Moon Crossed (Werewolf Hunter Series): Season 1 (Episodes 1-6) (Crescent Hunter) (20 page)

“But he was in a
lot of pain, so I had to sedate him.” I
pull away. “But I'm exhausted. I'm going to get some rest.”

Trevor and Cole are
posturing against one another again, and I can't get to the stairs
and away from them fast enough. I don't like how this is making me
feel so uneasy.

Cole turns toward me.
“Sweet dreams, and thank you.”

Guilt creeps in,
reminding me of how helpful he's been. I stop on the steps and turn
around, offering him a smile. “Thank you, too. You made things
a lot easier last night.”

“You're welcome.”
He flashes me a smile. “Oh, and hey, you owe me a sunrise.”

“You got it. Text
me.” Then I continue up the stairs.

As soon as I reach my
room, I can't decide if I'll be able to stay upright in the shower,
but I feel pretty gross. My bed looks incredibly inviting, and wins
the war in my mind.

There's a note on the
bed.

Hey Babe,

We have a lot to
talk about. Call me.

Love ya,

Lili

Lying
in bed, I wish that I had taken a shower because I feel disgusting,
but I don't want to move. A shooting pain goes up my midsection when
I stretch. The spot where Brogan got me isn't completely healed, and
it sure does sting. I don't understand why I can't heal myself.

Focusing my healing
energy and drawing from the boys in the house, I try to heal it.
Nothing is happening, and after a good five minutes, I just give up.

It's nine thirty. If I
didn't need to check on Brogan, I would roll over and go back to
sleep. For real.

Okay Claire, get up.
I hoist myself out of bed and head for the shower. Halfway to the
bathroom, my phone starts going off with Aunt Rain's ring tone.

Since it's the night
after a full moon, it could be important.

“What's up?”

“Get ready to go,
we've got a problem. I'll be there in five minutes.” She hangs
up, no goodbye, no nothing. This is bad.

I hasten my pace to the
closet and pull on my fatigues, a sports bra, an under armor shirt,
and combat boots. I grab my dagger and remember that my sword is in
the basement. My two handguns are in their holsters and I sling them
over my shoulder. Bursting out of my room, I bump into Locke.

“Hey.” He's
startled, and looks me up and down. Disappointment blankets his
expression. “Oh, you're going out.”

“No rest for the
wicked.” I blow out a breath. “Aunt Rain called; she's on
her way.” I move around him in the hallway, because I want to
end this exchange before it gets uncomfortable.

“Any info?”
He tries to mask his disapproval.

“Nope, just to be
ready in five minutes. That was four minutes ago.” I start down
the stairs. “I was going to check on Brogan, but I don't have
time. Has he woken up?”

Locke follows close
behind. “Yeah, he's up and he ate. He went back to bed, but
seems to be fine.”

The relief relaxes me
for a split second. “Awesome, thank you.” I round the
corner of the landing and head down the basement stairs with Locke
behind me.

“You know you
don't have to go.” He says it quietly.

“Yes, I do.”
I can't handle having this argument with him.

“You don't.”
His voice is more forceful.

The sword makes a
scratching sound as I slide it into the scabbard. I grab a hair tie
out of my desk drawer and put my hair into a ponytail. “Yes,
Locke, I do. Please don't make this harder than it already is.”
I push past him back up the stairs.

“How do you think
Cole would feel about this?” He gauges my body language at the
mention of Cole's name.

It stops me mid-step.
“I can't care how it makes him feel. I'm a hunter and I hunt
wolves when they become a threat.”

“That's not a
good enough reason, Claire,” he argues, still following behind.

I roll my eyes upward
and turn to face him. “Locke, we've had this conversation a
hundred times. I don't
want
to; I
have
to. I do it to
protect humans
and
wolves. I do it because your kind created
my kind to keep the moon-touched in check.”

He hangs his head.
“There has to be another way.”

I stop and turn around,
putting my hand on his face tenderly. “I'm working on it. I
don't want to kill. But if a human was murdered, there will be more
if it's not handled. Nobody wants the wrong kind of wolf hunt. It
would turn bloody. Fast.”

“I know.”
He shakes his head. “Please be careful.”

“I'll do my
best.” My cell phone rings. It's Aunt Rain. “I'm on my
way out.”

Locke stands by the top
of the steps and watches me cross the foyer. I swing it open, and
Cole is standing in the doorway. I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Jesus, you scared me.”

He looks me up and down
and he gets the same disappointed look on his face that Locke had. “I
take it you're busy tonight?”

“Yeah, I gotta
go.” I hate feeling so ashamed. I can't look him in the eye.
Another reason hunters aren't meant to live among wolves. It makes us
too sympathetic. I push straight past him.

“Be careful.”
There's a desperation in his tone, reaching down inside me.

“I will.” I
want to ask him to watch the sunrise with me, but I can't bring
myself to say the words. I get into Aunt Rain's Jeep. “Hey,
what are we looking at?”

“I think I'm
looking at Cole Jackson standing on your front porch.” The
gears on the Jeep grind when she puts it in gear and takes off.

“Yes, it was.”
I definitely do not want to have this conversation right now. “Where
are we going?”

“He's been
spending a lot of time at your house. Why was he there tonight?”
She's insistent.

“I don't know, I
didn't get a chance to talk to him.” I snap at her a little,
because I'd rather be back at the house with him than on my way to
kill. “I think he was hanging out with Locke.”

“You need to stay
away from that boy; he's a bad wolf.” She glances in my
direction with warning. “I know he seems very sweet, but the
simple fact is he's a wolf.”

“I know.” I
roll my eyes.

“I saw that.”

“Aunt Rain, where
are we going?” My patience is wearing tissue-thin.

“Chattahoochee.”
She looks straight ahead. “Four campers killed by animal
attack. There's a lot of ground to cover, so they've called in all
available reinforcements.” Her tone is heavy from the gravity
of the situation.

“Wow, that is a
lot of ground to cover. What area?” I ask, trying to picture a
map of the state park in my head.

“Amicalola and
Blue Ridge.”

“A lot of
ground.” I shake my head and try not to let the tension rest in
my shoulders just yet.

“I think we may
be dealing with more than one wolf.” She pulls her lips to the
side.

“I agree.”

“There are two
large packs that run the Chattahoochee forest. There are typically
some territory disputes at least once a month and we stay out of it,
but from what Cane is telling me, this may also have something to do
with a territorial, political thing.” Her expression is
dramatized by the headlights from oncoming cars.

“I ain't playin'
with anyone's politics. I have one job: stop the moon-touched.”
I say it like the fact that it is.

“Things can be a
little more complicated than that, hun.” A consoling smile
crosses her lips.

“Nope. Not my
monkey, not my circus.” I set my jaw, as though that makes it
final.

“Well, they are
your wolves, and it is your forest.” She glances at me to drive
the point home.

“Nope. They
aren't Red Top,” I insist.

“They are all our
wolves.” Her tone is laced with a sense of affection.

“I hate it when
you're right about stuff like this. I just would rather deal with
wolves I know.” There's a feeling of
defeat hovering over me.

“Claire, what we
believe is happening is that wolves are becoming moon-touched on
purpose to then run rogue and claim territory. A moon-touched wolf is
three times more powerful, therefore we believe they may be making a
move to build an army.”

“How is that even
helpful? I mean they can never shift back...” It dawns on me.
“Oh, you know, I remember my dad telling me about this faction
of wolves that just wanted to be wolves. They didn't want to live
among society; they would shift and choose to never shift back. Does
this have something to do with that?”

“It may. Those
types of packs are becoming more prominent in the Appalachian region
and now northern Georgia.” Aunt Rain's face is lit red from the
stop light. It twists her features, as though she's telling a ghost
story at a campfire. But this is so much worse.

“So they are
basically creating packs of full-time werewolves that are completely
losing any humanity they once had? With the strength and blood lust
of everyone's worst nightmare?” I focus on nothing in
particular, imagining in my mind the carnage that can come from this
sort of thing. Not just for humans, but for the wolf-borne.

“Yeah, I really
wish that we had been brought in sooner. We may have been able to
reason with some of them or gotten them to split away if they felt
they had resources, but when wolves congregate in packs they create a
strong dependency on one another.” She flashes me a judgmental
glare.

I'm not going to ask
and she's not going to elaborate, but I know that she's making a
point about my house and the boys. It's different than that; we are
not building an army, a dependency, or an actual pack. Besides, I'm
not a wolf-borne.

I lay my head on the
back of the seat, wanting to end this conversation now. “I'm
going to get some rest before we get up there. We had a rough night
last night.”

“What happened?”
she asks, concern replacing disapproval.

“Brogan got out,
then didn't shift back until well into the afternoon. I was worried,”
I explain.

“Did he get out
of the house?” Her tone is heightened.

“No, he only got
as far as my office.”

“Then why were
you worried about him not shifting back? He didn't attack anyone.”
She's trying to work it out in her mind. I remain silent. “He
attacked you?”

“I'm fine. It was
just a scratch.” The wounds on my stomach start to burn as if
the lie is opening them up. With my hand on my belly, I can feel
moisture. I want to look down, but don't want Aunt Rain to see my
concern.

“You okay?”
she asks, looking over at me.

“Yeah, I'm fine.
I just can't remember the last time I ate.” That isn't a lie.

“Geez, Claire,
you can't go out on a hunt on an empty stomach.” She digs a bag
of beef jerky out of the console. “Eat that. I need you at full
strength. We're already labeled as sympathizers; you need to be in
top form, not be judged as being weak.”

Instead of arguing, I
just fill my mouth with a bite of the dried meat. They can judge me
all they want; I don't care. My jaw works the jerky like it wronged
me, and I fall deeper into dark thoughts of just walking away from
all of this. The notion of pulling away from society and living with
my pack up on some secluded mountain sounds really appealing right
now. Not having to worry about killing or being killed. Protecting my
boys, living in happiness with Cole.

Oh, Jesus, did I just
have that thought? Where the hell did that come from? I seriously
need to get hold of myself. Perhaps some distance from Cole will be
good. Of course, this only makes me think of him more. The feeling of
his proximity hasn't left me, even though we have driven at least
forty miles from home.

When I swallow the last
bit of jerky, my mouth is puckered from the salt. I down an entire
bottle of water, then try to get a little bit of rest before we
arrive at the rendezvous point.