Moon Crossed (Werewolf Hunter Series): Season 1 (Episodes 1-6) (Crescent Hunter) (23 page)

Ben takes a second look
at me, studying my expression. “I'm sorry, I just assumed–”

I walk away from him.
“You assumed wrong.”

“Claire,”
Aunt Rain warns, “Go back to the cabin. We're going to handle
this. You are too tired.”

“I'll go back
when I finish what I started.” I don't turn around; there's not
going to be anymore argument.

The further I walk, the
less noise I can hear. The quiet is so much better. A sharp pain in
my side and on my chest slows me for a moment. I lift my shirt and
see that the wounds Brogan gave me are opening up again, along with
the wounds from the moon-touched wolf. Not enough to be worried, but
I really wish it would just heal. My eyes aren't adjusting to the
dark; I focus my energy and create a light globe that floats in front
of me to light the way.

Ben's been following me
since I left. “I know you're there.”

“Well, I would
hope so. If not, then you are way too easy to sneak up on,”
he says from behind.

“Then why are you
way back there?”

“Because I don't
want to intrude. I just want to make sure you're safe,” he says
in a scolding tone.

“I don't need a
babysitter,” I snap at him.

“I'm not
babysitting. Just chill out.” He stops when we come to the
first dead wolf.

I open my leather pouch
and start taking blood and hair samples for my research. Ben watches
intently and seems afraid to break the silence, but curiosity gets
the better of him. “What are you doing?”

“I'm taking
samples.” I slip the tubes back into my leather pouch.

“For what?”

“For research.
I'll explain later.” My irritation is apparent and
uncontrollable. I take out my camp shovel and start digging a shallow
hole.

Ben digs on the other
side. For some reason, I'm feeling so violated by him helping me;
it's like I can't stand the thought of him helping me bury one of his
kind. “You know I can do this on my own.”

He stops digging and
leans on the shovel. “Is it hard for you walk around with
that?”

“What are you
talking about?” I snap.

“That chip on
your shoulder?” He tilts his head to the side. “Because
you seem to be having a hard time with it.”

“Look, I don't
need you going at me, too.” I keep
digging at the ground like it has wronged me. “You don't know
what this is like.”

“I can only
imagine.” He pauses in thought. “But it's right.”

“Doing the right
thing is almost never easy.” A single tear escapes down my
cheek.

“No, it isn't,
but it
is
necessary.” He shakes his head and starts
digging again. “They were sick. What you did was merciful.”

My aunt's words ring in
my memory, the same thing we say when we bury our kills. “No
mercy.”

“You don’t
know anything of mercy. Is it merciful that I've had to kill people I
love because they were sick? That I know I'll likely have to kill
some of the most important people in my life if they get sick?”

“No, the mercy
isn't on you, it's on them,” he says. “And yes, I do know
what it's like to have to kill people you love.”

For a moment, I stop
and think about the fact that I don't know anything about him: not
his life story, not why he helps us, nothing. Is it possible that I'm
being too harsh? “I'm sorry. This just has been a bad night for
me.”

“I'm sure,”
he says, digging. “This is my pack.” Ben's words are
barely audible.

I stop digging and look
at him. “This is your pack? You knew them?”

“Yes, I did.”
He presses a sad smile across his face.

I don't urge him for
more; it's probably best if we leave it alone and finish this in
silence.

We're nearly done and
ready to put the bodies in when I feel Cole's presence.

“Hey, Ben, you
got an extra pair of sweats in there?” Cole's voice comes from
the darkness.

“Cole?” He
calls toward the voice.

“Yeah, it's me.
You got any pants?” he asks again.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”
He digs in his backpack and pulls out a pair of sweats. “I hope
they fit.”

“Yeah, me too,”
Cole says.

“What are you
doing here?” I ask, irritated.

He steps out of the
trees and into the light of my globe. “I didn't want you to be
alone.”

“Okay, seriously.
I've been doing this since I was ten years old. I went out on my own
when I was thirteen. I really don't need two babysitters now.”
I want them to leave me alone.

“Hey, Ben, I've
got this.” Cole looks at him with a knowing look.

“But–”
Cole cuts him off.

“Just go.”
His tone is insistent enough that Ben hands Cole the shovel and
starts to walk away.

“Claire, it was
nice to meet you. I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”

“Thanks, Ben.”
I say, wishing I hadn't been such a bitch. It's just been a very
trying night.

After being sure that
Ben is a good distance away, Cole comes to me and puts his hands on
my shoulders. He says nothing, then wraps his arms around me.

I break away from him.
“Let's get this done.” I go to the first body, and Cole
picks it up without my help and carefully puts him in the hole, and
then does the same with the second.

Before I set the bodies
on fire, I say a few words, usually out loud, but with Cole here I
say it in my head. “My duty is to protect your kind, even if it
is from yourselves. I am a hunter, no mercy.”

I focus my energy and
draw on Cole since I'm feeling empty. The bodies ignite into fast,
controlled burn. It's much faster than normal fire; in a matter of a
few minutes the bodies turn to ash. We push the dirt on top of the
ash.

He comes and stands in
front of me. “Watch the sunrise with me?”

Looking to the east, I
can see the sky changing color. I smile, leaning forward and putting
my head on his chest. “Yes I would love to.”

Together we ignite an undeniable flame deep within one another.

People like you and me...we need that burn.

“Thanks
for watching the sunrise with me,” Cole says without looking at
me.

“It was my
pleasure.” I walk up two steps and turn around. “Really.”

“Are you going to
be okay?” He's looking past me at something on the porch.

“Yeah.”
There's a strange internal conflict. I want him to know that I'll be
okay, but I'll never really be okay after I have to put a wolf down.
See? conflict “I just need to get some rest.”

“Yeah, I'm a
little tired, too.” He smiles, still looking at something
behind me.

I turn to see what it
is. “What are you looking at?”

“I'm not sure.
What are those?” He points to some ratty old boxes on the
porch.

“Oh.” I
huff a laugh. “Those are these really cool bird feeder, planter
things. I pulled them out of the shed, thinking it would be nice to
put them up on the porch.”

“They've been there for a while. I was wondering what they
were,” he says, walking up the stairs and turning one of the
boxes over.

“Yeah, between a
complete lack of time and acuity in woodworking, I've stalled out.”
I pull my lips to the side, thinking that I really need to put them
back in the shed.

“Trevor or Locke
could probably do it,” he says, still looking at them.

“Um, Trevor?
Nope, too much like work, and Locke might break a nail.” I
laugh.

“True.” He
stands, lengthening his tall frame. “Maybe if I have a little
time, I can see about getting these put up.”

“You don't have
to do that, but I would be incredibly grateful.” My eyes widen,
pleading. “I mean, if you are good with that sort of thing.”

“I'm very good
with wood.” He shoots me a lascivious smirk.

“Yeah,” I
stretch the word out. “I've heard that about you.”

“Don't believe
everything you hear, only what you see.” He tilts his chin down
as he bestows that wisdom. “And what you feel.”

“Got it, feel the
wood.” A big cheeky grin slides across my face.

Redness travels up his
neck to his cheeks. “You win.” He walks past me on the
stairs, not making any contact. “I'll text you later.”

“What?” I
ask, feigning innocence. “It's funny, what I said.”

“Uh huh.”
He turns around, walking backward. “Sometimes you don't know
your own strength.”

“What's that
supposed mean?” I ask, because I really don't know.

“I'll text you.”
He turns around, waving.

“K.” I
watch him disappear around the corner of the house.

As exhausted as I am,
there's no way that I can sleep after the night I've just had. A
smile grows as I hear Cole's truck start up and rumble down the
driveway. For the first time in a long time, I feel happy to be
alive. Probably because I'm really living, not just going through the
motions.

Somehow, he was able to
quell the pain of everything that happened last night: having to make
two kills, and all that crap that Hayden was spewing about my mother
being wolf-borne.

Part of me wishes I
hadn't let Cole take me home, and that I had gone back to the cabin
where I could pin down Hayden and Aunt Rain and get some answers.
Why would he say that?

Although, it was far
more likely that he wouldn't discuss it in front of everyone, so I'm
going to have to choose my timing.

Going through the
parlor to go upstairs, I stop and eye my father's study. There could
be something in there with information. I've never really gone
through everything.

Inhaling a deep breath
to fortify my resolve, I walk in and look around. The closet has a
ton of photo albums. I've gone through some of them, but never looked
for clues that my mother may have been wolf-borne.

There's a stack of
photo albums in the closet. Of course, there are many pictures of Mom
and Da. I can't suppress the laugh that comes out when I see Da with
a big handlebar mustache. Turning page after page, there isn’t
really anything to indicate what Hayden said.

Da playing with wolves.
Some I know, some I don't, but they aren't always easy to recognize
in pictures,unless they have some sort of defining characteristics.
Locke has a reddish hue to his coat that matches his beard when he's
human. Trevor's coat always looks bushy and unkempt. Tor has an
unusually short coat and always looks very sleek. Then there's Cole,
with those blue eyes. Most wolf-borne have brown or golden eyes when
they shift, but Cole's eyes don't change color; they are the most
incredible crystal blue.

I close the cover on
the last photo album and carry the stack back to the closet. There's
a small black box on the floor. After putting the stack of albums
back on the shelf, I take out the box and brush off the years of
dust.

The box is full of
photos. Mom, Da, Trevor as a baby. He used to be so cute. What
happened? I think to myself with a chuckle. I wonder why these were
never put in an album. I study each picture. Mom feeding a baby
Trevor. He's covered in spaghetti sauce. Another where Trevor's in
her lap, laying on the couch, and she's reading
Green Eggs and
Ham
. One where Mom, Da, and Trevor are in the woods. Someone else
had to have taken the photos of them together.

Then, some pictures of
Mom, pregnant with me. She's holding Trevor on her hip. I huff out a
laugh; it's so weird how the wolf-borne age so much slower than us.
It's hard to remember sometimes that Trevor is older than me by four
years. I also didn't realize he was that young when Aunt Rain adopted
him. I assumed he was older.

I had no idea that Mom
spent so much time with him. I guess she did a lot of babysitting
while Aunt Rain went on hunts.

I come to a stack of
photos after I was born. Baby me, Mom, Da, and Trevor. I wish I could
remember this. A pang of jealousy sours me; Trevor got to spend so
much more time with my mother than I did. He probably remembers her,
and I don't.