running hot.

  It took me a moment to work out what I was feeling, because it was so surprising: relief. I was still alive. Whatever Michael was now, he wasn’t alive in the same way. He was animated by magic, while magic only tore at my veins once a month.

  “I would turn you if I could,” Michael whispered, staring at his reflection in the shiny table top.

  “I’m not sure I’d want that,” I said, shocked to hear those words come out of my mouth.

  Michael raised his eyebrows and met my eyes, giving me a disbelieving look. Obviously, he thought I was lying.

  I wasn’t. Part of me was a little envious, sure. I’d thought I’d wanted to be a vampire more than anything, and seeing Michael as a vampire made it harder to accept that I’d never be one myself. But I also wasn’t sure that was a thing I wanted anymore, even if I’d had the option. Which I didn’t, since werewolves couldn’t become vampires.

  “Okay, whatever,” Michael said, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t falling all over myself to thank him for magnanimous offer.

  “I just mean, maybe being a werewolf isn’t so bad.”

  He stared at me, his face and chest so still that it made ice run down my spine. I’d never noticed how animated Michael used to be until vampirism changed him.

  “Sure, okay.”

  That ticked me off. “I’m trying this whole self-acceptance thing, okay?”

  “So, what, you like changing into a hairy dog, now? You suddenly think it’s fun?”

  “No,” I said. I still blacked out from the pain of the shift and didn’t even really know what it was like, although wolf-me had enjoyed tearing up some plush dog toys last month. “I just think this is what I’m stuck being, so I might as well learn to like it.”

  The moment I said it, I wished I hadn’t phrased it like that. Raff would be hurt if he’d heard me.

  “Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” Michael said, his tone softening.

  He reached up to touch his lip ring and froze, hand hovering in the air. He looked surprised at himself every time a limb or finger moved faster than he’d meant it to.

  “Look, I’m still getting used to this, and I’m a little on edge. You wanted to talk to me about something?”

  I opened my mouth but stopped. I had, but now it felt weird to tell him about Raff and his challenge against the Portland Alpha. Michael would think it was stupid, because it was kind of stupid. There was no reason for Levi or Raff to fight to the death other than toxic posturing. It was that sort of thing exactly that had turned me off joining the other werewolves in the first place. I didn’t want to fight for a position in a pack or watch anyone else do it, either.

  Michael kept staring at me and finally titled his head, frowning. “There’s a shadow on you.”

  I shivered. I really didn’t love that this whole fae bargain came with a visible mark.

  “Yeah, so, funny story…”

  I told Michael about how Ellianne had extracted a favor from me as payment for the book I’d borrowed and how I was now tasked with finding an uber-rare book in less than three days.

  Michael’s nostrils flared. “That’s not fair. She can’t ask something so difficult of you and then put a time limit on it.”

  “Apparently, she can,” I said, but I was relieved he was on my side. The last thing I needed right then was a lecture about how stupid I’d been getting myself into this situation.

  “I can help,” he said. He sounded almost eager.

  “I’d like that,” I said and smiled at him.

  For a moment, it was like nothing had ever changed between us. Back when I’d started my quest to become a vampire, years and years ago when I was a stupid teenager with a dying sister, Michael had always been willing to help. Dubious about charging into vampire bars and talking to scary strangers, sure, but willing to follow me when I did it and do what he could to aid me in my quest.

 
“There are vampires who collect things just to collect them. There’s this one vampire who has an entire building of a storage units full of junk she’s gathered over the years. The producers of one of those hoarder shows would die if they saw it.”

  “Probably literally,” I said.

  Michael snorted. I chuckled. Just like the old times. Except Michael had fangs, and in five days, I’d transform into a wolf against my will.

  I checked the time.

  “Crap. I have to go,” I said, sliding out of the booth. “There’s an auction for supernatural stuff in an hour, and I need to get to Bellevue.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he said, but his tongue traveled up to poke at his fangs. He sighed. “Actually, being around crowds probably isn’t a good idea. Damien says I need time to get used to the hunger.”

  My heart picked up its pace. “Are you hungry now? Didn’t Damien, you know, feed you?”

  “Of course,” Michael said, smiling wryly. “But new vampires are always hungry. We’re worse than you.”

  “Funny.”

  “I’ll see if I can track down a copy of the book in some vampire’s treasure trove,” he said.

  I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t think letting a new vampire near my neck was a smart move, so I shook Michael’s hand and headed outside to get a ride.

  Chapter 5

  Fun fact: When your Uber driver asks what’s taking you to Bellevue at nine o’clock on a Wednesday night and you answer, “a rare collectables auction,” you get a series of strange looks followed by a silent drive over the 520 Floating Bridge–and I didn’t even mention that it was a supernatural auction.

  The auction was being held at a mansion on the waterfront, and mansion was definitely the word for it. The house was large enough to house several families and have its own Starbucks. It was a white, modern, sleek design with square stories that got larger as they rose. The fifth and final story of the house was large enough to fit in a city block, or at least it looked that way. It probably had a helicopter pad or a rooftop pool or something.

  The driveway was round so cars could drive into the front gate, let their passengers out, and then drive back out without having to turn around. I got out, one person in a series of folks being deposited by town cars.

  The front entrance had a wide staircase that looked like it was made of marble. The French front doors were blue, opaque glass, and a doorman stood by to open them. A couple ahead of me dressed like they were on the way to the opera. They showed the doorman on the left their invitation card and were ushered inside. I did the same thing. The doorman examined my invitation for a little longer but must have decided it was genuine, because he let me in.

  Inside, the house was as elegant as it was out. The sideboards were square and black with white orchids sprouting out of square vases. There was a coat room, but I kept mine on. The entryway had a massive staircase that led to the second story, but the stairs were roped off with a sign reading, “Please remain on the main floor.”

  I was tempted to hop over it just to be defiant, but I didn’t know who—or what—lived here, and I seriously didn’t need to make any new enemies at the moment.

  To the left was another set of double doors that led into a massive ballroom. It was the sort of place people booked for weddings or massive parties, with giant floor-to-ceiling windows facing the lake, based on the orientation of the house. Shades had been pulled over the windows, probably to keep anyone sailing by on a yacht from seeing inside the brightly lit space.

  Rows of folding chairs had been lined up in front of a small stage built on platforms at the back of the room, with curtains flanking it on either side to create a backstage area. A podium with a microphone sat in the center of the stage, with an empty easel on one end and a big table draped in a black curtain on the other.

  Most of the guests milled around talking, but some had taken their seats. As I stepped into the ballroom, I was stopped by a woman in a silver sequin cocktail dress who looked like she’d just returned from her job as a game show prize model.

  “Phone,” she said, smiling.

  I hated to give it up, but I knew I’d be escorted out if I didn’t, and I needed to stay. I doubted I’d be so lucky that the book I sought would show up on the auction block the very night I needed it, but it would give me a chance to see who was bidding on similar items and maybe inquire about whether they had the book in their collection.

  I gave her my phone. She put a rubber band with the number “22” on a paper attached to it. Then she handed me a paddle with the same number on it. I took the paddle and found a seat in a middle row, at the end of an aisle. When I’d handed over my phone, I saw it was six minutes to ten, when the auction was scheduled to start.

  More people filed in, and soon the room was crowded with enough bodies to fill all sixty-some chairs. I glanced around surreptitiously and spotted vampires, someone with an ethereal air about them who struck me as a fae, a woman with horns, and a man with what looked like golden snake scales on the backs of his hand, among others. There were a few humans—or human-looking folks—mixed in, but most of the crowd was supernatural in some way, and even the humans might have been shifters good at hiding their true nature.

  I lingered behind a tiny congregation making small talk near the aisle. The man talking wore a dark blue suit, and his brown hair was streaked with gray.

  “I hope they have something interesting tonight,” he was saying.

  “They always do,” the woman across from him said, smiling.

  “Sure, and I love supernatural paraphernalia as much as any collector, but I’d love to see them auction something more exciting.” He checked his Rolex. “Something to get the blood pumping, you know?”

  “Like what?” the other man laughed. “A vat of goblin wine?”

  The brunet with the Rolex turned slightly, his gaze landing on me. I hadn’t meant to creep in on their conversation, and when he stared at me, my breath caught. His eyes glittered, and he licked his lips. I shivered. There was a strange hunger in his eyes, and I shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze.

  “A real prize. Something more dynamic.”

  I quickly moved around them to find a seat. As I did, I heard the woman say, “Dynamic? Peter, you’re hilarious.”

  The group laughed. I kept moving, but I could feel the heat of Peter’s eyes on my back.

  A man in a gray suit with a blue shirt and gray tie climbed up to the podium and everyone still standing quickly took their seats. The man looked pretty plain to me, but that didn’t mean much. He could have been anything from a vampire’s lover to some kind of shifter or demon.

  “Good evening and welcome to the auction. Only US currency will be accepted tonight.” Someone behind me hissed. “Apologies, but these are the seller’s conditions. I trust you all know how this works. Let’s begin, shall we?”

  Ushers closed the doors to the room, and the air got still, as if everyone was holding their breath. The woman who’d taken my phone earlier carried something out covered in a black cloth. She placed it on the table and pulled the cover off dramatically. There was a gasp throughout the room.

  It was a vase.

  I mean, it was a nice-looking vase, with purple and blue flowers surrounded by silver etched all over it. But I didn’t see anything special about it, certainly not enough to elicit such a reaction.

  Still, as soon as the bidding started—at a whopping three thousand bucks—paddles began flying in the air. The man pointed, shouting numbers, until finally a woman vampire won it for almost ten thousand dollars.

  Sweat collected under my collar. Even if the book I needed was on the auction block, there was no way I’d be able to afford it, not when a stupid vase was going for more money than I’d ever had at once.

  The vase was rolled off the make-shift stage, and the next item was brought out: an ornate pair of golden candlesticks, about three feet tall with intricate flowers molded in gold around the stems.

 
“These candlesticks once belonged to Lord DuMont.”

  I perked up. Lord DuMont was an ancient vampire who lived in England for hundreds of years before traveling to New York City in the 1800s. No one had seen or heard from him since 1901, when he vanished, leaving his townhouse full of stuff behind. There were rumors he was dead, killed by another vampire over territory, but no one could prove it.

  “Bidding will start at five hundred.”

  The candlesticks weren’t my style, and I definitely could not afford them, but it took a concerted effort not to raise my paddle anyway.

  A man with salt-and-pepper hair in a tuxedo who looked entirely human quickly raised his paddle. Another woman, a vampire, bid against him. He shouted, “One thousand!” with his next bid. The vampire woman bid two thousand and they went back and forth until he bid five thousand. The vampire gave up. The human man won the candlesticks.

  A painting by some famous faerie was brought out next. The aroma of pine needles made my nose crinkle, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white-haired fae man standing off to the side. He was only there for a second, perhaps the painter of the piece of art, but it gave me the creeps because I’d felt his eyes on me. Maybe he was only staring at my Faerie Mark.

  More items were brought out, and it went like that for over an hour. None of the objects seemed particularly magical or supernatural in nature, though most had some vague connection to a supernatural being—a painting by a famous witch, or a chair that had belonged to a demon, that kind of thing. Everything sold for thousands of dollars.

  There had been no books and no way for me to tell who in this room might collect such things. I felt defeated.

  When the auction ended, people slowly stood and began to file out. The salt-and-pepper-haired man bumped into me as he rushed past, eager to get his purchase, I guessed. Though, he paused to apologize. I shrugged it off and quickly rushed into the lobby so I could watch people leave and assess the odds they had a library of magic books at home, but I’d already decided this night had been a huge waste of time.

  The man with the scales on his hands stopped to get his coat and then turned to face me. He blinked when his eyes landed on me. His eyes were a strange shade of gold.