BrightBlueMoon (10 page)

With bacon-scented pine needles crunching softly underfoot, Michael and the others followed, moving closer toward the side of the mountain where the string of cabins – including Jack’s and the other Half Moon wolves’ – were located.

Trailing the film crew was uneventful – the most exciting thing that happened was when Alex slipped on grease-coated leaves and went down on his ass, nearly dropping an expensive camera. He and Gus got in another argument, and for once, Michael wished his sense of hearing wasn’t so acute. On and on, they bitched back and forth at each other, with Alex threatening to leave.

Reluctantly, Michael followed, breathing easily as Gus and the rest of the crew huffed and puffed from anger and exertion. Then the wind shifted, and a scent that chilled him to the very marrow in his bones filled his lungs.

CHAPTER 7

Kimberly plunked four grocery bags down onto the kitchenette table and sighed, opening and closing her hands, willing the ache that had spread through her palms to go away. The bags were heavy – especially the one with the orange juice. She could’ve made two trips, but she’d smelled a skunk outside and hadn’t wanted to risk being sprayed if the animal was still around. As it was, she still had to go back out for the guitar.

Smiling despite her fear of lurking skunks, she headed back through the door. It was a beautiful night, brisk and shining with full moonlight that painted the world in shades of silver and shadow. The stars were so bright it felt like she could reach out and touch them, let her fingertips be chilled by their cold beauty.
 

It was no wonder the local wildlife was out and about – had Michael been around, she would’ve wanted to spend time outdoors admiring the sky too, especially since this was her last night in the mountains. By tomorrow night, she’d be back in the city, where heavenly views were obscured by light pollution.

Of course, in Kimberly’s fantasy, after a little time outside she and Michael would head indoors and banish the night’s chill from each other’s skin, spend hours in bed, warm and together, impervious to the dropping temperatures the last days of October had brought. That would be the best part.

Sighing, she crossed the driveway, and the guitar twanged softly when she pulled it from the back seat, accidentally brushing her fingertips across the strings. As a wave of nostalgia hit her, she smelled whiskey instead of a skunk’s odor, and the stars shining overhead might as well have been city lights. After all these years, all it took to transport her back in time to the days when she’d met Michael was a single out of tune chord played on a guitar.

Carrying the instrument by its neck, she hummed softly, part of a song Michael had always played when he’d performed at King’s. She’d only gotten out a few notes when a sudden noise shattered the night’s silence.

Gravel scraped the soles of her shoes as she came to an awkward halt, freezing in place as she glanced around, searching for the source of the noise. Was there still a skunk nearby after all?

Not daring to move, she winced. Her morning with Michael definitely wouldn’t go as planned if she stank to high heaven, especially considering his advanced sense of smell.

When motion caught her eye – a dark form moving in the shadows by the cabin’s right side – she jumped, then breathed a sigh of relief. The shape was animal, but way too large to be a skunk. In fact, it looked canine – it was the right height, and if she squinted, she could make out two pointed ears, trained in her direction.

“Michael,” she breathed, letting out a shaky laugh. “You scared me.”

Soft sounds came from the shadows, the padding of feet against grass, then gravel as the form became more defined, drawing closer and catching the barest hint of moonlight.

“How did the mission go? If you’re back already, I guess that means Gus and his crew didn’t have any luck.”

As her eyes adjusted further to the moonlight, she waited for him to shift into his human form so he could speak.

But he didn’t.

In fact, he growled – a low, rumbling noise that she almost didn’t hear, at first.

Suddenly, she felt the coldness of the stars that glittered overhead – felt it all the way in her bones. It froze her even more thoroughly in place, and she had to swallow twice to clear a thick knot from her throat.

“Michael?” she asked again, but she knew it wasn’t him – she could see the animal’s eyes, and they were dark. Michael’s blue ones always looked brilliant in moonlight. The animal standing just a few yards from her had to be just that – an animal.

Fear blossomed in her chest, snaking its way around her heart and squeezing. Images from the previous night flashed before her mind’s eye – she couldn’t help but picture Braden Spencer as she and Michael had found him: dead. Dead, bitten and dragged. Logically, she knew that wild animals couldn’t be blamed for investigating a dead body – a potential food source – but now that she was a potential food source, it was hard to feel matter-of-fact about it.

“Stay back,” she called, trying to infuse her voice with firmness. Sometimes dogs responded to that. Maybe this animal would too.

The creature edged forward, exposing the scene behind it – both of the garbage bins had been overturned. The lids were still on, latched firmly in place, but apparently that hadn’t deterred the animal from trying to access the contents. Knowing that the hulking canine shape advancing on her was hungry didn’t exactly boost her confidence.

“Stay back,” she repeated, gripping the guitar with a second hand and holding it mid-way up the neck, like a baseball bat. If she hadn’t been afraid, she might’ve felt ridiculous, but she was and the instrument was her only weapon.

She felt colder than ever as she thought of Michael – the heat and strength of his body, all solid muscle, no matter what form he was in. If only he were here now.

One more step and moonlight illuminated the hulking canine, casting silver light across its head and the ruff of its neck. It was a big animal – maybe 90 pounds, if she had to guess – and the hair between its shoulder blades stood on end, making it seem even larger. Its features were exactly what she’d expected – a wolf’s features.

It was definitely too big to be a coyote. Her thoughts whirled, half-panicked, and she was semi-sure that the wolf wasn’t a shifter. It didn’t look like any of the others, anyway – it was a greyish color, with dark eyes, and its fur was matted, even a little mangy looking around its ears. As her heart raced, she noticed those small details, and something else, too – the wolf wasn’t alone.

Gasping, she watched as another, similar shape moved in the shadows, hanging back but adding its deep growl to the mix.

Guitar strings bit into her fingertips as she gripped the only thing between herself and the wolves more tightly. Meanwhile, reality dawned on her: she was cornered by a pack of wolves, and the only thing she had to defend herself with was a grocery store bargain instrument that’d been made in Taiwan. The flimsy wood probably would barely have survived a few years of strumming, let alone hand-to-paw combat with hungry forest creatures.

But it was better than nothing. Raising it a little higher, she dared to look above the grey wolf, at the tree line. “Michael!” she called, just in case he or any of the others were within hearing range. “Jack!”

No one answered, and Michael’s name lingered on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t let him find her like they’d found Braden Spencer. She had to make it out of this, even if that meant using a guitar as a melee weapon. Nothing – not even wild wolves – would stand between her and the happily ever after she’d thought she’d lost forever.
 

The wolves growled more loudly, and her heart sank – maybe calling out for help hadn’t been the smartest move. Tense moments ticked by, and her arms trembled as she continued to hold the guitar between herself and the wolves.
 

How much longer would she have to keep this up? Her muscles were already protesting, and the bitter taste of adrenaline was all that fueled her as she took a couple slow steps backward, toward her car, eager to have something solid at her back.

* * * * *

The forest rushed by in a blur of trees and moonlight as Michael ran at a speed he hadn’t reached since the recent demise of the last Gruen family shifter hunters. He wasn’t the alpha, but he didn’t care – he led the way toward the edge of the forest. The scent of the animals that’d answered the recorded howl was coming from there, from the cabin where Kimberly was staying.

And he’d heard her call for him, had heard her cry out his name, her voice edged with unmistakable fear.

The other wolves were younger than him, but he’d spent most of his life on the run, and he outpaced them as he sailed over underbrush and wove between tree trunks, his heart beating fit to burst. He knew what fear was; it had shadowed him relentlessly throughout the past three decades. But this was different than what had plagued him when he’d been alone – this was like what he’d felt when the Gruens had kidnapped Mandy. He’d been terrified for his daughter then, and for Kimberly.
 

He’d never wanted to feel that way again. He
shouldn’t
have ever had to feel that way again, with the Gruens finally gone.
 

He should never have left Kimberly alone. Forget the damned Monsters 24/7 crew – if only he’d never let her out of his arms.

When he made it back, he’d keep her safe and the film crew could go to hell. Maybe they’d find some real interesting stuff to film there.

A vibrant strip of moonlight shone just ahead, a silver ribbon against fading autumn grass, marking the area where the forest ended, giving way to the little yard that surrounded Kimberly’s vacation cabin. The scent of canine was strong now, mingled with other odors: a skunk’s pungent stink, rotting garbage and the sweet olfactory combination of strawberries and cream. As Michael sprang ahead, running hell-for-leather toward the cabin, bright light flashed, blinding him.

Headlights.

A truck pulled into the cabin’s driveway, its motor rumbling. Michael’s fear neither grew nor lessened – it was already so severe, it couldn’t change. It didn’t matter who’d arrived, anyway – he couldn’t count on anyone else to protect her. That was his job. He’d hated having to stay away in order to keep her safe, but this – fighting – was something he could do.

He’d rip the four-legged bastard mutts that had Kimberly cornered apart – all three of them. He could smell each one and knew they had to have been the same animals that had messed with Braden Spencer’s body.

And now that he was close enough to get a fresh lungful of their scents, it was obvious they weren’t wolves.

“Don’t move!” A deep voice boomed from the truck and a figure leapt out. The headlights were still on, and though the light dazzled Michael’s eyes, he could see a tall, broad figure hurrying in front of the truck, a gun cradled in his arms.

A deep, frantic breath brought the smells of truck exhaust and Ronnie, Jack’s friend. Michael didn’t even have time to breathe a sigh of relief as he burst out of the woods, snarling.

Two of the animals whirled, snapping as they spun on their bony haunches, bewildered and defensive. Jack, Daniel and Noah were hot on Michael’s heels, backing him up as he faced them. But the third one, the biggest one … it had its sights set firmly ahead, on Kimberly.

Time seemed to move both too quickly and too slowly all at once as the huge canine leapt forward, long legs outstretched, along with its open jaws. Saliva flew from one corner of its mouth, forming silver threads that glistened in the moonlight, stringing from sharp teeth. Michael could smell its panic, its fear and an underlying hunger that was emphasized by the way its ribs rippled beneath its dirty coat. Hard times had turned it into a savage creature, and overburdened instincts drove it to attack Kimberly.

Michael could smell her fear, too – and her determination. With a wordless cry, she swung an acoustic guitar she’d been holding by the neck like a Louisville Slugger. Where it had come from, there was no telling, but it collided with her attacker’s head with a violent
twang
and
thunk
, its strings and body singing a desperate note. For half a second, he couldn’t be sure whether the instrument or the canine’s skull had cracked upon impact.

Then he was past caring, airborne as Kimberly panted, raising the broken guitar again.

Her four-legged attacker yelped, swayed on its feet and lurched forward again, moving in a daze this time, staggering as if drunk.

Michael and Ronnie tackled the animal at the same time, and Michael’s world faded into a blur of fur and chaos. Even in his human form, Ronnie was incredibly large and incredibly strong. Still, Michael didn’t loosen his hold on the animal that had lunged at Kimberly. With his jaws clamped down firmly on the back of its neck, he pinned it to the ground. Between his efforts and Ronnie’s body weight, the canine was subdued.
 

Not far away, Ronnie’s shotgun lay in the gravel and Kimberly stood in front of her car, gaping as she held onto the remains of the guitar she’d sacrificed to defend herself.

“I’ve got him!” Ronnie huffed, his chest pressed firmly against the creature’s back. “I’ve got this one. Kimberly, there’s an animal control pole in my truck. Can you get it?”

She didn’t hesitate. Kicking up a fine spray of gravel, she hurried to the open door of Ronnie’s truck. “Where at?” she cried.