Sara's Moon (Moons of Mystery Book 1)

by S Bolanos

  A sudden sense of wrongness invaded my warm, fuzzy feeling. My ears strained to find some explanation for the inexplicable alarm. I pulled away from Michael, abandoning my quest, and brought a hand up to stop his inquiry at my abrupt withdrawal. A second of complete silence dragged by.

  Cold washed through me.

  “Michael, the birds. Where are the birds?” I whispered, too scared to do anything louder. His eyes locked onto mine and the fear tripled. The urge to run as fast as possible saturated my limbs. Only Michael’s iron grip prevented me from bolting. The conflict of motion had me vibrating in place.

  The logic that running was a terrible idea, did nothing to quell the desire to do exactly that. My breaths faltered as I fought to prevent myself from shifting. Michael held a finger up to his lips and I stopped breathing altogether.

  The thunder of a snapped twig echoed through the forest and the silent birds took flight in a cacophony of noise. Michael yanked me forward, nearly ripping my arm from its socket. I stumbled the first few steps, then found my balance. Once Michael was sure I was following, he released the appendage and we raced for all we were worth straight for the Jeep.

  Branches whipped across my face. Rivulets of hot blood streamed over my cheeks. Thorns and briers ripped out hair. Despite the accumulating wealth of injuries, I kept running. By some miracle, I avoided tripping or crashing into any trees. I desperately wanted to look back to see if anyone was following, but didn’t dare. Then the bright yellow of the Jeep was a beacon before us.

  We’re going to make it.

  I caught the flash of keys in Michael’s hand. Right as a sigh of relief hovered on my lips, a dark blur launched itself from somewhere deep within the shadows. My feet skidded in the damp leaves, losing their traction as I attempted to come to a complete stop. I careened forward into a disastrous crash that rolled me several more yards.

  “Michael!”

  He turned at my scream in time to be hit head on by the blur. Their combined momentum threw them into the shadows. Then he was up again and sprinting for the vehicle. “Get in the Jeep!”

  I struggled to my feet and stumbled the last few yards. Michael launched himself into the driver’s seat and slammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, nearly sending me into my suppressed change. He jerked the car into gear and tires whirred on loose foliage. The wheels found traction and we lurched forward.

  Our assailant landed on the hood with a terrible screech of metal, a monstrous, half-changed beast of horror, and my scream drowned out the straining engine. Legs that would never straighten dug clawed feet into the rent hood. Fur sprouted in patches across the grotesque body twisted into a shape that violated nature itself. Pointed ears rose high above his head that pivoted at odd angles as he struggled to maintain his grasp. Blood dripped down newly grown razor-sharp fangs to color the ropes of saliva hanging from a mouth never intended for fangs.

  Yellowed eyes swiveled to look at me with a sickening promise of violence. In slow motion, his mouth split in a sadistic smile too large for his face and I knew exactly how a deer felt before the jaws of death closed around its neck. I stared into eyes seething with hate and my breath went shallow as memory took hold.

  My scream pierced the night as dagger-like teeth ripped into my leg, cutting through skin and muscle to scrape bone. I turned and beat at his snout with one hand while I tried to drag myself away with the other.

  Chips of paint caught beneath my fingernails. The beast snarled and pulled me back. Loose grit seared my skin. My hand flopped to the concrete as the stoop drifted further out of reach.

  Terror gripped me, not just of the pain, but of those eyes.

  I knew those eyes.

  The tires squealed as the Jeep swung wildly and the answer that had been within reach slipped through my fingers. I mentally scrambled to get it back even as I clung for dear life to the jeep as it bucked wildly over exposed roots and divots in the ground.

  The attacker’s head swiveled to fixate on Michael. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as a mangled claw ripped free of the twisted metal and rose up. His savage growl promised retribution. The Jeep slammed to a halt and sent the mutated were flying with a screech of tearing metal. Tires whirred once more and the jeep launched backwards.

  I reached out reflexively to steady myself against the violent shift in direction and the dashboard disintegrated beneath my touch. I stared down in absent shock at the plastic fragments coating my hands. Then we were back in drive and careening through the forest.

  It wasn’t until we had been on the highway for a good thirty minutes that I dared to look over at Michael. His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white while he stared down at the asphalt with an intensity I'd never seen from him.

  “Michael,” I rasped.

  His eyes barely twitched in my direction. “That was him.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Like me, he was covered in scratches and bruises from our flight, but he also had a set of claw marks running the length of his arm. He looked down as though he hadn’t noticed they were there in the first place, then finally looked at me.

  “Oh, Sara.”

  The empathy in his voice stripped away the last of my strength and hot tears ran heedlessly down my cheeks, turning my filth into bloody mud. He made as if to reach out to me, then replaced his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

  We burst into Michael’s house and I only had one thought. “I swear, I knew him. I looked into his eyes and knew him.”

  Those green eyes flecked with amber would haunt me until the day I died. My duffel skid along the wood floors to thump into a distant wall.

  Michael’s sigh could’ve been for the potential damage to his house or it could’ve been from my assertion. Judging by his attitude, I was leaning towards the latter.

  “You don’t believe me,” I said, furious down to my toenails.

  “I’m not saying that, but let’s be reasonable,” he said, calmly placing his duffel beside the armchair.

  I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Before you get defensive, all I’m saying is that it stands to reason that you’ve seen him before, especially if he’s been stalking you as long as we suspect.”

  My shoulders slumped. I didn’t know what was worse, some faceless beast wanting me dead or someone I’d met face-to-face wanting to kill me so bad he was willing to do it in broad daylight. Despair threatened to turn me into a puddle of helplessness. I forced the thoughts away and focused on my anger, since it was the only thing keeping me upright.

  “How? How did he know we were there? We were in the middle of the woods for Christ’s sake!” I threw my arms out as I paced the living room. “Did he follow us from here? The office? How long has he known where I am?”

  “Sara, calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

  Deep down, I knew what he was really saying—that I was dangerously close to working myself into a change. Quite frankly it’d only been a few hours since my repressed change and it probably wouldn’t take much to send me over the edge. However, that logic did nothing to diminish my panic.

  “Sara, please.” He reached out.

  I flung my hand up to ward him off. “Don’t touch me.”

  His face fell, as did his hand. “At least sit down.” He gestured at the couch.

  “How can I sit? He could burst in here at any moment.” My arms flailed wildly in conjunction with the outrageous statement. What should have been an exaggeration was all too likely. “He’s probably making his way here as we speak. This is hopeless. Why did I think I could outrun him?” I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, fighting vainly against the despair so determined to swallow me whole. “He seems to know our every move, but we don’t know anything about him.”

  “We know some things.”

  “Like what? His name? What he looks like? How he managed to find us in the middle of
nowhere?” I screeched.

  Michael made as if to reach out again and thought better of it. Part of me wanted the consolation, another part was positive that if he touched me, I’d tear his arm off.

  “I can’t be here right now. I need to go.”

  Michael nodded as if he understood. “Then let’s go.”

  “Without you.”

  Tension filled the room as he stared back at me in silence. For a second, I thought he would argue. For another, I wanted him to. Then it was gone. I squared my shoulders and glared back defiantly.

  “At least take the Jeep,” he said, tossing me the keys.

  I debated arguing the impracticality of driving something that clearly had been through hell, but that required too many words. I snatched the keys out of the air without responding. The door slammed home behind me and I was already dialing by the time the engine turned.

  I needed space. I needed advice. I needed Charline.

  “Hey,” I said when she picked up.

  “Sara? What’s wrong? You sound awful.” She didn’t sound so hot either.

  “It’s just…just…” Just what? What could I possibly tell her? That a homicidal maniac that just so happens to be a werewolf is after me? “Just guy issues. Can I come over?” I asked.

  “Oh honey, if you're looking for a place to be sad, this is definitely it.” By the end of her morbid statement, she dissolved into tears.

  Ted.

  Guilt swam hot in my belly. “I’m on my way.”

  Ten minutes later, Charline answered the door, eyes red-rimmed, puffy, and wide with surprise. “That was fast.” I could have smacked myself for forgetting how much closer Michael’s place was than mine.

  “I sped—and maybe ignored a few traffic laws,” I offered in explanation.

  She nodded, not disputing it, and stepped aside to let me in. As I stepped over the threshold, I couldn’t help but notice the condition of my dear friend. Flour covered her in bursts of powdery white, not a speck of makeup could be found on her face, her hair hung limp and lifeless from a low pony, and she wore jeans. The absence of a dress alone was cause for concern.

  I wrapped her in a tight hug. She wheezed at the pressure and I relented, realizing too late that I could’ve hurt her. “Oh, Charline, I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, terrified I might have cracked a rib or something.

  “It’s…fine.” Her voice quivered, betraying the lie.

  “No, it’s not. I’ve been so absorbed in my own guy problems that I forgot that you're dealing with some pretty big ones of your own.” I pulled away to look at her. “Have you made cake yet?”

  “Three,” she sniffled.

  “In that case, I think it’s time to break out the wine.”

  She simply nodded and allowed herself to be led back into the house. I pulled up short as we stepped into the kitchen where dessert seemed to be the theme for the day. Cannoli, éclairs, and cream puffs dominated the table, along with two perfectly decorated cakes, a plate of chocolate chip cookies and…

  “A Bundt cake?”

  “I wanted to see if I could do it. I’m working on angel food and divinity now.” She shrugged as if that was no big deal.

  No one would be able to tell if Charline was a werewolf. It would be stranger if she wasn’t surrounded by food.

  “You should really start a bakery,” I said, my voice tinged with awe. She shrugged again and poured two glasses of Moscato. I pulled up a seat at the island overflowing with treats and encouraged her to take one as well. “Stupid question, but how are you holding up?”

  She visibly composed herself before answering. “He came to get all of his stuff Friday after work.” She paused as her voice cracked. I diligently restrained my surprise. She took a shaky breath and tried again. “He got his things and brought my stuff from his place.” She gestured through the entryway to a box by the front door that looked to be overflowing, then slid me a slice of cake.

  “Forget him. I never liked him anyway. Please forgive me for not saying something sooner.” That earned me a shadow of a smile and a noncommittal shrug. “You really are way too good for him,” I added. “You’re beautiful, talented, and interesting.” That earned a laugh. “Honestly, I’m surprised that he lasted this long.”

  She looked up at the frank comment. To my surprise, she didn’t seem upset. Astonishing me further, she said, “And you know, I don’t think he liked my cooking either.”

  I barked a laugh and she coughed a fragile one, followed by several stronger, albeit small ones. I casually tucked away the empty bottle and poured from the second she’d so helpfully already opened. A third slice of cake made its way onto my plate as she topped off her own glass.

  Charline took a sip from the dangerously full glass then turned the mixer back on. The beaters whirred gently, whisking the sugary concoction into smooth mounds. After a silent minute of watching the mixture, she turned off the machine and looked up at me with sorrow brimming on her lashes. “I know he had his flaws. But, Sara, I really thought we’d make it.”

  I patted her hand before sampling the current project and promptly moaned in appreciation. “I’m serious, Charline, you have to open a bakery. You’re depriving the world.” She completely ignored me as she unlatched the bowl from the mixer and spooned its contents into a pan. As it found its way into the oven she started talking again.

  “I’m in my thirties now and who is going to want that? They all go younger. Ted certainly proved that.” Her face scrunched as if she’d smelled something bad then almost instantly fell. “I can’t compete with some vapid twenty-year-old who only wants shiny things and sex. I want a home and stability and children.” She spun on me unexpectedly and I almost choked on what was left of the second cake. “That’s another thing, he didn’t want kids. At all. Ever. Who doesn’t want kids that much?” She gave me a look like I was supposed to know the answer.

  I pushed the empty plate away and prayed she didn’t notice the shortage of confections. “Forgive me for asking, but if that’s the case, then why did you stay with him?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I loved him and I guess that insecurity…” I gave her a doubting look. “Hey, underneath all of this fabulous hair there's plenty of insecurity,” she asserted, complete with accusatory finger. “Enough about my problems. What’s going on with you?” she asked as she removed her apron with a flourish.

  Unsure of what to say, I stalled for time by pouring another glass and then relocating to the living room. I chose a comfy chair and settled in with my wine and snagged cannoli. “Honestly, I don’t know,” I finally said.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” She leaned down to turn on a lamp, then went to shut the blinds.

  “Exactly that. I have no idea what’s going on with us.” I shifted in the chair not sure how to go on. “Things have become kind of awkward recently.” I sagged defeated into the cushions. Outside, I could hear the crickets picking up their evening tune and even the birds were starting to quiet down.

  “Did you drive here in Michael’s Jeep?”

  I looked up, startled by the unusual question. To my horror, Charline stood at the window, staring out at the street. I gave an inward groan at the stupidity of parking right out front. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, Michael insisted.”

  “Insisted, that’s a funny thing to say. Why would he do that?” she asked, peering through the blinds in confusion.

  “Because a homicidal werewolf is after me.”

  All of the air suctioned out of the room. Charline turned to face me in slow motion, her eyes wide. But her surprise was nothing compared to the shock that had to be plastered on my face.

  “Oh my god, you’re not kidding.”

  Of course, I am. That’s ridiculous. Werewolves aren’t real.

  The words were there, but nothing was coming out. I sat like a lump, unable to provide any logical argument.

  She sat down hard on the chair adjacent to me and speared me
with a look that demanded answers—good ones. “Sara.”

  “I…I didn’t mean to say that,” I fumbled.

  “No shit. You’re not exactly prone to flights of fancy. And although it could be the wine, you're nowhere near as tipsy as you should be after two and a half bottles, not to mention you ate two whole cakes.” I withered beneath her intense scrutiny. “You know, it’d be much easier to write it off if you didn’t look so damn guilty. What’s really going on?”

  “You won’t believe it. Even if you try, you won’t. I barely believe it and it’s happening to me,” I said in a barely intelligible stream.

  “Only one way to find out. Spill.”

  “I’m a werewolf.” The unbelievable statement fell into silence. Her face twisted into a frown, while her mouth opened and closed a few times without any words coming out. I swallowed and waited.

  She narrowed her eyes at me and stayed that way a long moment before finally saying, “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

  I took a deep breath. Despite my intention to sugarcoat the tall tale, out poured the unfiltered truth. “You know my dog attack?” She barely had a chance to nod, before I was going on. “Not a dog. Actually, a serial killer who’s also a werewolf. He bit me and now I am too, not a serial killer, just a werewolf.”

  “How could you possibly know that? I mean of all the things,” she said as she sank back into the chair, disbelief clearly written on her face.

  “Aside from the fact that at the last full moon I turned into a wolf? Michael.”

  That threw her for a loop. “Michael?”

  “Yeah, he’s also a werewolf, only he was born that way,” I clarified.

  “Sara, this is all…” She shook her head in time with the words.

  “Impossible? I know!” I shouted and she jumped. “Every morning, I wake up, and before I open my eyes, I pray it’s all a dream, but every time I still wake up at Michael’s.”

  “Why are you at Michael’s?”

  “I’ve sort of been staying with him,” I admitted, twirling the stem of the empty glass between my hands.