Blood on the Moon

by Jennifer Knight

  Lucas took a step toward me and leaned down so that his face was very near mine. Even with all the smoke and sweat in the club, I could smell Lucas’s skin. He smelled like the woods and fresh pine needles and something vaguely sweet.

  “Faith,” he said. “You gotta stay away from Vincent, okay? Trust me on this.”

  “Trust you? I don’t even know you.”

  I saw Lucas’s face break into something resembling a snarl. “You think I want it that way?” His voice was low and guttural—like a growl.

  “Want it what way? What are you talking about?”

  Lucas seemed to awaken from some kind of stupor I didn’t know he was in. He blinked and straightened. “Nothing,” he said. “Just stay the hell away from Vincent and—and stay away from me.” He turned and strode away.

  I stared after him for a second and then fury overtook me. “Well, fine!” I screamed to his hulking form, fading into the shadows of the club. “Who asked you anyway!”

  A girl with bleach blond hair looked at me like she thought I was crazy, so I stopped yelling and spun around too fast. I tilted and grabbed the wall. I made it into the bathroom, did my business and then washed my hands at the sink, still fuming over what Lucas had said. Just as I was imagining all the fantastic comebacks I should have said to him, the bathroom door squeaked open and, of course, Courtney came toppling in.

  “Faith!” she squealed and went flying at me. She surveyed herself in the mirror and played with her hair. “How’s it going with that cutie I saw you dancing with?” She winked at me in the mirror.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Why? You want to date him, too? Derek isn’t enough for you, so you have to screw every guy in the universe?”

  She paused with her fingers stuck in her hair.

  “I was just trying to be nice,” she said, acting hurt.

  “No, you were trying to steal Vincent just like you stole Derek.”

  “You weren’t even dating Derek,” she said coldly. “Don’t be pissed at me because you didn’t take him while you could get him.”

  I watched Courtney drag her lipstick across her pouty mouth and pop her lips.

  “Gotta go,” she said. “Derek’s waiting.” She spun on her skinny black heel and sashayed out of the bathroom. A group of girls came in behind her and huddled around the sinks, discussing boys.

  I stared at my reflection. My face was ashen with shock. I knew what Courtney had said was true. I was mad at Derek for finally moving on, but that wasn’t fair. Derek was doing a good thing. He was distancing himself from me. He was healing. I should’ve been happy for him. I tried to tell myself that I was only ticked because he was moving on with Courtney. But that only lasted a few seconds. I knew that wasn’t true. I’d have been hurt no matter who he had decided to date. Yes, I was crushed over our screwed-up past, but I still cared deeply about Derek and the thought of Courtney’s lips on his. The thought of what they’d be doing on the other side of my wall tonight.

  I suddenly felt sick.

  I flew into the stall behind me and threw up.

  When I’d emptied my stomach of the alcohol and my heart of foul thoughts, I exited the bathroom. I stopped by a water fountain and sucked in some water to get the vomit taste out of my mouth. I still felt drunk. And now I felt even worse because I had vomit on me.

  “Hello there,” said a voice from my right.

  I turned slowly and looked up. It was Vincent. He was leaning on the wall, arms crossed over his chest. A grin twisted his gorgeous lips and a mischievous light played in his eyes. He was just too hot to be allowed. I grunted at him.

  “You look ill,” he said. “Are you feeling well?”

  I shook my head.

  “Would you like me to take you back to your dorm room?”

  I thought for a moment about what Lucas said, about staying away from Vincent. But then I decided that Lucas was way more of a jerk than Vincent so I should listen to the nonjerk one, right?

  Right?

  I was too drunk and too sick to care. All I wanted was to be in my bed, warm and safe and alone.

  Alone. The only thing I was good at.

  I looked up at Vincent’s pretty, smiling eyes and said, “Yeah. Please take me home.”

  The inside of Vincent’s car was nicer than anything I’d ever been in. The seats were soft, black leather and the dashboard was sprinkled with neon blue lights that cast us both in this eerie ghostlike glow. Vincent was so pale that he looked almost transparent beneath it. Staring out the window, I watched Fort Collins roll by. I watched the couples strolling along the brick sidewalk, watched the lights of the store windows flicker off for the night, watched the trees zip by, and by.

  “You know,” I said to the silence. “My mom would kill me for this.”

  Vincent glanced at me as he drove. “For getting drunk?”

  “Well, that too. But I meant, for getting into a car with a stranger.”

  “I am not a stranger,” Vincent said. “You have known me for . . .” He checked his watch hidden beneath his black jacket. “Four hours now.” He smiled at the windshield.

  “Four hours is nothing,” I said. “You could be the psycho serial killer for all I know.”

  Vincent chuckled deeply. “Would it help to know something about me?”

  “I guess.”

  “Ask me anything.”

  I thought for a second. “Why do you wear those gloves?”

  I saw a muscle in Vincent’s cheek twitch. “Burns,” he said.

  “Burns?”

  “I have burns on my hands from an accident.”

  “Oh . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You did not burn me.”

  “Who did?”

  Silence for a beat. “No one of consequence.” There was an edge to his buttery-smooth voice, and he shot me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  I returned to staring out the window, worried that I might say something else too forward and ruin the night further.

  But Vincent didn’t seem to mind my drunken questions. “What else would you like to know?” he asked as we pulled up to the half-moon driveway next to my dorm room.

  I turned to look at him as he yanked the shifter into park and clasped his hands together. He looked back at me, a pleasant smile on his devilishly sexy face. If I hadn’t been so messed up and angry at Derek and Courtney and Lucas, I probably wouldn’t have said what popped out of my mouth next:

  “Do you want to eat lunch with me tomorrow?”

  Vincent’s pointy smile widened. “I’d love to,” he said. “But better yet, how would you like to do something special for All Hallows Eve?”

  I hadn’t been planning on doing anything for Halloween, but the prospect of having such a cute date to go out with—not to mention a distraction—was impossible to pass up.

  “Sure,” I agreed.

  “Eight o’clock. I’ll pick you up here.”

  I started searching around in the dark for the door handle, accidentally rolling the window down and locking the doors twice in the process. Vincent reached over and pulled the door handle for me. I felt his chestnut hair tickle my cheek as he brushed by me and I smelled the perfume of his pale skin. I inhaled sharply as his wintry hand brushed my arm, zapping me. A rush of his emotions hit me along with the electricity—it was all desire. I figured it made sense since we were so close, but the intensity of the vibe was startling. I’d only had this happen with one other person—someone I definitely didn’t want to think about just then.

  I clambered out of the car and leaned down so I could see Vincent’s face.

  “Thanks again,” I said. “For the ride.”

  “Anytime.” He bowed his head slightly. “Until tomorrow, Faith.”

  “Bye,” I said and shut the door of his shiny little car.

  He rolled the window down and a wide grin split his face, illuminated by the dash. “Don’t forget your costume,” he said wicked
ly.

  And he was off. I watched him rumble away and stood outside in the cold for a while, shivering and grinning despite myself.

  7

  FOREWARNING

  I will never drink alcohol again, for as long as I live.

  Those were the words that ran through my head as I blinked my eyes open in the late morning sun. Everything seemed too bright. Too real. Too painful.

  My head hurt. My stomach hurt. Even my arms and legs ached, though I couldn’t begin to think why. I rolled over and tried to continue sleeping, but Ashley was snoring next to me and I’d always been a light sleeper—even with a hangover, it seemed.

  I crawled out of bed, feeling very much like the creature from the deep, and locked myself in the bathroom. I showered with the hope that the steam and hot water would ease my headache. Unfortunately, it didn’t so I flicked the lights out. I began brushing my snarled hair and sat on the toilet with the lid down. I didn’t want to go back into my room. My room was bright and snorefilled and mean. There was homework out there, and laundry and garbage and other things I didn’t feel like doing. It was better in the bathroom. It was warm and dark. And I was alone.

  But my small measure of comfort didn’t last long. I heard my cell phone ringing in my room and I sprung to the door, catching it just in time.

  “Hey, Heather,” I said into the receiver.

  “Faith! Thank God you’re okay!”

  I winced at the loudness of her usually soft voice. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I asked, confused.

  “We couldn’t find you last night to take you home. I tried calling a million times, but reception was horrible in the club and I couldn’t get through.”

  I felt guilt wrap around me. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I felt sick, so Vincent drove me home. I should have told you . . . I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.” She paused. “That Vincent guy was hot! Do you think you’ll see him again?”

  “Ah . . . actually, I have a date with him tonight.” I just remembered. I couldn’t believe I asked him out.

  “Awesome!” Heather said.

  I smiled. Sudden inspiration dawned on me—a way to hopefully make it up to Heather for bailing on her. “Do you want to go someplace with me today? I have to get a costume for tonight and I could use someone else around to tell me if I look too idiotic.”

  Heather giggled. “Sure. I’ll take Pete’s car and pick you up in . . . ?”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  “Okay. Glad you’re not dead.”

  “Yeah . . . thanks. Sorry.”

  Heather clicked the phone off and I put my hands over my face. I am such a jerk. I cast a look at Ashley and found her still snoring away. At least one of us was a deep sleeper. I rushed around as silently as possible getting dressed and blow-drying my hair—something that is impossible to do quietly.

  I was ten minutes late as I fluttered down the stairs to meet Heather at the driveway. She was even later than me, so I had to wait a bit before Pete’s car wheezed up. Heather and I chatted about school and our Halloween plans as we drove to the only store that carried decent Halloween costumes within a ten mile radius: an ancient theater shop painted neon green.

  We spent over an hour trying on costumes in various degrees of ridiculousness. Heather had fun picking out the most hideous for me—robot, bar wench, clown, hobbit—while I focused on trying to find something that wouldn’t make me look too absurd. Preferably something with a little sex appeal, so I wouldn’t look completely inadequate standing next to Vincent. After two hours I was down to the ice fairy, Tinker Bell, a sexy vampire, or, of course, the old standby, the black cat.

  I was wearing the sexy vampire outfit when I noticed Heather was beginning to lose some of her enthusiasm. She was sitting in a chair that looked like a throne amidst a pile of random clothing. She fiddled absently with the purple feather of a pimp hat. As I scrutinized myself in the mirror, I watched her sigh out of the corner of my eye. She was obviously either bored or upset about something.

  “Do you want to leave?” I asked, pulling my hair from the high ponytail I’d made to make myself look more angular and vampire-ish.

  Heather started, looking up at me. “No, no . . . that’s not it.”

  I went to sit next to her, tugging the short polyester cloak around my legs. “What’s wrong?”

  Heather tucked her hair behind her ear and looked away. “Nothing,” she said quietly.

  “Liar. Come on, you can tell me. Is it something with class?”

  She sighed once more and looked at me with those sweet brown eyes. I liked that she didn’t wear makeup. She was prettier that way.

  “Tell me,” I urged.

  I saw her debate for a moment and then she said, “Pete . . . did something.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “Something bad, I take it.”

  Heather nodded. Her eyes welled with tears and I shushed her gently.

  She swallowed. “It was last night after the club. We were in his dorm room kissing and ... I could tell he wanted to . . . you know . . . do it. But I never have before and I told him I wasn’t sure. Then he started giving me this big long speech about how much he loves me and he only wants to be with me.” Heather’s words were sweet, but the tone of her voice was sour. I could tell this story was going someplace bad. I squeezed Heather’s hand.

  “Go on,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  “Well, I told Pete that I loved him too, but that I just ... I just wasn’t ready, you know?”

  “I know. You were right to tell him how you really felt. That was brave.”

  Her freckled face creaked into a small smile for a brief instant. Then it died and her face grew pale, wrought with dirty shadows. I braced myself for what I already knew was coming. That look on her face ... I knew that look so well. The same look my mother had for months after what happened.

  Hollow.

  Broken.

  It was a face only a scumball man could put on a woman. I prayed and prayed that I was wrong. That Pete was different.

  “He started to get angry,” Heather whispered. “Yelling about how I didn’t love him at all. That if I really cared for him, I’d just do it.”

  I winced, shaking my head. If Pete could do this—nice, funny, gangly Pete—then there was really no hope for the male sex.

  “I yelled back,” Heather said. “He was being so mean . . .”

  I drew in a deep breath to steady my voice. “Then what?”

  “He said ... he said he was going to break up with me if I didn’t do it. So I . . . I . . .” She choked up and I wrapped my arm around her.

  “Heather,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

  She sniffed loudly and said, “So I broke up with him.”

  I stared. I’d thought she was going to say she did it. I drew back, looking at her miserable tearstained face with a new respect. “Wow,” I said. “Well . . . good.”

  “Good?” she asked. “Good?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that it was good you didn’t let him pressure you into it.”

  The fire in her eyes died and she nodded.

  I released a long breath. “When you first started talking I thought it was going to be something bad. Not that this isn’t bad. But it could have been way worse.”

  She frowned, looking at me like I was crazy. “What else could be worse?”

  I said nothing, but there was a lot more Pete could have done.

  “What did you think I was going to say?” Heather asked. Her voice was cautious, like she was testing the words as she spoke them.

  I scratched my eyebrow, looking around uselessly.

  “Faith,” Heather said, lowering her voice. “Did you think he forced me?”

  My eyes hit hers, locking there.

  Heather’s expression grew shocked as she realized that was exactly what I had been thinking.

  “Pete would never do that
,” she said. “You don’t know him.”

  “I know his kind.”

  “Kind?”

  “Yes. The kind of man that would try to force a woman to have sex with him. The kind of man that says one thing and does another, that lets you down time after time ... that ... that does things you can’t even imagine. I know that kind of man, and maybe you’re too blinded by your feelings for him to see it, but I know it’s only a matter of time before Pete becomes just as horrible as him!”

  Heather’s face was stricken.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked faintly. “Horrible as who?”

  I faltered, glancing around at the sallow cashier, gawking at us. My face flushed.

  “No one,” I said. “Nothing. Just—forget it.”

  I got up and flew into the changing room, mortified by my outburst. I hadn’t talked about that day in years, but hearing Heather’s story had brought it all back and now the memories flooded my vision, just as terrifying and painful as they were when I was thirteen. And now I’d yelled at Heather, too. Antagonized the only friend I had left at CSU. I sat on the filthy carpet, tempted to cry, but I refused. I wouldn’t cry over him again.

  Heather came in a few minutes later, but I didn’t look up.

  “Can I sit?” she asked gently.

  I just nodded.

  We were like that for a moment before Heather broke the silence.

  “If there’s something you want to tell me, you know you can, right? I’m your friend. You can tell me if there’s something Derek did. I know you guys don’t speak anymore so . . .”

  I whipped around.

  “Derek never did anything to me.” At least, nothing that involved coercion into sex.

  “But someone did,” she urged.

  I looked away again. I hated to talk about this, but Heather was right. She was a friend. She’d opened up and shared something personal with me. I felt like I should reciprocate. Plus, there was a small part of me that wanted to talk about it—that hoped for some sort of closure.

  “It was my mom,” I admitted. “She’s like, the smartest person in the world, but she’s an idiot when it comes to men. The first was my dad. He was a major deadbeat. He left us when she got pregnant. I never knew him. But my stepdad . . .