Child of the Moon Page 2

“My parents…” She rolled her eyes. “They’re so stupid, but they won’t let me—”

  “Holden?” Stephanie’s voice.

  He turned to see Stephanie making her way over.

  “I’ve been yelling your name,” said Stephanie, looking annoyed.

  He went back to Carrie. “I gotta go too.”

  “Of course you do,” said Carrie. She shut her eyes, almost as if she was embarrassed. And then she fled from him.

  Stephanie slapped him on the arm. “Why were you talking to that weird Beckett girl?”

  “I wasn’t really,” he said. “She ran into me, and then she apologized.”

  “Eeew,” said Stephanie. “That girl is so strange.”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do? Ignore her while she was saying she was sorry?”

  Stephanie sighed. “Whatever. Do you still want to ride the Ferris Wheel?”

  * * *

  Carrie stood in the parking lot, waiting for her parents. They were late. She was annoyed, because she could have spent more time talking to Holden, had she known they wouldn’t be here. She’d rushed out to meet them for no reason. Well, actually, that probably wasn’t true. Holden didn’t want to talk to her. But she could have watched him for longer, at least.

  She stared up at the moon, which was full and bright, hanging just above the tree line of the woods.

  Something about a full moon always mesmerized Carrie. She could stare at the moon for hours, and it always felt as if the moon had some kind of electric vibration, something that pulsed through her, white light filling her soul. She liked the moon. She always had. Now, peering up into the darkness, the moon filled her with that same restless energy. She shivered—but she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or it was some kind of primal excitement.

  “You,” said a voice behind her.

  Carrie jumped. She turned in confusion.

  The voice belonged to a woman about the age of Carrie’s mother. The woman was dressed in layers of sparkling rags. Her hair was wavy. It tumbled around her shoulders. The woman’s eyes were piercing. They seemed to reflect the moon.

  Carrie stumbled backward. Something about this woman…

  “You’re the girl,” said the woman. “His beta. The one he put himself in danger for.”

  Carrie shook her head. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  Suddenly, she could hear wolves howling in the distance.

  The sound sent more shivers through her.

  The woman smiled, and there was kindness in her smile. “We don’t blame you, you must understand that. But the bond that you have with him… it wears on him. It pulls at his sanity.”

  Carrie let out a little laugh. “Really, I’m not… I don’t know you.”

  More howling in the distance. It tugged at her.

  The woman stepped close. She placed her palm against Carrie’s cheek. “You do know us. Deep inside, you can’t deny the knowledge. The familiarity. When you’re ready, you must come to us.”

  “Come to you?” Carrie wanted to move out of the woman’s touch, at least she thought she did. The fact was, she stayed rooted to the spot, staring into the woman’s eyes, transfixed.

  “Come to the carnival,” she said. “Come to your brothers and sisters. Come home. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  Carrie parted her lips. The air around them was cold and crisp, and they were both bathed only in the bright light of the moon. Everything felt ethereal and otherworldly. It was frightening, but it was also… right, somehow. “I couldn’t come to the carnival.”

  “You could,” said the woman, caressing Carrie’s face. “You must. This is where you belong.”

  Carrie did move away then, shaking the woman off.

  “With him or without him, you understand,” said the woman. “No matter what he does, you’re welcome to come to us. Find me. I’m Aunt Calla, and I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “You must have me confused with someone else,” Carrie said, but her voice wasn’t strong, and the moon overhead seemed to be beaming even more brightly, the longer that she and this woman talked. It was filling her with silvery light, and that light was spilling through her, into her bones, into her organs, into her… soul?

  And then the lights of her parents’ car cut across the parking lot, breaking the spell.

  Carrie turned, recognizing the sound of the car in the darkness, and she ran for its safety and warmth.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mick Pierce made his way down the driveway to a tall, stately house that stood at the edge of the woods. He could see that a window was open upstairs, and in the window, he could see the barest outline of a girl in a white nightgown.

  He licked his lips, looking up at her.

  She didn’t see him down here. She was looking up at the sky. At the moon.

  Mick sighed. He hadn’t been back to see her in quite some time, so perhaps he’d neglected her. He remembered the first time that he saw her. She’d been a tiny child of only ten, with her dark hair and solemn eyes, and he’d known there was something special about her even then. But she hadn’t meant anything to him then. No, she’d only been a means to an end. He’d been young then too, and he hadn’t realized what he was taking on.

  Now he knew. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think of the girl in the window.

  Carrie.

  She was beautiful now. She was so grown up—a woman child with raven hair. Her eyes were still so solemn, but she no longer had the body of a little girl.

  He hadn’t meant to notice, but he couldn’t help but see it, especially as he looked up at her in the window. At the carnival, she’d been wrapped up in coats and scarves and gloves. Now, there was only filmy fabric, falling around her curves.

  He sucked in breath sharply.

  Then he forced himself to look away. He wouldn’t think of her that way. It was obscene to do so. That was not the way their relationship would work. But there would be a relationship between them, of this he was certain. In fact, there was already a bit of a relationship between them, albeit a one-sided one. She didn’t really remember him, didn’t really know him. But he knew her, and he cared about her. They’d been apart for so long.

  Even though miles had separated them, he had always sensed her presence.

  Every full moon, he’d soothed and subdued her across the distance, keeping her quiet and human.

  But tonight…

  Tonight, that would all change.

  Everything would change tonight.

  Mick was sure that things were now going to be exactly as they were meant to be.

  * * *

  Carrie had barely been asleep for an hour, when pain woke her.

  It was agonizing, and it was deep inside her body, deep in her bones. There was a growing ache, pounding under her skin. She tossed and turned against it. And then she woke.

  She groaned. This was bad. Why were her bones hurting? It felt almost the way that she remembered growing pains from a few years ago. That deep ache inside her. But the growing pains had been dull, pedestrian. This pain screamed through her body. It was sharp, but it was prolonged.

  She stumbled out of bed, wincing as she put her feet on the floor. Everything hurt from her toes to her skull.

  She made her way into her bathroom and got some painkillers out of the cabinet. She swallowed more than usual, and then she hobbled back to bed.

  As she moved through the room, she caught sight of the moon. It had risen up above the tree line, and somehow it looked even brighter and fatter. Her lips parted, and her breath caught in her throat.

  She could only stare at the moon.

  Her body convulsed.

  It hurt.

  She whimpered.

  What was going on?

  She got back in bed, but everything hurt so badly that it was impossible to be comfortable.

  She turned to look out the window again. She felt like she had to see the moon. Now she could see that it was snowing outside. April
snow. There were big white flakes falling diagonally across the night sky. Across the moon. The snow wasn’t sticking to the ground. It was melting when it touched down. But it was snowing outside, all right.

  Her body convulsed again. She felt as if she was turning inside out, her organs struggling to ooze through the pores of her skin, blood and muscle squirming to touch the air.

  She let out a small cry as she curled up in a ball, gritting her teeth against the pain.

  The door, she thought. There’s someone at the door.

  That was an odd thought to be having while she was in so much pain. She tried to push it away. After all, there could be no room in her mind for anything other than the misery she was feeling. She wanted nothing other than to make herself small, fold in on herself until the pain went away. Surely, the painkillers would kick in soon, wouldn’t they?

  Fresh agony tore through her. She moaned.

  There’s someone at the door, she thought. I need to go to the door.

  And even through her pain, she found herself struggling to her feet and limping across the bedroom. She was barefoot, and the wood floor was cold against her toes. But she didn’t mind it. She had become very hot all of the sudden, she realized. She was sweating.

  She was only wearing a white nightgown—really it was a big t-shirt. But it was specifically made for sleeping, so it came all the way down to her calves. It hung off one of her shoulders, leaving it bare.

  She flung open the door to the bedroom and staggered into the hallway.

  Pain seized her.

  Her head snapped back, and her whole body went tense.

  Something snapped.

  My bones, she thought. All my bones are breaking.

  And it felt like that was happening. It felt like her body was shattering, like it was reforming, like there was something inside her—something else, something not her—scrabbling at the back of her neck, pressing on the back of her brain.

  It wanted out.

  Carrie screamed.

  Her voice echoed through the house, and the door at the end of the hallway opened.

  “Carrie?”

  It was her mother.

  Carrie clutched at the wall. She felt like she could hardly keep herself upright.

  Someone’s at the door. I need to go to the door.

  “Mom?” Carrie’s voice was tiny, like she was still a little girl. “Mom, something’s happening to me…”

  More pain. Now everything was stretching and twisting. Her own bones were changing shape. The thing inside her was coming out.

  “Oh, no.” Carrie’s mother put her hands to her lips, shaking her head. “No, no, they promised me they wouldn’t let you shift. They promised me you’d never have to go through it.”

  “Shift?” Carrie grunted. The pain was so intense now that she felt like her entire being was composed of nothing but agony. “Who promised you?”

  “Baby, we were going to tell you,” said her mother. “We were going to tell you, but it never seemed like the right time.”

  “Tell me what?” Carrie gasped.

  “I guess I always thought it might happen. That’s why we kept you close, baby. We didn’t want you to hurt anyone. It’s all been for your own good.”

  There’s someone at the door! And the voice in her head was not quite her own.

  Carrie launched herself at the steps, and she tumbled down them, half walking, half rolling, half on her hands and knees. It seemed right to be close to the ground. It hurt to stand.

  Her mother at the top of the steps. “Carrie, what are you doing? You can’t go out. We’ve got to call your alpha. That’s the only way we can stop this.”

  Carrie ignored her. She was talking nonsense, and Carrie didn’t understand her.

  Carrie was confused. Everything was confusing. There was pain, and there was the door, and there was the moon.

  The moon!

  Oh, the moon.

  She needed to open the door, to let in the light, to bask in it.

  “Carrie!” called her mother from the top of the steps.

  Oh, forget her mother. Her mother was so strict. She never let Carrie do anything. She treated Carrie like a five-year-old. And Carrie was a woman.

  A moon woman. A wolf woman. A sister of wolves.

  Inside her, there was a twitching convulsion.

  It didn’t quite hurt. It felt…

  She threw open the door.

  It was him. The man from the Ferris Wheel. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, and his eyes were just as piercing and green as she remembered.

  She gasped. “You.”

  He smiled. “Hello, little fael.” He reached across the threshold of the house, and he ran his hand over her head, smoothing her hair, almost petting her.

  She groaned. Pain went through her again.

  Her skin was stretching. She shrieked.

  The world seemed to tip sideways. The man was still standing in the door, his green eyes burning like bright, unearthly lanterns.

  She couldn’t keep her balance.

  She pitched forward.

  She put out her hands to stop herself, and her fingers collided with the man’s chest.

  Her hands twisted, changing shape in front of her eyes.

  She screamed again.

  She saw the claws rip through the ends of her fingers—sharp claws, animal claws, wolf claws.

  I’m a werewolf, she thought.

  And then everything went black and empty, like the starless night sky.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The sun woke Carrie. It was in her eyes, and she rolled over, murmuring. She reached for her blankets to pull them over her head, but they weren’t there. In fact, she realized that she wasn’t in her bed at all. She was lying on the floor of the living room, on the hard wood floor, and something smelled—

  She sat straight up, looking down at her body.

  She was naked.

  She was smeared in something reddish brown. It was all over her hands and arms. It stained her breasts and belly as well. It was sticky. It smelled horrible.

  She let out a small cry.

  She knew what it was, but she couldn’t think it. Not yet.

  Instead, she turned, and she saw the bodies. Both of her parents, splayed out in front of the fireplace. Their bodies were mutilated. Her mother lay on her back, but her chest was open. Her ribs were red stained and exposed. Her father was on his stomach. Half of his face had been torn away. There was a strip of his cheek dangling away from the raw muscle of his jaw.

  Carrie scrambled backwards.

  She was shaking, making little mewling noises. Her chest was tightening, and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. And even though she didn’t want to, her brain was putting together what had happened. Last night, the last thing she remembered was thinking that she was a werewolf, and now…

  Her parents…

  Carrie abruptly began to sob. Her body was overtaken by the force of her crying. Tears streamed down her face. She bowed her head, and gave herself over to crying.

  Her mother and father. All she had in this world.

  Dead.

  And she had done it.

  She’d killed her parents, and she’d never wanted that to happen. She got angry with them sometimes. They treated her like a child, and they wouldn’t let her grow up, but that didn’t mean that she’d ever—

  Except that wasn’t true, she realized with a growing sense of horror that only caused her sobs to deepen.

  She had wished them dead. More than once. On many occasions. Sometimes even out loud. She was sure that she’d told Joan how much she wished they’d just die already.

  “I didn’t mean it,” she whispered. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry.”

  And she started to cry even harder.

  She forced herself to look at the ruined bodies of her parents, and she sobbed for a very long time.

  * * *

  Carrie wasn’t sure how long she cried. It felt like a ve
ry long time, but it couldn’t have been that long, because the sun was still streaming through the windows, and its position hadn’t moved that much.

  It made her feel guilty that she didn’t cry for longer. She knew that she should be destroyed by what had happened. And she was. Utterly destroyed. But she was still, well, functional, and that was the hell of it. If the sight of her mutilated parents’ bodies could have sent her into a catatonic state or even a state of absolute insanity, it might have been easier in some ways. At least then she wouldn’t be aware of how she was reacting, and blaming herself for reacting the wrong way.

  She felt bad.

  She felt horrible.

  She felt wracked with grief.

  But.

  Well, it wasn’t exactly her fault. She knew about this. It happened sometimes. In fact, two years ago, she’d heard about a party held by Reagan high school, one of her own school’s rivals. And that party had been attacked by a werewolf. It had been one of the basketball team players. He’d gotten infected with the lupine virus, and so at the full moon, he’d shifted into a wolf and killed almost everyone at the party. There were only a few survivors, and they’d all been bitten, so they were taken away, since they’d become werewolves too.

  There were several ways to get the lupine virus. It could be passed on by bites, from sexual contact, from blood transfusions (although that rarely happened anymore, since most werewolves were identified and kept from donating blood), and it could be passed from mother to child if the mother was a werewolf. She’d learned all about it in health class.

  If people turned into werewolves, they were supposed to turn themselves in to the Sullivan Foundation, which was an organization that taught wolves how to control their shifts.

  So Carrie got herself up off the floor and staggered out of the room where her parents lay dead. She made her way down the hallway, looking down at her bloodstained body. The blood was dry, and it was cracking, and it was flaking off all over the floor, which upset her, but she couldn’t seem to stop it from happening.

  Anyway, it wasn’t important. What was important was that she get to a phone and that she call the SF.

  That was what she was supposed to do.

  She’d seen it on PSAs on TV. There was one where a girl had a bandage on her arm, and her boyfriend asked her what happened. The girl was real vague and obviously didn’t want to talk about it. Then the screen showed the boyfriend calling the SF. A big word SAFE flashed on the screen. Then the screen showed the boyfriend and the girl out in a car under a full moon. “You sure that bite’s okay?” said the boyfriend. But then there was the sound of a snarl and a howl and the guy was yelling. A big word SORRY flashed on the screen.