Blood on the Moon

by Jennifer Knight

  But he didn’t.

  We went on like that for what seemed like forever, until the heat of his body became almost too much and I was the one who pulled away.

  “Lucas, I don’t think this is safe anymore.”

  He was shaking beneath me. “I know,” he whispered. I could hear the resentment in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t.” I kissed him gently and pressed my forehead to his. We breathed heavily, our hearts slowing together as if they were one. I reveled in how lucky I was to have found my Lucas, someone I could connect to on more than just a physical level, someone who understood me. He was a part of me now and I didn’t know how I would recover if I lost him.

  I wanted to tell him all of this, but as I opened my mouth to say the words, I looked into his eyes and realized he already knew.

  I had to tell him good-bye the next morning.

  I watched from the bed as Lucas rustled around the room, gathering what he’d need for the trip to Gould. My heart was in shambles, but I’d already sworn to myself that I wouldn’t cry. If I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

  Finally, Lucas was finished packing and he turned to me, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Well, I guess this is it,” he said. His eyes were rimmed in silver, just as they always were when the full moon was close. I wished I could see them deep brown one last time....

  No. I can’t think that way. Lucas is going to be fine tonight. He has to be.

  “I have something for you,” he said. He took a step forward—not coming too close because the likelihood of him changing was increased today—and held out what looked like a foot-long pointed stick about as thick as my wrist.

  I took it and frowned up at him.

  “It’s a stake,” he said. “If something goes wrong tonight or if he’s sent someone else to get you . . . Well, I don’t know how much use it’ll be, but I’ll feel better knowing you have a chance.”

  I couldn’t manage a smile, but I nodded and tucked the stake into the pocket of my hoodie.

  Lucas adjusted the duffel bag and stepped back again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Faith.” His tone was more convincing than reassuring.

  I managed another jerky nod.

  I wanted to tell him I loved him, to say good-bye, but I was terrified that if I said the words, if I let good-bye become a possibility, then I would never see Lucas again. And that was a reality I wasn’t prepared to handle.

  So I remained quiet, restraining the tears until they became too much. I looked up, desperate for something to comfort me.

  Lucas’s metallic eyes met mine, frustrated and yearning. I could tell he wanted to close the distance between us and hold me—and God, did I want him to—but the danger was just too great. Instead he gave me a small, heartbreakingly sad smile and left.

  After two hours of crying, I spent the rest of the day and part of the night asleep. Lucas and I had stayed up the entire night before, so I was pretty exhausted. It was my cell phone that woke me at one thirty in the morning. With a jolt, I realized that Lucas would have changed by now and that he and the pack were already on their way to Vincent’s lair.

  Groggily, I reached for my phone and had to do a double take when I saw the caller ID.

  It was Derek.

  Derek and I hadn’t spoken at all during the past few weeks, except once, right after we’d returned from skiing. I had gone to his room to get my phone, which I had left in his car. I wanted to smooth things over with him too, but when he gave me the evil eye and chucked my phone at me from across the room, I’d decided it was time to leave.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hey, Faith,” he said. His soft, deep voice was like a warm blanket surrounding me, comforting my fear for Lucas. I’d missed Derek’s voice. “Listen, I want to talk to you. Can you come down?”

  As much as I missed him, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with any Derek drama right now. My nerves were already too frayed. “Why can’t you just tell me whatever it is over the phone?”

  Derek hesitated. “I need to see you. It’s about what’s happened between us. I wanted to say—” He cut himself off and made a funny strangled noise. “Look, can’t you just come down?” His voice was hard now, almost reluctant.

  I rubbed my eyes. “That’s not possible, Derek. I’m in the middle of something right now.”

  “I’m outside in the courtyard. Just meet me down here.” I heard a sharp intake of breath and then, “Please.” But the word sounded harsh, ugly.

  “Wait—you’re outside? In the dark?”

  Derek was silent, probably trying to figure out why it mattered that he was in the dark. But I knew why it mattered. He couldn’t be outside during the night because if something went wrong during the raid and Vincent decided to come for me, he’d find Derek—the perfect bait to get me to leave Lucas’s room.

  Or there might even be a werewolf out there—it was a full moon.

  No, Derek definitely needed to come inside.

  “Fine, I’ll be right down to let you in. I’m in Lucas’s building, so go there.”

  I hung up and threw my shoes on. Flying down the stairs, I realized just how much danger I was putting myself in. If Vincent or some other creature was out there to get me, I was doing them a huge favor by coming out to meet them. But I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t leave Derek. But I’d just go to the door and crack it open for him. I didn’t even have to cross the threshold.

  But when I got to the front door, I peered through the glass pane and saw that Derek wasn’t there. Cursing, I opened the door and peeked around the corner of the building, still keeping my hand on the door.

  “Derek?” I called quietly.

  Nothing. The courtyard was illuminated in a stale yellow light that cast black shadows in every crevice. Thick foliage heaped in snow surrounded the buildings, providing the perfect hiding place for anything that might have been lying in wait.

  Then there was a blast of wind in the center of the courtyard and two people materialized as if from nowhere. My heart caught in my throat and I closed the door immediately, staring through the glass pane in horror.

  It was Vincent.

  He stood covered in blood with a body pressed close to his chest. His sardonic gaze was locked on me, and his pointed teeth were bared in a bloody grin.

  But I wasn’t looking at him. All I could see was the human caught in his grasp, the crystal blue eyes pleading with me and the rigid jaw, grimacing in pain.

  I pressed my hand to the door.

  Derek.

  21

  ESCAPE

  Something had definitely gone wrong during the raid, that much was clear. If Vincent had smelled the werewolves before Lucas had a chance to call in the rest of the pack ... I stared in horror at the blood ringed around his mouth. Lucas . . .

  Vincent moved slightly and a glint of silver flashed at me. A knife. Held at Derek’s side and pressing into his skin.

  My immediate reaction was to go out there. I grabbed the door handle, but stopped short. Going out there was exactly what he wanted. And he would probably kill Derek either way.... At least inside, I had some leverage. I removed my hand and propped it firmly on my hip. I caught Vincent’s eye and shook my head meaningfully. I wasn’t going out there.

  His smile widened. Derek suddenly gasped and arched his back. My hands flew to the door handle again.

  Vincent crooked a finger at me, still smiling as if he knew some deadly secret I had no knowledge of.

  I cracked the door, still keeping my feet planted on the inside of the threshold.

  “Let him go,” I said. “I’m not coming out.”

  Vincent’s voice was nothing more than a murmur, but I heard him clearly. “Then he dies.”

  “Faith, don’t come out.” Derek’s voice, hoarse and pained, but still adamant. “I’m sorry.... I really did want to see you. I was in my car about to call you and then he . . . whoever this is, saw me. He made me call you and tell you to come
down. I’m sorry. . . .”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said numbly. “You didn’t know.”

  “Just stay inside.”

  But I couldn’t stand here and watch Vincent stab Derek to death. I had to do something. I started to protest, but Derek cut me off, his voice firm. “Look, I didn’t go all this time without you—realize that I can’t live without you in my life—just to let you be murdered by some random psycho. Go inside and call—” Then he grunted loudly, holding in his pain.

  “Enough,” Vincent said. “Your adolescent sentiments bore me. Come outside now.”

  I didn’t move.

  “This knife can go deeper,” Vincent said calmly. “I have no interest in killing him. As you can see”—he said and then licked his scarlet lips—“I already ate dinner. But I’ll gladly stand here all night, pressing this knife deeper and deeper. Over. And. Over.”

  Derek gasped again and cursed. Blood was beginning to accumulate at his feet.

  I closed the door again, keeping my eyes on Derek. His eyes were clearly telling me to go inside. To call ... what? Call the police? Poor Derek had no idea what we were dealing with. Vincent would be gone long before the police got here and he’d take Derek who-knew-where to kill him. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Derek was going to die if I didn’t go out there.

  So it was him or me.

  I wanted to cry, but refused to let Vincent see me lose it. So I made my hand take the door handle. Made my arms pull the door open.

  “Faith, go back inside!”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to watch you die.” I turned my eyes to Vincent. “Let him go and I’ll step outside.”

  Vincent’s smile had finally gone and his eyes narrowed into slits. He regarded me carefully for a moment.

  “No. Come outside and he will be unharmed.”

  Slowly, I put one foot over the threshold, feeling a swell of frigid air. “Now let him go.”

  “Faith—”

  “Shut up,” Vincent spat and dug the knife into his side. “Enough from you. All the way out or your friend is going to be in an unbearable amount of pain. You have two seconds.”

  I stepped out of the building, keeping my hand clenched on the door.

  Vincent’s smile reappeared, twisting his face in the sallow, yellow light. “Excellent.” He shoved Derek to the ground and slipped his knife into his coat. He stepped over Derek and strode up to me, extending his hand.

  I tried to scramble back inside, but I knew before I even started that it was silly. He was so much faster. His hand clamped onto my upper arm and it was over. I looked up at him, hating him so much I thought it would come pouring out of me and melt his disgusting, handsome face.

  Then Derek was standing again, breathing hard.

  “I’ll kill you,” he grunted.

  Vincent didn’t even bother to turn around. He just smiled down at me. “Ready, darling?”

  “Go to hell,” I breathed, barely able to make my voice work.

  He crooked a rueful grin. “Already there.” He pulled me close and yanked me hard.

  I heard Derek yelling for me as I was whisked away to Vincent’s car, parked next to my building. He threw me into the passenger’s seat and rocketed around to the driver’s side. I had just enough time before Vincent sped away to see Derek running after us. He leaped into his car, parked beside Vincent’s, as I reached for the door handle, hands shaking.

  Then there was a sharp pain in the back of my head, stars bloomed behind my eyelids, and then ... darkness.

  I awoke to a cold, clammy feeling on my forehead. Vincent leaned over me with that sick gleam in his eyes. His hand was on my head, and he removed it when I looked at him.

  “Apologies,” he said. “Most of you women take to screaming when placed in stressful situations. I find it’s less taxing on my delicate hearing if I render you unconscious.” He straightened and offered his hand to help me up out of the car.

  Blinking away the pain in the back of my head, I ignored his hand and got out by myself, staggering as I stood up. I looked around blearily. “Where are we?”

  But then, I already knew where we were. I’d been here before. On Halloween. We stood outside of the barn where Vincent had held his party. The shadowed structure loomed over us—its large windows pits of ebony and the moon above like a pearl. I glanced around at the desolate snowy field surrounding us in all directions, halfway hoping to see the pack barreling out of the woods in the distance. But they were nowhere to be seen.

  Something had definitely gone wrong.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I asked quietly.

  “To wait for him.”

  Ice cold relief ran through me. Lucas is alive.

  Vincent seemed to sense what I was thinking. “Yes, he came here tonight. Unfortunately for him, I was elsewhere. I smelled the disgusting mongrels as soon as I returned, however, and I thought this was my best chance to get to you.” He leered at me. “It would seem that I was correct.”

  “So why haven’t you killed me yet?” I hated to ask the question, but I also hated not knowing. I decided being upfront was easier than admitting to myself just how frightened I really was.

  Vincent sighed melodramatically. “Questions, questions . . .” He put his hand on my back and pushed me toward the barn, which was now infinitely more terrifying than it had been when it was a haunted house. “Let’s talk inside, shall we?”

  As we walked silently toward the barn, I looked up at the moon, the perfectly round orb taunting me up there in that black sky. I narrowed my eyes at it and then turned my attention to the inside of the barn.

  It was then that I saw them: four pinpricks of gleaming light from within the inky darkness of the barn door. Eyes. I could feel a deranged energy coming from within, sparkling like fireworks, and I knew in an instant that there were werewolves hiding in there, left behind to await Vincent’s return.

  Vincent realized it at the same moment I did and threw me to the side with a shriek.

  I hit the snow and looked up in time to see two werewolves thrust themselves out of the barn. Vincent met them halfway, leaping nimbly over their heads and landing in a pounce. He hissed viciously as one of them spun around and attacked.

  The other, much smaller and russet colored ran through the field, toward the woods, letting out a shrill howl that echoed through the night.

  He was going for help.

  A sound like a blast of thunder made me turn. Vincent and the werewolf were fighting, their bodies clashing together, biting and scratching. Vincent was whippet quick, his reflexes bordering on precognition. In his hand was a blade, silver and already coated in blood. Each time it bit into the werewolf’s flesh, a yowl sounded, twisting the ache of nerves in my gut. Vincent was magnificent, a blur of precision fighting.

  But I marveled at the werewolf. His body wasn’t shaped like a wolf at all—more like a gigantic man than anything. His back was hunched and layered with ropey gray hair; his arms were thick, bulging with muscle, and ending in gnarled claws. His face was the most wolfish, a snout and two glowing eyes, jagged teeth like steak knives.

  His strength was like nothing I’d ever seen. Once he managed to land a blow, it sent Vincent flying, skidding through the snow. But somehow Vincent always got up, always charged again, his face a crazed mask of fury.

  I didn’t know what to do—some part of me was yelling, Run! But my eyes were glued to the fight. My heart pounded, adrenaline flowing as I watched. The terrible beauty of it stunned me. I wanted the werewolf to win, wanted it like nothing else, because I knew that if Vincent lived, I would be the next to die.

  They were a mess of limbs. I couldn’t see what was happening until—crack!

  The werewolf went limp and Vincent sprang away, his eyes alight with victory. For a moment, there was no sound, just the rushing of my blood through my veins and the stopping of my heart.

  He’d lost.

  My one hope ... gone.

  The werewolf’s b
ody jerked and shivered. For one golden moment, I thought he was still alive. But the werewolf’s body morphed back into a human—a man with light brown hair and staring blue eyes. Eyes that would never see again. Vincent bent and took the man’s head between his hands. He twisted it and, with a sound like feet squelching in the mud, tore it off.

  I gagged, looking away.

  A thunk—the head hitting the ground.

  Tears raked across my cheeks, nausea swimming in my stomach. I risked a look and watched Vincent take the knife and plunge it into the man’s chest. A flash of silver and it returned to his coat.

  The werewolf was dead, his blood pooled in the snow spreading against the white like an oil spill. I stared, entranced by the gore.

  Vincent’s swift footfalls reached my ears as he came to me. He tugged me to my feet and I sagged, unable to support myself.

  His chuckles in my ear were like the rustling of forest leaves. I looked up at him, hate in my eyes.

  “Disappointed?” he asked with a mocking grin.

  I lifted my chin defiantly, pushing away from him. “The other one got away.”

  “I let him leave, darling. How else will your boyfriend know where to find us?”

  I swallowed hard, angry that the one small victory I’d been clinging to had all been part of Vincent’s plan.

  “Lucas will kill you,” I said, mostly to comfort myself.

  Vincent cocked a slim eyebrow and ushered me forward. We crossed the threshold of the barn, Vincent’s lair. It was starkly empty when compared to how I’d last seen it. Blue light filtered in through the hayloft above us, giving Vincent’s chalky pallor a spectral glow. He’d never looked less human to me. I jerked away from his hand on my back.

  “Why does Lucas have to be here for you to kill me?” I asked, although I thought I knew the reason.