Midsummer's Moon Read online

  Part Two: Full Moon

  Lowell slowly dragged his eyes open, pushed back the warm covers and sat up. He dragged a hand through his hair and blinked to clear his sleep-blurred vision. The air was cool, and he fought a sleepy urge to pull the covers back up and return to dreamland.

  Something had woken him up, and even barley half-awake he knew better than to ignore such a thing – especially since it was strange he was still half-asleep. That wasn't like him.

  Clambering out of bed, he fumbled for a t-shirt and pulled it on, then sat down to pull on some socks before finally padding to the door and stepping cautiously into the hallway. No lights were on, he could hear no noise…no sense of danger, merely a vague feeling of something being different.

  He glanced again toward the door to Peter's room. No light at all, so he was still in bed probably…

  Shaking his head, Lowell moved quietly down the stairs, examining each room of the downstairs before scratching his head in confusion. He turned to go back and give the clinic another look over when he noticed something that was strange – the back porch light was off. Peter always left all the porch lights on. People, he said, visited him at all hours of the night and many felt more comfortable doing so if they saw the lights on.

  Nothing smelled strange, so no guests had come by…

  Hesitating, he finally shrugged and just opened the door.

  Peter.

  Lowell stood in the doorway, confused as to what to do now. He had thought Peter still in bed, and yet here he was sitting in the dark with a glass of something that was definitely alcohol with the lights off.

  Definitely an 'I want to be alone' sort of thing.

  He turned to leave.

  "I wondered if I'd wake you," Peter said, just as he grabbed the door to shut it.

  "Sorry," Lowell said. "I thought you were in bed. I didn't know what had woken me. I can go."

  Peter turned to face him, smiling gently. "No need, if you're inclined to stay. I was just out enjoying the night. It's very good for brooding. Come, sit, unless you'd rather return to your bed – which I would wholly understand."

  Lowell closed the back door and moved slowly to sit down next to him. The back of the house was a large wooden porch, looking over a backyard that was all hill, the bottom spilling into a creek and dense forest. They sat in deep, wooden lawn chairs set roughly in the center. Relaxing back in the seat, Lowell realized he had a perfect seat for watching the stairs.

  The glass Peter held clinked as he set it down on the porch. "So do you like it here, Low?"

  Was it stupid to always feel sort of flustered by the way Peter kept shortening his name? Lowell couldn't remember the last person who had bothered to remember his name, let alone shorten it. "Yes," he said quietly. He liked it way too much. A week and a half into his stay, he felt sick every time he thought of the inevitable moment when Peter would ask him to leave.

  "I do," he said quietly. "It's totally different than other places."

  People were always bringing Peter food, and they always wanted to see Lowell and it sort of freaked him out when they tried to pinch his cheek or stroke his hair but at least they weren't trying to hit him or shoot him or anything.

  Sally was even teaching him how to cook – just a few hours ago they'd been doing their best to burn down Peter's kitchen making fried chicken and biscuits and co slaw.

  He wished they'd tell him to leave before he got too attached.

  "I'm glad," Peter said. "You fit in well. Much better than Stacey ever did." He sighed softly, and picked up his alcohol again.

  Lowell frowned, wanting to ask. It wasn't hard for even an idiot like him to realize Peter and Stacey had been way more than roommates or even friends. Remembering Stacey's smiles, his charm, the way he'd so cheerfully explained there was doctor working on a cure…

  How stupid he'd been! He wanted to find Stacey and do violent things. Seeing the sadness in Peter's face…he wanted to do extremely violent things.

  "He does it to get back at me," Peter said quietly, staring into his drink. "I was never able to be exactly what he wanted, and I couldn't figure out the cure…and, well…" He sighed softly. "This is not your problem, I apologize. I came out here because I was obviously in a brooding mood."

  Lowell looked toward him – and realized abruptly that Peter was bare-chested. Funny he hadn't noticed that before. He was glad the dark hid his suddenly hot cheeks. "Uh—everyone broods? I don't mind. You're way nicer to me than anyone else has ever been, and I don't do anything but wander around and try to destroy your kitchen. So, um, brood. Stacey was your, uh…um…" He ducked his head, realizing how stupid and rude he was being – and staring at Peter's bare chest did not help his brain function at all.

  Peter laughed in his gentle way. "My lover, yes. He lived here five years, and we were lovers for two of them." He sighed softly. "I cannot blame him for hating me, not really. So many years and I've discovered nothing. After he left, I gave it up for good." His hand tightened around the glass, face twisted with bitter misery – a feeling Lowell was all too acquainted with – before it smoothed out again.

  "You are more than welcome to stay for as long as you like," Peter said. "I don't know that I've made that clear. Having someone else around makes me happy…especially werewolves…" He smiled faintly, then tilted his glass back and polished off the contents in one long swallow. "I've told you before, and you've seen for yourself…this village is unusually friendly towards supernatural types. Most of that is Sally's work; she's been here since pilgrims first landed. This little town has always been her territory. But some of it…." He set his glass down and gave another sigh.

  Lowell frowned, wishing he knew what to say or do. It was obvious Peter wanted to talk, yet hesitated… 'Werewolf Makes Lousy Psychologist; Doctor Succumbs to Misery' Scowling, he reached out and lightly touched the back of Peter's hand. "Uh, some of the people who keep faking sick made it sound like it was normal to have werewolves here. Is that possible? I've never seen many werewolves."

  Peter turned his hand, and held Lowell's briefly for a moment. "Yeah, werewolves are normal. There used to be a full pack living here. They moved away almost fifteen years ago." Pain twisted his face.

  His words drew Lowell up short. A pack? Werewolves…there were enough of them to do that? They wanted to do that? Werewolves actually shared space? Then why had no one ever wanted to hang with him? He swallowed. Was he a freak even amongst other freaks?

  This wasn't about him, though. He was used to being unwanted. Peter was kind to him, he could try to return the favor. "Why did they leave?" he asked.

  "Anger, pain…hatred…." Peter shook his head. "I guess I really am feeling sorry for myself tonight." He smiled ruefully. "That's why I hoped I wouldn't wake you. Should have known better, given how close we are to the full moon."

  Lowell cringed at the reminder, though it was true enough. All his senses were heightening, improving to an almost painful degree. He hated this part, because he already smelled and heard everything to a super-acute degree. There were some things he just did not want to better smell.

  Such as Peter.

  Why oh why did he have to be so stupid as to think his host was hot? Couldn't he just be grateful for the kindness and having some sort of companion rather than want something he'd never in a million years actually get?

  He finally managed to shrug. "Doesn't bother me. So, uh, did you know the werewolves really well then?" Had one of them been Peter's lover too? The thought made Lowell's stomach knot, and he scowled at himself.

  Peter laughed, and Lowell had never heard such an unhappy sound. "Yeah, I knew them. They—"

  Lowell leapt to his feet as a smell struck his nose, combined with the sound of a car on the road in front of the house. Blood and leather and silver, a trace of something that was dog – and yet not just dog. It held a hint of something that reminded him of Jordan.

  Growling low, barely realizing he was doing so, he abandoned the porch and st
rode back inside, bolting down the hallway to the front door. Throwing it open, he spilled out into the front yard to see a car pulling to a stop in Sally's driveway.

  A man climbed out, accompanied by the largest greyhound Lowell had ever seen. He stopped at the edge of Peter's yard, hands not quite balled into fists, wondering who the heck the strange man and dog were. It must early early morning, who in the world paid a visit at this hour?

  Well, he was visiting a vampire.

  Sure enough, the door flew open a moment later and Sally came spilling out, porch light revealing her to be dressed in a dizzying array of blues and greens, silver and gold glinting amongst her beads and baubles.

  "Clarence!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "There you are, I was beginning to worry. You're nearly an hour late." She swatted him on the arm.

  The man – Clarence – laughed. "There was fog for a good stretch, slowed me down."

  Lowell wondered what he should do. Obviously he needed to stay in bed the next time something weird woke him up. 'Nosy Werewolf Gets Just Desserts."

  He started to turn when he heard Peter coming up behind him – and the massive greyhound, so unlike the few he'd ever seen, moved toward him.

  She whined softly as she reached him, laying down and then turning over to expose her belly.

  Lowell frowned, because dogs did that to him all the time, and bent to pet her.

  "Wouldn't do that if I were you," Peter said quietly. "It'll hurt to touch her."

  "What?" Lowell asked, turning to frown at Peter as he came up to stand beside Lowell.

  "Yeah," a new voice agreed.

  Lowell jerked his head back around to see that Clarence and Sally were crossing the street. Clarence was looking at his dog in faint amusement. He whistled softly, and the greyhound immediately rose and went to sit next to him.

  Clarence smiled. "She's a vampire hunting dog," he said. "Specially bred, specially fed. There's enough silver in her, part of her, that you'd probably cause yourself some pain touching her."

  He'd smelled the silver, but thought it a lingering trace from the silver he could smell on Clarence. Now that he was paying attention, it was easy to pick it out as part of her blood, her body. "How do you do that?"

  "Tincture of the Moon," Peter said quietly, kneeling to beckon to and pet the greyhound. "Vampire hunter secret, something that helps them literally infuse the dogs with an 'essence of silver'. I've never been able to make it work with werewolves." The words were said with no small amount of bitterness.

  Lowell wondered what it meant that the bitterness got to him more than the fact that there would likely never be a cure for his werewolf-ness. Maybe because he was used to dealing with the latter, and he had no idea how to deal with the pain of someone he was growing to like, wholly aside from the fact Peter was nice to him.

  "You'll get it eventually, man," Clarence said, moving closer. He extended his hand abruptly, startling Lowell. "You're the wolf Sally told me about."

  "Um…" Lowell stared at the hand, confused. Then he abruptly realized what Clarence was doing. He slowly held out his own, and shook Clarence's hand. "Um. My name is Lowell. You, uh, smell sort of like Jordan but not really." He flushed, realizing how stupid he sounded.

  Clarence laughed, and Lowell dared to look up again.

  He was handsome, Lowell supposed. Really tall, dark hair and eyes. He looked like it wouldn't be too hard for him to pick Lowell up and throw him across the yard, and his handshake had only confirmed that impression. The smell of blood and leather and silver came from him.

  "I'm a vampire hunter," Clarence said. "I work this neck of the woods, and checking up on Sally every now and then is part of what I do. What they call a top hunter."

  "Oh," Lowell said, struggling to remember what they'd told him about vampire hunters. Not much, he didn't think. "Jordan used to be a hunter, right?

  Sally snickered. "Yeah, he did. Clarence was pulled away to do something else, and he asked Jordan to come pay me a visit – the rest, as they say, is history." She rolled her eyes. "A very colorful history."

  Peter and Clarence laughed.

  "Didn't think to see another werewolf after…" Clarence shrugged at a look from Peter. "Just saying, man. Good to see one. This place just isn't the same without your family running about the place."

  Oh. Oh. The werewolves Peter had been talking about had been his family?

  Lowell looked at Peter, whose expression had closed up. Why would his family leave? Why would Peter stay and not go with them? What in the world was going on and had he wound up with an axe murderer after all? 'Werewolf Becomes Meal to Crazy Werewolf Enthusiast.'

  Yet, seeing the expression – or lack thereof – on Peter's face, he couldn't even sort of believe that. Whatever had happened, it really hurt Peter. He wished he could ask, that it was his business.

  "So are we going to stand around in the street all night, or shall we go inside and sit like civilized vampires, werewolves, and hunters?" Sally said, bright voice cutting through the sudden tension. "I vote Peter's house, since I really don't want to wake Jordan. He's tired from feeding me."

  Peter rolled his eyes, but turned and strode to his house, motioning for the others to follow him. Lowell followed quickly, wanting for some reason to stay close to Peter, not liking how unhappy he was – or that other people were making his already unhappy mood worse, and he wondered if he'd get kicked out if he tried to make the others leave.

  Like he had any right to do that – what was wrong with him? Maybe he just needed to go back to bed. After a week and half here, and never really having had much of a schedule in his life, he was adjusting easily to the odd hours kept by Peter – work and stuff in the morning, lunch followed by a long nap, then up 'til one or so in the morning. Of course, at any time of the day or night patients arrived, so even that odd schedule was not set in stone.

  Lowell didn't care, he liked waking up in the same place every morning and not being beaten or hauled away by cops.

  Inside, he went straight to the coffee maker and got it going, fetching Peter's mug and his own. He hesitated on a third, looking at Clarence. When he nodded, Lowell pulled down a third mug and set them all by the coffee maker.

  Then he stood feeling a bit lost. "Uh, would anyone like anything to eat?"

  "Whatever you've got," Clarence said promptly, ignoring the glare Peter sent him. "I see you're the courteous half of the household. That particular element was always missing."

  "Says a man whose job is to be nosy," Peter said with a roll of his eyes. "If I'm rude, it's just because I follow the example of present company."

  Sally smirked. "Personally, I think all men present should follow your example and walk around half-naked."

  Peter swore, and Lowell tried not to stare at the way his cheeks went suddenly pink before Peter fled the kitchen and stomped up the stairs.

  He went to the fridge as Sally laughed and Clarence softly chuckled, pulling out what was left of the fried chicken and slaw, the cherry pie that Sally had made for them. Wasn't there some…oh, there they were. He grabbed the mashed potatoes, the leftover gravy beside it, then shut the fridge with his foot and carried the mass in his arms to the table. Sally helped him get it all in order, and Lowell moved to fetch the biscuits from where they were in a container on the counter.

  "Oh, man. Real food. I haven't had that in forever. You are the coolest werewolf ever, hands down."

  Sally shook her head and smiled at Lowell, as though they were sharing some private amusement.

  It was so weird being treated like he was normal. He kept waiting for the catch. 'Werewolf Killed By Kindness; Kindness Prefers Semiautomatics'.

  Setting the biscuits down, he returned to the fridge for drinks as Sally stood up to fetch plates and cups.

  He turned as he smelled and heard Peter returning, both relieved and disappointed to see he'd changed into old jeans and a dark blue t-shirt.

  Which reminded Lowell abruptly that he was still in his own night clo
thes. Setting the pitcher of iced tea and a couple of beers on the table, he left to go get changed, pulling on jeans that were just a bit too long, and a t-shirt that fit perfectly. Had these clothes belonged to Stacey? Someone else? Was he wearing the clothes of all the other wolves who had lived here?

  The thought made him want to growl, and he shook his head at himself. Maybe being well fed and well rested was bad for him – obviously not having to struggle for food was giving his wolf aspects a chance to get worse. He'd have to watch it…especially given how appealing he found Peter.

  He didn't want to get carried away with some werewolf thing he didn't understand and screw up the only good thing to ever happen to him. Screwing it up would so be his luck, but maybe he could somehow change his luck just this once. 'Werewolf Has Delusions of Grandeur.'

  Going back downstairs, he saw that a plate had been made up for him – and he was seated right next to Peter, who was bickering colorfully with Sally. Lowell let his gaze wander, and took note of the way Clarence was looking at something just out of sight – his dog, obviously.

  "Um, is she hungry?" he asked.

  Clarence looked up. "Hm? Oh, no, she's fine. I'm getting the woeful I am starving puppy eyes, but she's just fine. So you're changing tomorrow, right? Vamps like full moons, since they're so bright. I think with most, it's the no more sunlight that's hardest to get used to."

  Sally shrugged. "Probably. It's been so long, I don't recall. I never ask the others, they get too wigged out by me."

  "You shouldn't be so flashy," Clarence teased lightly, chuckling when Sally shook a bracelet-laden wrist at him. He turned back to Lowell. "So how old are you? You look about eighteen, though it's so hard to tell anyone's age. My last lover could have passed for nineteen but he was twenty six. Not that he ever corrected anyone who thought he was nineteen." He rolled his eyes.

  Lowell frowned, confused. "I do not know. Why does my age matter so much? Is there some werewolf thing I don't know?"

  "Enough," Peter snapped. "Leave him alone."