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

by Leah Kingsley

  His tunnel opened into the middle of a rain-soaked yard. Charles crawled onto the muddy grass and warily looked around. The shack was eerily quiet, the night dismal but still. Tendrils of fear snaked through his gut. The silence unnerved him more than terrorized screams. At least screaming would prove Amy was alive.

  Charles had followed her to the elementary school and then halfway across Toronto, sure Assassin’s Honor was seconds from an illegal act. Their long, muddy trek had ended at a dilapidated shack, which Amy had rushed to like her life depended on it. Charles had lurked outside in the shadows and waited for her with mounting dread. He had watched from the bushes as Alex dragged her across the yard and dialed 911 before hanging up in a panic. What if Alex found out with his mind-reading powers and murdered Amy before human help arrived? Charles had faced Alex in a desperate and illogical attempt to keep her safe. He hoped nothing worse had happened while he had been unconscious.

  A car careened up the driveway, its tires sending mud in all directions. Charles dove behind some dripping foliage and bumped the overgrown shrub in his haste. Ice-cold droplets cascaded onto his head. He held his breath and peeked through the shrubbery, expecting to see Assassin’s Honor surrounding him. Instead, Zack Donnellson leapt from his expensive car and charged inside as if his ass was on fire. Charles cringed. The gang had another hostage.

  He hid behind the shrubbery and waited for an opportunity to surprise Alex. The gusting wind built to a shrieking howl, and thunder rolled closer with every flash of jagged lightning. He bit his lip, unease fluttering in his stomach. He was never going to hear them if Amy and Zack called for help.

  Charles slunk toward the rotting, squat structure to get a closer look. The front window was obscured with graffiti so he stole around back in search of another. The only window on that side was high off the ground. He needed something to stand on.

  A shadow darted behind the glass. The back door burst open, and light streamed into the yard. Charles hit the ground and rolled into the crawl space below the house. Panic scattered his senses. What if they had seen him? Two people streaked across the muddy grass to a shiny gray sedan. They loaded something into the trunk and scrambled into the front seats.

  Charles darted to a tree, then to some bushes twenty feet away. A nasty, spitting rain had begun to fall. He glanced up at the sky and winced. The bloodred moon glared down at the earth like the unblinking eye of a mythical monster, its glowing red pupil ringed with an iris of anthracite storm clouds.

  He dropped his gaze to the yard with a shiver of foreboding and gaped in horror as more of his classmates charged into the night. Peter tore across the yard first, carrying an unconscious Amy in his arms. Charles curled his lip. So much for him wanting to help her. Zack and Nathan were close behind Peter. Zack’s hands were tied, and Nathan had a gun to his back.

  Charles squinted in concentration, focusing destructive magical energy on their gun. He altered the likelihood that its bullets would hit their marks, cursing the weapon with inaccuracy. If anyone pulled the trigger, the bullet was sure to miss. He nodded with grim satisfaction. That ought to throw a wrench into their plans.

  Charles turned his attention to the car. He had to get their license plate for the police. He squinted through the rain, but his glasses had fogged up and the numbers were illegible through the dark, stormy night. Anxiety swirled in his gut. He had seconds left to act.

  The car purred to life and careened up the muddy street. Charles sat frozen in the dirt, too terrified and too powerless to stop them. His heart plummeted into a churning pit of nausea. The sedan’s taillights faded into the blackness, and he hung his head in shame. Zack was right. He was a pathetic loser.

  He thumped a frustrated fist into the muddy ground. His hand smashed a rock, further bloodying his bruised knuckles. Anger surged within him and lent him courage. He leapt to his feet and charged the nearest shack. Alex had taken his phone, but he was going to get his hands on another. He could describe the car to the police if nothing else.

  “Hey!”

  The shout startled him and he slipped in a puddle. Cold, dirty water oozed into his sneakers and soaked his socks.

  “Who the hell are you?” Someone shined a flashlight in his face.

  “Uh.” Charles wiped slimy mud off his jeans. “I’m Charles Banks.”

  “I’m Justin Evans.” The guy narrowed his eyes, studying him closely from battered head to muddy toe.

  Charles grasped Justin’s arm. “Some friends of mine are in trouble. Do you have a phone? We have to call nine-one-one.”

  “Do you know my sister?” Justin shined the light in his eyes again. “Who did you say you were?”

  Police radios crackled and voices barked orders. Relief swept through him with the force of a hurricane. Someone else had called the cops. Charles blinked rapidly in the glare of the flashlight as Justin’s last name registered. “You’re Amy’s brother?”

  His brows snapped together. “Tell me everything you know.”

  Charles dropped his hand from Justin’s arm, leaving a muddy brown streak across his gray sleeve. “That’s basically nothing.” Jagged red lightning split the sky in two. The heavens opened up at last.

  “Tell me where Amy, Zack, and Susan are,” Justin shouted above the storm.

  “Susan? Who’s that?” Justin glared. Charles struggled to focus through his headache. “Everyone’s gone. You literally just missed them. They must have known you were on your way, because they sped off in a gray sedan less than a minute ago. They went that way.” He pointed up the flooding street.

  Justin called to the officers searching the shack. “They already left. Hurry, we have to follow them.” He grabbed Charles by the sleeve and towed him toward the nearest of two squad cars. “Come on, kid. You’re coming with us.”

  “I don’t know anything else,” Charles said in protest, dragging his feet through the mud.

  Justin leapt into the back seat. “You know enough to help. Get in!”

  Thirty-one

  AMY SAT PROPPED in the trunk with her chest on fire and her thoughts a swirling cocktail of misery. Hours had trickled past since she had been abducted, and no one but Zack had even tried to call her phone. The world was oblivious to the trio’s plight, and Amy had only herself to blame. Everyone had tried to warn her. Why hadn’t she listened and taken Assassin’s Honor seriously? She was reckless with her own life, for sure, but Zack’s and Susan’s? She ought to have guessed what Alex was planning. She ought to have figured it out sooner. She should have done something, anything to stop this. She should have, but she hadn’t, and now her favorite people were paying the price.

  Zack had stayed awake for hours before falling asleep with his head on her shoulder. Susan had passed out after five minutes on the highway, the soothing rumble of the damp, warm trunk lulling her peacefully into dreamland. Amy’s pain had kept her awake while her mind tortured her with its cloying guilt. Every breath, no matter how shallow, sent burning spasms through her chest and down her left side.

  Their guard, Jenkins, had also stayed up. He was leaning against the trunk’s hatchback with his gun close at his side. His mouth was set in a grim line, and a five o’clock shadow accentuated his strong jaw. He looked every inch the brooding gangster. A black iPhone rested on his knee with its flashlight app open. This faint glow, together with the occasional pair of passing headlights, was the only illumination in the pitch-black trunk.

  “What are you looking at?” Jenkins shattered their suffocating silence.

  “Nothing.” Amy innocently lowered her lashes.

  His gaze drifted cautiously toward the gun as if hoping it had vanished. “How did a nice girl like you get tangled up with Assassin’s Honor? Like what did you do to make them hate your guts? Alex doesn’t usually try to murder girls he barely knows.” He absentmindedly traced his gang tattoo.

  Amy gazed at him with bone weary apathy. “You don’t know what happened on Monday? They never told you?” Jenkins had been absent
when she had stood up for Charles that day.

  “Nope.” He stretched his arms behind his head. “I was at the gym warming up for the football game.”

  His absurdly normal response made her giggle out loud. A shooting pain cut her mirth short. Her eyes watered as bolts of fire scorched her ribs. She gasped and clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.

  Jenkins leaned toward her, concern evident in his sea green eyes. He reached into his pocket. Amy flinched. “It’s okay, take this. You’ll feel better.” She stared at the red and blue gel capsules he was holding. “It’s Tylenol, not poison.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “If hanging around with Alex has taught me anything, it’s how to prepare for pain.”

  She tilted her head. “Okay, that might be the most depressing thing I have ever heard. I’m tied up, remember?”

  “Right.” He fed her a couple pills. She swallowed them fast and prayed for instant relief. “Why did you trust me?”

  “Poison or drugs would at least dull the pain.”

  They were quiet for several minutes before Jenkins spoke again. “Does he know what happened back there?”

  “Zack? No, and I’d like to keep it that way.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell him. He’ll get pissed and do something stupid.”

  “Amy, relax.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’ll keep it between us.”

  She startled at the use of her first name. He knew so much about her. How? Why didn’t she even remember going to school with him? Assassin’s Honor dealt in shady, anonymous secrecy. Amy was sick of it and info was power. “So, Jenkins, what’s your name?”

  “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you my name if you explain why you’re here.”

  “Okay, but it’s not especially interesting.”

  “I’m all ears.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the hatchback, faking a yawn.

  “I stopped your friends out there from beating someone up.” She sadly shook her head. Rescuing Charles had not been worth a week from hell.

  “Seriously?” His green eyes widened. “No one’s ever done that before. Was it Banks?”

  “Yeah.” Her forehead creased as she frowned. “How did you know? You said you were somewhere else.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I was. But he’s their favorite target.”

  “Isn’t he your favorite target too?”

  “I guess.” Jenkins dropped his gaze.

  She threw him a disgusted look and turned away. Why had she wasted her time talking to him? Acting marginally less awful than the rest of his friends didn’t make him a good person. He was still a member of the gang who wanted her dead.

  “It’s Peter.”

  “Huh?” Her eyes flicked back to his face. The flashlight’s faint glow illuminated the sorrow in his eyes.

  “Peter Jenkins. That’s my name. I promised to tell you.”

  “Right.” Amy tilted her head to one side and regarded him from underneath her lashes. His taut body was all muscle. From his rock-hard chest to his brawny arms, every inch of him was honed for strength. His serious face gave nothing away, but his eyes brimmed with compassion. He wasn’t the type to get tangled up with Assassin’s Honor either.

  “How’s the rib?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

  “Better. The Tylenol helped.”

  “Good.”

  Amy leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, hoping to fall asleep like Zack and Susan had.

  “He adores you, you know.”

  “Who does?” she mumbled, her eyes drifting open.

  “Zack. You two are made for each other.”

  “How would you know? You don’t know us.”

  “Actually, I know Zack pretty well. He’s a good guy, great team player.” Peter averted his guilty gaze.

  Amy took pity on him and did what she usually did when conversations grew uncomfortable, changed the subject. “It doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend.”

  “Had a girlfriend.” Peter brightened. “He dumped her … for you.”

  “He did not. Jessie said they had a meltdown or something.”

  “Yeah.” Peter smirked. “Over you.”

  “They were not fighting about me.” Football jocks did not have arguments with their cheerleader girlfriends over weird loner chicks.

  “They were. I was there.”

  “They were not.” She laughed.

  “Were too.”

  “Were not.”

  “Were too.”

  “No, they weren’t.”

  “Yes, they were.”

  “Okay, stop.” Amy smirked.

  “I won.” Peter grinned.

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  “Did not.”

  Zack jerked upright, startling them both. “Sorry. I must have fallen asleep.”

  “No problem.” Amy smiled indulgently. Did he remember falling asleep on her shoulder? Why did she care? Peter winked. Amy threw him a dirty look. Zack once again stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

  The sedan slowed, pulled over, and stopped. The comforting thrum of the engine cut out, leaving a cold, jarring stillness in its wake. Peter picked up the gun, and Zack flinched as if he expected him to open fire.

  The wall Susan had been sleeping against slid to one side, and Ash’s freckled face appeared in the gap. “Dude, you’re wanted up front.”

  Peter gently lifted Susan out of the way and disappeared through the hatch. Ash closed it behind them.

  “Wow!” Susan’s eyes popped open. “I had no idea that was hidden there!”

  “Amy.” Zack swiftly turned to her, urgency flashing in his crystal blue eyes. “What happened during that phone call? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Amy lied, irritation pricking her words.

  “Did the Tylenol help?” Susan asked with an innocent smile.

  Amy narrowed her eyes at her sister. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “What Tylenol?” Zack said, his brows shooting upward in alarm. “Where did you find Tylenol?”

  Susan smiled brightly. “Peter gave it to her. He’s sweet.”

  “You were talking to him?”

  “Yes.” Amy jutted her chin at him. “Got a problem with that?” Zack was cute only when he was silent.

  His eyes flashed. “Amy. These guys are dangerous. How can you sit there chatting with them after everything they’ve done?”

  “But he gave her Tylenol.” Susan intervened on Amy’s behalf. “That was nice.”

  “You took it?” Zack gasped.

  Amy lifted her chin. “Yes, I did. And I feel a lot better, thank you very much.”

  His expression softened as anger gave way to concern. “You said you were fine. Tell me what happened.”

  “You’re so damn pushy.”

  “They hit Amy with a hammer. Once to her head and once to her side. She couldn’t breathe for a while. I thought you were going to die!” Susan fought a sob. Amy’s heart ached. Now how was she supposed to get mad at her for spilling the beans?

  Thirty-two

  RAGE BUBBLED INSIDE Zack like swiftly rising lava. He took in Amy’s taut, pained expression and clenched his jaw against a burst of blinding fury. Assassin’s Honor had given her a concussion and smashed up her ribs. She had been forced to talk to Peter after he, Zack, had fallen asleep. He was never letting that happen again. He was going to stay awake until they escaped … Or were killed.

  The sedan had been still for an anxious five minutes, and the tension in the trunk had built into a clenching hyper alertness that made every sound into a threat and every movement a reason to flinch. Zack’s mind leaped from question to question like a kid with ADHD who was unable to hold still. Had the gang stopped to torture them? Had they reached the end of the line? Were they waiting outside a second gang clubhouse? Were they going to kill Susan and make Amy watch? Were they calling his own parents and demanding a million dollars? Amy gazed at him over the top of Susan’s head, m
any of the same questions flickering in her misty gray eyes. She had Susan tucked behind her, shielding the smaller girl from whatever happened next. Her first instinct was to protect her sister, no matter the cost to herself. Zack held her gaze and vowed to do the same for Amy.

  The hatch slid open and Peter clambered through. Zack curled his lip. “Great. You’re back.”

  Peter sat cross-legged against the side window. The sedan’s engine rumbled to life, and they coasted back into traffic. They turned onto a twisting, windy road and began bumping along rough terrain.

  “Where are we going?” Amy asked, her shoulders tense.

  Peter yawned. “Nowhere in particular. We’re trying to find an out-of-the-way place to stop for the night, but we might have to keep driving until morning.”

  Zack pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose. At least Peter was being straight with them. His mind continued to batter him with questions. How long would it be until they stopped? What fresh horrors would that bring? The wondering was what got to him. He wished Assassin’s Honor would just get the torture over with and dump them at the side of the road.

  Amy and Susan had fallen asleep back to back. They had managed to clasp hands despite the ropes that bound them. Susan’s hair was splayed around her face in a silken onyx halo. The little girl wore an angelically peaceful expression as she slumbered. She was still young enough to dream of leprechauns, rainbows, and fairy-tale castles in the sky. In contrast to her sister, Amy looked troubled, even in sleep. She worried her lower lip as she slept, and her eyes darted to and fro behind their pale lids. His heart squeezed. Was she having a nightmare?

  Zack looked up to find Peter contemplating the girls. He clenched his jaw, fierce possessiveness gripping him. Zack took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger. He had to behave, or they would hurt Susan or break another of Amy’s ribs.

  His composure lasted for all of five minutes. “What are you staring at?” He pierced Peter with a hate-filled glare.