Hunter's Moon (The Wolves of Wellsboro Book 1)

by Sarah M. Awa

  There was no glint of recognition in his eyes.

  Despair sank its fangs into her heart. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t kill him.

  But maybe she could slash him up enough to send him running away.

  She bit and clawed furiously, drawing blood, slicing deep wounds. His ferocity increased in turn. Jagged lacerations marred both their pelts. Red spread through their fur like conquered territory across a map.

  He kept aiming for the throat, and she kept dodging and striking nonlethal blows. The fight seemed to go on forever. They were trapped in a Möbius loop. Doomed to a Sisyphean fate. Older wounds healed, but fresh ones opened. Her strength ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed . . .

  She jerked awake. Felt a soft, strong hand on her sweaty brow and another squeezing her shoulder. “Melanie, Melanie. It’s okay, sweetie.” Her mom knelt next to the bed, speaking soothingly. “You were having a nightmare. It was only a dream, honey.”

  “Oh . . . oh.” Mel released a shuddering breath. She focused on her mom’s clear blue eyes and relaxed. “Was I screaming?”

  “No—more like grunts and whimpers.”

  “Did I, um, say anything?”

  “Nothing intelligible.”

  “Okay.”

  A pause. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Uh, I mean, there’s nothing to . . . I dreamed that I flunked all my exams.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t fail any of them.”

  “Totally unrealistic, yes.” I hope! “But it didn’t seem that way in the dream.”

  Her mom nodded and patted her arm. “You’ll find out your grades in a few days, and I’m certain you did as well as always.”

  Melanie was far from confident about that, but she kept her doubts to herself. Academics were a big concern, but not the biggest anymore. Nor were her increasingly frequent nosebleeds.

  Gavin was.

  The nightmare had burrowed far beneath her skin. She had to convince him to cooperate with the Organization.

  19

  Guardian Angel

  Last week of winter break, January 9, Waxing Gibbous Moon

  Geez, the wind must be on steroids. It battered Melanie’s car and threatened to push it into the next lane. Worse was the lack of visibility: a near-total whiteout. She could see maybe ten feet ahead. Creeping along the freeway at twenty miles per hour, she felt trapped inside a cocoon—or a shroud.

  So thoughtful of this blizzard to schedule itself for the day before full moon.

  She hoped her frenzied windshield wipers wouldn’t fly off into the blank beyond.

  A voice in her head (which sounded an awful lot like her mom’s) nagged her to stop and wait out the storm, but stubbornness kept her from pulling over. She was a Northerner—she’d driven through worse before, and for less important reasons.

  Besides, she wanted to be back already. Back with Gavin. Back in the Organization’s territory. Where they could contact her in person. Hopefully soon.

  Halfway through Ohio, the snowstorm let up, and she could finally see her surroundings. There wasn’t much to look at—frozen fields, a couple of other cars ahead of her on the inadequately plowed road—but the improved view calmed her. Her fingers were sore from gripping the wheel so tightly. She flexed them and shook out her hands.

  The vent exhaled warm air. The radio crooned oldies; Mel wasn’t in much of a punk-rock mood today. Sure, the moon had her amped up, but the solitary, insular journey had an otherworldly feel. Like she was in a ship sailing for days through dense fog in uncharted waters.

  Near the Pennsylvania border, the divided highway grew icier. She reduced her speed, fingers tightening and cramping once more. If only she had snow tires. After the recent repairs, though, that luxury hadn’t fit in her budget.

  Two cars followed at a safe distance, and a pair of taillights shone a hundred yards ahead. Snow swirled again. Sundown approached.

  Then the concrete barriers appeared—inches away from the edge lines. On both sides. Her heartbeat sped up, and her foot pumped the brake. Cursing, she drifted toward the middle of the road and straddled the two lanes. She doubted anyone would try to pass her.

  There was no warning. The road grew clearer of snow and slush, and Mel sped up, eager to reach her destination.

  One moment, she was gliding smoothly along at forty miles per hour; the next, the Honda was spinning out of control.

  Crunch! The passenger-side corner of her front bumper hit a concrete barrier. Her body slammed into the ballooning airbag. Blood gushed from her nose. Her breath was torn from her chest, so she couldn’t even scream.

  The car spun and bounced off the opposite barrier with another sickening crunch. The back bumper screeched as it hit. Screaming metal twisted in on itself and clanged off the car.

  Hyperventilating, tears and blood streaming down her face, Melanie clung to the wheel. The car fishtailed and bounced, taking a brutal beating.

  At long last, the Honda lost momentum. It came to a stop against the slow lane’s barrier. Mel shook, chest heaving, erupting into a full-on ugly cry. She barely noticed the two vehicles that had been behind her drive cautiously past.

  But the car she’d been following stopped. A figure climbed out and headed Mel’s way. The person wore a fur-lined white parka with the hood pulled closely around his or her face, but the boots looked feminine and the legs shapely in tight jeans. Sure enough, it was a woman who strode through swirling snowflakes and tapped at Melanie’s window. “Hey, are you okay?”

  As soon as Mel’s eyes locked onto the woman’s face, another shock ran through her. Chandra?

  Was this really the same woman who’d approached her in the Burger King parking lot last month and bought her dinner? What was she doing here?

  Hand trembling, Mel cranked her window down. She swiped at the blood on and around her mouth, its taste metallic on her tongue. “Ch-Chandra?”

  “Yeah, how . . . wait, it’s Melanie, right?”

  Mel nodded.

  “Small world! Oh my God, you poor thing, you must be so scared. Are you injured?”

  Mel pushed away the deflating airbag to examine herself. Her shoulders and neck were sore, but her torso and legs felt fine. She detected no cuts or scrapes. “Don’t think so.” She clutched her throbbing nose. The pain was already subsiding. Shoot, the quick healing. Would Chandra notice?

  She had to see if her nose was broken. She pulled down her mirror and took a fearful look. Her face was a ghastly sight, and she couldn’t help but wince. Pale with bruises forming under the eyes, blood everywhere. And her cute, round, button nose . . . now looked even more like a button—a crooked, reddish-purple one—since buttons were generally flat.

  More tears erupted. “Ohh nooo,” she moaned.

  “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to be all right. Just stay calm.” Chandra reached in and put a leather-gloved hand on her shoulder.

  Mel buried her face in her hands, unable to control the racking sobs. Some of them turned into hiccups.

  Chandra gripped her shoulder more tightly and shook it. “Melanie. You’re all right. You should get checked out at an ER, though, okay? I saw signs for a hospital. Let me take you there. See if your car will drive.”

  The car. What kind of shape was it in? Mel took deep breaths, and slowly the hiccup-sobs abated. She unbuckled and stepped out of the Honda to assess the damage.

  Half the back bumper was gone. Dents marred all four sides. And she’d just had the dumb jalopy repaired. Now she’d have to deal with an auto body shop and the insurance company too. Fantastic. She’d never made an accident claim before. Would her rate go up? Was it worth keeping the car, or would it be cheaper to get another one than to report and repair this one? I do not need this right now! Fresh tears welled up.

  She climbed back in and tried the engine, which she’d turned off. It growled to life. “Yeah, you better,” she told it through clenched teeth.

  “Good, she still drives. Follow me,” said Chandra. “I grew up
not far from here. I’ll get you to that ER.”

  While Chandra walked back to her own car, Mel peeked in the mirror again. Her nose remained purplish and tender. And bent a little to the right. She nudged it leftward carefully, whimpering at the spike of pain and pop of cartilage. She didn’t want it to heal badly. And it was healing—quickly.

  Will the doctors notice? Should I really go? Another bill . . . she thought with chagrin. Her parents were going to freak out.

  The dusky sky deepened to indigo as she tailed Chandra. They took the first exit they came to and made several turns through a business district. The hospital sat between an office park and a pair of high-rise apartment buildings. More of a medical center, it wasn’t as large as the hospital where Jeff Doyle worked, serving a small-town area rather than a big city. Three stories held a couple dozen windows, all glowing a friendly yellow. The moon hung large, low, and golden above the building. Tomorrow night, it taunted.

  Mel parked next to Chandra in the front lot. The two walked together through the main glass doors and down a short corridor to the ER entrance. “Thank you so much,” Mel said. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

  Chandra shrugged and smiled. “Happy to.”

  “Seriously, you must be my guardian angel or something.”

  A glint came into Chandra’s deep brown eyes. She leaned in conspiratorially and said quietly, “Honey, I’m no angel, but do you want to know what I am?”

  Mel’s stomach did a tiny flip. “Um, what do you mean?”

  Chandra paused—but not in a hesitant way. She made full eye contact and seemed to relish the suspense. “I’m like you,” she whispered at last.

  Another flip, and a step backward. “I-I don’t know what you—”

  “Sure you do, Melanie. Haven’t you noticed my scent? It should be obvious, with your senses heightened right now.” Her grin was broad and white, pointed canines gleaming.

  Blood rushed in Mel’s ears and sang through her veins. I’ve been so stupid! Sure, the sterile hospital smell was overpowering, but wolfish undertones asserted themselves. Wide-eyed, she gaped like a fish, then stammered, “Y-you’re a . . . Wait, are you part of the . . . ?”

  “Organization? Yes.”

  “So that wasn’t a chance encounter at Burger King.”

  “No. Neither was today. I apologize for that, but they told me to make sure you got back safely.”

  “How’d they know I was driving back today?”

  “We’re looking out for you; we have sophisticated means at our disposal.”

  So they did put a tracking device on my car. Mel knew she should be angry and creeped out, but she’d wanted this: in-person contact. She still wanted it. “I understand,” she said. Considering the Organization’s need for secrecy and security, she couldn’t blame them for going to such lengths to vet her. And Chandra had been helpful and kind. Mel would ask them to remove the tracker later.

  “You must have many more questions for me,” said Chandra. “But you probably want to see a doctor first.”

  “Well . . .”

  A sly grin. “Except you’ve already healed.” Chandra motioned toward a nearby bathroom, and Mel followed her into it. Fortunately, it was unoccupied. Unfortunately, its pungent aroma made her almost wish the airbag had broken her nose clean off.

  She took a look in the mirror and gasped. Her nose had straightened (mostly) and returned to its normal color. A gentle, hesitant prod. No pain. “Holy cow!” she exclaimed. Chandra chuckled. The bruises were gone from under Mel’s eyes, too. She soaked some paper towels and scrubbed the blood from her face and neck.

  “Like it never even happened,” said Chandra, arms crossed smugly.

  “Tell that to my car.”

  “You’ve been given a gift, Melanie.”

  “Sure doesn’t feel like one.”

  “You’ve yet to tap into its full potential.”

  Mel’s face lit up. “Oh, right—the cure!”

  Pursing her lips, Chandra said, “About that—”

  The door swung open, and a woman dragged in a bawling toddler. “It’s okay now, it’s okay,” the mother soothed her daughter. The little girl’s face was beet red, snot trailing from her nose to her mouth. With an apologetic look, the woman led the child into a stall. The ceramic tile amplified the girl’s piercing wails, and Mel couldn’t help but cringe.

  “Shall we continue this discussion elsewhere?” said Chandra.

  Mel was more than happy to escape the overpowering smells and sounds. She and Chandra exited the bathroom and the hospital. Full darkness had descended, though the parking lot was well lit. A few flakes fluttered, glinting gold in the lamp light, but the storm had moved on.

  Back at their cars, Mel asked, “If you knew about my fast healing, why’d you bring me to a hospital?”

  “I figured we should talk in a public place where you felt safe, in case what I had to say made you uncomfortable.”

  “Ah.” Made sense. “I . . . was uncomfortable at first,” she admitted. “I mean, being contacted by the Organization. But I think I’ve come to understand you guys. And I’m very interested in that, um, thing you have that lets you keep your mind. What were you going to say about it?”

  An elderly man and woman shuffled past, hunched against the wind (or maybe just bent with age). Chandra waited until the couple was out of earshot. She opened her mouth, but then closed it. “Hmm, it’s getting late,” she said with a glance at her watch. “Let’s talk about that some other time. You’ve still got a long drive ahead.”

  Mel frowned but didn’t argue. She was dying to be done with this stupid trip and to fall into a warm, soft bed. She and Chandra exchanged phone numbers and climbed into their cars.

  Before Mel could start the ignition, her phone chimed. Gavin had messaged her: “Are you almost here?”

  “No. Got in a little accident. Don’t worry, I’m fine. About to get back on the road. Be there in two hours.”

  She wanted to mention Chandra helping her but figured it was a bad idea. For now.

  “Oh no. Glad you’re okay. Stay safe.”

  Wait till he sees my car.

  The dashboard clock read 11:00 when Melanie steered her battered Honda onto the cabin’s long gravel driveway. Clouds obscured the moon and stars, and there wasn’t much snow to reflect light under the thick forest canopy. She turned on her high beams—thank goodness they were intact.

  The lights of the cabin winked like fireflies between the trees. She crunched down the final stretch and parked in front of the familiar, welcoming sight of her monthly refuge, its porch light on to greet her.

  January 10, Full Moon (first night)

  Jocelyn Beaumont let out a quiet moan and rubbed her throbbing arm. Was this wound ever going to completely heal? It had been, what, a month? Last week the scratches had been pink and mild and calm, but yesterday they’d started reddening. Today the pain had decided to return. What is going on?

  And why hadn’t her most recent dose of aspirin kicked in yet? She’d taken it more than half an hour ago.

  Jos squirmed in bed, restless despite her fatigue. She tried to focus on the late-night movie special playing on TV, but the B horror flick was a yawn fest. The film wasn’t that funny, and it certainly wasn’t scary.

  Turning her gaze to her window, she caught a glimpse of the fully round moon. The first one of the year—the Wolf Moon, the weather man had called it. Each month’s full moon had a name, but Jos only knew a couple of them. Her birth month, October, had the Hunter’s Moon. She’d entered the world beneath its watchful eye.

  A neighbor’s dog howled in the distance. Ominous organ music emanated from the TV. A woman walked alone through a dark, misty cemetery. Why do people in movies do such stupid things? Jos knew there was a vampire stalking the woman and figured she was about to die or be turned. Surprise me for once, would ya?

  She plumped up the pillows behind her and checked the time. Nine p.m. Since it was break, she could probably text Pa
m and get a response.

  One arrived within a minute. After initial greetings, Jos complained: “My arm is killing me. The scratches are inflamed again.”

  Pam sent a shocked-looking emoji.

  “Talked to Mel lately?”

  “No, have you?”

  “Nope.”

  Jos left the conversation with Pam and messaged Melanie. Pam didn’t say anything more for almost an hour, and Jocelyn guessed she’d called or texted Mel, too. At nearly ten p.m., Jos’s phone chimed again.

  “Can’t get ahold of Mel.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Well, it is kind of late. Maybe she’s sleeping.”

  Maybe . . .

  20

  Caleb Connor

  January 15, Waning Gibbous Moon

  Dead of night. She stood in the center of a round, grassy field. Crickets chirped; a cool wind blew across her skin. A dirt road encircled the field, campsites radiating outward like sunrays. Forest fenced in the cul-de-sac.

  I’m back at Pine Groves.

  Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars, but a swift wind ushered the clouds along, like an invisible stagehand clearing away one backdrop to replace it with another. What new scene was being set?

  When the moon came into view, she gasped. It was full—and here she stood, human! Examining her left hand, she found no trace of a bite scar. Had she traveled back in time?

  Her Honda was here, its back bumper intact, all damage gone.

  Pam was nowhere to be seen. Neither was anyone else.

  Off to Mel’s left, the RV waited stoically, a boxy figure against the dark trees.

  Her eyes and feet were drawn to the door. She gave in, approached, and knocked.

  A minute passed. No answer. Her hand reached out of its own accord to try the handle. It turned, and the door popped open.