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

by Sarah M. Awa

  Gavin nodded. “You did. You do. I don’t. I’m very sorry, Melanie. It was wrong of me to rip up that note.”

  Mel softened a bit, though she asserted, “I’m not a little kid, you know. I can take care of myself.”

  “But . . . you’re sick. Or something.” Gavin’s eyes had stopped glowing, and now they held hurt.

  “The doctor’s here. He’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. I’m sure he will soon.” Mel tried to sound confident.

  Before Gavin could respond, Dave said, “Guys, it’s 6:32. Three minutes!”

  “Do we have a room for him?” Mel asked breathlessly, fearing the answer.

  “No. He’ll have to use the root cellar.”

  “Can’t he share a room with one of us?”

  Eyes widened, heads shook, and Sheila said, “Sure, he could—if you wanna gamble on which one survives the night.”

  “Root cellar it is,” Gavin said tightly.

  Heart speeding up, Mel thought, I hope it holds him!

  “Come on, hurry!” Dave dashed to the door and pulled Gavin outside with him. Melanie followed, needing to see where they went, needing confirmation that Gavin was put somewhere safe.

  The two men didn’t run far—the cellar door was about twenty feet away from the back door. Dave threw open the weathered hatch. “Get in!” Despite the cold and the audience, Gavin started stripping off his clothes. “Where’s the padlock for this thing?” Dave called.

  From behind Mel, Vanessa said, “We’ll search the kitchen. Guys, help! Check all the drawers.”

  Mel joined the hunt, and Erickson appeared in the dining room doorway. “What’s going on?”

  “We gotta find a rusty old padlock,” said Les. “Seen one around here?”

  “No.” Erickson opened the drawer nearest him and rifled through its contents. “Did someone just show up? Who?”

  “Go see for yourself,” Sheila said crossly.

  Erickson strode to the door, poked his head out—and staggered back inside, clutching his chest. “Oh my God.”

  Confused, Melanie watched his eyes take on a fierce golden sheen. He swayed, grabbed a countertop to steady himself. Does he . . . know Gavin? She approached him. “Um, excuse me—”

  “Got it!” called Brad, holding aloft a padlock and key as rusty as Les had predicted. “Someone run this out there.” He tossed it to Erickson, who was nearest the door. Erickson fumbled and missed. The padlock bounced off his foot, and he yelped.

  Mel scooped the lock off the floor. She squeezed past Erickson, then sprinted to Dave and Gavin. The wind slammed an icy fist against her, but the fever heralding her imminent transformation greatly softened the blow.

  Gavin was down to his boxers. Blushing, Mel noted he was as pasty as Dave but much less hairy. She pushed a flashlight into Gavin’s hand, trading it for his bundle of clothes. “Go now!” he said, and disappeared into the murky cellar.

  Dave shut the door, then fastened the padlock. He and Mel raced back into the kitchen, which was empty—everyone else had fled to their rooms. Needles of pain stabbed Mel’s left side. She moaned and clutched at it, nearly tripping on the dining room threshold.

  “Come on!” Dave urged, seizing her hand. He half-dragged her to the stairs and partway up them. But then he stopped, doubled over in pain, and grabbed his abdomen. His ribs crackled and expanded under skin stretched to translucence.

  “Augh!” Mel’s burning knees distracted her from the disturbing sight. Vicious Charlie horses gripped her calves, paralyzing her.

  Panting, Dave straightened up and took hold of her hand again. “We—can do it. Push through—the pain!”

  Step by agonizing step, they fought their way up the rest of the stairs. Melanie collapsed on the landing, chest heaving, forehead slick with sweat.

  Don’t stop now! You gotta keep going! But her legs refused to obey.

  Dave tugged at her elbow. “Get up, Melanie! Just a little farther! Think about what will happen if you don’t!”

  Images of her wolf tearing the house apart, busting out the kitchen door, and fleeing into the night compelled her. She summoned her last ounces of strength and, holding on to the railing around the stairwell, hauled herself upright.

  Dave’s safe room was near the landing, but Mel’s was at the other end of the hall. He started leading her toward it. “I’m fine,” she wheezed. “I’ll make it. Get in yours!”

  He opened his door, bent over in pain, and watched until she reached her door—practically crawling the last few feet. As she shut herself in, he did likewise.

  Mel managed to latch all but the topmost deadbolt. She struggled to remove her clothing, tears streaming down her face. Fur sprouted on her arms. Her limbs throbbed. Where was her backpack? There—in the corner. She dragged herself over to it and with twisting hands shoved her clothes inside. How am I going to get it up in the cabinet?

  She tried to stand, but her knee joints crunched and reversed. She screamed and fell backward. Nausea surged, and she turned her head and vomited. Some of it missed her hair.

  Her eyes stared at the gouged wall as changes ripped her apart.

  28

  Aftermath

  February 9, continued, Full Moon (first night)

  “What’s he doing way out in the middle of nowhere?” Aaron asked, frowning at the tracking app on his phone. “That can’t be where he lives, can it?”

  Pam leaned in to get a better look. “Beats me. All I know is he goes to Brookside. Never heard where he’s from or whether he lives on campus.” There are a lot of things I’d like to know about Gavin Doyle—like why he’s helping Mel hide her secret. And he definitely has secrets of his own.

  “It’s getting late; we should head out. It’ll take maybe a couple of hours to get there.” The pair had just finished dinner. Now they sat in Aaron’s car, tracing the GPS signal from Pam’s phone—which she’d hidden in Gavin’s car.

  “All right. Let’s go.” Pam buckled her seatbelt, and Aaron started the engine. They rumbled off into the night under the watchful gaze of the luminous full moon.

  During the drive, Pam had plenty of time to think. Each mile of highway was nearly identical to the last: trees, trees, and more trees interrupted by the occasional exit or overpass. Normally she would have chattered happily about her classes and her day, but tonight she stared pensively out the window.

  It all began after that volleyball game. Pam tried to recall the events of that evening, any details that would stick out in retrospect. Last semester seemed so long ago. Closing her eyes, she puckered her brow in concentration.

  Mel was kind of antsy that day. Distracted. She said her stomach was bothering her. . . . She met Gavin at the volleyball game; they went somewhere and talked for quite a while. . . . After the game, it seemed like something was bothering Mel. She was quieter—guarded, maybe—but I didn’t give it much thought at the time. Instead, Pam had been preoccupied with Aaron and whether he was ever going to ask her out.

  Melanie’s first disappearance had been the next day, hadn’t it? Too soon after meeting Gavin to be a coincidence. Mel had left her car on campus, so someone had to have picked her up.

  Gavin, she guessed. Is he with her now? When they found him, would they also find Mel?

  “Take this exit,” she said at long last, pointing. “We’re getting close.”

  Aaron put on his turn signal and took the exit onto a bumpy, narrow country road. “What’s out here?” he wondered as they entered a thickly wooded area. “Bears?”

  The streetlamps had vanished. So had the traffic. Aaron switched on his high beams. Pam’s focus turned outward again, and she peered around at the scenery.

  The moon silvered the tree tops. Bare boughs, like skeletal hands, stretched skyward in supplication. Evergreen peaks speared the sky. The forest held its breath.

  “Here?” Pam gawked as Aaron slowed and turned onto a gravel driveway. “What a dump!” The farmhouse’s porch was collapsing, its windows were boarded up
, and it badly needed repainting. Everything was dark.

  They crunched up the driveway anyway. Around back, they discovered half a dozen cars. Not abandoned, then. “Do you think . . .” Pam whispered, then stopped, embarrassed at her thought. Could this be a crack house?

  “Looks like a party,” said Aaron. “But why the heck is it so dark and quiet? Early to bed, early to rise?”

  Pam pointed out Gavin’s car, and Aaron parked next to it. Longing to have her phone back, she tried the car doors, but all four were locked. “Don’t worry; I got this,” said Aaron. He produced a wire coat hanger he’d straightened except for a small hook at one end. In seconds, he’d jimmied the lock.

  “You’re amazing!” Pam pecked him on the cheek, then retrieved her phone. “Shall we knock and see if anyone’s home?”

  In answer, a bone-chilling howl rent the air. They both froze. Every hair on Pam’s body stood on end. “What was—” she whispered, cut off by another howl, louder and closer.

  Her heart pounded wildly. She spun, terrified some rabid dog or wolf was after them.

  They were alone except for the cars. The woods weren’t far, but the underbrush was still. Nothing leapt out of it.

  Scratching and scraping sounds echoed crisply in the cold night. Frantic growls and snarls accompanied them.

  “Something’s trapped somewhere, trying to get out,” Aaron said gravely.

  Noticing a cellar door midway along the back of the house, Pam pointed. “Might be down there.” Cautiously, Aaron approached the cellar. Pam squealed but followed a few steps behind.

  Thump! Thump! Something large and heavy threw itself against the weathered wood. The hatch was padlocked, but its boards didn’t look terribly sturdy. With enough effort, whatever was trapped inside might break free.

  Pam sure didn’t want to be around when that happened.

  “Come on!” She tried to pull Aaron away, back to his car. But he stood transfixed, staring at the cellar door.

  Splinters appeared near the center. The boards were weakening. The door bowed upward.

  “Aaron, please! Let’s go!”

  Crack! A board fractured. Crunch! A jagged hole opened, narrow at first but widening.

  Pam gasped. Through the darkness, she thought she saw a furry snout and fangs.

  Mesmerized, Aaron stepped closer and crouched down. “Is that . . .”

  “Aaron Gates, are you trying to get killed?!” shrieked Pam. She yanked at his arm with all her strength, and he straightened up.

  “All right, I’m—wait, look!” he said. The growling and scraping had subsided, and the snout vanished. In the gap where it had been, a glowing golden eye appeared. It locked onto Pam’s and narrowed—greedy, hungry.

  Her knees buckled. A tremor washed over her body. She clung to Aaron.

  “They are real,” her boyfriend whispered, sounding awed.

  Paralyzed, shell shocked, Pam could only process: Werewolf?!

  This time, Aaron pulled her away, half-supporting her as they ran to his car and flung themselves inside. Without bothering to buckle up, he gunned the engine and peeled away. He didn’t slow the car until they’d left the forest-lined corridor far behind.

  Pam couldn’t stop shaking. The image of that golden eye blazed in her mind.

  Caleb Connor’s video. Timmy’s article. She’d dismissed both. But now . . .

  She gasped, remembering the two pinpricks of yellow light in the tunnel at Pine Groves.

  Tonight was the full moon. Hadn’t the moon been full during their camping trip?

  Melanie’s disappearances are pretty regular, aren’t they? About once every month?

  A sob escaped her throat.

  Aaron flashed her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her stomach churned, and she felt like she might throw up.

  It couldn’t be.

  How can those . . . those monsters . . . exist?

  February 10, Full Moon (second night)

  He woke, frozen as stiff as a corpse. The cold was so bitter it burned. His muscles, his skin, his joints—all were on fire.

  Opening his eyes a crack, Gavin saw that his skin was tinged with blue. If he didn’t get dressed and get inside, in front of a fireplace or heater—and fast—frostbite might set in. He doubted werewolves were immune to that.

  As his awareness filled out, he glimpsed the stone floor and earthen walls of the root cellar. It had held him all night! Thank God.

  Thoughts of Melanie propelled him to stand, tears of agony almost crystallizing on their way down to his jawline. He clenched his teeth like a vise to keep from crying out. His feet were half numb, and balancing on them proved tricky.

  Turning and staggering toward the cellar door, he saw weak morning sunlight filtering down onto the steps. Had they opened the door for him already? That was awfully quick.

  But when he reached the steps and started climbing, he looked up, then nearly lost his balance.

  The door hadn’t been opened—just a jagged, gaping hole in the middle of it.

  I got out?!

  I came back?

  Gavin sank onto the steps, shivering so badly (inwardly and outwardly) that he had to pause and calm himself. His heart pounded, and he gasped air in staccato bursts. He wrapped his arms around his legs, knees pulled up toward his chin. Slow, deep breaths. What on earth had happened last night?

  Once the gasping had subsided, he checked his skin and found mud, pine needles, and a bit of mushy freeze-dried moss. He’d been in the forest. There was nothing crusted around his mouth—no blood.

  He couldn’t stay here another night. He had to get to his cabin. To safety.

  She won’t leave with you, a voice told him as he climbed the rest of the way out of the cellar.

  Melanie didn’t want him around anymore. She could take care of herself. She thought he was a smothering, controlling jerk.

  Gavin squinted against the white glare of snow as he trudged to the back door of the house. After confirming it was locked, he banged on it like he’d done last night. Please let someone be up—please let someone let me in soon! His teeth chattered, and he bounced in place, rubbing his arms. Couldn’t they have left him a key or something?

  “Gavin Doyle?” called a voice from behind him.

  Startled, he almost slipped off the icy steps. A man strode toward him from the direction of the cars. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, average height and build, with unremarkable features. Something glinted over his shoulder—the muzzle of a gun that was strapped to his back. Gavin flinched, tensing up, hands covering his most vulnerable area.

  “Wh-who ar-re you?” he demanded through chattering teeth.

  “Gary Saddler,” said the man, giving what he probably thought was a reassuring smile. “One of the few human members of the Organization.”

  It’s him! The cop from my vision. Without the sunglasses, in heavier clothing and a totally different environment, but yes, this was the man.

  Never thought I’d be grateful to run into him. Of course, his gratitude depended on whether Saddler was actually helping him or not.

  Saddler reached in his pocket, and Gavin drew back warily. “Don’t worry, just the key to the house.” The man held it up for him to see. He joined Gavin on the steps, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. “After you,” he said with a courteous gesture. “Your clothes are in here somewhere, I’m assuming?”

  Gavin nodded, hoping Melanie had left them in an obvious place. He stepped into the kitchen and immediately found some relief from the cold. Saddler flicked on the lights behind him and closed the door, cutting off the arctic wind. “I’ll get a fire going.” He passed through the kitchen into what looked like a dining room, and then on into another room Gavin couldn’t see.

  He got his bearings, taking in the stainless-steel appliances, granite countertops, and the cool whites and grays of the walls, cabinets, and floor. The décor wasn’t warming him any. He still shivered and shook
like a leaf.

  At the far end of the lengthy island sat a bundle of clothing Gavin recognized as his. Thank God! he thought again, and rushed to it. He dressed as quickly as he could, though it was excruciating, putting everything on—coat and all. Slowly, the feeling in his extremities returned.

  He was going to follow Saddler and warm up a little more at the fire he could now hear crackling, but painful memories anchored him where he stood. Melanie had not been pleased to see him last night, and maybe still wouldn’t be this morning. She didn’t want him here. He was stifling her.

  A fist squeezed his heart.

  I should leave.

  He couldn’t face her again, not if she was as angry as last night. He couldn’t bear to see that hard look in her eyes. She’d changed somehow—not just outwardly, but inwardly.

  Rummaging in his pockets, Gavin found his car key, then slipped out the back door. His Ford wheezed to life, engine sputtering and complaining. He set his GPS for the cabin, took one last look at the house where Melanie now belonged but he didn’t, and crunched down the long gravel driveway.

  He’d been alone under this curse for years and years before Melanie had come along, and he was alone once more.

  February 14, Waning Gibbous Moon

  Five days. Timmy had been dead five whole days. It seemed like moments, or like an eternity.

  The library was nearly deserted on this Tuesday evening—not because it was a Tuesday but because it was Valentine’s Day. A few people sat at tables or computers, most alone, some looking dejected but others intently focused on their studies. No one had come to Melanie and Luis’s tutoring table yet, and hopefully nobody would. Mel had a ton of reading to catch up on. But the words on the pages in front of her blurred. She kept swiping at her eyes to keep the tears from falling onto her book . . . and to hide them from Luis.

  Her sorrow was by no means only for Timmy. When she’d arrived back at her dorm room Sunday evening, she’d found it half empty. All Pam’s belongings had been cleared out, the bed stripped, her closet empty and open like a mouth gaping in surprise.