Moon Bound (The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles Book 3)

by Tori Centanni

  “Why?” he finally asked.

  “It’s just not meshing with my werewolf lifestyle,” I said. “Between all of the pack meetings and then trying to get time off for the full moon every month, it’s gotten to be too much. I was calling out sick or getting so many of shifts covered that it didn’t feel worth it anymore.”

  That was entirely true, but I hadn’t realized until that moment just how much pressure I’d felt trying to juggle the job and being a werewolf. For years, it had been frustrating and a little scary having to wrangle every full moon off work (and the surrounding days when I could manage it). But now, it felt like there was always something more pressing than my yogurt shop shift, some pack meeting or event I needed to be at. This weekend was great example. Even without the faerie thing, Raff’s ceremony was Friday night, the fight was Saturday, and the full moon was Monday. Trying to explain why I needed all of those days off to my very human boss was like a whole production.

  “That’s fair,” Raff said. I looked up at him. He smiled. “There’s a reason I freelance, you know.”

  My shoulders relaxed. “I might be a little late on rent. But to be fair, I don’t think my sporadic hours were going to cover it anyway.”

  “It’s not a problem,” he said, but there was still concern written all over his face. “Are you okay otherwise? You’ve been… busy.”

  “Yeah,” I lied, getting to my feet. My skirt was a little rumpled, but otherwise, I was ready to go back out and find Ellianne’s stupid book. “Totally fine.”

  “Which is why you’ve been running around at odd hours and not sleeping,” Raff said.

  Busted.

  I shrugged.

  “Come on, Charlie.” His blue eyes were so earnest. “You’re clearly up to something. Or caught up in something. Whatever it is, I can help.”

  “It’s nothing,” I lied.

  Raff folded his arms over his chest. That wasn’t going to fly. But I could give him part of the truth.

  “I’m trying to hunt down a rare book. It’s proving to be pretty freaking elusive. It’s not a big deal.”

  The consequences of not finding it, on the other hand… but Raff had bigger things to worry about, and the last thing I wanted to do was distract him from his training. Because the only way this Alpha challenge wasn’t turning into a blood bath was if Raff won.

  “What book?” he asked, brow furrowed.

  I started to say the title, but I knew as soon as I said the word “cure,” Raff would think this whole thing was about finding a werewolf cure, and he’d get mad. I doubted there was anything like that in the book. From what I could tell, it was about fae curses or witch magic or something.

  “It’s a weird arcane book that Ellianne wants for her library.”

  Raff’s face darkened. He didn’t trust Ellianne, for good reasons. “You’re doing a job for a faerie?”

  His tone—like doing that was beneath me or something—put me on the defensive.

  “Yeah, so? It’s a book, not a magic apocalypse machine.”

  Raff dropped his arms. “It just seems dangerous to do stuff for her. Faeries are manipulative and good at tricking people into traps.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Barely.

  “I know that. I’ve known Ellianne a very long time. I’m always careful.” Except when I accidentally ended up owing her a favor, but there was no way I was admitting that part to him now. “Anyhow, I should get back to work. The book isn’t going to find itself.”

  I grabbed my phone, shoved it in my purse, and headed to the coat hooks to grab my jacket.

  “Charlie.”

  His voice was edged and a little raw. I met his eyes and they burned with intensity. My pulse raced. We just stood there, looking at each other, heat creeping into my cheeks. Then he spoke, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Just… be careful. And let me know if you need help.”

  I zipped up my coat and glanced in his direction. I wanted to say, I’m not the one getting ready to throw myself into the Colosseum, but seeing the worry on his face, I couldn’t. Besides, it wasn’t like I didn’t want his help. I just didn’t want to distract him when he the fight with Levi to prepare for.

  I could solve my faerie problem alone.

  “I will,” I told him and quickly left.

  With no other leads about the book itself, my next course of action was to research the author–and the best place to start was the local library.

  I took the bus downtown and then stopped for coffee and a vegan donut at a local coffee stand that had set up shop in Westlake Park. The park had been turned into a Winter Wonderland for the Christmas holiday with stalls selling snacks decorated like elf houses and a carousel in the middle. The area was crowded with post-Christmas shoppers and tourists enjoying the rest of their Winter Break.

  Then I walked down Fourth Avenue to the Seattle Library. The library was gorgeous, a massive glass and metal structure that looked like a misshapen diamond, its sides jutting out at odd angles.

  I did a search for Leah Ladd at the main terminal, on the off chance the library had a copy of her book. Wouldn’t that be lucky? Sadly, her name didn’t come up.

  Next was to search for her in the public records. Using my laptop, I was able to find a copy of her death certificate. She had died in 1898. There was a short obituary in the Post-Intelligencer that listed a surviving daughter, Mary Hadley. Mary had a son named James, who had a few kids, and then the records just stopped. The family had probably moved away. Whatever the case, I didn’t know if Leah Ladd had any local living relatives who might have held onto a copy of her book as a family heirloom.

  As I packed up my stuff, a gust of frigid air brushed over my neck and made my skin crawl. I turned in time to see someone with white hair disappear into the stacks. I zipped my purse and jumped up, chasing after the figure. When I got into the stacks, they were gone.

  Heart pounding, I headed back outside.

  The cold, the white hair… was Ellianne checking up on me?

  I watched the library door for several minutes, waiting to see if she followed me out. There was no sign of her. But it wasn’t the only door. She could have slipped out the back.

  Maybe I was just imagining things. I was tired and hungry and not thinking straight. Why would she send me on such a mundane errand and then follow me around? It made no sense.

  I decided to grab some lunch and figure out what to do next.

  As I ordered a sandwich and a large soda from a sandwich shop, I could practically feel the clock ticking down in my bones. It was four o’clock in the afternoon on Thursday. I had twenty-nine hours left, and things were not looking good.

  I ate my ham and cheese sandwich mechanically, barely tasting anything. Though, admittedly, when I finished, I did feel better having food in my system, and the caffeine from the soda helped me perk up.

  My phone buzzed on the Formica table and I picked it up, scooping my trash into my sandwich wrapper and tossing it on my way out the door. Once outside, I answered.

  “Hey, Charlie, this is Arthur Dawson,” Arthur said, though I knew that because I’d added his number into my contacts. “I found my records from the Dart estate sale.”

  I mentally jumped up and down, relief washing over me like a tidal wave.

  I kept my voice calm, afraid sounding too eager might scare him off, and said, “Oh, that’s great. So, you know who bought the book?”

  “According to my records, it’s a woman named Kat Schmidt. No contact information listed, I’m afraid. She bought a whole box of books, actually, and that one must have been included because there are no other books listed on my inventory form.”

  A bit of my hope deflated. He didn’t have an exact record of selling that book, he only thought it was included in the bundle this woman had bought. With the hours ticking down, I needed a solid path to follow and this wasn’t solid enough.

  “You don’t have an inventory of the box?” I asked, incredulous.
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  “Sorry, no. We might have at one time, but it’s not in the records that were kept. Anyhow, I hope that helps.”

  He sounded genuine enough. Despite my disappointment, I thanked him for taking the time to track the information down. It wasn’t a perfect lead, but I supposed it was better than nothing.

  I grabbed my computer, went back inside the sandwich shop to use their wi-fi, and looked up Kat Schmidt.

  Since it was a common name, and I had very little to narrow it down by, I found three different Kat Schmidts in the area and then dug up phone numbers to call and inquire about whether they’d bought a box of books from an estate sale. All of them pleaded ignorance. One hung up on me. One apologized for not knowing anything. And the last one told me she’d never been to an estate sale in her life.

  By the time I’d finished, the sun was setting, and I could feel the vice closing around me. I was screwed. Totally, completely freaking screwed. This was an impossible task. The book was way too rare, and I didn’t have the connections or funds to make it materialize in such a short period of time. I could spend a whole year searching for this book and never find it.

  “He’s going to die,” said a familiar voice behind me.

  I turned to see Rayna, tall and beautiful, her dark hair swept back into braids. She wore a leather jacket and leather pants and stood near a motorcycle parked at the curb. She was a warrior from the Portland pack, one of Levi’s werewolves.

  “Who?” I asked, but I already knew who she meant.

  “Your boyfriend. Raff.” Her eyes were shiny and caught the light from the street lamps overhead.

  “No, he won’t,” I said, but my throat felt raw.

  “Levi has fought this fight before. He will win. He always wins.” She sounded so matter-of-fact, like it was inevitable and she was simply resigned to it.

  “Raff can take him.”

  If I said it enough, maybe it would be true. Raff was strong and determined. He had more passion for being a werewolf than anyone I’d ever met. It was hard to imagine him losing, but I’d seen Levi. He was brawn and corded muscle, practiced and proficient at fighting. I couldn’t picture him losing, either, and that was the problem.

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. But I wouldn’t count on it. Levi has a good track record. And your boy is not a killer.”

  I shivered.

  “He’ll do what he needs to.”

  My voice shook, and I hated myself for that. I wanted to project total confidence, because I knew Rayna would report back to Levi, and I didn’t want either of them to doubt Raff’s ability to win.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Giving you fair warning. Talk him out of the challenge. Levi is a good Alpha. You’ll both be better off.” She put on a helmet and got on the motorcycle, speeding away before I could argue.

  A pit grew in my stomach. I couldn’t talk Raff out of the challenge. Rayna’s warning would only make him more determined to prove himself.

  I stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, trying to shake the unease that had sunk into my bones.

  Finally, I texted Michael and asked him to meet me at Bats. Not my favorite club these days, but it was easy to get to, and I knew he’d be more willing to go there as a new vampire than a regular bar.

  I didn’t know what to do next, and I was hoping Michael would have some bright ideas about finding the book. The sooner I could knock out this faerie chore, the sooner I could focus on helping Raff kick Levi’s butt.

  Chapter 8

  The bouncer at Bats was a blond guy I’d never seen before, a guy with scruffy facial hair and translucently pale skin. It was odd to have an actual vampire doing grunt work like checking IDs at the door. It was also super early for vampires—this was the hour where they were still dragging themselves out of their coffins, so to speak—and he seemed as a grumpy as I did when I was forced to work a super early shift.

  “No wolves,” he said before I could say a word.

  “Good thing I’m not a wolf, then, isn’t it?” I asked, irritated. I didn’t have any patience left for this crap.

  He glared at me in the way only a vampire can, as if he was both contemptuous and apathetic. “Sorry. No part-time wolves, either.”

  “I’m meeting a vampire here,” I said, hoping that would buy me enough clout to get in the door.

  The man’s contempt turned to amusement. “I see. Like a Romeo and Juliet thing. From different world, they come together.”

  Now it was my turn to glare. “He’s just a friend. And I come here all the time.”

  He studied me for so long I was afraid he might pounce and lunge for my throat or something. But finally, he waved a hand.

  “Fine, go in. But be careful, little wolf. Bats is not a place for pretend monsters.”

  I resisted the urge to laugh in his face. Bats was full of mortal vampire groupies, just like I’d been once, wearing goth fashion and vampire-style makeup, pretending to be something otherworldly even though they were completely human. I was more supernatural than any of them. But I knew better than argue with a cranky vampire.

  When Michael arrived ten minutes later, he was dressed in a black button-up and slacks and looked like a waiter from a fancy restaurant more than a creature of the night. I didn’t say so. Usually he had an impeccable sense of fashion, and tonight’s outfit looked strange on him.

  “Damien picked out my clothes,” he said, with an eye roll. “He thinks this looks more vampiric.”

  “Damien wears jeans and t-shirts,” I said. “He spends more time with his PlayStation than writing gothic poetry. I don’t think he’s an expert on what’s considered vampiric.”

  Michael frowned, a flash of irritation moving over his preternatural face like a flash of lightning. “Well, he’s a vampire, so he sort of is.”

  I let it drop. I wasn’t here to argue about Michael’s immortal fashion choices. He now had eternity to work out what kind of outfit suited him.

  “Any luck finding the book?” I asked.

  “No,” Michael said, and again I felt like a stab in my ribs. I was so, so very screwed. “But I did find out that a vampire named Viv has a house full of books in West Seattle.”

  I sucked in a breath. West Seattle was where Ellianne lived. Was it possible the stupid book had been in her neighborhood the whole time?

  “That’s great.” I practically jumped out of my seat. “Let’s go talk to her, see if she has it.”

  “She’s somewhere in Europe right now. Damien hasn’t had contact with her in years. She comes back periodically, but it’s always sporadic.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. I have one day left, Michael. I can’t wait until she decides to venture back across the globe.”

  “I know,” Michael said, his voice calm.

  He put his hands up, palms flat. His movements were still a little jerky, like spasms he couldn’t control. He smiled and produced a keyring.

  “That’s why I got her keys.”

  I grinned. “How did you manage that?”

  “She’s Damien’s sire,” he said, looking at the table.

  Michael knew I’d been dying to find out who had turned Damien years before, back when I’d wanted to know everything about Damien. But the information no longer felt like the truth bomb it might have once upon a time. Now Damien was just a guy and my best friend’s boyfriend, and how he’d become a vampire himself seemed largely irrelevant. It was funny how things that had seemed earth-shatteringly important to me once upon a time now felt trivial.

  “He’s technically watching her place for her, although I don’t think he bothers to go by more than twice a year, if that.”

  “Awesome. Let’s go. Time’s wasting.”

  I stood and grabbed Michael’s hand. It was cold as a block of ice, and I physically recoiled before I could stop myself.

  Michael looked hurt but tried to hide it.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll get used to it. Just like you got used to listening to me scratch and
howl in the basement.”

  That made him smile wryly. “I gotta admit, I don’t really miss that part of living with you.”

  “Yeah, that was kind of a bummer,” I said. “But I do miss hanging out all the time.”

  “So do I.”

  As we left, the vampire guarding the door snickered.

  “Have a good night, Juliet,” he called to me.

  Michael raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” I said as we headed toward where Michael had parked Damien’s car.

  “This place could total qualify for an episode of Hoarders.”

  I moved through the stacks of books, which were literally piled up like bricks to form chest-high walls all throughout the living and dining area of the small house.

  The house itself was a squat little green square with peeling paint and white trim on the backside of the hill, not far from the Alaska Junction. If we managed to find the book, I could literally walk it over to Ellianne’s condo and hand it over. That fantasy had been the only reason I’d been willing to enter the musty, dust-filled house in the first place.

  The house was one story with a basement, though neither Michael nor I had braved going downstairs yet. There was no furniture, just stacks and stacks of books. The walls were lined with shelves that bowed from the weight of too many tomes. Rows of book stacks formed a maze that filled the entire house. Even the bathtub was piled high with them.

  At least the electricity was still on and we didn’t have to work in the dark.

  Most of the books were old and didn’t have titles on their spines. Some were so old and worn they looked like they’d crumble if I dared to move any from the stack.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” Michael said from the kitchen. Books covered the counters and the top of the stove, which was super old and probably from the 1950s. It matched the rounded lime green refrigerator that sat in the corner.

  “This is a terrible way to store books if you want to preserve them,” I said. Seattle got its fair share of humidity, especially close to the water, and everything was covered in dust and grime. I wouldn’t be surprised to find rats living amongst the stacks.