New Moon Summer (Seasons of the Moon) (5 page)

“Have you heard anything about…” She hesitated.

It seemed really, really awkward to ask her boyfriend’s brother about the mating habits of werewolves.

“What?” Abel asked.

Rylie shook her head and checked her fingers. Only the nail on her thumb had come loose. It would grow back soon. “Nothing. Never mind. Forget about Levi. You were having fun—you should go back to the party.”

“I should have been watching you.” Resolve hardened his jaw. Her eyes followed the scars from his temple down to his neck, where they disappeared under the collar of his black tank top.

She faced the waxing moon, hugging her arms around herself. Rylie had to stop staring at him. “I miss Seth,” she sighed.

Abel didn’t respond.

“Is there any word on the missing wolf?” she asked.

“Not yet. And there’s nothing we can do about Seth unless you want to go look for this Isoba kid yourself. So you should stop worrying about it. Come on, let’s go party—they’re playing good music.”

“That’s a great idea,” Rylie said.

Abel started to walk back to the barn. “Awesome.”

“No, not the party. Looking for Isoba. Let’s do it.”

“Seriously?”

If the choice was between waiting at the ranch for Levi to challenge her, or leaving to be with her boyfriend… It was hardly a difficult decision.

“Seriously,” Rylie said. “Let’s go.”

S
EVEN

Seaside

Rylie called Scott and made
arrangements. By the time dinner rolled around the next evening, she was on a flight with Abel to North Harbor.

She hadn’t flown since becoming a werewolf, and getting confined in a metal tube with a few hundred humans was overwhelming. Cigarette smoke. Body odor. Deodorant. Shampoo. Leather. Cotton. Dirty feet. She could barely distinguish one odor from the others.

Her hands gripped the armrests. Rylie took shallow breaths and tried not to smell anything until they landed.

Seth didn’t answer his cell phone, so they headed straight for his hotel when they hit the ground.

North Harbor was a small town with cramped streets that stunk of fish. A gray haze hung over the air, and a storm brewed over the steely ocean. The damp breeze cooled her to the marrow. Fifty-five degrees in early July—there had to be some kind of law against that.

The back roads were too narrow for vehicles, so the cab dropped them off at the end of Main Street, less than a mile from the hotel.

Rylie stopped to look in a shop’s window. They had cable-knit sweaters prominently displayed on the mannequins. Apparently, cold summers didn’t surprise anyone but her.

“Hang on,” she called to Abel, who had walked away without her. “I want to buy a sweater real quick.”

He stopped and rolled his eyes. “We’re a block away from the hotel.”

“But it’s cold.”

Abel shucked his shirt so that he was wearing nothing but the tank top underneath. He draped it over her shoulders. It was warm and engulfed her in his smell.

To her surprise, he reached back to pull her hair out of the collar. His hand lingered on her shoulder.

After a second, he stepped back. Coughed into his fist.

“You can get a sweater later.” Abel’s voice sounded weird. “Let’s go.”

Scott Whyte always made sure they had first-class accommodations when they traveled, and the hotel he had put Seth up in was no exception. It was an old building that smelled like it had been recently remodeled—Rylie detected the aroma of paint and newly-quarried stone.

They went inside. The lobby had marble floors and a chandelier, and the man at the front desk gave them a skeptical look when they asked to call Seth’s room.

“Are you expected?” he asked without reaching for the phone.

Abel leaned over the desk, using every inch of his six and a half feet to tower over the receptionist. “Yes.”

The man shrunk back and dialed.

When Seth didn’t answer, it took him two tries to hang the phone up again. “I don’t think he’s in his room.”

Rylie frowned and stepped outside to call his cell phone again. No response. “He’s probably hunting,” Abel said, appearing at her side.

“But I haven’t heard from him in two days. What if he’s hurt or something?”

She expected Abel to blow off the suggestion, but his brow drew low over his eyes. “I’m going to look around town. See if I can find Isoba’s house. Stay here, at the hotel.”

“But—”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue. Abel strode away, leaving her alone with a chilly breeze and darkening skies.

She kicked a rock into the rosebush.

“Some Alpha I am,” she muttered.

Rylie waited on a stone
bench in the gardens, sheltered under the branches of a tree. She played games on her cell phone until she beat her score on Bejeweled Blitz for the third time, and then put it away to keep from killing the battery.

Still no Abel or Seth.

An older couple jogged into the hotel, casting worried looks at the sky. They didn’t even give her a second glance under the tree.

Five minutes later, she understood why. Thunder rolled in the black clouds as wet circles began appearing on the cobblestone path. The hush of rain on leaves followed an instant later.

Within seconds, it was pouring.

Rylie was dry under the tree, but she couldn’t leave unless she wanted to get soaked. She sat tight with her carry-on bag at her side and Abel’s shirt hugged around her, more grateful than ever for its warmth.

A woman ducked under the tree with her, holding a newspaper over her head. “Nice day, huh?” she asked, shaking rain out of her jacket’s lapels. Rylie shirked back as she got splashed.

“Yeah. It smells nice.” The scent of wet asphalt and soil wasn’t the only nice part about the rain—it also had a dampening effect on all the other confusing smells that had been bothering Rylie.

The woman gave her a weird look at that. Her silky black hair was chopped in a perfect A-line at her angular jaw. “I was being sarcastic.” Her jacket gapped, and Rylie glimpsed a camisole and shorts. The newcomer was no more prepared for the weather than Rylie.

“Are you a guest at the hotel?” she asked.

“No. I’m just looking for someone who is.” She folded the newspaper and glared at the sky. “I’m Pagan. What’s your name, kid?”

“Rylie?”

Pagan arched a thin eyebrow. “That’s a man’s name.”

Annoyance made the wolf stir inside Rylie.

“Oh yeah? What kind of name is Pagan?”

“Heck if I know. You’d have to ask my parents that one.” The woman stepped beside the bench, and her perfume wafted toward Rylie—a musky, flowery scent that almost made her gag. “Looks like the rain isn’t letting up anytime soon. Man, the streets get totally dead when it pours, don’t they? But that’s good. Means there aren’t any witnesses.”

Witnesses?

Too late, Rylie smelled silver.

And then there was a gun in her face.

She ducked. A shot rang out.

Rylie hit the ground with her hands over her head, braced for the burning agony that followed getting hit by a silver bullet. Someone cried out, and it took her a moment to realize that it was Pagan—not her own voice.

The pain never came.

Pagan fled. Her feet flashed past Rylie’s face.

Another gunshot rang out.

A hand jerked her to her feet, and she thought it was Abel for an instant, and she was relieved enough that she wanted to hug him tight. But he was too short to be Abel, and his hair was too long.

Rylie recognized his smell before his face.

Gunpowder. Leather. The musk of sweat.

“Seth,” she whispered.

“Are you okay?” her boyfriend asked, grabbing her upper arms. Seth looked a little older than she remembered. He was growing into a more adult frame. His shoulders were broader, his arms were thicker, and his voice was maybe a fraction deeper. “Are you hurt? Did she—”

“I’m fine, she didn’t hit me, nothing hurts.”

“Thank
God
.” He lifted her in his arms, squeezing a laugh out of her. “You’re crazy, you shouldn’t be here,” Seth said, but he kissed her before she could reply.

It had been too long since she had seen him, been held by him, kissed his lips. Rylie could have vanished into his embrace. She wanted to roll herself in his smells and drown.

He set her on her feet, and she ran her hands over his face, tracing the familiar cut of his cheekbones and ears and forehead. His skin was damp, and his straightened hair was starting to frizz from the moisture.

“You’re soaking wet,” Rylie said, and then she kissed him again, just because he was there.

“Let’s get inside,” he mumbled into her mouth.

“I don’t care about the rain.”

His eyes danced with mirth as he pulled back and grabbed her hand. “I’m more worried about the hunter who just tried to kill you. I didn’t land a fatal shot. She’s still out there—alive.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. That.”

Seth’s room was decorated as
nicely as the hotel lobby. He had a four-poster bed with fluffy pillows, a fireplace, and Rylie was pretty sure that she glimpsed a Jacuzzi through the cracked bathroom door. Scott Whyte
really
didn’t skimp when making travel reservations.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Seth locked the door, peeked out the window, and shut the curtains. He left wet footprints in his wake.

“You’re making a mess of everything,” she said, knowing it was stupid to be worried about the mud when Pagan was still out there. She felt strangely numb. It had been a long time since she had a gun pointed at her.

“Just making sure the room is secure.” Seth cupped her face in his hands. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “I’m just glad she didn’t hit you.”

“Didn’t hit
me
?” He laughed. “God, I’ve missed you, Rylie.”

He stripped his shirt off over his head and used it to dry off his chest. The ability to speak completely fled from Rylie as she took in the sight of his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Seth had
definitely
been finding time for the university gym.

“Who was that woman?” Rylie asked when she remembered how to use the English language.

“I think she’s a hunter or something. I’ve been tracking her for days.” He kicked off his shoes. She realized that she was dripping on the carpet too, so she followed suit. Seth pushed her shirt off of her shoulders and gave it a funny look. “What is this?”

Rylie took Abel’s shirt from his hand and dropped it on the pile of shoes. “You mean, a hunter like you? A kopis?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t been able to get close enough to get a good read on her. But I’m glad I was following her today.”

His hands went to her jeans and popped the button open.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

His eyes sparked. “Helping you dry off.” He lifted the hem of her shirt, and she obediently raised her arms so that he could strip it off. It wasn’t even wet. He lowered his lips to her neck. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured.

Rylie had meant to call Abel and tell him that she found Seth. She also had meant to head out and help search for Isoba so they could go home as soon as possible.

But as soon as Seth touched her, all those thoughts were completely forgotten.

The rain poured outside, but they were safe and dry in his hotel room.

E
IGHT

A Second Present

Abel picked up the smell
of other werewolves a half a mile away from the hotel, and he followed it to a cluster of houses built on a cliff over the ocean. They looked like vacation rentals, and judging by the empty streets and dark windows, they were all unoccupied. It smelled like nobody had been inside of them for weeks.

Except for the one on the end. Someone had touched the front door. He detected the scent of skin oils on the handle, and the sour perfume of silver.

How many people walked around vacation rentals carrying silver?

Abel drew the gun at the small of his back and kept it aimed at the ground as he walked around the house looking for an open window. The back door was cracked.

He perked his ears up, listening for the slightest hint of motion. But the house was completely still.

Abel glanced at his phone to make sure there was no text message from Rylie before slipping inside.

The back hallway was empty, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, a new smell smacked him in the face—like copper pennies and slabs of pork. Blood and human flesh.

He led with his gun as he eased around the corner into the living room.

That was where he found the werewolf.

The body was spread-eagle in front of the fireplace. The bearskin rug underneath was ruined with his blood. Seth wouldn’t have been able to find it—he could only sense living werewolves, and this one was definitely dead. He’d probably been dead for days.

Abel wiped the blood off of the face of the corpse using a blanket from the couch. His features were sunken and pale, but it definitely looked like the picture he had seen of Isoba. He was starting to decompose.

“Damn,” Abel swore under his breath.

He did a quick check for the source of the blood and found a bullet wound on his chest. Whoever killed him must have smeared it everywhere. There were red footprints on the carpet and a smear on the wall.

Abel followed the smear into the kitchen and found something written on the counter.

It was hard to read—finger-painting in werewolf blood wasn’t exactly the most legible way to leave a message. He squinted at it but couldn’t read past the first word: “this.”

A silver bullet had been left on the counter, and a dried red rose. Abel pocketed them and took another look at the bloody message. When he finally made it out, a chill settled over him:

This is for you, Rylie. Sincerely, Cain.

The fireplace in Seth’s hotel
room crackled with merry flames. Rylie crouched in front of it, warming her chilly fingers as Seth talked on the phone.

“It’s definitely a hunter,” he said. He had called Scott Whyte after taking a shower with Rylie, and his hair was tied back with a bandana. It was also the only thing he was wearing. Orange firelight danced on his bare skin. “She was armed with silver bullets.”