Bright Moon (24 page)

Tyson was tense. He’d lost interest in
eating and his eyes shot from Dingo to Rodger. “How nice to have
such a partisan.”

“Tell me,” Rodger said and waved his fork in
the air. “How many pups did Felina have?”

“Five.”

A few of the others stopped eating. A fork
clattered to a plate when Ovid dropped it and they shared looks of
disbelief.

“Five?” Rodger asked, his aged voice
breathless from shock. “She is a fool to take on so many.”

“How can she control how many she finds?”
Callan asked.

Rodger and his pack chuckled. “She cannot
control how many were found,” he agreed. “But she can control how
many survive.”

“You-you aren’t suggesting she kill them?”
Clara gasped.

“In case you haven’t noticed, young woman,
what we have become is the exact stuff nightmares are made of. Our
thoughts are turned to killing. Our bodies become the unimaginable.
If the infection is spread too far, it will begin to take over the
population. Then what will this world have to look forward to?
Nothing but destruction as each pack fights for territory. So am I
suggesting she kill them? Indeed I am. I have ordered my boys to do
likewise if too many of the infected are found.”

“You’ve killed pups?” she asked.

“Do not speak with such venom in your
voice,” Dingo said vehemently. “You don’t understand our
world!”

Tyson’s hand closed over her knee under the
table, but anger spurred her words. “What gives you the right to
kill? I don’t have to understand everything there is about being a
werewolf to know that killing is wrong!”

“Tyson, you would do well to remind your
girl whose guest she is,” Dingo spat truculently.

Rodger’s hand slammed down on the table just
as Tyson rose from his chair. “Dingo! You are excused from the
house.”

“But Rodg—”

“You too would do well to remember they are
my
guests. Now out!” He waited until Dingo stood and left.
“As for this matter of killing pups, it is necessary to keep the
infection under control. We do not simply eliminate every pup we
come in contact with, only the ones that have little promise of
ever taming.”

She inhaled slowly as rage built in her
chest. Tyson took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Excuse us, Rodger, I think we had better retire now.”

Rodger nodded and waved a hand. Her brow
knit together as he dragged her from the scene and up two flights
of stairs to their room. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Don’t
tell me you agree with him?”

“Sh!” Tyson said and pushed the door
shut.

“Have you killed pups?” she asked in a
raised voice.

He rushed to her and placed a hand over her
mouth. “Of course I haven’t killed pups!” he whispered. “And of
course I don’t agree with him, but what do you want me to do about
it? We are on his lands and in his pack. I could challenge him, but
that would mean we fight and I don’t think Callan and I can take on
all those
boys
down there. Do you understand?”

She nodded and he released her mouth once
more.

“Not everything is black and white the way
he thinks,” Tyson whispered again. “That being said, I never, ever,
ever
want to hear you arguing with a werewolf again,
alright?”

She twisted the ends of her hair in her
fingers and looked away. “I argue with you all the time.”

“I mean
other
werewolves, ones not of
our pack. You can argue with me all you like. I rather enjoy this
thing we have.”

“I wasn’t aware we had a thing.”

“Sure we do, we argue.”

She smiled, but it quickly faded. “I just
can’t imagine…”

He gently took hold of her chin and made her
look him in the eye. “Then don’t,” he said in a breath of a
whisper. For the briefest of moments, she thought his eyes softened
and he leaned toward her, just as he had so many times before. The
door rattled then swung open when Callan strode through. Tyson
shook his head and smiled as if someone had just told a joke.

“I was getting a bit nervous down there,”
Callan said while eyeing them. “I am still only a
pup
after
all.”

“This place is beginning to wear on me,”
Tyson agreed. “Come sunup, we’re leaving, with or without the
others.”

Luckily, the others showed up in the dead of
night. Clara fell asleep on the bed while dwelling on Tyson’s
strange behavior toward her. Darkness covered the land when Mesha
shook her awake. She gasped in relief and threw her arms about
Mesha’s neck even as sleep clung to the edges of her
understanding.

“I was beginning to think you’d never come!”
she whispered.

“Why has Tyson brought you here?” Mesha
asked. “This place reeks of death.”

“You smell it?” Clara asked.

“Yes!” she answered in a hushed whisper. “Do
you not?”

“I’m mortal, remember?”

“Come on,” she replied and pulled Clara to
her feet. Callan was there as well, already dressed and holding a
suitcase in each hand.

“I need to change,” Clara said when he made
for the door.

“You can change later,” Mesha said and took
a hold of her hand.

Outside the air was cool and crisp, causing
shivers to run up and down Clara’s spine. Tyson had already started
the SUV and cranked up the heat when she slid into the passenger
seat shivering. Mesha took the backseat and the door slammed shut.
With Tyson driving, the car shot backward and swung around until it
faced the right direction. They passed under the gruesome arch of
bones and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The airport scene
had become an all-too-familiar one to the group. Tyson pushed the
boundaries of how much his little pack could endure when he kept
them airborne for nearly five days straight. They landed in so many
different places that Clara could hardly remember them all. The
first flight carried them overseas, to Scotland. They only stayed
there long enough to let their scent mingle with the locals before
returning to the airport and hopping on a flight back to the U.S.
This time they touched down in New York, left the airport for an
hour, then returned for another flight that dragged them all the
way to China.

In each airport they passed through, Tyson
made them practically bathe in scent eliminating soap and had them
discard their outfits. Each time, he replaced their clothing—not
without Dawn’s help—with things heavily doused in a similar scent
killing detergent. During this time, Clara learned that their
luggage had been purposefully sent to another part of the world so
their scent would lead pursuers on a wild goose chase.

They made several trips to various airports
throughout China, Nepal, Mongolia, Japan and Thailand. Tyson
handled all the paperwork and got them through customs. His deep
voice was all the more intoxicating when she heard him speaking in
the language of each country, sounding a native in whichever
dialect they encountered. Every stop, they would wander through the
streets for a time before returning and catching another flight

Finally, a plane carried them to Australia,
but they hopped around the country until they landed in the
Townsville Airport and Tyson announced they would not be returning
to any airport for a few weeks at least. That alone put them in
high spirits. They took one last scent killing bath, then left with
a sense of relief.

Outside, an unusually early storm raged and
the rain poured relentlessly down on them when they dashed to their
rented vehicle. The only vehicle the rental place had to
accommodate their numbers was a mini van, but no one seemed to mind
as they ducked out of the drizzle.

With their belongings now missing, a trip to
the store was in order. Neither Mesha nor Callan seemed able to
withstand a moment more of the closed confinement of the car and
the trip was postponed. The trouble was that they had quite a drive
ahead of them yet. Somewhere between Townsville and Ravenswood,
Tyson led them to an isolated spot where a charming little cabin
stood. Despite driving over two hours from Townsville, the rain
continued pelting down.

The moment the van lurched to a standstill,
each of the pack members clambered to leave. Naturally, Tyson had
chosen a location where they could venture with minimal chances of
running into an innocent. Even Dawn, who usually went right inside,
was eager to utilize their surroundings. The driving rain did not
dampen their spirits and even helped to ensure they would not be
spotted by any mortal eyes but Clara’s. As usual, the only one calm
enough to stay was Tyson. Still, he seemed a bit on edge when they
ran into the house after he located a hidden key.

The little cabin reflected Tyson’s large
mansion in so many ways, she automatically knew it was his and not
some place he’d rented as she’d first thought. Above, the rain beat
on the tin roof like the rat-a-tat of an angry drum. Nothing was
spoken until he took her to a room and leaned against the doorframe
to watch her explore her new surroundings.

“There are changes of clothing in the
dresser,” he said. “I’m afraid most everything was stocked before I
met Callan, so the outfits will not fit you very well. There are
extra things nonetheless.”

“That’s fine, thank you,” she mumbled,
turning to face him.

“I cannot stay indoors,” he said without
meeting her eye for more than a few seconds at a time. “I will not
leave sight of the house. If you need me, I will be able to hear
you.”

“I doubt I will do much more than sleep,”
she confessed.

“Good,” he said. She’d come to stand a
couple of feet in front of him. He surprised her when he reached
out and lightly tugged a bit of hair from behind her ear, letting
his fingers interlace with the strands as they slid down. “You
weaken me you know,” he whispered as goose bumps spread over her
skin.

“I weaken you?” she asked, barely able to
voice the question as she remembered Koty’s words. His fingers
combed her hair again.

“You are worse than the brightest of moons,
Miss Rita,” he whispered. “How can I fight your lure?”

“I have a lure?” she whispered. He chuckled
and leaned toward her, but stopped just when she reached out. His
arms crossed his chest as if it was all he could do to keep them
still.

“Yes, you are very alluring. I suppose it is
why your mother named you as she did, because your beauty surpasses
the moon.”

Her heart hammered, causing her fingers to
tremble. For the final time, he took her hair between his fingers,
this time only to tug playfully.

“I’m sorry, I will be much better when I
have run. Rest now so I can run, alright?”

She swallowed hard and nodded, even though
she did not want him to be
better
. Her eyes madly searched
his until he turned from her and disappeared down the hall, leaving
her to sort out what had just happened. When she eventually fell
into the bed situated opposite the window, she discovered the sleep
she so desperately wanted before had suddenly become evasive.

She dreamt of
Tyson’s fingers running through her hair. Not even the sweet,
heavenly, buttery scent that drifted into her room when she woke
helped ease the fact that it wasn’t true. She slipped from bed and
stumbled to keep from stepping on Mesha, who was curled up on the
floor at the foot of the frame. She maneuvered carefully to avoid
waking her, knowing how tired she would be after staying out with
the moon all night.

Stripped of her possessions, she was left
with little choice but to raid the drawers. They were stocked with
men’s clothing, just as Tyson said. She was able to find a pair of
drawstring sweatpants and a tee that somewhat fit. Her process of
dressing was broken only when she stopped to admire the three,
striking pink roses in a vase on the dresser drawers. Her heart
felt lighter when she followed the smell of pancakes to the cozy
kitchen tucked behind the wall of the front room. Still groggy and
trying to forget her dream, she rounded the entry to the kitchen,
only to stop short in surprise.

Standing at the stove was not Dawn, but
Tyson. Dawn was not even in sight, nor were any of the others. In
all her time with the pack, Dawn had always been the one to prepare
meals. Tyson held the handle of a frying pan and patted the top of
a pancake with a spatula. He wore loose fitting pajama bottoms and
a plain, cotton shirt. She could not recall ever seeing him wearing
anything but denim pants and form fitting tops. The casual setting
helped humanize him and she chewed her tongue in order to keep from
gawking.

“Good morning, Clara,” he said without
looking up. She immediately pushed her hair back, wishing she’d
taken the time to pull it up.

“Good morning,” she replied.

He flipped the pancake onto a plate and
handed it to her. “Specially made,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you,” she replied with a smile of her
own.

He grabbed his plate, which had a few
additional items, and crossed the threshold to a dinette just
beyond the other end of the kitchen. It sat under a sunny window
framed with yellow curtains. Outside, the day had all but forgotten
the storm of the night before. “Care to join me?” he asked and held
the chair for her when she sat, causing her cheeks to burn.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said and
reached for the syrup. There were also tall glasses of orange juice
and a bowl of chopped, mixed fruit for Clara.

“Dawn graciously volunteered to pick up
anything extra we may need at the store and left when the moon set.
She’s already been to a local market to get us this food, so I
thought I might fill in this once.” He jabbed a bit of egg on the
end of his fork and began eating. “I’m surprised your brother has
not been drawn from his rest by the smell of sausage.” He gestured
toward another plate with several pancakes on it.