Moon Born (The Wolf Wars Series Book 3)

by H. D. Gordon

  When he didn’t finish, I looked over at him.

  He shrugged.

  I paused in my escape to study him. He really was a handsome Wolf; tall and lean and good-hearted, even. There was an innocence to him that was a rare find in these parts, a light to his soul that had been the main reason I’d refused to get physical with him for many moon cycles, despite his insistent efforts. I knew myself well enough to know I would only dim that light in him, only shadow it with darkness.

  But a few weeks ago, I’d been very upset after a particularly violent altercation between my father and Demarco, and I’d gone down to The Row for a drink to take the edge off. Jake had been at the bar, and after a few rounds, I’d allowed him to take me to an old barn in one of the neighboring fields, and I’d had my way with him.

  It was a decision I was slowly learning to regret, and the look in Jake’s eyes now only solidified it. I could see that I was going to end up breaking his heart, because I would not be able to give him what he wanted.

  To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure I even had it to give.

  I turned to him, and whatever expression was on my face made his fall in disappointment.

  “I know,” he said, before I could speak. “You’ve got no feelings for me and never will, right? Cold-hearted Dita. No getting past your walls.” He shook his head. “It’s my fault, really. I knew going in.”

  His words stung, as it was the second time in half a day I’d been called cold, but I gave zero indication of this. I spread my hands. “Guess you got it all figured out, then,” I replied.

  Jake only looked at me.

  “Don’t fuck things up, boy,” I said flatly, my voice low. I was not talking about our relationship, and he knew it.

  He sighed. “I wont,” he said between clenched teeth. “I want to get out of this cursed place as bad as you do.”

  Mostly satisfied with this answer, I nodded once and carried on my way.

  I could feel Jake’s gaze on my back as I slipped between the rows of makeshift homes and released a heavy breath.

  This would mark the start of what would turn out to be a very, very long day.

  The brown sacks in which I’d been packing the twins’ lunches were beginning to fall apart, and would need to be replaced soon, but for now, I filled them with the dried meat, fruits, and vegetables I’d bought from the market the previous afternoon.

  Once this task was complete, I passed my snoring father where he’d blacked out on the couch only a handful of hours before, and Jodi, where she slept in the old recliner near the fireplace where we cooked our meals, and went into the back bedroom to rouse Delia and the twins.

  As usual, the twins roused more easily. They quietly pulled on the clothes I’d washed and set out for them as Delia rolled over to her other shoulder and ignored me.

  After more prodding and several shushes from me (if our father was harsh on good days, he was downright cruel when woken from a drunken slumber) I forced some breakfast in them, and we made it out the door.

  The sun was now making its appearance over the horizon, and the promise of a lingering fall hung in the humid air. The people of The Mound were mostly still sleeping, and only a few of the other youngsters even bothered attending school.

  Ada and Ana walked a couple paces ahead of Delia and me, their puffs of curly brown hair floating like clouds above their little heads. They were quiet this morning, likely still shaken from last night’s fiasco, and they held hands as they moved silently down the dirt path that led out of The Mound.

  “Why do I have to go to lessons?” Delia asked as we followed behind. “Most of the others don’t go.”

  I’d noticed that she’d painted her eyes with charcoal again this morning, and debated telling her that twelve was too young for cosmetics, but decided that of all the battles I’d been facing lately, this was one I would let slide.

  For now.

  “We’ve been over this, Delia,” I replied, letting a little exasperation show. I looked over at her, reminding myself that it was not her I’d long grown weary of. “I thought things were going well at school. Did something happen?”

  I watched my little sister carefully as she decided on her answer. With a sigh, at last she said, “It doesn’t matter.”

  The sounds of our boots scuffing over the dirt and the pitter-patter of the twins filled the space between us for a few moments. I continued staring at Delia. We were both aware that I wanted a fuller answer, and that I would get one.

  With a heavy breath that made her shoulders sink, Delia said, “The other kids know where I’m from, that we’re poor. They make fun of me for it.”

  Inside the pockets of my jacket, my hands clenched into fists, but my expression and posture remained otherwise neutral.

  “What are their names?” I asked.

  Delia looked up at me now from beneath her dark lashes, and I didn’t miss the spark of fear that flashed behind her eyes. She was not afraid of me, but rather, of what I might do.

  “I don’t want you to hurt them,” she said.

  I blinked at her innocently. “And I’ve no intention of doing so.”

  Delia’s lips pursed slightly in a skeptical manner, and one side of my mouth pulled up in a half smile.

  “They’re idiots,” Delia said. “And ignorant… but they’re just kids.”

  Though I didn’t let it show, I was taken aback a bit at the fact that the reputation I’d developed had not been lost on my twelve-year-old sister.

  I nodded. “I know. Which is why you should have no trouble believing me when I say I have no intention of hurting them. I don’t harm children.”

  Delia’s dark eyes narBowied. “Or their families.”

  I sniffed, running a hand under my nose before returning it to my jacket pocket. “Well, now, kids are products of their families.”

  “Dita, please.”

  My jaw clenched as we approached one of the rundown shacks on the edge of The Mound, and joined up with a couple of the other neighborhood kids so that they could walk with our group to the schoolhouse in Borden. Their mothers were there, and they waved and thanked me for escorting the kids, as they did every morning.

  I knew from the look in their eyes that they were afraid of me, that they had heard things about me that would make most think twice before sending their little ones off to school with me, but I gave the same tight-lipped smile and single nod I gave every weekday, and we were on our way. The Mound was a dangerous place to outsiders, but for the most part, we looked after our own. And despite their socio-economic station, the other mothers knew that the true monsters were the business males in their fine clothes and fancy carriages. We would pass by their mansions on our way to the school, and it was not unheard of for young Wolves from the slums to go missing in those parts, taken and never to be seen again.

  So the mothers might think me a vagrant, a violent Wolf with a reputation for brutal and ambitious exploits, but they also knew that their children would make it to their lessons if I walked alongside them.

  Unlike the males in suits, after all, I was the monster they knew, born and raised in the same slums in which they were rearing their children.

  “Don’t worry,” I told Delia, my thoughts coming back to the conversation at hand. “I’m just going to have a talk with them… The names?”

  Delia bit her lip and told me.

  Chapter 4

  After dropping the children off at the schoolhouse, which sat on the edge of the small town serving the large swaths of open land making up the Southlands, I headed deeper into the gathering of squat and ugly buildings.

  The Zouri, a wide, muddy river that cut through the landmass all the way to the Northern Territory, flanked the western side of the town, and cast a perpetual fog over the area. Goods and people were transported down the river daily, and large steam-engine boats could be spotted sailing off in either direction at most hours.

  The Zouri was the source of what relatively little wealth was gathered her
e. The merchants, sailors, and ship workers were a step above the people who dwelled in the slums, but no where near as “fortunate” as the handful of supernaturals who owned the boats, wares, and people who came and went.

  The town, known as Borden, after the prominent Wolf family that had largely built and still ran the area, was made entirely of red brick, mortar, and concrete, with dusty streets that turned dreadfully muddy in the rain, and a market where local merchants gathered at the end of the week to sell food, clothing, and other goods from rolling carts and out of the backs of wagons.

  The spaces in between were filled with old flats no one I knew personally could afford, and many sat empty as a result. My father insisted that when he was a young pup, these apartments had been held by middle class people of all races, but as wages remained stagnant, the people had slowly been forced out, and the flats had been renovated into luxury spaces with rent that was triple the original amount.

  Now, many of those well-to-do families lived in slums like The Mound, their heads spinning about just how they’d gotten there and why it was so damn hard to get out.

  These were questions with answers that I didn’t fully have, but had quietly made it my mission to obtain them. I figured that if I wanted to pull my family out of the crippling poverty that had accompanied us all our lives, I should probably know how we’d ended up there in the first place.

  In the meantime, as always, there was business to attend to.

  The day was warmer than it had been these previous weeks, the whisper of fall clinging hopelessly to the air. Large, gray puffs of steam from the boats traversing the Zouri could be seen drifting over the rooftops, soon to disappear amongst the clouds. The sky was a shade of cornflower blue I knew well, along with the scent of animal feces and mud that always hung around the banks of the large river, thanks to the horses that also brought travelers to and fro by land.

  The dirt road I was walking on led onto the dirt street bisecting the town, taking me past a few storefronts and vendors who took one look at me and pretended to be suddenly very interested in other things. I could never be sure if it was the perpetual hard-eyed indifference I’d adopted out of necessity over the years, or if my minor reputation was beginning to precede me. Maybe it was both.

  The fog rolling off the water was thick this morning, hanging low over the dusty streets and obscuring the shop windows and building edifices. One of the large steamboats blasted its horn, and a group of fat pigeons took flight as if they were offended, causing some horses that were tied up near a trough to whinny and shake their heads. I kept on with my swift but easy pace, my boots collecting dust as I moved down the street, my hips swaying with the weight of the revolvers strapped and hidden around them.

  At the edge of the town, nestled close to the docks serving the Zouri, was the area known as The Row. Here, one could find all manner of things, both needed and unnecessary. Lining the street were small inns and eateries, gambling dens and speakeasies, where one could obtain the alcohol, Wolfsbane or any other manner of indulgence that the government was currently trying to prohibit. Seer-sanctioned magic kept the ornate blue street lamps burning at all hours, the orange flames casting a glow over the place that made shadows appear to dance along the cobblestone ground and walls of the buildings.

  The structures here were mostly concrete, and older than the nicer remodeled buildings in other parts of Borden, but they held a stately façade thanks to the craftsmanship of their architecture. A couple hundred years ago, Borden had been a port that supernaturals all around the world stopped at, and this had brought many artists to the area. The stone gargoyles and three-story high murals adorning the buildings were remnants of their influence, and this, along with the sanctioned use of magic, had kept the town alive all these years.

  If one was a smart Wolf, The Row was where one could make quick money and valuable but dangerous acquaintances. If one was not smart, The Row was where one might end up dead.

  As always, I monitored my surroundings discretely but thoroughly. I passed the flickering lampposts, their orange glow doing little to pierce the fog rolling in off the Zouri. A few more blocks took me to an alley with an old wooden door leading into the building on my right hand side.

  I knocked thrice, and after a few moments, a slat opened and dark eyes appeared through the space. I raised my brows at the viewer expectantly, and the door opened up.

  “Morning, Dita,” said Bowie, the short, pudgy Wolf that was always on the door at this time of day.

  I inclined my head in greeting as Bowie ushered me inside. The interior of the building was much less impressive than the outside. It opened into a small space with a stool, on which Bowie stood to peer out at any visitors. The space was always dimly lit and smelled strongly of booze, tobacco, and other substances. This past week the Hounds had raided the place, but regardless of the scents, had found nothing but a smiling Bowie and an older Wolf sweeping the dark and stained wooden floor.

  Bowie’s mustache twitched as he looked up at me from his shorter height, despite the fact that I was not a tall female, but rather, of average stature. “I’m sorry, Dita, but I need to check you before I can let you in.”

  I unbuttoned the silver buttons on the lower part of my jacket, revealing the revolvers at my waist. “This is all I’m carrying,” I said.

  Bowie nodded, taking the guns and locking them in a cabinet on the side of the small room before giving me a look that said, Rules are rules.

  Sure, I thought. Unless you’re the one who makes them.

  Holding my arms out at my sides, I allowed Bowie to pat me down from ankle to chest, making sure to give him a deadpan I-will-kill-you stare to remind him to keep his touching respectful. He only grinned sheepishly up at me.

  Once the doorkeeper was reasonably satisfied that the small dagger he found in my boot—I’d just shrugged upon his discovery—was the only other weapon I was carrying, he took a key from the ring on his belt and opened the interior door.

  As soon as the door opened, the odors intensified. It was still early morning, noontime a good handful of hours off, and so the darkened tavern was mostly deserted. With a small hitch in my heart, I spotted the man I’d come to meet sitting at the bar, and went to claim the seat beside him.

  The bartender, a Wolf with a bad complexion and bald head, asked without words what I’d like to drink, but a shake of my head had him returning to the other end of the bar to continue polishing glasses.

  “You don’t partake in the poison, Miss Silvers?” asked my companion. His voice was low and deep, that of an undeniable alpha.

  I rested my hands on the bar and replied, “I’ve never made it a habit, no.”

  He looked over at me for the first time since I’d entered, and from this angle, I could see the scar that ran down the side of his face, from ear to jawbone, but was careful not to stare.

  “I suppose that’s a mark in your favor,” he said.

  “Depends on who you ask.”

  He didn’t laugh at this, but I thought maybe he almost smiled. In all the years I’d observed him from afar, I’d never seen Lukas Borden laugh.

  “Do you have something for me?” he asked.

  I reached into my pocket and removed a small, corked vial filled with clear liquid. I set it on the bar between us. Our stools were close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. Lukas picked up the vial, uncorked it, and took a sniff. His brown eyes flicked over to me and his head tilted.

  I shrugged, though I was as nervous as a rabbit in a snare. I calmed myself with the thought that if he really thought I was crazy enough to try to poison him, he wouldn’t have taken this meeting with me in the first place. But that didn’t stop my palms from growing a tad sweaty under that calculating stare.

  After a moment, he winked at me as though his hesitation were only a joke, and tipped the vial up to his lips. He sucked at his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them to look at the empty vial clutched between his thumb and forefinger.<
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  “That’s good moonshine,” he admitted after a final smack of his lips. His gaze flicked to me again and held. “Dare I ask how you came across it?”

  “No,” I replied.

  His eyebrows shot up at my bluntness, and I mentally checked myself. Lukas Borden was not some Wolf from the slums. He was not a male used to being spoken to in such a way. And definitely not by a female.

  “What matters is that I can get more of it,” I added. “And in a much more timely manner than the shipments from overseas.”

  “So it’s manufactured nearby, then?”

  I just held his stare.

  Lukas smirked and turned in his stool to actually face me. I could feel him assessing me, the shape of my body and the lines of my face, my lips. I pretended—as every female learns to early on in life—that his roaming gaze was not discomforting, that it did not feel like an unwanted hand trailing over my skin.

  “All right,” he said, after what I was sure was a longer assessment than he gave his potential male suppliers, “Thirty barrels by the end of the week. Can you deliver?”

  I nodded. I had fifty barrels already waiting, but there was no reason to tell him that. I stood to leave, but he stopped me with an arm on my wrist.

  I was just barely able to keep the growl from rippling up my throat, but somehow managed. Even more difficult was keeping my eyes from flaring Wolf-gold, my hands from clenching into fists. Entitled males had always flipped a switch in me, and in response to their behavior, I’d often gotten myself into serious trouble.

  So I restrained myself from lashing out at the son of the most powerful Wolf this side of the Zouri. I only looked down at where his hand was still gripping my wrist, and then met the brown of his gaze with the cold steel in mine.

  “I’ve heard stories about you, Dita,” Lukas murmured. “They say you are cunning… and cruel. It’s the former that concerns me.”

  I resisted the urge to tell him that it should be the latter.