VAMP RISING (By Moonlight Book 1)
Read VAMP RISING (By Moonlight Book 1) Online
Authors: Evie Ryan
VAMP RISING
By Moonlight, Book 1
EVIE RYAN
Copyright © 2015
Published by: Rascal Hearts
All Rights Reserved
. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Gwen Keller let the tangled tent poles drop from her quivering arms. They clattered into a bent heap on the ground and looked like every spider she'd ever killed, a sloppy mess of legs she found curious, but didn’t necessarily want to deal with. She wriggled her shoulders free from the overstuffed hiker’s backpack that had started to cause her neck and arms to ache, leaned forward so the sack wouldn’t plummet, and carefully slid it down her back by inching the nylon straps through her sore fingers until her belongings met the earth with a gentle
plop
. She had an impulse to take her boots off, the next heaviest item tethered to her petite frame, but decided to sweep the baseball cap off her head instead and let her scalp breathe.
She had made it. The campsite was delightfully empty just like she’d hoped. She figured the summer months had this area teeming with families, kids screaming and chasing each other, radios blaring, and beer induced conversations shouted across the clearing:
Where are the batteries? In the glove box! I don’t see them! Not the trunk, the GLOVE BOX!
Gwen was relieved it was mid autumn, grateful to be avoiding that kind of chaos. She was here to think, and now that she’d finally arrived, climbed up the western trail on foot like a real hiker, and had picked the perfect spot to set up her tent, she felt like she’d be able to do just that: think, reflect,
accept
. But there were her tent poles, as curious and daunting as being here in the first place. Maybe she’d get herself set up first, hold off from reconciling her fate until she was thoroughly settled and completely confident that the long weekend ahead would bring peace and not the anxiety she’d promised to leave back home in Seattle.
The crisp mountain air wafted lazily through her short blond hair, cooling her head and reminding her to breathe deeply. There was plenty of daylight left to erect the tent, blow up her air mattress, and gather kindling. Before parting from the comfort of her Mercedes, she had memorized the how-to’s of camping by studying several web pages that she’d book marked on her iPad. She anticipated there would be no cell towers up here, no signals to check the internet so she’d left all her devices in her vehicle. She could do this. Just Gwen and nature. Just Gwen and the diagnosis that hovered over her like a dark cloud.
Don’t think about it
, she told herself.
Not yet. Let’s get organized first.
She stared down at the tent poles, gave them a little kick with her boot, and in true Gwen Keller fashion decided that having a look around while collecting wood scraps for the fire she would surely build after dark would be a good enough place to start, ease her into the more difficult tasks, acclimate her to the idea that for the next three days she would be a camper, a burly woods-woman, and not the dainty marketing associate, who’d never spend an hour, much less a weekend, in the great outdoors, that she truly was. Yes, she was procrastinating. Old habits die hard. City Gwen, who had been reduced to a nervous voice in the back of her mind, was hoping a nice, attractive, competent man would come along and pitch her tent. After all, that’s what usually happened.
Flat tire? I’ll give ‘Triple A’ a call
. Sure. Seattle men wouldn’t do the heavy lifting themselves, but they didn’t need to. Their wallets could. But new Gwen, self-sufficient Gwen, Gwen of the Cascade Mountains was up for the task. Sort of. Baby Steps.
Let’s get that kindling
.
She started across the campsite, keeping her eyes peeled for anything that might do. Pinecones crunched under her boots, twigs snapped, and her jean shorts brushed softly between her thighs. The wilderness was silent except for the occasional breeze that rustled the leafy treetops, the faint chorus of crickets, and the punctuating
woot
of some kind of bird. Gwen realized how noisy she was by comparison and wondered what the forest creatures might be thinking of her. The thought made her oddly self-conscious. She was a big, klutzy oaf. Even her heartbeat thumps and the sound of her breathing seemed to draw attention to how wildly out of place she was.
She told herself not to feel self-conscious since it was a silly reaction to have, given that she was clearly and completely alone, when suddenly she realized she wasn’t. It was red plaid that stole her attention. At the far end of the campsite where the forest thickened there was a man walking in her general direction. He appeared to have come
out of
the forest and didn’t seem like your run-of-the-mill camper. He also didn’t seem to notice Gwen, who by now had paused in order to observe him.
Old Gwen piped up about good omens and the tent, but New Gwen shut Old Gwen up and slinked behind a tree trunk. New Gwen knew that just because her doctors had given her a death sentence didn’t mean she couldn’t
also
get murdered in the mountains. Gwen was learning life wasn’t fair, bad things did happen to good people and bad things could also get worse.
As she examined the man, noting his height first (he was tall, well over six feet, and Gwen stood at a measly 5’4”) and then his attire (a weathered plaid flannel that was unbuttoned to his navel, sleeves rolled up, worn out jeans that hugged his thighs, and sturdy work boots), she wondered what brought him out here. He looked as if he belonged. Or maybe there was another campsite through the trees she hadn’t been aware of.
The man circled something that lay on the forest floor then kneeled with his back to Gwen, before it. Soon a few dogs rushed to him from out of the forest. They appeared to be harnessed and Gwen realized the dogs were towing some kind of sled. The man lifted whatever had been on the ground, understanding it was massive now that he had it in his arms. It was an animal, but she couldn’t tell what kind. Her mind kept offering
lion
, but that made no sense. There were no lions in Washington not to mention there would be no way for one man to lift a limp lion. They had to be well over three hundred pounds and the man had scooped it in his arms with ease. He then set the animal on the sled bed, secured it with a number of straps, and whistled. As if commanded, the dogs began hauling the sled back into the forest and the man disappeared after them.
Gwen listened intently for any sign he was returning to the campsite, but when she heard only the breeze and that crazed bird
wooting
she allowed herself to breathe and started back towards her tent. Forget the kindling. She would pitch her damn tent and go for the hike she’d been dreaming about for all the hours it’d taken her to get to the Cascades. Not to mention her hunting knife was in her backpack where it would do her no good. She needed to be smart, keep her wits about her, and have that knife on her at all times. It occurred to her it might be tough getting it out of its plastic packaging, but she’d find a way. She should have let the store clerk slice it open when she bought it on impulse at the last gas station before entering the park. He’d offered, but the gesture seemed to be in the spirit of finding out about her. He’d already asked her too many questions. Gwen had an aversion to friendliness from strangers. It was probably the city girl in her. Her guard was always up. And the more he’d inquired about her plans for camping and what had inspired her to come this way, the harder it became to fight back the sting of tears that were threatening to well in the corners of her eyes.
Fast and furious, Gwen unzipped the front compartment of her backpack, grabbed the plastic encased hunting knife, and brought it up to her teeth. She wasn’t going to feel threatened by anyone, no matter how rational or irrational Old Gwen was making it. If that man came within twenty feet of her she’d knife him like a maniac, no hesitation. She was going to get everything out of this weekend she had planned and that didn’t include turning into an episode of Dateline NBC.
Once she freed the knife, she clipped it to her belt, rolled up the sleeves on her gray sweatshirt, which fit her graceful curves to perfection, and lifted one of the eight tent poles from the pile. It took a great deal of concentration, reminding her of the painstaking hours she had wasted as a child, struggling to master her father’s Rubik’s Cube on a dare. Gwen eventually succeeded and the tent stood proudly, like the mushroom that had sprouted between the curled linoleum and wooden trim in her aunt’s bathroom, the summer twelve year old Gwen had visited.
Working quickly, she blew up her air mattress, dressed it in bedding, unpacked her backpack to give the tent a dash of hominess, then started off through the campsite in search of kindling for the second time. After selecting a few choice pieces, careful to consider the wood not be too damp, Gwen essentially gave up her scrutiny and grabbed whatever looked burnable, regardless of pine needles still attached. She dumped the wood scraps into the burnt black fire pit in front of her tent, sprayed her legs, arms, and neck with bug repellent, and took off for the eastern trail.
If her research had served her, the eastern trail would ascend steeply through the woods until it reached a ridge that would overlook the Cascade region. That’s where she wanted to be. According to her wristwatch it was 5:13 pm, just enough time to get up to the ridge, take a deep breath and hopefully have an epiphany, then return to camp before the sun would set.
As she hiked up along the trail, she took in the all the beautiful sights and smells: the pattern of light across the forest floor caused by the sun shining through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, the texture of bark on every tree she passed, and the vibrancy of the foliage., The thick moss scent and rich fresh air filled her lungs and helped her mind to clear. Soon the meditative nature of her journey caused her thoughts to drift back to the issue of her health, as much as she wanted to avoid it until after she had reached the peak.
Cold and clammy
. That had been what first entered her mind when she’d heard the news. She hadn’t been able to remember her doctor’s name, but was taken aback by how cold and clammy his hand felt the second he’d placed it on her arm.
I’m being told I’m going to die by a man whose hand repulses me
, she’d thought. Not comforted by a boyfriend, she didn’t have one. Not assured by her parents, she hadn’t clued them in on her months of fatigue, the terrible aches that had plagued each work day, and the horrible mornings she had woke up with nausea, barely making it to the toilet in time. They hadn’t been there with her to receive the diagnosis.
We’ve narrowed it down to the possibility that it’s one of the three most common blood disorders, but will need to run more tests,
the doctor had told her, as she sat by herself on the couch. She hadn’t wanted to worry her family, but hearing that kind of news without any support had been traumatic. She had expected to be told she had the flu. She’d never imagined that cancer would be the most likely culprit. She didn’t stick around for the confirmation, giving the excuse that she felt
fine
(an obvious lie) and was
too busy
(a less obvious lie). Could she schedule the follow up tests for next week?
When the doctor told her it would be best to run more tests now, she insisted she needed to go, and that’s when he leveled with her.
We have every reason to believe it’s blood cancer, Gwen. We need to start treatment
. Her only question had been how long? How many more years did she have? His expression had fallen somber then he corrected her assumption:
Not years, Gwen. Months
.
Months?
As in just shy of a year?
No, as in just shy of winter.
If she did nothing Gwen would be dead by Thanksgiving. It was already October 12th. The time line had been so shocking that Gwen began to laugh. He went on to explain that with treatment she could prolong the inevitable until her birthday in the Spring. The image of her frail and bald, seated at her parent’s dining room table, gazing down at a slice of cake that she would be too ill to eat, caused Gwen to instantly burst into tears., Not because she felt sorry for herself, but because she perceived the magnitude of pain her parents would surely feel as they watched their youngest child dying before their very eyes. It was that image that had her abruptly spring to her feet and leave the hospital against her doctor's advisement. By the time Gwen had reached the parking lot, her mind had gone blank and she’d slipped into some form of denial. She was numb, empty, and oddly distracted by how much laundry she had to do, so much that she was sure she’d lost her mind.
Gwen was jarred from the recall when she noticed she’d reached a clearing. The trees had fallen away, and the compact soil beneath her boots had turned suddenly loose and gravely. She realized the trail was now traversing the long and winding ridge along the eastern peak of the Cascade Mountain.
The view was absolutely breathtaking. Stepping carefully, Gwen came to the cliff’s edge and looked out at the tremendous expanse of wilderness before her, replete with Fir trees that splashed rich green colors across the landscape, gorgeously contrasting the piercing blue sky. Her gaze traced the other winding hiking trails across the ravine until her sights landed on Mount Rainier far in the distance. Its snowy peak seemed to kiss the sky and its jagged rock face smoothed and melted into the hills that surrounded it. There was even a lake to the south, though from her vantage point Gwen could only see a corner of its glassy teal surface. The colors were unreal and the entire view reminded her of an artist’s painting.