High Moon

by Kati Wilde

“So your scent is the lure drawing me in. Then your rings take me down.”

  “Well…yeah.”

  He grins. “That sounds like a good way to die.”

  I laugh, then go quiet as Ethan suddenly tilts his head—listening.

  After a second, he says, “Just Jonas driving back up to the house.”

  “You think he had any luck?”

  “If he did, he was quiet about it. Though he says the dogs won’t even go near some crawlspace you went through once, so he wants to find someone who can take a look in there, because he won’t fit.”

  I gape at him. “You heard him say that right now?”

  Ethan starts shaking with laughter against me. “Maybe I could if he yelled it. No, that’s something he mentioned earlier this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  His gaze searches mine. “He didn’t tell you?”

  “No.” I sigh. “He was probably worried that if he said anything about the…” My chest cinches tight all at once, making it hard to breathe, but I try to push through it. “About the…”

  “About the crawlspace, yeah.” Ethan catches my face in his big hands, gently says, “You’re all right here. You’re safe here, Makena.”

  With him. I know it. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on taking long, deep breaths, listening to the sound of the river. After what feels like a long time, I whisper, “Sorry.”

  “Don’t you say sorry. We’re all scared of something.”

  “Like hanging your feet off the bed?”

  “If werewolves are real, don’t you think those monsters under the bed might be, too?”

  Giggling, I turn my face against his shoulder, and he brings me in tight. I sigh against his skin. “I wish I could go in there and help him look. I hate being afraid of anything.”

  “I’m guessing you aren’t afraid of much.”

  “A lot of things, lately.” Of losing Ethan. Of losing Jonas. Of making decisions that hurt the people around me. “But before this, the only thing I was afraid of was Rebecca Bird.”

  “What bird?”

  “The salon owner in town.” I grin out of habit, because this has been a longstanding joke between me and my friends…except it really isn’t a joke. “She’s actually this really sweet lady. And my mom used to order all of our beauty products through her shop, because good luck finding them at the grocery. And after my mom was— Well, she always trimmed my hair here at home. So after…”

  “You figured you’d try the salon.”

  I nod, my throat constricting into a tight knot. “Rebecca butchered it. Because she just had no idea what to do with hair like mine. And she felt terrible, but I… That was the first time my claustrophobia kicked in. Not even in a closed up space. Just sitting in that chair, with that black cape around my shoulders, staring into the mirror. And realizing, really realizing for the first time, that my mama was never coming home. Because even though I heard what happened to them, it didn’t seem real. Not after being down there in the dark for so long. But there… there in that fucking chair… Fuck.”

  I sit up, the dock rocking beneath the sudden movement, and stare out across the river through a blur of tears. Behind me, Ethan presses a warm kiss to my bare shoulder, as if telling me that he’s there if I need him.

  I think I always will.

  “We were coming here that day,” I tell him on a shuddering breath. “Out to the swimming hole. We saddled up the horses, because Jonas was gone and they needed the exercise. We were almost here when the horses spooked. I didn’t see anything around to scare them, but Mama…she told me to ride for the silver mine as fast as I could, and they’d be right behind. And they were.”

  I pause, sniffling, wiping my cheeks. “It was all so confusing then, but since I’ve learned… Obviously she knew it was a berserker or one of the wolfkin. And probably guessed the mine might be safe. Because she was yelling at me to go in.”

  “So you did,” Ethan says, his voice raw.

  “Yeah. And I don’t know if they just didn’t make it—or maybe if they stopped and tried to talk to the berserkers. Because I did hear them talking to someone. Not that I could make out what they were saying. But I heard them. Then my mother was screaming for me to hide. Then she was just screaming. And that crawlspace was so narrow. Even my dad couldn’t have squeezed in after me, so I figured nothing else could either. It seemed safe.”

  “But you were stuck there in that crawlspace?”

  “No. Not there.” I draw a juddering breath, lean back against his solid chest. Immediately his arms come around my waist to hold me close. “It dropped me into a bigger chamber. I was crawling through and then…just fell out. And I was panicking and crying, but I wasn’t scared of being in there. Not then. Because there was also a little light. Sunlight that managed to bounce its way back there, I guess. Not enough to really see by, but…not completely dark yet. By night it was, though. And I just kept waiting for one of them to start calling for me. Because I knew…I knew they were gone. But I didn’t really want to admit it.”

  “Ah, Makena.” His arms tighten around me, his voice ragged. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  Me, too. “I don’t think I really started losing it until the next day. Or maybe it was two days. Just imagining all kinds of shit. Like I could hear mice or some other little animals scratching around, and I think I spent as much time imagining that I would befriend them and send them out to get help as I spent imagining them eating me. And then there was… I don’t know what it was. Some big animal that died in that chamber, I guess. Because I could make out the skeleton, but the way it was curled up, it looked like this huge, bony spider. So that was okay when there was a little light, because I could watch to make sure it didn’t move. But as soon as it got dark…”

  Ethan’s fingers lace through mine and gently squeeze. “Sounds damn terrifying.”

  “It was.” And I haven’t talked about any of this in so long, haven’t deliberately dredged up everything I saw and felt. Usually I’m trying to push those memories away. Especially the memory of that bony spider. Thinking about it now, a violent shudder wracks my body, and Ethan’s arm tightens again. “I don’t really remember Jonas yelling for me, though I must have answered. And I don’t remember Rachel Rudder getting in there with a rope so they could pull me out. But I’m always surprised that it was only three days. It felt so much longer. And—”

  Looking down at our entwined fingers, I break off, my breath catching hard in my throat.

  Behind me, Ethan stiffens. His claws sharpen, as if an unseen threat caused my sudden tension. “Makena?”

  “It’s okay,” I reassure him—though if he hears the frantic pounding of my heart, he probably doesn’t believe it. “I just realized it wasn’t a dead animal.”

  “What wasn’t?”

  “That giant bony spider.” And I can almost see it so clearly now, the skeletal fingers that curled like a spider’s legs. “I don’t think Gleipnir’s in the mine, Ethan. I think Tyr’s hand is.”

  He seems confused for about a second. “The hand that Fenrir bit off?”

  “Yeah.” Suddenly I laugh. “And I think we should blow it up.”

  20

  Ethan

  Growing up, I never pictured myself in a farmhouse kitchen, discussing how best to destroy the skeletal remains of a god’s hand. And although I’m willing to believe that magic is the explanation for plenty of otherwise-unexplainable occurrences, maybe I should be a bit more skeptical regarding the eleven-year-old memories of a traumatized girl, who couldn’t even see properly in that dark chamber. Especially as those memories came on the heels of her telling me that story about Fenrir, so the thought of Tyr’s hand was fresh in her mind and easy to mix up with those old fears.

  But I’m not skeptical. I don’t know if she’s right, but a god’s hand seems as reasonable an explanation as any other.

  When she takes her new theory to Jonas, her uncle doesn’t seem any more skeptical than I am. Maybe it’s because she to
ld him long ago about that bony spider. Maybe it’s because the dogs are reacting to something beyond that crawlspace.

  Whatever his reason, Jonas simply nods thoughtfully and says, “All right. So are we going to try to destroy it, or simply close up that mine for good?”

  By collapsing the entrance. Makena’s answer to that is the same as when she believed it might be Gleipnir in that mine, instead. “Maybe we can’t destroy it. But we don’t lose anything by trying first—and we might gain something, if destroying it means this silver isn’t so poisonous to Ethan.”

  I’d rather have that silver out of play, too. But that silver isn’t the only danger we’re talking about here. “I can’t get anywhere near that mine, so it’s somebody else taking a risk—getting through that crawlspace, setting the charges.”

  Jonas starts, “Makena’s the only one skinny enough to get through that crawlspace—”

  “I can’t,” she whispers, shame burning in her scent.

  “—so that’ll mean hiring someone,” Jonas finishes, giving her a look like he can’t believe she would think he would ever ask her to do it. “So I’ll make a few calls, get some professional cavers down here. Someone who can fit through. Someone who can take pictures in that chamber first, so we see what’s really down there, and who has experience with explosives. Arranging that all might take a week or two but…” He shrugs. “That hand isn’t in any hurry. And you aren’t in a hurry to leave and start hunting down this organization before then—are you, Ethan?”

  Not in a hurry to leave at all. Chest aching, I shake my head.

  “All right,” Jonas says. “Then I’ll get started on that. And I seem to remember that you were planning to be gone this evening. But you sure don’t look like you’re ready to head out with my niece on your arm.”

  No, I don’t. I head out to the bunkhouse and make myself presentable. Makena runs upstairs to get ready—which she warned me is a process, but it sure is worth the time it takes. She comes down a while later with her black curls shining and smelling like heaven, wearing a summery dress that shows miles of sleek brown skin.

  I’m the luckiest bastard in the world. My heart’s in my throat as I drive my truck into town, with her sitting right beside me, her thigh against mine. I can picture every Saturday night for the rest of our lives going like this. Talking with her over a dinner that doesn’t require her to cook or clean, meeting up with her friends for a bit, and closing out the evening by holding her against me and swaying to some country ballad on a dance floor.

  But my chest aches the whole damn night, and just gets tighter as we start home. The first time I drove out to her ranch, I knew that I was setting myself up for some hurt. I knew that eventually I’d have to leave this woman and I’d rip myself apart doing it.

  I don’t know why I never stopped to consider how much it might rip her up, too.

  Yet that familiar pain is there in Makena’s eyes every time she looks at me now. The light of every moment we spend together. The shadow of knowing that it’ll end.

  Maybe not permanently. I’ll fight the devil himself to come back to her. But not being able to make her a promise is killing me. And it’s hurting her, too.

  The only relief for either of us is a different sort of pain—like the ache she begins working up with her hand as soon as we turn down the road leading to the ranch. With her fingers stroking my cock, she purrs into my ear the suggestion that we ought to pull over to the side of the road and replay our first meeting—but this time when she stops to help me out, I change into a werewolf and chase her down and claim her. And every part of me sure does like the way this woman thinks.

  I pull over and shut off the engine—and hear a faint, frantic barking. Smell a wisp of smoke.

  When I rip the buttons of my shirt getting out of it, Makena goes still. “Ethan?”

  “Call the fire department.” Jumping out of the truck, I shove off my boots, my pants. “Get them out to the ranch. Something’s burning and the dogs are going crazy.”

  Her face pales. “Uncle Jonas?”

  I don’t know yet. “Drive,” I growl, and change my skin. This road follows the winding path of the river. I can go a hell of a lot faster than the truck—and in a straighter line.

  Thick smoke billows out of either end of the barn. From inside comes the terrified neighs of the horses, Annabelle’s panicked lowing—and I know that if Jonas was all right, he’d already be getting them out. But I don’t hear his soothing voice amid the animals’ terror.

  I tear across the yard, haul open the barn doors. Heated air swamps my face. There’s as much steam inside as smoke. Cold spray wets my fur—the barn’s sprinkler system. I swing open stall doors, but the horses are too damn confused and scared to head in the right direction, and I can’t guide them out. Not until I find Jonas. Except he doesn’t have a goddamn scent to follow.

  I change my skin and shout, “Jonas!”

  No answer. But the dogs lead me to him. Their barks start up again, both of them frantically dancing around the ladder at the bottom of the hayloft. I climb up into a choking haze of swirling embers and sodden hay, and almost trip over his body. Unconscious, lying face down. His heartbeat’s strong but the wet rasp of his breathing is worrying as hell. Carefully I ease him over onto his back, see his swollen face, the bloodied mouth.

  He’s been beaten to fuck. And his breathing tells me that it wasn’t just his face. He was busted up inside, too.

  Rage lights up my gut. But I’ll follow that later. I gather him up and carry him out of the barn just as Makena pulls into the yard, tires spitting gravel.

  “Jonas!” she screams, racing toward me.

  Gently I lay him on the grass, and as she falls to her knees beside his still form, I change my skin again. “It’s best not to move him any more than we have to. Grab that blanket from my truck and stay here with him. I’ll get those animals out.”

  Tears spilling down her cheeks, she nods. I tell Thelma and Alf to stay with her and head back in.

  The fire’s gaining ground up in the loft, but I’ll deal with that in a minute. I lead the panicking horses out to the corral, then try to lead the dairy cow, but she puts up a fight until I simply pick her up and carry her. Then I grab an extinguisher and tackle the fire up in the hayloft.

  There’s still some smoldering spots when the extinguishers run out, but the worst of the danger’s past until the fire truck arrives. I return to Makena’s side. She’s sitting next to Jonas, who doesn’t sound any better or worse than when I left them. Alf is curled up against his leg. Thelma’s head is in Makena’s lap and she absently strokes the dog’s fur, her eyes lost and dripping tears.

  “I should have listened to Kyle,” she whispers brokenly. “We shouldn’t have left him alone.”

  Maybe not. But the reason has nothing to do with what the sheriff warned her about. “This wasn’t townsfolk,” I tell her.

  Her fingers freeze on Thelma’s head. “The bearkin?”

  “I’m not sure about that, either.” Because if it had been one of the kin, Jonas ought to have been torn up. But I would place bets on it being the same fucker who slaughtered part of her herd. Because he left no scent again—and instead of claws and fangs, used something else to kill. Not a sledgehammer this time, but fire. “But whoever it was probably thought Jonas would burn with that barn. They just didn’t count on the fire suppression system you’ve got installed.”

  “Because it’s not the 1850s,” she snaps, helpless frustration and fear and anger swirling through her scent. “If we relied on the fire department, it’d have burned down by now. Look how fucking long it’s taking them to get here. And the ambulance. Can you even hear them?”

  I nod. “About five minutes away.”

  Which means I’ll need to get dressed again soon.

  “Jesus.” She covers her face with her hands, her breath shuddering. “They’ll probably take him to the medical center in Kellogg.”

  The next town up the highway. “You
ride with him. I’ll stay here when your sheriff shows”—the friends we left only an hour ago—“and make sure everything here is settled. Then I’ll follow you.”

  She nods, wiping her face. Then gives a hard laugh. “At least Jonas got some of his own in. It looks like he got a good swipe at the fucker.”

  “What do you mean?”

  With a lift of her chin, she gestures to a patch of grass about ten feet away. “Jonas isn’t bleeding anywhere from a wound as deep as that must have been.”

  The red against green. I didn’t even see it—or smell it. But now, looking closer, I can make out the splotch of darker color against the blades of grass. And when I touch it, can see the blood against my skin.

  And maybe I can’t smell it, but there’s nothing wrong with my tongue. Especially the longer, more sensitive tongue I’ve got in my wolf skin.

  One taste stands the fur at the back of my neck on end. That’s familiar. That’s wolfkin blood—but not. There’s another flavor in there, a strange corrosion that I’ve never tasted before but that my instincts know exactly what it is.

  Not one of the wolfkin…but one of the cursed.

  21

  Makena

  Between the smoke and the crying, my eyes are red and my throat aching as Kyle drives me home.

  “We’ll be quick,” he reassures me for about the tenth time, but this time he adds, “You should try to sleep before you go back.”

  I don’t answer, though I know he’s right. It’s ten o’clock on Sunday morning and I haven’t slept since I woke up yesterday. And despite the amount of coffee I drank while Jonas was in surgery—only minor internal bleeding, thank god—now exhaustion drags at me with every breath. And Jonas is fine. Or stable, at least. Carrie’s sitting with him now, but he’s sedated and won’t wake for hours yet. So I should rest while I can. I just can’t imagine sleeping. Not until we know who did this.

  And we will know, as soon as Jonas wakes up.