Crying for the Moon

by Sarah Madison

  “You okay?” Nick was obviously worried, but he sounded pissed as well. The fading sunlight in the room was throwing odd shadows across his face. He looked shaggier than usual, as though his hair and beard had grown over the past several hours, which, Alex supposed, it probably had.

  “I’ll be fine,” Peter said in a small voice, opening his eyes slightly to look up at Nick.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, shithead,” Nick said, the affection in his voice taking the sting out of his words. “Fuck,” he added as Alex pushed himself up off the floor and onto his knees.

  Alex looked down at his arm, where the sweater gaped open. Even as the edges of the wool began to darken with blood, he could suddenly feel the burn of pain that he hadn’t noticed before. He glanced in surprise at Peter’s hands and saw that his nails were longer than usual and red at the tips.

  Julie just gaped at Alex, her eyes dilated, her mouth open in a little round “oh” of surprise and horror. She glanced over at Peter and gasped, though at the sight of his injuries or his bloody hand, Alex couldn’t tell.

  Duncan shouldered open the door and stood at the entrance to the room. He was holding a large cooler by the handles. “Everything okay?”

  “No, everything’s not okay. Peter hurt Alex. Where the hell’s Tish? Have you tried calling her?”

  Duncan set the cooler down inside the door and opened the lid, propping it up against the wall. Alex realized this was an attempt to keep Peter and Nick from trashing the cooler later that evening, and he wondered if his bedroom would ever be the same again. He closed his fingers over his arm and watched in fascination as the blood oozed out between them.

  “I tried. She left her cell here. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.” He gave Nick and Peter a cool glance. “You two should probably stay here. It will be moonrise soon enough. I’ll see to Alex.” He held out a hand and Alex reached out to accept his assistance in rising, noting with an odd sense of detachment that he left his blood on Duncan’s palm. Julie scurried ahead out of the room as Duncan shut the door behind them.

  Alex led the way toward the bathroom. He turned on the light as he entered, with Duncan crowded in behind him. Alex started to take off his sweater but froze, wincing at the pain in his arm when he did so.

  “Lift up,” Duncan ordered. Alex obediently raised his right arm as high as it would go so Duncan could ease the sweater off over his head. “Not too bad,” he said critically, examining Alex’s arm before turning away to sort through the items Tate had left earlier. “Come over here.”

  Alex followed him over to the tub, where Duncan gently rinsed his arm with warm water. Even so, he hissed as the water touched his torn flesh. The wound continued to bleed; he watched with interest as the blood ran in warm rivulets down his arm. He brought his hand up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers as he watched Duncan inspect the injury.

  Julie appeared at the doorway. She clutched bandaging material and a tube of ointment. She looked very pale but her hand was steady as she offered the supplies.

  “Are you all right?” She glanced quickly up and down over Alex’s bare chest before her gaze fixed on the blood dripping down off his arm onto the floor.

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the bandaging stuff.”

  Duncan took the supplies from her. He handed a thick gauze pad to Alex, who used it to apply pressure to the wound.

  Julie stood watching blankly for a moment before giving herself a little shake. “Right. I should go find something to clean this up.” She gestured vaguely at the floor and hurried away.

  “Don’t get off on this,” Duncan teased as he indicated that Alex should remove the padding. Duncan liberally applied antibacterial ointment and quickly bandaged the arm. He flicked a quick, assessing glance over Alex’s naked torso. “Tish would have my hide if you did,” he said. “Come to think of it, so would Tate.”

  His smile was more of a leer and Alex punched him in the arm. It was like hitting a rock. Duncan just grinned even wider.

  “All my clothes are in my bedroom,” Alex said, hearing the uncharacteristic pout in his voice.

  Duncan patted him on the shoulder and went off in search of something for him to wear. He washed his hands in the meantime, looking up in the mirror when he was done. He was startled by what he saw there. His hair plainly screamed bed-head. His eyes were completely black in the dim overhead light; it was impossible to tell the difference between dilated pupil and his dark irises. His lips looked swollen; he must have bitten them as Duncan worked on his arm. He flicked his tongue out to catch a small smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. In the mirror, his eyes closed to half slits as he stared at himself, noting with satisfaction the series of hickeys along his collarbone. A smile played along his lips. He noted with detached interest that the man facing him in the mirror was a seductive creature, and it gave him a heady sense of power he’d never really believed in before.

  Julie’s nostrils flared when she returned to the open doorway and caught Alex admiring himself in the mirror. Alex could see the sudden spurt of attraction on her part, and he smiled knowingly. Behind her, Duncan came up bearing an old, paint-spattered sweatshirt. Julie shied violently at his approach and thrust a roll of paper towels at him before dashing out the door.

  Duncan was not amused. He practically threw both shirt and paper towels at Alex. “Where the hell’s Tish?” he snapped, turning on his heel to stomp down the stairs.

  Alex carefully pulled the loose sweatshirt over his head, glad for Duncan’s choice. It was roomy enough that he could ease it over the bandage and it was warm too. He ruffled his hair back into place after putting the shirt on; a quick glance in the mirror told him that it looked good.

  “They’re coming up the road now,” he called after Duncan, coming to the railing and looking down.

  Below, in the foyer, Duncan lifted his head as he, too, heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. From the sound of it, Tish was taking the drive at a good clip.

  “About bloody time,” Duncan growled at the sound of the van coming to a sliding stop in the gravel. He went outside.

  When Alex turned to head downstairs himself, he practically ran into Julie. She grabbed his arms to prevent him from colliding with her and he had to stifle a wince.

  “I don’t know what I should do.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Peter is so not himself and, of course, I know that he’s a werewolf now but I didn’t know it, if you know what I mean, and you and Tate are the only normal people here and Tate’s not here—”

  “Julie, you’re babbling.” Alex considered telling her that he wasn’t exactly normal either, but decided now probably wasn’t the right time to reveal that he was a vampire.

  “Everything I do seems to be wrong. I’m just worried about my brother and I want him to come home. Is that so very wrong of me?” Alex could tell she was on the verge of tears and he hastened to forestall her.

  “Look. Peter left because he’s a dangerous person now. He didn’t want to expose you to seeing him like this or risk something happening to you. It’s better if you just pretend you don’t have a brother anymore.”

  “I love my brother.” Julie’s fear suddenly evaporated; her chin lifted stubbornly. “Warts and all. That means I don’t care if he’s gay, or a werewolf, or a Red Sox fan. He’s my brother.”

  “He’s your brother and he’ll be devastated if he and his friends kill you tonight. So, do me a favor, okay?” He indicated the spare room. “Lock yourself in there now. Don’t come out before morning.”

  Julie’s eyes widened but she hurried into the spare bedroom without another word. Alex waited until he heard the key turn in the lock before heading downstairs. As he moved off, he heard Julie drag a heavy piece of furniture in front of the door.

  Tate entered the house just as Alex reached the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry we’re so late,” he said cheerfully, but Alex could hear the stress in his voice. “The van broke down, but Tish seemed to know what to do, so we got it lim
ping along again. I think it’s looking at some major repairs in the future though.” He gave a startled little yelp as Alex swept him into an embrace and kissed him hungrily.

  Alex winced when Tate’s fingers curled around his injured arm. Tate broke off the kiss.

  “What’s this?” he asked with concern, his fingers exploring the bandage underneath the sweatshirt sleeve.

  Alex explained. “It was getting late so we decided to remove Peter’s bandages. It hurt and he reacted. He didn’t mean to swipe at me. Werewolves just get testy when it gets close to the full moon.”

  “You sound like Sparky’s people making excuses for the time he bit the mailman,” Tate said repressively. “How bad is it? Come on; there’s no use trying to pretend with me. You know I’ll see it in the end.”

  Alex hesitated. He’d been tempted to downplay the injury, but he knew Tate was right. “It’s just a scratch. Okay—a bad one. But I’ll be all right.”

  Tate let it go for the moment, but Alex could tell he wasn’t through with the topic by a long shot. He glanced back toward the door. “Are Tish and Duncan coming in?”

  “Not likely,” Alex said. “Nick and Peter are upstairs in my room with plenty of food. You guys cut it pretty close. What did Tish want with you this afternoon?” There had to be a reason why Tish had invited Tate for the trip into town.

  “Tell you later,” Tate said. “Where’s Julie?”

  “Barricaded in the spare room. Literally. I think she’ll be safe enough there.”

  “I guess it’s just you and me then.” A smile stole over Tate’s features. “How ever will we spend the time?”

  TATE left in the morning as soon as the full moon was no longer visible as a ghostly image in the dawning light. He had insisted on re-bandaging Alex’s arm first. “You call this ‘not bad’?” He’d not been pleased at the sight of the puckered and angry flesh.

  “It’ll be fine,” Alex had lied, ignoring the painful throb that had set up in his arm. “If worse comes to worst, I’ll sleep for a while in the coffin and it’ll heal without even a scar.”

  That had seemed to mollify Tate a bit. “I don’t want to leave, but I have to at least pretend to work,” Tate said, as he got ready to go. He kissed Alex several times at the doorway, postponing the actual departure. “I’ll be back to check on Peter this afternoon.”

  They’d attempted to look in on Peter that morning, only to find Nick and Peter sprawled across the bed. Peter had been on his back, his mouth slightly open and emitting a faint snore. Nick had been lying on his stomach, with only a dark tuft of hair peeking out from underneath the covers. He had one arm flung across Peter’s body. Tate hadn’t had the heart to wake them. “They’re so cute together,” he’d said as they carefully shut the door.

  “Better not let them hear you say that,” Alex had said. “I’m pretty sure werewolves don’t do cute.” He was just relieved that his bedroom was still intact and relatively unscathed, despite a faint doggy odor.

  “So tonight’s the last night they change in this cycle?” Somewhere along the way, Tate’s pronunciation of the word change had taken on the meaning that the were gave it. Alex wondered just how that had happened and if the conversation with Tish had something to do with that.

  “Yes,” Alex answered. It had been the longest three days of his life.

  “Well, I’ll have a better idea of how much longer everyone will need to stay after I recheck Peter later on. Don’t worry; they’ll be out of your hair soon.”

  Alex watched Tate drive off. He couldn't explain it but, though he enjoyed having the company, he found it wearing as well. He debated getting a head start on the chores around the place, but in the end, he went into the living room and crawled back under the blanket on the couch. The blanket smelled pleasantly of Tate and still held his warmth. Everything else can wait.

  It was late morning when Alex got up a second time. He could smell the scent of frying bacon and fresh-brewed coffee; it took him a moment longer to recognize the smell of baking bread in the air. Bemused, he paused in the kitchen door to watch Duncan, a dish towel thrown over one shoulder, as he wiped the countertop with flour-covered hands. Alex didn’t even know he had flour.

  Duncan looked up at his approach. “There’s food if you want it.” His expression said he knew that was unlikely, but he was polite enough to offer just the same.

  “You’re industrious this morning.” Alex looked around at the wreck of his kitchen and hoped Duncan meant to continue cleaning.

  Duncan gave him a little smile that suggested he knew what Alex was thinking. “It’s par for the course,” he said with a little shrug, pausing to rinse his hands. “It’s the last night of the change. I always get the urge to fix or make things about now. You should take advantage of that.”

  “Don’t think I won’t,” Alex said dryly, helping himself to a mug of coffee. A thought struck him. “Duncan,” he asked, “why do you think the were and vampires hate each other?”

  Duncan rinsed out the sponge he’d been using to wipe the countertop and laid it by the sink. “Competition for the same food source, most likely,” he said. “Maybe recognition that we’re each other’s natural enemies, as nothing else could easily hurt us. Peter thinks we’re all from outer space and we’ve been at war for millennia. He thinks we destroyed our home world and brought our battle to Earth.” Duncan’s grin told Alex what he thought of Peter’s hypothesis. “Why do you ask?”

  Alex smothered a chuckle. “And Peter thinks the real reason he hasn’t risen to the heights of academia is because he’s a werewolf. He told me that one too—and the one where the coffins are genetically coded to only recognize certain individuals.” Alex shrugged as he continued. “Tate asked me last night and I didn’t have a good answer. He said it seemed to him to only make sense that we, as supernatural beings, that is, would want to stick together against the humans.”

  “Tate is an unusual human,” Duncan admitted.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Alex couldn’t help smiling, pleased on Tate’s behalf that he passed some sort of weird werewolf test.

  Duncan removed the dish towel from his shoulder and carefully threaded it through one of the cabinet handles to dry. “What’s the one thing you miss most about being human?” he asked. He began running water in the sink to wash the dishes.

  The unexpected question caught Alex off guard. This was the sort of conversation he might have with Peter, not Duncan. He never thought about it before, but he’d supposed that Duncan only tolerated him because of Nick and Peter’s friendship. It was startling to realize that maybe he hadn’t been paying attention. He shook his head. “I was practically born to the Life, Duncan. I know no other way. What about you?”

  Duncan glanced at the oven, where the smell of baking bread wafted out into the room.

  “I miss bread,” he said simply. “I miss the way food tastes. I miss enjoying a meal cooked with laughter and love among your friends. These days, I’m always so hungry I just bolt it down without thinking about it.”

  Alex nodded. It wasn’t that he couldn’t eat food; it just had very little flavor to him. He was seldom hungry for one thing, and when he was, only blood would answer. Well, that or the Godiva.

  The moment hung in the air between them and then Duncan abruptly changed the subject. “Nick tells me you have some electrical issues. Let’s make a list and tomorrow I’ll head into town for the supplies so we can set things right.”

  He was tempted to protest, to say that it wasn’t necessary, but the truth was he could use the help. And he recognized Duncan’s need to feel useful as well. “Just remember, you volunteered.” He chuckled. Duncan had no idea just how bad the wiring problems were around here.

  Chapter 8

  “OH MY God, this is amazing.” Tate’s voice was full of awe as he poked and prodded at Peter’s flesh. “Look at this! The lacerations we were unable to suture have almost completely closed down!”

  Alex glanced at Peter’s face, which se
emed to reflect equal parts embarrassment at the examination and pride in his ability to heal. Nick, on the other hand, looked both concerned over Peter’s welfare and relieved that Tate thought he was doing well. Alex was tempted to reach out and pat Nick on the shoulder but he knew how prickly he was about being touched by anyone outside his pack.

  Tate checked the readout on the digital thermometer. “Your fever is down too.” He was obviously pleased at how rapidly Peter was recovering. Alex had a moment of regret: once Peter was well, there would no longer be any excuse for anyone to hang about the place, and everyone would leave. He suspected that any sense of relief at being alone again would be short-lived.

  Tate announced that Peter was well enough to come downstairs for a few hours, and somehow they all found themselves piled in various heaps around Alex’s living room, watching Galaxy Quest. Duncan and Tish looked on in much put-upon amusement as Peter and Nick quoted lines from the movie. Halfway through the movie, Nick and Peter got into an argument as to whether it was the suns of Morvan or the sons of Morvan. Alex watched the animated discussion silently and discovered within him a fierce joy as he did so. He caught Julie watching them both and he wondered if she realized everything Peter had gained or if she could only see what he had lost. She’d been very quiet all day.

  Tate checked Alex’s injury just before they headed up to bed. “That’s pretty ugly,” he said after unwrapping the wound and disinfecting it. He was obviously unhappy with how it looked. He laid the back of his hand across Alex’s forehead. Alex was conscious of that small tightness around his eyes and the sensation of being flushed that indicated he probably had a slight fever. He was so rarely ill that he’d scarcely given it a thought before now.

  “I can give you some antibiotics,” Tate added uncertainly. He placed more ointment on a non-stick pad and rewrapped Alex’s arm.