New Moon Summer (Seasons of the Moon) (3 page)

Who would have sent her such a thing? She didn’t have any enemies—none that were still alive.

Laughter floated over the breeze from the barn. The younger wolves were joking and roughhousing, like they were at a sleepover.

Why should they be nervous? Rylie had helped them through a dozen painless changes.

And they hadn’t gotten any death threats lately.

Lights appeared on the highway at the bottom of the hill. She had watched enough cars approach and pass that she didn’t get excited.

But this one slowed as it approached the driveway.

Her heart skipped.

Abel
.

The wolf pressed against the inside of her ribs, like an excited dog leaping at the return of its friend. She shoved her beast aside, jumped to her feet, and stuffed the box into her pocket—bullet and all.

The Chevelle pulled up to the tree at the bottom of the hill. Abel stepped out alone.

She jogged to the car. “You’re late.”

He grinned to see her. His gold eyes flashed, and his cheek dimpled. “It hasn’t even been a whole day. You’re so impatient.”

Rylie wanted to hug him, but she stopped a few feet away and ducked her head. “Where’s the new kid?” she asked, forcing her voice steady even though her stomach twitched like she had swallowed a jar of lightning bugs.

“Never showed.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “The flight was late, and he wasn’t on it.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Dunno. We can call the Whytes later and see what they say.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and started toward the house. He hesitated at her side. “I told you I would be back in time.”

Rylie’s inner wolf swelled at his proximity, urged on by the approach of the new moon and the sounds of her nearby pack. She found herself leaning forward, closing her eyes, and smelling his chest.

There was so much information in his scent—his journey to the city, the beef jerky he had eaten on the trip, all the people at the airport, the hotel room. It flooded Rylie’s mind with color and borrowed memories.

When she opened her eyes, Abel was staring at her.

“Sorry,” she said. She meant to step back, but she had been rooted to the spot. Rylie had no control over her legs.

Normally, Abel would have picked on her for that slip in humanity. He never missed an opportunity to harass her.

But this time, he smelled her back.

He lowered his face to her neck and brushed his nose over the skin bared by her tank top. His breath breezed over her throat.

Rylie shut her eyes and clenched her hands tight, resisting the urge to touch him.

The wolf wanted to rub the side of her face against his. Mark him with her scent, and be marked.

Abel’s eyes flicked up to her lips. His face hovered close enough that she could smell the minty flavor of his gum.

My pack
, the wolf whispered.

Shut up
, Rylie responded, giving her beast a hard, internal jab.

It took all of her strength to take one step back, but once she did, the second step was easier. She cleared her throat. Nudged a rock with the toe of her shoe.

Abel straightened and didn’t remark on the moment of weirdness—which only made it weirder. He rubbed a thumb down a ridge of scar on his cheekbone. “Better get everyone together for the change.”

She stayed by the Chevelle as he entered the house.

Somehow, the box with the bullet found its way into her hand again, and Rylie’s fingers tightened around it. The corners bit into her palm. A painful reminder of Seth.

What was she thinking?

Bekah jogged past with a couple of other werewolves—Eldon and Simone, who came from Canada—and Rylie waved at them. They were still new enough to the change that they needed to work out energy before moonrise.

Thankfully, Abel’s door was closed when Rylie retreated to her room.

She found a pen and paper and sat at her desk. She had a computer, but the internet in the countryside was really slow, and there was something romantic about seeing his handwriting. It reminded her of swapping notes at summer camp.

Contemplating the blank page, she twisted the pen’s cap between her fingers.

Should she tell him about the bullet?

A door opened and closed somewhere else in the house. Abel flashed by the outside of her window and headed toward the barn.

She ducked her head and didn’t look at him.

The silver bullet sat next to her lamp as she wrote.

Dear Seth,

Hard to believe the end of the school year is already here. Finals made the last couple of weeks fly past.

It’s always kind of bittersweet when summer comes around: on one hand, I’m deliriously happy, because it means I get to see you; on the other hand, knowing that I’m leaving all my friends and teachers for a few months is sad, too.

Now there’s an added dose of melancholy when I walk the halls of our high school. It’s been empty without you for two years, but it was something we had shared together. Being there made it easy to retreat into thoughts of you and your arms around me.

But once the bell rings on the last day, that’s it. I’m never going back. A chapter of my life is ending and I don’t think I’m ready for it.

There’s so much I’m leaving behind. Memories of being friends with people like Tate—I still miss him, even if I still can’t meet his eyes after what happened to his mom. Watching you at football games. Studying together in the library.

I worked so hard to finish high school. I had to make a lot of sacrifices.

I should be happy, right?

Rylie hesitated, pen hovering over the page. She bit her bottom lip.

She didn’t want to worry him with the bullet yet—there was no way to know who had sent it anyway. But a million other things were on her mind, and didn’t know how to approach those, either. The werewolf that didn’t show up at the airport. Gwyn’s worrying secrecy.

And worst of all, The Abel Thing.

What could she say about that? “Hey Seth, I’ve been having funny feelings for your brother lately. My wolf wants to rub him. What do you think I should do about that?”

Yeah, right.

She sighed and propped her chin on her hand. Abel was gathering the rest of the werewolves at the bottom of the hill. They were knee-deep in long grass, and butterflies and bees flitted through the air around them.

Rylie had worked at his side enough that she could imagine the way the summer heat would make his sweat glisten on his shoulders, the smell of his perspiration, the pleasant baritone thrum of his voice.

As she watched, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the rocks by the pond.

Her cheeks heated. She turned back to finish the letter.

I miss you. Come back soon. Please.

All my love,

Rylie

She folded the paper, stuck it in an envelope, and took it down to the mailbox.

F
IVE

Changing

Twenty werewolves.

The number went up and down as months passed. The previous summer, there had been thirty at the sanctuary; over Christmas, it had been only a dozen. But twenty was what they had on the night of the new moon.

The werewolves were volunteers, not prisoners. They were strongly encouraged to spend every moon at the ranch, and many of them did. But they had jobs, families, friends—lives that they couldn’t all leave.

Twenty werewolves meant a lot of families missing their daughters, fathers, and brothers.

There was nobody to miss Abel. He hadn’t spent a single moon away from the sanctuary since they opened it.

Bekah and Levi had already stripped naked and waited by the pond, talking quietly about mundane things. A couple of others began to follow suit, but most people stayed dressed until their changing forms ripped through their clothing. It was hard to let go of human modesty.

Abel would have stripped too, but it embarrassed Rylie. Instead, he waited with her on the back porch of the ranch house wearing nothing but sweatpants.

Rylie surveyed her pack from the back porch of the ranch, hands gripping the wood railing.

Everyone was spread over the hill. Watching her. Waiting.

She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. From a few steps away, Abel watched her shoulders rise and fall under the straps of a white linen dress. The gown was laced together with loose threads that would fall apart when she shifted. It was only a shade paler than her skin in the starlight.

If the moon had taken form and walked on earth, Abel was pretty sure it would have looked like Rylie.

“Five minutes,” she said in a low voice.

Abel repeated it louder for the benefit of the other wolves. “Five minute warning!”

She twitched, as though the volume of his voice startled her.

Rylie glanced at him. Her eyelashes fluttered as she drew in a shuddering breath and bit her bottom lip. Abel found his gaze strangely fixed on the indentations her teeth left in her skin.

She returned her gaze to the pack below them, but she spoke directly to him. “Where do you want to change? Do you want to go down with them, or…?”

“I’ll change with you. Always do, don’t I?”

“I just thought…” Rylie trailed off. He watched her throat work as she swallowed.

He briefly considered going down the hill to change with the other wolves, but the idea of leaving Rylie alone made his hackles rise. She always walked among the pack in her human form. What if one of them attacked before she could change? Even an Alpha’s throat could get ripped out.

“I’m not leaving your side,” Abel said.

Rylie nodded, but didn’t speak.

Five minutes passed too quickly in the still silence. They always did on the night of a change.

Movement rippled through the waiting wolves. A brown-haired girl named Pyper cried out.

It was time.

The energy shifted around Abel. His skin prickled, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. “Rylie?”

She looked at him again. There was no human left in her eyes.

Rylie held out a hand. Abel took it.

Their interlocked fingers were in stark contrast to each other—his skin darker than the midnight sky, and hers paler than the moon. The calm, assuring aura of the Alpha swept over him.

He transformed quickly.

The bones in his face made muffled cracking noises as they extended into a muzzle. His knees reversed and unbalanced him, forcing him to the ground.

His fingernails fell out. Rylie hadn’t released his hand—the sharp tips of his new claws pressed gently into the back of her hand. She had to let go once his fingers shortened into paws, but she sat at his side until he was done. Her hand stroked the ruff of fur that sprouted form his neck.

Only a few minutes later, he was done.

Gwyn had taken a photo of Rylie and Abel’s wolf forms once, just so he could see what he looked like. She put the picture on the mantle like it was a family Christmas shot. He was the size of a small pony, with sleek midnight fur and luminous eyes.

He shook himself, and flecks of blood sprayed the patio.

“Are you okay?” Rylie asked. She was frowning and biting her lip. Damn, that drove him crazy. He bumped his nose into her hand to tell her that he was okay.

The sounds of other changing wolves filled the night. Rylie rose to her feet, and he followed her down the hill.

She remained human as she moved through the pack. When a werewolf cried out, she sat with them until the transformation ended, and Abel watched to make sure they wouldn’t lash out at her. But none of them dared. Her power was too immense.

One by one, human flesh yielded to fur. Two legs became four.

Within twenty minutes, everyone had changed.

Their hairy bodies milled around Rylie, struggling to get as close to her as possible. She lifted her arms so that they could butt their noses into her ribs, the small of her back, her calves. They smelled her, licked her, bowed on their forelegs to show submission.

Abel remained at her side. Her fingers brushed his forehead.

“Go,” Rylie said. “Run.”

He threw his head back and loosed a howl. A small wolf the color of honey—Bekah—echoed his wail.

That was all the permission they needed. The werewolves scattered, jumping over rocks and tearing lines through the tall grass.

Rylie didn’t change.

Abel tilted his head and whined.

“Not tonight,” she said. “I don’t want to be with the pack in this mood.”

Abel pushed his head low to the ground, tail high in the air. Even though he didn’t use words, his message was meant to be obvious:
Come play with us
.

Rylie laughed. “But Abel…” He darted at her heels and nipped lightly. She jumped. “Hey! Don’t forget who’s the Alpha here.”

He rolled onto his side in a good patch of dirt and wriggled. More wolf-speak. This time:
I’m not listening to you
.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a disrespectful jerk.”

Pyper zoomed past with Analizia and Levi hot on her tail. Rylie whirled to watch them run, and Abel couldn’t resist—he lunged into Pyper’s side, sending both of them rolling down the hill.

Levi pounced. The three of them were a tangled mess of legs and tails, and Abel had no idea who he was biting.

Rylie’s laughter drifted toward the stars.

Abel would have done pretty much anything to evoke that noise from her.

“Okay,” she said. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

Rylie changed, and the pack ran as one.

Abel woke up covered in
dew with someone pressed against him. He twisted around to see Rylie curled in the fetal position, her back against his. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet. A line of sugar ants marched over her bare hip.

He sat up to look at her, and for once, he really
looked
at her. The long line of her ribs down to her waist, the swell of her hip, the delicate lines of her legs. The bottoms of her feet were dirty. Four parallel, silvery scars marked her chest. Feathery white-blond hair fanned through the grass.