Blood Moon's Fury: A Young Adult Fantasy Thriller (Curse of the Blood Moon Book 1)

by Leah Kingsley

  She stared, mothlike, at all the lights in the windows and reluctantly approached the front porch. Even the doorbell’s rich tones screamed money. She scowled. Wealthy people were judgmental and snooty and had looked down on her all her life.

  Moments passed. No one let her in. She pressed the doorbell again. Still nothing. The porch vibrated with the thrum of the bass. She cursed and turned away. She’d have to call the house.

  The door swung open behind her. “Hello?” Amy rotated on the spot and cringed. The jock who had nearly taken her out with his football earlier today stood framed in the doorway. He was THS’s star quarterback. “You just can’t get enough of me, huh?”

  She flushed a deep shade of crimson. He thought she wanted to attend his party like some sort of stalker-groupie. “I’m here to pick up my sister.” She set her jaw and scowled, hoping to dispel all thoughts of stalker-groupieness.

  He arched an eyebrow with a condescending smirk. “I doubt your sister is here.”

  She raised her chin and glared at him. “Her name is Susan Evans. She’s nine years old, and it’s past her bedtime.”

  “Why didn’t you come get her sooner, then?”

  She skewered him with a scathing gaze. “I was at work, a concept that’s obviously foreign to you.”

  “Must pay pretty bad.” He looked down his nose at her wrinkled blue jeans and faded gray T-shirt.

  “Is my sister here or not?” She expected rude comments from girls, but guys rarely criticized her wardrobe. They liked to focus on suggestive comments that made her want to punch them out.

  The jock grinned as if thrilled he was annoying her. “What was her name again?”

  “Susan,” she hissed.

  His crystal blue eyes sparkled with mirth. “She’s upstairs. I’ll go find her.” He vanished into the party.

  Amy stepped into the entrance hall to escape the bitter cold. The house was incredible. Its open-concept design gave her a view of the entire first floor. High schoolers lounged on burgundy velvet couches in a spacious living room. Their feet were propped on a hand-carved cedar coffee table that was laden with beer and a tall stack of pizzas. A set of French doors opened into the kitchen where refreshments and snacks were piled high on the marble countertops, and coolers of booze lay strewn about the polished oak floor.

  Crowds of teens milled about, dancing, drinking, and shouting over the music. Everyone wore designer labels and five-hundred-dollar shoes. She made a disgusted face. Half her high school had turned out for this party. The loaded half. Amy folded her arms across her chest, daring any rich, drunk loser to hit on her.

  “Amy!” Chris shot from the crowd and rushed in for a hug.

  “Hey Chris!” She mustered a smile. His reply was drowned by the music.

  Football Jock returned with Susan in tow and motioned them outside. Amy stared. How did he know Chris?

  “We have to …” The music obliterated the rest of Susan’s sentence. She and Chris disappeared into the party.

  “So, you’re Amy.” Football Jock lounged against the doorframe, beer in hand.

  She curled her lip. He thought he looked so cool. “You don’t listen especially well, do you? Chris just screamed my name.” Disgust tangled in her stomach with a knot of unease. Where were his parents? How long had Susan been exposed to her stupid, drunk classmates?

  Football Jock took a long swig of Budweiser. “Chris never shuts up about you and Sue. According to him, you’re supposed to be awesome.”

  “I am.” She rested a hand on her hip.

  “I’ve seen you around school.” He offered her his Budweiser.

  She waved the drink away. She hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since the summer before freshman year. Pain spiked in her chest at the smell of his beer. She swallowed the familiar blades of grief and forced a lighthearted smirk. “Yep. I’ve seen you too. You like to throw things at me.”

  “You nearly took me out with your lunch.”

  “Guess we’re even.”

  Chris and Susan raced past, and Amy followed them out. Football Jock stepped out after them and shut the door with a snap.

  “Phew!” Susan held her ears. “Zack, your music is too loud.”

  Football Jock snorted. “At least it’s good music.”

  Susan sucked in a dramatic gasp. “What do you have against Ariana Grande?”

  He made a derisive noise. “She sucks.”

  “She does not!”

  “Does too.”

  Amy laughed. They were acting like they were five.

  Football Jock smirked at her. “I didn’t catch your name in there. Annie, was it?”

  Amy narrowed her eyes. She knew he knew her name.

  “She’s Amy,” Chris corrected him helpfully. “Amy, this is my brother, Zack.”

  Amy scowled. “We’re leaving.”

  Susan’s eyes widened at her abrupt tone. “Already?” Amy gave her a look that barred all protest. “Fine. Bye Chris. Bye Zack.”

  “Bye!” they said as Amy turned on her heel and marched down their steps. The front door opened and blasted music into the night.

  Susan scrambled to catch up. “Why’d we have to leave so fast? I was having fun.” Amy winced. Awesome, her nine-year-old sister was a party animal.

  “Because it’s almost eleven, silly.” She ruffled Susan’s hair. “We have to be up early tomorrow.”

  “No we don’t.” Susan’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

  “That’s right!” Amy pumped a fist, her heart leaping with joy. She had the day off and planned to spend all of it in bed.

  The girls arrived home to a messy kitchen and a living room filled with cigarette smoke, the remnants of their mother’s day. Amy soaked some pans, cracked the window, and headed off to bed. She’d deal with the mess in the morning. Procrastination was her middle name.

  She did her best to keep their house tidy, but it seemed hell-bent on staying in perpetual disarray. The roof had loose shingles, the front porch had rot, and the lock on the front door had broken a week ago. She wasn’t even confident in its foundation. Their house perched precariously halfway up a hill and leaned ever so slightly toward the home on their left.

  Amy giggled into her pillow at the irony of it toppling to the ground someday. It was a metaphorical reflection of the state of her life. She sobered quickly, her laughter fading into lonely despair. What would Zack say if he saw her house? Rich people imagined themselves as better than the rest of the world simply because they had been blessed with money. Her sorrow sizzled over hot coals of anger. Chris was going to morph into an entitled jerk. He couldn’t help it with a family like his. Susan was best friends with a soon-to-be rich snob who was going to break her heart. Hot tears stung Amy’s eyes. How was she supposed to stop the world from breaking her sister the way it had broken her?

  Five

  ZACK SLUMPED INTO a large leather armchair as his friends’ partying rose in drunken volume. His guests, half of whom he hadn’t even invited, were trashing his house.

  “Hey, Zack.” Lila Chung staggered to his chair and toppled gracelessly into his arms. “Great party.”

  Lila had an unhealthy obsession with the football team. She was a social-climbing sophomore with a mission to overthrow Chelsea as queen bee. She was petite and curvy with silky chestnut hair and deceptively innocent chocolate brown eyes. Her slinky, low-cut dress accentuated her curves and left little to the imagination.

  “Hey, Lila. Where’s your boyfriend?” Zack shifted her to one side to avoid a full frontal of her ample cleavage.

  She pressed her front against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Out of town with Dominic’s slut. Where’s your prissy girlfriend?”

  Zack frowned. Dominic’s so-called slut was a sweet little homeschooler who adored her boyfriend and would never think of cheating. Ken had struck out with her enough times to prove her loyalty. Dominic Carter had not been known for the same trait, himself, until meeting his girl. He had
earned his stripes by hooking up with a series of seniors in his sophomore year. He was captain of the football team and king of their school. Girls flocked to him like bees to honey, making Lila’s jealousy routinely boring.

  “I’m not sure where Chelsea is. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “Great,” Lila purred and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her dress slid up to reveal a creamy thigh and a lacy black thong.

  A series of jarring smashes punctured the air. Zack stood, freed himself from Lila, and followed the smashing into the kitchen. Nathan, Ash, and Dominic were chucking empty bottles at the wall. Zack gaped. Why was Dominic Carter hanging with Assassin’s Honor? He hated Alex’s crew even more than Zack did.

  Zack plucked a bottle from Ash’s hands. “Knock it off.”

  “Zack, come back.” Lila swayed unsteadily in the kitchen doorway.

  Ash threw a drunken punch, which Zack easily blocked. Ash ducked under Zack’s arm and scooted to the other side of the room. Nathan threw a bottle at the microwave, cracking its small, square window.

  Dominic’s amber eyes sparked in alarm. “Guys, that’s enough. Let’s—” He broke off as a can of tomato soup whizzed past his head. Ash stood next to the pantry with a new supply of ammo. Zack gaped in horrified disbelief. Alex’s friends were drunken lunatics.

  “Come on, let’s have some fun!” Lila launched herself into Zack’s arms, impeding his efforts to get at Ash and put a stop to the soup tossing.

  “What the?” Peter entered the kitchen and narrowly ducked a flying beer bottle, this one still full. The bottle sailed out the kitchen door and collided with a vase on the cedar coffee table. White peonies flopped limply to the floor amid a flood of broken glass and lager.

  Zack cringed. He needed to make them quit trashing the place, and fast! If not, he’d be paying for damages until graduation … from college. First, he had to lose Lila. “Have you met Peter?” He pried the vivacious brunette loose and propelled her toward the befuddled gangster. “He’s on the football team too. Peter, Lila. Lila, Peter. Have fun.”

  Lila pouted. “I’ve never seen you play.”

  “He’s our secret weapon.” Zack smirked, neatly catching a can of vegetable broth Ash had chucked at him with surprisingly good aim.

  “Zack, I think you should go upstairs,” Peter muttered out of the corner of his mouth as he feebly held Lila at bay.

  Zack raked his gaze over his partly destroyed kitchen. “I think you and your stupid friends should leave.”

  “What’s happening upstairs?” Dominic deftly blocked a pair of beer bottles with one muscular arm. He had the classic football player build, tall with broad shoulders and a rock-hard chest. He was half-African Canadian with jet-black hair and interesting amber eyes.

  Lila was intrigued by Peter’s lack of interest. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his neck as a can zoomed straight for the back of her head. Peter barely managed to snag it out of the air before it cracked her skull. “Dude, stop it. You’re going to break something, or someone.” He shuffled toward Ash, Lila hanging off his arm like an oversized leech. Her six-inch heels scraped through a pile of broken glass.

  Ash’s eyes gleamed. “That’s the idea!” He scooped up a sixteen-ounce can of black beans and hurled it at the kitchen window. Dominic made a wild grab for it, slipped on a pile of glass, and landed on his rear. Zack winced. Glass shards to the butt. The can smashed through the window and landed in his mother’s prized rosebush.

  “Dude! Oh my God! My dad’s not paying for that.” Peter grabbed Ash’s shirt and hauled the smaller kid into the center of the room. He held him there, far away from anything that could morph into flying projectiles of death. “You’re going home before you get yourself arrested.” Peter dragged him off.

  “Zack!” Jessie rushed past the boys, her auburn hair in a flustered tangle. “Someone puked—What on Earth happened in here!” She skidded to a screeching high-heeled halt, no easy feat, and surveyed the demolished kitchen with horrorstruck dismay.

  “Ash.” Zack winced. “Who puked?”

  “Where’s your pretty-boy boyfriend?” Nathan grabbed a handful of Jessie’s azure party dress.

  She tugged her dress from his grasp with disgust in her emerald green eyes. “He’s passed out upstairs.”

  Zack’s quick temper flared. He slammed Nathan against the fridge, causing a tall stack of Tupperware to topple to the floor. They ricocheted off Dominic’s head like a gentle plastic rain. “Do you want to go to prison earlier than expected? Because that’s what will happen if you touch her again.” Zack had been close with Jessie since the third grade, and the kindhearted beauty was like a sister to him.

  Jessie smoothed her dress. “Raquel puked in the hall upstairs, and Chris is trying to clean the mess.”

  “Gross. I’m on it.” Zack propelled Nathan from the kitchen.

  “I’ll take care of the glass,” Dominic called. “I just need a second to …” He retched.

  “And another one bites the dust,” Jessie said and sighed, trailing Nathan and Zack through the overcrowded living room.

  “I’m not leaving! The party ain’t over until I say it’s over.” Nathan slammed a meaty fist into Zack’s jaw.

  Jessie gasped theatrically. “Oh my God! Why is Lila taking her dress off on the front lawn?” The boys turned as one to look. Jessie shoved Nathan out the door. “Psych.”

  “Nice one!” They high-fived.

  “It’s like we’re performing an exorcism of Assassin’s Honor.” She snickered.

  “Three down, one to go. But first, the puke upstairs.”

  She cringed. “Guess that leaves me with the vomit in the kitchen.”

  “I have faith in you.” He gave her a double thumbs-up.

  She saluted him and strutted across the living room, her slender hips swaying sexily as she went. Jessie in stilettos turned more than a few heads.

  Zack sprinted upstairs and found Chris in the hall with Raquel Nickels, a pretty blonde cheerleader who hung around with Chelsea’s friend group. She was leaning against the wood-paneled wall with a hand pressed to her mouth. Chris had taken care of most of the mess but looked about to hurl himself.

  Zack sighed. “Thanks, bro. I’ll take it from here. You should go to bed. It’s almost one a.m.”

  Chris lifted his eyebrows in an incredulous scowl. “You think I’ll be able to sleep with all this noise?”

  “Hum along with ‘Party Rock Anthem,’” Zack said. He took the mop from his brother and screwed up his face at the puke.

  “S-sorry,” Raquel stammered, her too-pale cheeks flushing crimson. “I was trying to find the bathroom.” She gazed at them with tears shining in the corners of her sad cornflower blue eyes.

  “It’s okay.” Chris gave her a sympathetic smile. Zack shook his head. His brother had way more patience than he did.

  “Go sit outside for a while. The fresh air will help you feel better.” He wouldn’t have to clean it up if she puked on the lawn. She nodded mutely, her stick-thin frame trembling beneath his gaze. Chris guided her downstairs. “Make sure no one takes her home. And go out the back.” He had to keep them both away from Nathan and his lunatic buddies.

  Zack mopped up the rest of the mess and carried the cleaning supplies to the broom closet. A faint glow caught his eye as he neared the end of the dim hall. Light was shining from under the door to his parents’ bedroom. He cursed under his breath. He was as good as dead if someone made a mess in there. Making them move was a necessary chore. He rapped on the polished wood, expecting squeals of alarm and the speedy exodus of a naked girl or two. Instead, his knock was met with silence. He waited a beat, knocked again, and gave up on being polite.

  He swung open the door and stared, disbelieving, at the scene before his eyes. Chelsea and Alex lay naked in his parents’ bed. They had kicked the mink comforter into a heap on the floor and lay tangled together between the silky sheets. Alex smirked at Zack and kissed Chelsea’s neck.

  Blood roared
in his ears. He strode into the room and threw a punch, doing his very best to break Alex’s nose. “Get your filthy hands off her!” How dare this lowlife steal his girl in his own house!

  Chelsea watched their exchange like it was a riveting movie. Her lips curled into a grin, and her eyes sparkled with self-satisfied excitement. She loved being the center of attention.

  “Chill out, Zack. We’re only having a bit of fun. Right, babe?” Alex stroked a hand down Chelsea’s bare back.

  Bile rose in Zack’s throat. His eyes blazed with hate. “I don’t believe this!” Chelsea’s grin evaporated. “You filthy—”

  “Watch what you say about her.” Alex swung his legs out of bed and threw on his pants.

  Chelsea pouted. “You’re leaving?”

  A dull blade twisted in Zack’s gut. “You’re history.” He turned to go. “You’re the biggest mistake I ever made.”

  “Alex, do something!” Chelsea struggled into her dress. Her hair bunched around her shoulders in frizzy disarray. “My life will be over if I lose him.”

  Alex’s upper lip curled in disdain. “Such a sweet sentiment for a guy you only use for popularity.”

  She impatiently shoved her hair out of her face. “My social life will be over. It’s not like I’ll have a broken heart. He’s spoiled and douchey, but he’s my ticket to the fast lane.”

  Zack’s jaw tightened. Was that all he had meant to her? He stumbled toward the door with the room spinning around him.

  “Alex! Please!”

  Alex grabbed Zack’s shirt and hauled him into the bathroom. He was stone-cold sober, and Zack was suddenly wasted. Alex shoved him into the wide porcelain tub. “Chelsea, get in here and help.”

  She straddled Zack and pinned his wrists to the sides of the tub. He struggled against her but was unable to shake her off. Disbelief and panic rioted within him. She should not be this strong. He should not be this weak. He had just finished dragging a six-foot-two gangster through his living room. Why couldn’t he shake a 110-pound cheerleader?