New Moon Summer (Seasons of the Moon)

by Reine, SM

  NEW MOON SUMMER

  The Cain Chronicles, Episode 1

  SM Reine

  Copyright © 2012 SM Reine

  Published by Red Iris Books

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The White Dress

  Eight Seasons

  Departure

  Mail

  Missing Wolf

  Changing

  Dominance

  Seaside

  A Second Present

  Surprise

  PRELUDE

  The White Dress

  Moonlight shimmered in Gwyneth Gresham’s unshed tears. Her gray braids had been combed out and tied in an elegant knot, and she wore the only dress she owned—a modest cotton sheath patterned with yellow flowers.

  She fidgeted with her niece’s sleeve, trying to smooth the satin flat.

  “Why are you crying?” Rylie asked.

  Gwyn picked up her shotgun and started loading it with silver bullets. “It’s just—you look beautiful, babe. I wish your dad was here to see the way you look tonight.”

  Rylie swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I don’t.”

  Her aunt jacked a round into the chamber. Propped the gun against her shoulder. “You ready?”

  Rylie closed her eyes and imagined everyone waiting for her to step outside. Werewolves on one side. Plainclothes Union army on the other. A murderer hidden in their midst. And Scott Whyte waiting to officiate the wedding.

  Music started to play outside the tent. Whether or not Rylie was ready, it was time to walk down the aisle.

  She picked up the bouquet and used the blossoms to conceal the claws that had already replaced her fingernails. Her inner wolf was stirring.

  Rylie took a deep breath and stepped outside for the wedding.

  ONE

  Eight Seasons

  Two years earlier.

  The forests of Gray Mountain were filled with shrieks and howls. Hunter was pitted against wolf. The soil absorbed splashing blood as gunfire echoed off of the rocks.

  A woman, tall and dark-skinned with blazing eyes, dragged her son onto the rocks ringing the top of the mountain. Together, they approached the swollen moon.

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” Eleanor demanded, shaking Seth’s arm hard.

  “I don’t know,” he said through gritted teeth.

  He was telling the truth. He really didn’t know that Rylie was watching from the trees.

  She circled the battle silently, searching for a way in without getting shot. Her pack was getting killed as she watched, but she couldn’t do anything without risking Seth.

  Her paws gripped the earth. Her nose tilted to the air.

  The wind smelled of blood and bullets.

  Eleanor shook her son again. “Rylie! Come and get him!” Her voice echoed over the yelping wolves.

  The sight of Eleanor’s hand on her son filled Rylie with cold fury.

  She leaped.

  The power of the wolf’s muscles launched her from the trees and onto the rocks atop the mountain. Eleanor raised the shotgun, but Rylie bit before she could fire.

  The feel of her teeth sinking into Eleanor’s leg was fleeting, but satisfying. Rylie jerked the old woman off her feet, and another wolf jumped onto the rocks to help—Abel. He was out for his mother’s blood.

  But Eleanor wriggled free of them and smashed the shotgun into Seth’s gut.

  Both wolves froze.

  “Get down, Abel,” Eleanor commanded, and he could only obey or watch his brother get shot. When he slunk far enough away to satisfy her, she faced Rylie. “Change back.”

  She did.

  A few moments later, she was human. Blond hair hung around her bare shoulders. Her heated skin steamed.

  Eleanor pressed her gun harder into Seth’s stomach and grinned an evil grin. “Walk to the top. Do it. Go on! Call your gods down, and tell them to save you!”

  Rylie ascended, feet melting the ice. Late spring air kissed her bare arms with frosty wind.

  Gray Mountain was supposed to be the seat of the gods, but Rylie never believed it. Not really. And yet, if she was the Alpha—the leader of the wolves, the one who could save them all—was it really so hard to believe there might be more than that, too?

  She reached the top and stretched her arms toward the moon.

  It was waiting. Expectant.

  Her boyfriend watched her from below with desperate eyes, silently begging for her to save herself.

  “Sorry, Seth,” Rylie whispered.

  And she jumped.

  Later, Rylie would try to make sense of what happened after she plummeted off of Gray Mountain’s peak.

  She should have been bashed at the bottom of the cliff. She should have broken every bone in her body and died. But that obviously hadn’t been the case. Her memory was pretty blurry on the facts, but her survival was undeniable.

  She was also certain that someone had spoken to her. Rylie had only the vaguest sense of what they said, but she knew it was apologetic. Something about how the werewolf ability wasn’t meant to be a curse.

  Shouldn’t there have been a face to go with that voice?

  All Rylie remembered clearly was the moon hanging low in the sky. She remembered being bathed in silver light and a weight lifting from her chest.

  She had been given a gift: the ability to change into a werewolf at will, rather than being chained to the cycles of the full and new moon. It was liberation from the monstrous hunger.

  But years later, she still had no idea who had done her such a favor.

  When Rylie climbed to the top of the mountain, she wasn’t the same girl who had fallen.

  She dragged Eleanor off of the cliff, and the woman died at the bottom of the rocks in the way that Rylie hadn’t. The smell of her blood washed over the breeze.

  Maybe she was imagining it, but the moon seemed satisfied.

  She embraced Seth and Abel, went home to Aunt Gwyneth’s ranch, and they worked together all summer to convert it into a sanctuary for the other werewolves who had survived.

  Then they were supposed to live happily ever after.

  Right?

  Three months later.

  Rylie sat on the side of the bed, struggling to hold back tears as Seth packed for college. He had been putting it off for weeks, but he had to move into the dorms that weekend; there was no more time to delay.

  He didn’t have much to take—Seth was leaving his guns behind, so he only had a few outfits and the spiked plugs he kept in his pierced ear.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I have my new address,” he said, stuffing a pair of jeans into his backpack. Wind chimes sang softly outside their open window. “We can write letters to each other again. It’s going to be fun.”

  Fun? Rylie bit her bottom lip and picked at her thumbnail. How could being hundreds of miles away from her boyfriend considered fun?

  He caught her expression and dropped to his knees in front of her.

  “Oh, come on, Rylie. Don’t cry.”

  “I just don’t think I can do this without you.”

  Seth kissed her. His lips tasted salty.

  He cupped her face in both of his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “You’re Alpha, Rylie. You don’t need me to control all of the werewolves. You can do it alone.”

  “But I don’t want to do it alone.”

  “Abel will help you,” Seth said.

  She sniffled. “Abel isn’t you.”

  “Yeah. He’s not. And don’t you forget that.” He flashed his lopsided smile. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

  What was the point in arguing with him? He was leaving for college whether Rylie liked it or not, and she would h
ave to finish off her last two years of high school responsible for two dozen werewolves—alone.

  “I love you,” she said.

  His lingering kiss was all the response she needed.

  Abel took his brother to the airport. It was a long drive into the city, and they didn’t talk much. They hadn’t really talked at all since they worked together to kill their own mother.

  It felt strange, knowing that Eleanor wasn’t out there anymore. After haunting them for so long—trying to kill Rylie, keeping Seth under her trailer, and stabbing Abel—he wasn’t quite ready to believe the nightmare was over.

  He worried, just a little, that saying her name out loud might bring her ghost back.

  They parked in the airport garage.

  Seth sat in the passenger’s seat of the Chevy Chevelle, backpack in his lap, and didn’t move. A long silence stretched between them.

  When two minutes passed without Seth getting out of the car, Abel’s lips spread into a forced grin. “You want me to walk you through security, bro? Need me to hold your hand?”

  “You’ll look after Rylie, right?” Seth asked.

  Abel blinked. “That’s the deal, isn’t it? I look after the ranch while she does school and homework. She handles the changes on the full and new moons. We already worked this out.”

  “But you’re not going to look after her too closely.”

  Seth’s expression was deadly serious. Abel’s shoulders tensed.

  They studied each other from across the car. They might as well have been separated by a chasm.

  “I’ll look after her,” Abel said finally.

  “All right.”

  They shook hands.

  Seth climbed out and went to catch his plane.

  Rylie was sitting on the back step when Abel returned to the ranch. She twisted twine around the stems of dried leaves to form an autumn bouquet, and he stopped at the bottom of the hill to watch. She was absorbed in her arrangement and didn’t seem to realize she was being watched.

  She had changed since they returned from Gray Mountain. Not physically—she had the same almost-white hair, skinny legs, and heart-shaped face. But there was a new aura about her. Abel couldn’t help thinking that she was haloed by a powerful energy. The Alpha spirit.

  Abel was supposed to look after his brother’s beautiful, sweet, deadly werewolf girlfriend for two years until she graduated high school—as long as he didn’t get too close to her. What did that even mean?

  “It’s going to be a long goddamn two years,” Abel muttered to himself, slamming the Chevelle’s door.

  Rylie looked up at the sound and smiled. She smiled to see him. It lit up her whole face.

  Yeah. A really long two years.

  And yet, somehow, twenty-one months, seven seasons, and forty-eight moons passed.

  TWO

  Departure

  It was the night before a new moon, and Rylie was worrying.

  She paced outside the door to Abel’s bedroom, listening to him move inside as he packed for an overnight trip. Rylie already knew what he would take: an extra shirt, a pair of pants, and a handgun loaded with silver bullets.

  He hadn’t shot any werewolves in years, but it was better to have it. Just in case.

  “Why don’t we send someone else?” she whispered to the mirror at the end of the hall, rehearsing her speech. “Maybe Bekah could get this one? No, wait, she’s got yoga in the morning…”

  Dammit, Rylie just didn’t want Abel to leave. Not the night before a moon. Especially not when she was still helping the new werewolf, Vanthe, get settled into life at the sanctuary.

  June was late in the season for snow, but it wasn’t unheard of. What if they closed the roads and he couldn’t get back before the next evening’s new moon?

  She would have to handle almost two dozen werewolves.

  Alone.

  The door opened, startling Rylie from her thoughts. Abel loomed over her.

  He was taller than Rylie. Of course, at six-and-a-half feet, he was taller than pretty much everyone. The sharp odor of silver and gun oils drifted from the backpack at his shoulder.

  Abel didn’t look surprised to see her waiting for him. “Hey, Rylie.”

  “You can’t leave,” she blurted, totally forgetting every single one of her not-so-carefully prepared arguments. She even forgot her authoritative “I am Alpha and you should do what I say” voice.

  Abel’s grin stretched the scars on his cheek. He barked a laugh and sauntered into the kitchen without responding.

  She watched his retreating back, mouth hanging open.

  He was pretty good at communicating without words—werewolves were big on that whole body language thing. And Abel’s swagger spoke volumes.

  They weren’t polite volumes.

  The Alpha wolf inside of her gave an offended growl.

  Abel wasn’t running, but his legs were so long that Rylie had to jog to catch up with him. By the time she reached the kitchen, the back screen was slamming shut with a rusty whine.

  The newest werewolf, Vanthe, was helping Aunt Gwyn pull a tray of broiled meat out of an oven. “Food’s almost ready,” she said when she spotted Rylie. “Better warn the troops.”

  “They’ve been out in the fields all day. We’ll have to ring the big bell,” Rylie said, but she didn’t grab the mallet. She squeezed between Gwyn’s hip and the kitchen island.

  “What’s the rush?” Vanthe asked. He was a tall, lean man in his late twenties with dark skin and shockingly blond hair.

  “Abel’s going to pick up another wolf from the airport.”

  Gwyn threw a critical look over her shoulder as she turned off the second oven. They’d been forced to expand the kitchen in order to accommodate the ravenous appetites of twenty werewolves, and dinner took all three ovens to cook on most nights. “So…?”

  “So tomorrow night’s the new moon!”

  “He’s a big boy, Rylie,” Gwyn said.

  She also said something else, but Rylie didn’t hear it, because she was rushing out the back door to catch Abel. It was one of the first really warm evenings of summer; the darkening sky was thick with the haze of heat, cicadas echoed over the hills, and a breeze sighed through the long grass.

  Rylie found Abel throwing his backpack in the passenger’s seat of the Chevelle. He had washed his car that morning, and it glimmered in the porch light like a steel blue jewel in the otherwise dusty ranch.

  “Come to tie me to a chair so I can’t leave?” Abel asked.

  She ignored the taunt. “Let’s send someone else to get this one. Like Levi—he’s not doing anything.”

  “It’s only a couple of hours away. Not a big deal.” He slammed the door shut.

  “But what if something happens?” Rylie pressed. “What if you can’t get back in time?”

  Abel rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll lock myself in the hotel room for the change, and the Whyte family’s going to get a huge cleaning bill. Like I said. Not exactly a big deal.”

  She bit her bottom lip, watching as he circled the tailgate. That wasn’t what she meant. In fact, she hadn’t even given consideration to Abel transforming without her presence.

  He stopped to lean on the trunk of the Chevelle. Abel gave her an appraising look, and she stared back, chin lifted in challenge.

  Abel had been mauled in a werewolf attack before they met, but every time he transformed, the scars healed a little more. The skin on his temple and chin was still twisted, but his eye and mouth were untouched now. He had actually managed to grow a complete goatee.

  He still looked wholly terrifying to new people, which made him perfect for intimidating young werewolves into good behavior. But Rylie knew better than to be scared.

  “Are you worrying about me?” he finally asked.

  She dropped her gaze first. Some Alpha. “I just can’t handle all the wolves without you,” Rylie told her feet.

  It had been almost two years since they officially opened the sanctuary and Ryli
e took charge of an endangered species. She had survived almost fifty moons as the head of her pack.

  Fifty moons. Shouldn’t that have been enough for her to feel confident in her ability to lead?

  But the idea of getting through a moon without Abel at her back made her heart beat against her ribs like a mouse trying to escape a cage.

  Abel pushed off the trunk of the car and stood over her. A hand touched her chin. Dull surprise jolted through her as she looked up at Abel.

  Rylie expected him to tease her. He always teased her.

  But his face was totally serious.

  “I’ll be back in time.” Abel’s deep voice vibrated with intensity. “I’m not going to leave you alone. I promise.”

  Her cheeks heated until she thought that she might catch fire.

  It looked like he was thinking of saying something else. His golden eyes were fixed on hers, and his mouth opened. Rylie found herself staring at his lips. He was looking better and better now that the scars were healing.

  But then he dropped his hand, and he was grinning again—that lopsided grin that looked so much like his brother’s.

  Abel climbed into the driver’s seat of the Chevelle and rolled down the window. “You better have a bed ready in the barn when I get back tomorrow.”

  He gunned the engine, and she hugged her arms around herself as she watched him peel down the path toward the highway. The tail lights shrunk and faded into the sunset-lit hills.

  Her heart was still beating hard, but not from fear.

  Vanthe emerged from the kitchen holding the mallet. “Dinner’s ready. Gwyn says to ring the bell to let everyone know.”

  She shook her head to clear it. “The bell is on the front step. You want to go around the other way.”

  He didn’t move. “What’s up with that guy?”

  “Abel?”

  “Yeah. He smelled like silver.”

  “He used to be a werewolf hunter,” she said. “Old habits are hard to break, I guess. He still takes a gun with him when he picks up new guys. Like he did with you last week.”

  Vanthe’s eyes widened. He had the same gold irises that all werewolves did. “How did a hunter end up your second-in-command?”