Moon of Shadows

by H. D. Gordon

  Gerald was a big Wolf with skin as dark as night and a face that appeared much harsher than I knew him to be. Hiring him to run the Silver Tavern had been another thing my brother and I had disagreed on, but Gerald had not let me down. On top of what I suspected was a moderate mental disability, he also had a criminal record and could not find a job elsewhere. For whatever reason, I’d taken a shine to him and had wanted to aid in his circumstances.

  Despite it being well before opening time, I found Gerald polishing the bar, humming a tune in his deep, rumbling voice.

  “Oh, morning, boss,” Gerald said as I used my key to let myself in. “You scared me for a moment. Thought someone was breaking in.”

  Though I was still tense, I offered him a half smile. “What do I keep telling you, Gerald?”

  “I’m too big to be scared of anything,” he said.

  I slid onto a stool at the bar and nodded my thanks when he poured me an orange juice. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll protect you.”

  Gerald grinned big. “I know you will, boss. I’m awful grateful for it. For everything you’ve done for me.”

  I sipped at the orange juice and grimaced, setting the glass down again. “You’ve earned your way,” I replied. “You’ve done a great job with the tavern.”

  “That makes me real happy to hear you say that,” Gerald said, and continued on grinning as he finished polishing the bar and moved on to the glasses.

  I was just getting ready to ask how things were going, if he was having any issues in his duties, and if he had any suggestions about how we could improve things when there was a knock on the front door.

  I’d seen the closed sign hanging in the window on my way in, and the hours of operation were clearly posted. I looked at Gerald with raised eyebrows. “Expecting someone?” I asked.

  Gerald shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

  I slid off my stool. “Well, then who could that be?”

  He held his large hands up, his face as surprised as mine. “I haven’t a clue, boss,” he said.

  I took another swig of juice before telling Gerald to go on and let the caller in.

  Arsen Bain walked through the door, smug smile on his milky pale face, with Carson Cartier himself following on his heels.

  Chapter 12

  I knew it was him not for familiarity of his appearance, but more because deduction told me it was so.

  “Can I help you?” Gerald asked, heavy brows lowering over his dark eyes as the two males all but pushed past him to stroll so casually inside.

  My hands slid into my pockets as I went to greet them, my fingers twitching over the irons hidden there.

  Bain set eyes on me first, and I had to clench my teeth to keep from cringing as I felt him caress my mental walls, much as he had done the last time I’d encountered him.

  Instead of reacting, as I was sure was exactly what he wanted, I kept my face blank and my shoulders relaxed. The albino’s eyes followed me, his presence palpable in a way that was inherently threatening.

  Cartier, on the other hand, moved with an air of entitlement, the heels of his shiny shoes clicking over the wooden floor as he took in the surroundings, and very apparently was not impressed. He wore a long dark coat and a black brimmed hat, with black gloves covering his hands. His face was expressionless save for a small twist to his thin lips, and his nose was hooked and his nostrils flared when he breathed. The aura around him was clearly Alpha.

  The both of them completely ignored Gerald, who looked at me, awaiting instructions. In the telepathic manner of Wolves, I told Gerald to go back to his tasks, and that I would speak with our visitors.

  From the way Gerald’s dark eyes flicked over to the other two males, I knew I was not the only one who could recognize predators when I saw them. I supposed Gerald had received a special education on the matter during the time he’d spent behind bars.

  I repeated Gerald’s question once he’d scuttled away, only there was nothing courteous about my tone.

  “Can I help you?” I asked. “We don’t open for another couple of hours.”

  Cartier stopped a few feet away from me, taking another deliberately slow assessment of the place before addressing me.

  “I’m here to see Devon Silvers,” he said, in a tone as snobby as his attire.

  “He’s not here,” I replied.

  From the way his eyes darted to Bain, I knew the two were communicating telepathically, and felt my hands clench into fists in my pockets.

  “You’re his sister,” Cartier said.

  It was not a question, so I didn’t answer.

  “Hello, Dita,” Bain said, sidling too close for comfort. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  I pretended to be utterly unaffected by this, and raised my chin a bit as I looked at Cartier. “That’s right,” I said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I wanted to know if your brother had reconsidered our terms,” Cartier replied.

  “I’m sure that he has,” I said carefully.

  Cartier removed his black brimmed hat, looking right at me for the first time, the green of his eyes visible without the shadow cast by the hat.

  “Arsen here has taken quite the shine to you, Miss Silvers,” he said. “He keeps going on and on about you.”

  Though it was spoken as a compliment, I took it as a threat, which I was certain was the real intent.

  Cartier took a couple steps closer, the power of his position palpable. I remained where I was, refusing to back peddle or drop his gaze, an easy smile on my face that had taken years of practice.

  Bain stood to the side, watching.

  “You’re sure that he has?” Cartier asked. “Why is that?”

  It took every ounce of effort to keep my lips from twisting into a sneer, to keep from spitting at his shiny shoes and telling him that he could shove his extortion where the sun doesn’t shine.

  Instead, I recalled my conversation with Devon, and my agreement to do things his way.

  “You’d have to speak to him yourself,” I said.

  Silence fell between us, and standing in the center of that dim and cozy barroom, I could practically taste the tension on the air. If I was being wholly honest, a brand of fear I hadn’t felt for a long while weaved through my stomach, bringing up memories of my father and Lukas Borden, of the Mad Wolf and the fire reflected in the moon.

  Cartier’s emerald gaze penetrated in the way only true Alphas can manage. Standing before me was a powerful male, and my previous encounters with Wolves of his type had not ended well.

  Still, my fingers were flexed in my pockets, resting over the butts of my duel irons.

  “Tell your brother that we stopped by, Miss Silvers,” Cartier said, his tone far more smooth and sophisticated than his reputation. He handed me a white card with his name printed in fancy script across it.

  I took the card and nodded once, remaining where I was while Cartier turned toward the exit.

  Arsen Bain did not follow immediately. Instead, he turned back toward me, and there was an unmistakable knock on my mental walls.

  The absolute only reason I acquiesced to the request for the second time was the same as the first. I didn’t want the pale-skinned bastard to think I was afraid of him. Whether it was true or not.

  When his voice spoke into my mind, I clenched my teeth against a small shiver.

  “I’ll see you soon, little Wolf,” Arsen Bain said.

  My lips pulled up into a grin that bared my teeth, my brown eyes hard and cold as I held his stare. “Go fuck yourself, Mr. Bain,” I said.

  Bain winked, and my stomach turned unpleasantly. “As long as I can think about you while I do,” he replied.

  I was just barely able to stop the growl that wanted to rumble up my throat, but somehow managed. My fingers twitched in my pockets as Bain strolled across the room, holding the exit door open for his boss.

  Just before exiting, Carson Cartier turned back to me. He’d placed his black brimmed hat
back atop his head, casting his face into shadows. But his eyes shone out, as if the green of them were a strange shade of Wolf-gold.

  “By the way,” Cartier said, “how is your little brother? Demarco, that’s his name, right?”

  Any fear I might have felt was washed away on a wave of anger, but somehow, I managed to keep my cool. “He’s fine,” I said. “Thank you for asking.”

  The smile Carson Cartier gave me then could be called nothing but wicked.

  He tipped his hat to me and left.

  I released a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding, equal parts angry and afraid, though the former was the only I’d own up to.

  Throughout the rest of the tasks of my day, there was nothing I could think about save for Cartier’s last words to me. The way he’d said it had made me rethink the possibility that he’d somehow been involved with what happened to my brother, despite Demarco’s account of the incident.

  It was also possible that Cartier had merely been told about Demarco’s injuries, and was simply waving around his power.

  Either way, his visit had been a threat, and as mad as I was at my older brother and best friend, I needed to warn them.

  I returned to the house later that evening, spending some time with the twins before going in search of Devon and Kyra. After tucking Ada and Ana in for bedtime, I ran into Demarco in the hallway.

  “It’s good to see you up and about, little brother,” I said.

  Demarco smiled, but I could tell that walking was wearing him out, and slipped my arm around his waist to hold him up.

  “I was just using the washroom,” he said. “But I think I overestimated my strength.”

  I helped him back to his room, expecting to see Delia there but finding it empty. “Well,” I said as I lowered him to the bed, “you almost died, so maybe you should take it easy for a while longer.”

  Demarco winced at the words, along with the flat way they were spoken. I couldn’t pretend I was pleased with what had happened when in reality they had scared the shit out of me.

  “I’m sorry, Dita,” Demarco said.

  I sighed and placed a kiss on the top of his head as he settled back onto the pillows, wincing with every move. “It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

  Demarco’s eyes peeked open, and his voice came out in a whisper. “Did you kill them?” he asked.

  I took the chair beside the bed and rolled my neck. “No… but if you had actually died… I honestly don’t know what I would have done.”

  Demarco turned his head and looked at me now, his expression suddenly unyielding. “You would’ve kept taking care of the family,” he said. “Like you’ve always done.”

  Looking down at my scarred hands, I released a slow breath. “I’m not sure I’ve done such a great job at it,” I admitted.

  Demarco snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you have. The lot of us would’ve starved a long time ago if not for you. You’ve been looking after us for as long as I can remember, and you’ve done a great job.”

  My throat went tight, and for several seconds, I couldn’t find any words.

  “It’s good to hear you say that,” I said at last.

  Demarco’s eyes were already closed again, his face smoothing out as sleep tugged at him. He was a rascal at times, there was no doubt about it, but damn the Gods if I didn’t love him

  “Don’t forget it, Dita,” he said, just before he was pulled under.

  I sat watching him rest for a few moments before climbing to my feet and quietly making my way from the room.

  From there, I went in search of Devon and Kyra, and found them once again in the library. They were sitting by the hearth together when I entered, and I did my best to ignore the pang of jealousy at the way they’d seemed to have united against me.

  I cleared my throat and told them about Cartier’s visit to the Silver Tavern this morning.

  “I’m going to see him tomorrow,” Devon said. “And make a reasonable counter offer.”

  I resisted the urge to say that would take care of it then with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

  “And what he said about Demarco?” I asked.

  Kyra remained silent as Devon thought this over. “He likely heard about the incident and wanted to demonstrate the reach of his spies,” he concluded. “Demarco got jumped by Vampires, not Wolves.”

  A detail he would not let go of. Meanwhile, my gut kept telling me that Cartier had a hand in Demarco’s injuries, and if not a hand, at least a finger.

  “Dita,” Devon said with an annoying note of exasperation, “I’m going to meet with Cartier and make sure things are right. Please, just let me handle things. Maybe take a few days off. You’ve earned them.”

  Though I recognized that my older brother thought he was being amicable after our last failed attempt at communication, I had to grit my teeth against the condescending note I either picked up or imagined in his tone.

  I left the library before I could say more things that I might end up regretting.

  I went to the roof of the house, shifted into my Wolf form, and settled down onto my belly, resting my head between my paws.

  Overhead, clouds passed across the moon, casting shadows over the face of it.

  Eventually, I slept, but my dreams were haunted by memories of a past life, and fears of the current.

  I could only hope that I was wrong, and that Devon was right, because it was all good and well for him to play the leader of the family, to make decisions that impacted the rest of us, but we both knew that when it came down to doing what needed to be done to protect the family, I was the Wolf who’d end up shouldering the burden.

  Just as I had always been.

  Chapter 13

  Letting go of the reins was difficult for me. I may not be an official Alpha, with all the perks that went along with that, but I was used to calling the shots.

  To distract myself from it all, I decided to start tackling some of the other issues of the household, and while Demarco was currently laid up—and essentially out of trouble for the time being—I figured now was as good a time as any to try and make things right with Delia.

  I knew she was still mad at me from our last conversation, and tried to remember how I’d been at her age, but couldn’t. It seemed a million years since I’d last been a child or adolescent, if ever.

  Devon was the one who usually picked Delia and the twins up from school in Faerport, but since I’d relaxed my hold on other responsibilities, I had time to do this myself.

  Ada and Analise were happy to see me. This brightened my mood, but Delia only rolled her eyes when she came out of the schoolhouse to see me waiting for her.

  I sent a silent prayer up to any God that might be listening to grant me strength. Of all the challenges I’d had to face over the years, who would have thought raising a teenager would be the hardest among them?

  “Where’s Devon?” Delia asked as she approached.

  “He’s busy. I thought I’d pick you up for once.”

  “Great,” she mumbled, and moved past me toward the carriage I had waiting at the corner.

  I opened the door and helped the twins climb into the back. Delia slid in after them, and then me.

  I tried several times to make conversation, but kept receiving only one word answers and barely contained sighs of exasperation from Delia. For both our sakes, I gave up my efforts before we were even halfway back to the house.

  Once we got there, Delia hurried away as if I smelled bad, locking herself in her room and leaving me more frustrated with her than I’d been in the first place.

  “Give her time,” Cora said, as we stood in the foyer, the twins already running off down the hall.

  “Time for what? To stop hating me?”

  Cora gave me a small smile that revealed her fangs. “She doesn’t hate you. No one in this house hates you.”

  With that, she glided away, and I went to help the twins wash up and fixed them an after school snack.

  Once the
y started on their homework, I decided that I needed to go for a run and burn some of this terrible energy coursing through me.

  The sky was growing dark, and the weather was still cool enough to be pleasant. I shifted into my Wolf form and stalked across the backyard to where a line of trees led into the forest.

  I was almost there when a dark shadow darted across the lawn. My ears went flat on my head, the fur on my back ruffling up before a scent reached me on the breeze.

  Delia.

  And just where was she running off to?

  I glanced at the line of trees, then back at the retreating shape of my little sister, and followed.

  I’ll give her this, she was a slippery little Wolf.

  She had grown to what would likely be her full height, but at sixteen, she had not filled out completely yet, had not become an adult.

  Not in my eyes, anyway.

  She would hate me if she knew I was following her, but I couldn’t see how it could make our relationship any more uncomfortable and distant, and on top of that, I didn’t intend for her to find out.

  So I followed Delia as she slipped across the vast lawn behind the main house and looped around to where the road cut through the barren fields of blueberry vines that would bloom and produce the sweetest berries in the coming months as the weather grew warmer.

  I was still in my Wolf form, and I made sure to stay downwind as I crept along behind her. The sneaky little devil kept glancing around and over her shoulder until the house was no longer visible behind us.

  She paused for a moment to fix her hair in a little mirror she had tucked in her pocket. Then, she continued on, heading in the direction of Faerport.

  The night bugs came to life around us, and just before Delia reached the border of Faerport, she turned right, down a long dirt road that I wasn’t sure I’d ever taken particular note of before. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I continued to follow.

  I stalked from behind like the perfect predator, my ears swiveling and my head held low as I kept my eyes on my sister. The smell of burning wood floated on the breeze, and Delia headed toward it.