MoonFall: A Paranormal Werewolf and Urban Fantasy of Suspense (Supernatural Siblings Series Book 2)

by Drew VanDyke

  “I don’t get it.” I hated it when my voice began to whine. “I thought it would make you happy to know that Mom didn’t just disappear into the ethers when she died.”

  “But Ashlee, I already knew that. I talk to her myself…”

  “You do?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, of course. Every day, but it’s more in a praying kind of way. To hear you say that she’s listening but she chooses not to answer me back? Well, that just bites.”

  “She’s not exactly a font of information. But, I can tell you what she says. Like Jennifer Love Hewitt in Ghost Whisperer.”

  “How the hell is that going to work when half of the stuff I want to talk to her about is you.”

  “Oh…”

  “Duh. Oh.”

  The point turned out to be moot because the next morning, mysteriously, I had no voice. As in, I couldn’t talk. The best I could manage was a whisper and it galled me to no end that Amber was going to get the last word for the next few days.

  I had to admit it gave me an entirely new perspective on the world. It was surprisingly peaceful…until the rest of the family decided that they could best fill the dead air I’d left behind, blathering on and on.

  And here I was hoping that my cone of silence would garner me a little sympathy. No such luck. “Serves her right.” I overheard Amber saying to our dad on the phone.

  Silver lining to whatever malady it was: I had a day in bed with my laptop. I swear I get more done the days I’m sick in bed with a bronchial infection than those perfectly healthy weeks when my time is eaten up by other people’s needs, wants and expectations, and my own.

  “That sounds perfect, Dad,” Amber’s voice droned in the background. “Elle’s still recovering from surgery and it’s only week three in an eight week rehabilitation. We’ll…”

  Next thing I knew Amber handed the phone to me.

  “Ashlee.” Father’s deep baritone resounded in my ear. “Rhonda and I are headed for Yosemite and we’re inviting the family to join us.” Rhonda was my stepmother.

  “But Dad,” I whispered into the receiver. “I can’t go right now. I have to supervise the remodel of the pool house – wheeze – and in the process I picked up a gig to do a before-and-after piece on it called – cough, hack – Not Too Close, Not Too Far: Renovating Your Cottage For Family. I’m Skyping with the editor tomorrow.”

  “We know that, dear.” Rhonda’s contralto tone came through loud and clear and I realized that they were on speaker.

  Grr. I hate speaker.

  “We thought Amber could use some time away from the madness of suburbia so perhaps we’d all go up to Yosemite. We’ll be staying at the Ahwahnee, and then heading for the cabin up at Bumblebee before the Fourth. You can join us when and if you can, but this way Amber isn’t stressing herself out trying to play supermom for you and Will as well.”

  “Makes sense, doesn’t it, Ash?” Dad added in that logical tone he had that could at once disarm and infuriate…and though I hated to admit it, he was usually right. “And we wanted to get out of Tucson anyway.”

  Dad and Rhonda had moved away to Tucson shortly after they’d gotten married. I wondered if Mom had anything to do with that. Even if they couldn’t see her, they might have felt her presence. That would have been creepy.

  Another voice broke in from the background. “I’m coming too, sis.”

  “Adam?” I croaked into the phone while I fish-eyed Amber as she smirked. “How long have you been at Dad’s?”

  “Oh, a couple of days. I had a layover in Tucson on my way to Vegas. I’ve got to do a security seminar, training a team for a new casino. It’s going to take about a week or so and if you can join me there, I can probably get you a gig doing a review of the spa for one of your magazines. In the meantime, Dad and Rhonda can spend quality time with John Robert, your sister and Elle get to play hooky doing that outdoorsy thing, and hopefully all of us will end up at the cabin. Besides, you know we all hate the heat during the summer months.”

  And it’s true. We really do. Knightsbridge Canyon gets record high temperatures and if it weren’t for the pools, lakes, falls, and the reservoir, not to mention the blessings of modern air conditioning, we would be rolling like tumbleweeds in the parched desert hills. Hence the annual trek into the mountains over the summer months when and if we could.

  “Remember,” I heard the echo of a past conversation with my mom in my head. “We’re extremely fortunate to get to spend our time away from the heat when we can, girls.” She would say this when we complained about the long and winding drive up the mountain roads to the cabin, one that often ended up with one of us getting carsick on the side of the road.

  “A lot of your friends at school don’t ever get this opportunity,” she’d continue, and then would come one of my Mom’s pithy Annabellisms, as my Dad used to call them. “The path may be arduous, but the joy is in the journey as well as the destination.”

  Mom was big on joy, and because she could turn it on and off at will, she seemed to think others could too.

  My brother’s voice spoke in my ear. “Hey Ash! You still with me?”

  What had he been saying? “Right here,” I choked out and subsequently had a minor coughing fit as my throat ran dry.

  I made as if to head for the fridge when my sister put a drink in my hand; cherry limeade with a fresh sprig of mint. I smiled. She knew me oh so well.

  Thank you, I mouthed at her.

  She shrugged, but her eyes twinkled as she walked away looking for someone else’s needs to satisfy. My sister turned out to be a great mother, and when I was sick, that role felt great…but most days I’d have just preferred a better sister.

  Okay, I know, that was hypocritical. I’m telling you how I feel. It doesn’t have to be rational.

  “I doubt I’ll make it,” I sent on. “Just don’t have too much fun without me.”

  “No chance at that, Ash. You know you’re the life of the party.” Adam always seemed to know the right thing to say, except when he didn’t, and then he was just oblivious.

  “Well, you all have a great time.” I mumbled, sniffling. For some reason I felt abandoned, even though it was me saying no.

  “Don’t worry, Ash. If you can’t make it to Vegas, just come up to the cabin before the Fourth. We’ll have a great independence day.”

  This declaration seemed calculated to solve all of our immediate problems. That was Adam’s way, a slicker – okay, kinder – version of Dad’s: do something simple, tie it all up neatly with a bow on.

  “Oh, and have you met with Jackson yet?” he continued.

  “Jackson? Jackson who?” I asked, racking my brain. I was juggling so many balls in the air I could hardly keep them all straight.

  “Jackson Wolfe? The contractor? I set you up with him for the pool house remodel?”

  “Oh, him, right. Wolf, yeah. Is there something I should know?”

  “It’s Wolfe with an ‘e’ and I hope you don’t mind but we tweaked the plans a bit,” he whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” I whispered right back. I mean, I knew why I was whispering, not why he was, though. Maybe Dad and Rhonda had left the room. Obviously he was trying to tell me something.

  “Let’s just say we’ve added a contingency plan in case you ever get caught on MoonFall without an option.”

  “Wait! What? What contingency plan? You had better not have dicked with my design, Earth Creature,” I shot back. The name Adam was biblical and it pretty much translated as “Earth Creature,” hence the nickname.

  “Naw, don’t worry. I just retooled the basement so it can double as a safe zone; a low budget panic room, you know, just in case.”

  “Basement? Silly. There’s no basement in the Alamo!” I quoted from Pee-wee’s Big Adventure.

  “There is now. Well, at your place anyway.”

  “But I didn’t budget for a basement,” I exclaimed, hearing what little voice I had crack and realizing that my vocal cords were ab
out to pack it in for good.

  “It’s taken care of, sis. I got you covered. Don’t worry. Jackson’s giving me a deal. I know him from Afghanistan. Give me a call after you meet with him.”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious. I think you’ll find meeting him an enlightening experience. Anyway, gotta go. Dad’s on a schedule and he gets pissy when he’s hungry. Bye.”

  Click.

  As the firstborn, my brother had a tendency to be bossy, and though he wasn’t normally a joiner, when he did get involved it usually meant familial compromise at best or outright capitulation to his vision at worst. I wasn’t always comfortable with his choices for the rest of us.

  On the other hand, he seemed to be able to get stuff done when no one else could.

  As I returned the cordless to its cradle, the Amber-Elle household was in a flurry, what with making plans and shuffling schedules. By the end of the week, they’d packed up the Forty-Niners-themed Range Rover, left me instructions not to touch the white Lexus in the garage along with a whole list of other off-limits activities, and then it was just Will and me with Spanky playing chaperone.

  Of course, the dog didn’t care what we did as long as he got fed and walked…although he didn’t much like it when we locked him out of the bedroom. I’m as freaky as the next girl, but no way was I letting him watch.

  Saturday dawned and I rolled out of bed two hours later. Will was already gone to shimmy up trees and prune bushes; the poor guy worked six days a week to run his landscaping service. Because I was all alone in the main house until nine when I had to meet with the contractor working on the pool house, I didn’t bother wearing anything but the sexy pajamas Amber had bought for me that Christmas. I don’t know how she does it, but she picks out things I would never consider and when I put them on, her tastes and my sense of style end up surprisingly synchronous.

  Imagine my surprise when, after pouring myself a cup of coffee and tossing in some hazelnut creamer as the timer went off at 8:30 a.m., a knock at the open window brought my attention out of an aromatic just-awoken haze.

  “Jackson Wolfe, ma’am.” A deep, rich voice like brown sugar and butter worked its way from my heart to my head and then slid down my spine to my root chakra. I turned around and looked up into the soulful eyes of a wolf in men’s clothing. As if hypnotized, I left my coffee on the table and opened the portal to stare at him through the glass storm door.

  Jackson Wolfe had the body of Hugh Jackman and the height of a second-string Los Angeles Laker, six four at least. If Will made me seem small next to him, this guy had me feeling positively petite. And he reeked of sex and violence and…werewolf, I abruptly knew.

  My nostrils flared and my eyes dilated as I felt the beast rise to the surface. I’d never met another of my kind before and I could only thank Elle for installing shatterproof glass as he pressed his body to it. I moved closer and the breath from his nose coated the pane with fog. We both began to growl, although mine came out like a Rottweiler with asthma.

  Behind me, I heard the patter of paws as Spanky’s barking went ballistic.

  We turned as one to look at the territorial little Schnauzer, which broke the spell. We both laughed.

  “I think I’ll take a nice long walk around the block,” Jackson said as his eyes apologized, sheepish. “You obviously didn’t get my text about meeting early. I’ll see you in about a half an hour.” He waved and strode away.

  “And I’m going to take a nice long shower,” I said to myself as Spanky barked at the man while I watched his sculpted bubble butt exit through the back gate. “Maybe a cold one.”

  Chapter 2

  By the time Jackson returned, I’d made myself presentable. Now decently attired, I picked up and held Spanky in my arms for protection against the werewolf ice cream on two sticks in front of me.

  Yum.

  “So, I guess your brother neglected to inform you about the qualities that you and I share.” Jackson’s nostrils flared as I handed him a cup of coffee, and I could see his left brain processing the scents that came to him, categorizing, memorizing and storing them for future reference.

  Jackson wore cowboy boots, Levis 501s and a white cotton t-shirt, and he smelled like eucalyptus, balsam fir and redwoods. I wondered what I smelled like. His eyes seemed to twitch from brown to hazel, and they took on a faraway glaze, highlighting the Native American blood that came through strongly in his face.

  I wondered if that’s what I looked like when I was in the olfactory zone. I sipped my second cup of coffee, this one iced, and considered my response.

  “Yes, well, my brother has never been very forthcoming with information until the need to know has long since passed. He probably thought it would be amusing to spring it on me. In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure that I wasn’t the only werewolf in existence.” I nuzzled Spanky, who gave me a lick on the nose, and then narrowed his eyes at Jackson.

  “Lycanthrope,” Jackson said as he spread out the blueprints on the patio table.

  Elle and Amber had an awesome patio. A glass top picnic table and chairs for eight. Real Venetian tile and an outdoor living room with a huge flat screen monitor hovering on a swivel in the corner. There was even a circular gas fire pit where we gathered on winter nights, and a few outdoor heaters stood on pedestals for those who didn’t get a space close enough to the fire.

  “What?” I’d lost my train of thought.

  “A werewolf is a myth created by humanity to try to explain the unexplainable,” Jackson began, holding down the edges of the blueprints with a couple of weightier tools from his belt, taking a tone as if he was a teacher and I was his pupil. “Lycanthrope is a more appropriate term, although the psychiatric community has co-opted the term for their diagnostic manual. ‘Shifter’ will work for slang. Anyway, though we can take half-form with experience, it’s more an alpha thing and it takes an incredible amount of energy and we can’t hold it for long unless we’ve had a lot of practice. Or unless you’ve been magicked into it.”

  “Oh, you heard about that, huh?” I said, referring to last year’s drama with Jeanetta McDonald, the bad witch. The very bad witch, in fact.

  Little did I know how soon my hamlet was going to be teeming with paranatural types.

  I leaned forward to place Spanky on the ground and he immediately began sniffing out the competition’s boots.

  “Lucky mutt.” Jackson smiled ruefully and bent down to run his fingers through the dog’s short gray hair. He lifted the pup up by the scruff in one hand and supported him under his butt with the other, giving him the once-over before looking him in the eyes.

  The man-wolf bared his teeth until the dog looked away. Hell, I almost had to look away as he did so. And it might have been my imagination, but I’d swear he gave Spanky a good sniffing as well.

  “Yours?” he asked.

  “Amber’s. But he might as well be mine.”

  “He’s pack.” Jackson stated as if that said everything and he cradled the dog into his chest. Spanky promptly proceeded to lick his neck.

  Traitor, I thought.

  “So…” I began, but Jackson was one step ahead of me.

  “So, I suppose you have some questions for me.” He gazed at me expectantly.

  “Yes…if you don’t mind my asking, how did you become a were – err, lycanthrope?”

  “Oh, I’ve always been one. My whole family is. We’re a tribe.”

  “Wow, your whole family.” Those were the words that came out of my mouth, but what hit me on an unconscious level was an internal longing to belong to a family of people who liked and accepted me for not only who, but what I was. My sense of presence shifted and on the landscape of my imagination the she-wolf inside of me sat on her haunches and let out a howl. She was lonely and made sure that I was aware of it.

  I, of course, took the less tactful escape from the emotion and went for the low hanging fruit: humor.

  “What, you were born one? Like a pup in a litter? Your poor mother.�
��

  “Actually no,” he laughed, setting down the dog, who promptly went to do his business on the lawn. “We don’t change until late in puberty. Sometimes even after. At least the boys don’t. The girls are another story.”

  “So, what about the girls?” I asked him.

  Jackson hemmed and hawed until finally I told him to just spit it out. And he said, “Um, it’s attached to their flow.”

  “You have got to be shittin’ me.”

  “What? It’s true. They don’t change until they get their first period. It drives the boys a bit crazy with envy because most guys don’t finish puberty until the girls have already been shifting for a couple of years. By the time they get there, the girls have become experts at it.”

  “Sounds smart, if you ask me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know what they say.” I hedged my bets, not sure if Jackson merely oozed testosterone or if he was a chauvinist as well.

  “No, I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “You know…” Now it was my turn to hem and haw. “They say girls mature faster than boys.”

  Jackson barked a laugh. Spanky thought he wanted to play and came running with his multicolored rope to pull, so Jackson obliged, playing tug of war with the little dog.

  “They do, for a limited time. Things even up later, usually in their twenties. Before that, most of the girls end up pairing up with older guys. And they’re not all good guys like me. It sets up a painful power dynamic for the young men, even worse than in mundane human society, where the objects of their desire tend to be snapped up by those more mature. If it were my pack, I’d try to change that, or at least mitigate it.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “It is. It really sucks when you’re in love with a classmate.”

  “Were you in love with a classmate?”

  “Hell, no! I saw the writing on the wall. Too many broken hearts among the males in the pack. Most guys go through a ‘what’s wrong with me,’ or sometimes an ‘am I gay’ phase because of all the rejection, and it can make for some pretty sensitive personalities. You got to have a thick skin to be in my family. It’s easier for the alphas.”