Serpent Moon

by C. T. Adams

  Another light laugh showed off perfect white teeth that would shrink when she shifted to become tiny rows lining her mouth. “Who isn’t, darls? Not many cockies in this town . . . farmers I think you call them. No, we’re all either diggers, or would like to be, and at least half of us live in dugouts. But I do seem to recall some new people over near Roy’s place. Tell ya what, miss. You check in and get a quick rinse and I’ll make some calls. We’ll find ’em for ya.”

  “That would be great. It’s been a really long day and I could use a hot shower.” She held her hand out across the desk. “I’m Holly, by the way. Holly Sanchez, in case someone wonders who’s looking for Rose and Dale. She’s my sister.”

  The blonde took her hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Adelaide Matthews. My dad owns the motel. And yes, before you ask, it’s spelled like the city. Can’t imagine why my mum picked that name, but I’ve gotten used to it. If we can’t find your sis before dinner, Dad’s a great cook. He’s making his famous chook casserole tonight. Even the locals show up for that, so it might be your sis’ll come to you before we can find her.”

  Holly wasn’t quite sure what chook was, but the whole point of coming here was to experience new things, and now that she was a werewolf, there weren’t many things that could poison her. Even the five-alarm chili her father made didn’t bother her anymore.

  She passed over her credit card, wincing a little when she noticed the room rates. Her card didn’t have a very high limit. It was too new, applied for when she found out about this trip. She’d always operated on cash. Here’s hoping Rose has a room. I doubt Lucas will consider this a Wolven expense.

  Adelaide rang a bell on the counter and a boy of about fourteen came out of a nearby door. “Take Ms. Sanchez to room eight, Tom, and don’t be bothering her for a carry-up fee. Remember what Dad said about that.”

  The boy let out a deep sigh and Holly nearly smiled. But instead she studiously kept her eyes on the contents of her purse as she put away her card.

  THE ROOM WAS spacious and comfortable, a welcome change from the conditions Holly had been living in since she arrived in Australia. As she luxuriated under the hot shower, she couldn’t help but smile at the friendly people she’d met thus far. The terrific people in the Melbourne airport who’d helped her find her luggage when it went missing, and Adelaide downstairs who was going to track down Rose. Of course, there was Crocodile Annie too, the rough old woman with the snake bite, and . . . well, she couldn’t quite seem to forget Eric Thompson, the reason for her trip to begin with.

  She remembered him from long ago, when she was just a teenager and he was the bad boy sent to Boulder to be tamed by Lucas. But she’d never found him particularly bad. Mostly, he’d seemed sad . . . and restless. They’d enjoyed a lot of long talks in the restaurant while she was closing up. She’d basked in the attention and the roses he’d bring. She’d even tried to sneak out to see him, except her father refused to let her date. But, of course, Eric was nearly a decade older. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time, but now she realized how it must have looked. Even if Dad had allowed her to date, he never would have allowed her to date him. “That man’s trouble. You keep your distance,” her father had said every time Eric walked into the restaurant.

  By the time she’d gotten up the nerve to stand up to her father, Eric ran off with Vicki Bailey. She’d heard he got sent off shortly thereafter to Wolven Academy, where his “aggressions could be channeled.”

  They’d apparently been channeled pretty well. She couldn’t help but remember every tiny detail of their most recent encounter as she let the shower wash off the dust and soak away the tightness in her muscles.

  The sky had been the most amazing blue—a color she couldn’t seem to compare to anything she’d ever seen, except perhaps really high-end turquoise. The sunglasses she’d brought barely kept her from squinting, so she’d taken Annie’s suggestion and was wearing a straw hat that fit her better than the leather one Annie wore.

  Annie was a real kick now that she was feeling better. She’d been mumbling incoherently and screaming at things only she could see when Holly had first arrived. But then, she’d also been nearly dead from a snake bite that had turned her leg black, the tissue so decomposed it was squishy to the touch.

  Her old dog had apparently kept predators away from his mistress, based on the scratches and cuts that had torn away chunks of fur and flesh. It was a good thing Holly had Sazi strength, because the old woman probably weighed two hundred pounds. The old, yellow dog never made so much as a growl, which had surprised her. He must have encountered Sazi before, because all he did was sniff at her and then painfully get to his feet and move aside while she carried Annie into the ramshackle hut where she lived.

  It had taken Holly two full days to heal the woman’s injuries, working only with the instincts that came with her healing gift. It would have been nice to be trained, but nobody had ever made the offer, and nobody would return her phone calls when she asked about it. Of course, there was no money for medical school. Hell, even her savings for community college had once again disappeared at her father’s hands. Both Raven and Cat had offered . . . but no, Holly couldn’t take their money. She had some pride.

  Holly had managed to find enough canned food stashed for them to live on, but the water left something to be desired. Still, at least her system could process it better than she could have when she was human. She would have been in the bathroom for the whole time without the healing magic to keep her gut stable.

  When Annie had finally come to, she’d thought Holly a doctor. It was probably better to let her believe that. People didn’t handle the knowledge of magic too well in today’s world.

  Holly remembered the trip into Tarcoola to get supplies more strongly than anything because she had felt so incredibly . . . free. She’d finally been away long enough to have forgotten her anger at her father for the empty savings account, and had been in Australia long enough that the sights and scents seemed almost normal. Slowing the truck for a family of kangaroos didn’t seem any odder than stopping for a herd of deer.

  Do I really have to go home? What would happen if I just disappeared?

  Of course, that thought had come to a screeching halt when she drove up to Annie’s cluttered homestead and saw another vehicle in the yard. Shit. They’ve come to tell me never mind. I’ll bet Wolven’s already found him and I’ll be sent straight back to the airport.

  But it hadn’t been Wolven. Not precisely, anyway. The old, tan Toyota belonged to the very man she’d come to find—Eric Thompson.

  He’d walked toward her Jeep with a confident stride and a sudden wide smile on his tanned face that made her mouth go dry. “Well, as I live and breathe. Little Holly Sanchez.”

  She couldn’t help but grin as she got out from behind the wheel, took off her hat, and leaned against the side of the vehicle. “Not so little anymore.”

  “So I see.” The look that raked her up and down was anything but innocent and she really, really enjoyed it. “All grown up and looking lovely, darlin’.” She couldn’t have planned her outfit better. When he’d last seen her, she was stick thin, her chest board flat, and she’d mostly worn shapeless, utilitarian clothes because they held up better in the rigors of the restaurant business.

  But thankfully, that day she’d been all woman. The sunflowers on her hatband matched the tiny yellow flowers on her sleeveless cotton top. While she still didn’t have much of a chest, this was her favorite shirt for making the most of what she did have. She’d tied the tails so it exposed her midriff and her khaki shorts were a lot shorter than what they usually wore down here. But the sun had felt so good today. It was hot . . . really hot, but she didn’t burn anymore, so she didn’t mind exposing her brown skin to the heat. His nostrils flared and he caught her scent, the fur and magic smell that said she was no longer human. “Your curves aren’t the only thing that’s changed about you. You’ve taken after your father. Better late than never,
eh?”

  She shrugged. It did no good to be mad about it anymore. “Not by choice, I’m afraid.”

  He growled. It was instinctive on his part, and it had a protective edge that made her shiver—in a good way. Annie was in the doorway, letting them have their moment to talk, but they couldn’t keep talking in riddles forever. “Who?” The question was a demand, and she knew why. Attacking a human and turning them against their will was a death sentence.

  Another shrug. “Corrine. You probably remember her. But it’s been handled and I’m dealing. Mostly.” It had been handled. Corrine had been put down on the spot by her uncle Raphael. Holly didn’t actually remember it. She’d been unconscious and near death at the time.

  Eric’s face grew dark, his eyes flashing and his scent filled with peppery anger. “That damned bitch. I thought I made it crystal clear to her when—” He shook his head at her confusion. “That’s a story for another time. For now, let’s go in and see Annie.” He shook off the anger and offered his arm with a flourish. “Are you ready to examine your patient again, Doctor Sanchez?”

  “Oh.” She stopped cold. She didn’t want him to get the impression that . . . “About that. I’m not—”

  He smiled and winked. “I know. Maybe not an M.D., but a healer nonetheless. And you never could resist a sick dog. That’s what gave you away.”

  Heat rose to her face at that moment, and the sensation of his hand pulling hers until it was tucked under his arm was hotter than sunshine against her exposed skin. “It’s just . . . he was in so much pain.”

  He pushed a strand of hair back from her cheek in a gentle way that made goose bumps rise, staring at her with those so-blue eyes, nearly the color of the sky. “Don’t apologize. You gave an old dingo a new lease on life. Never apologize for helping. That’s where I went wrong.”

  It was so nice, so sweet. Just like the Eric she remembered. Then she remembered him running off with someone else. And worse, how smug Jasmine had been, tormenting Holly about it endlessly once she realized how much it bothered her. She pulled back, her body stiffening, so suddenly that he took a step back. She could tell he was about to say something, but Annie called them both inside.

  Things happened too fast after that. She waited until they were alone again, after dinner when Annie went out to check her trotlines in the stream, before she gave him the message Lucas had given her. He left soon after. She wished she knew what they wanted with him, but Lucas would only tell her it wasn’t bad. So that was something.

  Back in her hotel room, the hot water finally gave out, and Holly was left standing in the bathroom of a nice hotel, feeling confused and frustrated. Eric leaving when she was a teenager had probably been for the best. But it had hurt. And she wasn’t too young now. Maybe she’d only imagined it, but it sure seemed like the hug he’d given her as he left was a lot longer than it should have been. And she couldn’t remember a single hug from a cousin or friend where her neck was nuzzled by nose and lips.

  Except he’s gone and you didn’t do a thing to clear things up between you.

  She was just toweling off when the phone rang. She threw on the fluffy white robe that had been neatly folded on the counter, and grabbed the receiver before it reached the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “It is you! Oh. My. God! I can’t believe you’re in Australia!” The words were followed by a delighted screech so loud it forced Holly to pull the handset away from her ear.

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, if I ever wanted to talk to you again, Rose, I sort of had to come. You haven’t called in ages! What’s the four-one-one, anyway?”

  “Where do I start? It has been amazing down here, little sis. I can’t wait to tell you all about it. And I can’t believe your timing! You need to come right over and—” There was a pause and then Rose’s voice sounded even more excited, if that was possible. “No, wait. I’ve got a better idea. Here’s what we’ll do. Why don’t you take a nap for a couple of hours and then come over around eight. It must have been a really tiring trip. Those flights are wicked long.” Of course, Holly couldn’t tell her that she’d already been in the country for a week. The Wolven part of her life had to remain a secret, otherwise Lucas would never trust her for another assignment. She didn’t know if she wanted to be a full Wolven agent, but she didn’t want to be deemed “unsuitable” either.

  “Well, I am tired.” There was no denying that. Healing Annie had taken a lot more out of her than she’d planned. The leg had been so black and squishy it was ready to explode. The rattlesnake toxin had infiltrated nearly every part of Annie’s system so she’d had to move fast, and it had taken days to get all the tissue in Annie’s leg corrected so she didn’t lose it. Thankfully, it had only been a regular snake, not a Sazi, so she didn’t have to worry about the woman becoming one of them.

  “Of course you are. So you rest and have a good dinner and then come over. I’m hosting my first FMU meeting down here and you’ll finally get to meet everyone! Lots of us from the Internet boards have moved Down Under. Char186 is down here, and so is Nobodystoady. You know both of them and I know they’re going to love to see you. Oh, you’ve got to come!

  FMU—Family Members United. She hadn’t thought of the group since . . . well, since she was attacked and turned into a werewolf. “Are you sure they’re going to want to see me, Rose? I’m not one of you anymore. That’s why I dropped off the boards.”

  Rose’s voice turned deadly serious. “What happened to you is the reason I keep active in FMU, Holly. Nobody should have to go through what you did. We have to fight to keep the animals under control. The only way to prevent more attacks is to remain vigilant.”

  Did she consider the term “animals” offensive now? She hadn’t before. It had slipped off her tongue pretty damned often. But now she felt a twinge when she heard the word out loud. She wasn’t an animal. Neither was Cat, her best friend in the world and another attack victim—of a jaguar serial killer.

  It occurred to her she’d never told Cat about FMU. Was it embarrassment at being a member, or simply honoring her pledge to keep the strict code of silence the group demanded? Without even realizing she did it, Holly reached up to touch the tattoo on the back of her neck, covered by her hair. Five teardrops of rich red, in the shape of a wolf print, spoke of her family lineage. All of the “insiders” of FMU had a similar mark. She’d gotten hers at sixteen, when being constantly tormented by her sisters, as well as being the pack’s on-call babysitter and fry cook, demanded she find some outlet so she didn’t go insane. That year, she’d wanted nothing more than to drive her sisters Jasmine and Iris—as well as her father and the other pack members, from the face of the earth.

  But what did she feel now?

  Was this trip even a good idea? She knew Rose was still active in the group. Was this her way of dealing with that part of her past so she could move on, or the still rumbling fury inside that her humanity had been stolen from her? Either way . . . “Sure, I’ll come to the meeting. I’d love to finally meet Charlene and Matthew.”

  “Yay! Okay, so I’ll make plans for one more mouth to feed. Find a pencil. I’ll give you the address. Don’t come until after eight o’clock. I want to get the meeting started and then have you appear. It’s going to be wicked sick, Hol! I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.” Rose chuckled and it made Holly shiver. “I have a feeling nobody is ever going to forget this meeting.”

  Chapter Three

  “I SAID I won’t tell you!” Paolo’s strong, masculine face was set in tight lines of anger. It matched the bittersweet taste on Nasil’s tongue that made his glands salivate. Paolo’s attitude was odd, considering his rather compromising predicament of being tied with silver chains to a concrete bench in the center of a plastic sheet, in front of a variety of knives carefully laid out on a counter. Either he was too fervent, or too foolish to be afraid . . . yet. “There’s nothing you can do to make me talk.”

  Was he really that clueless? A
smile turned up one side of Nasil’s mouth. The other side remained drooped and impassive, reminding him once more of the price this operation had cost him. It simply added to his determination to end it. He pulled a pair of long plastic gloves from a box and rolled them up his arms. The box was already half-empty from the other discussions that had led him to Paolo’s location. “I think it may be too early to say there’s nothing I can do. While it is true my magic isn’t as strong as it used to be, my abilities as a snake weren’t the reason I was given the title ‘the Tormentor of Akede’.” He ignored the slight slurring of his words. He’d worked hard to get his mouth to the point it would talk at all. He wouldn’t quibble about the niceties.

  Paolo let out a low, angry hiss and then clamped his teeth so tightly shut the jaw muscles twitched under his brown skin.

  Nasil picked up the first knife, a recent favorite, with a long thin blade that was perfect for flaying, and a rubberized patterned grip that wouldn’t slip in his hand when wet. But then he paused and stared for a long moment at the man who had betrayed him, who had betrayed all of their kind, and ruined nearly every single thing he’d worked on for decades. Paolo had known Sargon, former king of one of the largest empires to ever exist, and a massive king cobra so powerful he could kill with a single touch. He’d watched Sargon for years while they’d lived and schemed in the jungles of South America. Although he hadn’t known him for the millennia Nasil had, he’d seen the brutal and creative torture Sargon was capable of. So no doubt the rattlesnake shifter had some inkling where this conversation was going.

  And he believed he could withstand it.

  Interesting.

  Likely he’d be concentrating so hard on surviving, to prove his strength, that asking questions might well be useless. But if not torture, then what? What was important to the man? Nasil tapped the knife on the counter while he thought, and while Paolo stared with glittering black eyes, roiling with hatred and anger. Pride. That was what drove Paolo. Pride in his strength—both magical and physical—and in his intelligence. Pride in his machismo. Tough, capable, and insufferably egotistical. Those were things not easily stripped away by knives. And mere physical wounds would be easily healed by his Sazi magic.