Blood Moon Rising Box Set (Books 1-6)

by Lola Taylor

  The DPI’s witches and warlocks scanned Penelope several times, using different techniques and incantations, but no one could unlock her memory. It was as if those precious few minutes in the dungeon had been wiped out. Gone. Poof. Rendered nonexistent.

  Alara shivered. That had to be scary, feeling like shit and being unable to remember what had happened to you. Wondering if there was something really wrong.

  At one point, they made it back downstairs. The dungeon’s surveillance videos as well as the magical floating camera Penelope had summoned had cut out shortly after Penelope had begun her spell. So those were a no-go for figuring out what went wrong with the spell. The DPI also tried, unsuccessfully, to cast a reenactment spell that would show them what had happened in the room. Basically, ghostly figures, or “shadow images,” of Penelope and the doppelgänger would reenact exactly what had happened. Alara had been looking forward to seeing that. She’d never heard of such a spell and was bummed when they couldn’t seem to be able to get it to work either.

  The DPI was running into dead end after dead end, and the frustration levels in the room were slowly elevating until everyone was grouchy as all get-out.

  But “Agent Stoneface” was relentless. He needed answers, dammit, and he needed them now.

  Only when Penelope began to pass out from exhaustion did the Moonstruck Pack’s Blue Warlock doctor, Heath, puff up his chest and demand she rest. Alara had to admit watching Heath and Agent Chang go at it was entertaining for a few minutes.

  Heath finally growled a curse, saying he was “doing what was best for his patient,” and started hauling Penelope out of the room with the help of another wolf. Agent Chang started to pursue, but Nik intercepted. “I’d be careful, if I were you. I once saw him rip the arm off a doctor who opposed him.”

  Agent Chang turned white as chalk and swallowed hard. Grumbling about how the witch was useless anyway in this state, he let her go.

  Alara suppressed a growl. Useless. Like a piece of machinery that wouldn’t work. An object. Was that how the DPI viewed civilians? Their employees?

  Alara resolved to glare at him the rest of the evening. As a result, he never much looked at her. Which suited her just fine.

  By the time they were finally ushered out of the dungeon, they still hadn’t moved the doppelgänger’s body. What the hell were they waiting for? Perhaps they were just as scared of it as the werewolves.

  And if the “Underworld’s finest and bravest” were afraid…

  After more arguing, questions, and spell casting that seemed to get them nowhere, Nik and Alara joined Gage, Danica, and “a whole shitload of agents”—Nik’s words, not hers—in the woods.

  A nervous tick worked its way through Alara’s chest and shoulders, making her jittery and jumpy at every little noise. The woods she’d found so peaceful only a few hours before now felt ominous, as if monsters hunched beneath every shadow, waiting for their next meal.

  The group now stood by the body Nik and Alara had uncovered earlier, explaining themselves to the DPI for the umpteenth time.

  A leaf fell, brushing her shoulder, and she bit back a screech. Nik, giving her a puzzled look, wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tight. She leaned into him, letting the comfort of his warmth seep into her, drive her fears away.

  It was well past 2:00 a.m. before Gage and Danica were dismissed. Though they weren’t scheduled to leave for a few days, they opted to go ahead and return home in light of what had happened. He wanted to be at headquarters, at the seat of his power, in case anything happened. He needed his war council to form a plan of action to accommodate these new developments.

  Around three, the DPI finally let Nik and Alara retire. Both were silent as they walked back to the manor and into their shared room.

  Nik shut the door, leaning against it while frowning at the floor.

  Alara, thinking the bed looked awfully comfy, plopped down on it and fell backward across the comforter. One arm was draped across her stomach, the other lay splayed above her head. She let her eyes drift shut, welcoming the silence and darkness. Ah, it felt good not to think about anything.

  Footsteps approached, and a moment later, the mattress dipped beside her. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Nik lay down alongside her, drumming his fingers along his stomach and staring up at the ceiling. “I know you’re bummed about the doppelgänger. We’ll find new leads.”

  “I know.” The reply felt wrenched from her mouth. Her throat had tightened up again.

  Damn, why did it seem every time she might actually get somewhere with finding Mistress Black, something always happened to derail her progress? It was growing tiresome. She was exhausted by this never-ending chase. She needed—demanded—justice for her family. And she was running out of leads.

  They lay there for a few silent minutes before Nik at last sighed and stood.

  Alara sat up. “You’re not staying?”

  “Can’t. There’s too many things to take care of, like figuring out how the hell that thing got onto our property in the first place.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I’ll be up soon.”

  He started to turn. She grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him to her in a more passionate kiss. When they at last parted, they were both breathless. “Don’t be long,” she whispered.

  Lust swam in his eyes. Not so discreetly, he adjusted himself; his pants had tightened. “Dammit, woman. You’ll be the death of me.”

  She laughed, and a moment later, he was gone. He cast her a wry smile over his shoulder just before closing the door.

  With the room to herself, she got undressed, changed into a lacy nightgown, and lay down. Her eyes closed almost as soon as she nestled beneath the covers. Though exhaustion tried dragging her under, sleep wouldn’t quite come. A nervous undercurrent hummed in her veins, bringing worry after worry racing through her head. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on her breathing and draining her mind of all thought.

  She’d always had trouble falling asleep, being the worrywart that she was. Usually, she read a book or watched TV before bed to relax and take her mind off things. As tired as she was, she doubted she’d last very long with either. When Nik couldn’t fall asleep one night due to her tossing and turning, she’d finally revealed her problem to him. The inability to shut her mind off. That was when he introduced meditation to her. It was a godsend and worked every time.

  It didn’t take long before she sank into a deep sleep.

  She floated along in quiet darkness, happily surrendering to its promise of peace. That deep, bottomless black consumed her, wrapping her up in a blanket free from worry or fear.

  Finally… nothing.

  It wasn’t even a thought, not really, since she was truly asleep. More like her tired mind sighing with relief to be given a reprieve.

  Which, naturally, didn’t last for long since this was her life.

  Dream-Alara lazily opened her eyes, peering at bright sunlight and blue skies dotted by white, fluffy clouds. Castle Crescent rose to her right, standing guard over the colorful flowers and lush greenery around her.

  Fresh spring grass prickled her back; she was wearing her favorite sundress. She could tell by the soft cotton material and the flash of baby-blue fabric she caught from the corner of her eye.

  The air smelled like roses, lavender, and a heady mix of other flowers. Her mother’s garden always was spectacular in the warmer months.

  Bare feet approached. Alara wasn’t shocked when her sister sat down beside her. Whole, unmarked by death, pretty in her rose-pink dress and golden curls shining in the sun.

  They sat like that for a moment, Izzy gazing out over the rows of neat hedges and trellises fortified with verdant vines and Alara staring up at her sister, trying to capture the moment in her mind like a photograph.

  “You’re not here,” Alara said softly at last. “You’re not real.”

  “Who says I’m not?” Izzy said, turning to look at her. She wasn’t
smiling, not really. Her mouth wasn’t, anyway. There was a sparkle in her blue eyes, the look she always had when she was alive.

  It stung, the realization that this was fake and that she’d never look at her sister’s hopeful gaze again. That bright future, gone in a snap.

  It wasn’t fair. Alara’s teeth clenched.

  “Of course not,” Izzy said aloud. It took Alara a breath to realize Izzy had somehow heard her thoughts. “Life’s not fair.”

  “So you can somehow magically enter people’s dreams and read thoughts now?” That you’re dead, she couldn’t bring herself to add.

  Izzy’s light-pink lips tugged into a small, secretive smile. A bell from a clock tower chimed in the distance.

  Strange. Alara didn’t remember there ever being a clock tower near.

  Izzy frowned, gazing in the direction of the tower. “I don’t have long. There are rules, after all.” That last part had uncharacteristic bitterness. She went about straightening her dress. Not that it needed it.

  Alara frowned. Izzy only hesitated when she wanted to avoid discussing something. Like the time Alara had caught her in the woods one night, lip-locked with one of her father’s knights. After the initial embarrassment, both girls had stayed up half the night giggling and swapping juicy details of each other’s first kisses. Alara remembered a lot of laughter and happiness from those times.

  Tears pricked her eyes. God, she was going to break. Izzy being here was too much.

  She hadn’t dreamed of her until now, not really. Which made her feel both relieved and guilty. She should dream about her sister. God knew she did enough during the day. But her dreams were strangely blank, void of any color except red.

  Death.

  Vengeance.

  The color to match the anger boiling beneath her skin.

  Izzy turned to face Alara, taking her hand and looking her straight in the eyes. “I came here to warn you.”

  Alara sat up, facing her sister. Izzy didn’t kid around, not when she had this serious look about her. Her poker face wasn’t that good. The girl had never been a good liar. “About what?” she asked.

  “There is an evil approaching, a threat that could tear your pack apart.”

  Alara laughed. The sound was too sharp, not at all how laughter should be. Must have been because she didn’t find the situation funny. “You’re a little late there. Evil’s already found us.” Feeling kind of stupid for being so self-aware during a dream but figuring why the hell not, she spilled the story of the doppelgänger stumbling into the celebration earlier.

  Izzy shook her head in frustration. “No, you have it all wrong.” Her eyes turned pleading, awash with sorrow. She cupped Alara’s cheek. Her fingers were cool despite the warm spring air.

  Typical Izzy. Always freezing, Alara thought absently.

  Izzy leaned forward, never breaking her gaze. “You, sister. It will be all your fault.”

  Alara’s brows drew up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Izzy leaned even closer, barely a breath-width away.

  “I mean that you’re evil.”

  Alara bolted straight up, violently ripping herself from the dream. Stars flashed in her eyes as her head spun from the sudden movement. Groggy didn’t begin to cover how she felt.

  A tumultuous storm of emotions assaulted her: anger, confusion, delirium, joy, terror…

  You’re evil.

  Alara pressed a hand to her throat. It had gone dry, making it hard to swallow. She must have been breathing hard during the dream, with her mouth gaping open like a fish’s.

  God, what the hell was that? At first, she’d been happy to see Izzy—stupid, crazy happy. The happiest she’d been since mating Nik.

  And now… now she didn’t know what to feel.

  Revulsion?

  Fear?

  Alara stared at her scraped-up and scarred hands. They looked so different now from how they used to a month ago. They looked tougher.

  More war ridden.

  What had Izzy meant? She was hardly evil. Bitter and enraged from time to time, yeah. Alara wouldn’t deny that.

  But she defined evil as Mistress Black, Gerard, even her father, much as it pained her to do so. If she was evil, then she and Izzy, dream or not, had very different definitions of the word.

  Heaving a long, deep breath and shaking out her bound-up shoulders, Alara climbed out of bed and padded over to the bathroom for a glass of water. It felt good going down, cool and soothing. She felt even calmer after having drunk it.

  She stared at herself in the mirror. Oh my. She’d never really paid attention to her reflection until now.

  Her complexion had paled, looking almost sickly. Her eyes were bloodshot, which would explain the perpetual stinging throughout the day and night. Her dark hair had even lost its luster and curl. Sometime over the course of the month, it had become a frizzy, unmanageable mess. Another problem she didn’t want to think about.

  Something wet and cool shone against her cheek. Alara reached up, her fingertips dampening with the tear she had shed during her dream.

  Remembering Izzy, how close she’d been, made her start to cry all over again.

  Izzy, I miss you.

  Just then, the doorknob squeaked slightly, and she heard the bedroom door open and close.

  A sob blubbered out before she caught it, reining in her sorrow. She shoved the memory of her sister to the back of her mind, where she knew it would linger. It was useless trying not to think of her family at all; she always did anyway, despite her best efforts at keeping those dead faces locked away, where they couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  Exhausted and figuring it was Nik anyway, Alara shut the bathroom light off and walked back out into the bedroom. “Did you finish everything you needed to—”

  She stopped short.

  Because it wasn’t Nik standing just inside her bedroom door.

  It was Penelope.

  “What are you doing here?” Alara finally said. Her body wouldn’t completely relax. It’s just Penelope, she told herself.

  It was of little comfort. Her instincts kept her senses sharp, prepping for escape. Which was ridiculous.

  Wasn’t it?

  Penelope remained eerily still, those silver eyes—

  Wait, silver?

  Alara searched her memories. No, Penelope’s eyes weren’t silver. They were this beautiful purple color. She was sure of it.

  Or were they blue? Crap, were they actually silver? Panic made her second-guess herself.

  Penelope stood there with her hands by her sides. “I just wanted to ask you a question,” she said.

  There was something off about her voice. It was… dead. Monotone.

  As the doppelgänger’s had been.

  Ice shards penetrated Alara’s heart and flooded her bloodstream.

  When the spell had backfired… had… She gulped. Had the doppelgänger somehow managed to take over Penelope? She didn’t want to believe it was possible. Penelope was so strong, one of the strongest witches out there, Nik had said.

  But so little research had been done on doppelgängers, because they could be hard to spot. Some were very good at mimicking their hosts’ personality quirks and speech patterns, making them indistinguishable from the originals. The thought of your own family being unable to recognize the real you was scary as hell. You could live most of a lifetime trapped in your own body, crying out for help, and no one would ever be able to hear you.

  Alara didn’t move. Didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to look anywhere but at the White Witch standing between her and her only way out.

  She risked a furtive glance to the side. If she was fast, she might be able to make it out the balcony doors and into the night.

  If she was fast. Somehow, she knew the witch would be faster. Magic was funny like that.

  Alara tried to speak, but her voice cracked. Swallowing to wet her throat, she rasped, “It’s awfully late. I’m tired, and I’m sure
you need to rest. Can this not wait ’til morning?”

  “It’s very important, actually.” The same robotic voice. Had Penelope blinked at all in this entire time?

  Her eyes had changed colors. They looked normal now.

  Blue. Her eyes were the palest blue, to match her dress.

  Except they were also flecked with silver now. She was quite certain they hadn’t been earlier in the dungeon. No—she was positive. The icy fear in her blood made her so.

  Alara felt that she was losing control, her calm facade giving way to terror. A tremble had started in her knees, washing over her body within mere seconds and making her feel stupid and weak.

  But she could not—would not—feel weak. She would not give in, not to this monster.

  She would fight like hell. For Nik, for herself, for her pack.

  Steeling herself, she discreetly shifted her weight to the balls of her feet as she spoke, prepping to run. “We can play this game all night, you know,” she said.

  “What game is that?”

  “The one where we pretend you’re still Penelope.”

  Penelope actually blinked then folded her arms. An attempt to look more human.

  Goose bumps broke out along Alara’s arms.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Penelope said, this time with more warmth to her voice.

  Alara chuckled darkly. “Don’t toy with me, monster. I’m not as innocent as I look.”

  That silvery sheen returned to Penelope’s eyes, and she smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

  Her hand shot out.

  Alara immediately dove to the side, the silvery wisp of light whooshing by her foot.

  The balcony was her only shot at escaping. She had to reach it, at any cost.

  Quickly finding her footing, she bolted for the doors, pushing her body to its limits. The doors exploded open as she shoved them, fresh air kissing her face just long enough to provide her with the hope that she may yet escape this. That she might not succumb to this unholy terror.