Moon Crossed (Werewolf Hunter Series): Season 1 (Episodes 1-6) (Crescent Hunter) (8 page)

“He was an
orphan, so my aunt took him in and raised him.” That is the
happy part of the story; now, the other tragedy that makes us
siblings. “And when my dad died...she took
me
in.”

“How did your mom
die?” He asks and I can see the regret in his eyes as soon as
the words leave his mouth.

I press a defeated
smile. “Wolf.”

“Oh,”

“Yeah,”

“Wow, that's...”
He can't find the words.

“Yeah.” I
stop him from trying.

“But you two look
so much alike,” he remarks, and I can see him picturing Trevor
and I standing side by side.

“I know. It's
weird, isn't it?” I've always thought so.

“Yeah, when I met
you last night and could tell you weren't wolf-borne, I thought you
were just plain ol' human. But then I felt you.” He smiles
roguishly.

“I'm not plain
ol' anything.” My brow arches as I take a sip of my drink, then
lean back in my chair holding up one finger toward him. “And
you should know that you can't feel me, I'm a hunter. We can feel
your
presence, but you can't feel ours.” I dip my chin
downward to drive home the lesson.

“That's where
you're wrong. Last night, I could feel you. Before we went on the
walk, I thought that it was just being around a bunch of wolves. But
in the woods, when we played, I could feel you.” His tone is
curious, but insistent.

“Interesting.”
I don't know what to make of it.

“I thought so.”
He empties his drink. “I need another; are you good?”

“I'm fine.”
I look in my cup and realize that my drink is nearly gone. Shit.

He returns with his
fresh drink for himself, along with the bottle of bourbon. “Are
you sure? I mean, aren't you gonna try to keep up?” He quirks
his eyebrows.

“Um, no. I think
you have a lot more experience with that than I do.” I suck in
my bottom lip.

“That,” he
pauses, “is a true statement.” He raises his glass to me.

“Why do you drink
so much? I mean, the boys talked about a lot of your excessive
exploits.” My eyes narrow in on him, trying to see beyond his
bad-boy facade.

“To kill the
pain, darlin'” He wipes his upper lip.

“Tell me about
your pain.” My tone is sympathetic, but curious. I want to know
everything about him; he'd be fascinating to study, but that's the
scientist in me.

He pulls his cell phone
from his pocket and checks the time. “We don't have that kind
of time. I have to be home by eleven.”

“Curfew?” I
ask, almost mocking him.

“Yeah, one of the
few downfalls to living with my parents.” He inhales and widens
his eyes, “The rent is cheap, but the rules are a bitch.”

“I can imagine.”
I roll my eyes. “Aunt Rain has always been pretty lenient with
us, giving us enough rope to hang ourselves. She says it helped
prepare us to make better decisions as adults.”

“Funny.” He
huffs a laugh.

“How's that
funny?” I fail to see the humor.

“Well, she raised
you both preparing you for adulthood, when we all know there's a good
chance neither of you, or any of us, will survive that long.”
He empties his drink again and sets the glass down on the railing.
“Sort of why I'm not bothering with college.”

“Aren't you the
thanatophile?” I pull my head back, and yes, I'm judging him.
I'm also remembering the tidbits of his intelligence from last night.
Now let's see if it was just a regurgitation of some cool phrases he
saw on a restroom wall or if he actually is well read.

“Oooh, and she
pulls out a bonus word.” His knowing smile says he's familiar
with this word. “And yes I am.” He pours more bourbon in
his glass and raises it, taking another drink.

“Why so morbid?”
Sometimes, everything feels like research.

“Our life, what
we are, lends itself to fascination with death.” He shakes his
head. “One of the first things we are taught when we shift is
how to kill. How to satiate that need.”

“Still, it
doesn't have to be all doom and gloom.” My features droop in
sadness at the thought.

He takes a long
contemplative drag off his cigarette with his eyes shut. “A
normal human being does not want the Kingdom of Heaven: he wants life
on earth to continue.” He tilts his head down and looks me
square in the eye. “I'm not a human and I'm not normal.”

I try to mask my
astonishment. “George Orwell,
not
from
1984
.”

A prideful smile plays
on his lips. “Lear, Tolstoy, and the Fool.”

“I'm aware.”
I study his features and he bathes in it, watching me. “But are
you saying you welcome death?”

“I'm playing with
it right now.” He squares his shoulders when he says it.

It takes a moment for
me to process what he's saying. “Me?”

He cocks his head,
“That's what you are to me, the one thing that knows with
absolute precision how to destroy me. Yet, here I am.”

I'm not sure whether to
be offended or flattered. It hurts me that he thinks of me that way.
I would never hurt him unless I had to. I narrow my eyes at him as my
anger wells up inside me. It's my choice at this point how this
evening goes and I consider carefully. “People living deeply
have no fear of death.”

“Anais Nin, well
played.” A satisfied smile bleeds across his features.

“It's true,
though, and our kind have no choice but to live deeply.” My
features soften.

“Somehow, I've
just always known I'll die bloody.” He nods with a hint of
sadness in his tone.

“Maybe you won't.
Maybe you'll find a beautiful she-wolf, have lots of little cubs and
get old watching your grandchildren grow.” I'm surprised how it
stings when I say the words, knowing I could never have that with
him, and there's a slight pang of...something, making that
realization. “Which is why you should go to college. You don't
want to have to feed a family working in a lumber yard for the rest
of your life.”

“How do you know
I work in a lumber yard?” he questions.

“First, because
you smell like cut wood, and second, because you mentioned it last
night when you were telling a story of how you cut your thumb off and
had to pretend to go to the emergency room,” I remind him.

“Oh yeah, it's a
pain in the ass. Every time I get hurt I have to take time off work,
even though I'm fine. I had to basically run off the job site when I
cut my thumb off. I couldn't let them see the sucker growing back.”
His eyes dance on the smile in them.

Giggles erupt from me,
imagining him trying to explain that. “Yeah, I can see how that
would be a problem.”

The conversation
continues well into the night, ranging from serious to funny stories
I've never heard about Trevor and the boys. He fills my drink one
more time. I'm still well within my limit of good decision-making.
That was the goal.

I'm a little ashamed
that I let my initial judgment of him cloud my opinion. He is not
just intelligent, he's intellectual. Having read some of the classics
that I haven't even read. We share so many of the same life views,
although I candy coat mine a bit from time to time to keep things
from getting too dark.

The conversation comes
back around to serious again. I look up at the larger sliver of moon
looming in the sky. Each night for the next two weeks it will get
bigger and bigger. A slow menacing reminder of what's to come.

“So what are your
plans for the full moon?” I run my finger around the lip of my
glass.

“Go runnin' wild
in the woods.” His eyes light up and he quirks his brow. “Can't
hold in the wolf.”

“Aren't you
afraid you'll become moon-touched?” This concerns me.

“I've never been
worried before, why should I now?” It comes out as almost a
challenge.

My desire to save him
takes over and I struggle with not wanting to say what he wants to
hear. I don't want to, but say it anyway. “Because it would
make me sad.”

He fires off the
question fast. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”
I answer quickly, before the words turn to sand in my mouth.

“Is it because
you would kill me?” he asks waspishly.

“I wouldn't like
to, but if you become moon-touched, I have no choice.” My voice
feels hollow and I want to change the subject. I don't like this line
of the conversation.

“But you would
still do it?” He squints his eyes, watching for my expression
to waiver.

“Yes.”

“Would you kill
Trevor, Rabbit, or Locke?” There's an edge of the hunter/wolf
rivalry in his voice.

“If I have to,
yes
.” I match his challenging tone. “But I'd
rather not.”

“Then don't.”
His nostrils flare, but he's trying to hide his irritation.

“It's not that
simple.” My voice waivers only a little.

“It is.”

“No, it isn't and
that's why I'm working on a way to keep it from happening.” I
shake my head to lose the frustration. I want to get back to the way
we were five minutes ago. “You should come for the full moon,
we have a big LAN party in the basement to keep
everyone
safe.”

He puffs out his chest.
“You really think you've got a cage that can hold me?”

“I do.” I
smile with hooded eyes. Oh God I think I'm actually flirting. Weird.

“Huh, whatchya
got down there?”

“Reinforced steel
bars built into the ground, set with concrete top and bottom, coated
with silver.” I tilt my head, waiting for his response.

“That might be
strong enough if I get the urge to moon-shift,” he concedes
begrudgingly.

“It is,” I
add. “I also place protections on the upstairs so even if you
get out, you'll not be able to get through to the outside of the
house.”

“Smart,” he
comments.

“Yup.”

There's a long silence
while we both swish our drinks around in our glasses, looking around
at everything but each other.

Cole inhales a
tentative breath. “So you think you'll be able to find a cure?”

“I have a lot of
hope. And I'm really trying.” My words sound pleading.

“That's what you
do down there? Look for a cure?” His tone is foreign as though
he's debunking some sort of fairy tale.

“Yes, it is. That
and study for school,” I answer.

“Trevor mentioned
you were too serious.” His accusatory tone isn't lost on me.

“Did he now?”
I purse my lips.

“He did.”
He smiles. “But I'm going to fix that.”

“Really?” I
arch my brows in mocking disbelief.

“Yes, really.”
There's a playful part of me that wants to lick that smug look off
his face. Oh, did I say lick? I meant slap.

“We will.”
I nod, sipping on my straw. “I'm an epic killjoy; it's what I
do. It's the only way to keep these boys in line.” I return the
smug smile.

“Best of luck.
Wolves don't walk the straight and narrow,” he says, eagerly
awaiting my retort.

“Locke does.”
He's my number one. My confidant, my best friend. He's usually pretty
level-headed and mature beyond his years.

“He's also too
serious,” he adds, pointing at me with one finger while the
rest of his hand remains wrapped around the glass, holding a
cigarette.

We're both sitting on
the edge of our seats, leaning toward one another, exhibiting an
offensive posture. Just because I'm not a wolf-borne doesn't mean I
was spared the aggression they can sometimes have. We're also
apparently very passionate about what we're saying. I lean back to
stand down. Hopefully that will relax things between us again. “Nah,
just focused. He wants the cure just as much as I do.”

“So that's what
you do with all of your spare time?” He's genuinely curious.

“Mostly, when I
don't crash and fall asleep.” I roll my eyes at having fallen
asleep and realize I probably still have crusty spittle at the corner
of my mouth even though it's been hours.

“Ha, yeah. It
felt good to sneak up on a hunter.” He gets a serious edge to
his tone. “What were you dreaming about? You were kind of
making some noises.”

The smile that lights
my face gives him the wrong idea. “Oh, it was one of
those
dreams?”

“No, I don't have
those
dreams.” Oh God, I’m so embarrassed. “I
was dreaming that I could shift.”

“Really? That's
odd.” He's taken aback.

“Not really, I
watch the boys shift all the time. I obsess on figuring out how to
get them to
not
shift on the full moon. I'm a...” I
trail off; we've spent enough time tonight discussing the finer
points of me being a hunter. “Anyway, it doesn't seem all that
far-fetched.”

“I guess when you
put it that way,” he concedes. “Before I reached shifting
age I used to dream about it all the time.”

“Really? The boys
never mentioned that.” I resist the urge to run downstairs and
get my tablet so I can make notes. “What were your dreams
like?” I want to compare his with mine, to see if there is
anything I can glean for my research.

“My dreams...I
would shift, then I would run. It was like I was trying out my legs.”
He stops, in thought. I remain silent, studying his features. His
thoughtful eyes, his jaw, the way it softens when he's in deep
contemplation. There's a quality about him that's so different than
anyone I've ever known. “It was like I was preparing myself for
what I am, for what I'm meant to be.”

“Wow, that's
really profound. I wonder if other wolf-borne have the same
experience.” I look upward, losing myself in my own thoughts
about the psychology behind it.

“I've talked
about the dreams with my dad. He had them. There are others who still
have them even though they shift regularly.” Watching him,
hearing his voice resonate through me, is affecting me on a level
I've never known. The danger, the sadness in his eyes, the way he
looks at me all send a shock wave of unknown emotions through my
being. I want to understand him, help him, and run away from him all
at the same time.