Red Rose Moon (Seasons of the Moon)

by Reine, SM

  RED ROSE MOON

  The Cain Chronicles, Episode 4

  SM Reine

  Copyright © 2012 SM Reine

  Published by Red Iris Books

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Slaughter

  I Do

  Blessings

  Transport

  Collusion

  Traitors, Liars, and Floral Arrangements

  Brother’s Keeper

  Necromancy

  The Day before the Wedding

  Sacrificial Wolf

  To Have and to Hold

  Forever Hold Your Peace

  Until Death

  The Reception

  ONE

  Slaughter

  Abel punched the button for the intercom into the California sanctuary for the fourth time. After the way he had left, Abel didn’t exactly expect to be greeted with shouts of delight and hugs, but he also didn’t expect to be totally ignored.

  “Come on,” he muttered, peering through the gates into the fog. The road into the sanctuary had been designed to keep people from seeing inside, and paired with the tall brick walls and barbed wire fence, it did a pretty good job of looking intimidating and unwelcoming.

  Abel wasn’t easy to intimidate, but he definitely felt unwelcome.

  He hit the button one more time.

  “Levi, you punk, I know you’re there,” he growled into the speaker. “Let me in!”

  Still, nothing happened.

  Forget this.

  Abel stripped off his jacket, leaving his muscular arms and the pistols in his shoulder rig bared to the night, and threw the coat over the wire. He scaled the gate, hopped safely to the other side, and pulled the coat down with him. He grumbled as he jerked the coat closed around his black wife-beater again.

  Breaking into a jog, he followed the shortcuts that he had memorized in his time living at the sanctuary, and cut a path straight toward the house. The grounds were completely silent. If Abel had been a little more morbid, he might have even thought of them as… dead.

  As he approached the front doors of the sprawling manor house, a dark lump appeared in the fog. He couldn’t tell what it was from that distance, but he had a pretty good feeling. He had seen a lot of dead bodies in his time as werewolf hunter, and they all kind of looked the same, after a while.

  Abel kneeled next to the body and pushed it onto its back.

  Eldon. One half of the resident married couple. His throat had been torn out, and he hadn’t managed to heal from it—even werewolves weren’t invulnerable.

  So Cain hadn’t been bluffing when he said that his men had attacked the sanctuary.

  Abel’s hands clenched into fists, and he fought not to scream his frustrations into the fog. Instead, he moved to the front doors and found them standing open; the foyer was cold and damp. It was also littered with three more bodies.

  He steeled himself and went about the grim duty of finding all of the dead.

  It took over an hour, but by the time he pulled the bodies into a pile outside, the fog hadn’t yet receded. In fact, it only seemed to thicken, making the day seem mournfully quiet.

  Once he was sure that he didn’t smell any other bodies in the house, he took inventory of the ones he had piled together.

  Over a dozen people dead.

  He didn’t know most of them—they had never come out to the Gresham sanctuary for a visit. At least one of the bodies wasn’t a werewolf at all; it was a witch in Scott Whyte’s coven. And, judging by all the black they were wearing, three of them were with the Union.

  His wolf stirred as he pulled himself away from the pile of bodies to find wood. Usually, he didn’t have to fight with his inner beast the way Rylie did, so it surprised him to feel the wolf swell in his heart. It recognized members of its pack, and it was sad. Sad.

  “Shut up, you big sissy,” he muttered to himself.

  Great, now he was talking to himself, too. He was going to turn into Rylie any day now.

  He lost himself in the comforting motions of hard, physical labor. Scott would have been ticked to see Abel ripping trees from the earth, but there were plenty on the property; he probably wouldn’t even notice around all the dead people, if he ever came back.

  The condition in which he had found the dead bugged him. It just made no sense to leave all those bodies behind. Not just the indignity of letting the pack rot in the open air. The Union liked to keep tight control of what it perceived to be its resources—which included bodies. As Abel understood it, they liked to pull things apart. Study them. Find what made them tick.

  If the coven hadn’t collected the bodies, and the Union had also left them behind, then that meant something must have forced the survivors away from the sanctuary. They hadn’t left of their own free will.

  He piled the driest wood he could find around the bodies. Just because nobody had come looking yet didn’t mean that they weren’t going to, and he didn’t want the cops to find anything but dust.

  Abel located cans of gasoline in the shed and spilled it over the bodies and the wood, his heart heavy and a knot in his throat. Fluid splashed over the slack faces of his pack. It soaked into their shirts and left them glistening.

  He set the can aside, stepped back, and took out his lighter.

  Everyone deserved a dignified burial. Something befitting their spirituality that would also please their families and honor their memory. But with a flickering flame dancing over Abel’s chilly fingertips, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would be good enough.

  “Rest in peace,” he muttered, flicking the lighter onto the pyre.

  The wood caught. Fire spread. Soon, despite the fog, it was a blazing bonfire. He couldn’t even make out the bodies inside. But Abel watched as it burned down, jaw set and eyes blurry.

  “I’ll avenge you,” he told the bonfire. “Trust me. I will.”

  His sensitive ears picked up a distant sound—the noise of the front gate creaking open as someone forced their way inside.

  Abel tensed. Someone was approaching him—someone that smelled like pack. But this person wasn’t friendly. He reeked of corpse. A dead body that was much older than the fresh bodies Abel was burning. One that had already dried, decayed, and had gotten up to walk around again anyway.

  He reached inside his jacket as a figure emerged from the fog, but he didn’t draw his gun fast enough.

  “Hello, brother,” Cain said. “Let’s have a talk.”

  TWO

  I Do

  Rylie was just ten miles and three long hours away from meeting her Aunt Gwyneth for breakfast. And she wasn’t sleeping.

  There was nothing in the hotel to disturb her: the building was silent, the temperature was comfortable, and she felt reasonably safe in bed with Seth. Trevin and Crystal were taking turns patrolling the halls, so Rylie would have plenty of warning if they were attacked.

  But even with everything peaceful, her head was spinning.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about those two pink lines.

  Pregnant.

  Rylie rolled over onto her stomach, and wondered if her belly felt harder than usual, or if she was just imagining things. Neither thought helped her get sleepy.

  When the clock read five, and the light outside the curtains began to brighten, she gave up on sleeping.

  Rylie slipped out the door and stood on the patio overlooking the bustling street. It had snowed heavily overnight, leaving the world blanketed in white, except where the snow plows had already done their work. The trees were caked with ice.

  She didn’t feel cold, even though she was only wearing her underwear and one of Seth’s shirts. An icicle dripped on the snow beside her foot, giving a gen
tle tap-tap-tap.

  It was calm, beautiful, and peaceful. Impossible to tell that someone out there wanted to kill her.

  Footsteps crunched on the snow in the parking lot, and a figure in a dark jacket traced a path from the door downstairs toward the trees. She could only see the top of his head, so Rylie took a sniff of the air. She picked up the smell of microwave burritos and aluminum foil. Trevin.

  She watched him pace the parking lot, seemingly unaware that he was being observed, and bit her lip in disappointment. She had been hoping against hope that Abel would have come back to protect her.

  Rylie felt hot just thinking about kissing Abel again. And the way that he had looked when he burst into the cabin to save her from Eleanor…

  Her emotions were confusing, but it was enough to convince her that marrying Seth was a bad idea. At least for now.

  Except for those two pink lines.

  She slipped into the hotel room again.

  Seth was buried in the fluffy duvet, and he didn’t move when Rylie tracked wet footprints across the carpet to enter the bathroom. She shut the door before turning on the light.

  She lifted up her shirt, pushed down the waist of her underwear, and stood with her side to the mirror to inspect the curve of her belly. It looked normal. Rylie folded her hands over her stomach and tried to imagine what was happening inside of her body.

  Her mom used to breed golden retrievers, back when Rylie was in elementary school, so she was familiar with the process of producing purebred puppies that could sell for a thousand dollars a head: choosing the right stud, going to the veterinary appointments, helping the mother birth, picking out the ones with the best breed characteristics.

  That was the most experience Rylie had with the birth of new life. And she suddenly had a bizarre mental image of curling up in the back of her mom’s closet to have puppies, which she immediately banished. That was a really weird thought that she preferred not to entertain.

  Rylie’s might have spent a lot of time with puppies, but as far as young humans went, she had only babysat kids old enough to be going to elementary school. Kids who were already potty trained, and could talk, and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Kids that she could stick in front of a TV while she did her homework, and gave back to their parents after a few hours.

  After nine months, Rylie wasn’t going to find herself saddled with puppies, nor was she going to have a child that was mostly capable of taking care of itself.

  She was going to have a baby. A tiny, mostly-human baby that turned into a wolf sometimes—just like Cain.

  What would her mom think? What would Abel think?

  The door creaked, and Rylie dropped her shirt. The hem slid over her belly button.

  “Hey,” Seth said, stepping into the room. His face was puffy from sleep, but he smiled as he raked a hand through his hair. “Having problems sleeping?”

  She gave a weak, nervous smile. “Captivity will do that to you.”

  He kissed the back of her neck and entwined her in a hug. Rylie watched his face over her shoulder in the mirror. “You should rest while we can. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to worry later, when we head back to the sanctuary.”

  Rylie had already decided that she didn’t want to go back to the California. She didn’t want to deal with other werewolves while she was dealing with a much bigger problem of her own.

  But she didn’t know how to explain that yet, so she didn’t bother trying.

  Rylie slipped the ring off of her right hand, pinched it between her forefinger and thumb, and stared at the glimmering rock. The ring was so perfect. So beautiful.

  She just didn’t want to marry Seth.

  Marrying him seemed dishonest when her heart couldn’t choose between the brothers. Her wolf and human sides were in constant disagreement, and it was wrong for her to be thinking of one when she was with the other. She hated herself for it.

  But Seth was amazing. Wonderful. Just this side of perfect. He was willing to sacrifice everything for her—and if she was going to have Seth’s baby, it should have made the decision a lot easier.

  Abel wasn’t going to want to have anything to do with her when he found out she was carrying his brother’s child anyway.

  Rylie held the ring up so that he could see it, and she tried not to shake too obviously. “Seth… would you ask me again?”

  A smile grew on Seth’s face. “Right now? At five in the morning, while I’m in my boxers?”

  Rylie nodded silently, cheeks burning.

  He dropped to his knee and took her hand in his. Seth’s dark eyes were filled with heat and love. It didn’t reflect the loathing she felt for herself at all.

  “Rylie Gresham,” Seth said, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her belly.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to meet his gaze while she said it.

  THREE

  Blessings

  It turned out that Gwyneth’s new address didn’t belong to an apartment building at all, but a cute house in the suburbs on the north side. It had a greenhouse filled with the lush leaves of flourishing produce—Gwyn could make anything grow, at any time—and a holiday wreath on the front door.

  Crystal and Trevin were having breakfast at the Denny’s down the street, so Seth and Rylie approached alone, hand-in-hand. They didn’t even get the chance to knock on the door before it opened.

  “Look at the two of you,” Gwyn said, cheeks dimpling as she took in the sight of them on her doorstep. Her gray hair was brushed out, and she wore a white blouse with clean jeans. Almost like a soccer mom.

  “Gwyn!”

  Rylie hugged her aunt tight. She smelled good, too—like the pleasant, buttery odor of baked bread.

  She probably hung on too long, but Gwyn didn’t let her go, either. When Rylie finally stepped back, Gwyn turned her attention on Seth. “You taking care of my girl?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning widely. He hadn’t stopped smiling since they got into town. He lifted his broken hand. “Myself? Not so much.”

  “Ooh. That looks like it hurt.”

  She stepped aside, and Rylie immediately smelled the presence of someone else in the house. It wasn’t the kind of smell that a visitor would leave behind; it was in the carpet, the furniture, the walls. Someone living with Gwyn. Her aunt had mentioned that she had a new girlfriend.

  Rylie closed her eyes and took a deep breath to see how much she could learn. Nobody in the house smoked. Someone liked peach soap—that definitely wasn’t Gwyn. There was also the smell of spice, herbs, and fresh soil. It was all wonderfully earthy.

  When she opened her eyes, Gwyneth was giving her a knowing look. “What do you think, babe?”

  Rylie blushed. “She smells good. Where is she?”

  “Heather’s with family this week. Come on, breakfast’s in the kitchen.”

  Gwyn had obviously prepared for Rylie’s arrival. There were steak and eggs being kept hot on a tray in the oven, and Rylie absolutely devoured them. Whenever she wasn’t nauseous, she was starving—it felt like she couldn’t eat enough to satisfy herself.

  Seth was a little politer about picking up a croissant, buttering it, and starting to eat.

  “What have you kids been up to?” Gwyn asked. She wasn’t eating anything. “I didn’t expect you to visit anytime soon, considering how busy the sanctuary keeps you.”

  Rylie’s cheeks were bulging, so Seth explained everything.

  “It’s been bad, Gwyn,” he said. “We went looking for answers with Cain, and we found them. It turns out that Cain is another son of Eleanor. Different dad than I have, but…” Seth gave a casual shrug, as if it didn’t bother him. Rylie could see the tension in his shoulders. “Anyway, Cain was hiding at our sanctuary the whole time. It was Vanthe.”

  “I should have known that guy was too helpful.” Gwyn didn’t look even remotely surprised. “Damn. What c
an I do to help? I figure you must have come here for something.”

  Rylie swallowed her last bite of steak and exchanged looks with Seth.

  “We’re not actually here because of that.” Her cheeks burned as she pulled her hands into her lap and toyed with the engagement ring.

  Seth fixed Gwyn with his most charming smile. “Gwyneth, I was wondering if I could—”

  “Yes,” Gwyn said.

  He blinked. “I was going to ask permission—”

  “You’re asking if you can marry Rylie, and I’m telling you ‘yes.’” She grinned. “Asking her family for permission? Are you a caveman? Come here, boy, come here.” Seth circled the table, and Gwyn captured him in a huge hug.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Nonsense. Ain’t nobody I’d like to have in my family more than you.”

  She kissed him on the cheek.

  “We were hoping to do it soon,” Seth said. “We’d like to hold it at the Gresham Ranch before the next moon.”

  “The next moon? Why?”

  Rylie bit her bottom lip and avoided her aunt’s questioning gaze. “Considering everything that’s happening with Cain and Eleanor, I don’t think we have time to mess around,” she said, trying to sound casual about it. That was the excuse she had given Seth, but it was harder to lie to her aunt.

  Nothing got past Gwyn. Her gaze sharpened.

  “Seth, would you clean up breakfast?” Gwyn asked. “It’s your privilege as the newest member of the family, broken hand and all.”

  He laughed. “Of course.”

  Gwyneth gestured, and Rylie had no choice but to follow her out into the living room. It was decorated like a country cottage, and just as cozy as the kitchen; Rylie could easily imagine having a tea party at the coffee table. It must have been Heather’s style.

  She took three steps into the room before her aunt spoke.

  “I’m happy to arrange your wedding, babe. You know that. But so soon…” Gwyn’s gaze sharpened. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

  Rylie’s cheeks flushed, and she gaped like a dying fish as she searched for words. She glanced at the kitchen door, then back at her aunt, hoping that Seth hadn’t heard what her aunt just said.