Authors: Ally Thomas
LOVE BEGINS IN HELL
(The Moon Journals: Part 1)
By Ally Thomas
Copyright 2013 Ally Thomas
All Rights Reserved
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. They are not to be construed as real, nor used in other works of fiction without written consent by the authors.
As a YA paranormal romance, the content of this story is meant to be for Young Adult and New Adult audiences.
Table of Contents
(The Moon Journals: Part 1)
By Ally Thomas
For some of my friends who are fans of the Fang, love begins when they least expect it. They don’t plan to fall in love. It just happens. That’s probably how it’s for all creatures, vampires, witches, humans, werewolves. That’s the way I think of it. For me, that’s how it happened too. What’s wrong with that you may ask? Girl meets guy. Girl falls in love with guy. Girl lives happily-ever-after with guy. That’s how it works, right?
In my case, I fell in love…with the bad guy. However, I should say that I don’t consider Dante a bad guy. I never have. Did I mention I’m a werewolf and Dante’s a demon? I’m awful with introductions, so I’ll start with this. My name is Elana. I’m twenty-one-years old. And I’m a werewolf, of the Chosen I should add. I’ll explain that soon. Don’t worry. Oh and I need to tell you too, Dante and I met in Hell. Try that on for size. Okay. I should probably get this laid out for you. At the time I started these journals, I had just turned 18. I met Dante on my birthday. Here’s how our romance began…
In the Closet
The minute I woke up, I knew I was alone. For how long I had been alone, I didn’t know. “
Move, Elana. Move
,” I thought to myself. Cold steel stung my naked flesh, and I realized I was no longer at the party. I was in a cage. I opened the door and wiggled my way out, pulling my long flowing dress with me and ripping it on the cage.
Who had put me in a cage? And where was I?
I remembered I was at the Garden party, trying to be social. A bartender with a funny looking red hat and a face full of piercings had handed me a cup of punch. Noticing that his nose ring and stud in his lip seemed out of place to me. As a result, I had spilled the punch on the $1000 dollar azure Mori Lou Paparazzi gown my stepmother had bought for me. The stain was still there, covering a section of ruffles along my hips and the side of the sequin-trimmed bodice. Oddly it didn’t matter that my dress was ruined. It would matter to my stepmother, but I didn’t care. The more I could piss her off, the better, I thought as I smoothed out the torn ruffles. The dress was ruined. I hated wearing dresses, almost as much as I hated going to my father’s countless parties in the Garden. I had decided to go to this last one because it was my eighteenth birthday and I was determined to run away so I could search for my sister and aunt who had gone missing from the Garden weeks ago.
Pushing my family drama problems to the back of my mind, I observed my current surroundings instead. The room was sparsely decorated with only a few items positioned about strategically. The enormity of the room halted me in my tracks as I searched around. A square dining table that doubled as a writing desk and nightstand was shoved up against the wall next to the largest Victorian four-poster bed I had ever seen. A pile of books and papers was scattered on the table amid a few small cobalt blue glass bottles, bowls, and ceramic cups. Almost touching the seven-foot-tall wooden ceiling, the bed was made of the same red mahogany wood and had a green velvet bedspread and curtains lined with gold tassels. The bed stood on a plush forest green and tan rug that peeked a few feet out from beneath the huge bed. Clearly a guy had decorated this room, but what kind of man? A giant?
When I heard voices in the other room, I dove into the closet.
What can I use as a weapon?
I stood frozen in fear, contemplating and questioning my every move.
How was I going to get out of this place?
My hands began to tremble uncontrollably.
Control, Elana. Get control of yourself.
Standing in the closet, I realized its enormous size too. It had to be the size of a large hallway and my 5’ 6” frame fit nicely in the narrow passage. A large chest of drawers stood before me as I put my back to the closet door. I searched through each drawer, hoping to discover something useful, and then suddenly felt cold steel.
These will do.
Finding the knives gave me strength, but hearing voices from the other room greatly worried me. It was like both male voices were right outside the closet door. My werewolf hearing immediately tuned in to their voices. I couldn’t resist as I listened in.
“Who is that girl in my room?”
“She’s your new pet. It’s time you train a werewolf to be your pet. We need more hellhounds as the Season of the Games nears,” the raspy voice replied.
“I don’t need a pet, Father.”
“I handpicked her for you, my boy. I thought you’d be grateful.”
“I won’t play in your games.”
“Oh yes, you will,” the raspy voice snapped.
“Dante, my boy, I snagged a pure werewolf. It was so simple. In my disguise I dreamed up – not this of course – I was a … Well, never mind. Anyways she came right up to me. It was so easy.”
“Not the garden trick again? Tell me you cleared this with one of your brothers.
“Nope. Didn’t need to.
A roar of laughter from the raspy-voiced creature sent shivers down my spine.
I thought. This was real. I had been tricked by a demon.
I had to find my way out of here immediately.
The man with the kind voice began again. “I realize Beelzebub is busy, but you at least notified Leviathan about this. Didn’t you? You can’t keep kidnapping wolves like this!”
“No.” A loud thud came from the room and I jerked suddenly, forgetting for a moment that I was hiding behind a closed door. The men were related, but did not seem to get along at all.
“Honestly where is your spirit of adventure? You’re a pale-face hybrid. Plain as vanilla. With no imagination. Why did I get such a useless son?”
“You don’t have to make this personal, Father. I may be a lesser demon, but my mother was not. She was a sorceress.”
“No, she wasn’t. She was crazy, same as you. I will not tolerate your backtalk.”
Another loud crash blasted through the room. I held two of the knives tightly in each hand, pointing each at the door, ready for any danger. I glared at the door, seeing only slivers of dim light coming from the outer room. The closet was my fortress of protection.
It couldn’t be true.
The stories my aunt had told me about members of our pack being kidnapped by demons, for centuries, being snatched from the Garden to then serve in Hell. Hellhounds they were retrained and called, she said. And the pack forgot them forever, like they never existed.
Was I now a casualty, dragged down to Hell, never to return to my family?
“I keep the peace here. I don’t need you kidnapping wolves from the Maker’s Garden What if she’s a chosen one and the Moon Goddess comes for her? You risk all our lives, Father!”
“You are such a dumb brute,” the raspy voice said. “No one will care that she’s missing. And no one has seen the Moon Goddess in centuries. She, and the Maker, don’t exist anymore. That’s a myth the Werewolf King came up with to protect the Garden. It’s a bunch of crap. They can’t keep us out, and I proved that today. The Garden has no one protecting it. The Moon Goddess is gone. And when I add her to my collection of skulls on my wall, why my brothers will be proud of my trophies. Wait until they hear about this!”
“You’ve taken leave of your senses.” The kinder-voiced man yelled back, losing his patience. The anger in his voice was easy to detect. I stood like a statue in the closet, mesmerized by the two men, or demons I guessed, arguing. My fate and future was being decided without any input from me. I wanted to summon the courage to quietly exit the closet, and perhaps move closer to the outer door. But my fear paralyzed me.
When I heard another slamming of a door, I realized someone was in the room with me. It was a good thing I had remained where I was. The demon’s declaration of my being dead soon assaulted my senses. I prayed the raspy-voiced demon was not the individual on the other side of the closet. I hadn’t used my fighting skills in a long time and I knew I was rusty. I remained frozen in fear, waiting for the next sound to present itself.
As the large figure came into view, I exited the closet, took aim and threw the first knife of several across the room. I stood behind the massive bed, using it as a bunker. This demon was not going to take me alive.
The figure grunted, slumping slightly to the ground.
I heard the weapon I had thrown at him fall to the floor.
My aim was bad and had not found the demon’s heart. I was at a great disadvantage. “You stay back, demon!” I shouted, hoping to sound far more threatening than I’m sure I appeared to be. “I’ve got more where that came from!” I was maybe one hundred pounds. Cold, scared, and weak from hunger, I was half of that I was sure. Or at least I felt like that. Adrenaline and self-preservation would have to see me through.