Page 41 of Blood Moon

Though we rise with the sun, we still find ourselves falling for the moon.

Article V, Lost Letters from Aadan the First

The smell of honey and clove swirled in the air as I sat in my dorm room alone, picking at my nail beds. I stared into the flickering light of the candle, not truly seeing, but hearing the quaking whispers of every cautionary tale ever told in this town.

Get inside before the streetlights come on.

Don’t wander too far into the darkness.

If you stare in the woods for long enough, you’ll see yellow eyes.

They had only ever said that as a means to scare us into obeying, to correct us into being good children—or so I believed—never because the lore was real .

And then there was Rena. Rena who had to have known the legends were true.

Rena who was somehow involved in the werewolf attacks in town.

Rena who’d given me a pendant that belonged to a bloodline older than the wolves, blessed by a witch who’d been dead for centuries.

Rena who hadn’t existed in my life for years until she sent that letter.

Why, after all these years, was this happening now?

I rolled off the floor, onto my feet, and opened the small drawer connected to my desk. With a steady hand, I pulled out the letter she had sent. It’d been sealed away, desperate for air, since the day I received it.

My dearest Mirabella,

I’m so proud of you and all your accomplishments. There’s never a day that passes where I’m not thinking of you.

You are my beginning and my ending, and as nature would have it, we’ll always be a part of each other. Always.

Though I want to see you, as things are currently, I’m unable to come to you right now, but I promise, I’m trying very hard to find a secure way to bring us together. There are many matters you and your father need to know … many of which I cannot detail in this letter.

You may already be well aware of this now, and if not, soon, but the world isn’t how it appears.

Don’t be deceived by those who are close to you, even if they seem as though they may be on your side.

Everything is a sign. Everything is a warning.

Trust your instincts. And above all else, please, for the love of gods, be safe.

Enclosed is a family heirloom. It will act as a ward; it will protect you since I cannot. Wear it and don’t let it out of your sight. Undoubtedly, it has always been yours, Mirabella.

Remember:

More than the stars in the sky …

More than the air in the world …

More than the life I live …

that’s how much I love you.

Everything I’ve done has been for you, for your father. I swear it on my life.

Amor vincit omnia,

Mama

There, in the letter. She’d said, “ It has always been yours. ” Always.

Was it possible this old thing could really be a family heirloom?

Doubt consumed me, but then again, there was so much left unsaid about Rena’s family, where she’d come from.

The information had always been sparse, lacking much detail.

If this pendant was inherited, who in the family had needed to retain something as powerful as this, and what did they need protection from?

My head throbbed, and I released the letter before I crumpled it in my fist. All I could see was a scorching red as I tried to untwist what was happening to me. There were too many questions. Too many coincidences, and Rena wasn’t here to help me make sense of it.

I threw myself onto the bed, screamed into the hollow of my pillow, then in a sudden breath, I stopped. I forced away the tears, and that feeling burrowed in my throat, swelling. In a second move, I grabbed for my caddy, wrapped my hair, and stormed toward the showers.

After, I dressed in loose sweats, bundled myself in a fleece blanket, and curled onto the couch in front of the TV.

Stevie and the girls were on the road for a performance; Naomi was in Chicago visiting her relatives for the first time since classes had begun, and Sev had an away football game.

A while ago, he’d texted a photo of him on the bus with his teammates.

I’d told him I was rooting for him, but once the text was sent, I knew it was going to be a long and very lonely weekend.

At some point, I fell into a deep sleep.

Nearby, a stream bubbled over slick rocks, curving gently along the bend of the forest. Dew slipped on sharp blades of glass, sparkling in the sunlight. A breeze rustled the leaves, and in a quickness, Rena was there.

This was reminiscent of a dream I’d had a few weeks ago. Only, in this moment, she pressed into the damp soil with bare feet, staring at me with an impish smile.

A blink, and her eyes were painted black. One foot before the other, she came forward, arms wide open, and I stumbled away. A click, click, sound arose from her throat, like that of a rattlesnake. I shrunk into myself, falling to the ground and crawling backward.

“I’m coming for you,” she hissed, and I gripped the soil between my hands, scaling the supple terrain as swiftly as I could. “Where are you going, my sweet Mirabella? I thought you missed me?”

I was able to flip onto my knees and pull myself up, running until I was caught by the shoulder and yanked in the opposite direction.

Rena had a handful of my hair, and when I turned around, she smiled, revealing two pointy fangs. I screamed, and she laughed long and wickedly as identical versions of her emerged from the earth, surrounding us. There were more of her than there were trees, and each form of her had sharp teeth.

“I’ll never leave you again,” she declared, and it was the last thing I heard before she—and every version of her—tugged me to the ground and drank all the blood I had in me.

A gasp met me when I woke.

With the discovery of werewolves, I’d had no time to thread in the remainder of the legend. Because in the stories, werewolves weren’t the only immortal creatures that were mentioned.

So were vampires.