Bright Moon (14 page)

“Have you liked your stay here?” Clara
asked. Mesha’s brow furrowed and her yellow eyes seemed a deeper
shade of gold.

“Yes and no. Dawn and Jack have been very
patient and kind. I have a room to myself and my own things. I can
go outside and run whenever I like. I would have been better if you
were here though, I was really worried something happened.”

“I’m sorry. Nothing’s happened and we are
here now,” Clara pointed out.

“I know and I’m relieved.” She looked out
the window again.

“You seem sad,” Clara observed.

“No!” she answered too brightly. “It’s just
everything has advanced. I’ve had a hard time getting used to the
box with the moving pictures and the container that blasts sounds.
I feel tremendously old!”

Clara laughed out loud. “I’m sorry,” she
immediately bit her cheek. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“I know,” Mesha sighed and sat on the
bed.

“You’ll get used to things eventually. You
just have to take it a day at a time.”

“It’s not only the technology—now that
Callan is here I will have to get used to him, which is a small
struggle in itself.”

“Mesha,” Clara said and sat next to her.
“You know he was put in circumstances he couldn’t control,
right?”

“He could have stayed with you to start
with,” Mesha growled.

“You don’t know Callan well if you think
that. He’s the kind of person who needs to learn by going out and
experiencing. If he stayed with my dad and me he would have felt
smothered.” Clara ran her fingers over the soft quilt on the bed.
“It’s one of the areas he and I differ, I’m not very
adventurous.”

It was Mesha’s turn to laugh. “This comes
from a girl who rode a werewolf a few days hence? I may not
remember my human life, but I know that qualifies as
adventurous.”

Clara smiled. “I’m afraid it was
circumstantial.”

“What took you so long at any rate? Jack and
I arrived a couple nights ago.”

She launched into the story. When she
related everything to her new friend, they said goodnight and
retired. She desperately tried not to think of Tyson as she climbed
into bed.

The mysterious Koty never showed in the
following days. Callan told her it wasn’t unnatural for werewolves
to venture into the wilderness for days at a time. Clara was
anxious to meet Koty, sure the illusive wolf was Tyson’s mate.

At times, Clara felt she had been dropped
into an alternate reality and expected to wake from it all to find
she’d gone back to the nightmare that was her life. As odd as the
new world was, she felt she belonged there with Callan more than
anywhere. The only downfalls were her brother and Tyson. Talking to
Callan was reminiscent of conversing with a complete stranger at
times and she felt saddened they had drifted so far apart. Things
would get better over time, but nothing could improve the fact that
every morning meant another day passed and Tyson hadn’t come.

She began taking refuge in the surrounding
wood. Her walks acted as a buffer to the strange world, giving her
a chance to reflect. Callan or Mesha insisted on going with her,
but they would wander off after twenty minutes or so, bored with
her mortal’s pace.

On the fifth day after she’d arrived, it was
Mesha who went with her. As she usually did, she left sight before
they’d wandered more than a half hour down a trail that led from
the house. Clara suspected she changed shape in the trees, but
never saw her do so. She wound up in a small clearing she’d
discovered where a fallen tree lay in the midst of wild grass.
Something had knocked the great tree on its side once upon a time,
but the roots had reclaimed their place in the soil. Somehow the
tree survived and the branches stretched, reaching for the sunlight
that speckled through competing canopies. The air chilled her and
she made a mental note to search out a sweater or jacket before
heading out again. She’d been there some time when a few ravens
cawed angrily at her for disturbing their sanctuary. As loud as
they yelled, her attention was not on them.

She thought she’d seen a shift in the shape
of the trees. When nothing came of it, she dismissed it as a trick
of the eye. A few minutes later, she saw it again and leaned
forward expectantly. The reasonable part of her mind knew full well
it was probably Mesha or another member of the pack, but then the
movement came again. She instantly realized two things: First, the
shape was that of a person and second, they moved at a mortal’s
pace. In that moment, she knew the puzzling hope she’d felt was the
hopes of seeing Tyson return.

With a stranger so close to their hideout,
she was about to head back to the house when the person dropped
from sight once more. They didn’t get up and a small well of
concern grew. She decided to investigate what could possibly be a
lost hiker. She left her fallen tree and jogged briskly over. While
checking around tree trunks and shrubs, she found a man lying on
the ground. He was curled in a ball, tightly grasping his
midsection. Shock and dread washed over her all at once and she ran
to his side to roll him over.

“Tyson!”

“Clara,” Tyson coughed and tried to sit
up.

“What happened to you? Don’t move!” She
tried to push him back down, an effort she knew would produce no
results, even in his weakened state.

“You should not be out here on your
own.”

“I’m not, Mesha is here somewhere.”

Tyson slumped back in pain, his face
distorted and the veins on his neck bulged. Crimson blood soaked
his shirt.

“Oh, Tyson!” she gasped again.

“Don’t touch it!” He pushed her hands away
with his arm and blocked any access to the wound. “Go get Mesha, or
Callan.”

“I won’t leave you here!” she protested.

“You have to,” Tyson growled.

“Don’t growl! You’re forgetting I’m not like
the others.”

He let out a long, drawn sigh. “We can argue
later, please just trust me.”

With a shake of her head, she declined. “You
wanted me to trust you when you left to find Mark and look what
happened.” She got off her knees and put her hands under his arms,
straining to hoist him to his feet. He leaned deliriously into her,
his body trembling. Walking was agony, but he moved with her
encouragement. He was heavy and difficult to keep braced. With
every step they were closer to the house and more help. They were
both staggering, and had only gone about half the distance when a
rush of wind announced the presence of another. His weight was
taken from her. The suddenness of the action nearly caused her to
fall. A woman with long, honey colored hair and startling
cornflower blue eyes had Tyson, supporting him with an arm around
his waist. Besides her long hair and lovely eyes she had a square
face with full, pouty red lips. Her form was tall and trim, but
graceful.

“Tyson,” she whispered, her voice clear.
“You know what happens when you mix a mortal with our lives,” she
said as if scolding him. The girl might as well have slapped Clara
in the face.

“Just take me home, Koty,” Tyson grimaced.
“Wait for her.”

Koty was clearly not very thrilled, but
trudged along at the severely slow rate. Clara went as fast as she
could. Koty followed closely with Tyson as if she wanted to push
Clara along. The house came into view and Callan came running
out.

“What happened?” he asked Koty.

“How should I know? Your sister was with
him,” Koty snipped.

Tyson growled then collapsed in a spasm of
pain. Callan and Koty caught him and, together, they lifted him to
the house. All the noise summoned the others who appeared in a
blur.

“Oh dear,” Dawn mumbled as they pulled Tyson
into the living area. The cabin, unlike his house, was not equipped
with an exam room and they made do with the nearest sofa. Jack
pushed his way forward and knelt by Tyson’s side.

“I need towels and the first aid kit to
remove the blade,” he said to Dawn and Callan, who went to do his
bidding.

“What blade?” Clara asked, leaning over the
back of the couch, her heart in her throat.

“It’s silver,” Dawn informed her as she set
a pile of fresh towels next to Jack. Callan returned with a metal
box as well.

“Are you sure we should be telling our
secrets to someone not of our blood?” Koty asked with venom in her
tone.

“She is one of us,” Tyson barked.

“Hm,” Koty answered, wisely choosing not to
push the matter. Dawn put a hand on each of Tyson’s shoulders while
Jack poured alcohol over the wound without warning. He yelled and
Clara absently wondered if the couch would have survived if it
weren’t for the silver as his fingers dug into the cushioned
armrest.

“Oh dear,” Dawn said again, her face twisted
with worry.

“Take Clara out!” Tyson demanded roughly,
his forehead damp with perspiration.

“No!” Clara protested.

“He’s right, come on,” Callan said and took
her arm, pushing her up the stairs toward her room.

“I told you something wasn’t right!” she
turned on him accusingly once they were out of sight of the
others.

“How could I know that would happen? He’s
here now isn’t he?”
“He shouldn’t have to suffer because of me!” She pointed down the
stairs where Tyson’s outburst of pain erupted. “Don’t you
understand that?”
Callan’s mouth opened and shut. Clara could see him trying to work
up a good response and shook her head angrily, turning from him.
Callan called her name a couple times. She shook her head again and
refused to hear him. In her room, she slammed the door and locked
it, knowing full well a lock wouldn’t slow them down if they were
so inclined to enter. She sat hard on the bed and began strangling
a pillow by hugging it to her chest. She hated they had to keep her
safe. Additionally, the business with Jothram tangled her nerves.
She knew they were wrong,
Parker
was wrong, and it killed
her to see Tyson or any of them suffer for a lost cause. She was
only a mortal who had stumbled into their world by mistake. The
pressure and anxiety became too much and came draining out in
tears.

The nightmares were
getting worse. She dreamt of her mother, who was paralyzed with
sickness, cold and hunger. She was thin, dirty and on her own, just
as in the link Parker sent. The details of the dream were so vivid
that she woke with a start and sat up in bed with tears on her
cheeks. She struggled to breathe, even though the dream had faded.
Her mind needed some serious persuasion to fall back to sleep
after, but the rest of the night was dreamless.

When hope dawned the next morning, light
pierced her lids. The beams stabbed to the back of her skull and
her eyes throbbed painfully. She sat up, felt dizzy, then lay back
down. Each gasping breath tore her throat raw.

“Perfect!” she said angrily and slapped the
pillow next to her. She had little strength and the slap lacked
gusto. The peppery hot pain in her throat kept sleep at bay until
her body succumbed to the need.

She thought someone had called her name the
next she became aware. Her head felt it was splitting in two and
she could focus on little else at first.

“She’s burning up,” a male’s voice said.

“She’s not infected, is she?”

She knew that voice, it was her
brother’s.

“No,” Tyson said. “She’s sick.”

“I don’t know if I recall how to nurse a
mortal in these conditions.”

“Don’t worry, Jack, all she needs right now
is something warm to drink.”

“I’ll go tell Aunt Dawn,” Jack said and
Clara heard rustling as someone left.

“She needs a doctor,” Callan said. She felt
a weight on the bed.

“No,” Tyson argued. “I’ve seen this before,
it’s from mingling too closely with us.”

“Will she be alright?”
“Yes, I’ll take care of her.”

“You?” Callan sounded surprised.

“Why not?” Tyson challenged.

“No reason,” he answered sheepishly.

She tried to speak, but wound up moaning.
Someone took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Are you awake?” Callan asked softly. She
tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy.

“She needs to rest,” Tyson spoke.

“I know.” Someone pushed the hair from her
face. “Try to sleep, sis.”

She didn’t have a choice as she became too
tired to stay awake any longer.

The line between reality and nightmare was
lost in her feverish state. Wild wolves transformed into the crazed
beasts that had demolished Tyson’s mansion. She knew it was
impossible to outrun them, but tried anyway. Then, as always, Tyson
came to her rescue. There were too many of the dogs and he was
attacked over and over until they buried him. She yelled, “STOP!
STOP! STOP!” when she struggled forward to save him. Someone took a
hold of her arms, keeping her from progressing.

“Clara!” Tyson yelled, confusing her. She
had just seen him buried by the mutts, how could he be yelling at
her? She tried to break away, dismissing it as a delusion. “Clara,
wake up!” he yelled again. She came to with a jerk. He knelt on the
bed, holding her arms, his face inches from hers. His icy blue eyes
filled with concern before he released her and backed off the bed.
She sat up and leaned against the headboard, hiding her face in her
hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What happened?” he asked gently. She shook
her head.

“Nothing.”

“You were yelling.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. Callan burst in
just then, panting after running hard.

“What is it? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him when he moved to
sit next to her. Callan repeated the query, turning his attention
to Tyson.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, she won’t tell me. I think
she had a nightmare.”