The Huntress (Lupus Moon Book One)

by Kevin Sorrell

  Contents

  Prologue

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Afterword

  PROLOGUE

  "Alright guys, time to hit the sack."

  Groans and whines assaulted Mr. Mahoney's ears. He knew they would, but he had little choice. The six-night camping trip was coming to an end. In the morning, he and his seven charges would be headed home. At the very least nature was giving them an amazing send-off; a gleaming third quarter moon hung in the Colorado sky against a tapestry of gleaming stars.

  Tommy, a scrawny runt of a kid with a head too large for his body, stuffed the last of a s'more into his maw. "Do we have to?" he asked, his words garbled by marshmellow.

  "It's getting late. I gotta make sure you guys are back on time tomorrow," Mahoney replied. "Last thing I need is Mrs. Tyson digging at me again." He cast an eye at the lone redhead in the pack. "Sorry, Bobby."

  The boy buried his gaze in the base of the campfire.

  "I know!" shouted Dylan, brown-haired and big-eyed. "Let's tell scary stories!" The suggested was welcomed by a round of cheers.

  Mahoney frowned. "I don't know, guys. Remember last time?"

  The boys exchanged knowing glances. They remembered, alright. It was forgetting that was the problem.

  "But sir," Dylan countered, "it's like...tradition."

  "Yeah!" co-signed Tommy.

  Mahoney looked into his scouts' pleading faces. How could he say no? The boys obviously enjoyed spending time with him, so much so they didn't want it to end.

  At least that's what the scout leader told himself. "Fine. We can tell ghost stories." His acquiescence drew a huge whoop from the boys. "Dylan, since you brought it up, you go first."

  Dylan grinned and scooted closer to the fire. He huddled over the flames, allowing their light to recreate the sinister underlit look seen in so many old horror films. His fellow scouts followed his lead. "Okay, here goes," he said. "One night, these aliens crash-landed outside my mom and dad's bedroom..."

  The others groaned.

  "Not another alien story!" cried Madden, Korean in descent. "You did that last time!"

  The other scouts chimed their agreement. Mahoney chuckled.

  "Well, Madden, since you're leading the protest, you have something better?"

  "Easily," the boy snorted, settling in to start. One of his cohorts, skinny, with glasses that far overpowered his soft, cherubic face, fidgeted.

  "I think Mahoney's right," he said. "Maybe we shouldn't tell scary stories."

  "Looks like Ethan's being a scaredy cat again," sniped Ricky, the resident alpha male, hitting each word with enough harshness to make the smaller boy cower.

  "Leave him alone, Ricky," Mahoney admonished. He turned to Ethan. "If you don't want to participate, you don't have to. Go ahead and turn in." He offered a gentle smile. "You'll be the only one without nightmares tonight."

  Ethan nodded and stood, ignoring the judgmental stares of his peers and he headed to his tent. He zipped it shut behind him.

  "Okay, Madden," Mahoney said. "Do your worst."

  Again, the boys hunkered.

  "Like I said, this one's really scary. My mom left me and my sister home one night, and my sister called her boyfriend over. They talked for a while, then they went to my sister's room. So there I was, alone, watching Vampire Zombies from Galaxy 10, when all of a sudden--BOOM! The lights went out!"

  The other scouts jumped--along with Mahoney.

  Madden smirked. "Then I heard this weird noise upstairs. It sounded like bumping, coming from my sister's room. So I got up and went upstairs. As I got close to her door, I heard these sick moans coming from inside. My sister and her boyfriend kept screaming, 'Oh God! Oh God!' Then I heard him say something about a rubber breaking--"

  "Okay!" Mahoney interjected. "How 'bout we stop right there, eh, buddy? That story's really not suitable for our group."

  Madden sat back with a devilish grin. "Told you it was scary."

  "And it was. I was terrified," Mahoney, said, heaving a sigh. "Tell you guys what. How 'bout I tell a story?"

  The boys' eyes widened. This had never happened before. They leaned forward, their attention rapt.

  "Okay. Here goes. It was a dark and..." Mahoney looked up at the flawless sky. "...clear night. Just like tonight. There were no clouds, just the stars...and a big, fat half moon. Just like tonight." He pointed to the sky. The scouts followed his lead; their eyes filled with the moon's light as it shone over the treetops. "But it wasn't just any old night, for there were sinister forces at work..."

  Dylan and Bobby traded looks. They leaned closer together, as did the other scouts.

  "On this night certain people, inflicted with an ancient curse, lost control of themselves and became vicious, blood-thirsty beasts. Devoid of any logic or reasoning, and driven by nothing but a lust for human flesh."

  ***

  Edwin Deedle plowed through the woods as fast as his pudgy, middle-aged legs would take him. His breathing rough and labored, the balding, frightful twerp of a man still wore his suit from his day job as a certified public accountant, an outfit which had sustained a fair bit of damage as low-hanging branches bit and tore at his slacks and coat. Deep-seeded horror forced his verdant eyes wide from behind thick, plastic-rimmed glasses.

  Deedle hadn't eaten since breakfast. It was a mistake he'd repeated often enough to qualify as a habit, and one that contributed greatly to his abundant waistline. It was within the last month, however, that going too long without a proper meal brought with it a chilling consequence.

  And Deedle was caught in it's merciless grip.

  ***

  One of the scouts, several pounds past what most folks would regard as pudgy, turned and looked over his shoulder.

  "The teenagers had just finished their meal when they decided to tell scary stories around the campfire," Mahoney said, weaving his tale. "But before they could start, they heard a terrifying sound. RAWWWWR!"

  The scouts grabbed one another.

  Ricky quickly pushed Bobby away.

  "The noise wasn't like any they had heard before," the scout leader continued. "This was different, as if whatever was letting it out was in a great deal of pain. And it was true, for on the other side of the lake, a youn
g man was undergoing a terrible transformation..."

  ***

  Deedle clutched his stomach as he continued to run. It always began the same; a twisting in his gut, followed by a rush of nausea and a heat that swelled from his deepest recesses to swallow him whole. Sweat oozed from every pore, his skin itched...

  Then came the spasms. A series of violent contractions rocked Deedle, crushing his mid-section and causing his hands to gnarl. They attacked his lower back and between his shoulder blades. They marked the point of no return. No amount of food would save him. No attempt to mediate would suffice...

  No lives would be spared. Deedle's loafer-covered foot slammed into a rock, and he tumbled into a tree, jamming a palm into the bark to brace himself. He lifted his face to the sky.

  His emerald irises took on a yellowish hue as his pupils dilated to soak in as much moonlight as possible. Deedle pulled back his thin lips. Saliva drooled from his mouth as his canines began to extend. A guttural sound burst from his lungs, more animal than man. Deedle staggered from the tree and fell to the forest floor. He pushed to all flours, his body trembling, his face caked with sweat.

  "H-Help me..." he rasped.

  But it was too late. Deedle bore witness as his hands, splayed on the ground before him, snapped as the bones inside ruptured. His fingers lengthened, the tips bulbed. Fingernails warped and split apart as thick, black claws pushed their way into the cool night air, trickling blood onto the fertile soil.

  Deedle tried to speak but could only manage gurgled noises as he felt his consciousness slip, drifting into the background as another, more powerful being emerged. Blood mixed with spit drained from his mouth as his skull cracked and contorted. Wiry black hairs erupted from his face...

  ***

  "The gargoyle stalked the girl to the edge of the lake, but she had no idea the monster was behind her." Mahoney's hushed tone had kept the scouts unnerved and pulled them forward. "She knelt to splash her face with water, but as her knee touched the ground, a cold shiver go down her spine. She turned--and SCREAMED!"

  A howl pierced the air.

  The scouts froze. Mahoney spun his head to the trees.

  "Wh-What was that?" Tommy asked.

  "I don't know," Mahoney said, doing his best to remain calm. "Sounded like a coyote. Or a wolf."

  "Or a werewolf." Dylan's voice held a tinge of unexpected excitement. The other scouts buzzed.

  "There's no such thing," Mahoney said, raising a hand to quell the concern. "Still, it might be a good idea to get into our tents. Quietly. I'll make sure the fire keeps going."

  The boys nodded; there would be no disagreement this time. They broke ranks for their respective tents.

  Something growled from within the trees. Whatever it was, it was close. The scouts quickened the pace, but Tommy, possessed of a dangerous curiosity, stopped and turned toward the woods.

  A shadow moved between the trunks.

  Tommy's eyes widened. He took a step. Then another. A third. He found himself at the edge of the clearing, squinting as he reached a hand out to clear some brush--

  "Tommy!" The boy spun to Mahoney. "What are you doing? I said get to your tent!"

  "I thought I saw something," Tommy replied.

  The scout leader opened his mouth to chastise Tommy when another growl, much closer than the last, rumbled from the darkness.

  The thing was just outside the campsite.

  Heavy footfalls shook the ground. Branches trembled in one area. Twigs snapped in another. The sounds came from all around. The boys panicked and ran to the center of the campsite. They pressed their backs together to keep account of their surroundings.

  "Stay calm, everybody!" Mahoney said, his voice strong, yet shaky. "I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just a rabbit."

  A twig snapped.

  Madden yelped. "I don't think it's a rabbit, sir."

  "Quiet!" Mahoney hissed. "If we be still long enough, whatever it is should--"

  A massive black object exploded from the brush and landed at Mahoney's feet with a thud that knocked the boys to the ground. The scout leader's eyes trailed upward, mouth hung open, as the creature stood to full height.

  It was the stuff of legend. A perfect killing machine. Swift. Powerful. Merciless. The beast's yellow eyes gleamed against the moonlight.

  "Holy shit," were Mr. Mahoney's final words.

  THE HUNTRESS

  LUPUS MOON BOOK ONE

  K. B. SORRELL

  KYNETIK INK PRESS

  Houston, TX

  The Huntress: Lupus Moon Book One

  Copyright © 2019 by Kevin Sorrell

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by

  Published by Darque Marque Press

  Houston, TX 77082

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to person living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written consent of the author.

  For more information, visit:

  http://www.kevinsorrell.com

  ONE

  The black Corvette had already drawn stares by the time it crept to a stop alongside the dirty, aging sports utility vehicle tugging an even dirtier, more aged U-Haul. According to the sign it blew past a quarter mile back, the sports car was a stop light in Weeping Springs, Colorado, a town founded in 1853 and, per the most recent census, boated a population of 15,041 souls. Many of those denizens were out and about, strolling along the thin sidewalks on either side of the road, fronting buildings that looked to be as old as the town itself. It had the small-town feel down pat; by all appearances, it was the perfect place to settle down and raise a family.

  While waiting for the light to change, a young boy of about twelve glanced over at the Corvette from the SUV. The sleek vehicle featured black wheels with illegally-dark tinted windows. He squinted to try and make out the driver, but luck and time was not on his side. The light changed, and the supercharged sports car tore off in a cloud of dust.

  Moments later, the Corvette had found its way to the town's sole biker bar. It slid into the dirt lot and parked alongside two large, gruff men who were wiping down their respective hogs. They turned to regard the driver as the car's door opened.

  Their eyes widened in surprise.

  The same look greeted the driver upon entering the bar. Glasses clunked against wood and unflinching stares nestled on the slender figure standing just inside the door. She wore black leather pants and a full-length matching duster, and returned the looks she received--with interest--from behind a pair of circular, purple-tinted shades.

  The woman smirked. It wasn't her first time making such an...auspicious first impression. Nor was it the first time her golden complexion marked her as the only person in the immediate area who looked like her. It was something she had grown quite accustomed to, given her many and extensive travels. In fact, she had come to relish these moments. But the moment had passed, and she had come to do business.

  Ignoring the wall of glares the newcomer removed her shades, revealing tight, hazel eyes, and slipped them into a pocket inside her duster. She crossed the bar, heavy black combat boots echoing each step, and took a seat at the counter between two men. She dropped her arms against the polished wood; the right one landed with a metallic clunk. The men scrunched their faces.

  The bartender, a rail thin man of average height, eased over. He looked at the woman as if he expected her to sprout a third arm. "Can I help you?"

  "Yeah. This is a bar, right?" the woman asked. The men on both sides of her chuckled.

  The bartender narrowed his eyes. "No. It's a school."

  "Well, it's a shitty one, from the looks of things. Gimme a Coke."

  The bartender recoiled as if the woman's words had taken physical form and licked his nose. He
sneered, turned to fill the order.

  The man on the woman's left leaned close. "C'mon now, sweetheart, you can't be serious. That ain't no kinda drink." He hefted a pitcher of beer. "This is a drink! Hey Larry, get the lady a Mad Dog!"

  The bartender stopped and moved for a different glass. The woman raised her hand.

  "No thanks," she said. She cut her eyes to the burly, assumptive gentleman alongside her. "I'll just have the Coke."

  "What's the matter?" the man asked. "Can't handle it?"

  "Oh, I can handle it," the woman replied, "but in my line of work, it's best I keep my senses as sharp as possible."

  The bartender plunked a glass in front of the woman. She shot him a look.

  "Really?" the big man asked. He was easily in his late forties or early fifties, and outclassed the woman in both height and girth. "And what kinda work is a sweet little filly like you into? Modeling?" He laughed. The scrawny, greasy man on the woman's right joined in. The woman looked at him.

  He turned away.

  "No," the woman said as she casually took up her glass. She shook the drink, then tipped it back and drained it, setting the empty glass on the counter with a thud. "I hunt werewolves."

  The laughter stopped, along with all action in the bar. Someone behind the woman choked. She glanced over her shoulder.

  "I'm sorry," the big man said, mocking the woman by jamming a fat finger into this ear to wiggle out the wax. "What?"

  "There was a mass murder here a few weeks back. A bunch of kids and their scoutmaster. News said it was a bear. But I'm pretty sure it was something far worse." The woman again looked to the choking patron. The middle-aged man would've been more at home in a classroom teaching science than lounging around a dive bar. They locked eyes. He stifled a cough.

  Burly man chuckled. "That's a good one, babygirl. You almost had me. But no, for real, what do you do?"

  "I told you." The woman turned back to the counter.

  The big man glowered. "Okay, look, if you wanna be sassy and everything, that's cool, but I ain't no fool."