Red Rose Moon (Seasons of the Moon)

by Reine, SM

  Rylie nodded gratefully, and returned to the dressing room to change out of the bustier and underskirt into her street clothes again.

  Her pocket vibrated as they headed to the parking lot. It took Rylie a minute to remember that she was carrying Gwyn’s cell phone.

  It was Seth.

  “Bekah and Stephanie are in town, and they’re heading your way,” he said when she answered. “Where are you?”

  Relief swamped Rylie. She had to stop and hold onto the light post to keep from falling over. Bekah and Stephanie were coming—that meant that they were okay. Even though she still felt nauseous, she suddenly felt much better overall.

  “We’re just leaving the dress shop,” Rylie said. “We’re going to go to the florist next.”

  “Already done with your measurements? That was fast.”

  Rylie worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah. So… um, everything is coming together. What’s going on with you?”

  “Just starting to get the ranch ready for the wedding this weekend.” Seth’s voice sounded weird. Rylie frowned. Before she could ask him what was wrong, he added, “Do you mind if I invite some of my friends?”

  She blinked. “Friends?”

  “Yeah. Some other hunters I’ve gotten to know over the years.”

  Rylie hadn’t known that Seth had any friends. He never mentioned them. “Of course I don’t mind,” she said. “That sounds nice.”

  “Good. I’ll let Bekah know where you are. See you tonight?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Love you, Rylie.” He hung up.

  Bekah and Stephanie caught up with them while Rylie was throwing up in the bathroom of the florist’s shop. She had been feeling pretty good until they walked through the door and the powerful perfume of blossoms smacked her in the face.

  It wasn’t the smell itself that made her sick, so much as the fact that it reminded her of Pagan, and Seth getting tortured. Either away, it was enough to send her running again.

  When she emerged, Gwyn was embracing Bekah, and Stephanie was peering closely at a bouquet of flowers with plump, drooping leaves.

  Bekah squealed when she saw Rylie.

  “Oh my gosh!” She flung her arms around Rylie’s shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you alive!”

  Rylie returned her hug with a weak smile. After throwing up four times that day, she couldn’t seem to work up the energy to return Bekah’s enthusiasm. “I’m glad to see you’re alive, too. What happened at the sanctuary?”

  Bekah gave her a quick overview—the way that most of the Union team assigned to protect them had turned against the werewolves, and how quickly everyone scattered.

  “We’ve been prepared for this for a while,” Stephanie said. She was a tall, elegant woman with strawberry-blond hair that had never been very friendly, although she managed a small smile for Rylie. “We had escape routes planned. The number of traitorous Union members seemed to shock everyone, though. Except me.”

  “Why weren’t you shocked?” Rylie asked.

  Stephanie gave a delicate sniff. “I never trust the Union.” She was a doctor by trade, but also a witch in her family’s coven—and apparently, she had run across the Union more than once before.

  The florist came out of the back room holding a binder thicker than a family Bible, and they all stopped talking. He beamed at all the women standing in his shop. Rylie could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes.

  “I can put a rush order on any of these for you, of course,” he said smoothly, setting the binder on the table by the window.

  “I’m sure you can,” Gwyn muttered. Rylie stifled a giggle.

  It felt strange to be flipping through pictures of floral arrangements while Bekah continued to whisper about the night that the California sanctuary was attacked. Rylie was feeling queasy again, but she didn’t think it was the pregnancy this time.

  “Eldon?” she whispered back. “And his wife?”

  “Both of them dead,” Bekah said grimly.

  Rylie stared at the pictures without really seeing them.

  She had failed to protect her pack and let them down. Now a few more were gone.

  How many werewolves did that leave? Fifteen? Seventeen? Their endangered species was dwindling fast.

  Rylie pressed a hand to her stomach.

  But not dwindling as fast as it would have been, otherwise.

  “Tell me what happened with Cain,” Bekah urged, drawing Rylie from her reverie.

  Gwyn gave them a sharp look. “I don’t think we need to talk about that today. We should focus on happy things. Like how these lilies and the winter berries would look together. Stephanie?”

  The doctor’s lips pinched together. “Lilies? Really? Those are funeral flowers.”

  While Gwyn and Stephanie argued, Rylie filled Bekah in on the events of the kidnapping in a low whisper.

  When she got to the part about Eleanor, Bekah’s voice rose to a shriek. “Eleanor’s resurrected?”

  That got Gwyn’s attention. “Resurrected?” she asked, mouth falling open.

  “Like a zombie.” Rylie was surprised at how shocked her aunt looked—almost like she might fall over. She reached out to grab her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Gwyn shook herself. “I’m fine. Used to be, I didn’t even believe in ghosts, much less werewolves. Now zombies?” She glanced at the counter. The florist was in the refrigerated back room again, but he was still too close for comfort. “But this isn’t the time or the place to talk about it.”

  Bekah gave a sullen nod and sat back.

  “I like roses,” she added helpfully.

  Rylie nodded. “Roses are fine.”

  At least one thing was settled.

  As soon as they got into town, Scott Whyte sent Levi to find him supplies for a ritual. In truth, Scott wasn’t planning on performing any rituals, but he had business to attend to. Private business. And he didn’t want his adopted son knowing about it.

  Scott got a room at the local motel and locked himself inside.

  He set the box he was carrying on top of his desk before drawing the curtains to block out the orange glow of sunset in winter. People were walking outside, enjoying the unseasonably warm evening, and he didn’t want anyone to catch a glimpse of what he was doing.

  The lockbox was enchanted. Only his hands could undo the latches and lift the lid.

  Scott reached inside to remove his prize—the tiny skull in a glass ball, which he had brought with him from California.

  Someone knocked on his office door.

  “Just a minute,” Scott said, sliding the box underneath the desk.

  He unlocked the door, and Gwyneth Gresham walked inside.

  “Gwyn,” Scott said, occupying himself by setting his suitcase on the bed and unzipping it. “What a pleasant surprise. I thought we were meeting later.”

  She tipped her hat. “Sorry to drop in. I’ve been in town all day to help Rylie plan her wedding, and after everything she told me this afternoon, I thought a visit might be prudent.”

  “Oh?” Scott asked. “What did she tell you?”

  Gwyn paced around his desk to the window, peering out the curtain. “A few things. Mostly, we’ve been talking about the wedding a lot.”

  He sat down again and swiveled his chair to face her. A frown touched the corners of his mouth. “What does that have to do with the wedding?”

  “Nothing. Everything.” Gwyn waved her hand through the air. “The kids are pretty tough, and they’ve bounced back from the attacks ready for another fight. The wedding thing, though—that’s exciting. Really exciting. I think it’s going to be the party of the decade.”

  “Are you saying that you need wedding help?”

  Gwyn smiled faintly and let the curtains fall shut again. “That’s all right. I don’t think we need your help on much of anything anymore.”

  Scott got the feeling that they were having two separate conversations, about two totally different things. There was m
enace in Gwyn’s tone, despite her casual stance.

  “If you don’t have any specific need, Gwyneth, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have a few things I need to do before I can meet you at the ranch tonight.”

  He busied himself with unpacking, and hoped that she would get the hint.

  Something clicked behind him.

  Scott turned slowly, although he already knew what that sound had to be. Gwyn had pulled a gun out of her denim jacket, and aimed it straight at his forehead.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, eyes widening.

  Gwyn squeezed the trigger.

  SEVEN

  Brother’s Keeper

  Abel woke up feeling like he had been run over by a car or three. Of course, that was probably because he had.

  He opened his eyes to find that he was strapped to the ground by ropes at his wrists and ankles. They were tethered to stakes buried deep in the ground.

  Looked like his day wasn’t about to get any better.

  Craning his neck around, Abel took a quick survey of his situation. He was outside, on top of a hill looking down on gently rolling pastures under a clear night sky. A mobile home stood at the bottom of the valley, just a few hundred yards away.

  It was hard to tell in the dark, but the land looked a lot like it did around the Gresham Ranch. He didn’t recognize any landmarks, but he couldn’t have been far. Maybe just a hundred miles or so.

  The screen door on the mobile home creaked as it opened and swung shut again.

  Cain headed toward him, whistling a cheerful tune. He was showing no signs of injury from their earlier fight. Even his eye had healed cleanly. Abel growled and strained against his bindings.

  “Evening, bro,” Cain said, sitting next to him. He was holding a plate of grilled meat, and the smell of steak wafted over the air. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I jumped out of the back of a semi,” he croaked. Taking the smallest breaths made it feel like a broken rib was digging into his lungs.

  “Yeah. Not your best move.” He cut a piece of the steak and held it over his face. “Want a bite?”

  Screw dignity. Abel strained his head forward, caught the meat between his lips, and pulled it off the fork.

  As soon as he swallowed, warmth rippled down his skin. That was why he hadn’t completely healed yet—it had been too long since he last ate.

  Cain fed him a few more bites. Abel tried not to enjoy it too much.

  It wasn’t long before his strength had returned enough to soothe the worst of his breaks and bruises. And then he felt strong enough to talk. “I’m guessing this means you’re going to sacrifice me to bring back Mom,” Abel said, twisting his wrist in the ropes.

  “So Rylie and Seth told you about that.” He held out another bite of steak. Abel ignored him. Cain ate it instead, chewing loudly.

  Abel scowled. “I can’t believe that everything you’ve done—stalking Rylie, threatening us, attacking the sanctuaries—has all been about bringing Eleanor back.”

  “Not all about that. The revenge is a big part, too. You starting to feel better?”

  “A little.”

  Cain drove the fork into Abel’s side. The tines scraped against his ribs.

  Abel roared and arched his back.

  “How about now?” Cain twisted the fork once before jerking it free. It wasn’t silver—the wound began stitching back together immediately.

  “Go suck yourself,” Abel groaned.

  He knew that was pushing it, so he wasn’t surprised when Cain drove the fork into his ribs again, before the last wound had even healed.

  His screams echoed off of the rolling hills.

  “Funny,” Cain said, licking the fork clean. “Seth didn’t make a peep when we tortured him. I guess he really is the better brother.”

  That hurt worse than a thousand forks.

  “Kill me now. I don’t care. Just stop talking at me.”

  “I can’t kill you yet. I have to wait for my necromancer to get here, and then I can kill you.” Cain finished off the steak using the bloody fork and sat back with a sigh.

  But Abel knew that wasn’t going to be the end of it. He could tell by the sadistic glimmer in Cain’s eye, and the way his lips peeled back from his teeth when he smiled.

  “You should just be grateful that Rylie got pregnant, or she would be in your position right now,” Cain said.

  Pregnant?

  Abel twisted in his ropes to glare at his half-brother. “What the hell are you talking about? Rylie’s not pregnant.”

  “Whoops. Guess I just let that puppy out of the bag. Didn’t she mention it to you?”

  He was bluffing. He had to be. Rylie couldn’t be pregnant—it wasn’t physically possible.

  “Female werewolves can’t have babies,” Abel said.

  “True. Most female werewolves can’t. They miscarry every time they transform. But some—like Alphas—have enough control to stay human. Since they periodically go into heats, where they must couple with their chosen mate, they can breed.”

  “Chosen mate,” Abel echoed, unable to keep a scowl off his face.

  So Seth was going to be a dad, and he’d have a kid with the girl Abel loved. Great. Just freaking great. That was going to make family reunions fun.

  Cain leaned over him. “You know that werewolves only mate with other werewolves, right?”

  “Sure. Tell that to Rylie.”

  “Let me show you something, Abel,” Cain said. “I have some pictures. Do you like pictures?” He stood up, and Abel craned around to snap at him. Unfortunately, Cain stayed just out of reach.

  He ducked into the mobile home and returned a moment later with a camera.

  Cain turned it on and clicked through some of the pictures.

  “Funny thing about children fathered by a werewolf, like I was—we’re completely in control of our wolves and don’t have to change on the moons. Which means that I could watch what everyone else was doing at the sanctuary.”

  He angled the camera. Abel recognized the two wolves in the picture, even though the quality wasn’t very good. There were only so many sleek golden wolves that ran around the Gresham sanctuary with hulking, black-furred werewolves.

  The first picture was of the two of them fighting. Judging by the color of the sky, it must have been the night of the awful barn fire.

  Cain clicked through a few more. He stopped on a picture by the pond. Abel wasn’t sure what he was looking at for a moment, and then it dawned.

  He and Rylie had been mating on the nights they transformed.

  His mind raced as he tried to remember the last time that he had seen her change into a werewolf. She had changed several times after that particular night—but he was pretty sure that she hadn’t shifted since the night that they kissed. Which was long enough for her to get, and stay, pregnant.

  Abel remembered how right, how normal, it had felt to push Rylie against the wall of his bedroom and claim her lips with his.

  It was because he had already claimed her before.

  Abel’s mouth hung open as Cain moved back, turning the camera off.

  “It’s convenient,” Cain said. “It means I don’t have to lower myself to breeding with a human woman. Rylie’s child will share Eleanor’s genetics, which means my genetics. And they’ll be born like I am: pure. It saved her life, at least for now.” He gave a thin smile, but it wasn’t a happy one. “I can’t wait to meet my nephew.”

  Cain drove the fork into Abel’s side one more time, and left him groaning on the ground. The screen door whined shut behind him.

  Abel couldn’t heal around the foreign body, and the pain burned through his bones. Yet that didn’t bother him so much as the news he had just heard.

  Rylie was pregnant with Abel’s baby.

  EIGHT

  Necromancy

  “How are you feeling?” Seth asked, stroking a hand down Rylie’s side.

  They were in bed together at the Gresham Ranch after a long day o
f arrangements, from flowers to the marriage license and picking a dress, and Rylie was exhausted. She thought that she could sleep for weeks if given the opportunity.

  But there wouldn’t be enough time for that. Sunday was just two days away now. The vendors were already beginning to deliver their decorations, and she still had a million other things to prepare, too.

  “I feel good,” she lied, snuggling under his arm. “All this planning is kind of making me go out of my mind, though.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “It’ll be over soon. And then you’ll be Mrs. Rylie Wilder.”

  She tried the sound of that name aloud. “Rylie Wilder. I like it.”

  They rested together for a few silent minutes, and Rylie felt herself beginning to drift off to the sound of Seth’s heartbeat. But she woke right up again the next time he spoke.

  “I asked Yasir to be my best man.”

  Her eyes opened. “Yasir? Really?”

  Seth didn’t look at her. His gaze was focused on the ceiling. “He’s been a good friend to me.”

  “But what about Abel?”

  He finally looked at her, and it almost looked like pity in his eyes. “There are two big problems with that. First of all, we don’t even know where he is. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t left us a note…”

  The reminder stung. Rylie burrowed her face in Seth’s shoulder. “And what’s the other thing?”

  He traced circles on her bare ribcage. “Do you really have to ask that? Abel loves you. He wouldn’t want to go to your wedding anyway. Especially not when I’m the groom.”

  She thought about kissing Abel, and her cheeks got hot. Love wasn’t the word she would use for what they shared.

  “He doesn’t love me,” Rylie protested, sitting up and hugging the sheets around her chest. She had been trying to stay covered all night so that Seth wouldn’t notice the faint curve to her belly.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Do you seriously think that? Really?”

  A dull thud shocked through the house—the front door opening.

  Someone screamed. It sounded like Bekah.

  Seth bolted out of bed, pulling on his pants as he ran to the hallway. Rylie was just a few steps behind him. She whipped a bathrobe around her shoulders and knotted the belt at her waist.