Moon Crossed (Werewolf Hunter Series): Season 1 (Episodes 1-6) (Crescent Hunter) (67 page)

Confusion clouds my
thoughts for a moment until I realize he wants me in human form. It
takes some effort but I manage to shift back into my human form. My
body is pressed against his, creating an intense yet wondrous heat.

Tucking a stray hair
behind my ear, he gazes into my eyes, contented, caressing the small
of my back lightly and sending shivers through me that have nothing
to do with the chill in the air. I return the loving gaze, wanting to
tell him how much I love him, how every breath I take is in honor of
him.

“Claire, I've
never known love like this.” He runs the back of his finger
against my cheek.

This moment between us
doesn't require words. There's nothing I can say that will replace
the comfort we have right now in this glowing silence.

I want to be with
you in every way you'll have me,
I think, but don't say out loud.

He inhales deeply as
his eyes soften. “And
you
have
me
.” Cole's
voice wisps past my ear as his calloused hands move delicately
against the skin on my back and up to my neck, urging my lips to his.
Warm embers spiral slowly through my soul as I feel his full lips on
mine. This kiss is loving and slow, not needy. We have everything we
need.

The timer on the
condenser goes off, yanking me out of my dream. I was deep enough in
sleep that I'm shaking from the shock of waking up. I want to go
back, to be with Cole, to feel his breath, his hands, his everything.

I press the button on
the alarm and examine the potion closely to see if it's the proper
consistency. It's not. It's all wrong: the wrong coloration, the
wrong consistency, the wrong everything. Hoping that maybe this is
will be a good mistake, I introduce it to moon-touched tissue to see
what effect it has.

On contact, the potion
dissolves the tissue, obliterating it as though it were an acid, then
proceeds to dissolve the glass on the slide. “Crap.”

I take the slide out
quickly so that the potion doesn't damage the microscope. This is not
helping my mood.

Zane's been gone for a
week. I know he's been back in town for three days. Ben hasn't been
back since patrol and the house has returned to complete silence. I'm
resisting the urge to smash everything and give up.

Taking in several deep
breaths to calm myself, I go into the office to record the results so
I don't make this mistake again. As I'm waiting for the computer to
power up, the pile of crap all over my desk raises my frustration
level. The computer is taking too long and my anger crescendos as I
think about that dream and what I'll never have with Cole.

Something in me snaps
and I throw my notebook across the room. It goes through the bars on
Locke's cell, knocking over and breaking the picture frame on his
desk. “Damn it!”

I go into the cell,
bend down to pick up the broken glass, and see that the picture in
the frame is me and Locke at a concert together. He has his arm
around me and we're both smiling and happy. Tears start streaming
down my cheeks, knowing I'll never have that again either. “Why,
why Locke, why did you leave me, too?”

Collapsing on the
floor, I lay my head on Locke's bed, taking in his scent and wishing
he were here. I need his friendship and his comfort, his approval
that I'm trying to do something for the greater good. But he's gone.
My sobs echo down the empty hallway, calling me to each of their
cells. I look around, seeing the various things they kept to try to
focus their calm. They all have pictures of us during brighter times,
when we were a family, before this world tore us apart. In Brogan's
cell there's a painting that we tried to do together. He swore there
was hope for me being an artist. He held my hand while we moved the
paint around. It's a terrible hot mess, but down in the corner Brogan
scrawled the words, “The true art is our friendship,” and
we both signed it. My fury crests, boiling over. I pick up the
painting and smash the wood frame against the wall over and over
again, until it's nothing but the skin of our friendship holding
together slivers of wood still held on by the staples.

I go back down the
hallway to Locke's cell and pick up the photo, slamming it against
the desk until every last bit of frame and glass are obliterated. I
crumple it up and collapse on the floor again,
sorrow the only thing making my heart beat.

Glancing up through
tear-blurred vision, I see Cole's cell. The door is still mangled
from where he broke out to save me from Brogan.

Hoisting myself up off
the floor, I go in to find a hint of his scent left behind. I need
it, to smell him, to feel him. I wish I didn't. Laying down across
the cot and pressing my face against the pillow, I catch a faint
remnant of his scent. My sobbing intensifies; smelling him, trying to
feel closer to him, doesn't help heal the wound. It only opens it up
wider for my grief to flow through.

Something crinkles
inside the pillow case. There are folded up papers. As I unfold the
first one, Cole's handwriting comes into view.

The first time I saw
you so many years ago I knew then my soul would only be whole with
you.

Will you ever see me
the way that I am, the man you need me to be, the man I'm meant to
be?

Then there's a drawing
of us together in the clearing, watching the sunrise. Lies.

Finding this doesn't
make me feel anything but sickness and anger. I want to tear him
apart. The pillow gets the brunt of my anger, getting ripped to
shreds. I'd piss on it if I thought it would eradicate his scent from
it. I want to burn everything he's ever touched in my house. Exorcise
him from my home, my life, my heart and soul. Get rid of any remnants
of him like the trash he is. Leave nothing behind and see if it will
drag the painful reminder that I love him with it.

I need to stop loving
him.

Stomping up the stairs,
I skip the step Cole fixed. I get the pool cue that he used when we
played, swinging it hard against the side of the table and breaking
it in two. My labored breathing is the only sound in this empty shell
of a house that reminds me of the vacant remains of my being.

What's next? The
kitchen. There's nothing left in here. Something catches my eye out
on the porch.

“Yes.” The
word bleeds from my mouth. I go out and stand motionless for several
minutes, looking at the planters, the heavy end of the pool cue in my
hand. I look down at it, then back at the planters, deciding that
this isn't heavy enough to do the job. I go to the tool shed, walking
past the graveyard that's completely overgrown with weeds. It
punctuates my outrage at being abandoned by everyone. I pick up the
pace to the shed when I feel the presence of a wolf-borne.

“I don't care,
come and get me if you think you can kill me,” I growl with a
hateful glare toward the woods. Inside the shed I find the ax, and
head back to the porch. I look at the empty chair and consider
whether or not the chair is getting turned into firewood tonight or
not.

Cole's presence runs
through my body; he's here, watching me. I look toward the tree line
and although I can't see him, I know I'm looking directly into his
eyes. A sardonic smile rises to my lips as I lift the ax up and start
swinging at the planters. They explode and splinter into a million
pieces across the porch and into the yard. I hack and cut away at the
first one until there is nothing left but splinters. I can't make out
one butterfly, one scrolling design, and the lifeless dirt is spread
across the wood planks on the porch like the remnants of a freshly
dug grave.

Cole's heart aches as I
destroy his work; I feel it. One of the fruits of his labor of
deception and manipulation. I turn to the other one and there's a
split second of hesitation that feels like sadness. But there's no
room for sadness, only anger. Only destruction. I want to destroy
everything the way this life has destroyed me.

The ax makes contact
with the planter; it explodes into pieces across the wood. Potting
soil scatters into a dusty cloud, hanging in the air for the blink of
an eye that's been set in slow motion.

While chopping at the
remnants of wood, the railing on the porch falls victim and I don't
care. This place isn't sacred anymore. It means nothing; there's no
magic here. Only me.

Gathering the remains
of the planters, I drop them into the fire pit, then conjure a
fireball much larger than necessary and drop it onto the pile with my
back turned to it. I hop up the stairs and stand in front of Cole's
chair once more. Hating it, letting it get to me.

I glance into the
woods, then back to Cole's chair. Should I move it with my magic to
the fire? No. I want them to feel their essence burning in this fire,
just like they burned mine when they froze me out.

I pick up the chair and
walk down the stairs, leaving it unceremoniously in the pit. The
flames aren't strong enough to engulf it with the satisfaction and
rage that I'm looking for. Dramatically raising my hands above my
head, channeling my energy to the fire, I call out through gritted
teeth in a low gravelly voice. “Burn.”

The bonfire grows
angrily. Cole's voice sounds in my mind.
Claire, the woods.

Embers dance through
the air and fall in discord where the trees are burning. With a cold
stare, I glare in Cole's direction. “Let it burn.”

Slowly I turn and walk
up the steps, sit in my chair, and light a cigarette with my magic. I
inhale a long, satisfying draw, letting the smoke out slowly and
whispering, “Chaotic Claire.”

Ninety-nine days

That
was the first decent night’s sleep I've gotten in...well, I
can't remember how long it's been. Probably the comfort from the boys
being outside all night. They put out the fire and stuck around at
least until four a.m. When I got up around four a.m to use the
restroom, I could still feel them, even Cole. Perhaps I was
overreacting a wee bit.

Nah.

I light my cigarette
with my new lighter, kick my boots up on the railing, and survey the
charred remains of my backyard. It's mostly the woods that got the
brunt of my fury. There's a hint of shame in me as I look at the dead
lands that Rabbit's garden has become. We missed the big harvest.
It’s just as well.

The graveyard
desperately needs to be cleaned up; it disturbs me to have it looking
so crappy. The dead grass is as tall as the headstones.

“Whoa, what
happened back here?” Zane comes to a stop at the bottom of the
stairs.

“There was an
accident.” My tone is innocent as I blow out a big puff of
smoke.

“Huh, how about
that.” He gives me a hard look when he reaches the top step.
“You know only
you
can prevent forest fires.”

“Yeah, something
like that.” I pull my feet down off the railing and notice that
he has a gym bag slung over his shoulder. “You going
somewhere?”

“Well, coming
back
from somewhere.” He drops the bag on the porch and
looks for Cole's chair to sit in. “Um...” His eyes shift
from side to side.

“Part of the
accident.” I remain expressionless.

“Okay, then.”
He sits on the love seat. “You been doin' okay?”

“Yup.”

“Where's Ben?”
he asks, since he can't feel his presence.

“No idea.”

“When did you see
him last?” He raises an eyebrow.

“The last time I
saw you; he never came home from patrol.” I inhale a big puff
of smoke like I don't care, but I do.

“Oh, I told him
to check on you.” His tone is full of irritation.

“Nope, he did
not.” I emphasize each word.

“Claire, don't be
angry with Ben,” he says with a softness to his voice.

“Who said I'm
angry?” I look him in the eye for the first time.

“Your fingertips
are glowing.” He motions to my hands.

“Huh, how about
that.” I nod.

“And now I'm
going to ask you to not be angry with me.” A tight smile
crosses his lips.

“Why?” I
ask cautiously.

“I asked Ben to
stay away.” He says it quietly, as though he's hoping I won't
hear him.

“Um, why would
you do that?” My eyes squeeze nearly shut as I try to
understand.

“Specifically
because I'm concerned about his feelings for you.” He pulls his
lips to the side. “I see the way he looks at you and talks
about you...”

“It doesn't
matter how he feels. I'm done with all that.” I shrug.

“Yes, but I
didn't think it was a good idea for him to be alone with you.”
He leans back in the chair. “Especially with Locke telling me
he was coming by with Cole.”

My brows arch while I
survey the backyard again with a mocking smile.

“But I can see
that maybe it didn't go as planned.” He follows my gaze to the
burnt trees.