Moon-Ache (Lone March #2)

Book 2

Erin Irvin

Moon-Ache

Erin Irvin

Copyright © 2011 by Erin Irvin

Smashwords Edition

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Erin Irvin.

For List-Girl.

Acknowledgements:

Three masculine thank-yous go to the following sirs:

Jonathan Solomon for fictional legal advice from a real lawyer.

Michael Foster for non-fictional law enforcement information from a real cop.

Jonathan Pruitt for an expertly given crash-course in self-defense methods from a real first-degree black belt (whoa).

I’d give each of you a very manly handshake of gratitude if you were here right now.

In keeping with the theme, four feminine thank-yous go to the following ladies:

My mom, Kim, for the lesson on flower symbolism.

My sister, Lauren, for reading my first draft in one six-hour sitting, all because I joked that she could. Way to prove me right, sis. And also, way to point out those typos!

My dearest friend, Erin Jay, for having as much fun with the last three chapters of this book as I had writing them, and ‘getting it’ like no one else quite did.

Caitlyn Jones, you babe you, for continuing to read my raw work and give me way more praise than I deserve. And for telling me time and again that you’re truly invested in my characters, which I often need to hear for some reason. And for rooting for March as I continue to beat her up and drag her through the mud. And for giving me the ‘Sneak Peak’ idea. And for…this list could go on and on...

And last, but never least, Travis Boles, my fiancée and BFF, thanks for being the Mickey Goldmill to my Rocky Balboa.

Moon-Ache

Chapter One

My name is March Howe. And I’m a were-wolf. Until four days ago, I didn’t really know what that meant for me and the life I’ve had for the last fifteen years. But now, on the night after my first complete full moon cycle, as I’m running home in an attempt to flee my captors, I know what it means. And I know my whole life has just begun to change forever…

All I could hear was the sound of my bare feet padding damply against the ground beneath me as I pushed myself to run faster. I guess it was a good sign that was all I could hear—it meant I had eluded them thus far.

But Graham’s voice was playing ever louder in my head: March…you can’t…go home. That’ll be…the first place they’ll go.

His words were adorned with spatterings of blood that pitched forth from his mouth and were lost against the bloody backdrop of his upper body.

I knew I shouldn’t be going home. But at this time of night, where else could I really go?

I peered down the street as I passed the first house of my neighborhood on the right. There was my house down the way, sitting silently in the darkness. I wanted to hasten my step, but I was already going as fast as I could.

Before I’d cleared another house, lights sprayed the ground in front of me, growing brighter and sharper as their range contracted and they moved closer to me. Headlights.

My first inclination was to dart off the road, in fear, but then I realized Elliot and the rest of the betrayers would be in wolf form to catch me, not a car.

I didn’t even have time to make the conscious decision to look before it was beside me and someone was saying, Get in.

I recognized the smell before the voice or even the sleek, black Escalade. It was Mr. Harper. I hopped in, almost forgetting I was naked, until the cold AC hit my chest and I shivered uncontrollably and popped my legs up in the seat to shield myself from both the cold and being seen.

Here, you can have my jacket, he said, throwing his left arm in my direction and implying I should pull the sleeve of his blazer off him.

I tried to do so with my elbow still tucked in to my body—I didn’t want to reveal any more of myself to him—but I couldn’t quite get it.

I’m not looking, he said. Go ahead.

I tugged it fast and once his arm was free he pulled the other sleeve off and handed it to me. I gladly wrapped up inside it. It was far too big for me, of course, but this fact only made it all the warmer. I fidgeted with the buttons to do them up as he spoke.

I know you want to go home, but you can’t. They’ll be there any minute.

Are they really that close behind me?—Wait, how do you know anything about this?

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he said, For now, you’ll come to my house. For now. Then, we’ll figure out what to do next. But listen, Ethyn doesn’t know anything about this and I don’t want him to find out, so he can’t know you’re there. Alright? I nodded. Now what exactly were you thinking going back to your house? You had to know that would be the first place they’d look.

"I did know. But all I could think was I needed to recharge and see my parents and talk to them about all this. He looked at me, confused. Besides, I continued, I didn’t know where else to go this late at night anyway—hey, wait a minute—I’m not gonna explain myself anymore till you do some explaining of your own. Tell me how you knew I was in trouble. Why were you in my neighborhood waiting on me?"

He stared blankly ahead. It’s not the time, March. Let’s just get you hidden and safe right now.

It was a short trip to the Harper house, though it felt a lot longer for all the silence, which was inevitable due to three simple facts: 1. Avery Harper and I didn’t know each other very well, so everyday conversation was reaching, at best. 2. Mr. Harper was holding off on telling me what I wanted to know—how he knew anything that had been happening with the wolves. I was impatient, but thankful for his rescue, and respectful enough to honor his request to wait for the answers. 3. Despite being within the safe confines of a large, automatic-locking SUV, I was still worried about being caught by Elliot, or whichever of the wolves was apparently so close behind me. This fact kept me most silent of all.

Mr. Harper pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. I hopped out of the big SUV, checked my coattails to ensure they were covering my bare back side, and followed Mr. Harper to the door.

Wait here, he said, cautiously opening the door and entering.

Feeling exposed, I looked behind me and all around to make sure I was alone. The trees bristled and swayed lazily in the night breeze—the loudest sound in the whole neighborhood. Though the street was lit with lamps, the houses lining either side were utterly dark and a bubble of still calm was draped around in every direction. It was a bubble I knew would be easily punctured if they picked up on my scent.

The door opened abruptly and a hand came out and pulled me in by the shoulder. Mr. Harper led me, with one hand on my back, directly into the front sitting room and quickly closed the door behind us.

The rich reds in the wallpaper and rug immediately engulfed me as I entered the room and almost seemed to brush me with warmth. Whether from the wallpaper, or the suddenly still air (when I’d been used to the breeze during my escape) I felt my face flush in response and immediately my head started swimming with blood as it began to pump slower and slower through me to accommodate my now resting state.

Without an offer extended, I collapsed on the small, square loveseat, uninviting as it was in its under-stuffed austerity.

Stay here. I’ll find you something to wear, he said.

I can stand this a little longer. First things first: find me something to eat. I’m starving.

He nodded and left me alone in the room.

I completely wanted to disobey him and go skipping up the stairs to see Ethyn because I smelled his amazing scent as soon as I walked through the door, but I couldn’t. I was so tired and hungry. And, now that I was through running and felt safe, my adrenaline was wearing off and fatigue and pain were starting to set in. So I just laid there feeling the weight of my heavy lids as they fell, and I had to manually lift them open. It was an arduous task and, finally, I gave up on it and left them shut only to have them open involuntarily when Mr. Harper gently nudged my shoulder some minutes later.

He had a bowl of steaming vegetable soup and a tall glass of iced water. I took the bowl first and almost spilled it on myself in my hunger-crazed frenzy to bring it closer to my mouth. The small thought crossed my mind that there was no meat in this meal, but I didn’t care—I just wanted food. Besides, it would probably be best to go easy on my stomach for a few days, after having it empty for so long. I scooped a spoonful and shoved it into my mouth without hesitation.

Careful! It’s—

Ahh! I exclaimed and let the scalding, chunky liquid fall out of my mouth and back into the bowl.

I warned you.

Not soon enough, I retorted.

Well, you didn’t expect cold soup, did you? he asked, pulling a chair over to sit in front of me.

Ugh! This is torture! I finally have food in front of me for the first time in three days and I can’t eat it!

You haven’t eaten in three days?

Duh, prisoner, I said, pointing at myself. I thought you knew that.

I didn’t think they were starving you. One would think they’d want to keep the last female were-wolf on earth in good health.

Yeah, well, I think Elliot’s plan involved me being as weak as possible without actually perishing. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I hadn’t gotten outta there. I shuddered and blew on my soup.

I’m sorry I handed you over to those criminals. I thought I was doing the best thing for you. Had I known they were such an awful pack, I wouldn’t have—

It’s okay, I assured him. "You did do the best thing for me. If I hadn’t been heralded through my first change I would’ve died. They’re the nearest pack around. There’s nothing else you could have done. And they’re not all bad. Just most."

Once I’d blown on it enough to keep from scorching my tongue, I slurped my soup. (After spitting it out in front of him I figured why bother with manners?) The warmth made it seem filling, but as time cooled it and the heat in my stomach subsided, I felt less and less full.

What happened to your nose? he asked, studying it with new concern.

Huh?

For a minute, I had completely forgotten about my self-inflicted accident. During my escape, I tripped and fell, banging my head, specifically my nose, straight into the ground.

Your nose is bloody, he said.

I instinctively reached up and touched the under part of my nose to feel the blood, but it must have dried in the wind.

They weren’t beating you, were they? he asked incredulously.

No, I tripped over a big log in the woods by the hospital while I was running away, I explained.

He took my chin in his long fingers and tilted my face to have a better look at my nose. Does it hurt?

To be honest, I’m pretty numb all over right now. Ask me again in ten minutes, I said.

So you’re okay then, generally speaking?

I’m okay, I replied. My ankle is probably hurt pretty bad, though. I think it got twisted in the fall. Like I said, I can’t really feel anything, but running on it can’t have been good.

Let me see.

I lifted my foot up to him and he put his palm underneath so I rested my weight on it.

Well, I’m no doctor, but it doesn’t seem broken. I’ll get you an ice pack. You probably just sprained it, he said, bounding up and out of the room before I could tell him not to worry about it.

As I stared at my soup, I pictured Mr. Harper running into the kitchen to assemble a pouch of ice for me, and also making me soup just a few minutes before. His kindness and concern for my safety were not exactly in keeping with the way the pack made the ravens out to be. Sure, when I first met him and he’d been all intimidating—and even threatened me—I had the same attitude about him. But then, he’d basically saved my life by telling me what I was and getting me to the people who could help me through my change. Hell, there was no ‘basically’ about it—he did save my life. And now, here he was doing it again.

Despite my gratitude, I couldn’t help wondering why. Why was he putting himself through this for me? Some girl he didn’t know. Some girl who was just his son’s debate partner. Some girl who had no connection to him other than being were. But I wasn’t even a raven, like him—I was a wolf. According to the wolves, we were supposed to be enemies. Weren’t we?

I recalled what Quinn had said about not calling them by their names because they didn’t warrant that much respect. And I remembered when the pack had come to get me, Elliot had said that thing about Mr. Harper wanting to be absolved (although, he had derogatorily called him ‘the bird’).

What did they mean? What did Mr. Harper need to be absolved from? Why did the ravens not deserve the respect of the wolves?

I could only assume that there was some kind of miscommunication going on. Mr. Harper was taking care of me the same way Quinn would be, if he was here. Regardless of what the men think, I had to take that into account.

Still, their opinion couldn’t be completely unfounded—it had to have been borne out of something. So what did Mr. Harper need absolving from?

I had just decided to talk to him about it, when he returned with a zip-lock bag full of ice and directed me to stretch out on the couch. But, after he gently lifted my ankle and propped it up on a pillow, laying the bag of ice on it carefully and sitting back down in the chair in front of me, I completely lost my nerve. It wasn’t the time to try to get all in his business with personal questions. He was being really attentive of me and I needed to appreciate that more. So I just went back to concentrating on my soup.

He watched me eat for a while before finally speaking slowly. What do you know about what has been happening the last few days?

What do you mean? I asked, gulping down a swig of water.

There have been…incidents.

I suddenly remembered Elliot’s confrontation with Quinn while we were still locked in the Cage. He was bragging about taking control of the pack and letting them loose during the changes to run wild. They didn’t observe lock-down. I knew what that meant. How many? I asked flatly.

He picked up my even tone and applied it to his own words. Twenty deaths.

Oh my God.

Mostly in the Tyler area.

With that, I wasn’t hungry anymore, so I put the near-empty bowl on the end table next to me. I ignored the aberrant weirdness of Mr. Harper putting his hand on my knee when I saw his expression. I had never seen him so benign. It almost seemed out of place with his dark, angular features.

March, he said.

What? I asked, confused.

He pursed his lips and shifted his eyes between mine. When he spoke, he spoke each word slowly and carefully. I need you to remember that your being here must remain hidden. So when I tell you this, try not to be too…vociferous.

What is it?

It’s your parents.

What?—What about them? What’s wrong?

They’re gone.

I shook my head in disbelief. Such a brief statement—only two words—and yet filled with so much weight.

They got them, he said. I’m sorry.

I fixed my vision on the pattern of the Oriental rug beneath my toes, feeling instantly vacant and fuzzy. It had a burgundy background swirled in gold strands around the edges with drops of emerald at each end.

They…they can’t be gone, I strained, but my voice sounded far away, even to me. He didn’t respond so I looked up at him. They can’t be, I repeated.

I’m sorry.

You’re wrong.

I wish I was.

No. There’s been a mistake. They’re not gone. Just missing. We have to find them, I said, throwing myself into a standing position, but he stopped me and pushed me back down.

They were found in the front room of your house three days ago.

He caught me as I began to slide off the couch and onto the floor, and moved, from his chair opposite me, to sit next to me on the couch, pulling my body backward into him and putting his arms around me while I felt myself being pulled away, till I knew I was completely absent—present in the room only in the physical sense.

Something about the pattern of that rug—about the shape of those gold swirls—seemed abrasive and made me feel assaulted, so I turned my gaze onto the banal print of a sailboat on a grey bed of water, framed and hanging on the wall, which, I thought abstractly, seemed out of place with the rest of the décor and was, admittedly, less than consoling.

Why? Why them? Why now?

I felt like I was falling through the air at a thousand miles an hour and everything in me screamed and begged me to stop, but I knew I was sitting as still as could be.

What do I do? What can I do? I’m a nobody. I’m an orphan. In the last three days I’ve learned that I’ve lost two sets of parents. How many people have had to lose two sets of parents in the span of seventy-two hours? What are the odds?

But I knew I didn’t care about the odds. I was just delaying the act of grieving because I knew once it started, that would mean it’s real. Acknowledging the pain makes it real, and I didn’t want it to be real.

But they’re gone.

Then, suddenly, my tears made their grand entrance in one massive gesture and I heaved and sobbed silently after that.

I was crying so hard I could barely take a breath before I was blowing it back out in soft wails, so I stopped inhaling altogether for a while and just felt the pressure building up in my chest. Somehow, it was soothing.

Seeing the uncharacteristic redness of my face, Mr. Harper said, Breathe.

But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to breathe anymore. I didn’t want to breathe ever again.

Chapter Two

Come on. You need sleep. Let’s get you to bed.

He tried to lift me off the sofa, but I was a dead weight.

I can’t, I cried. I can’t walk.

Yes, you can. Come on.

He yanked my arm as he stood up, but I just tucked my chin into my chest and wrapped my free arm around the corner of the couch.

Alright, he said, decisively. I’ll carry you.

He lifted me with ease and carried me steadily out of the room and up the stairs. I rested my head against his shoulder and continued to cry. Before I knew it, he was laying me down on a bed.

I’ll bring you some clothes, he said, locking the door behind him and leaving me alone for the first time since the news.

He returned promptly, and I let him in and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, surprised I was able to move at all.

Uh, here are some boxer shorts and a tee shirt of Ethyn’s. They’ll be slack on you, but they should be comfortable. I also brought you a damp washcloth, to clean off the blood.

He put the rag on the nightstand and laid the clothes on the bed beside me and I stood up and started unbuttoning the blazer.

I’ll just…leave you to it then, he said quickly as he realized what I was doing.

Are you coming back?

Do you need something else?

Yeah. I need you to come back.

He stared at me and slightly parted his lips in confusion or maybe discomfort. Alright, I’ll…wait outside.

I slipped on the thin, plaid boxers and tee shirt. Despite being clean, they both smelled so undeniably Ethyn, like his scent was just fused into the fibers. I breathed in deep as I recognized the shirt; he’d worn it to school. It had a picture of the original JLA on it. I traced Aquaman’s figure while I thought of Ethyn for a moment. It was nice, but the moment didn’t last and more tears rolled off my face and stained those of Wonder Woman and Batman.

I cracked the door and looked up at Mr. Harper. You can come back in now, I whispered.

He shut the door behind us and I handed him the blazer.

Here’s your jacket back, I said. Thank you for…thank you.

He knew my gratitude represented much more than his lending me the blazer. He nodded as I fingered the hem of Ethyn’s shirt for a moment before throwing my arms around him and squeezing him tight. There was a stillness in the silence that told me he was uncomfortable, but I went right on hugging him anyway.

I really think you should get some sleep, he finally said.

"Yeah. … I don’t think I can sleep, though."

Well, you at least have to try, he said, turning down the covers. Come on, I’ll…tuck you in.

I want you to stay, I said, without looking at him.

He ignored me and said, Here you are, fluffing the pillows. In you go.

His hand returned to my back as he moved me closer to the bed. I climbed in and over to the opposite side and he covered me up.

I want you to stay, I repeated.

He stared at me for a quiet moment and then sat in the chair next to the bed, exhaling. Alright. I’ll stay.

I looked him in the eye and turned back the blanket on the empty side of the bed.

March.

Please.

March, he said, insistently.

I don’t care if it’s inappropriate—to hell with formality! I’m sad. And I’m scared. He didn’t say anything, only eyed the bed and then me. I lost my parents tonight. Please don’t make me sleep alone.

He sat a moment longer, then got up and locked the door before approaching the bed. He took off his shoes and got in next to me.

Thank you, I said.

Well, aren’t you going to lie down? he asked, his voice as rigid as his body.

I did so and he clicked off the lamp and followed suit. It didn’t take long in the darkness for fresh tears to come and I laid there bawling at my new abandonment.

Mr. Harper put his arm above my head, opening himself up to me. Come here, he said. I rolled over and hugged him. It’s going to be okay, he said, smoothing my hair down.

I couldn’t stop crying, though, so I held him tight and just continued to let it all out.

The waning gibbous outside was enough light to see by, and Mr. Harper was studying my face. Without saying anything, he reached behind him to the bedside table, picked up