Wolf Moon

-
book
two-

A.D. RYAN

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical terms, including
information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from
the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
locales is entirely coincidental.

Ryan, A.D.

Wolf Moon / A.D. Ryan

(Blood Moon
Trilogy ;
02)

Text and Cover design by Angela
Schmuhl

Cover Image:
Shutterstock
,
©
djile

“I can’t write without a reader. It’s precisely
like a kiss—you can’t do it alone.”

       
―
John Cheever

When you hear that writing
a book is hard, it’s not a lie. Coming up with an idea is the easy part; it’s
finding the time to bring that world to life that is the hard part—for
me, anyway. Without my network of supportive family and friends, I wouldn’t be
able to share any of this with you, my readers.

My husband and kids have
been so tolerant of me each time I sit down at the computer or take five
minutes to jot something down in a notebook or my phone when inspiration
strikes. I love you guys with everything I have.

To each of my kids,
specifically, I want to remind you to follow your heart’s desire. Dream big and
know that you can do anything you set your mind to. No star is out of reach.

Each of my parents, I thank
you for always encouraging my creativity. Whether it
be
writing, drawing, singing, photography…it all led me here.
To
this moment.

Tiffany and Lynda, you two
do the impossible: you stroke my ego while simultaneously telling me to be
better. I couldn’t imagine taking this journey without you two, and I appreciate
all that you do to help make me a better
story-teller
.

Not to be forgotten are my
handful of beta readers. Getting the idea down on paper isn’t always the hard
part, but wondering if what you’ve written will appeal to anyone else
besides
yourself is equally as nerve-wracking.

Marny
, my best girl, you’ve been
with me through it all. And I do mean through it
all
. You and I have
been through so much, and you’ve been such an inspiration to me. It always
makes me nervous to know you’re willing to read anything I’ve written, because
I feel as though your own talent eclipses mine.
For real.

My baby sister, you’re
always waiting to hear about my latest kooky idea, and it excites me that, no
matter how messed up the idea is, that you want me to bring it to life as much
as I do. It’s important for me to push my limits, and you always make sure I
push even further than I’d planned.

And, finally, Jennifer,
Nicole, and Sandy, your excitement as I wrote this novel is what kept me going.
You guys were chomping at the bit every step of the way and acted as my
cheerleaders. Thank you for keeping me motivated.

You all made this happen. I
won’t ever forget that.

Cheers,

T
he sun hung low in the sky that late-November evening. Orange mingled
with shades of pink and purple as night closed in over the city. A red-haired
woman was getting ready to leave the cemetery—leave the city to embark on
the next chapter of her life—when something stopped her. Eyebrows pulling
together, she appeared perplexed. Her nose twitched before she dropped to her
knees and began clawing at the ground.

Several people were on
their way to their cars after visiting their dearly departed loved ones, slowing
to take in the sight of the woman on her knees.
“What is she doing?”
an older woman asked her husband.

He had no actual answer,
mumbling something about how other people choose to grieve is none of their
concern. Then he took her by the arm and led her away, leaving the strange girl
to her business.

She leaned down a little
more, her red hair brushing the grass, and she inhaled deeply. Her frustration
thickened the air as it poured out of her, and her fingers curled into the
earth, tearing up soil and grass by the handful. Beads of sweat formed on her
brow, a sure sign of her exertion, and she continued to dig, not knowing what
she would find.

It was an interesting
sight to behold
;
a seemingly average—albeit a
tad on the skinny side, to some—girl digging up a grave by hand.

By the time night had
fully descended over the cemetery, she was four feet deep. Two more to go and
she would have her answers.
Even if she wasn’t ready for
them.
So much had happened to her over the course of a month. How would
she handle this?

There was only one way to
know for sure.

She dug. And then she dug
some more. She continued to rip up the dirt below her, pushing it aside with a
grunt so she could keep going. Specks of dirt and blades of grass clung to her
hair, and her face was streaked with clay and soil. Earthworms continued to
shift through the disrupted earth, doing their job as though nothing was wrong.

Her red head disappeared
from sight as she sank another foot into the grave. More dirt flew out and
scattered on the ground. She might have been able to get through this quicker
if she’d used the shovel the groundskeeper forgot to lock up. It wasn’t very
far from the grave she was currently ripping into.

The grunting suddenly
stopped; only her labored breathing could be heard, faint clouds from her hot
breath mingling with the cool desert air rising from the hole she’d created.
There was a light knock against wood, a breathy curse, and then her hands
appeared in the grass as she prepared to pull herself out.

But she stopped. Her
hands disappeared again. More dirt was displaced.
Then a gasp
of alarm.

A man showed up then. She
knew him. She trusted him, even though she had every reason under the sun not
to. But she did. She always would. She loved him, even if she couldn’t admit it
to herself out of respect for the man she just lost. Moreover, he loved her. He
hadn’t stopped. It was why he was here; to save her from a threat she didn’t
even know existed.

“It was only a matter of
time before you found out,”
he said
to her as he knelt and extended his hand down to her. “Come on. It’s time I
told you the truth. You’re ready.”

Her tiny hand appeared,
blackened with dirt and blades of grass jammed beneath her nails, and she
slipped it into his. He pulled her out of the hole with ease before helping her
refill it. Because she destroyed the sod, it wouldn’t be the same, and the
groundskeeper was sure to question it. Or maybe he wouldn’t; he was getting up
there in age.

The two of them were
silent, but it was obvious that the wheels were turning in her head as she
tried to figure out what it was she saw down there: nothing. She found a hole
in an empty coffin. What did that mean?

“Where is he?” she asked,
her voice so soft it was barely heard. Then she fell to her knees, the stress
of the situation too much for her to bear any longer. Her eyes stared at the
ground, wide and unseeing, and her hands lay limp in her lap. She’d retreated
within herself like when she lost her brother the first time.

Or, when she
thought
she lost her brother the first
time.

Little did she know, he’d
been out there all this
time.
Though, unlike her, he’d
given his old life very little thought.
Until recently when
he was forced to go back.

If it weren’t for the
mongrel that now knelt at her side, trying to coax her to respond to him, she’d
have been left alone. She’d have been able to go about her life, grieving but
oblivious.

But
he
had to intrude. He had to stick his nose into the affairs of the
Coven. If he hadn’t done what he did, then they wouldn’t have come after her.

But he did.

And now he had to pay the
price.

A life
for a life.

As the man hoisted her up
in his arms and carried her toward the lot where the rest of his Pack awaited
him, a shadowy figure watched them from the cover of darkness. The observer was
sure to stay upwind so as not to be noticed by their annoyingly keen sense of
smell. Listening to barked orders, one of the youngest Pack members stepped out
of the Camaro and straddled the red Harley while the one in charge slipped the
girl into her white Mustang and then slid behind the wheel.

They were headed home to
Canada, because their mission to destroy
Gianna
had
been completed.

Or so they thought.
Gianna
would live on in the coven’s mission for vengeance.

A wicked smile slowly
started to form on the lips of this mystery observer, the moonlight glinting
off his elongated canines as he clutched the red tear-shaped pendant in his
hand. It was the only thing he had left of his queen. His thirst for vengeance
far outweighed his need for blood as he silently plotted his revenge.