Dark Side of the Moon

by Kristy Centeno

  “I...I had a dream. Only, I’m not sure it was a dream.”

  He was back, looking a bit refreshed, his hair still wet from a recent shower.

  “Bray is here.”

  My eyes focused on Kyran’s face. There was something about the seriousness of his expression that worried me.

  “He’s here because of the dream, isn’t he?”

  “I suspect so.” He stood. “Let me help you get started.” He pulled back the covers, revealing yet another pair of pajamas I’d changed into after a late night shower. It seemed like all I wore nowadays were PJ’s.

  “I need to change.” There was no way I was going to go through another day in my pajamas. As comfortable as they were, I couldn’t allow myself to go completely downhill. I needed to regain some normalcy in my life and part of it would begin with my appearance. Well, I wasn’t aiming for high maintenance, but somewhere slightly above my current comfort zone.

  Kyran marched across the room to retrieve my suitcase. Laying it on the bed next to me a moment later, he buckled my leg brace in place while I rummaged through my belongings in search of a pair of jeans, top, and a matching hoodie. I was aiming for the whole casual look right down to my footwear.

  Once I’d put together a decent outfit, I zipped my suitcase back up and motioned for Kyran to put it back on the floor.

  “I’ll be down the hall.” Kyran took a step back to inspect his handiwork. Satisfied that the leg brace was as it should be, he said, “Are you sure you’re not going to need help getting dressed?”

  He grinned.

  I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, well, call me when you’re done.”

  He strolled out of the room a moment later, leaving me alone to ponder my thoughts. His lack of response to my question didn’t go unnoticed, but I knew Kyran well enough to know when he was being evasive. His subtle change of topic told me he was not going to answer me, so I didn’t even attempt to pry.

  Bray was waiting for me. He’d dropped by earlier than we had agreed on. That could only mean something had happened. I was fairly certain it had everything to do with the dream I had.

  Could it be...? Was the woman in my dream—memory—whatever, Mom? Her voice was gruff, like she had an itchy throat and couldn’t speak too well. That made it hard for me to be sure, and I couldn’t see what she saw because her eyes were covered.

  Experience told me it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe a memory? Of how long ago? But if it was an old memory, did that mean—was she dead? But if she was dead who had shared that scene with me?

  I couldn’t answer any of those questions, but there was one person who could.

  Determined to find out, I forced myself out of bed and limped my way toward the bathroom. If the woman was Mom, Bray would know.

  ***

  Bray was waiting for me in Marquis’s office. His trackers and Bayard were outdoors. Doing what? I didn’t have a clue, but I’d spotted them outside conversing with the Rousseaus on my way to meet with Bray. It seem to me as if they were discussing something important, but I hadn’t had the chance to ask what was going on and, as I entered the office and spotted Bray dressed in what looked to me like an expensive suit, uncertainty washed over me.

  I’d been half expecting everyone to be present as they were before, but this time it was only the two of us. Kyran left us alone, claiming he had something to discuss with Alexis.

  By the time I sat down on the couch next to Bray, my hands were shaking.

  “Did you...?” I couldn’t find the words to finish the question so I just sat there, with my fingers balled into my palms, which I rested on my thighs.

  “That is why I’m here at this time of day.”

  It wasn’t clear what I read in his eyes, but it almost seemed like fury.

  “So, this isn’t my mind playing tricks on me?”

  “No. I witnessed it too.”

  Fear gripped me, but I needed to ask. “Is it Mom? Is she Mom?”

  Bray’s irises darkened. The hazel in his eyes was suddenly gone, replaced by a black abyss the likes of which I’d never seen. The Rousseaus’ eyes glowed whenever they were going through some strong, emotional rollercoaster. But Bray’s were dark, like the kind you see in the movies whenever the actor or actress is portraying a demon of some sort.

  It was incredibly unsettling.

  “It is. And now we know why she has failed to communicate with either of us.”

  She was being held prisoner somewhere.

  It tore at me to know Mom was undergoing God knew what kind of unimaginable hell at the hands of this faceless devil. Although, she gave me the impression of being more tired than hurt, I couldn’t be sure since the only prominent details that stood out were darkness and the sound of voices. The one voice in particular clung to me like a coat. I could still hear his mocking laughter in my head.

  “It’s the first time she’s ever...” I paused. The truth of what Bray had just pointed out dawned on me. I’d been so confused with the things he’d shared before. Doubtful of us being related even though I felt a kinship to him, but with that dream, everything had changed. Mom, unknowingly or not, had just opened my eyes to the reality surrounding me.

  The ValKhazar blood streamed through my veins. A part of me, be it small or not, was werewolf. I wasn’t who I thought I was. Mom wasn’t who I thought she was. Her name was Elsa ValKhazar. I was a ValKhazar.

  “I really am descendant of the Lost Child, aren’t I?”

  Bray’s facial expression relaxed, his eyes gaining their normal coloring. “Why did you question it so much?”

  “I don’t know,” I stammered, embarrassed. Finding out the Rousseaus were werewolves had been hard enough. Knowing that I belonged to royal family of werewolves wasn’t something I should have had to contend with. I was supposed to be just another ordinary girl with no special qualities. This whole ValKhazar thing was more than I could take. “This is not something I ever thought would happen. How do I deal with something so...farfetched?”

  Embracing my bloodline wasn’t exactly an easy-going right of passage. It was more like my personal hell on earth.

  My gaze shot to my hands, there was no mark to identify me as purebred, but according to Bray, that’s exactly what I was. Where was my mark? Why didn’t I have one?

  Curious, I glanced over at Bray’s pale hands, searching for the mark. Did he have one? I hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but now curiosity had gotten the best of me.

  It took a total of two seconds for me to find his mark. Wedged between his index finger and thumb was what appeared to be a round shaped blemish, and unlike the Rousseaus, which looked as if they had been inked on the surface of their skin, Bray’s was an odd combination between some type of body modification and the inky design I’d come to identify as proof of a purebred bloodline.

  Bray’s mark, dark reddish in color with some hues of gray and black, protruded from his skin as if he’d had a silicone implant underneath and had had the ink traced over it. To me, it looked painful, but so bizarre too. Unlike that of the Rousseaus, his mark wasn’t a simple set of circles. Bray’s had not only the one circle, but in addition to that, what appeared to be an arrow or a spear tearing its way through a bolt of lightning right in the center of the ring.

  “They are symbols,” Bray said upon catching me ogling his mark.

  “Symbols for what?”

  “I am not entirely sure what they mean, but I believe I may know why our family is the only one that carries a mark such as this.”

  I moved away from him, holding my gaze steady on his face. It was easy to see just how much there was to be said. How much there was for me to find out about my so-called family bloodline, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue being informed. A millennia worth of information was a lot. To be constantly fed that knowledge in such a reduced amount of time was very overwhelming.

  “My world has been overturned completely already. I’m not sure I want to know the
rest. I should, maybe, be more open about this whole family thing, but every time someone has the need to confess something, I feel like I lose a little more of my identity. Plus, I can’t relate with this new me.”

  I went from having a boring, almost laughable existence to having to cross a river of realities so undeniably complicated. Handling each one individually took more effort than I was ready for.

  “Truth can liberate the soul,” he argued softly.

  “Not in my case. Being an immortal creature wasn’t exactly one of my life expectations.”

  “But you are immortal.”

  “That I got. The ‘how I’m going to explain that to my Dad’ part—I’m working on still.”

  “Perhaps revealing this is not the best course of action. Your father may not understand.”

  He was right, of course, but being the stubborn girl that I was...accepting it was not going to come easy to me either. I wasn’t ready to make any of the decisions I was going to have to make in order to keep everyone I loved, plus myself, alive and safe.

  “I can’t just disappear. I mean, yes, it might seem less complicated to just walk out of my family’s lives, but it’s not. Bray, if I really am immortal, others will notice that I don’t age as they do eventually, but this is my dad we’re talking about. He was devastated when Mom disappeared. If I just vanish...it will kill him. I’m his only child.”

  “You are being forced to deal with too many things at once. It is overwhelming for you. I understand. There is no time for adjustments. This makes your situation worse. This, too, I understand, but the situation is dire. Time for adjustment will have to come later. Now we must focus on the more important things and act as soon as possible.”

  I wanted to argue that I wasn’t entirely ready for any of this, but it wasn’t like I had any other choice. Mom was alive. She needed help. It didn’t take a genius to know the alpha that was after me was probably the same one who’d kidnapped my mother. Being that there was one thing this alpha wanted from me, there was a chance that he’d taken Mom prisoner to use as a bartering chip. Or to gain information about my condition.

  He had to know our parentage—know me. Something about what he said in the dream got to me. He’d mentioned that I thought of him as a friend. That meant I knew him, but who was he? The voice wasn’t one I recognized. At least, it didn’t sound familiar.

  What else was out there? What else was I missing?

  “Is it true?” I asked, referring to Mom’s response to the faceless alpha’s question. “Am I unable to change because my DNA is missing certain chromosomal components? Would a bite change that?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  There was so much I couldn’t understand. So much I still didn’t know.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb here and pretend as if I have a choice.”

  “You do. Of course. It is your choice.”

  “But...this chase will never end if I make the wrong one. Right?”

  “It may. It may not. It is difficult to say under the present circumstances.”

  There was once a werewolf alpha after me—Santos—and now there was another. Something told me this nightmare would only continue. With one alpha dead, it was only a matter of time before another took its place.

  “Why are we so different?”

  A pensive look took over his features. “There is so much I have yet to share with you, but because we lack the time to discuss all of them, I will only mention what is most important. If you and I are to develop a trustworthy relationship, then it is imperative that you know as much about our bloodline as possible.”

  “I agree.”

  “Well, Ellora, the Queen ValKhazar, we believe was a direct descendant of the Founding Father.”

  “Who’s the Founding Father?”

  “The first werewolf.”

  There really was such a thing as the Founding Father? “What evidence is there for you to have come to this conclusion?”

  “Very little, actually. Given the timeframe to when the Founding Father is said to have lived to your time...the stretch is enormous. Whatever physical evidence there was could have disintegrated by now. However, we do have one possible link and many possible connections. It may come down to putting the pieces of shard together.”

  “Paint one scenario for me,” I requested, curious as to what was on that seemingly complicated mind of his.

  “It has come to my attention that in the history we have managed to gather over a little more than a millennia now, there has never been another bloodline quite like ours. Naturally, this has caught our interest. The ValKhazar’s, leading up Ellora’s appearance, were a common werewolf family in that era. They were no different from any other family. Once the king took her as a mate, things changed. With the exception of Lykos, every other descendant born afterward was...to put it lightly, different. This has led us to believe the reason why our genetic profile is so adaptable is because of our direct link to the one who started it all. Now, while it’s true that no one knows how our kind began, we do know the Founding Father did exist, and is, perhaps, the one responsible for our ever-changing DNA.”

  “So, in theory, I may be able to help Kyran?”

  “In theory.”

  “But you don’t know for sure?”

  “No. However, the possibility is there.”

  It was a big leap. Up until a thousand years ago, no one had the need to prove or disprove whether or not the cure for bloodlust was in the ValKhazar bloodline. It hadn’t been important then. Things had changed since then.

  “Okay. How do I do this?”

  “First, we need a sample of your blood.”

  “To do what, exactly?”

  “We may need to ease Kyran into this.”

  “I’m not sure I get what you’re trying to say.”

  Bray scooted closer to me on the couch, his eyes never leaving mine as he added, “Before I came to Wolf Creek Hollow, I had been following several leads I found during my search for your mother. I came upon several discoveries regarding the Founding Father, and the Ancient Twelve. I have reason to believe Bayard’s and my research finally led us on the right track.”

  “Ancient Twelve?”

  Voices out in the foyer forced us both to glance toward the door. It didn’t open, but something was definitely happening out there.

  “Should we go see what’s going on?” I asked, concerned.

  “That will not be necessary. They can handle themselves.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I figured if it had anything to do with Kyran and Alexis, or Kyran and Dario then I didn’t want to know.

  “So, you were saying...?”

  “This, I will also share with you in due time. Right now, we have a theory to prove.”

  “What’s our first step?”

  “Get a few samples of your blood.”

  Great. I hated needles with a passion.

  “Then?”

  “Then we wait.”

  “What? How come?”

  “You see, the only way to know for sure whether this unorthodox method of treatment will have any effect at all is by treating the affected while he is at his most vulnerable state.”

  I blanched. “Treat Kyran while he’s having one of his episodes? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Yes, but his predatory instincts will be more potent then, and he will be less inclined to fight the aftereffects.”

  “Aftereffects? Now there’s a word you don’t want to hear when in reference to treatment.”

  I should have asked what he meant by aftereffects, but it took one good look at Bray for me to realize I didn’t want to know. There was too much on my plate already. I was afraid one more thing would be enough to tip the scale.

  “Marjorie, there are no guarantees this experiment will be successful,” he said, though it almost sounded more like a warning.

  “I understand.” What if it didn’t work? What if Kyran was forced to continue with his endless nightmar
e for eternity? “Let’s get started.”

  On the other hand, if there was a chance—even a small one—that it would work, I was going to take it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bayard wiped my arm clean with alcohol before inserting the dreaded needle into my right arm. Aside from the initial pinch, I felt no other discomfort. But I was very curious as to how someone like Bayard picked up such skills. I mean, he’d brought equipment in from Bray’s SUV you’d normally find in a doctor’s office or hospital, and he’d used each and every one of them in such a professional manner, had I not known who he was, I’d have suspected him of working at some laboratory or even at a medical center as a nurse.

  “Where did you learn how to draw blood?” I asked as he removed one tube and gave it a little shake before depositing it inside a tiny basket.

  He replaced the tube he took out with another.

  “You do not live this long without acquiring a few skills along the way.”

  We were alone in the upstairs bathroom. The rest of Bray’s pack and the Rousseaus were somewhere on the first floor.

  “This is one of those skills you picked up?” I asked skeptically.

  “Among others. I will have you know I can knit a perfect quilt in under a week.”

  Surprised, I gaped at him, wondering if he was just pulling my leg. When he showed no signs of having been kidding, I asked, “You’re not joking. Are you?”

  “Not at all.” He looked down at me and smiled. “Although, the reasons I learned such a skill might appear odd to you. Nonetheless, I have learned how to keep myself occupied.”

  “Why is that?” Was pack life so monotonous it got boring?

  After the fourth vial of blood, he finally removed the needle, discarded the items he used, and put a bandage on my arm.

  Straightening up, he said, “Sometimes, when you have lived as long as I have, you tend to get bored. Monotony can do interesting things to your sanity after many years.”

  “Werewolves go through midlife crisis, too?”