Moon Cursed: The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles, Book 1

by Centanni, Tori

  “What difference that make?” Raff asked.

  “It means that this guy,” I tapped the photo in the book, “is a relative of John’s. A dad or uncle or something. This ridiculous Bigfoot hunting club spawned these new hunters somehow.”

  I studied the photo and tried to do mental math. If James Davies had been in his thirties here in 1985 as I’d guessed, he’d be in his sixties now. None of the hunters I’d seen were that old, so it was likely John was working without the help of dear old dad.

  I read the section over several times, trying to find any clue as to where they might call home base. The group had dissolved in the late-80s due to infighting, but obviously some of their children had started Guardians of Pure Life. As far as we knew, the new Guardians had only showed up a couple of months ago, meaning they probably hadn’t been hunting shifters or werewolves for long. Maybe they’d stuck to woodland monsters until now or maybe they’d only just rediscovered the family hobby.

  Unfortunately, the section of the book ended and because it was published in the 1990s, it didn’t tell me anything new. I needed something modern. Something recent.

  “We’re looking in the wrong place,” I said.

  Raff closed the giant book he’d just opened with relief.

  “This group is a new twist on an old group, but they’re still new. Originally, the group went after Bigfoot and other cryptids in the woods. It looked like a hunting club and I’m willing to bet they didn’t have all that much success. According this book, they never really caught anything. At least nothing they were after. And then they disbanded, probably because some of them were happy to keep walking in the woods looking for Sasquatch, while others actually wanted to kill things. No prize for guessing which faction we’re dealing with.”

  “Okay. So they’re a new group inspired by the old one, now with more hate,” Raff said. “That doesn’t tell us where they are.”

  “No, but we know they’ve been hunting local supernaturals. They attacked the coyote shifter and freaked out, so they decided to go after vampires. I’m willing to bet they figured out vampires are not easy to kill and then they turned their sights on werewolves.”

  “Lucky us,” Raff muttered.

  “Makes sense though. In terms of supernatural threats, we’re mostly human and, bonus, allergic to silver. Much easier to attack than vampires or shifters who’ll rip their throats out before they can even fire a gun, and who wouldn’t even be killed if they did manage to get a good shot. John found Damien, which led him to Holly, which led him to me.” I shivered, remembering the bullet hole in the window of my now burnt out frame of a house. John and his team had come after me like I’d personally offended them, but that was how they felt about all supernaturals. That we were offensive and gross, and needed to be stopped. “And now we know John’s full name. We can find where he lives.”

  Raff rubbed his temples. He didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded and then started to put books back. I spotted one on vampire “thralls” as I was putting away my stack and pulled it out. It had been written 1825 and was about mortals who became “sustenance and companions” of vampires. I thought of Michael and how sickly he looked, and then of Damien, who seemed genuinely terrified for Michael’s safety.

  I flipped it open and scanned over a handwritten account from a man whose sister and best friend both became the lovers of local vampires. Before I could read more than a page, Raff grabbed the book out of my hand.

  “We don’t have time for you to indulge your weird fascination with bloodsuckers right now,” Raff practically growled.

  I grabbed the book back and shoved it in my purse. Raff opened his mouth to argue. “The deal was twenty-four hours. As long as I return it before then, I’m not breaking our contract.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “Fine. It’s your ass on the line.”

  Ellianne was nowhere to be found as we left. I assumed she was in one of the back rooms or possibly asleep (I suspected she was as nocturnal as a vampire, and therefore slept during the day), so we let ourselves out quietly and headed back to his place.

  Chapter 20

  The internet may not contain actual magic, but the ease with which I was able to find John Davies’s Facebook profile was pretty impressive. Though it did take a few minutes to sort through the dozens of other Johnathan Davies who popped up. His profile photo was him in a camouflage jacket, holding a rifle, which made it a lot easier to find. His friends mostly seemed to be people from his high school and I wondered how many of them had accepted his friend request based solely on that before quickly hiding his posts in their feeds.

  His posts were few and far between. He didn’t talk about vampires, werewolves, or Bigfoot. A post three years ago mentioned a “hunting trip” but there were no photos or follow-ups about what (or who) he might have been hunting. There were a couple of selfies, and, strangely, a recipe for his mother’s banana bread. The few posts he’d made had few if any likes or comments. John Davies was not very popular.

  Facebook did not have John Davies’s address, but a few more searches gave me two possibilities. One was an apartment in Bothell, and the other a house on Capitol Hill. I quickly looked up public records of the house and found that it had indeed belonged to a James P. Davies, purchased in 1972.

  “I know where John lives.” It was possible he lived elsewhere, but if we found his father or uncle or grandpa, at the very least we might be able to get more information.

  Raff jumped up, immediately alert after his hour-long almost-nap on the sofa. “Let’s go.”

  “Shouldn’t we take backup? I’m not exactly a fighter and we don’t how many of them there are.” All accounts suggested there were only five, but John had implied there were dozens or more.

  “We should, but I don’t see how we can,” Raff said, balling his fists in frustration. “The pack is over taxed. With Kelly dead, and the loss of the others, we’re down to a half dozen warriors, and most of them are busy protecting the rest of the pack.”

  I sighed. It was only eleven in the morning—we’d spent only two hours at Ellianne’s, a waste of Damien’s blood, frankly—and there was no way I was waiting until nightfall to bring Damien along, which meant we were out of options. There was no one else to bring.

  Raff opened the hall closet, stripping off his sweatshirt and replacing it with a leather jacket.

  “I never thought I’d say this, but it kind of sucks that we can’t transform at will like the shifters,” I said, wishing I had a weapon besides a cheap taser (not that said taser hadn’t saved my butt) or literally any helpful superpower. “It’d be a lot easier to fend them off that way if we could change and control our wolves.” Raff stared at me like I was spouting nonsense. “Or not.”

  “You can learn to control yourself in wolf form, you know,” Raff said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and I was clearly an idiot.

  “Yeah, right,” I said, zipping up my black jacket. “I can’t even remember anything from when I’m in wolf form. I just black out. It’s worse than tequila.”

  “It just takes practice. You’d know that if you’d stopped obsessing about vampires for five minutes and actually got to know something about your own kind. Vampires are parasites. At least we’re still alive.” There was so much rancor in Raff’s voice that I felt my breath catch. He was angry and clearly struggling to hold back.

  I also didn’t know how to absorb that information. I’d spent the past three years chaining myself to a wall to avoid hurting people. The idea that I could somehow control myself as a wolf… if it was true, then I’d been locking myself in a room for no reason. But how could it be true? Holly had bitten me when I’d been in the wrong place. She hadn’t had much control. Although she had mentioned something about not locking herself in a room anymore, so maybe she had learned how to be one with her inner wolf during the past three years.

  If that was true, then I could have learned, also. But did I want to?

  “Vampires are n
ot parasites,” I said, because it was easier to argue. “And I’ve practiced plenty. Three years of forced transformations and not a single, solitary minute of consciousness as a wolf. Maybe you want to believe—”

  “You have to accept being a wolf first,” Raff cut me off, his voice low and a hard, eyes boring into me like lasers. “Until you do, you’ll never get any control. A lot of werewolves don’t. They think of the change as something forced upon them, not something they’re allowed to unleash. But if you can accept that the wolf is part of you, you can be present during the change.” He bent his head so he was looking at the wood floor. “I can teach you.”

  A lump had formed in my throat. This was counter to everything I’d convinced myself of and for once, I was at a loss for words. If Raff wasn’t yanking my chain, then it explained why he didn’t see it as so much of a curse. If he never lost himself, never lost control, then maybe being a wolf for a night wasn’t so bad. Hell, maybe it was kind of fun.

  “Or someone else can,” Raff added quickly when I didn’t respond. “Sasha, maybe. Holly’s still learning. It’s a long process, but it’s possible.” He ran his fingers through his hair and swallowed uneasily. “And speaking of Holly, we should go.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, shaking myself from my thoughts. “I have the address in my phone. No time to waste.”

  * * *

  John’s house—or what I was assuming was his house—was a on a corner lot on the backside of Capitol Hill. It was a pretty big place, with a wide porch that stretched across the whole front and beautiful white columns on either side, like a bigger, grander version of Raff’s house. The door was dead center and flanked by windows. The blinds were tightly drawn. There was no garage or driveway, and while cars were parked in front of the house, cars were parked in literally every available space and there was no telling if any of them belonged to someone who lived there or just someone who’d needed a parking spot.

  (Raff had parked in front of a fire hydrant after twenty minutes of desperately searching for legal parking, and failing to find it.)

  All of the windows were dark and there were no signs of life inside. Still, once on the porch, I didn’t know what to do except knock. So I did.

  Raff was still as a statue, focused on the door as he listened for sounds inside. Nothing happened. I knocked again for good measure. I didn’t hear any signs of life inside and glancing over Raff, he didn’t either.

  After another long moment, Raff pulled out a set of lock picks.

  “They teach breaking and entering in werewolf warrior training?” I joked.

  “Nope. Taught myself as a kid. But it comes in handy.” He bent down and began moving the picks in the deadbolt while I kept watch. It was the middle of the day, but this lot was surrounded by trees and foot traffic was sporadic. No one seemed to notice us or care what we were doing.

  Finally, Raff said “Booyah!” and pushed the door open.

  “Booyah?”

  He grinned. “Admit it. You’re impressed.”

  I fought back a smile. “Pfft. It’s one deadbolt.”

  “Plus the door handle.” He shoved his lock picks back into his coat pocket and then lowered his voice. “Follow me. Stay close and vigilant. For all we know, this place is a trap.”

  My heart pounded as I stepped over the threshold. Inside, it was quiet as a tomb and about as homey. The walls were all painted a matte off-white that looked more like primer than a paint color someone chose on purpose. The wood floors were old and scuffed, but probably original to the house. There was nothing on the walls and nothing in the front room except a fireplace and a staircase. Next to the staircase was an opening the size of a double doors which led to a dining area, complete with a lighting fixture hanging over an empty floor where a table might go.

  “Maybe he doesn’t live here,” I muttered. It didn’t look like anyone did.

  Raff grunted and moved into the galley kitchen, and I followed. The kitchen’s counters were coated in a layer of fine dust. The cabinets were a faded orange and the appliances were white and basic, the kind found in apartments. Some cabinets held dishes and glassware, but the rest were empty. There was no food.

  I opened the fridge for good measure and then deeply regretted it. The stench of mildew smacked me in the face. Inside were takeout containers growing mold on the outside and a soggy old pizza box that had started to melt through the grated shelf. I gagged and closed the door.

  “He must have moved out,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Raff said. “Electricity works. Let’s check upstairs.”

  The upstairs was the exact opposite of the unfurnished, abandoned downstairs. The hallway was furnished with narrow shelves and tables that held porcelain vases, decorative candles, and other glass knick-knacks, all recently dusted. A giant gold cross had been hung at the end of the hall and animal trophies, including deer heads and a big bass, hung on the walls.

  There was only one door on the left side of the hall, with three on the opposite side. Raff put his ear to the door on the left and listened before turning the knob and barging in. A minute later, he gestured that it was clear and I followed. The bedroom was huge: it and the master bath took up half of the second floor, There was a neatly made king sized bed draped in white linens with gold accents and lots of pillows. Across from the bed on the far wall was a fireplace, probably above the exact spot where the fireplace was downstairs. A giant portrait of James Davies hung above the mantel, which also held a golden urn. James’s name and dates of birth and death were etched into the metal. He had died last year. I wondered if his dad’s death had sparked John’s interest in monster killing.

  The master bathroom had been remodeled since the house was built and looked like something couples would swoon over on HGTV: walk-in glass-paneled shower, double sinks, stone floor, the works.

  John also had a desk against one wall and Raff searched the drawers. He had a computer charger, but no laptop was present. Same with his phone. The charger was plugged in near the end table by the bed but the phone was gone.

  I wandered back into the hall while Raff dug through John’s closet, sincerely hoping he didn’t find any literal skeletons. Across the hall, I opened the door in the center. It led to a small bathroom which was empty and cold. I backed out and moved further down the hall, where I noticed something was off about the last door. I stared on it, stepping back to the glance at the door closer to the stairs and determine what about it struck me as wrong. Then I noticed the hinges and it hit me.

  “Hey, I said stick with me,” Raff said, startling me. I jumped, and then tried to mask it with a frown.

  “That door opens outwards,” I said, pointing to it. “The others open into the rooms, but that one doesn’t.”

  Raff frowned. He put an ear to the door and immediately jumped back. “Someone’s inside,” he mouthed.

  My heart leapt into my throat as blood thrummed in my ears so loudly that it was all I could hear. Raff gently tried the knob. It didn’t turn. He slid the lock picks out of his pocket and worked as quietly as lock picks would allow, which isn’t very quietly at all. Finally, the lock clicked. He ripped the door open quickly, as if hoping to catch the occupant by surprise.

  A scream pierced the air. Inside the open door was a set of bars, like the door from a jail cell had been installed behind the first door. Talk about a fire hazard.

  Behind the bars was a normal bedroom with a queen bed, end tables, an easy chair, and shelf full of books. Sitting in the chair was an emaciated young woman whose nightgown hung off on her several sizes too big. Her cheeks were sunken and her brown hair was patchy with bald spots. Her eyes were big and wide and she was screaming bloody murder.

  “It’s okay,” Raff said, strugglingly to keep his tone gentle while also raising his voice so he could be heard over the screams. “We’re here to help you.”

  “Intruders! Johnny! Johnny, help!”

  “John isn’t here,” I said.

  She clapped her m
outh shut, apparently realizing his lack of response meant that I was telling the truth. She shivered. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “We’re here to help,” I said.

  “Who are you?”

  That was a fair question. After all, we were in her house, even if she was literally behind bars like a prisoner. “I’m Charlie Lear. This is Raff. Who are you?”

  She eyed use both dubiously. “Where’s Johnny?”

  Raff started to say something and I cut him off, not wanting to show all of our cards until we determined what this woman’s situation was. “He’s not here,” I said. “He’s indisposed at the moment and won’t be back for a long time. We can let you out.”

  “I can’t come out,” she said firmly. “Not until I’m cured.”

  A chill danced over my skin, leaving goosebumps behind. “You’re sick?”

  She stood and lifted her nightgown, gesturing at to her right leg, a little above her knee. There was nothing on her bony thigh that I could see, but she indicated it like she was showing off a giant scar. Raff and I exchanged a look.

  “I was bitten,” she said, after deciding we were clearly not getting it. “I was with my brother on a Bigfoot hunt over the summer. It’s a yearly thing we do, though we never find anything. We were attacked by a massive grey wolf and it sank its teeth into my leg before the others could kill it.”

  Raff winced. I swallowed uneasily, disturbed by the image of a werewolf being slaughtered, but also worried that Raff was going to blow up and scare this girl before she could give us any useful information.

  “It turned into a human once it was dead, and that was when we realized what it was.” She shook her head and a small patch of hair broke free and tumbled onto her shoulder before floating to the ground. “I knew then I was cursed with the werewolf plague, but then the first full moon came and…” She closed her eyes against the memory.

  I remembered my first full moon with painful clarity. The agonizing, burning sensation of bone and sinew snapping and reforming into something else. The panic of waking from a blackout, sore and confused, with no idea what wolf-me might have done during the night. I felt her pain. I knew how scary and strange this magic was, how devastating it could be to lose control and feel utterly helpless.