Sanguine Moon

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  Sanguine

  Moon

  Camazotz Trilogy

  Book Two

  By Jennifer Foxcroft

  Copyright

  Sanguine Moon

  Jennifer Foxcroft

  Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Foxcroft

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and events that occur are the product of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, business establishments or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed or transmitted in any manner whatsoever, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of several wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction and means no infringement on such trademarked material.

  First Edition. December 2016.

  Published in United States of America

  Written and published by Jennifer Foxcroft

  Cover design by Cate Pepper 2016

  Digital ISBN: 978-0-9909895-3-0

  Available in paperback.

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9909895-2-3 k12

  Acknowledgments

  To my family and husband. Thank you all so much for helping me get Sanguine Moon out into the world. It was a tough slog at times, but your support and encouragement got me to the finish line. I love you so much and can’t wait to do this all over again for the final installment.

  To my beta readers: Jen, Betsy, Stacey C, Stacey B, Irene, Leanne, Sandii, Marian, and Erin. Thank you all for saving my sanity and getting this book back on track when my crazy imagination went off course. Your feedback was pure gold. Thank you for your honesty and for making me think about where I really wanted my characters to go. You are the best support crew a girl could ever have.

  To the world’s best line editor. Betsy, you are a legend. Some days when I read your comments I think you share my brain. You always manage to find the areas that concern me, and that’s fascinating and brilliant at the same time. Thank you for the long hours you put into reading and rereading and checking again to help me make this the best book it can be.

  To my proofreader, Ellie. Thank you, gorgeous girl, for giving my manuscript the once over with your keen eye for errors and typos and things that just shouldn’t be there. I really appreciate it.

  To my mates who helped me research the tiniest details without telling me to bugger off. You know who you are. Your patience with me is priceless, especially when I was being a goof. It might be a minor detail mentioned briefly in only one paragraph, but you helped me find the facts and get it right. Thank you.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Character List

  Glossary

  About The Author

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  Welcome back. Lots of new Camazotz appear in Sanguine Moon. If you are getting confused as to who is who in the Camazotz zoo, then please refer to the character list.

  Happy reading,

  Jennifer.

  1. Painkillers

  Rocks cannot die.

  He just can’t.

  I will not let that happen.

  He’s not going to survive this. Decker’s words ring in my ears. But his injury is only a broken arm. Why are the Camazotz acting as though the sky is falling? I chew on my bottom lip. Decker’s not the type of bat that says stuff to scare me. His heart is bigger and warmer than half the Camazotz put together, and he respects his brother too much to want to mess with my head. But return Rocks to Blood Mountain? Their roost? Seriously? That can’t be a real place. If it is, then no wonder people believe they’re a bunch of vampires.

  Google is my lifesaver.

  Rocks is resting on the couch with fresh ice on his broken arm. I’m in Dad’s study staring at the computer screen. Blood Mountain—it’s a very real place north of Atlanta in the Chattahoochee National Forest. The name sends a shiver down my spine, but I guess it’s because I understand the significance of it more than most. The clock on Dad’s desk reads five a.m., but I’m not the least bit tired. My brain is having a hard time processing everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and that’s probably a good thing. Just thinking about the mess I’m caught up in causes the lump of terror in my throat to expand, and my lungs to tighten with a need for more oxygen.

  Stay calm.

  Too much depends on me. The vision of staring down the barrel of the gun that thug Mullins held in my face keeps flickering behind my eyelids. The logical part of my brain wants me to stop thinking about it as it’s only adding to my stress levels, but I can’t seem to shake it. What if he’d pulled the trigger? Where’s my inhaler? I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting my lungs expand as much as they can.

  If I don’t get my shit together, my boyfriend might die—according to all the Camazotz that know about his injury.

  I will myself to stop fretting about the Vipers’ gang members that were ordered to dispose of me. Less than eight hours ago, Decker and Jeremiah locked my kidnappers in a rusted-out chicken shed on the property where they’d taken me. I need to have faith those two thugs are still imprisoned and haven’t raised the alarm yet. The last thing I need is that pair showing up at my house—again. The fact that the Vipers know where I live causes my windpipe to constrict. But I can’t let that worry me on top of everything else. I have a bigger problem. Rocks. He needs medical treatment immediately.

  They won’t be able to charge me with murder this way, even though it’s a death sentence …

  Joey’s words haunt me. They add weight to Decker’s comments. I’m so confused. I picture his heavy boot crushing Rocks’ outstretched wing. I hear Rocks’ cries of agony when he woke in that metal cage. Why is a Camazotz connected to those drug-dealing Vipers? And why does he want Rocks dead?

  My temples ache. I’m overloaded with too many fleeting, horrible images. Focus. Calm the fudge down. You can do this. With the number of thoughts bouncing around inside my head, I’d swear the Camazotz were nearby.

  Returning to Google, I search for directions to get Rocks back to the colony. Their secret mountain roost is a twenty-five mile drive from the market, but probably less than fifteen miles as the bat flies.

  I need a plan. My parents will be home from their reunion weekend tomorrow night. Between now and then, I need to get Rocks to a doctor to set his broken arm, return him to his colony at Blood Mountain, avoid being kidnapped by the Vipers for a second time, stay alive, and get some sleep so my folks don’t take one look at me and wonder why I’m channeling a zombie.

  For a millisecond, I contemplate visiting the police station and reporting the location of those thugs. The aftermath of that action hits me in the stomach. Questions—too many questions. I’d have to explain what I’ve b
een up to for the last six months to my parents. They’d know I was a little liar and the biological daughter of the devil. They’d never look at me the same again. And since I’m not the daughter those idiots were looking for, I have to believe they’ll leave me alone and focus on finding Sophia instead.

  My other sister.

  Sugarplums.

  The sunlight peeping through the blinds stirs me from my mental chaos. Time is ticking, and I can’t waste any of it thinking about Sophia Ascari. That’s a Google search for another time. Creeping silently back through the house, I check on Rocks. His long legs hang off the end of our couch. The darkness of his clothes is a stark contrast against my parent’s beige and cream living room. His face looks pained, and a sheen of sweat is making his jet-black hair stick to his forehead. I watch his chest rise and fall wondering if every breath causes more pain. The ice resting over his arm has melted, but before I can move to replace it, one of his eyes cracks open for a moment. He attempts a smile, but it’s replaced by a frown as he tries to adjust his arm.

  “Don’t move.” Kneeling next to the couch, I rest a cool cloth over his forehead and he sighs. “How are you feeling?”

  His voice is raspy and he doesn’t open his eyes. “Been better.”

  “I have a plan.”

  That gets his attention. He looks at me, and the pain in his eyes slices open my heart. “The only plan you need is one to get me off this couch. I can’t stay here to d—”

  “You are not going to die,” I cut him off. “I’m serious. That’s not happening. Let me take care of you. You have no idea what modern medicine is capable of. A broken arm is easily fixed.”

  “Connie, you have to face facts.” He closes his eyes again and tries to get more comfortable on the couch. He grunts with pain and grits his teeth together. I know he’s trying to be brave for me, but he doesn’t need to be …

  I race up the stairs, down the hall and into my parent’s bathroom. Rummaging through their medicine cabinet, I strike gold. Dad was on heavy-duty painkillers early this year when he hurt his back rappelling. They made him say the funniest stuff, but he wasn’t in any pain. Grabbing the small orange bottle, I’m back next to Rocks with some water faster than he can flip.

  “Take two of these.” I put the pills to his lips, but he shakes his head.

  “Stop trying,” he wheezes.

  “Rocks, this will take away the pain so we can move you.” He frowns, eyeing the bottle I’m holding up. I know he’s thinking the ‘move’ means taking him to a place where he can die quietly, but my plan is getting him into my car and to the hospital. After he swallows the pills, I refill the ice bags and soak the cloth on his forehead in cold water. He’s burning up. I don’t like the fact that his body is displaying signs of fever. A broken arm shouldn’t cause that—well, not in an aeronaught anyway.

  Crouching on the floor beside Rocks, I stare at his gentle features—my amazing Camazotz boyfriend. My head shakes in disbelief before I can stop myself. I sigh and my mind skims over the last six months.

  My boyfriend has abilities I didn’t know existed until the end of last summer. Abilities I would never have believed possible until I saw them with my own eyes. He can fly—like for real—because he’s a shape-shifting vampire bat. As everybody knows, vampires aren’t real. Last July, I thought they were when I first met Rocks, and my reaction to him still makes me cringe. I armed myself with garlic and sprinkled him with holy water. I suspect the real reason the legend of vampires has come about is because humans—or aeronaughts as he calls us—have witnessed the Camazotz flip from human to bat form, and our fear makes us assume the rest of the gory tale.

  The truth is five hundred years ago, a shaman cursed—or blessed, depending on who you talk to—a village. The Spanish were trying to conquer the Zapotec people. Rocks explained that the plan was to ambush the Spanish invaders from behind by turning the village into bats, having them fly in behind the army, flip back to human form and catch their opponents off guard. The plan failed, and the shaman responsible for the magic was killed before he could reverse the powerful spell he had used. Rocks and his ancestors have been shape-shifting Camazotz, living in secret, ever since.

  Secrets. I used to think secrets were exciting, like I was the member of some private, exclusive club. Now I know the truth. Secrets equal trouble when you least expect it, and I’m carrying around way too many tiny, ticking time bombs for my liking. They mean lying to my friends and family, and the more lies you collect, the more difficult your life becomes. I’ve learned that the hard way.

  Last night, I experienced things I never wish to experience again—like being kidnapped by enemies of my real father—Enzo Ascari. That’s another secret to add to my growing stash because I don’t want to risk Chad and Kelly’s lives anymore than I risked my boyfriend’s. If my folks find out about Enzo… Stop—I can’t go there right now.

  Rocks.

  Rocks is my focus. I hope Jeremiah and Decker made it safely back to the roost. I try to imagine them telling their leader, Strickland. I should’ve given them Rocks’ phone. But with the Sire’s irrational hate of technology that would only put me in deeper crabapples with the colony members. If Rocks dies, I’ve been warned that I’ll have to pay for his death—with my blood.

  Rocks is deathly still, so I tiptoe back to the kitchen and rinse the cloth from his forehead till my fingers freeze from the cold. Once the painkillers kick in, my plan is to get him to the hospital …

  Sugarplums!

  How on earth am I going to pay for his broken arm when Rocks doesn’t have insurance?

  An earsplitting cry of agony fills the house. I’m back in the living room a second later. Rocks has flipped. He’s suddenly a bat, and with his wing broken, he falls straight onto the couch unable to keep himself airborne. He screeches and wails, flailing around trying to get his body off his crushed wing.

  “Holy fudge. Stay still. Let me help.”

  I hook my finger under the large claw on the top of his good wing, lifting him slowly off the couch until his body weight is off his injured wing. He screeches again and I watch as his little bat eyes scrunch closed. The pain must be unbearable. I can’t even imagine. As gently as I can, I lay him flat on the couch with his broken wing outstretched beside him. He’s panting; I know it’s to work through the pain so that he doesn’t scream out and upset me. Rocks would do anything for me—at any price—so hiding the pain that I’m sure is pulsing through his system is so his style.

  “I don’t mind if you cry out. Must be excruciating.” His eyes meet mine and I see the human intelligence behind them. “We might as well use this chance to get you upstairs in bed.”

  Eeek! Eeek!

  “No? Where then?”

  Outside.

  Rocks’ voice echoes inside my head. Each time he speaks to me telepathically, it seems to get easier. I’m not gonna lie and say that a male voice rattling around in my head doesn’t freak me out a bit. It’s crazy weird, but convenient when your boyfriend’s a Camazotz.

  “No way! It’s going to drop below freezing today. You’ll—”

  Inevitable.

  Please.

  I don’t like Rocks being so insistent that he’s about to die. Not if I can help it. Reaching over, I slid my hands under his body. He hooks his claw over my forearm to steady himself as I lift. His heart-breaking screech makes me flinch. I walk as evenly as I can, trying not to jostle him.

  Open door first.

  “No need. I’m not putting you in the garden like some unwanted pet. Forget it.” I give him my best don’t-mess-with-me evil eye as I take one step at a time. “If you were just a bat, I wouldn’t even put you out there, so since you’re not, no chance.” He closes his eyes and doesn’t argue further—a sure sign that those painkillers haven’t kicked in.

  Secret five hundred and forty one—Rocks has been staying in our guest bedroom while my parents are away. Only a teenage boy raised in the old-fashioned 1865 manner of the colony would
have found the time to be this tidy. A smile graces my lips when I see how neat and organized his room is.

  “Trust you to make your bed.”

  Always.

  His little body stiffens as I lay him across the quilt. He doesn’t make a sound, but starts panting again. Before I can finish laying out his broken wing, he flips.

  “Shit!” I jump, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

  Rocks is sitting half on the bed, half off and groaning loudly. He grabs my shoulder with his good hand as his swollen hand lands in his lap.

  “Oh, God.” He closes his eyes, looking toward the ceiling, holding his breath. I gently push the long hair hanging over his eyes to the side. “I feel …” He sways to the left, completely off balance so I steady him by the shoulders. “Aaaggghhh, shit.”

  “Sorry.” I loosen my hold, but I’m worried he’s about to fall off the bed. “Are you okay?” Stupid question. “Sorry. I know you’re not.”

  “S’okay.” He gives me a half smile.

  Flip!

  This time his batty alter ego has landed on his back. His squawk of pain isn’t quite as loud. I’m guessing the painkillers are starting to work. His good wing thumps up and down against the mattress.

  “Shhh, stay still.” I don’t know whether to turn him over or not. But before I can decide, he’s human again. He’s landed really badly, face planting it on the mattress, and despite the painkillers, cries out in agony.

  “Connie,” he pants, trying to roll over off his arm, but his hand is wedged under his hip. “Help me. God. What’s happening to me?” The look in his eyes screams panic.