Moon Bound (The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles Book 3)

by Tori Centanni

  “I don’t think it’s about preservation so much as collecting,” Michael said, lifting some of the books off the counter to examine their title pages. “Damien says vampires tend to go through phases where they collect something or obsess about one thing, and then they get bored and leave it all behind.”

  “That sounds healthy,” I said, pulling open a cover from the stack closest to me to check the title page. There wasn’t one, just a wall of unreadable hand-written cursive.

  “Eternity is a long time,” he said, almost reverently. “I guess you get bored.”

  He lifted the books he’d checked and put them in the only empty place in the kitchen: the sink. Then he looked through the next stack. I started doing the same with the books in the living room. Moving the ones I checked into an empty space, reforming the maze walls as I searched.

  “Curses and Cures, yeah?” Michael called.

  My heart leapt. “Did you find it?”

  “No,” he said, setting the book he’d been looking out down and picking up the next. “Just making sure I was looking for the right thing.”

  I sighed and went back to work.

  Eventually, I’d gotten through half the living room stacks and made my way to the back shelves. The shelves were faster: I plucked a book out, checked the title, and put it back. I’d made it through three of the ten shelves in the living room before I checked the time. It had taken me over an hour to get through maybe a fourth of the books in the living room. Michael had worked his way out of the kitchen and into the dining room, working at vampire speed. At least there was that.

  I couldn’t shake the thrumming of blood in my ears that seemed too similar to a ticking clock, telling me I was wasting too much time. If the book was here—and it could be—this was my best hope. If not, well, I didn’t have a lot of other avenues to explore at the moment.

  Most of the books were personal journals about experiences with the fae, or shifters, or being bitten by werewolves. Some were more academic studies of the supernatural, or pretended to be. There were books on anatomy and medicine from back when doctors believed the cure for everything was balancing one’s humors. I recognized some of the vampire books from Ellianne’s collection, though many I’d never seen before. It was a veritable treasure trove for someone like me, if only I’d had time to pull up a chair in the middle of the stacks and read.

  By ten pm, we’d gone through everything on the main floor of the house, mostly thanks to Michael’s vampire speed. I’d stuck to the living room, going through the shelves and then more stacks, while Michael inventoried the rest of the house and came back to help finish the remaining stacks. The basement was full of chests that turned out to hold clothes and jewelry. Some of it was extremely valuable, but neither of us was stupid enough to steal from a vampire.

  When we reached the last stack, a wild desperation had come over me, and I tore through all of them, not caring that some of the books literally fell to pieces as I discarded them to look at the rest.

  “It’s not here,” I said, as I held the last book, a treatise on fae plant life. “How can it not be here? Every other supernatural book on the planet is here!”

  Michael shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, Charlotte. I’m sorry.”

  I collapsed onto my knees in the piles of dust and paper turned to powder. I had to resist the urge to burst into tears. “I’m so screwed.”

  “We’ll find it. We still have…” he stopped to do the math and frowned. “Time,” he finished, not daring to say a number.

  “Twenty-three hours,” I said. “It’s not enough. My only other lead is some woman named Kat Schmidt, and the only ones I could find have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  Michael’s head rose so fast I thought he was going to break his neck. “Kitty Schmidt? I know her.”

  I blinked.

  “No, you don’t,” I said, because I refused to get my hopes up again.

  “I do.” Michael moved around precarious a stack of books. “She’s one of the groupies who hangs around Bats. She’s always throwing herself at Damien and any other vampire she sees. She had this game night party last year that I went to because I felt bad for her and thought she could use a few more mortal friends, you know? But when none of the vampires she’d invited showed up, she threw everyone out.”

  “Wait, she hosted a game night to lure vampires to her place?” I asked, incredulous and a little jealous, because given how much Damien liked games, that wasn’t a terrible idea.

  Except that it obviously hadn’t worked.

  “Vampires love puzzles,” Michael said, looking around the disintegrating books scattered around me on the floor. “Anyhow, I know where she lives, assuming she hasn’t moved. And she’ll let me in now that I’m like this.” He flashed his fangs.

  A small shiver went down my spine at the reminder that I was a warm-blooded animal in a small space with a predator who, though he’d eaten before he’d come to meet me, would probably very much love to tear my throat open on some primal level.

  I got to feet and did my best to restore the last stack of books to its previous state before we left. Michael locked up for the vampire who may or may not even bother to return for her collection someday.

  Chapter 9

  Kat “Kitty” Schmidt lived in an apartment building on First Hill, the southern part of Capitol Hill that surrounded the hospital. Her building was a few blocks from the ER entrance, and an ambulance went whooshing past as Michael tried to park in the only open space we’d found that wasn’t reserved or otherwise illegal to occupy. The SUV was a little big for the spot, but he managed to wedge it in. With time running out, I wasn’t going to complain.

  Her building had been freshly painted in white with brown trim on every unit’s porch railings. We got in the building quickly, as a guy was leaving to walk his dog as we approached, and I just grabbed the door and went in like I belonged there.

  Kitty lived on the second floor. Michael knocked on her door and she answered almost right away, surprise turning to sheer elation when she realized who it was, and in turn, what Michael had become since she’d last seen him.

  “You’re a vampire!” she squealed, so loudly that Michael looked around nervously, afraid neighbors might hear.

  Not that anyone was likely to believe there was a real life vampire, and I was sure Kitty was the sort of person who used that word so much it lost all meaning.

  Like me, she had a gothic sense of style. She wore a black lacy skirt with fishnet tights, a scoop-neck black shirt, and black choker with an old fashioned-looking broach in the center. Her hair was jet black, like mine, and obviously dyed. Her blonde roots were starting to show near her hairline.

  Her apartment was draped in black velvet. Seriously, it was like she’d gone to JoAnn’s, bought a bolt of the stuff, and put it over everything: her coffee table, the back of her couch, and even her dining room table, which also held an ornate silver candelabra.

  “Come on in,” she said, and stepped back. The moment Michael stepped over the threshold, she giggled. “Now that you’re invited, you can come back any time you want.”

  She winked at him. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, not that she was paying any attention to me. Vampires did not actually require invitations to enter a place, but clearly she thought she was clever.

  When I entered her apartment and shut the door behind me, she finally looked me over. Given our black outfits and dyed hair, we should have had something in common, but once she saw that I didn’t have fangs, she quickly lost interest and turned her attention back to Michael.

  “I can’t believe it, man. You’ve achieved the dream! Tell me everything!”

  She sat on the sofa and patted the square of velvet beside her. Neither of us sat.

  “I guess Damien thought it was time,” Michael said, his voice a little stiff.

  He flicked his lip ring with his tongue, and I knew then that there was a heck of a lot more to that story. He’d told me Damien h
adn’t had a choice, which meant Michael had been in danger. But I’d have to get the story out of him later. Right now, we were on a mission.

  “I’m Charlie,” I said, because she wasn’t showing signs of asking any time soon.

  “Oh, sorry, hi,” she said but then glanced at Michael again, as if he might explain why he’d brought another mortal girl to her apartment. “So, what’s it like being immortal?”

  Michael fidgeted. “You know. About what you’d expect.”

  “I bet it’s amazing. I can’t wait to be a vampire,” she said dreamily.

  I shuddered. It was like looking into a mirror of my past. I’d been so obsessed and determined and hadn’t stopped to think about what I was trying to get or even if it was possible to get it.

  Michael, meanwhile, twitched, his arm jerking, a motion out of his control. He cleared this throat and turned to look at me, which finally made Kitty do the same thing.

  “We actually came by for a reason,” I said.

  Kitty’s face lit up. “Oh, my God. Michael, are you here to turn me?”

  Michael swallowed uneasily.

  I powered on: “We’re here because a few years ago you bought a box of books at an estate sale and one of them might be a book I need.”

  She made a sound of irritation, like a “tsk,” and leaned aback against her sofa.

  “Is that all? I thought Michael was here to share the secrets of becoming like him. You know I’ve wanted it for almost a decade. I just need to find someone willing.” She made puppy dog eyes at Michael. “I don’t suppose your boyfriend would do it? I can pay.”

  Michael stammered something about Damien being sort of tapped out for now, which was fair enough, given that he’d literally only turned Michael two nights ago, and making a vampire was no easy feat.

  “But you’re not,” Kitty said, her eyes shining.

  I grimaced. Had I ever seemed that pathetically desperate? Probably. I did bang on Damien’s door and demand he make a vampire, after all.

  “Do you have the books?” I pressed. “Can I ask if you have a specific title?”

  Kitty had trouble peeling her eyes off Michael’s mouth but finally deigned to look at me. “I guess.”

  “It’s called Curses and Cures by Leah Ladd, and it’s super important I get a copy tonight. I’m happy to compensate you for it.”

  Kitty giggled. Actually giggled. Michael and I exchanged a glance. He seemed faintly embarrassed, and I could see why he hadn’t brought me along to the infamous game night party.

  “I remember that book,” she said finally. “I hoped that one in particular might have a cure for vampirism. No dice.”

  “You wanted a cure for vampirism?” I asked, incredulous. That seemed like the exact opposite of what she wanted.

  She shrugged. “Thought it might be worth trading to a vampire in exchange for being turned. You never know. Some of them aren’t exactly thrilled with their lot in life. They don’t know how lucky they are.”

  “Well, if it’s useless to you, can I have it?” I asked, knowing she wasn’t going to let go of anything that easily.

  “Sure. I’ll happily give it to you in exchange for something I want.” She licked her lips, her gaze never leaving Michael, who shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked uncomfortably. “Make me like you and your friend can take any book from my apartment.”

  “I can’t do that,” Michael said, sounding a little relieved. “New vampires aren’t capable of turning others, remember?”

  That was true. Newer vampires couldn’t withstand losing the amount of blood they’d need to give a mortal to change them. No one knew exactly how old a vampire had to be for the change to work, but most wouldn’t dare try it until they’d survived their first year.

  Kitty pouted. “Oh, right.”

  I got the impression that she hadn’t forgotten that at all, but rather that she’d hoped maybe Michael had and might be willing to try it. She didn’t seem to care that they could both die in the process.

  “Well, then,” she said, standing, “I’ll take a glass of your blood instead.”

  Michael paled, which I hadn’t known was possible given how pale he was already.

  “His blood?” I asked.

  “A hit is better than nothing,” she said, with a shrug.

  My stomach turned. She got a glass from the kitchen and held it out to him. Michael took the glass, resigned.

  “Fine. For the book.”

  My stomach sank. I felt terrible, especially when she produced a knife so he could cut himself. I gave him a look that begged him not to do it, and yet, I couldn’t make myself protest. I needed the stupid book too much.

  Michael swiped the knife across his wrist. The viscous red liquid spilled into the glass. Michael gave it to her, her eyes glittering like he was handing her gold, and he wrapped his wrist in a paper towel. Vampires healed quickly, at least.

  “There,” he said, satisfied he wasn’t going to bleed all over the floor. “Now, give Charlotte the book.”

  “Sure.” She took a sip of the blood and bile rose in my throat. I thought I might puke all over her velvet-covered coffee table. She looked like she was drinking coffee in a commercial, eyes closed as she savored the flavor rolling over her tongue. “Perfect. Let me go see if I still have it.”

  “If you still have it?” Michael and I practically yelled at the same time.

  She took the blood with her and disappeared into her bedroom.

  “You know how I promised I wouldn’t be the sort of vampire who kills people?” Michael whispered. “I’m starting to seriously reconsider.”

  “At this moment, I don’t blame you at all,” I said, teeth clenched; if she didn’t come back with the book, I might have to get violent myself.

  She returned empty-handed, lingering the hallway. Instead of hitting her, I started crying. I didn’t cry super often, but I was exhausted and at the end of my rope, and this stupid woman had just tricked Michael into giving her vampire blood for nothing.

  Kitty’s eyes widened, surprised at my reaction. “I can’t find it. I think it was in the box I sold last April, when I finally did some spring cleaning.”

  Michael swore. Then I swore, too, and wiped at my eyes. Crying wasn’t going to help me.

  Kitty held up her hands. “I have the name of the guy I sold it to. He’s like a supernatural fanboy or something and collects things.” She extended a piece of paper but didn’t come closer to hand it to us. Eventually, Michael walked up to her, gave her a hard stare, and practically ripped it out of her hand.

  Unsure what else to do, she kept talking. “He answered my ad right away. I remember because it was the day after Tax Day, and I figured no one would buy a box of dusty old books.”

  “You’d better hope he still has it,” he snarled and pivoted away from her.

  He was out of the apartment at vampire speed. Kitty stared after him, crestfallen, like she’d really thought he was her ticket to immortality and now she knew she’d ruined it.

  “I really thought it might be here,” she told me. “I mean, I was like seventy percent sure. I thought I only sold the collector guy the duds, and that book had some real magic in it.”

  “Well, you got what you wanted,” I said, unable to mask my irritation.

  She glanced at the glass of crimson blood in her hand.

  “Not really,” she said sadly.

  I turned and left.

  I found Michael leaning against a tree, his hands in his pockets to steady himself. In the dim streetlights, he looked exactly like a vampire from a movie poster: slender with an angular face and shaggy, inky hair.

  “Please tell me I was never like that,” I said.

  “You weren’t,” Michael said, with such surety that I believed him. Relief washed over me. “You knew what you wanted and were determined to get it, but you were never conniving. I mean, you basically banged down a vampire’s door. It doesn’t get more direct than that.”

  I knew he was righ
t, but I wondered what I might have become if I’d had a few more years to desperately ache for vampirism. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine I’d have ended up like Kitty, willing to trick any vampire I could into giving up a little blood. Maybe it was a blessing I’d been turned into a werewolf, after all.

  Michael pulled a hand from his pocket and gave me the piece of paper. It had a name on it, Jacob Farrow. Nothing more.

  I resisted the urge to crumple it up and toss it into the trash.

  Chapter 10

  It was a little after eleven o’clock, and I had less than twenty-two hours left. I felt like there was a little microwave timer in the back of my head, ticking down the seconds until Ellianne would appear to claim the book I still didn’t have.

  All I did have was a stupid scrap of paper with a name, and given how many names like that I’d run through already, it was possible that was another dead end.

  Michael and I made our way toward where he’d parked without any urgency. He seemed to be waiting for me to decide what to do next, and I was at a loss. I could track this person down and see if maybe, possibly, they still had a copy of the book. And then when they inevitably did not, I could spend tomorrow morning going through every used book store in the area, hoping maybe it was sitting on a shelf in the mystical section, unwanted. And then… I didn’t know what I’d do.

  Face the fact that I was going to be beholden to a faerie for a very, very long time, I supposed.

  My phone rang, jarring me out of my thoughts. I dug it out of my purse and saw Raff’s name on the display. I hit the “answer” button.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, breathless.

  A knot formed in my stomach. He wouldn’t ask that without a good reason.

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  “You should get home,” he said, tone grave.

  My insides turned to cement. “What’s going on?”

  He ignored my question. “Where are you? I can come get you.”