Darkmoon (#5) (The Cain Chronicles) Read online

  That felt wrong—letting someone else take care of his mate.

  Even if Rylie did happen to be Seth’s fiancée.

  A girl walking out of the grocery store caught his eye. Crystal was plump in all of the right places, and wearing the same tiny denim shorts that she always wore, even though it was freezing outside. She had swapped out her high-tops for Ugg boots and put on a scarf, but there was still more bare skin than cloth.

  Her gaze landed on the Chevelle. She headed over, grocery bag in hand, and Abel rolled down the window.

  Crystal bent over to brace her elbows on the door, which gave him a really good view of all that cleavage. “You aren’t looking for me, are you?” she asked. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

  A couple years ago, before he knew Rylie, Abel probably would have been looking for someone just like her. But now, all he said was, “How did you get into town?”

  She smirked. “I ran. It was refreshing.” Crystal somehow managed to make that sound like a very dirty suggestion. “I sure would like a ride back.”

  Abel gave a small laugh. He wasn’t exactly an educated man, but he also wasn’t stupid. He knew when someone was trying to flirt with him. But as much as he appreciated Crystal’s insane curves and her fondness for showing them off, she wasn’t his type, and she didn’t seem to get that at all.

  He couldn’t exactly leave a member of the pack to walk home in tiny shorts, though. He leaned over to unlock the passenger side door. “Get in.”

  She climbed in and leaned around to set her grocery bag on the backseat, which pressed the long, warm line of her body against his arm. Glass clinked as her purchase settled. “I bought some Kahlua,” she explained. “Stephanie’s been doing all the grocery shopping, and she ignores me whenever I put alcohol on the refrigerator list.”

  “I know. She refuses to buy beer, too.”

  Crystal twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “You look like you’re having the kind of day where you could use a beer. Want to get a drink?”

  It was the best idea he had heard in days. “Now you’re talking.”

  The town only had one bar, but it was good enough for Abel’s purposes. The lights were dim, so he couldn’t see who he was drinking with, and there was plenty of whiskey. Christmas lights were strung over the mirror behind the bartender, but unplugged, and he realized with a jolt that the holidays had already passed. He hadn’t even noticed. Something about the Office of Preternatural Affairs had done a heck of a job killing the Christmas spirit.

  Abel ordered a round of shots to share with Crystal, and then they found a table in the back corner. The waitress that brought their shots back to them was at least fifty years old, although she dressed a lot like Crystal, and her cherry red dye job failed to hide her graying roots. She set the drinks down, took Abel’s tip, and vanished without smiling.

  “What are we drinking to?” Crystal asked, lifting a shot glass.

  He picked up one of his shots and searched for a good reason to drink. He couldn’t think of any. Rylie was the only person he liked being around, and she was all but kept in a kennel by Seth. His other brother was a maniac. Gwyneth Gresham, who had given him work and a home, was the walking dead. The existence of werewolves had gone public.

  “My mom,” he finally said. “May the bitch rest in pieces.”

  Crystal lifted her shot, gave a small nod, and drank it. He had to give it to her: the girl took her whiskey about as well as he did. Her eyes didn’t even water.

  “So what’s bothering you?” she asked, scooting her chair closer.

  “Not to sound like my little brother, but…everything.”

  “Say no more.” She lifted another glass. “This one’s for Cain, right?”

  They drank.

  One by one, the shots disappeared. They didn’t talk much. Abel didn’t have much to say to her, and Crystal seemed perfectly happy to wiggle close to his side and pet his arm. Once they were out of whiskey, they switched to tequila, and the two probably emptied an entire bottle before Abel started to feel the buzz.

  The day stretched on, and the bar began to fill. A handful of people sat at the bar. Three men took the table beside theirs. The volume on the music increased, and folks started talking louder as the alcohol flowed. There were two big topics of conversation: the patrons’ shitty jobs, and the new Office of Preternatural affairs.

  “I wish I could just keep drinking until the OPA disappeared,” Crystal whispered, shooting filthy looks at the neighboring table.

  “You’d get alcohol poisoning first,” he said. The waitress passed, and he lifted his hand for more.

  “Did you hear what they added to that awful bill? They’re trying to make it illegal for ‘preternaturals’ to have kids. Like, if a single mom starts dating a demon, protective services can take her kids away for reckless endangerment. Isn’t that jacked up?”

  “It won’t pass.”

  “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully, tracing her finger around the rim of a shot glass before sucking it into her mouth. “There’s a lot of support.”

  “But it won’t pass,” Abel insisted, even though he couldn’t think of a particular reason why, aside from the fact that he didn’t want it to pass. If they considered children being around werewolves to be reckless endangerment, then it was not good news for Rylie.

  Someone approached their table. Abel pulled his wallet out to pay for his drinks—but it wasn’t the waitress.

  Seth stood over him, arms folded. He wore a leather jacket and a look of severe disapproval. “You wake up with Rylie and run off to drink with another woman. Some loyalty.”

  Abel kicked his feet up on the table. “Who should I be loyal to? Rylie’s not my fiancée.”

  “But you’re in love with her.”

  Crystal petted Abel’s shoulder. “You got a problem, Seth? We were having a nice time until you showed up.”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Seth said. “Stay out of it.”

  She turned to Abel, as if looking for him to back her up, but he only shrugged.

  “Seth’s right.” He tossed the Chevelle’s keys at her. “See you later.”

  Crystal slammed her last shot glass on the tray, shoved her chair back, and strutted out. Abel couldn’t help but watch her as she walked away. Those were ridiculously tiny shorts to wear in winter.

  Seth moved to sit in the chair she had vacated, but a hard look from Abel stopped him.

  “What do you want?” Abel asked.

  “You have to come back to the ranch.” Saying that sounded like it was probably about as painful as extracting his own teeth, so Abel assumed that Seth must have been suckered into this shitty excuse for an apology.

  “No.”

  “What, do you have something better to do? Are you going to drink until you drown?”

  Abel folded his arms and gave his brother a challenging look. “I was thinking I’d leave town completely.”

  “You won’t do it. You’re going to come back to the ranch with me, because Rylie wants you to come back.”

  “Since when do you care about that?”

  “Since Levi is challenging her dominance, and Stephanie says that fighting him is dangerous for the pregnancy,” Seth said. “Rylie wants me to make up with you. She says that we need to get along so you can take over the pack as Alpha.”

  So they wanted him back to fight. He would have laughed anyone else out of the bar, but if Rylie was the one who wanted him to fight—well, he would have faced down an army of were-rhinoceroses with his bare hands if she asked. So maybe he was the biggest sucker of all.

  Abel knocked back another shot, slammed it on the table, and kicked the chair out so that it pointed toward Seth. “Sit down.”

  “I shouldn’t have punched you.”

  “No, that was great. I’ve been wanting an excuse to beat your ass. I’m only disappointed that I didn’t get to break all the teeth out of your head.”

  “I’m trying to apologize.”
>
  What a load of bullshit. Seth the peacemaker, always trying to make nice. “I don’t want to hear it.” He pushed one of the shot glasses toward Seth. “Drink.”

  “One of us has to drive back to the ranch,” Seth said.

  “You heard me. Drink.”

  Seth picked one up and cupped it in his hand. “Stephanie said that she thinks stress is giving Rylie contractions.” His eyes were fixed on the silver fluid. “I shouldn’t be jealous because you can help Rylie in a way that I can’t. It’s not your fault that I’m immune to werewolf bites.”

  He had spoken too loudly. A few heads at the closest table turned to look at them.

  The news was playing on the TV in the corner, and they were still covering the San Francisco riots. The anchor mentioned Greenville in the same breath, as well as a few other towns. Hopefully, if someone heard Seth and Abel talking, they would think it was just about the news.

  “Didn’t I just say that I don’t want to hear your wussy crap?” Abel asked. “And keep your voice down.”

  He drank another shot, but Seth didn’t follow suit.

  “Rylie’s pregnant with twins,” Seth said, much quieter than before.

  Abel’s hand froze on the shot glass he had just turned face down on the table. “And she wants me to deal with Levi for her.”

  “That’s right.”

  There was only one shot of tequila left. Abel finished it off and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “If I go back, are you going to let me kick his ass the way he deserves?” Seth nodded. “All right. Then I’ll go back.”

  They stood to leave, but the men at the next table stood, too. The three of them were burly, and hairier than a werewolf on the full moon. “You talking werewolves?” one of them asked. He was wearing a t-shirt with a girl in a bikini draped over a muscle car. The other two were tattooed and heavy—muscular, but also fat. Probably slow. Abel would bet on himself in a fight against any one of them. But all three?

  Abel opened his mouth to respond, but Seth spoke first. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  He cursed his brother silently. Seth might as well have just said, Yes, we’re werewolves, what’s it to you?

  The men exchanged looks. They all smelled thoroughly drunk. Must have been nice.

  “I think I heard you say that there are werewolves in town,” said the second man.

  The third jumped in. “I think they said they are werewolves.” He cracked his knuckles, each of which was tattooed with a separate letter. Together, his hands spelled out “hardcore.” Abel couldn’t help but smirk.

  “I think you’ve had too much to drink, my brothers,” Abel said. Despite the smile, his voice was hard, and his blood started to flow hot. “You’re not thinking right. If we were werewolves, would that mean we’re the kind of men you want to make trouble with?”

  “Abel,” Seth said warningly.

  “We don’t want werewolves in our town,” the first one said, blasting the smell of beer in Abel’s face with a breath. “So are you a werewolf?”

  Seth spoke again. “Abel…”

  But Abel only grinned

  “Maybe I am,” he said, shoving his face close to the man with the knuckle tattoos. “What are you boys gonna do about it?”

  He didn’t even see the swinging fist coming.

  Knuckles connected with the side of his head, sending him spilling over the nearest table. Glass showered on the floor. The women who were sitting at it leaped away with shouts.

  Abel was back on his feet in time to see Seth catch another punch thrown by the first speaker. Brawls were Seth’s specialty; he grabbed the fist, twisted the attacker’s arm behind his back, and jerked the wrist up between the shoulder blades. The man cried out.

  Seth was distracted, and didn’t see that Hardcore was drawing back for a kidney punch.

  Abel launched at him, grabbing his shirt and carrying both of them into the jukebox hard enough to make it bounce against the wall. The Led Zeppelin song that had been playing cut off.

  Someone jumped onto Abel’s back, trying to pry him off Hardcore. Abel threw himself onto the ground, body-slamming his assailant into the floor boards, and the shout in his ear was so damn satisfying.

  Abel kicked free of his grip and ducked under another swing by Hardcore, then delivered a swift right hook into his jaw.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Seth yelled, throwing the first guy over the bar.

  It was only then that Abel heard the sirens underneath the waitress’s screaming. Someone had called the cops.

  Abel laughed as he grabbed Seth’s arm and dragged him out the front door.

  All in all, it turned out to be a pretty good day.

  EIGHT

  An Unearthly Visitor

  Abel was relieved to see that Crystal had gotten the Chevelle safely back to the ranch. He didn’t usually let women drive it—not even Rylie—but it had been the fastest way to get rid of her, so he had made an exception. But it seemed she was pretty offended at having him get rid of her at all. That, or the alcohol hit her harder than it hit him: she had dumped his car by the mailbox and left his engine running. Last time he ever let a woman drive his baby.

  He jumped out of the truck and slipped into the Chevelle. “You okay, darling?” he cooed, running his hands over the dashboard.

  “Abel,” Seth said from the driver’s seat of the truck.

  “Bug off, I’m checking my girl,” Abel yelled back.

  “Check it later. We have visitors.”

  That got his attention. He followed Seth’s gaze to the top of the hill, where he saw a group of people standing together. Even at that distance, he could recognize Gwyn, but there were two people he didn’t know—people that didn’t smell like pack. The odor on the wind was like herbs, blood, and something unfamiliar that made the hair on the back of Abel’s neck stand.

  Seth drove on while Abel pulled the Chevelle off the path. By the time Abel reached the top of the hill, Seth had gone inside, leaving Gwyn alone with the visitors. In the winter sunlight, Abel could see that her lips had lost all color and her eyes were fading to gray. She still passed for living, though. She didn’t have any holes yet, like Eleanor had.

  “So you’re a witch,” Gwyneth said, pushing her hat back with a knuckle to get a better look at the man. Abel could understand why she looked so dubious about him: the only way to describe the visitor was “strange.”

  At first glance, Abel thought that he had to be pretty old. His hair was thick, but white, like a man in his seventies. But his face didn’t have a single wrinkle. He could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty years old. And he was big, too—it wasn’t often that Abel ran across someone tall enough to look him in the eye.

  Abel mistrusted him instantly. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he asked.

  “This is the help that Stephanie mentioned getting,” Gwyn said. “He’s been invited here, so we’ll be polite, right?”

  The witch offered his gloved hand to Abel. “James Faulkner.”

  “Abel Wilder.” He didn’t reach out to shake. This dog didn’t do tricks.

  The front door opened, and Stephanie rushed down the path to meet them by the garden, Scott limping a few feet behind her. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. “James,” she said, embracing him tightly.

  When she finally released him, Scott extended a hand. “Good to see you again.” He was falling apart faster than Gwyn, starting with the bullet hole in his forehead. Even a hat couldn’t hide the fact that his dried skin was receding to bare white skull underneath, and he was wearing a large jacket to hide the rest of his decay.

  “Good to see you too, sir,” James said.

  The girl standing beside him cleared her throat, and Abel looked at her for the first time.

  Her brown hair was chopped in a pixie cut, her eyes were the color of moss, and she had the kind of hips that were made for dancing. Not Abel’s type, but cute. Even so, she looked pretty boring next to Ja
mes.

  Stephanie’s demeanor cooled as soon as she realized James had company. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m Brianna.” She held out her hand. “I’m James’s new apprentice.”

  The doctor arched an eyebrow at James. “New apprentice.”

  “She’s from my old coven in Colorado. It’s a thing of necessity, I assure you.” He shot a look at Brianna. “And you are not my apprentice, so please stop saying that. I’m not going to tell you again.”

  She looked utterly unperturbed by his response. “Two werewolves, a witch, and two critters I don’t recognize. They make me think of mausoleums.” Brianna pointed at Gwyn and Scott.

  “Zombie,” James supplied.

  “Great,” Stephanie said. “Just what you need. More teenage girls with special powers to corrupt.” She huffed. “Well, thanks for coming, anyway.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I have to say, I’m more than a little surprised to see what condition you’re in, Scott. What can I do to help all of you?”

  “We have a problem. Well, several problems, but I think you can only help us with one of them,” Stephanie said. “First of all, it turns out that my father is a necromancer.” That announcement should have surprised or confused anyone else, but James only nodded. “Scott reanimated Gwyneth while he was still alive, but he—well, he died.”

  “I see that.”

  “Anyway, without a resident necromancer, both of our resident zombies are starting to fall apart. Scott believes that a more powerful witch might be able to channel his necromantic abilities. We would all be very happy if we could restore Gwyn to life.” She sighed. “And my father too, I suppose.”

  “Ah,” James said. That was it.

  “Can you do it?” Abel asked.

  The witch clapped his hands together and blew into them. “Yes,” he said after a long moment. “I suspect I can.”

  Gwyn and Abel exchanged looks. For once, they were on the exact same page, and neither of them believed this guy was for real. “You sound mighty confident in yourself,” she said.

  A light filled James’s eyes, brightening the already pale irises. “If I can’t do it, nobody else will be able to. You can trust me on that.” He blinked, and that strange moment ended so quickly that Abel wasn’t sure he’d even seen it in the first place. “So, shall we go inside?”