Midsummer's Moon Read online

  "Okay, okay, sheesh," Clarence said, holding his hands up. "I didn't mean any harm, and someone neglected to tell me to keep my mouth shut." He glared at Sally.

  Sally patted his hand. "There's no point. Men never keep their mouths shut anyway."

  "Oh, yes, and who is head of the village gossips?" Peter demanded.

  "I am the village top," Sally said loftily. "It is my duty to be apprised of all situations."

  Peter rolled his eyes.

  Lowell wondered if he could go back to bed. He ate in silence, doing his best to be invisible, hoping he wasn't asked any more questions that made him feel like he was the only one in the room missing out on the joke. He hated feeling like that. Why didn't they just tell him? That was two people now whom Peter had told to shut up after they asked about his age.

  It seemed important that he was eighteen?

  He really hated being a werewolf who didn't know anything about his own disease or whatever. Lowell stabbed at his mashed potatoes, then set his fork down with a sigh and reached for his coffee. Sweet and creamy, which meant Peter had made it – thankfully he hadn't let Sally. It was obvious she probably had never once had coffee in her entire life.

  Setting it down again, he returned to making a half-hearted effort at eating. Normally he ate like…well…a wolf. He should be eating so now, because who knew when the regular feedings would stop? One day it would be back to scrounging for food in every conceivable place, a few of those wretched enough to make him cry, so he should not be moping instead of eating right now. Seriously, he was already getting spoiled on having a taste of normal life.

  Fingers touched his shoulder lightly, and he dragged his eyes up to Peter, who was looking at him in concern. "Don't worry on it. I assure you there's nothing about which you should worry. Just ignore us, hmm?"

  Lowell shrugged. "I, uh, kinda wish I did know my age, you know? But I don't. Not even sure how I got my name, it's just what I remember being called, and I don't remember if the orphanage had a fam—family name for me." He ducked his head and bit into his chicken before any more stupidity fell out of his mouth.

  "Ouch, okay, I can take a hint," Clarence said. "I really didn't mean to upset anyone. Just curious. I'll keep it to myself."

  Peter smiled faintly. "No, you won't. Curiosity is your middle name."

  "Yeah, yeah. Can I have another beer?"

  "I'm impressed you bothered to ask," Peter replied dryly.

  "I figure I'm in enough trouble," Clarence said with a smile, and stood to fetch another beer from the fridge. He sat down again, idly petting the head of his greyhound, who rest it on his thigh. "So this neighborhood is getting exciting again. Sally, how is Jordan? Given more thought to…"

  Sally shrugged. "It's too soon yet to tell. We'll see in a decade or so if he's suitable for turning."

  "Suitable for turning?"

  "Yeah," Sally said softly. "He's asking about my turning Jordan into a vampire. I've had other beaus in the past, but none of them had what it took to endure immortality." She shook her head. "I had a husband as a mortal, too…" She looked briefly sad. "We had a daughter. Illness took them not long after we arrived here. Funny the things you do remember, even after a few hundred years." She shrugged. "I think Jordan will work, but it's just too soon to say. Age determines it, and he's young yet."

  Peter snorted. "Jeez, Clarence. I realize you vampire hunters are all idiots, but surely you can come up with a happy topic of conversation?"

  Clarence smiled sheepishly. "Obviously not. Not even any interesting new hunter gossip, since I was last around."

  Sally leaned over the table and kissed his cheek. "No harm, dear hunter. Now, I say you boys make fresh coffee and then we will cut this cherry pie for you."

  A knock at the door drew their attention, and Sally smiled as she caught the shadow through the blind over the glass window in the top half of the door. She opened it and gently tugged Jordan inside, kissing him softly. "Rested, sweetheart?"

  "Of course," Jordan said with a yawn, undermining his words by wrapping his arms around Sally's waist and resting his head on her shoulder.

  Laughing softly, Sally kissed his brow, then dragged him to the table and pushed him into the chair next to hers. Then she bustled about cleaning away dishes and fetching new ones, giving Lowell a warning look when he tried to help her.

  In due order there was fresh coffee – made by himself – and cherry pie, and Lowell dug into it happily, worries of only a moment ago briefly buried by the sweet, tart dessert. He listened, eyes growing heavier by the second, as the group talked quietly about different people they knew, Jordan and Clarence talking about hunting, Peter offering his own dry comments here and there.

  He barely noticed when a hand covered his, and only slowly lifted his head to look up at Peter. "Sorry."

  "Nothing to apologize for," Peter replied, gently pulling and pushing until Lowell was standing and going obediently toward the stairs. He heard the others leaving, the door closing, someone turning out the kitchen lights…then he just felt Peter's hand on his back, easy and warm, making all the more acute the dratted smell that was probably going to drive him crazy here shortly.

  Tomorrow night he was going to turn wolf; he really hoped he didn't do something stupid then. It was so much harder to be normal in wolf form…and the circumstances this time were wholly different.

  Maybe he should just lock himself in his room, or maybe head off into the woods so he was well away from anywhere he might cause trouble.

  Except once he turned, no doubt he'd undo all his own hard work.

  He blinked and sleepily shook his head as they reached his room, and smiled up at Peter. "Sorry. Are you going to bed?"

  Peter smiled faintly, and reached up to tousle his hair. "Yes, vampires and hunters wear even me out. Get some rest, I'm sorry I woke you."

  "No, uh, it was fine." Lowell tried to smile, scrubbing a hand through his hair, noting absently he much preferred the feel of Peter's hand doing the same thing."Um. Good night. Or, uh, good morning?"

  Laughing, Peter briefly gripped his shoulder, then wandered down the hall to his own room, the door closing quietly behind him.

  Lowell stood watching it for several minutes, then with a sigh finally turned away to find his own bed.

  He'd just picked up his discarded sleep pants when the back of his neck prickled. Dropping the pants, he abandoned his room and went back downstairs, pausing briefly before finally decided to go out the back door.

  It was quiet – too quiet. The barest hints of morning were beginning to lighten the sky, nothing but threads of gray.

  The wind shifted, and suddenly he could smell it. He barely noticed the growl that lodged in his throat, and when the intrusive scent drew closer he threw himself without thought over the porch railing and down onto the hill below – and shifted as he did so, a large wolf as he hit the thick forest at the base of the hill.

  Snarling he weaved his way through the trees, headed straight for the threat, the enemy. He would not tolerate unwelcome persons in his territory. It was his now, the others would get out.

  Breaking through the forest into a clearing, he growled at the intruder.

  The man froze. Lowell could smell his fear. Good. He barked loud, high and sharp – ordering the intruder to back off or fight properly. When the man didn't move, Lowell again barked, forcing the issue. One last, reverberating growl – and the man obediently changed before his eyes.

  Lowell threw himself at the intruder, giving no quarter, fighting for all he was worth because this was all his and this wolf had no right and was not welcome and he would go or die. That was the way of things.

  He snarled as the intruder attacked, throwing him off and lunging in for a bite of his own, drinking down the scream of pain, dragging the wolf to the ground and then—

  "Lowell!"

  He jerked around as the smell and scent of his mate reached him – and then barely dodged the teeth that came at him. Snarling with renew
ed fervor, he threw himself back at the intruder, going for his throat—

  "Lowell, stop!"

  Growling low, he barked sharply once at the intruder, then quickly backed off, padding over to the one he protected, pushing into the hands that stroked him, soothed and calmed, letting the anger bleed away – though he never forgot the vile intruder who lingered still.

  The world smelled of blood, from the intruder and the drinkers. He could hear them talking, but did not follow the words, merely pressed closer to his mate and let himself be assured that all was well.

  He growled and jerked his head up as he heard the intruder growing closer. However, the intruder only whimpered, limping and bleeding, begging him quietly.

  Lowell ignored him. If the intruder was not good enough to escape injury, then he could suffer his wounds. He did not smell like one doomed to die, so perhaps he would learn not to come uninvited into Lowell's territory.

  His mate moved forward, slowly caressing his fur as he went, but Lowell growled in discontent all the same as his mate approached the intruder – and snarled in anger as the wolf abruptly lunged, biting down hard on his mate.

  Springing forward, he sank his teeth into the vile intruder, shaking and growling, letting the taste of hot blood consume him, not relenting until the intruder collapsed in a trembling heap at his feet and whimpered in submission.

  Growling one last warning, he turned to his mate, snarling at the drinkers who dared touch him, pushing and nosing until he could sniff the wound, examine it himself. He whined softly, licking his mate's face, pushing up against him, sharing his warmth.

  "It's okay, Low," his mate said softly, petting him with his good arm, carefully holding his injured one against his chest. "Thank you."

  The drinkers were talking again, and now he noted one who smelled like drinkers and silver…and another, one like him but not. She was okay. He growled approval as she drew close and showed proper deference.

  He turned back to his mate, refusing to let another draw close.

  "Low," his mate said softly, still petting and caressing. "Can you change?"

  Growling, understanding the request, Lowell focused – and shifted back to his other form.

  Lowell stood, staring and blinking, wondering what the hell was going on.

  He could see Peter, who was bleeding. What? Why? Oh no, what had he done?

  Something whimpered and he turned to see an injured werewolf lying on the ground – blood, so much blood.

  "Lowell!!"

  He heard Sally call his name, and the others, Peter's voice louder than all the rest but it was obvious he'd done some crazy werewolf thing and he'd hurt Peter and oh god what was he going to do now?

  "I'm sorry!" He said – then promptly passed out.

  *~*~*

  Lowell woke with a gasp, chased out of sleep by nightmares of wolves fighting, the taste of blood in his mouth.

  His hand shook as he lifted it to his face. What was wrong with him? Why was he having such horrible dreams? He'd never do that to someone else. It wasn't his style to be so angry. If it was, he'd have been arrested for murder rather than trespassing a dozen times over.

  At least it was just a dream, right? Weird dream, maybe it had something to do with the fact he'd be changing tonight. Usually he loathed his change because he had nowhere to safely hide, or was hungry and tired and stuff on top of the change itself. This time, he had none of that to worry about.

  Only how stupid he would behave with Peter around.

  So maybe his dumb brain was making up problems to occupy his time.

  Still feeling kinda shaky, wishing he could discard the dream that insisted on clinging to him, Lowell reached for—

  Why the hell was he naked?

  He never woke up naked except when he changed, and it wasn't time to change.

  Maybe it had to do with his dumb dreams?

  Shaking his head, Lowell quickly grabbed his clothes and bolted across the hall to the bathroom.

  Hot water made everything better, as did soap. By the time he'd finished, Lowell felt a little bit more normal. Pulling on his clothes, wiping the bathroom down and throwing his towel in the hamper, he finally padded down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  He froze at the sight before him, eyes going wide, nostrils flaring.

  Stacey stood in the kitchen, wearing nothing but sweats and a t-shirt and he was standing close to Peter and touching him and Lowell was across the kitchen before he knew what he was doing, shoving Stacey hard against the counter, grasping his wrists and pinning them down.

  "Lowell!"

  Peter's voice was a bucket of cold water.

  Immediately Lowell let go, stumbling back, something heavy and painful lodging in his chest. "Oh, god. It wasn't a dream." He buried his face in his hands, then turned and fled, choking back sobs.

  He bolted from the house, unable to stand being in it after all he'd done. How could Peter even stand to look at him? Put him back in bed? They should have shot him in the head and why couldn't he remember it all better?

  Outside, he half-ran, half-stumbled down the porch steps, then down the hill and splashed across the creek, going into the woods until he could no longer see so much as a hint of the house – then kept going.

  What was wrong with him? Why was he acting this way? Had he finally turned into some sort of awful monster? Peter! He remembered Peter had been bitten. Lowell drew up his knees and folded his arms across them, then buried his face in his arms. Oh, god. What was he going to do? He should just kill himself.

  It wasn't fair! He'd always tried so hard to be a good werewolf. Staying away from people as best he could when he changed, running instead of fighting, not resisting the cops when they took him in, leaving the other werewolves alone like they wanted even though he didn't want to be alone himself…

  Now he'd managed to screw up the only good thing to happen to him, and on top of that he'd ruined Peter's life! Maybe Peter wouldn't mind too much, since he liked wolves and his family apparently was all werewolves…

  Except that wasn't the point. The point was that Lowell had finally gone insane and turned into a monster. He wondered why they hadn't just killed him, that would have been the smart thing to do – but Peter really was a nice guy, look at the way he'd taken Lowell in and put up with all the nosy townspeople and stuff.

  Why had he done it? He was mad at Stacey, but not that mad. So why?

  He wished he could remember! It was always so hard totally remembering everything he did as a wolf, and that bugged him because if he was both then shouldn't he be the same mind or whatever in both forms? Why was he so stupid as a wolf? Couldn't he have been smart enough in that form to remember how stupid it would be to fuck up what he'd found here with Peter?

  Apparently not.

  Damn it. He didn't want to leave – but he didn’t want to stay and be a monster either. What if next time he actually killed someone?

  Why had he been a wolf at all? The full moon was tonight! He'd never changed early before; he hadn't even known werewolves could change early. Surely even he, stupid and ignorant as he was, would have known if that were a possibility?

  Ha. Who was he kidding? Of course he was that stupid and ignorant. 'Werewolf Dumbest On Planet, Studies Show.'

  Sitting up, he wiped the tears from his cheeks and struggled to remember all he could.

  He'd gone to bed. Then something had felt wrong. He remembered being angry, running to the porch – then he could only remember the forest, Stacey, blood, then Peter's voice…

  Anger. He definitely remembered that damn anger. Stacey had made him furious and Lowell could not fathom why. Or maybe he didn't want to remember. All he did know was that Stacey was here and he didn't like it.

  Really didn't like it, to judge by the way he'd gone all werewolf-like in the kitchen. If not for Peter…what would he have done?

  Yet remembering how close they'd been standing, the way Stacey had been touching—it made him see red all over again
. If Stacey were here, he didn't doubt he'd go ballistic all over again.

  He buried his face in his arms again, wanting everything to just go away, wishing Peter had never found him that night and he'd drowned in the stupid rain.

  The sound of someone crashing through the brush brought his head up, and he realized suddenly he could smell Peter—and looked up just as the man himself came into view.

  "Lowell," Peter said, relief in his voice "There you are. I was beginning to think you'd managed to well and truly hide yourself."

  "I'm sorry," Lowell said miserably, fighting an urge to run because he didn't want Peter seeing him acting so pathetic on top of being a monster last night. When would life stop sucking? When would he just stop breathing?

  He slowly looked up again as Peter knelt beside him. "Low, it's okay."

  "It's not!" Lowell protested, feeling even more wretched at the way Peter kept calling him 'Low.' "I—I went crazy. I hurt people." He blinked furiously, only growing more upset because he wouldn't stop the stupid crying. "I hurt you."

  Peter startled. "What? Oh, no, Low. Stacey bit me, not you."

  Lowell went still. He slowly looked up. "I didn't bite you?"

  "No, Low," Peter said gently, reaching out to gently brush back Low's hair. "You'd never bite me."

  "I dunno," Lowell said miserably, wanting so bad to lean into the touch but he had no right to start with, and certainly not now that he was turning into a monster. "I seem to be going crazy. I swear I've never acted like that before. Usually I just try to find somewhere to sleep, I promise!"

  All of a sudden he found himself pressed against Peter, who despite everything smelled warm and good and right and Lowell didn't understand any of this one little bit and he should be running away but somehow all he could do was hold tight and let Peter embrace him.

  It didn't help at all that the only thing that apparently smelled better than Peter was the way their scents mingled. He wished it was okay to stay like this forever.

  But he was a monster. He couldn't forget that for a minute. Forcing himself away, Lowell tried to look Peter in the face, but it was hard because he still acted so nice and kind and Lowell didn't understand it all. "I really am sorry, I've never acted like a monster before. I don't even remember it well, and that just makes it worse."