Falling for the Rogue (Moonlight Wolves Book 1)

by Jasmine B. Waters

“Skip it,” David said. “I’ll drive down and pick you up. We can look for her together.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I sighed. “My mom called the cops, and they came over and interviewed me, but they didn’t say anything about a missing person’s case.”

  “Elizabeth, chill. We’re looking for my girlfriend, not tearing up some crime scene. You know the area better than I do. We should go together.”

  A bad feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

  “Okay,” I said. “Fine. Pick me up by the school at nine-twenty. That’s ten minutes after class starts. I’ll tell my mom I’m sick or something and that I need to stay home. My parents both work during the day.”

  “I haven’t heard shit from her,” David said, more to himself than to me. “She always called, like, all the time.”

  I sighed. “I just hope she’s okay. A lot of weird stuff around town was freaking her out, but I totally dismissed it. I didn’t understand that she was really scared.”

  David didn’t say anything. I wondered if Monica had told him the same stuff.

  “I have to go,” David said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He hung up before I could reply. As I stared down at the phone in my hand, I murmured a silent prayer for my friend.

  Chapter Six

  Monica

  I opened my eyes and groaned. Every muscle, every nerve – everything in my body was aching so badly that I felt like I’d fallen down a ravine. It was dark, and my eyes weren’t adjusting.

  It took me a minute to realize I was in the woods behind my house. Frowning, I rubbed my eyes and sat up. ‘What the hell?’ I wondered, looking around. ‘Did I fall asleep out here? Where’s Elizabeth?’

  There was something sticking into my thigh. With a grunt, I rolled over on the grass and wrapped my fingers around the blade of the knife. It was the same knife I’d found with Elizabeth earlier. And I’d recognized it almost instantly.

  It was an athame.

  A witch’s knife.

  I’d seen pictures of athames and other ritualistic items in the books of witchcraft that I’d been collecting over the years. This one was no different; if anything, it looked like an antique. The handle was etched with runes, and the blade was notched thrice, as if to signify how the athame had been used.

  When I touched the handle, I yelped and jerked my hand back. The hard surface was burning hot, and my fingers showed black scorch marks. Something deep inside was compelling me to take the knife. I knew that, for some reason, I couldn’t leave it behind.

  Gritting my teeth, I pulled my light jacket off and wrapped the fabric around the handle of the athame. This time, it didn’t burn when I touched it. I got to my feet nervously and looked around. I was further in the woods than I’d ever been; they were oddly dense and thick, not like I’d remembered. When Elizabeth and I were kids, we used to play back here, pretending to be soldiers or elves. The woods had seemed so dark and scary then.

  Not like now. Now they seemed familiar and cozy, despite the velvet blackness overhead. I shivered as I started to walk. My limbs ached so badly that it was an effort to place one foot in front of the other. And when I looked up, I couldn’t see the sky through the branches and leaves.

  I wished I could stop being so cold. My stomach felt like an empty tube of toothpaste – wrinkled and empty. I had heartburn blazing up and down my esophagus like a trail of fire, and my head was thumping. My sinuses were filled with liquid concrete, and my hands were cold, shaky, and clammy.

  I had to admit that I was filled with fear and anxiety as I pushed through the trees, looking for the familiar clearing that signaled I was close to home. To my dismay, the trees grew thicker and denser with each step I took.

  I gasped and stopped dead in my tracks when I heard a rustling and crackling behind me. Spinning around, I clutched the athame to my chest. ‘Right,’ I thought sarcastically. ‘Like I could defend myself with this stupid knife. I can’t even hold the damn thing without burning myself.’ In my haste, the jacket slipped from my grasp, and my fingers curled around the bare handle of the knife.

  This time, it didn’t burn. If anything, it felt cold and smooth. I gasped again and held the knife closer to my face. The blade was glowing in the dark of the woods, and I swallowed.

  The rustling and crackling sounds grew louder. I turned on my heel and broke into a run, sprinting blindly into the forest. Fear pumped through my veins like liquid fire, and my heart beat frantically in my chest as I pushed my way through trees and branches and fallen limbs. Leaves and twigs whipped at my face as I ran faster and faster. After only a few moments, my legs were aching and my chest was heaving painfully, but I knew I couldn’t stop; whatever was chasing me would kill me.

  No matter how fast I ran, the sounds behind me kept growing louder and louder. My palms began to sweat, but the athame was still clutched firmly in my right hand, almost as if glued to my skin. I tried to summon confidence, but nothing could stop the powerful waves of fear that kept washing over me. Stumbling over a tree limb, I skidded to a stop and darted to the side, sprinting in another direction.

  The woods kept going forever. As I ran, my hope of finding home began to slowly fade. There was something different, something sinister about these woods. The air was thick and palpable with magic and haunting, and I shuddered as I kept running into the void of black.

  The crackling and snapping sounds grew louder until the sound of my own breathing was drowned out. I sucked in gusts of air and forced my legs to keep pumping past the point of exhaustion until I thought I’d have a heart attack and die right there.

  When a hand clamped down on my shoulder, I screamed. I stopped in my tracks, whirled around, and gasped at the man standing behind me. He was old. He was also tall – over six feet – with long, white hair, wizened skin, and the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen. They glowed in the dark, just like the blade of the athame I clutched tightly in my fist.

  “Leave me alone!” I screamed. “I’ll kill you!” I brandished the knife in front of me, waving the ancient blade in the air.

  The man threw his head back and laughed. “You’ll do no such thing,” he growled in a low baritone. “You think of hurting a man with his own knife!”

  I gasped in shock and tried to throw the athame behind me in the woods, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t uncurl my fingers from the handle. My fist was locked, and I cried out in pain as I tried to pry my fingers off the smooth, cool surface.

  “Enough,” the man growled. He grabbed my arm and yanked me closer. I tried to resist, but he was so strong; I knew I wouldn’t be able to fend him off. I tried waving my arm and moving the knife through the air, but suddenly my body was completely still.

  “Good,” the man said. He closed his eyes and whispered a brief incantation under his breath. There was a large tree behind him, and the trunk began to glow with golden light. As I watched, a golden portal appeared on the bark of the tree. The man whispered something, tossed his head, then grabbed me and pulled me into the trunk of the massive oak.

  The next thing I knew, I was falling. The weight was gone from my limbs, and I felt myself floating down, down, down through endless time and space. The man was gone – everything was gone. I was in a black void, drifting endlessly. There was no ground, no ceiling, no walls – nothing.

  It was like being in space.

  As I floated through the dark air, the panic began to seep from my veins. I could feel it being replaced with something warm and fuzzy, and it reminded me of being on hydrocodone after having my wisdom teeth taken out. I closed my eyes and sighed. The aching in my chest was starting to fade, and the burning in my legs from running so fast had already subsided.

  ‘This isn’t bad,’ I thought dreamily. ‘Maybe this is just a nightmare. Maybe I’m about to wake up.’ A huge yawn tore its way through my body, and I curled up, wrapping my arms around my knees and holding them to my chest. ‘Yeah, I must be aslee
p…that’s okay, I can sleep more,’ I decided. ‘Nothing is going to hurt me. I imagined everything. Elizabeth always says I’m too paranoid…yeah…that’s it…’

  I fell asleep, soothed by the rocking motion of the infinite black space.

  --

  A drumming, rhythmic sound was piping around my brain like a giant subwoofer. My head ached. When I tried to rub my temples, I realized I couldn’t move my hands.

  My eyes shot open. I gave a start in surprise. I was sitting on the floor in the middle of a giant circle of people. Men and women dressed in black robes were swaying around me with their arms held high in the air. They were ignoring me, chanting in unison. The sound of chanting and murmured song thrummed through the air, a giant engine of human vocal energy.

  When I tried to move my lips to speak, I found that every motion, every movement was a struggle. Tears filled my eyes as the chanting grew louder and louder. A spicy, herbal smell filled my nose, and I looked around as columns of grey and blue smoke filled the room.

  Suddenly, the chanting stopped. The old man who’d grabbed me stepped into the middle of the circle, holding his arms up high. The other men and women bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Somehow, the silence was even eerier than the chanting had been. The man trained his eyes on me and stepped closer. I tried to wriggle away as the other men and women parted in waves, murmuring in low, sinister tones.

  The old man knelt down and picked me up with surprising ease. He hauled me into a standing position, then dipped his head in a slight bow. Chills ran down my spine as I realized I was now the focal point of everyone in the room. ‘What am I doing here? What do these people want with me?’ The thought kept racing through my mind, and I was powerless to stop it.

  Some feeling was returning to my fingers and toes, and I could feel that I was coming off something powerful; it was like waking up from strong anesthesia. Still, I couldn’t do more than wriggle in the man’s grip. He held a bundle of fabric high in the air before whispering an unintelligible word and pushing the fabric over my head.

  “I command you to be still,” the old man growled. Instantly, I froze. He yanked the fabric over my head, moving my limbs with a practiced ease that made me realize he’d performed this ritual before. The old man yanked the fabric out to its full length. I realized it was a bright red robe, made of some kind of rough, homespun material.

  The men and women cried out in unison, a loud, guttural groan. The old man stepped back, bowed again, and then turned his attention to the crowd. When he spoke, it was an ancient-sounding and whispery language I’d never heard before. Whatever he was saying excited the men and women, and I saw their eyes blaze with fervent excitement. They rushed toward me. One of the men grabbed me by both arms and held me firmly in place, turning me around to face the crowd.

  A hush came over the room once again. An old woman with long, white hair and skin as brown and wrinkled as a walnut stepped into the room. She was walking so smoothly that she almost seemed to be gliding over the floors. Unlike the other men and women, she was clad in all white, giving her the appearance of glowing in the dark. She held her hands in front of her, and her eyelids were half-closed.

  The woman nodded at the old man. She moved toward me, moaning softly under her breath. Soon, she was so close that she could have kissed me. I was powerless to move as the woman raised her arm in the air and made a broad, sweeping gesture over my face. She closed her eyes and rolled her head around dramatically.

  The man holding me made no sign of releasing me. The woman with the long, white hair lifted a brush to my face and started making small motions over my skin. It tickled, and I had the sudden urge to laugh. The room was silent and tense as the woman painted symbols on my skin.

  “Henrik,” the woman hissed, “she is here. We can begin.”

  The old man nodded. He seemed both excited and pleased. He made a sweeping gesture, and the crowd of men and women erupted into ecstatic applause.

  ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ I wondered in a dazed panic. ‘What are they going to do?’

  The woman stared deeply into my eyes. “You will sleep now,” she said. “Sleep, vessel. Sleep.”

  My mind, my thoughts – everything swirling around in my brain – began to slowly slip away, and I felt myself passing out.

  Chapter Seven

  When I woke up, my mouth was dry and woolly. My head was aching, and my heart was racing, like I’d come out of a nightmare.

  There was a woman watching me. She was one of the women from the ritual I’d witnessed, clad in all black. I couldn’t guess her age; the dim lighting of the room and the austere robes she wore made her appear anywhere from fourteen to forty. When she saw that I was awake, she nodded and handed me a heavy silver plate. There was a slab of grilled meat, oozing blood, and a hunk of dark bread. The roasted scent of meat made me realize that I was truly hungry, but I hesitated.

  “Is this safe?” I pointed to the meat and bread.

  The woman narrowed her eyes but didn’t speak. After a few seconds, she gave a brief jerk of her head.

  “Are you sure?”

  The woman shoved the plate into my lap.

  “Fine,” I muttered. My stomach rumbled. I picked up the hunk of bread and took a slow bite. It tasted alright – sweeter than I’d expected, but it was hard to chew. The woman hadn’t handed me a fork, so I lowered my head and picked up the piece of meat with one hand. It smelled different – it obviously wasn’t beef or lamb – but it tasted good. I chewed slowly in an attempt to savor my meal, but when I looked down at the plate, I saw it was empty.

  “Is there any more?”

  The woman didn’t say anything. She kept her eye on me as she sat down and leaned against the wall. We were in a dark room with no windows and a dim, ethereal light that seemed to glow from the ceiling. It was cold and damp, though – almost like a cellar.

  The sound of voices floated into the room, and seconds later, a door opened. The old man who had grabbed me in the forest walked in. He snapped his fingers, and the woman who fed me got up and scrambled away.

  “Don’t touch me,” I hissed. I stood up, and the silver plate went clattering to the floor. The sound made me wince – everything in the small room seemed amplified.

  The man snorted. “I won’t hurt you, child,” he said. “That is not why you were brought to the Coven.”

  Hearing the word ‘coven’ made everything click. Obviously, I’d been taken by a warlock. But I shivered at the knowledge that something truly supernatural was happening to me. I pinched my arm, hoping to wake.

  “This isn’t a dream,” the man said. “You are a witch. You are now a member of the Coven.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not,” I said. “You kidnapped me.”

  The man laughed. “It was your time,” he said. “Come. Are you telling me that you hadn’t taken notice of everything around you?”

  My heart sank. “You mean the cows,” I said. “And the break-ins. That was you.”

  The man smiled menacingly, baring white teeth. “It was not me,” he said disdainfully. “But rather someone who did my bidding.” He licked his lips.

  “I don’t want to be here,” I said unsteadily. My voice trembled. “I want to go home. I need to go home.”

  “This is your home.” The man stepped closer. “I am Henrik. I am the High Priest.”

  “I don’t really care who you are,” I said tartly. “I want to go home!”

  Henrik threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a silly little girl,” he said dismissively. “You are in an enviable position, my dear. Most enviable.”

  “Yeah,” I snapped. “I bet every girl in Jaffrey wishes that some creepy asshole would kidnap her.”

  Henrik shook his head. “Come here,” he said. “You will understand.”

  I watched as Henrik took an athame out of his pocket – the very same knife I’d found in the woods – and drew three lines on the wall in the s
hape of a square with the floor as the base. He muttered a few words to the knife, then tapped it inside of the box. Instantly, hot flames sprung out of the wall. I gasped loudly as the wall shifted into a full fireplace in front of my very eyes, complete with black kettle and a roasting rack.

  Henrik reached into the pocket of his robes and grabbed a handful of herbs. He threw them at the fireplace and clapped his hands. A cloud of green-colored smoke unfurled around me, and I started coughing and coughing until I felt like I would expel my lungs.

  “Watch,” Henrik said in a low voice. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me close to the roaring fire until my face was burning hot.

  I squinted and stared, but I didn’t see anything.

  “You will see,” Henrik said. His voice floated around me, wrapping me tightly in a cloud of dark promise. As I stared into the blaze, an image began to take shape in front of me. Two girls were sitting on the floor, playing with an Ouija board. I gasped in horror as I recognized a flicking silhouette of myself seated beside Andrea D’Amico.

  “Monica, nothing’s happening,” Andrea whined. Her pale, heart-shaped face puckered with regret and dissatisfaction. “I’m leaving. This is so dumb!”

  “Wait!” Monica grabbed her wrist. “No, don’t go. I promise, sometimes it just takes some time.”

  Andrea looked at her suspiciously. “I don’t believe you,” she said slowly. “My mom says this stuff is bad,” she said quietly. “Like, we’re worshipping the devil.”

  “There is no devil,” Monica said. “Don’t be so dramatic. Do you want to talk to your aunt or not?”

  Andrea swallowed. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said. “Just one more time and then I give up, Monica. This is freaky!”

  “It’s not freaky,” Monica said smugly. She put the tips of her finger on the planchette and moved the triangular object over the smooth surface of the Ouija board. “You just have to relax, Andrea.”

  Andrea didn’t move. She glared down at the board, then looked at her hands. They were clasped tightly in her lap.