Page 16 of The Huntress and the Blood Moon (The Huntress #1)

S harp pain bursts along Carmen’s right side as the wolf’s long, sharp nails dig deep into her flesh.

Just like the first time she was scratched in the thigh two years ago, the wound immediately burns white hot, as if the beast’s claws contain some form of acid.

Carmen doesn’t even realize she's screaming until her throat gives out, the buzzing in her head ebbing from the force of it.

Forcing her eyes open, she looks back toward the girl—but she’s hardly a girl anymore.

She’s . . . a werewolf ?

Carmen almost can’t believe it. That she’d thought to save this girl, to help her escape from this place, when all she was doing was setting another monster free.

She watches as her spine violently arches again, her vertebrae popping beneath her tattered dress, one by one, like knuckles being cracked.

Thick red hair sprouts across more of her skin in a wave, coarse and dark, pushing up through her pores.

The veins along her forearms thicken and pulse as her fingers contort—nails stretching into curved claws, splitting the skin as they grow.

The wolf lets go of Carmen, distracting her from the girl’s transition.

She scrambles to her feet in an attempt to get away, wincing from the pain in her ribs.

But then those nails are sinking into her again, this time around her right arm.

The wolf pulls her up into the air like a rag doll before slamming her body back down to the ground.

Carmen screams again.

A loud growl rips through the night from a distance. Carmen looks up to find the girl gone. In her place stands something taller, heavier, breathing steam out into the cold night air. Every inch of the beast is coiled in fury, and Carmen knows it’s too late, that she has no chance of escaping now.

Three wolves move slowly past where Carmen is being held down, stalking toward the female in the distance whose gaze is still locked on Carmen.

The pain rattling through Carmen’s body is enough to make her dizzy—it’s hard to keep her eyes open, hard to keep them focused on the scene in front of her.

But even in the face of death, she refuses to break, refuses to bend.

She’ll look it right in the face and smile.

The trio of werewolves reach the one wolf, carefully sniffing her, assessing her . . .

And then another loud growl slices between them before they become a blur of motion.

The wolf pinning her down releases her, running toward the chaos.

Carmen can hear yelps and squeals over the thuds of bodies slamming together and sounds of cracking limbs.

She wonders if it’s the girl, if she’s being ripped apart.

Wonders why they had her chained in the first place, what sort of terrible politics would have a pack hurting one of their own.

Her heart aches at the thought, despite feeling utterly deceived at the girl being one of them.

Carmen tries once more to rise from the ground, hoping to use the distraction of the fight as an opportunity to escape.

A heavy wave of pain rattles through her as her arm slips against the earth, a pool of wet blood making it difficult to find purchase.

She’s losing a lot of it . . . too much . . .

She attempts to put weight on her right arm, but a sear of pain so heavy and fierce rips through her, it knocks her back over.

And then everything goes black.

Carmen wakes to the gentle tugging of fingers weaving through her hair, soft and featherlight.

She tries to pry her eyes open, squinting against the bright sunlight breaking through the trees above, but it’s hard.

Her head throbs, her mouth is drier than the southern desert, and though this is a pretty familiar way for her to wake up each morning, it’s still always a struggle.

Finally peeling her eyes open, the realization that she’s laying on the ground somewhere in the woods sinks in.

She watches the leaves rustle and sway in the breeze up against the sky, her mind distantly working to catch up to the moment, to capture the frayed traces of where she might have lost herself drinking last night to get here now.

She remembers the bar, remembers Teddy dressed as the ghost from the Neitherworld.

She’d ordered a drink with soda this time because . . .

Oh my god , she thinks, eyes widening.

“You’re awake,” a female voice says gently from somewhere above her.

Panic takes hold in Carmen’s chest. She tilts her head back against the soft earth beneath her, eyes rolling up until they settle on the form of the girl in the tattered dress, now fully human again.

The girl smiles, a little hesitant. The outer edges of her red hair glow bright, backlit by the warm golden sun. “I did my best with all these wounds, but you should probably stay lying down.”

Carmen pulls her tongue from where it’s cemented to the roof of her mouth, croaking out a rough and dry, “What?”

The girl’s blue eyes go round. “You need water! Shoot, hold on,” she says, scrambling to her feet.

Carmen catches a glimpse of a bare ass cheek rounding out from the scraps of her skirt and quickly looks away.

“I dragged you as far as I could, but I’m not very strong .

. . I found a river close by though, so I used some dead wood to collect a little water for you.

Here,” she says, coming back into view, holding a curved piece of bark above Carmen’s head.

Carmen just stares at her, unblinking.

The girl sighs, insistent. “You lost a lot of blood. I worked very hard to keep as much of it inside you as I could, but you need to hydrate before you keel over and try to die all over again.” She tips the makeshift cup toward Carmen’s lips. “Drink.”

Carmen parts her mouth, allowing the water to dribble in. It’s a relief, the moisture. The cool brush of the girl’s knuckle against her cheek. “What happened?” Carmen asks, allowing some water to spill down her chin.

“You saved me,” the girl says, setting down the piece of wood. “And then I saved you back.”

“How?”

She shrugs. “I had to take down those assholes first. But it honestly wasn’t very hard . . . I felt so strong, like I was somehow able to harness all this power. It was like . . . like I could reach deep within myself, and there it was! A whole bunch of it. You know?”

Carmen shakes her head and then winces from the pressure mounting in her temples.

The girl goes on. “Anyway, after I ripped their heads off their bodies, I ran to you. You were already unconscious and bleeding everywhere—it was a mess. I did my best to lick your wounds clean, and then I ripped more of my dress to use the fabric to wrap around your arm and torso. God, it was so hard to figure that out without thumbs, but?—”

“Why?” Carmen interrupts.

The girl frowns. “Why, what?”

“Why did you save me?”

“Oh.” She looks down at the ground. “I mean, it was only fair, right?”

The simplicity of the statement knocks something loose in Carmen. She doesn’t even know how to respond.

The silence between them swells, and then the girl breaks it with another soft smile.

“I think we’re going to have to rest here for a day or two until you get your strength back.

I was thinking of going out to find some clothes .

. . maybe some food and bandages. But I’m not sure if leaving you alone is a good idea. ”

“Why not?”

The girl giggles. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be here when I got back.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Carmen argues.

“Especially not one like . . . you .” Carmen knows all too well that werewolves are extremely temperamental and prone to violence.

Warren is a definite outlier when it comes to reason and integrity—his moral compass stayed mostly intact after his transition, but that’s not normal.

Carmen would be an utter fool to trust this girl.

“You sure needed one last night,” the girl volleys, squinting down at her. “Plus, it’s not just about you, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was kind of hoping you might be able to tell me who I am?”

Carmen’s brows bunch, and her head throbs. “You don’t know who you are?”

She shakes her head. “Not a clue. I mean, I think I know my name, but I don’t remember anything before the last three days.”

“What happened three days ago?”

“I woke up chained in that room.”

Carmen considers. “You have no memory at all? Nothing?”

“Nope,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips. Like the mystery of her life is a fun puzzle to be solved, an adventure to be had. “Just that my name is Ruby . . .” she looks down at the ground, “at least I think it is.”

Carmen groans, squeezing her eyes shut.

This was not part of the plan.