Blood Moon (2 page)

He could feel her lips curl up against his
throat before she lifted her gaze back to his. “Gianna,” she
replied, a dangerous edge to her voice that didn’t register right
away.

The softness of her lips returning to his
neck made his eyes roll back, and he reveled in the current that
shot up and down his arms, making his fingers and toes curl. Then
there was a sharp, piercing pain in his neck. It only lasted a
second before adrenaline surged through him, causing mass amounts
of pleasure to overwhelm him. His head felt light, like he was
high, and then his knees gave out beneath him without warning, and
everything went black.

O
ctober
twenty-sixth.

It was a day I’d rather not remember, but,
just the same, it came and went every single year. This year would
be no different than the previous seven, because I would be forced
to endure it, all while holding my head high and pretending as
though everything was all right. The worst part of it all was the
expectation for me to celebrate it. Every. Damn. Year.

I guess my biggest problem was that
everything was far from all right—it hadn’t been “all right” for
quite some time, actually—and the last thing I wanted to do was
celebrate anything. What I wanted to do was stay hidden from the
world and remain under my blankets until the clock beside me,
flashing its bright red numbers, struck midnight and signaled the
end of this day for another year.

As the early morning sunshine started to
stream into the room from the window above my bed, lighting
everything with its shiny, happy glow, I pulled the blanket up over
my head in an effort to stay in the dark for just a little bit
longer. I didn’t want to see the colorful artwork that adorned my
walls, the dark ebony dresser and vanity that sat along the far
wall, or the deep purple bench that was at the foot of my bed. It
was all too bright and cheery, and I just wasn’t interested in
feeling anything but glum.

Escaping from the world was a futile
attempt, though, as the phone rang, the shrill sound echoing
through my house. “Ugh! Leave me alone!” I shouted, my voice
muffled slightly by the blanket that still covered my face.

When the phone went silent, I momentarily
assumed that the caller might have actually sensed my ire at their
early morning disruption. It wasn’t until I heard a soft and
familiar voice in my kitchen that I knew the true reason the noise
had ceased.

“Hello?” my mother’s voice said into the
phone, or at least that was what I assumed. It was possible that
she was calling out for me as well. There was really only one way
to be certain, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to meet the day
head-on just yet. Unfortunately, I knew I didn’t have very long
before they both came looking for me. Being that this was his baby
girl’s “big day,” it was safe to assume that my dad was with her as
well.

Of course they’re here,
I thought to
myself as I threw my blanket to the end of my bed. Turning onto my
left side, I used my arms to sit up, giving myself a moment before
I placed my bare feet on the cold hardwood floor of my bedroom.

“Brooke, honey?” my father’s smooth, deep
voice called out through my small house, echoing off the walls of
my narrow hallway.

Staring at my manicured toes, I sighed
deeply before responding. “I’m just getting up. I’ll be right out.”
The pads of my feet met the chilled floorboards as I stood and
stretched my body tall—well, as tall as someone who was five foot
five could stretch.

I struggled to find the will to begin my day
even more now that I was actually out of bed. Especially since my
rising truly meant that I would have to face the fact that it
really was my birthday. Most people welcomed their birthdays, but,
to me, it was the worst possible day of every year, and not
something I wished to remember, let alone celebrate.

As I made my way for the bedroom door, I
could already hear the banging of pots and pans in my kitchen, thus
signaling that Mom was preparing my breakfast. Breakfast with my
parents wasn’t always a birthday tradition. Only in the last couple
of years had they started coming over first thing in the morning so
we could eat a large breakfast together. To “keep my strength up,”
as my father would say.

I laughed darkly to myself. How I wished
that bacon and eggs could give me the strength I truly needed to
deal with today…

Not ready to face my parents, I walked the
short distance from my room to the washroom. “I’m just going to
have a quick shower,” I announced monotonously as I walked in and
closed the door behind me.

Leaning into the shower stall, I turned on
the water before flipping the switch for the showerhead. Once
satisfied with the water temperature, I stood upright and pulled
the glass door closed before moving to the porcelain sink to brush
my teeth. The room started to fill with a blanket of fog, which
seemed only fitting given my somber mood.

My soft facial features seemed a little
worse for wear, the bags under my deep green eyes the visual
reminder of the late night celebration with my co-workers the night
before. The pounding in my head, the physical. I pulled the elastic
band out of my long red hair and allowed it to cascade loosely down
my back as I ran my brush through it a few times to get rid of any
knots that had accumulated from tossing and turning in my sleep.
Again.

After removing my T-shirt and shorts, I
tossed them into the hamper next to the door and stepped beneath
the near-scalding spray of water. I pushed my face beneath the
water in an attempt to wash away the final remnants of sleep and
the nightmare that plagued me year after year.

Flashes of the sky that night, the stars
dull behind the blanket of smog that hovered over the city, and the
red-hued moon filled my head. Even though it had been seven years,
I could still remember every smell and sound that surrounded us
while we waited to be let inside that exclusive nightclub.

When my lungs started to burn from a lack of
oxygen, I opened my mouth to allow myself to breathe while I
continued to push the memories aside. Water trickled in, so I
expelled it and clenched my eyes shut. Sadly, the memory of that
night continued to assault me more forcefully, and my heart raced
with panic as I relived it all again.

Losing sight of him. Finding a way outside
through a side exit when I was unable to get through the sea of
people at the front doors. Searching frantically, only to find…

I fought the urge to wretch, coughing and
sputtering on the water I inhaled accidentally. I took several deep
breaths, letting the water course down my entire body, the heat
permeating every cell and cleansing me inside and out as I leaned
forward. Letting it soothe me, I rested my head against the light
brown ceramic tile wall. I remained like this for a minute,
allowing the hot water and the cool tile to send conflicting
sensations through me.

I was pulled out of my misery when my mom
knocked on the door and told me breakfast was ready. With a sigh, I
stood up and washed my hair and every last inch of my
skin—twice—still not wanting the solidarity of my shower to
end.

When the water finally started to run cold,
I shut it off with a pout and grabbed my towel off the silver rack
beside the shower stall. I draped the fluffy pink fabric around my
body, fastening it around my chest, and squeezed the excess water
out of my hair before stepping out to finish my morning
routine.

I quickly ran my brush through my hair once
more and then opened the bathroom door. The frigid air attacked any
and all of my exposed, damp flesh, causing goosebumps to prickle
over my arms and legs. The smell of coffee was heavy in the air as
I padded back to my bedroom to get dressed for the day ahead of
me.

I rifled through my top dresser drawer
before letting my towel fall to the floor around my ankles so I
could pull my underwear on, and then I made my way to the closet. I
caught a brief glimpse of my slender reflection in the mirror
before grabbing a pair of dark denim jeans and a purple
long-sleeved shirt. While I wasn’t particularly vain, I did take
pride in my looks, and I worked hard to stay in shape, both for
work and for myself.

As I pulled my clothes on, I felt more and
more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, once again going out to fake
my way through the day in hopes of fooling everyone around me. In
spite of that feeling, though, there was one person I could be
myself around today, and I looked forward to my visit with him. It
was the highlight of my birthday every year.

As soon as I was ready, I walked toward my
bedroom door and reached for the knob. My hand gripped the cold
metal firmly and waited at the ready to turn it. Clenching my eyes
shut, I placed my forehead against the solid wood door as I took
one final cleansing breath. Pulling a smile from the very depths of
my soul, I stood up straight, swung the door open, and walked out
to face the day.

The lively walk I sported was one I had
worked hard at perfecting over the last seven years. Was I proud of
my deceit? Not particularly, but it beat the constant stares of
worry I received from my parents, my peers, and even strangers on
the street who knew nothing about me and my…situation.

I walked into my cozy little kitchen, a
smile on my face, to find my parents laughing softly at something I
missed. They were both seated around the small table in my modest
dining nook that connected my kitchen and living room. The sunlight
filtered in through the smaller bay window next to the table,
warming the natural color of the wood. Smelling too delicious to
ignore any longer, I filled the cup that’d been left out on the
counter for me with coffee. Steam spiraled from the surface of the
black liquid as I added a splash of cream and several heaping
teaspoons of sugar before settling at the table between my
parents.

“There’s our birthday girl,” my mom cheered,
leaning over to kiss my cheek as I brought my cup to my lips and
took a tiny sip.

“Mmmm,” I hummed with a nod as the hot
beverage coated the inside of my mouth and slid smoothly down my
throat. “Thanks for the coffee. It’s just what I needed.”

It wasn’t an accident or an oversight that I
didn’t acknowledge her comment, and it was evident by her jubilant
expression that she never expected me to either. She understood how
hard the day was for me…for all of us.

Sitting at the light-colored table, sipping
at my morning coffee and trying to keep the wall I’ve worked hard
to build from faltering, I looked between my parents as they easily
fell back into their conversation. They knew me well enough not to
pressure me into opening up before I was ready. That only brought
more pain for everyone when I was like this. They knew to give me
time.

Catching part of my mom’s story about her
lunch with her friends yesterday, I smiled—even laughed a
little—but didn’t say anything. She noticed my response, though,
and reached out to grasp my forearm lightly in reassurance. She
knew. There weren’t a lot of people who didn’t. I held her gaze,
hoping to draw in some of the strength I so desperately craved.

Laura Leighton was a stunning,
well-put-together woman of fifty, and considering what she had been
forced to deal with in her life, it didn’t seem to tear at her the
way it did me. Which was a relief, because I hated feeling the way
I did. It was too much most days, and I would hate to see anyone
else have to go through it as well.

As my mother leaned back in her chair, her
soft blue eyes never left me, and my forced smile slowly morphed
into one that was genuine as I watched her turn to tell my father
more of her story.

A momentary feeling of contentment flooded
me, bringing me out of my misery long enough to be grateful for
this one shining moment.

The sun’s rays peeked in through the blinds
above my kitchen table, bouncing off of her immaculately styled
blonde hair, and when she laughed, I saw the subtlest hint of the
laugh lines around her sparkling eyes.

I was constantly told that I looked like
her, but with my coppery-red hair and bright green eyes, it was
hard to see the similarities. We were the same height and build,
though. That much I could see, but where I was usually confident
and outgoing, Mom was a little more soft-spoken and easy-going.

This didn’t mean she was a pushover, though.
Far from it. She’d let you know if you had gone too far. Believe
me.

But the fact remained that she was a gentle
soul.

My father’s boisterous laugh caused my
attention to shift to him as I took another pull of the coffee from
my mug.

Normally, when somebody met Captain Keith
Leighton for the first time, they considered him a particularly
intimidating man. At fifty-six years old and standing six feet
tall, he’d been with the Scottsdale Police Department for the past
thirty-six years—Captain for the last sixteen.

His green eyes were the mirror image of my
own—in color anyway. I was aware of just how jaded I had become in
the last seven years, and how it showed in my eyes the most. My
dad, though? He had two different looks, and I knew both of them
equally well.

As we sat together around my little
four-person table, drinking our coffee, his eyes exuded nothing
short of pure happiness. However, when we were on the job, his eyes
grew hard and determined. He never let anyone in. Not anymore.

His dark brown hair was always kept short,
and flecks of silver streaked through it from his years of late
nights, both working and child-rearing. Yes, Captain Keith Leighton
was an intimidating man, and not a man you messed with. But to me,
he was nothing more than a big teddy bear—my daddy.

As they continued to banter on about my
mom’s latest interior design disaster, I realized that I was quite
content to sit there and listen to the two of them talk for the
better part of my day. It would be a welcome change to what I knew
was coming tonight. My eyes suddenly drifted to the empty chair
across from me, and my stomach rolled uneasily.